by Amy Gamet
She shouldn’t have been surprised. They’d talked about marriage plenty of times before. She’d even taken to calling him her fiancé before she’d come to France, and God knows she’d been happy about it.
She furrowed her brow. When had she stopped calling him that? She searched her memory for a single moment, a deliberate decision, but found nothing. There was only the sense that everything had been rushed and out of her control.
You never tried to control anything.
There hadn’t been any time between Marco and Trevor, no quiet space with herself to reflect on anything. So when she’d come to France and begun working on this movie, the contrast between the strong female lead and her own confused mind had been striking.
Marco had led their relationship. He was in charge, and she’d let him walk all over her. Then Trevor came into her life and he was such a strong alpha man, he’d also taken the lead. But now she wasn’t so sure she wanted to blindly follow what someone else said was right for their relationship, or for her.
She wanted more than that from Trevor.
I love him more than that.
Truth was, she’d been scared deep down that her changing feelings about her own place in this world would also change her relationship with him, but tonight had steadied her nerves.
What they shared was real and, as he’d gone to great lengths to show her tonight, very much within her control. She looked at her left hand, the empty ring finger no longer misshapen from Marco’s engagement ring. If only her heart were completely back to normal, as well.
She closed her eyes and sighed. Once she felt safe again, the rest of her life would fall back into place. She knew it would.
Every man she thought of from the movie was suddenly suspect, with no way to know which of them was actually a danger. There was Evan Lockheed, the director. Her co-star, Anthony Weir. Michael Roth, who played the Marquis de Sage. Her mind ran through another dozen names.
While Trevor had his sights set on finding the man responsible, she was far more realistic. The movie had two more weeks of filming and it was highly unlikely they’d catch him in that time.
What if you continue to get threats back home?
She couldn’t think about that right now, needing to believe it was related to the film, and the stalker would stay behind in France when she left.
She flipped the drain closed, her mind drifting to the movie and the scenes they’d be filming tomorrow. There were two of them, the first a hospital scene where her lover died, the second a shower scene where she broke down crying for him.
Her mind mixed the images of the shower scene from the movie and the stalker letter about washing her hair. One day you’ll wash your hair for me, naked in the shower, water dripping off your glorious breasts.
Her eyes opened wide.
She had a body double for the shower scene, since her contract specified no nudity. Evan had been unhappy about that. He’d spoken to her when she first arrived in France, trying to convince her to no avail. Suddenly she was reading the stalker’s letter as if he was lamenting she wouldn’t be the one in that shower.
One day you’ll wash your hair for me, naked in the shower…
She sat up abruptly, water sloshing from one end of the tub to the other. One day you’ll wash your hair for me…
For me.
Was it possible her stalker was talking about tomorrow’s scene, lamenting it wouldn’t actually be her?
She climbed out and wrapped herself in a towel, hastily turning on a light in the dark bedroom, lining up the stalker’s letters with trembling hands.
“Livy? What is it?” Trevor called from the bed.
“The shower scene in the movie calls for the actress to be naked, but I’m having a body double do it. The second letter could be about the shower scene.”
She heard him pulling on his jeans, and he came to stand beside her. “What about the others?”
“Should I cut you and make you bleed? There’s a scene near the end of the film where my husband cuts me with a knife. And this one, I’ll hurt you until you say you’re mine forever, could be from the film, too. She goes to the grave of her lover and says she’ll belong to him forever. Trevor, whoever’s sending these letters has access to the script.”
“How much does that narrow it down?”
“By more than half. Most of the staffers don’t need script access.”
“Call the director and have him note people who do on his list.”
An electric tingle shot up her spine. Was it possible evil was closer to her than anyone else on the movie? Anthony. Michael. Evan. “He wanted me to do the shower scene myself.”
“Who did?”
She swallowed. “The director. Evan Lockheed.”
“Then he might be our man.”
She nodded, nausea bubbling up the back of her throat. She remembered every time he’d put his hands on her to adjust her blocking, every stare across the room. She’d thought it was just a director being overly protective of his vision for the film, but it could have been more.
It could have been deadly.
6
It was only nine o’clock but it seemed far later, Trevor’s sense of time obliterated by jet lag and his lack of sleep last night. Fortunately the GPS unit in Olivia’s car spoke English, which enabled him to find his way back to the studio with ease.
He’d left her sleeping with a note in case she awoke. He needed to check out the night security at the studio firsthand, and he wanted to go see Mac.
The parking lot was deserted. He tucked his firearm into its holster and grabbed a flashlight from his bag. The main door of the studio was locked and clearly armed with a security system, so he began looking for other entrances.
He’d memorized the map of the premises on the plane. Though it showed vast open areas that in reality were dotted with sets, the building layout was the same. He made his way to each of four separate side entrances, finding two of them unlocked, and slipped inside the last one.
He was less than a hundred yards from Livy’s dressing room.
So much for security.
She’d explained to him as they were cuddled in bed that many of the cast chose to board at the studio rather than rent flats or hotel rooms offsite. Since they were located a long way from the big city, many of the actors had taken advantage of that on this film, including her co-star, Anthony Weir, whose room was two doors down from hers.
A little too close for Hawk’s comfort.
He made his way to Weir’s room, hopeful the injured man was still recovering at the hospital. The lock was easily picked and he slipped inside. A quick search of Weir’s belongings turned up a pad of paper, which did not match the one used to write Olivia’s notes, a framed photograph of Weir holding another man, two blue pens, and lubricant suggestive of a male-male relationship.
It certainly looked like Weir was not the culprit.
While Lockheed was not staying at the studio, he did have a trailer on site and Hawk headed for that next. The lock on the director’s door was noticeably better, but no match for his SEAL training. He quickly unlocked it and entered the trailer.
The place was a mess, and he wondered halfheartedly if someone had tossed it before him. He searched through piles upon piles of scripts and other papers, but never found anything to link Lockheed to Olivia’s threatening letters.
The director had emailed her the list of male cast and crew with script access—a list with twenty-seven names on it—but anyone else with their own space at the studio was surely sleeping inside it. Trevor made his way back to his car and reprogrammed his GPS.
It was time for a far more difficult task.
He chided himself for thinking that way as he pulled back onto the road. There’d been a time when he looked up to his old CO like nobody’s business. Mac was twelve years older and light-years wiser than the young Trevor Hawkins had been, and Mac had been solely responsible for keeping Trevor’s ego at a reasonable level.
He’d had a lot to learn, and it was Mac who taught him. He became a soldier under his CO’s watchful eye, but two tours of duty later, Mac’s world came crashing to the ground around him like so much ash after an explosion, and that wasn’t even the worst of it.
No. The worst was the actual explosion that had taken Mac’s leg.
He turned sharply, following a road into the darkness. Mac’s military career had ended dramatically, while Hawk’s career with HERO Force would die on the goddamn vine. Hell, Mac probably could’ve gone on to run a company like HERO Force himself if his head had stayed in the damn game.
He narrowed his eyes.
Mac could run HERO Force.
It was crazy. There was no way. Everything he’d heard about Mac through the years wasn’t good. They said he was washed up, drinking too much, and hung up on trying to find his wife and kid, who, from all accounts, didn’t want to be found, least of all by Mac.
But was it true?
That was years ago. Maybe by now the other man had found his footing, created a new way to get by in the world. Perhaps he was even back to his old self, strong and capable and wise. The image of Mac as he had been back then got him thinking.
And I can start another office of HERO Force.
It was an idea that had been rattling around in his head since Olivia took this job in France. If he was in charge of his own branch of the security firm, he could do what he needed to do, much like Jax had chosen his own hours and involvement after Jessa had the baby.
It was a running joke that Cowboy was going to open a branch in Texas one day. But would it actually be possible? Would Jax go for it?
If Mac was doing better, he could run the operations just like Cowboy, and Hawk would be free to do as he pleased. He could still make a difference, still use his SEAL training for good, still make a positive impact on this world.
He made two quick turns and pulled up in front of a one-story stone house. He palmed the car keys and made his way up the walk, unsure of what he would find.
A shadow stood up from the front step. “Hawk.”
“Mac.” The men embraced. The light scent of alcohol lingered on the air. “We thought you were dead.”
“You text dead men a lot?” asked Mac, pulling back.
Hawk smirked. “I heard through the grapevine you survived. But I was there, and that’s un-fucking-believable.”
“Come on in.”
Hawk followed him through a narrow hallway and into a kitchen before Mac turned around.
The last time Hawk had seen those eyes, they had been peering out at him through black face paint on an Afghan recon mission seven years ago. Just like that he was back there, gunfire punctuating the air like fireworks on the Fourth of July as Mac told him in no uncertain terms they would push through and complete their mission no matter the cost.
That woman is counting on us to save her husband.
Hawk remembered all of it. The final push to enter the compound, the explosion that followed. His own emotional reaction to losing three members of the team was nothing compared to Mac’s. He was responsible for each and every one of those men, not just on paper, but in his heart.
Mac moved to the counter and poured two fingers of whiskey in glasses, Hawk noting the differences time had made in his mentor. The lines on Mac’s face were to be expected. But the weariness, the broken capillaries along his CO’s cheeks, and the dark circles under his eyes spoke to great difficulty.
“Ooo rah,” said Mac, holding up his drink.
Trevor lifted his glass and drank, the liquor throwing his taste buds back in time. “How the hell did you survive the explosion?” he asked.
“I was thrown over the fence onto the next property.” He pulled up his pant leg, revealing a prosthetic. “Lost my leg.”
“Fuck. I heard.”
Mac chuckled, a deep, throaty sound. “Fuck is right. What about you? What are you doing now?”
“I work for a company called HERO Force. Private security. Black ops, ransom delivery. That sort of thing. What are you doing in France?”
“My wife’s family’s land.”
“Is she here?”
Mac eyed him candidly. “No, but I’m guessing you knew that, too. She left me when I couldn’t leave the job behind, couldn’t get my goddamn head out of my ass and remember I had a family who needed me. I figure one day she’ll come back here, but until then, if she doesn’t want to be found, then I sure as hell can’t find her.” He finished his drink. “Why are you here, Hawk?”
He wasn’t sure he knew anymore. It wasn’t as simple or straightforward as he earlier thought. He had an obligation to this man, greater than he’d allowed himself to realize, the distance between them and the time that had passed acting like some sort of pass on responsibility. But now that Trevor was standing face-to-face with him, he knew he couldn’t just shoot the shit and walk back out that door.
Mac was drowning in an ocean of trouble, and he desperately needed someone to throw him a line.
“My girlfriend’s working here for a few months. She’s an actress. Brooke Barrons.” The name usually got a reaction, but Trevor could have been talking about the weather for how much it ruffled Mac’s feathers.
“I mean why are you here, talking to me, now?”
Thoughts worked to join together, ideas still percolating in his mind. “I was in the neighborhood.”
“You didn’t come by before.”
Hawk shrugged. “Never been in France before.”
“I was at Walter Reed for five months.”
Trevor looked down at his hands, for the first time seeing his own culpability in his friend’s downward spiral. “I know.” He lifted his head. “I should have come to visit. I heard you weren’t doing so well.”
Mac laughed without humor. “That’s one way to put it. What did you hear?”
“While you were at Reed? That you were damn lucky to be alive but not feeling so grateful.”
“And after Reed?”
Hawk hesitated. Everything he’d heard was clearly true, evidence surrounding him in the tiny stone house. He lifted his chin. “That you’re drinking yourself to death, waiting for your wife to come back.”
“And kids. Two girls and a boy.” Mac shuffled into a sitting room, Hawk on his heels, noting their surroundings. Muted paintings of farmland. Bookshelves full of books. Nothing here reminded him of Mac at all, yet the man had been living here for years. This was wrong, all wrong for Mac. He shouldn’t be here, alone, wallowing in self-pity and waiting for a woman who might never come back. He was a warrior. A true hero, and it hurt to see him so down on his luck. “You ever think about going back for another tour?”
“Hell no.”
“What about service? Private security. That sort of thing. You’ve got the skill set.”
“No thanks.”
“You could be doing some good instead of holed up in this house.”
Mac cocked his head, peering into his drink. “What do you know about it?”
“I know you were the best goddamn CO I ever had, and I can see right now you aren’t doing anything positive.”
Mac stood. “That’s my prerogative, Hawk. You walk in here, take one look at me, and you think you see something you can fix. Well, I’m not a broken machine. I don’t need a couple of parts and a little WD-40 to get my joints moving again. I had a life. A big, full life with two legs and a career and the prettiest woman in the world in it. You want to know what you can do to help me? Lose everything you’ve got, then come back here and we’ll talk about doing something positive.”
Hawk couldn’t imagine what he’d gone through. Just the thought of losing Olivia was enough for him to break out in a cold sweat. Mac had lost his wife and three kids. A leg, for God’s sake, and he was right. It wasn’t the same at all.
But there was something he wasn’t considering. He had a talent, a gift, that could help the world become a better place. “It’s not okay for you to waste it,” said Haw
k.
Mac raised his voice. “I don’t need your help.”
“Bullshit.”
Mac walked toward the door. “Get out of my house. The next time you think about visiting, do me a favor and change your fucking mind before you get here.”
Hawk didn’t move. The answer was right there, so obvious it had been staring him in the face. Mac needed to be useful again, and Hawk was in need of a man with special talents. He met Mac’s eyes, noting the inward tilt of his angry brows. “Work for me,” Hawk said.
“What?”
Hawk crossed to him. “You heard me. Work for me. I need more flexibility, the ability to be with Olivia when she’s working out of town. I need to be the boss.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “I’ve got to look into it, but I want to open a HERO Force office in New York, and I need someone to run it. I want you, Mac.”
Mac laughed. “And you’re asking me to come to New York? The rumors aren’t wrong, Hawk. They’ve got me pegged.”
“So unpeg yourself and get the hell back to work.”
“No.”
Hawk put his hands on his hips, in awe of the diminished man who now stood in front of him. “You’d rather sit here and rot.”
Mac walked to the door, holding it open for Hawk. “I’d rather sit here and rot—by myself and on my own terms.”
“You mean drunk.”
Mac wasn’t as fast as he used to be. He swung at Hawk’s face, his closed fist landing squarely in the other man’s hand.
This was what it had come to, how bad it had gotten. He could see in Mac’s eyes another punch was coming, so he spun on his heel and left. You couldn’t save everyone.
The victim had to want to live in order to survive.
7
Olivia awoke at the first light of dawn. She hadn’t felt this good in ages.
She stared at herself in the mirror and sighed, noting the trace of a smile that clung to her lips. Having Trevor here was good for her, facing her fears about their relationship like shining a light into the shadows and finding there was nothing to be afraid of, after all.