Twist of Fate

by Mary Jo Putney

  Oscar rose from his warm spot by the fire and trotted over to greet the newcomers, tail wagging. Kate bent to stroke the silky fur. Old Oscar seemed to remember her, even after so many years. Then she straightened and saw a fourth person pacing restlessly at the far end of the room. Donovan.

  She froze, her pulse spiking. A good thing she'd broken some very thick ice by speaking to him earlier. Otherwise this unexpected meeting would be unbearable.

  He gave her a casual nod, but he was fidgeting with a half-empty glass, less relaxed than he pretended. She inclined her head as if expecting him, and took a seat as far away as possible.

  Actually, his presence made sense. Sam had probably left his former son-in-law a piece of the company, since Donovan had been a much more satisfactory "child" than either Kate or Tom. He'd stayed and worked in the business, providing the affection and companionship that Sam had wanted.

  For the thousandth time she thought that it was a great pity that neither of Sam's children had turned out as he'd hoped. It was an even greater pity that he hadn't been able to accept either of them as they were.

  After Julia and Kate settled themselves, Charles said, "It's late, we're all dead tired, so I'll get right to the point." His brows drew together as he ordered his thoughts. "Sam's will is unusual. Julia's financial security has already been assured, and of course she'll get this house. A substantial sum has also been designated for charity, and there are bequests for several other relatives. The rest of Sam's financial assets are to be divided equally between you, Kate, and Tom, while Phoenix Demolition will go to Donovan--but only if certain conditions are met."

  Kate stiffened, amazed that her father had made her and Tom heirs. This would mean so much to Tom, and not because of the amount of money involved.

  She glanced at her former husband, who looked startled and pleased, but also wary. His expression gave her second thoughts. There had to be more to the will, or Charles wouldn't have called this meeting. "What conditions?"

  The lawyer gave her a level look. "That you and Donovan live under the same roof for a year."

  Book Excerpt

  from

  The Spiral Path

  Book 2 of the Circle of Friends Trilogy

  Prologue

  Broad Beach, California

  Four Years Ago

  Being a sex symbol was a hell of a lot of work. Kenzie Scott came in from his morning beach run panting like a racehorse and covered with sweat. Some days he reached the euphoria of a runner's high. Other times exercise was pure torture, and this was one of them.

  His all-purpose household help, Ramon, silently handed him a cool glass of juice and disappeared back into the kitchen. Kenzie dropped onto the sofa in the family room, sipping his drink and watching the waves roll toward the beach. He could gaze at the sea forever, he sometimes thought. Wave after wave, eternally. Hypnotic, mindless peace.

  There were a couple dozen things he should be doing, but he wasn't in the mood for any of them, so he took a videotape from the haphazard stack teetering on the end table. Oscar voting time was coming up, and studios were inundating Academy members with screeners of nominated films. He glanced at the box. Home Free, featuring a nominee for Best Supporting Actress. Raine Marlowe.

  He'd heard good things about Raine Marlowe, but hadn't seen any of her work. He popped the tape into the VCR, then returned to the sofa with the remote.

  He felt a tingle of anticipation as the opening credits appeared. He'd never outgrown his blind love of movies. The best memories of his childhood were the hours he spent mesmerized in the dark safety of movie theaters. Though becoming an actor had seemed impossible, he'd made it. Along the way he'd learned a lot about the complex skills required by filmmaking, yet he'd never lost the sense of wonder that movies always stirred in him.

  Home Free, a low-budget family drama that had done unexpectedly well, was just getting interesting when the phone rang. His assistant. Josh, wouldn't have let the call through if it wasn't important, so Kenzie hit the VCR mute button and lifted the phone.

  His manager, Seth Cowan, said, "Morning, Kenzie. Have you looked at any of the scripts I sent over?"

  "I looked at them, they looked at me. So far, nothing else has happened."

  "Never mind. I've just got a call about a role I'd really like you to think hard about. Have you heard that a remake of The Scarlet Pimpernel is in the works?"

  "Vaguely." Though Kenzie had always liked the story of Sir Percy Blakeney, who pretended to be a fop while risking his life to save French aristocrats from the guillotine, at the moment he was more interested in the silent characters on his wide screen television. "Pimpernel is one of the all-time great adventures, but it's hard to see how a new version could be better than the one with Anthony Andrews and Jane Seymour. Why another remake?"

  "For starters, this is a feature, not a television movie. It also has a terrific script, as good as the Andrews-Seymour version." Seth paused dramatically. "Plus, Jim Gomolko is directing, and he wants to open the bedroom door for the love scenes, which hasn't been done in earlier versions."

  Kenzie rolled his eyes. "Sex does not automatically improve a movie."

  "In this case, it adds dimension to the relationship. Sir Percy and Marguerite are married, after all. If that physical bond is made clear, the pain of separation and distrust will be that much more vivid."

  "Good point."

  "Plus, costume dramas are hot, and this would be a nice change for you. You can be dashing, romantic, and eighteenth century all at once." Seth finished by rattling off the names of the producer, the cinematographer, and the others involved in the production. All top people. "They really, really want you for the Pimpernel."

  "Everyone wants me," Kenzie said dryly. When he'd dreamed of movies in smoky British theaters, he'd had no idea how exhausting success would be. "But you're right, it might be a nice change of pace. Who do they want for Marguerite?"

  While Seth listed the names of several well-known young actresses, Kenzie watched a battered car pull up to the curb on his television screen. The family's prodigal daughter was returning. The camera cut to a pair of excellent female legs swinging from the driver's side of the vehicle, then panned slowly up a slight figure. Clothes hanging a little loose, brown hair pulled starkly back...

  Kenzie sucked in his breath as the camera reached the girl's face. This had to be Raine Marlowe. She had "star" written all over her, effortlessly dominating the screen even in her drab costume.

  Why was she so compelling? Not from beauty, though she had a face the camera loved. But mere beauty was boringly common in Hollywood. There was something much rarer about Raine Marlowe's presence, a quality that struck to the soul, or would if he had one. A combination of fierce intelligence, honesty, and aching vulnerability. He wanted to pull her out of the screen for a conversation. He wanted to stroll with her across Pacific sands. He wanted...

  "Kenzie, have you heard a word I've said in the last five minutes?" Seth asked.

  His gaze followed Raine as she walked down a shabby city street toward a reunion she knew would be painful. Even with her back to the camera, she drew the eye. Fear and determination were visible in every step she took. "They're hot to get me for the Pimpernel, they're willing to pay an indecent amount of money, and you think I should take the role."

  Seth laughed. "Someday you're going to have to show me how you always know exactly what's going on even when you seem to be out to lunch. If you're interested, I'll send the script over. It's damned good."

  Kenzie watched the tense female figure disappear into a run-down apartment building. 'Tell the Pimpernel people I'll consider taking the part if they get Raine Marlowe for Marguerite."

  Seth hesitated. "I don't know, Kenzie. They've been looking at English actresses. Plus, Gomolko wants a lot of screen chemistry between his two leads."

  The camera moved in for a close-up as Raine Marlowe paused outside an apartment door. She was lovely in her bones. "I think chemistry can be arra
nged," Kenzie said thoughtfully. "If they want me, they get Ms. Marlowe. If they prefer another Marguerite, I'm sure there are plenty of other actors who will do splendidly as Sir Percy Blakeney."

  After a calculating pause, Seth said, "The girl is supposed to be a good actress, so she should be able to handle the accent. She's also new enough that she might come cheap. I'll tell them what you said." The negotiating process had begun.

  "Thank you." Kenzie hung up the phone and restored the sound to Home Free. Raine Marlowe's voice was exactly what it should be, a flexible instrument full of aching hope as she hesitantly greeted the mother she hadn't seen in years. Her soft tones flowed over him like brandied chocolate, sinking into his mind and emotions. She'd make an excellent Marguerite.

  This version of The Scarlet Pimpernel would open the bedroom door?

  Hollywood power was a very useful commodity.

  ACT I

  Setting the Stage

  Chapter 1

  Broad Beach, California

  Spring, Present Day

  The trouble with reality was that it was so damned real. Stomach churning, Raine Marlowe punched her security code into the control box of the beachfront mansion's private gates. If Kenzie had changed the codes, she'd have to come up with a new plan.

  Not that her husband had any reason to be paranoid where she was concerned. Their separation was terribly, terribly civilized. No property disputes, a nice little no-fault divorce that should be final in a few months. The tabloids had been reduced to making up quotes out of whole cloth to make the story more interesting.

  Motors purred and the ironwork gates swung smoothly open. As she drove her Lexus through, she gave a sigh of relief. She'd made it over the first, and easiest, hurdle.

  She parked in front of the sprawling house's entrance and climbed from the car. Even for a professional actress, the performance she was about to give would be hideously difficult.

  As she walked up the expensively landscaped path, she girded herself for the coming encounter. Her carefully chosen costume consisted of a briefcase-sized shoulder bag and a black Armani suit to show she meant business, with enough discreet cleavage to show she was a woman.

  On the front steps she halted, unexpectedly paralyzed by the endless rush of breaking surf. The sensual sound snapped her back to nights when she and Kenzie lay side by side in bed. Though she missed the lovemaking desperately, even more she missed the conversation. In the stillness of night there'd been no stardom or competition or tabloid reporters. Just the two of them--a man and woman linking hands as they talked lazily about their days, the work they both loved, how much they'd missed each other during their frequent separations.

  She wondered with clinical detachment how long the pain would be so devastating. In time, she supposed the anguish and gut-wrenching loss must fade because no one could live at such a level of misery. But relief wouldn't come any time soon, particularly not if Kenzie agreed to her proposition.

  Face set, she tapped in her code to unlock the front door. This one hadn't been changed, either.

  She stepped into the foyer and immediately checked the discreetly hidden security panel. Unarmed. Kenzie had always been careless about arming the system when he was home. Sometimes she wondered if he'd come to believe his own invulnerable movie roles, where he could decimate whole armies of villains without receiving more than a few bruises and maybe a carefully placed flesh wound.

  This early on a Sunday morning, the house was silent. The Filipino couple who lived in a separate cottage and cared for the house and its occupant would be at mass now, but Kenzie should be home. She'd charmed his schedule out of his assistant, Josh Burke, who'd always liked her. Since her husband was in the final stages of shooting an exhausting action picture, he planned to spend a quiet day at home. Perfect for her purposes. "Kenzie?"

  No answer. She checked the spacious kitchen, whose tiled floor and backsplash had the rich warmth of a Tuscan villa. Empty, and no signs that her husband had made breakfast here.

  He wasn't in the living room, nor in the ground floor exercise room. Damn. He was probably still sleeping.

  Hoping to God he was alone, Rainey climbed the sweeping staircase. The house was contemporary, designed to capture sunlight and take advantage of the magnificent, staggeringly expensive beach frontage. Kenzie had already owned the house when they married, and she'd been happy to move in.

  He loved the sea. In fanciful moments Rainey had wondered if he might be a selkie, one of the legendary Celtic creatures who lived in the ocean as seals and on land as mysterious, dangerously attractive men. The legend certainly explained a lot, such as the fact that sometimes she felt as if she and Kenzie came from different planets.

  Would it have made a difference if they'd bought a new house together and entered as equals? Probably not. He'd encouraged her to redecorate to make this place as much hers as his. They'd had great fun choosing carpets and furniture...

  Hell. When would she stop thinking of them as a couple? She reminded herself that it had only been a few months since their marriage had exploded, so neurosis was natural. She headed to the master bedroom suite. With every step, her stomach knotted tighter. She considered bolting and contacting Kenzie through Seth Cowan, but the manager would be against Kenzie taking this job. She must risk a personal meeting if she was to have any chance of getting what she wanted.

  A rap on the bedroom door produced no reply. Steeling herself, she opened it

  She sighed with relief to see Kenzie sprawled on the bed alone. Given the way women pursued him, there could easily have been an eager film student or ambitious starlet sharing the wide mattress, and Rainey would have had no right to complain. Months had passed, divorce papers were wending their way through the courts, and it wasn't as if either of them had ever claimed to love the other.

  She entered the bedroom, letting her high heels click on the Spanish tile floor like castanets. Kenzie's eyes opened. Despite the instant recognition and wariness visible in the green depths, he didn't move a muscle. He simply lay as still as a lion. "Good morning, Rainey." So blasted civilized.

  Keeping her distance, she said, "Sorry to disturb you this early, but I have a business proposition for you."

  Kenzie propped himself up against the headboard, bare to the waist. His dark hair was tousled with a sensual abandon that a stylist would have been proud to produce. "Indeed? Tell me about it."

  She was going to have to make her pitch to a naked man. Well, she'd done stranger things. She paced across the vast bedroom, tension reflected in her short, quick steps. "You know I've been working on a screenplay."

  "Hard to overlook the endless series of yellow lined tablets you consumed in your trailer when on location," he said dryly. "You finished it?"

  "Done, and almost through preproduction." She'd buried herself in the project in a frantic attempt to hold pain at bay. Every penny she could spare had gone into setting up a production company to do the prep work. "I've got most of a cast and crew lined up, and a financing package put together. With a bankable star, I'll get the green light."

  "I presume this is where I come in."

  "Your signature on a letter of intent would secure all the financing I need," she said bluntly. "I hear your next movie has fallen through so you have the time free, and God knows you love to work." That had been one of the problems in their marriage. Despite his laidback appearance, Kenzie was a workaholic.

  "I doubt you can afford me. What's your budget for the film?"

  "The total budget is about half the salary you're getting for the movie you're shooting now." She rubbed damp palms on her skirt "Though I can't afford your usual price, I've built in a million dollars for salary, plus major profit participation. With even modest success, you'll do very well." A lot better than she would. "It won't hurt your market value to work on a little picture like this. People will know you're just helping your ex-wife out." Her voice turned sardonic. "That will enhance your nice guy image."

  "So I'l
l make money, and look like a gentleman," he said, unimpressed. "I don't need either, and the drawbacks of working with you greatly outweigh the advantages."

  She caught his gaze. "You're perfect for the part, Kenzie. And it's the kind that wins Oscars."

  Though he didn't move so much as an eyelash, she had his full attention. After a long silence, he said, "Let's talk about it in the gym. A couple of your exercise outfits are still down there."

  She was going to have to continue her pitch while doing leg lifts and bicep curls? Well, if that's what it took...."Okay. I could use the workout."

  She left before he climbed from the bed, unable to bear the intimacy of seeing him casually naked. As she headed for the gym, she wondered for the thousandth time if they'd had a real marriage. At the time she'd felt close to him, despite the subjects undiscussed and the declarations unmade. They'd managed to get beyond die movie star thing.

  Yet even at their closest, she'd never truly understood Kenzie. He was as much a mystery to her now as when they'd met Even more so, perhaps.

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  Rainey had been jubilant when her agent called to ask her to read for the part of Marguerite St. Just in The Scarlet Pimpernel. Though she loved making small, quirky movies and had built a decent career with them, Pimpernel was the big-time: big budget, big names, and a rousing classic story.

  She immersed herself in the script for days before her audition, until she knew exactly who Marguerite was. She even booked sessions with a dialect coach to help her create an alluring French accent, and a movement coach to teach her to curtsy and dance in proper eighteenth-century style.

  As she arrived at the studio, one of Hollywood's hottest young female stars was leaving the audition room. Well, she hadn't expected the competition to be easy.