by J. S. Marlo
“He will be charged for uttering threats and wielding a weapon, but with his high blood alcohol level and a good lawyer, he may not serve time.” The detective didn’t conceal his frustration as he stood up. “Our justice system isn’t perfect, but at least we have one. I should get back to the station. Good luck, to both of you.”
***
The detective’s departure from the hospital room marked the end of a dreadful chapter for Riley, and by aiming at Isabella’s arm instead of her chest, it’d spared her the guilt of taking a human life.
A tender kiss touched her forehead. “What’s on that beautiful mind of yours?”
“It’s over, Blythe.” Her head against his chest, she closed her eyes.
He gently caressed her back. “Did you call the kids while you were at my apartment?”
“Yes, I did.” After he’d come out of surgery and the doctor told her he’d be fine, she’d gone to his apartment. She’d desperately needed a shower to get rid of Isabella’s blood. “They were relieved. Rowan is eager to meet you in person, and Hunter wishes you a speedy recovery.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll be up and running in no time. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”
Slowly opening her eyes, she reached for his chin where soft bristles teased the palm of her hand. “Good, because Hunter said there’ll be lots of work for you at the ranch once we rebuild.”
A smile formed near her fingers. “Next time, you tell him I intend to spend all my free time at the ranch, and that I’m looking forward to getting to know him and Little Shamrock better.”
That sounded like a lovely plan, one she couldn’t wait to set in motion.
“I’m not interrupting, am I?”
The deep voice startled her, and if not for Blythe’s arms holding her, she might have fallen off the side of the bed.
“Don’t move on my account, Kendrick. Not when you look that comfortable.” Martin stepped into the room, closed the door, and leaned his back against it. “What I’m going to say can’t leave this room. First, I want to offer my best wishes to both of you. Not everyone is given a second chance to be happy, so make the best of it.”
Stunned by the kind words coming out of his mouth, Riley stared at him in mute silence.
“That brings me to my second point. If I hear your pillow talks include character development, you’re both fired.”
Nice to hear that Martin’s charming personality didn’t vanish after all.
“Third, we have a problem. Season three was delivered to the networks last week. One count of premeditated murder and two counts of attempted murder against the lead actress and her subsequent death may not be the publicity they’re seeking for Wild Rescue.”
Isabella’s death signaled huge changes for Wild Rescue, but Riley hadn’t thought much of the ramifications yet.
“We have an executive meeting tomorrow to discuss the future of the series.”
She was confused as to why Martin confided in them. These were executive decisions that affected actors and writers, but in which they played no role.
“Riley and I get it. We may not have jobs tomorrow.”
“Actually, that’s number four. I’ve had an idea about a western series for some time. If the ax falls on Wild Rescue, could you both give me a month or two to explore the possibilities before you sign a contract with someone else?”
Stunned by Martin’s request, she looked at Blythe for confirmation that she’d heard what she thought she heard, and hadn’t misread between the lines.
“Are you saying you’d like me as the lead of a new series?” He sounded as shocked as she did. “And that you’d like Riley to be part of the writing team?”
“You started your career on a horse. She owns a ranch in cowboy land. That’d be familiar territory for both of you.”
“I can’t speak for Riley, but should I lose Carson, I’m willing to be content with guest roles until Christmas. After that, I’ll need to search for something more permanent.”
“Kendrick?”
The idea more than appealed to her. It thrilled her. “I’d like that.”
The door pushed against Martin’s back, jerking him forward. The producer swung it open and glared at the doctor standing there. “Don’t they teach you to knock at med school? Or do you think your white coat allows you to breach everyone’s privacy?”
Martin stormed out, slamming the door behind him, living up to his reputation. Still, for a few minutes, she’d glimpsed a different man, and that man had gained her respect and loyalty.
“Mr. Huxley.” Unfazed by the incident, the doctor flipped through a chart. “From what I could tell, the bullet skimmed the edge of the bulletproof vest and lodged in your side, just below the surface of your skin, without causing any damage. I removed the bullet. Keep the wound clean, and it should heal within a week or two.”
“Does that mean I can go home?”
“Yes, but I recommend you take it easy for the next few days.”
Chapter Forty-Three
Two weeks had passed since Isabella’s death, but her character was still very much alive, and Riley quickly learned to compartmentalize her feelings between Isabella and Vivian.
Wild Rescue survived the executive meeting, and the networks ordered a fourth and final season, but they demanded a different ending to Season Three, one that left Vivian’s fate hanging in the air.
Riley didn’t enjoy cliffhangers leading to a character’s death at the beginning of the next season, but the request would have delighted Paul had he showed up to work. To complicate matters, they needed to rely on pre-existing clips of Vivian to fill in the blanks of the new finale.
Running in the park helped her think up new possibilities while giving her a reprieve from the long hours she logged at the studio.
A messenger entered the office as she readied for her running break. “Speedy Plus. I have a letter for Andy Cormack.”
Andy was in a meeting with Martin, not something anyone wanted to interrupt.
“He’s busy right now.” She pointed at his desk. “You can leave it on top or you can come back later.”
The guy frowned at the options. “Would you sign for it?”
In exchange for her autograph, she received a thin envelope with Paul’s name and return address on it. She placed it on Andy’s desk, and eaten up from nose to tail with curiosity, she waited for his return before going for her run.
***
Filming commercials for the national and foreign networks that bought Wild Rescue occupied Blythe’s days until Andy and Riley came up with a script he could sink his teeth into. He hadn’t seen Riley all morning, but if she kept to her schedule, she’d soon change into her running clothes.
Her sudden presence on the set in black pants and a teal top, her purse slung over her shoulder, surprised him. She acknowledged his presence with a nod then stood by the coffee machine. As soon as the camera stopped rolling, he joined her. “Did you like the rolling spin I gave to Stay tuned. We’ll be rrright back?”
A smile blossomed on her lips. “I liked it. It sounded very French.”
Had they been home, he would have dragged her under the shower and murmured some sweet French words into her ear. “I’m on break for the next ninety minutes. I could go jogging with you if you haven’t gone yet.” The bullet injury had healed, and he was ready to get back on the running trail.
“I can’t. I need to go meet someone. Do you mind if I take the car?”
“No.” He’d given her a set of keys so she borrowed it as she pleased. “Is something wrong?”
“Yes. No. Not sure.”
The three disparate answers he’d received to his question raised his concerns. “Would you like me to go with you?”
“Yes, but I’m not sure you want to come with me.”
The statement increased his confusion. “You can explain as we walk.”
His hand pressed on the small of her back, he led her toward the staircase leading to the gar
age.
“It’s Paul.”
At the name, he paused on the landing between the two floors. “What did he do this time?”
As she stopped on the last step, she pulled a folded paper from her purse and handed it to him. “You need to read this to understand.”
He unfolded the letter and read aloud. “Andy. This is my official letter of resignation.” Stunned, he looked at her for an explanation. “Why?”
Her stunning green eyes rolled in their sockets. “Would you please read the entire thing before jumping to the wrong conclusion?”
“Andy,” he reread. “This is my official letter of resignation. Kendrick and I cannot coexist, and one of us has to quit. Since she isn’t going anywhere, I’ll clear my desk at the end of the week. Paul.” How dare the little weasel blame his resignation on her. “That’s tasteless, but good riddance.”
“But we’re swamped in the office, and Andy is less than impressed with his resignation. Since I seem to be the cause of his departure, he wants me to talk to Paul.”
“Andy wants you to convince Paul to stay?” There had to be other good writers on the payroll of the studio. Andy couldn’t be that desperate.
“He didn’t say it in that many words, but Paul has been with the show since the beginning. He knows every scene and every script inside out, and he’d have a better idea of which clip of Vivian to use in the new finale. Anyway…” A heavy sigh shook her chest. “I know how you feel about Paul. You don’t need to come with me to his apartment.”
To leave her alone with Paul, even for a minute, wasn’t an option he wanted to entertain. “Do you know where he lives?”
“On the south side. Andy gave me his address and directions how to get there.”
“Good.” He returned the letter to her before nudging his hand under her elbow. “You can be the navigator.”
***
Paul lived in a townhouse in the suburbs, the only one on his street with a burgundy front door.
With Blythe by her side, Riley rang the doorbell and waited. The door opened.
“Hello, Paul. May we come in?” She couldn’t tell if his thunderstruck expression was the result of the two black eyes he sported or from seeing her on his porch.
“What do you want? And what is he doing here? Is he still attached to your hip?”
The animosity between the two men hadn’t abated one iota. “What happened to your eyes?”
“It’s his fault.” Paul indicated Blythe with an angry finger before retreating inside. When he left the door open, she took it as a silent invitation to follow him into a messy living room.
“Did Blythe inflict the damage by wishful thinking?” To her knowledge, Blythe hadn’t seen Paul since the night he’d barged into the cabin with a knife.
“Don’t play innocent, Ryle.” Slouched on a faded-blue couch, he put his feet up on a glass table covered with X-rated magazines and dirty glasses. “You’ve been nothing but trouble from day one. Getting me arrested was a cheap shot.”
She wanted to grab the African violet dying in a pot on the bookcase next to her and throw it at his head. Not only did he hold a grudge as strongly as Ollie’s mother had, he refused to take any responsibility in his arrest. “You undermined me and threatened me at every turn. You made a much better suspect than Isabella.”
“I had an alibi for your shooting, Ryle. Besides, I couldn’t care less about you.”
“Really?” When he didn’t invite them to sit, she parked herself on the reclining chair across the table, next to the flat screen television. “What about those gifts you sent me when I arrived?”
“You had a cute ass. Even he noticed.” Paul’s head snapped toward Blythe who’d stayed in the archway between the entryway and the living room. “I figured my flattering would either send you running back to your hubby, or we’d have some fun together. Instead, you hooked up with him…” He threw another disdainful look toward Blythe before returning his attention to her. “And made my life miserable. If I’d wanted you dead, I would have killed you in the spring.”
“How nice.” The man showed no shame whatsoever toward her. “You just can’t take no for an answer, can you?”
“Don’t flatter yourself.” He grabbed the remote control from the armrest, turning the television on, but keeping the volume down. “I was no more interested in you than I was in his wife.”
“Is that so?” His hands tucked in the front pockets of his pants, Blythe leaned his shoulder against the archway. The nonchalant position offered a sharp contrast to the intense glare in his eyes. “You assaulted Claire less than two weeks before she was shot. Was I supposed to dismiss the coincidence?”
“How many more times will I need to tell you that I didn’t touch her?” Infuriated, Paul tossed the remote on the cushion next to him. “I was drunk, and I made a pass at her, but she’s the one who slammed her knee into my groin. If she hadn’t hit me, I wouldn’t have stumbled onto her and ripped her blouse. The damn accident was all her fault. Between you and her, I couldn’t eat or have sex for weeks. I should have sued both of you for assault.”
As she listened to the verbal confrontation, Riley glanced back and forth between the two men. That Paul had considered pressing charges didn’t surprise her. The man had no moral compass.
“So alcohol is your excuse for propositioning Claire and threatening Riley with a knife?”
That Blythe could remain calm and poised when all she wanted to do was clobber Paul, mystified her.
“No, but thinking your wife might want some fun for a change was clearly a mistake.” If this was an apology, he needed to work on his wording. “And confronting you in the cabin was poor judgment on my part after Bella filled my glass with whiskey and my head with lies about you. I’m doing my community service, I’m abstaining from alcohol, and I’m seeing a psychologist. Those are the terms of my plea bargain. If you’re not happy, talk to my lawyer.”
To hear Paul accept responsibility and seek help for his problems, even if he was forced to do it, slightly improved Riley’s disposition toward him. “What happened to your eyes?”
“Because of his accusations…” Paul glared at Blythe, again. “I had to provide Jackson with an alibi for the day you were shot. And for the record I did have a perfectly legitimate alibi. I was at the obstetrician’s, discussing the scene, and having sex with her. When her husband found out, she changed her story. The black eyes were his idea of teaching me a lesson for hooking up with his wife.”
A brow arched over Blythe’s frosty blue eye. “Poetic justice does exist.”
“Spare me your humor and get out.”
She had no intention of leaving until he answered all her questions. “Why are you resigning?”
“Don’t play innocent, Ryle. It never suited you.” The same look of contempt she’d seen in Paul’s eyes hundreds of times showed no sign of fading as he used it again. “If I keep working at the studio, you’ll dig up some imaginary dirt on me every time I don’t agree with you and feed it to Jackson. I don’t need the terms of my sentence to be revoked.”
“You think I’ll blackmail you?” That was the most ludicrous idea she’d heard coming out of his mouth, and she’d heard enough to write a novel. “I don’t have time to waste on you, Paul.” She took his resignation letter from her purse, ripped it in half, and tossed the pieces on the table between them. “Andy refuses your resignation. There’s work on your desk, so he suggests you show up at the office tomorrow, because I’m not picking up your slack. And if I ever report you to Jackson, it’ll be because you did something wrong, not because I’m seeking revenge. Good day, Paul.”
The ball was in his court. Either he stayed with the show or quit. She couldn’t care less.
Done with him, she stood. “And don’t forget to water your plant.”
***
As Blythe drove out of Paul’s neighborhood, Riley slipped her hand onto his thigh. “You’re awfully quiet.”
“Reminiscing. I know you ne
ver got to meet Claire, but she was a petite woman.” What his wife had lacked in physical strength she’d more than made up in courage and spirit. “When she told me she’d hit Paul, I didn’t picture the damage he said she inflicted.” While he didn’t condone violence, he couldn’t help but be proud of her. “I couldn’t understand—I didn’t want to understand why she wanted me to drop the issue.”
“You broke his jaw, Blythe, and if Claire flattened his wiener before he ripped her blouse, she might have been afraid he’d file charges against both of you.”
The colorful metaphor elicited a chuckle he couldn’t restrain. He hadn’t realized how much the Halloween party incident had haunted him until its shadow lifted from his past. As much as he loathed Paul, his version of the assault made sense and completed Claire’s account. And now that he had a better understanding of his wife’s actions, the disturbing memory no longer crawled under his skin.
“Claire told me he got what he deserved and urged me to forget it, but I couldn’t. I should have pressed her for details, but I was too upset over the incident. And then she got shot, and it was too late. She must have been so exasperated at me for letting the incident gnaw at me.”
“Claire was married to you for seventeen years, Blythe. I’m sure she got used to being exasperated.”
As he glanced at her, he caught a sweet, innocent smile dancing on her lips. He stopped the car near the corner of the street and turned toward her. “For your information, I was a perfect husband.”
“Really?” Her hand traveled from his leg to his chest where it played with a button. “You seem to forget I was married twice. Husband and perfection don’t fit in the same sentence, Blythe. They don’t even appear in the same paragraph.”
Chad and Oliver might not have been perfect, but she’d loved them and shared years of happiness with them, and now he longed to follow in their footsteps…though not quite to their graves.