by JoAnn Ross
Julia couldn't decide which she found more annoying: The idea of having to squeeze herself into a sexy, Amanda-style cocktail dress and toe-pinching shoes so she could chat up the natives, or Finn answering her phone,
"You're not going," he said after she'd hung up.
She lifted a brow. "I beg your pardon?"
"Nice take. It's the same duchess-to-peasant tone Amanda used with her yoga instructor, right before she got naked and taught him a new twist on the cobra pose."
That episode was from the beginning of last season, when River Road had been switched from its usual slot of Monday night to the supposedly dead zone of Friday. To hopefully keep their target audience at home on date night, Amanda had blazed through men like a brush fire in the Hollywood Hills.
"My, my, you have been doing your homework."
"I figured I should get a take on all the players." He rocked back on his heels. "So, which were you wearing in that scene? The nude bodysuit or the flesh-colored bikini?"
"Why don't I just leave that to your imagination? If you even have one."
He rubbed his jutting jaw. "Now that you mention it, I can't recall receiving one with my gun and shield when I graduated from the Academy."
Oh, he was a cool one. If they ever made a movie about that serial killer he'd tracked down, Tommy Lee Jones would be a shoo-in to play him. Jones might have a good fifteen years on Finn Callahan, but she couldn't think of any other actor who could portray so much rigidly controlled energy.
"Perhaps we can work on that imagination problem." Amanda rose from inside her and skimmed a fingernail down the front of his shirt.
Long dark fingers circled her wrist as he plucked her hand from his chest. "Just so we won't have any misunderstanding, as appealing as you admittedly are, for the next two weeks you're a case, like any other. Though you do smell better than most."
"Damned with faint praise." Even though she'd been attempting to jerk his chain, Julia was a bit miffed by his rejection. "Are you saying you're not interested?"
"I'm saying that I may be more selective than the men you're used to in L.A."
"Well, that's certainly to the point. And less than flattering."
Having always believed herself more like her calm, collected mother rather than her intense, passion-driven father, Julia was surprised to discover-he'd tapped into a hidden temper.
"It wasn't meant to be flattering. Or an insult. I was merely explaining why, if you're expecting to ease small town boredom by having hot sex with your bodyguard every night, you're going to be disappointed."
"Believe me, Callahan, a woman would need a great deal more imagination than I possess to expect hot anything from you."
"Good shot." Even though he acknowledged the hit, it irked her that he didn't appear gravely wounded. Nor did he suggest proving her accusation wrong.
"Thank you." She tossed her head. "And while we're laying our cards on the table, you should know right off the bat that not only have I taken self-defense training, I also don't intend to allow anyone or anything to keep me from living my life. Which is why I'm going to that party tonight."
"Good idea." His tone said otherwise. He took hold of her chin, lifted her face to the lamp light, and skimmed a calloused finger beneath her eyes. "You look like someone's slugged you."
" Is that an example of your detecting skills?" She'd seen the shadows herself this morning, glaring evidence that unwilling concerns about her stalker's possible return had disturbed her sleep. Obviously the concealer she'd paid a small fortune for at Saks had worn off.
"I don't have to be a detective to see you haven't been sleeping. I'd think, since you have a busy day tomorrow, you'd want to go to bed early."
"I seem to recall suggesting something along those lines. But you turned me down." Because his touch was distracting her more than hers had appeared to affect him, she moved away. "And I don't really want to go, but it's part of the job description. The parish commissioners want to meet Amanda. How do you think it'd affect your brother's election chances if she doesn't show up?"
Good point, Finn thought reluctantly, torn between loyalty to his brother and his assignment. He also found it more than a little interesting that she referred to her character in the third person, as if she were making a mental distinction between them.
She tilted her head, studying him. "What are we going to tell people?"
"About what?"
"About what you're doing here with me."
"Why do you have to tell anyone anything?"
"Because for some reason, since I appear in their living rooms every week, people are unreasonably curious about my life and it's always best to have a story ready."
A story. It did not escape his attention that she didn't suggest telling the truth.
"Why don't you just say we're friends?"
"I don't know." She looked up at him. "That may be a bit beyond my acting ability, but I suppose I could try." She glanced down at a diamond-studded watch, yet another reminder to Finn that he and Julia Summers lived in entirely different worlds. "Now, if you're through throwing your weight around, Special Agent, I believe I'll unpack and get ready to dazzle."
As she left the room, even though he'd professed a lack of imagination, Finn had no difficulty hearing the bell signaling the end of round three.
Chapter 9
She had to be out of her mind. She didn't even like Finn Callahan. So why had she thrown Amanda in front of him?
"Because you're not certain you can handle him," Julia decided as she wiggled out of her jeans. Even in Los Angeles, where you could throw a stick on Rodeo Drive and hit a dozen women more beautiful than she was, Julia was more accustomed to fighting men off than having to work to get their attention. "Amanda's tougher."
It wasn't as if he hadn't noticed her, she mused as she pulled the T-shirt over her head. A seamless flesh-hued bra followed. Stripped down to a pair of panties, she opened the suitcase some unseen bellman had delivered to her room, shook the wrinkles out of the dress she'd packed specifically for this party, then dashed into the adjoining bathroom to touch up her makeup.
A thought occurred to her as she was brushing on mascara. "What if he doesn't like women?"
She dismissed that idea the moment it entered her mind. He might be frustratingly remote, he might have ice water in his veins. But he was the least gay man she'd ever met.
Amanda could have him begging. On his knees. With that mental image providing some much needed amusement, Julia returned to the living room.
Finn had figured that since she seemed to view the party as yet another acting gig, she'd be dressed to kill. He'd definitely hit that one right on the money.
As she strolled out of the bedroom with a sultry, hip-swinging walk wearing—or not wearing was probably a more accurate description— a black outfit designed to make any male still alive below the waist swallow his tongue, Finn decided men were going to be walking into walls all over Blue Bayou.
The strapless top had been cut off just below her breasts and was connected to a hip-hugger skirt with two narrow black lace panels.
"Well?" she asked. Finn wondered how she managed to twirl on those ankle-breaking ice-pick high heels to show a mouthwatering expanse of bare back. "Do you think I'll help your brother's reelection chances?"
She wasn't going to get to him. She was a case, a favor for Nate. That was all. It was all he'd allow it to be.
As she completed the circle, Finn had to remind himself he'd outgrown thinking with his glands a very long time ago.
"If he claims credit for bringing you to town, he's definitely going to get all the male votes in the parish."
"Well, that's a start. Perhaps he can work on the women's votes himself."
"I don't think he'll have any problem with those. I do have one question."
"Oh?"
"How does that top stay up?"
"That's for me to know." She combed a hand through her hair, the gesture doing interesting things to h
er breasts, which Finn figured must be as bare as her back beneath that skimpy strip of material. When she smiled he felt a punch of something hot, lethal, and decidedly unwanted in his gut. "And you to find out."
"I guess some mysteries are destined to remain unsolved." Unreasonably tempted to touch, Finn slipped his hands into his slacks. "We need to talk before we go downstairs. I want you to give me a rundown on all the players."
She shook her head and sighed. "You really do have a one-track mind, Callahan." Silk swished against smooth, bare thighs as she sauntered over to the fruit basket on the desk. "It's been a long day and I skipped lunch. I'd better eat something so the alcohol won't go to my head."
She plucked out a Red Delicious apple and held it out to him. "Would you care for a bite?"
Because both the gesture and the throaty purr were so blatantly Amanda-suggestive, Finn laughed. "I think I'll pass."
"Suit yourself." She shrugged and exchanged the apple for a ripe yellow banana, peeling the fruit with exaggerated slowness. "Where shall we begin?"
"With the photograph. Do you still have it?"
"No. I threw it away. And before you jump on my case about preserving evidence, I'd managed to convince myself it was only a practical joke."
"Yet it upset you enough not to want to keep it."
She shrugged her bare shoulders. "I don't keep junk mail, either."
When those perfect white teeth bit into the flesh of the banana, obscene thoughts ricocheted through his mind. Did she realize what she was doing to him? Hell, of course she did. The woman was a pro.
"What about the blonde?"
"Felissa?"
"Yeah. How do you two get along?"
"We don't run in the same circles—she's into the nightclub party scene—but we have a good working relationship."
"No professional jealousy?"
"Not on my part."
"How about hers?"
Julia considered that. "She's competitive, as everyone who lasts in this business has to be, but I don't think she stays awake nights counting lines to see which of us has more. And she's a very good actress."
"But she's not going to be the Bond Girl."
"True. And while I suspect she must have been disappointed about that, she says she never expected to win the role anyway."
"She was up for the part?"
"Yes."
"So you beat her?"
"It wasn't anything personal. They simply wanted another look."
"Hot, dangerous, black widow sex."
The director had used the same description. "There's always a measure of danger in a Bond film. I play a biophysicist who's an undercover SPECTRE agent assigned to assassinate 007, but falls in love with him instead. I think it also may have helped that I've had some martial arts training."
"Really." He sounded unconvinced.
"After I was mugged last year, I took a self-defense class at the gym. There was a woman there who introduced me to ninjitsu. I'm certainly not any expert, but I know some moves."
"Do your parents know their daughter's learning to be a ninja warrior?"
"Ninjitsu is far more about defense and spirituality," she countered. "Real ninjas, like in the movies, don't exist anymore. It may have helped me win the part, since they wrote it into the story. A stunt woman's going to be doing all the long shots, of course, since I'm not that proficient. But I believe what clinched my getting the role was the fact that I've not only seen all the movies, but read the books, as well. So, I know Bond's back story."
"You've read Ian Fleming?" He didn't bother to mask his surprise.
"There you go again, stereotyping."
"Profiling."
"Whatever. I'll bet you were guessing Jackie Collins."
"It fits. You're both part of the Hollywood scene."
"Please. I am as far from whatever people mean when they say the Hollywood scene as anyone in the business can possibly be, but actually I enjoy Collins. I also read Kafka. And Longfellow." She smiled sweetly. "I've very eclectic tastes."
"So it seems."
"I also realize some people consider James Bond merely a cartoon character, but that's only because there've been some bad movies made. The books are just filled with wonderful details about 007's spiritual and physical fluctuations. And From Russia With Love just happened to have been one of President Kennedy's top ten favorite books."
"How do you know that? You weren't even born when Kennedy was alive."
"You're not the only one who can do your homework. I know everything about the character and the stories."
"Okay, I'll bite," Finn said, amazed that he and this woman might have anything in common. "Who's the only man 007 answers to?"
"That's too easy. It's M, of course. Head of MI6. And it hasn't always been a man. Bernard Lee played M from Dr. No to Moonraker, then was replaced by Robert Brown. Their relationship was always a bit of a roller coaster, but things turned really ugly when Bond pushed him too far in License to Kill.
"The third M to play the part is Judith Dench, who's marvelous. She doesn't care for Bond's attitude, but thinks very highly of him. Is any of this pertinent?"
He shrugged broad shoulders more suited to an NFL linebacker than a federal agent. "You never know what's pertinent. Which is why it's best to cover all the bases."
"Felissa's no threat."
"I've heard that before. Had you gotten threats before winning the Bond role?"
"Of course I have. It comes with the territory, when you play a woman who'd seduce her stepsister's husband so she can claim he's the father of her child. Just last week, a woman in Blockbuster slapped me because Amanda had held her third husband's nitroglycerin pills out of reach when he was having his fatal heart attack."
"Does that happen a lot? People confusing you with your character?"
He wouldn't appreciate the charge that he seemed to fit in that category, as well. Though that wasn't surprising, since she kept throwing Amanda at him.
"Viewers occasionally blur the lines between fiction and reality."
"Terrific. So we're looking at several million potential suspects who'd like you dead."
"You have such a way with words, Callahan. If what I've seen so far is any indication, I've no doubt you have people lined up around the block to confess to crimes they haven't committed."
The accusation merely bounced off those wide shoulders. "Tell me about the pretty boy who plays Jared."
"Shane? He's definitely ambitious and wouldn't hesitate to sleep his way up the Hollywood ladder, but he's basically harmless and would never commit violence to get ahead. It also wouldn't make any sense for him to kill me, since his character's recent adultery with Amanda has really boosted his on-screen time."
"But you're leaving the show. He's probably not real keen on the idea."
"I wouldn't know. Why don't you ask him?"
"I will. What's your relationship with him?"
"I find him somewhat amusing, though I'm no fan of his practical jokes. But he shows up each day with his lines memorized, he doesn't eat garlic before a lovemaking scene, and our chemistry is good onscreen, which is important in a soap. And before you ask, I'm not sleeping with him, if that's what you're getting at."
"Have you ever?"
"No." She dared him to challenge that statement, but he merely shrugged again and seemed to take her at face value.
"How about the director? Ever sleep with him?"
"What are you? The morality police?"
"I wouldn't care if you and Hogan dress up tike Tarzan and Jane and swing from the chandeliers. I'm just trying to get a handle on where the guy fits on a suspect list."
"He doesn't belong on it in the first place. Randy has a wife and six children."
"Some women might not be bothered by that."
"I'm not one of them." Julia felt the anger bubbling up and managed to control it. "Besides, he's not the type of man to commit adultery." Her eyes narrowed. "Or are you so suspicious of everyone, you're i
ncapable of imagining someone staying true to wedding vows?"
"Sure, I believe in fidelity. But not everyone does."
"My relationship with Randy is strictly professional, Callahan."
"News flash. There's not a man on the planet who could keep his thoughts strictly professional around you."
"Really?" She tilted her head, intrigued by the idea she may have just found a chink in his armor after all. "Does that include you?"
"I said I wasn't interested. I didn't say I was dead. So, let's talk about the actress who plays the former hooker."
"Margot." Realizing that he intended to work his way through the entire list of cast and crew, Julia let out a frustrated breath, leaned back in the chair, crossed her legs, and wished she'd just picked up the damn phone and gotten this interrogation over with last night.
Chapter 10
Julia recognized Nate Callahan immediately. His eyes were a warm and inviting lake blue rather than Finn's lighter, chillier hue; his appealingly shaggy hair sun-tipped chestnut instead of black; his body, toned in a way that suggested physical work, lankier and more loose limbed than his brother. But there was no mistaking the resemblance in the masculine self-confidence surrounding him like an aura.
"You have a lovely town," she said after he'd welcomed her to Blue Bayou.
"We like it." His grin was quick and charming. "And the scenery's sure gotten a lot prettier in the past few hours."
"Aren't you sweet?" She smiled up at him. "And ever so much more agreeable than your brother."
"Handsomer, too."
She appeared to give that appropriate consideration, then fluttered her lashes in a blatantly flirtatious Scarlett O'Hara look that would have gotten her kicked off the most amateur middle school production of Gone with the Wind. "I do believe I ended up with the wrong brother."
"If you want to pass a good time, you probably did. But if you want to keep some nutcase from harassing you, you couldn't be in better hands, Ms. Summers."
"So Agent Callahan has already told me. And it's Julia." She glanced over at the clutch of people standing across the room, watching them with interest. She slipped her arm in his. "Since this is supposed to be a getting-acquainted party, why don't you introduce me to your parish council?" she suggested.