Reunion

by Karen Kingsbury; Karen Kingsbury

  Especially now.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The Manhattan shoot was just about wrapped up, and Dayne Matthews could hardly wait. After his quick trip to Los Angeles, he’d placed both photos on the top shelf of the coat closet in his Manhattan apartment.

  Out of sight, out of mind.

  At least that’s what he told himself when he showed up for work that Monday and every day after that. He had no idea what to make of the strange resemblance in the two photos. They couldn’t be the same person; things like that simply didn’t happen. The fact was, everyone had a twin. He’d heard people in show business talk that way more times than he could remember. Casting directors would want a Robert Redford type or a Ben Affleck look-alike. And always they could find them. Why? Because everyone had a double out there, someone who looked just like them.

  That had to be the explanation for why his birth mother looked so much like Luke Baxter’s mother. It would also explain the strange way he and Luke looked alike. After all, Luke had to be ten years younger than him, at least. There was no way the resemblance was anything but coincidence.

  His birth mother was probably in Alaska somewhere, not New York City.

  Either way, as soon as he hid the photos in his closet he felt better, more able to concentrate on the matter at hand—a multimillion-dollar picture in which he was the star. At this point in his career he couldn’t afford to be anything but right on. As much as he was the media’s golden boy today, they would turn on him in a heartbeat if he churned out a flop.

  And it was up to him. He owed it to the director, the producer, the supporting cast, his leading lady, Sarah Whitley. All of them were depending on him, and he wouldn’t let them down.

  He had decided one thing. The day the shoot was over, before he headed back to Malibu and his place on the beach and the other shooting they still had to do in California and in British Columbia, he would go to Luke Baxter’s office once more. He would return the photo he’d taken and explain the strange way Luke’s mother looked like the woman who had given him birth. He would ask a few questions, just in case maybe the two women were related somehow. And then he’d put the entire ordeal out of his mind forever.

  Today was that day.

  Shooting would wrap up any minute, and Dayne had heard from everyone on the set that this picture was going to be his strongest yet. He glanced at his trailer. He had the photo tucked inside his leather portfolio, waiting just inside the door.

  “Okay, people.” The director stood up and brushed his hands together. It was the first time he’d smiled all week. “I’m happy to say that’s a wrap.” He pointed at a group of extras milling about a few yards away. “We need to take another go at that alley shot, the one where you’re the patrons running out of the back entrance of the bar. It wasn’t clean the first time, but I’m sure we’ll get it in the next hour or so.” His grin inched its way up his cheeks. “The rest of you . . . you’re all invited to a dinner dance at the Marquis at seven o’clock tonight. You’ll need your ID badge at the door.” He clapped twice. “Good work, people.” His eyes worked the area until he found Dayne. “And you, Matthews. Best work I’ve seen from you yet. Congratulations!”

  Dayne pumped his fist in the air. Sarah Whitley was standing beside him, and he looped his arm around her waist and swung her in a circle. “We did it, baby!”

  The others began milling off the set in different directions, but Sarah worked her fingers into his hair. “Yes, we did!” She kissed him square on the lips.

  A few people hooted and howled as the kiss continued, but when Dayne drew back, he and Sarah were both laughing. “Wow.” He gave a shake of his head.

  “That’ll teach you to forget to kiss me.” She raised her eyebrows, sultry and suggestive, as she turned and walked toward her trailer. Looking back over her shoulder, she winked, and her come-on look was replaced by the gold-mine smile he was more familiar with. “See you tonight.”

  Dayne lifted one hand and held it there, watching her go. No question Sarah Whitley had been playing with him these past few weeks. She would linger next to him after a scene was over, flirting with him, teasing him, pushing him on to his best performance. The director frowned on relationships during the shoot, but now that it was over . . .

  “Hmmm,” he muttered. Then he turned and headed for his trailer.

  Sarah was the hottest leading lady in Hollywood and maybe, if he played his cards right, after tonight she’d belong to him. At least for a while, a few months, maybe six. As long as most of his Hollywood relationships lasted.

  No matter how great she was, his thoughts of Sarah vanished as soon as he opened his trailer door. He’d had his agent call ahead earlier to make sure Luke’s office would still be open early tonight.

  “Okay.” His agent hadn’t sounded suspicious, just curious. “What’s your interest, Matthews?”

  “Nothing.” Dayne had managed a lighthearted chuckle. “Just a personal touch. Wanted to thank Joe for making that last contract come together.”

  “I see.” His agent clearly approved. “Public relations, then; is that it?”

  “Right.”

  The arrangement was made for five o’clock, assuming the shoot was wrapped up by then. Dayne only hoped Luke Baxter would still be there. He could hardly have had his agent ask for Luke, when Joe was his attorney. He grabbed the portfolio and considered changing clothes. His black T-shirt and jeans weren’t so bad, but he didn’t have a hat handy.

  He shot a look at his watch. Four-fifteen.

  Forget the hat. He grabbed the portfolio, stepped around the side of the trailer and out onto the streets behind it. His personal assistant would box up his things and make sure they were sent to his Manhattan apartment. He didn’t have time for a hat or any other disguise. If he wanted to find Luke Baxter, he had to go now.

  His feet moved fast, keeping to the pace of commuter traffic along the busy street. Halfway to the attorneys’ offices, three women walking toward him shrieked, “Dayne Matthews! Look, it’s Dayne Matthews!”

  He looked up, flashed his standard grin, and tried to keep walking. But across the street a group of tourists heard the cry and jaywalked over for an autograph. They were scrounging pieces of paper from their purses and wallets and looking for a pen when he realized it was better to stop and cooperate than to lead a parade of fans through Manhattan.

  “Hi.” He smiled at the women first.

  “Sign something for us, Dayne.” One of the women jumped up and down and grabbed his arm. “You’re more gorgeous in person than on the big screen.”

  “Thanks.” He felt his cheeks get hot. No matter how often this happened, he could never get used to the idea of perfect strangers coming on to him, acting as if they were old friends. He signed a receipt from the lady’s shopping bag and looked around at what had become a small crowd.

  All the people waiting had something to tell him, opinions about which of his films they liked best, and questions about his current movie, the one they’d just wrapped up.

  The encounter took twenty minutes, and Dayne motioned to the nearest doorman when it looked like more people might cross the street to see what the commotion was. Above the small crowd he mouthed the word, “Help!”

  The doorman nodded, parted the group of fans, and took Dayne by the elbow. “You’re needed inside, sir.”

  “Yes.” Dayne shrugged at the people still approaching. “Sorry.”

  Once inside, Dayne pulled a twenty-dollar bill from his pocket and tipped the doorman. “You saved my day. Thanks.”

  The man was older, probably in his fifties. He pulled a slip of paper and a pen from his pocket and handed it to Dayne. “For my daughter?”

  Dayne uttered a single laugh. “Sure.”

  When he was done, he made his way through the lobby and out the other side of the building. The move saved him a bit of walking, but it was almost five o’clock. He kept his head low and walked even faster.

  This time when he arrived
at the office, he merely nodded to the receptionist and gestured with his chin toward the back rooms. He never broke stride. “I have an appointment with Joe Morris.”

  “Very well, Mr. Matthews. I’ll tell him you’re on your way.”

  “Thanks.” Dayne turned down the hall, passed the office belonging to Joe Morris, and continued on to Luke Baxter’s. He knocked once at the door, and then a second time, more sharply. When there was no answer, he opened the door and his heart sank.

  Luke was gone, and his desk was completely cleared.

  Maybe the guy didn’t work there anymore, or maybe he was gone for the summer. Either way Dayne wasn’t sure what to do with the photograph in his portfolio. He couldn’t very well leave with it or mail it back to the office later. After today he didn’t want to think about Luke Baxter or the photo he’d taken from the guy’s desk. Dayne glanced out the office door and down the hallway. No one was watching, no one was expecting him to be working a covert, possibly illegal, operation in the empty law office of some seasonal law clerk.

  Moving quickly, he set the portfolio on Luke’s desk, opened the flap, and pulled the picture out. He started to put it on the edge of the desk, where it had been the day he took it. But he stopped. It would look strange, standing there by itself. Strange enough that someone might connect his visit with the return of the photo. After all, Luke must have noticed it was missing. The entire office might be on alert looking for the picture of Luke Baxter’s mother.

  The shelf, that’s where it would look more hidden. If he was lucky it would seem as if Luke had misplaced the photo, forgotten it in his attempt to clean out his office. Dayne checked the hallway once more and took quiet steps around the desk toward the shelf. He was breathing fast and he chided himself. The picture wasn’t actually stolen—more of a loan, really.

  He set it up on the shelf and started to back away.

  “Dayne?”

  He jumped back and turned around. Joe Morris was standing in the doorway looking at him. “Morris!” Dayne hurried around the desk toward the door. “Hi . . . we wrapped up the shoot.”

  “The receptionist said you were coming back to talk to me.” Joe looked past Dayne toward the desk, the shelving. He gave him a curious, partly comical look. “I thought maybe you got lost. My office is back down the hall.”

  “I know.” He forced another laugh. “I kinda hit it off with that Luke guy . . . thought I’d catch up with him.”

  “Oh.” Joe shrugged.

  “Yeah, we had a pretty good talk the other day.” Dayne studied his attorney. If the man was suspicious of Dayne’s actions, he didn’t say so.

  “Luke’s a great kid.” Joe hesitated. “He’s accepted a part-time job with us in the fall. Off for the summer though. I guess he’s got a lot going on back at home.”

  “Hmmm.” Dayne’s heart rate picked up. “A lot good or a lot bad?”

  “I don’t know.” Joe waved his hand toward Luke’s empty desk. “A family wedding, and I guess his mom’s pretty sick.”

  “His mom?” Dayne pressed his portfolio against his side. “He didn’t mention that.”

  Joe uttered a strange chuckle. “You only knew the guy for ten minutes.”

  “Yeah, but . . .” Dayne caught himself. The whole thing was crazy. Why was he here at the office of some law clerk, and why had he taken the kid’s photograph? Maybe Dayne needed a beach vacation, some time on a sunny stretch of sand without any directors or deadlines or movie shoots, no autograph seekers or paparazzi or any other distractions.

  That way he could forget about the photograph and his birth mother and any resemblance she had to some stranger’s sick mother.

  Dayne gave a shake of his head and led the way out of Luke’s office. “Anyway, I thought I’d stop in and thank you for the work on that last contract.” He patted Joe’s back and grinned. “Brilliant, man. Absolutely brilliant.”

  “Thanks.” Joe rubbed his knuckles on the lapel of his suit coat. “That’s my job.”

  The conversation shifted to the party tonight and Dayne’s plans to hold on to the Manhattan apartment. After ten minutes, Joe gestured toward his office. “Another hour of work before I can go.” He gave Dayne a light punch in the shoulder. “Keep it up, Matthews. You’re at the top of your game.”

  Dayne could hardly wait to leave.

  Once out on the street, he kept his head low but he didn’t care if he was spotted, not really. As long as he hadn’t been spotted putting the photograph back, the rest of the day couldn’t be anything but gravy.

  He took long strides as he headed for his apartment. It was ten blocks away, and he considered a cab. But he needed to think. Was that the last he’d know of Luke Baxter or his sick mother? He gazed up through the spaces in the buildings and wondered. What if by some strange twist of fate, the woman wasn’t merely a look-alike? What if she was his mother, too?

  The sun must’ve been lower because the air had cooled and the streets were covered entirely in shadows. No, the woman couldn’t have been his mother. The pictures looked alike, but not exactly alike. Besides, it was only his imagination wanting there to be a connection.

  If only he’d never met Luke, never seen the picture and felt that strange feeling, that somehow he’d seen the woman before. He had enough on his mind—endorsements and appearances and movie offers and romance—without the mind-boggling idea that maybe, just maybe, he’d found his birth mother.

  Dayne made it back to his apartment without incident. He put thoughts of the sick Baxter woman out of his mind and changed for the dinner dance. It was time to party, time to celebrate the hard work he’d put into the film.

  He was talking with one of the sound guys in the buffet line at the party when he felt someone breathe into his ear. He turned and Sarah Whitley was standing next to him. She wore a slinky white tank top and tight black jeans. On the set she’d played a plain girl from a small town, but here that image was gone completely. She was stunning, and Dayne felt himself react to her presence. “Hey . . . look at you.”

  She dropped her chin an inch or so and batted her eyelashes at him. “I was just thinking the same thing.” She let her gaze move slowly down the length of him and back up to his eyes. “Be my date?”

  He gave her an easy smile. “You mean I might be so lucky?”

  Her arm slipped around his waist and she snuggled close to him. “Definitely.”

  They shared dinner and laughter and two large bottles of Dom Perignon, and when they left in his limo sometime after midnight, Dayne had no doubt how the night would turn out. The entire location shoot had been like one giant session of foreplay. A little flirting, intentional eye contact, casual touching and hugging and tickling. And of course the kiss. Though he’d messed it up, they’d found a dozen times to practice, times when he would step into her trailer, catch her from behind, and give her a lip-lock that took her breath away.

  Then earlier today when she’d kissed him in front of the entire cast . . . yes, he knew where the night was headed.

  Sarah helped him into his apartment, both of them stumbling and laughing and feeling the effects of the champagne. By the time they reached his bedroom, most of their clothes were strewn along the hallway.

  When he opened his eyes in the morning, his head was pounding and Sarah was sitting dressed in the chair beside the bed. “Hey,” she said.

  “Hey.” He rubbed his face and moaned. “What a night, huh?”

  “Yeah.” She smiled, but he couldn’t read her eyes.

  He hated this part of his lifestyle. She was a beautiful movie star, a girl any guy would love to chat with for an hour, let alone share the night with. The drinking and partying and getting together parts were always easy, but this . . . this awkward morning-after feeling was always uncomfortable.

  Questions hung in the air between them.

  Okay, so they’d slept together. Did that mean they were an item now? committed to each other somehow? ready to move in together? And because of their celebrity
status, there were other issues. Had anyone from the media seen them together after the party, photographed them in the limo, or watched them head up to his apartment?

  If so, it would be on the covers of the tabloids within the month.

  Sarah pursed her lips and drew in a long breath. “I guess we got kinda crazy last night, huh?”

  “Yep.” He sat up in bed. Last night he hadn’t cared a bit for modesty, but now he felt uncomfortable without a shirt on. He adjusted the sheets and rested his arms on his knees. “You okay?”

  “Sure.” She gave a thoughtful nod. Her smile didn’t quite make it to her eyes. “Dayne, I need to tell you something.”

  “Okay.” His heart thudded harder than before. What was this? Surely she was on some sort of birth control. “What’s up?”

  “I liked working with you.” She uttered a sad laugh and looked at the ceiling. When she met his gaze again, she shook her head. “It was great, really. But . . .” A short breath crossed her lips. “What I’m trying to say is, I’ve got a guy back in Hollywood. A director. We’re sort of—” she moved her hand about in the air—“sort of exclusive.”

  “Oh.” A strange mix of rejection and relief washed over Dayne. Relief because the news could’ve been worse. She could’ve told him she hadn’t used birth control, or that she had some sort of disease. But rejection because what? She was exclusive with someone? So why was she climbing out of his bed this morning?

  “Don’t be mad, okay?” She wrinkled her nose, looking irresistible despite the hard night. “I like you a lot, Dayne. It’s just . . . the guy I’m seeing wants a family someday and, well . . .”

  He understood. A bitter laugh worked its way through his chest. “I’m a playboy, right?”

  “Kind of.” She shrugged daintily. “Lots of fun for a few nights or a few months, but not much of a family guy.”

  Dayne wanted to point out that if she could enjoy his bed for a night, she probably wasn’t much of a family girl herself. But he didn’t. Instead he cocked his head and gave her a mock salute. “Glad to be of service. Anytime I can bring a little entertainment to an otherwise boring night.”