“I’m sorry. I’m just not feeling this dialogue! These words are just not natural for my character. I feel as if something is missing, something vital.”
Paul frowned as the words spoken registered. Jonathan Harris, the director, had just called ‘cut’ because the talent, Tara Michelle, had flubbed her lines—again.
The fact that she was an A-list actress was both a joy and a baffling mystery.
He and his brothers were delighted for Harris and for Brock Tatum, the executive producer, because having a star of Tara Michelle’s caliber in their independent film practically guaranteed huge box office for them.
But at the same time, they were baffled. How did such a ditz get to be an A-lister in the first place?
“I tell you this place is beyond weird.” Wesley’s voice, just above a whisper, nearly made Paul laugh out loud.
“We had a great break away from it all, but just a couple of weeks back, and it feels like we never left. Thank God,” Wes continued, “that this is the last scene.”
After the extraordinarily long break over the holidays—which in part had been another concession to the superstar, Jonathan’s appendectomy aside—they’d come back and filming had resumed on Finesse. He and his brothers were on the set in case last-minute script revisions were needed.
And, of course, because they’d put up some of the financing for the movie. That latter fact was so secret no one on the set, except Jonathan and Brock, knew.
“I’ll handle it,” Lucas said. “Either of you two gets close to Tara Michelle at this point, and she’ll probably end up walking out.”
“Your sacrifice is greatly appreciated,” Paul said.
“Aw, Tara isn’t that bad, big brother. She’s just really insecure at heart and a little needier than most. That must be a hard way to live your life, don’t you think?”
Paul looked at Wesley as Lucas headed toward the star and the director. “I seriously don’t know how he does it.”
“I don’t think there’s ever been anyone who’s pushed him to his limit. Do you?” Wesley asked.
“Not that I can think of.” Paul kept his eyes on his middle brother as he sweet-talked the star and the director. Lucas took Tara Michelle’s copy of the script—never far from her during shooting—and, after a few more moments of consultation, wrote on it. He showed it to her, and her smile told them all they needed to know.
Lucas ambled back toward them, reaching them just as the call for quiet echoed in the studio.
Paul kept his gaze on the action of the shot and couldn’t stop his one eyebrow from rising when Tara said the lines she’d stumbled over in the previous take. The exact same words, only they were in a slightly different order.
He supposed he should be shaking his head in blatant disbelief, but somehow, he wasn’t surprised. It hadn’t been a change in words Tara Michelle had craved but attention. Had she wanted Luc’s attention specifically, or had it been a need for anyone who would listen and sympathize and respond?
Because of his sensitivity to the emotions of others, women were drawn to Lucas like the proverbial moths to the flame.
Paul thought it was kind of funny, but he knew Lucas wasn’t particularly amused by that reaction to his empathic nature. And he sure as hell wouldn’t be happy now if Tara Michelle was coming on to him. Not now that they’d met their Kat.
They all believed she was the one meant to be theirs, but of the three of them, Lucas had already made that emotional connection with and commitment to her. I wonder if Kat knows that she’s connected to him that way, too?
Paul had seen her reaction back in Lusty to the touch of Lucas’s finger on the back of her hand. He smiled. She’d said she agreed with their no-seduction decision last night, but her eyes had flashed her passion as well as her impatience.
They weren’t setting out to deny her or build her sexual frustration. They really did just want her to be sure before they took that irrevocable step to physical intimacy. But having her really want us sure as hell isn’t a bad thing.
“And cut and wrap. Ladies and gentlemen, this concludes the filming of Finesse!” The crew applauded and cheered, several of them making their way over to Jonathan and Brock, congratulating them.
Director and producer, of course, fawned over the talent. It was what one did, and mindful of the realities of life in the business, Paul and his brothers immediately did the same.
It wouldn’t hurt for me to remember that Tara Michelle starring in Finesse is good for us, too. Though they weren’t what he’d term “on fire” as screenwriters, they rarely had trouble getting a film produced.
The prop people were already rounding up various items, breaking down the set. No time was wasted either in standing on laurels or floating in sentimentality. Of course, Paul knew that while this was always true, also true, today, was that everyone wanted to head to the wrap party, which was being held in a restaurant just a couple of blocks away. If this had been a studio film, the party would likely have been held on an adjacent soundstage. But it wasn’t, so studio time was rented and therefore costly for the independent and fairly new film company.
He and his brothers would make an appearance at the party but only so they could take the time to thank each member of the crew personally. This hadn’t been a big-budget film—not like some of the blockbusters produced by major studios. The men and women who’d hired on had done so because they’d believed in the project. They’d been driven primarily, not by greed but by the love of filmmaking.
“It’s just a damn shame that Tara Michelle can’t make it to the party,” Jonathan Harris said.
“You ever think of working on the other side of the camera, pal?” Brock asked. “Because you sounded sincerely disappointed just now.”
Jonathan laughed. “Good Lord, no. I prefer giving direction to taking it. But you know who could have a career under the bright lights? This one.” Jonathan put his hand on Lucas’s shoulder.
Paul and Wes laughed, mainly because Lucas looked completely embarrassed by the man’s comment.
“Agreed! Honestly, I don’t know what you said to the woman, but she settled right down,” Brock said. “We both appreciate it, Lucas. Sincerely.”
Paul knew the production team wasn’t done rubbing elbows with Tara Michelle. Once the film was ready to go to distribution, there’d be some promotional events. Fortunately, or unfortunately depending on one’s point of view, the actress had already agreed to make those appearances.
“She’s a little high strung,” Lucas said. “But she’s not completely unreasonable.”
His middle brother did like to see the best in most people—a trait that Paul himself sometimes envied because his worldview tended to wander in the opposite direction.
It didn’t take long for people to drift toward the party. He and his brothers turned down a ride in Brock’s Hummer. Their SUV was in the parking garage beside the restaurant, and it was only a few blocks to walk. The rest of the crew had rides, of course. People didn’t walk in LA.
Unless of course they’re small-town Texas boys at heart.
“It’ll be good tomorrow, waking up and not having to come into the city,” Wes said. “I want to get back to work on Simpatico.”
“Me, too,” Paul said. “Maybe we should try not to start new projects before we’ve completely wrapped old ones.”
“I think the problem this time was we were originally supposed to be finished shooting this one in October. We set that deadline in our heads, and then in November...”
Lucas’s observation had merit. “Yeah, in November our subconscious minds began to write the new one.”
“We better be careful or Cousin Robert is going to accuse us of being artistes.” Wes laughed.
“I miss those days,” Paul said. “When the cousins would go too far, and we’d have no choice but to pound on them.”
“Ah. Nostalgia. But the reality is we’re all grown up now, and getting pounded on hurts a hell of a lot more than it used to,�
�� Lucas said.
The party was in full swing when they arrived. The restaurant had set aside a large, private room for them. Trays of various hors d’oeuvres and finger foods were placed on tables that had been set up along two walls. A bar had also been provided. Cast and crew could indulge, free of charge.
Paul looked around and noted the extra staff he’d hired especially to see to it no one drove off drunk.
“Tony’s people are here in force,” Lucas said. “I always worry about someone leaving these parties and getting into an accident.” He grinned at Paul. “Thanks for seeing to it I don’t have to worry.”
Paul shrugged. It just seemed the thing to do—ensuring the safety of others.
They mingled, splitting up so they could cover the room faster, not rushing but not lingering, either. Paul wasn’t as social as his brothers, but he took these occasions seriously. This was a part of his job, in a way. The professional men and women who made up the crew of a film project were more important to the success of that project, at least in his mind, than the always overpaid talent. Some of these people he’d known for years—and a couple had even worked on their first production, Breakdown.
He didn’t know why his gaze sought out Lucas just then, but as soon as he found his middle brother—his hand bringing his cell phone to his ear—he headed toward him.
Something’s wrong. Paul had no reason to think that, but seeing Wesley also heading for Lucas, and then the look on Lucas’s face, he knew it was so.
“It’s Kat. We have to go, now.”
“Is she all right?” Wes flanked Luc on his other side.
“I don’t know. She’s been taken to emergency.”
Paul shut off his thoughts. He pulled his keys out of his pocket and, with his brothers, ran.
Chapter 6
They’re not rushing around. Either I’m worse off than I thought, and there’s no hope—or I’m fine.
Katrina tried to focus, but the lights just hurt her head. She closed her eyes and sighed, even though she’d just lied to herself. It’s not the lights that are hurting my head. My head just hurts, period.
Along with her ribs and her legs and her stomach...she wanted to drift off, where things didn’t hurt so much.
“Stay with us, Ms. Lawson. Your fiancé is on his way.”
Her fiancé? She didn’t have a fiancé! Kat opened her eyes and very nearly opened her mouth to protest, and then she remembered.
When the EMTs had lifted her onto the stretcher for her free ride to the hospital, one of the cops had asked her if there was anyone she wanted him to call.
She’d thought of Lucas Jessop first—not Paul or Wesley or even her parents, but Lucas. Lucas would come, and he’d bring Paul and Wesley, and they’d take care of her.
She must have taken a worse beating than she’d thought if she wanted three men to take care of her.
“Katrina!”
Then he was there. His heat seeped into her. He held her left hand, kissed it, then bent down and kissed her forehead. “We’re here, babe. We have you. It’s going to be all right.”
Another’s hand touched her leg, just a gentle touch, and she knew it was Wesley. “Hang on, sweetheart. You’re not alone anymore.”
“How is she? What happened to her? Who’s in charge here? ”
Paul. He’ll make them answer all the questions she couldn’t think about right now. She sighed and then opened her eyes.
“You’re her fiancé?” The male doctor who didn’t even look old enough to shave—she’d forgotten his name—addressed Lucas.
“We all are,” Lucas said. “How is she? And what happened to her?”
The doctor didn’t seem fazed by Lucas’s odd response. Instead, he looked down at the chart in his hand—oh great, I have a doctor who needs crib notes—and then looked up at the three men.
Now this is why you shouldn’t get involved with men. They take over. The doctor didn’t deign to answer my questions...the protest faded. Actually, she thought he might have tried to answer her questions, but she’d been not completely conscious at the time.
Kat squeezed Lucas’s hand. He looked down at her, his gaze as gentle as his touch. She read pain in his expression and knew he hurt for her.
“The good news is that the MRI came back clear. But she has a concussion, and that’s actually the worst of her injuries. She has contusions and abrasions, but no broken bones and no internal injuries.”
Kat wanted to protest that. She hurt like hell everywhere. Her face was swollen on the right side, and her lip was numb. She’d asked for a mirror—hadn’t she?—but no one had given her one.
“How did this happen?”
“I can’t answer that,” the doctor said.
“I can.”
The new voice sounded vaguely familiar. Kat turned her face toward the door and didn’t know what to think when she realized the man who was one of her friends on the LAPD apparently knew the Jessops, too.
“Travis.” Paul stepped forward and shook his hand. “You’re involved?”
“I am now because Kat and I go back a ways. Her brother’s a good friend. I haven’t called him yet because I wanted to get here first and see just how bad the damage was.” He nodded at both Wes and Lucas. To the doctor, he held out his badge. “I’m Detective Travis Bannister, LAPD.”
The doctor nodded to him and then stepped back—as if ceding control of the situation to him.
Travis finally looked down at Kat.
“Ouch. You look like hell, Lawson.”
“Thanks a lot, Bannister. It’s so nice to see your mother didn’t waste all that money she put into charm school.”
Travis grinned. “Hey, you’re welcome. So, can you tell me what happened?”
“I was walking toward my car. I was...” She couldn’t remember where she’d been or what she’d been doing. Panic must have shown on her face.
“Some residual amnesia is to be expected,” the doctor said. “Just relax and don’t worry about it. Don’t force yourself to remember.”
His words actually brought back a thread of the scene. “I was only a few blocks from my office. I’d received a tip on a fugitive...one from Florida, actually, who I’d been half interested in going after.”
“How did you receive that tip?” Travis asked.
“A phone call...an anonymous tip. They happen. Since there was a hefty reward being offered for the guy, and since it was close, I decided to check it out.”
“It didn’t seem odd that, with a reward offered, you’d get an anonymous tip?”
“No, not really.” Her head throbbed a little, and she closed her eyes, just for a moment.
When she opened them again, she saw Paul step up to the doctor. “Can we dim the lights? I think the brightness is hurting her.”
A moment later the brightest of the lights over her were turned off.
Kat sighed with relief. “Thanks.” She looked back at Travis. “Sometimes, the person dropping the tip has an axe to grind and seeing the fugitive apprehended is reward enough for them. And sometimes, it’s someone who wants to build up credit before asking for a favor.”
“So you went to investigate this tip?”
“Yeah...a bar called Murray’s. Bit of a dive, not very busy. There was no one there except the bartender. I showed him a picture of the skip, but he’d never seen him. The whole thing was a wild-goose chase.”
“No, I think you were there and that was the whole point of the tip.”
“That must be it because as soon as I stepped out onto the sidewalk, they were there—three of them, young, Latino. No weapons...” She didn’t want to mention the knife. He hadn’t used it, after all. “They just used their fists and then their feet. The attack felt like it lasted forever, but I know it didn’t.”
Travis nodded. “You screamed, and the bartender came out, baseball bat in hand. The three took off.”
“They said they were delivering a message—that I was to keep my nose out of other people’s
business.”
“Ah, generic threat number ten,” Bannister said. “You didn’t recognize them?”
“No, and I have no idea whose business I was being warned away from. I did get in a couple of kicks, in the beginning. But then two of the SOBs pinned me down.”
“And your weapon?”
“Locked in my vehicle. I wasn’t expecting trouble, so I didn’t take it with me.”
“Well, you sure as hell found trouble anyway.”
“No kidding.” She’d tried to keep her attention on remembering the details and speaking to Travis. She didn’t want to focus too much on how her recitation of the facts seemed to be affecting the brothers Jessop. But she couldn’t not see their grim expressions and white-knuckled fists. Kat turned to the doctor. “I want to get out of here. How do I do that?”
“I’ll be happy to release you, as long as you have someone staying with you.”
“She’ll have three of us,” Paul said. “You need to tell us if there’s anything special we have to do or have to look out for.”
Another cop came to the door of the exam room and signaled to Travis. The cop didn’t look very happy, and when Travis turned back around, he didn’t look very happy, either.
“We’ll take you home, and then one of us will stay with you while the other two go get your vehicle,” Paul said.
“Any way you can take Katrina to your place instead?” Travis asked.
“No problem,” Lucas said and gave her hand a bit of a squeeze. “Is there a reason we should?”
“Yeah.” He turned his attention to Kat. “Your neighbors called in a report of a break and enter.”
“At my apartment?”
“Yes. It’s been trashed. You don’t advertise where you live, do you?”
“No.” Kat couldn’t think. Someone had trashed her apartment? She was too much a realist to think, even for one minute, that this was a coincidence.
She didn’t make it a habit of telling people where she lived. Quite the opposite, in fact. No one related to her work ever showed up at her residence. Any associates she was friendly with—and there were a few—she’d always met on neutral ground.
Love Under Three Valentinos [The Lusty, Texas Collection] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) Page 6