by Julie Miller
When she focused in on her reflection again, she realized she was stroking her own lips—missing, wishing, hungry for Trent’s mouth on hers.
Good grief. Katie’s cheeks flushed with emotion and she drew her fingers away from her sensitized lips. She was doing exactly what she’d told herself over and over that she shouldn’t. She wasn’t just attracted to Trent. She wasn’t just turning to him as her cop friend to protect her from a dangerous situation. This wasn’t just gratitude for helping her and Tyler time and again. She was falling for Trent Dixon. Falling for the vital, mature man her boy next door had become.
Laughter and the voices of numerous conversations and complaints woke Katie from her bothersome thoughts. Doug must have dismissed the cast and crew for the night, and they were making a mass exodus out the back workroom to the parking lot. Sliding her fingers through her loose hair, she pulled the waves off her face and groaned at the static electricity in the air that left her looking as if she’d just crawled out of bed instead of neatly downplaying the amorous turn of her thoughts. No amount of smoothing could give her a business-as-usual appearance, so she simply turned away from the mirror and hurried into the men’s dressing room to pull the costumes that still needed ironing before anyone came in and questioned the embarrassed heat in her cheeks.
She exchanged smiles and a quick good-night with a few of the actors who’d left their coats or purses in the dressing rooms as she carried an armload of shirts and two of the specialty costumes out into the greenroom. She draped the shirts over the back of a chair and shook out the long black robe that belonged to the Spirit of Christmas Future.
A shadow fell over her as she spread the drapey material over the ironing board. Katie gasped, startled by the man in black standing between her and the exit door. She put her hand over her racing heart and dredged up a polite smile. “Hey, Francis.”
His beady dark eyes didn’t smile back. “I don’t want any wrinkles in that, understand? I want it to flow as I move, so it looks as though I’m floating across the stage.”
She watched the expressive gesture of his hand that demonstrated the undulating movement. “I do my best to make you all look good.”
“And I appreciate that. I know I come across as a bit of a demanding actor, but my drive stems from wanting to put on the best production possible.” His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as if the next few words were difficult to get out. “Your costumes have helped us achieve that.”
Really? A compliment from Francis? “Thank you.” He probably expected her to say something nice in return. “And, I must say, you’re a very convincing Christmas spirit.”
He clasped his hands behind his back, but left little more than the width of the ironing board between them. She didn’t know if he was watching to make sure she pressed his costume to his specifications or if he was so socially inept that he was unaware of how his proximity and the musky smell of a long night under stage lights filling the air between them could make her feel so uncomfortable. “It was nice to have you backstage tonight, Katie. Not out in the audience where you distract Douglas.”
So much for trying to get along with the man. Her hand fisted around the handle of the iron. “This again? Francis, what did I ever do to you? I’m a volunteer. I love doing theater. My son has made new friends and he’s enjoying himself. I’m not looking for a relationship with any man here, and I’m certainly not interested in Doug.”
“Protest all you want,” he articulated in a disbelieving whine. “I see right through your little helpless-female-with-the-big-blue-eyes-and-perky-boobs act. Douglas doesn’t want you for anything other than the thrill of the chase. And maybe to get lucky. If you’re looking for a husband, I promise, he’ll run as far from you as he can get.”
“That’s insulting. I am a self-sufficient woman. I have a career. I’m raising my son.”
“That’s probably why he cast him. Douglas took one look at you in auditions and—”
Katie shoved the iron at him, coming close enough to move him out of her space. “Shut up, Francis, or I will brand you.”
“How quaint. Resorting to violence in a meager effort to defend yourself. I was only trying to give you a friendly warning.”
“There’s nothing friendly about these conversations. You want something from me. You’re jealous or insecure or—”
“Heed my words.” He leaned toward the ironing board again, perhaps sensing she wouldn’t really make contact. “You’re not the first pretty woman he’s hit on, and you won’t be the last. If you’re thinking you’ll be cast in a show, or your son will get a better part the next time Douglas directs, you’re mistaken. I know how power attracts women, and he’s using his to entice you.”
“He’s not a CEO, he’s directing a play.” Katie plunked the iron down on the collar of his robe, ready to char an ugly hole straight through the heavy cotton if he said one more derogatory thing. She knew all about bullies like Francis. She’d grown up with one. “You need to heed my words. I am not the least bit tempted to sleep with Doug or whatever distasteful thing you’re insinuating. If he turns you on so much, you can have him. With my blessing.”
“You crazy...” Francis grabbed her wrist and the iron, snatching them away from the smell of singed material. “Stop what you’re doing!”
“What?” Anger morphed into fear in a single breath. His particular choice of words surprised her far more than the pinch of his fingers on her skin. Katie tugged at his grip. “What did you say?”
“I said to stop what you’re—”
“Mom!” Tyler ran across the greenroom, dropping his book bag at the argument he’d walked in on and dashing around the end of the ironing board to stand beside her and pull on her arm. Oh, Lord. Her little man thought Francis was hurting her. “Are you ready to leave? I am.”
“Tyler—”
Francis set the iron down but left his fingers clamped over Katie’s wrist. “Back off, Tiny Tim. I’m having a conversation with your mother.”
“Not anymore you’re not.” A deeper voice entered the argument and ended it. Francis’s eyes had barely widened with alarm before Trent was prying his grip off Katie’s wrist.
Then he went up on his toes as Trent pinned Francis’s arm behind his back. “How dare you?” he sputtered through his bushy black beard.
“Don’t make me take you in for assault and harassment, Sergel.” Trent carried the vile man several steps away before positioning himself between her and Francis. The width and height of his shoulders and back completely blocked Francis from her line of sight. If the no-nonsense authority in his tone wasn’t enough, Katie could well imagine the just try something challenge in Trent’s expression that would keep any smart man at bay. “Whatever your beef with Katie might be, it ends now.”
“I’ll thank you kindly to keep your hands off me, Detective.”
“I will if you keep your distance from Miss Rinaldi.”
“Very well.” Francis was rubbing his shoulder when he crossed the room to pick up his coat. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you, Katie.” Francis pulled on his long black coat. “Don’t trust Douglas. There’s been something wrong with this entire production. Strange things happening. People who don’t belong hanging around. He hasn’t been himself. You and your son are the only thing different about this show and any other play I’ve done with him.”
“Shut up, Sergel. Or Reinhardt or whatever your name is.” Trent took a step toward him, and Francis hurriedly grabbed his hat and scarf. “Not one more harsh word to this boy, either. Understand?”
With a dramatic harrumph and flourish of his long dark coat, Francis swept out of the room.
Trent turned. His gaze went straight to the wrist Katie was mindlessly massaging. “Everyone okay in here?”
Katie nodded. Physically, she was fine. But her brain kept flashing with images of messages sc
ratched in the snow or smeared in lipstick. “Francis told me to stop what I’m doing.”
“What do you mean?” He reached over the ironing board and scrubbed his palm along the top of Tyler’s head, reminding her son that the tension in the room had been neutralized and he could drop his guard and be a kid again.
Katie dropped her arm around Tyler’s shoulders and hugged him against her hip, reassuring him with the same message, even though her mind was still racing with suspicion. “He used the exact same words—Stop what you’re doing. That’s just a coincidence, right? Do you think he could really hate or resent me so much that he would want to scare me by hiring that private detective or sending those threats?”
He nodded, giving her misgivings careful consideration. “I don’t know. The threats could be some kind of weird jealousy thing—there’s certainly something about that prima donna that’s not right. But my money’s still on Asher and your research.” He crossed to the sofa to pick up his coat and shrug into it. “I’ll make sure Sergel leaves. You get all your gear packed so we can get out of this place ASAP.” After adjusting the hem of his short coat over his holster and badge, he plucked Francis’s black robe off the ironing board and tossed it into the men’s dressing room. “And forget about ironing that jackass’s costume.”
Tyler squinched up his face in curious frown. “Mom, what’s a jackass?”
Katie squeezed her lips together to stifle her laugh at the innocent question. But a smile erupted anyway, and she walked Tyler around the ironing board to Trent. “You can explain that one, Detective.”
“Sorry.”
The stricken look on his rugged face stretched her smile farther. Feeling strengthened by his presence and taking pity on his uncharacteristic distress, Katie braced a hand on Trent’s shoulder and stretched up on tiptoe. She didn’t second-guess the impulse—she simply did what felt like the right thing to do. She slipped her fingers beneath his collar and slanted his head down to seal her lips over his. She might have started the kiss, but his warm, firm lips quickly moved over hers, completing it. The kiss was brief, and the link between the two of them warmed Katie all the way down to her toes. Trent’s eyes were smiling above hers when he lifted his head. “So that’s what I have to do to get your attention? Get in trouble?”
“You’ve always had my attention, Trent. I guess it’s just taken me a long time to work up the courage to do something about it.”
He combed his fingers through her hair and tucked it behind her ear. “I’m willing to take it slow, as long as I know you’re on the path with me.”
When he leaned in to kiss her again, they both suddenly became aware of the nine-year-old tilting his gaze from one to the other, silently observing the teasing, intimate exchange.
Trent cleared his throat and pulled away, probably worried that he was going to have to explain what was happening between his mother and best friend, too. “Mom, did you mail my letter to Santa?” Tyler asked.
Katie offered a nervous chuckle in lieu of an answer. What was going through that wise little man’s mind now? “It’s getting late.”
Trent nodded. With a hand on her son’s shoulder, he scooped up Tyler’s book bag and coat and marched him toward the door. “I’ll keep Tyler busy so you can finish up faster.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
He nodded and helped Tyler into his blue coat. “Come on, buddy. Let’s bundle up.”
“Is jackass a naughty word?” Tyler asked, following his big buddy into the backstage area without question.
“Let’s talk.”
Several minutes later, Katie had unplugged the iron and hung up the shirts, and even Francis’s wrinkled costume, when her phone vibrated in the pocket of her jeans. She pulled it out to read a text from Trent.
We’re outside. Distracting Ty with snowball fight. Hurry. I’m losing.
Grinning, Katie pulled on her stocking cap and coat and looped her flowered bag over her shoulder before texting a response.
Thanks. On my way. Duck. ;)
She knew a split second of panic when she turned off the light in the greenroom and stepped into the darkness backstage. The work lights were off on the stage and the running lights had been disconnected. She was in utter darkness. Her audible gasp echoed through the storage and work space.
“Is someone there?” a voice asked. Doug Price. As much as she hated to cast him as any kind of rescuer, she couldn’t stand to be trapped in the dark again.
“Hello?” she called out. “Please tell me you’re near a light switch.”
She heard a shuffle of movement, and then a light came on by the exit door. Doug had set his briefcase on a chair and opened it to stuff his director’s notebook inside and pull out his cap and gloves. “Over here, Katie. I’m sorry. I thought I was the last one here. I was just locking up.”
What had he been doing that he hadn’t seen the ambient light from the greenroom on the opposite side of the stage when she’d opened the door? And how had he made his way through the darkness back here? Ultimately, it didn’t matter. She just wanted out of this place. “I’m sure I’m the last one now. Thanks for waiting.”
Katie wove her way through the prop tables and set pieces that had been such obstacles in the darkness. Not that she completely trusted Doug after the things Francis had said, but she was anxious to get out into the open, eager to get to Trent and her son. But as Doug pulled his keys from the briefcase, they caught on some papers inside, and a thick manila envelope folded in half dropped out. Katie bent down to pick it up. It was heavy, as though there was a stack of large photographs or a couple of magazines inside. “Here. You dropped—”
“I’ll take that.” Doug snatched it from her hand. He quickly stuffed it into his briefcase and closed it. He took a deep breath, calming the brief outburst. “I’m sorry. Thank you.”
Perhaps she was broadcasting her discomfort at being alone with the man, because Doug offered her a courteous nod and pushed open the steel door to a blast of swirling flakes and cold air. “Is it snowing again?” she asked.
“I think it helps set the mood for the play, don’t you agree?” Hearing the squeals of a laughing child carried on the wind, Katie quickly slipped out past Doug. She spotted Trent and Tyler down by the footbridge, pelting each other with snowballs. She smiled and headed toward them, considering joining the fun, when Doug turned the key in the lock. “Hold up, dear. I’ll walk you to your car.”
Trent saw her and waved just before a dollop of snow hit the middle of his chest. He scooped Tyler up off his feet and jogged up the hill as Katie made her excuses. “That’s very gallant of you, Doug. But my friend Trent is still here.”
“Yes, of course.” He switched his briefcase to the opposite hand, away from Trent’s approach.
Maybe there was nothing suspicious about his behavior at all, and she was the one being paranoid. “Well, thanks. Only one rehearsal left.”
Doug nodded. “We have a great show. Remember the cast party this weekend. I’d love to see you there.” Trent arrived and set Tyler on his feet. The two were a pair of snow-dusted clothes and ruddy cheeks, demanding she smile at their boyish behavior. Doug seemed less amused. “You’re welcome to come along, too, Detective. If you like that sort of thing.”
Trent clapped his gloved hands together, throwing out a cloud of snow. “Oh, I love a good party.”
“Yes, well, good night.” Doug brushed away the few snowflakes that had fallen onto his shoulders and walked around the corner of the building to his car. She heard his engine start before she would have expected and the cold motor shifting into gear before driving away in a rush.
“It’s a good thing he’s a director,” Trent deadpanned, “because he’s not a very good actor. I don’t believe he really wants me to come to your cast party.”
“I guess he’s in a hurry to find anothe
r date, then.” Katie laughed out loud, feeling the stress of the day and those disturbing encounters with Francis Sergel and Doug Price dissipate. She dropped her arm around Tyler’s shoulders, linked her elbow with Trent’s and led the way to the parking lot. “Come on, you two. Let’s get your truck warmed up before all that snow soaks through to your skin and freezes you.”
But she slowed her steps when she saw the other two cars left in the lot. They weren’t campus police vehicles, and everyone else from the play had left already. Hadn’t they? She eyed the silver sedan with the tinted windows parked near the exit, and the small black car parked beneath the nearest street lamp. Its engine was running, as though someone had parked close to the theater and was waiting to pick up a passenger. Only there was no driver inside.
She didn’t have to be a cop to know that something wasn’t right. “Trent? Doug and I were the last ones out of the theater.”
Trent’s hand on her arm stopped her. He pulled out his keys and thrust them into her hand. “Get in my truck and lock yourself inside.”
He lifted his coat and pulled out his gun, too. Katie automatically pulled Tyler away from the weapon. “Trent?”
“Black sports car.” He braced his gun between his hands and pointed it toward the car with the running engine. “The license plate matches. Call Max and tell him I located John Smith’s car.”
The man who’d tried to break into her apartment. “That’s him? Why is he—”
“Go.” Trent waved her toward his pickup and circled around to approach the car from the rear.
Katie hugged Tyler to her side and backed away. But not before she saw the hand on the steering wheel.