Alec swooped in and circled her waist. “No business at my parties.” He spun her away—before Dwight usurped his role as career genie? “Have you tried the speckled eggs?”
“I haven’t.”
“Caviar.” He held up a deviled egg sprinkled with black and orange fish eggs.
“Thanks.” She ate it in three bites, hungrier than she’d realized.
“Now,” he said, “I’m convinced the party can proceed without me.” He leaned close. “Let’s …”
She slipped free. “I’m not really up for reading, Alec. We have an early call time tomorrow. I think I’ll go home.”
He cocked his head and studied her. “You’re serious?”
She smiled. “See you tomorrow.”
As soon as her car had been disarmed, unlocked, and the door opened, Curt slipped out from the bushes and pressed the gun to Gentry’s ribs. “No noise,” he hissed in her ear, though the music from the house would hide her cries. The thought tripped his brain for a second. In a weird way, it seemed everything he’d done had been leading to this, and he supposed it had—that wild oat that kept trying to bloom where it was planted.
“I’m sliding in first; you’re coming with me.”
She stiffened as voices broke out, a door opened, and music escaped.
“Don’t even think about it.” With her practically in his lap, Curt slid under the wheel and pulled Gentry inside without budging the gun from her ribs. Her heart beat against his hand. Her scent filled his nostrils, along with the vanilla freshener in her car and his own sweat.
“Pull the door closed and start the engine.” He jabbed the weapon for emphasis.
He had verified the studio where she was shooting her current film with a female paparazzo outside the gate, then followed Gentry to the party. His stolen car sat on a side street, where he’d leave it now that she was providing transportation. He had snuck up to the house on foot, prepared to wait, but she hadn’t kept him long.
When the engine caught, he said, “Go.”
She clenched her jaw. “Where?”
“Just drive.”
She pulled out. He didn’t know the city. He’d choose their course as it came. Still aiming the gun, he slid fully into his seat. “Where’s your purse?”
With her left hand on the wheel, she pulled a leather money clip from her jeans pocket.
“That’s it? No makeup or stuff?”
“The studio does my makeup.”
Her ID was the only plastic in the slot. “Where are your credit cards?”
“I don’t carry them to work.”
He rifled the cash in her clip. “Fourteen bucks? That’s it?”
“Not much of a target, am I?” She slid him a glare. “I don’t know where you’re from, Curt, but this is L.A.”
“You know who I am?”
“You’re the scum who cost my uncle his leg.”
He swallowed. “I didn’t mean for that to happen. If things had gone right—”
“He’d only be dead?”
“Yeah. Instead of messed up and wishing he was.”
Her mouth fell open; then she shook her head. “You don’t know my uncle.”
The respect and love in her voice choked him. Was that why Allegra wouldn’t let go? He’d seen her sitting there mesmerized by the gimp. Her old-man husband. “Shut up and drive.”
After less than a block, she said, “This didn’t work very well for your partner, you know.”
“Yeah, well, he was stupid. I’m not.”
“My mistake.”
“Shut up.” He hated wise-mouthed chicks. That was one thing about Allegra. She never said a mean word, never made him feel … He squashed that thought. “You got credit cards at home?”
Her silence answered for her.
“Go get them.”
She drove out of the posh neighborhood into something urban middle class, then slowed.
“What are you doing?”
“Turning.”
“You live in here? These apartments? Big star like you?”
“I’ve done one movie. TV appearances. A theater troupe for troubled kids. Did you think I lived in Bel-Air?”
Maybe her publicity had outshone her income. Didn’t matter. She was the tool, not the prize.
There was parking underneath, but she hesitated before entering, probably thinking what a bad idea it was. “Go on. And don’t do anything stupid. I’ve got nothing to lose.” He didn’t want to admit the truth of that.
Hers was the first place they’d look if this went south. No way he could control an apartment building. But he needed cash. She pulled into a numbered slot and turned off the engine.
“We’re gonna walk close. Like lovers.” He gripped her and slid out the driver’s door again. They walked to the elevator. The doors slid open, saving them entering the security code.
An attractive woman with long cornrow braids looked them up and down as she stepped out. He slid his spare hand across Gentry’s abdomen just under the edge of her shirt and murmured into her neck, “Nothing to lose.”
The woman raised her brows, going by. They had the elevator to themselves all the way to her floor. She unlocked her door. “I don’t have any drugs.”
“I look like I use?”
“Just thought I’d save you tossing the place.”
“I’m no junkie.” Winning was his drug, getting what he deserved, what should have been his from the start. Was that so much to ask? Was it too much to have a mother who didn’t blame him for the sperm donor running off? Too cheap to abort and too gutless to leave him in a trash can, she’d preferred to torment him every day with his worthless presence in this world.
He pressed in behind Gentry. “What are you, a nun? Got enough candles for a convent.” He let go and she moved away. He looked her up and down. She didn’t look like Allegra; too strong, too natural. Too young. “Got a phone?”
She slipped a super-thin flip phone out of her pocket with a condescending look. He’d wipe that smirk off her face.
“Call your uncle. Tell him I’ll take fifteen million for you. I got an offshore account he can dump it in.”
Running the beach with his halogen flashlight, Cameron dug out the ringing phone without losing stride. He’d expected Gentry, but it wasn’t. “Hey, Nica.”
“You’re all right.”
“I’m fine. What’s up?”
“Where’s Gentry?”
“L.A.” His heart was at a healthy elevation, but her next words froze it.
“I think she’s in danger.”
It hit him like a wave from behind. He plunged down, spinning and rolling, a stiff, fetal curl of fear. “Why?”
“I feel it. Okelani senses malice. I’m praying for angels, Kai.”
He disconnected and rang Gentry. She would pick up and tell him about her day. The worst thing would be Alec putting on the moves. He had tried to reach her before he went out to run, gotten no answer, and assumed she was out with friends or something. She had no obligation to talk to him every night, but as the phone went to message, he said, “Gentry, call me.”
He’d been buried in work all day, only coming up to get his run. He hadn’t received any supernatural message, no visions. But he had the awful urge now to drive the four hours to Gentry and see her safe and sound.
He imagined her face. “What are you doing here?”
“Loving too hard.”
“Lord,” he whispered, hearing Nica’s prayer—their mother’s prayer—in his mind. “Set angels beside her, before and behind her, above and below her.” His mother had prayed that for them each night, and each night he’d said, “I don’t need them.” Even then he’d felt self-sufficient.
Now he wished he could call on legions of supernatural beings. And, as Nica had reminded him, he could. “Lord.” He rang Gentry again, left another message. “I love you. Call.”
“He’ll keep calling.” Gentry clutched the phone. “He expects to talk to me.”
; “Too bad.”
Uncle Rob had been pivotal in developing modern communications, but he could still choose not to answer his phone, and hadn’t. She imagined him with Aunt Allegra, talking through their painful situation, his niece the last thing on his mind.
Her message, “Uncle Rob, please call,” had been followed immediately by Cameron’s attempts to reach her, but if they didn’t talk, he might not actually panic, not assume Curt Blanchard was holding her for fifteen mil.
Hyped up and trying to look cool, Curt inspected the room. Imagining him with her aunt repulsed her.
“He’ll call the police. He knows I saw you.” And if officers came knocking, at gunpoint she’d say anything Curt told her to. “They’re already looking for you.”
He turned. “Which is why I need money.”
She crossed her arms. “Do you even have a plan?”
He scowled. “Yeah. Keep you until I get the money.”
“That could take a while. If I don’t show up on the set, they’ll know something’s wrong.”
“You’ll call in sick.”
“Sick? Do you know what it costs to miss a day of production? It doesn’t matter if I’m delirious. I show up for the shoot.”
“Well, maybe you caught the plague.” At her disdainful look he said, “It was a joke.”
“Oh. Thanks for clarifying.”
In two strides he’d grabbed her shirt and shoved the gun under her chin. “You think you’re so smart? Think you’re so tough?”
A fleck of spittle landed on her cheek. She flinched. Her heart hammered in her ears.
“Think about this. If the cops come and surround this building, maybe I can’t get out, but I can cut you. I can rape you. I can kill you.” He pulled her almost to his face. “Until I get what I want, I have complete control.”
His breath smelled citrusy. The cold muzzle of the gun dug into her neck. She counted each throb of her pulse. Eyes closed, she gathered herself as she would to face a ledge or precipice, and freed a prayer.
He let go. “Get your credit cards. We’re moving on.”
Nothing was certain. Nica and Okelani were thousands of miles away. How could they sense malice directed at Gentry or anyone else? Not reaching her one evening did not mean anything had happened—except she’d recognized Curt Blanchard, and he’d seen her make the connection. Cameron clenched his fists. He should never have let her go home alone.
But he had work and she had work. They lived hundreds of miles apart, and they’d identified Rob as the target. Nica knew nothing about that. He hadn’t told her about Curt, hadn’t told her any of the recent developments. Her warning came out of nowhere, but he’d never found her intuition groundless. And Okelani …
None of that would convince LAPD to go knock on Gentry Fox’s door.
He checked his watch. 10:30. Hardly curfew in L.A. She could be out with the cast, one party or another. Plenty of places she could be, things she could be doing. He paced his living room, praying for a call. “I went out; everything’s fine.” Maybe the shoot had gone badly, or well. Maybe she’d clicked with Alec, or gone out with Helen. A million possible scenarios. Yet his gut told him Nica was right.
He would look like a paranoid, possessive freak showing up at her door. Did he care? He slipped his Glock into the shoulder holster, threw a jacket over, and went out.
Denny didn’t answer the door. His Miata was not in the garage. Cameron pressed his speed-dial number. Come on. They had lined up before when he needed him, but this time Denny didn’t answer.
Cameron closed his eyes and pressed the number again. Answer.
“Yeah, Kai. What’s up?”
“Where are you?”
“Hula Moons.”
Maui. Halfway across the Pacific. He groaned.
“Need something?”
“No, man. Enjoy your dinner.” He hung up. He’d have to do this himself. Was he crazy to drive all that way with nothing more than Nica’s warning? What if Gentry was home but not taking his calls? What if she wasn’t alone?
He clenched his fists. Better to know. She didn’t owe him anything. But if she was in trouble …
Rob would remember these last three days as long as his mind could hold them. He and Allegra, talking as they’d never talked before, tears and secrets held too long, the whole world going by without them. No phone calls, no business, no interruptions. Little by little she’d come to believe he didn’t hate or blame her. Little by little he’d explained how that was possible. For the first time, she’d looked as though his faith might not be the threat he’d led her to believe it was. Perhaps she’d find her way there as well.
But there was one thing still before them. He said, “Are you sure?”
Seated on the settee in the master suite they’d shared until two years ago, she nodded.
They had both slept in the house, but not together. Trust was fragile, and building back the threads would take time. Their actions had left a permanent reminder they could not ignore. His hands shook as he unfastened the baggy Dockers and let them drop in front of the woman he’d married twenty-nine years ago.
Fitted into the cup of the artificial limb, his stump might repulse her. And because the confidence man, her lover, had been the one to cause his accident, her guilt could be destructive.
She swallowed. “Does it hurt?”
“When I’m up too long, or off it too long. Sometimes I wake up and don’t remember the rest isn’t there. Sometimes it’s the rest that hurts.”
Tears streamed. Her mouth worked, but no words came.
He lowered himself to the end of the bed, detached the prosthesis and set it aside. He could hardly make himself look up, but when he did, Allegra didn’t look away. They sat there a long time. Then he said, “Would you want to sleep in here tonight?”
She dropped to her knees and laid her head on his thigh. “Yes,” she said, her tears soaking his scars. “I would.”
FORTY-FOUR
Cameron knocked on Gentr y’s door. He had slipped through the security doors with a group of partiers, but at 2:30 in the morning most of the building was quiet. A hint of music seeped from somewhere; a wall sconce fluttered across the hall. His own breathing was louder than either. No sound came from behind Gentry’s door. If she was sleeping, she’d be confused and frightened by the knocking, more so by his next move. He took the lock pick from his wallet.
The click of the lock seemed magnified. He slid his Glock from the holster before easing the door open. No security chain. If she was inside, he’d talk to her about that. Even with the coded entrances, she should be more careful.
Candle scent surrounded him as he recalled the room’s layout from the wonderful evening he’d spent there. He lit the tiny flashlight on his key chain and sent the beam around the main room and kitchen, then started down the hall to Gentry’s room.
He crept carefully, making no noise that could startle her. The door stood open. No sound of breathing. No sense or scent of her. He turned on the light, fear and disappointment hitting him in the gut. He turned back and lit up the kitchen and living room, revealing arched doorways and alcoves, but the rooms lacked the magic she’d made with candlelight and, most of all, her presence.
There was no sign of struggle. No forced entry. But he was careful not to touch anything just in case. 2:45. Where would she be? He holstered his Glock, opened the desk drawer in the kitchen, and found an address book. It was filled with names, some he might recognize, most he’d never heard.
He flipped through the pages and realized he hardly knew her. When they were alone together, it seemed as though he did, as though he always had. But he’d had nothing more than a glimpse. When she’d called the other night, had she been telling him she liked Alec’s kiss? Was that what had upset her? That she’d felt something with Alec? He ran her wording through his head. “ You were right. It’s Eva, but it’s me too.”
Had today’s shoot developed a heat between them that neither wanted to end? He’d
felt it, her potent presence. The mind-numbing, visceral, awakening power of her gaze. Alec’s back-of-the-neck kiss had not been teasing. He wanted her, wanted her to want him. Alec had opportunity and motive.
Cameron clenched his jaw. He thought of holding Gentry on her parents’ roof. Did she turn it on for whatever man she was with? “I’ve been kissed on every stage I’ve played.” Jealousy like nothing he’d ever known shot fire through his veins.
Myra’s betrayal had dumbfounded and disenchanted him. But he’d never wanted to go after the men she’d been with the way he wanted to go now and rip into Alec Warner. Because he was part of her passion? The acting she loved, the thing that made her “come alive.” He burned. What Myra had not accomplished in five years with her multiple infidelities, Gentry achieved now. He tossed the book into the drawer.
What was he doing? He didn’t belong here. He’d been stupid to come. He turned off the kitchen light, plunged the hallway back into darkness. He reached for the switch to extinguish the living room lights, but caught sight of a strip of paper on the carpet.
He picked it up and read the single word. Help.
His heart hammered. He closed the note into his fist, his ego crashing in. He had let his mind go the other way, because he couldn’t think of her with the man who’d hired someone to kill her. The single word stripped away his doubts and jealousies and focused his mind. Whatever it took, he’d get Gentry the help she’d called for.
After withdrawing all the cash he could get from her bank and credit cards at several ATMs—and freezing all her accounts in the process—Curt had secured a fleabag room in a part of town Gentry had never seen in the four years she’d lived there. It was the kind of place where they didn’t ask questions when a man half dragged a woman out of the car and shoved her through the door.
She shouldn’t have angered him. He’d seemed absurd as her aunt’s lover, but her indignation had made her foolish. This was no spitting contest. He jerked her through the small, dingy space and tossed her onto the bathroom floor. Her chin banged, and she gagged at the sour smell that arose from the yellowed linoleum.
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