Much to her relief, Deck had come to and was lucid. His teammates practically had to sit on him to keep him from leaping to his feet and running up into the catwalks to see if foul play was involved.
He had a zillion questions. Were the falling lights intentional? Was this a murder attempt by Mr. Insane-o, her crazy e-mailer?
Jane found it very hard to believe this had been anything but an accident.
A miraculously well-timed accident, too. Imagine if it had happened in the middle of filming the love scene—that would have been awful enough. But, God, if it had happened before they’d changed the schedule, with all those extras on the soundstage . . . As it was, with only a few people on set when the accident happened, they’d been unbelievably lucky.
Only two people injured, and both superficially.
Of course, head injuries were tricky. Jane would feel a whole lot better about Decker after he’d been examined by a doctor. Tess had thought he must’ve been hit by the end of an electrical cord as it whipped past. It had struck him hard enough to both temporarily shut out his lights and break the skin.
Which must’ve hurt like the devil.
Although, if the actual stage light had hit him, he would be beyond feeling pain. Jane still got wobbly-kneed when she thought about that.
“Sorry,” Tess said, closing her phone as the ambulance pulled to a stop.
“Make sure they get Deck inside first,” Jane told her.
“You know he would never agree to that,” Tess said. “You’ll be going in first. And quickly, too, as soon as the doors open.”
“But I’m not bleeding.” Jane lifted the makeshift bandage she was pressing against her arm and . . . Okay, not quite the truth. “I’m not the one with the possible acute subdural hematoma.”
Tess lifted her eyebrows. “I didn’t realize you had medical training.”
“I don’t. I used to write for a soap opera.”
Tess laughed. Then, “Here we go,” she said as the ambulance door opened. The entire security team surrounded Jane’s wheelchair as she was hustled toward the hospital.
Cosmo managed to look even more grim as he took in the blood on the front of her dress. “You all right?” he asked as he looked hard into her eyes, no doubt checking to see if she’d gone into shock or was harboring a secret head injury of her own.
“Yes,” she said. “I’m fine.”
He gave her that over-the-top-of-the-nonexistent-sunglasses look that she’d come to know so well, the one that said “Oh, really?” so clearly she could almost hear it, and she started to laugh. But, oh God, instead it came out sounding an awful lot like a sob.
She was not going to cry. J. Mercedes Chadwick did not cry in public.
“I was cut by flying glass,” she told him, told them all. It was easier to aim her words at Murphy or PJ than to face Cosmo’s concern. She somehow even managed to sound breezy. “I stopped applying pressure, but it was deeper than I thought. What a mess.”
But then they were inside, wheeling her into the hospital, past the admissions desk. The team fell back—Tess was the only one who stayed with her.
“Janey!” Robin appeared, out of breath. “I got a message on my cell saying you were here and— Holy crap, what happened?”
“We had an accident,” she said, looking back at Cosmo, who was standing there, by the desk, still watching her. “One of the bigger lights broke free from the pipes.”
“Oh, my God.”
Jane told her brother what had happened as the paramedics wheeled her around a corner into a small hospital room. As she left Cosmo behind. The paramedics made all these noises like they were going to lift her out of the chair and onto the hospital bed, and she interrupted her story to say, “My legs are fine. I can take it from here.”
“Glad to hear it, dear, but you look like you’ve lost some blood, so we’ll keep a hand on you while you get up there,” the cheerful ER nurse told her.
“Thank you,” Jane said as she scrambled onto the bed, pretending it had been easy. Jeez, this dress was totaled, she was light-headed, and her legs were still way too rubbery.
“Let’s take a look,” the nurse said, and as Jane pulled her bandage away, Robin turned green. Even when they were kids, a simple skinned knee could make him feel faint.
Tess, on the ball as always, pushed a chair behind him, and he practically fell into it.
“Have you had a chance to look at Decker?” Jane asked the nurse.
“Jane, I’ll keep you updated,” Tess answered for her. “He’s gone over to, well, I don’t know exactly—X-ray maybe. The doctors here will be checking him out thoroughly. Nash is with him and, I promise, as soon as we know anything, you’ll know, too.”
“Keep pressure on that,” the nurse told Jane. “You’re going to need a few stitches, hon.”
“I was afraid of that,” Jane told her. “I’m a real baby. Can I have general anesthesia?”
The nurse laughed as she bustled out of the room.
“She thinks I’m kidding,” Jane said.
Robin was pale. “So now are you going to take these death threats seriously?”
“This was an accident,” she told him.
Tess spoke up. “I think it’s still a little too early to say whether this was accidental or intentional.”
Perfect. Way to give her little brother another reason to get lubed tonight. Drink, drink, and drink some more, for tomorrow we may die.
“I thought my psycho killer was a brilliant and cunning psycho killer,” Jane countered. “Isn’t the idea of rigging a studio light to maybe fall—maybe—in the hopes that the intended murder victim—me—will be sitting directly beneath it at that exact moment, a little, well, double dumb-ass stupid, not to mention about as cunning as a stone?”
“The goal might’ve been to cause trouble on the set,” Robin said. “Or shut down production—which, oh by the way, Miss Smarty Pants, it did.”
“It’s possible it was designed to put us off guard,” Tess suggested. “Make us think that the danger was inside the studio. We all come running outside, he’s set up on the roof of some nearby building, and when he’s got a clear shot . . . bang. That’s why we came over here to Cedars-Sinai. There are hospitals closer to the studio, but we didn’t want to take the chance he was set up somewhere, waiting for you.”
“That’s so creepy,” Robin said.
“And astonishingly paranoid,” Jane added.
“We call it careful,” Tess told them. “One of the things we’re going to need from you is a list of everyone who was in the studio earlier today. We had a lot of extras in this morning—people new to the set.”
“Patty’s already getting that list for Jules Cassidy,” Jane said.
“Jules is here?” Robin tried to interrupt, but she spoke right over him.
“But the thing is, Tess, the crew is union. There are rules about who goes up on those catwalks.” Jane looked at Robin. “No, Jules is back at the studio, looking for ‘clues.’ Which he won’t find because there aren’t any.” She turned back to Tess. “My gaffer is good. He wouldn’t have let some random extra wander around up there. I think the fact that the safety chain was intact is proof that it was an accident. That chain did what it was supposed to do—it kept the light from falling. If someone went up there to do mischief, they would’ve eighty-sixed the chain.”
“Unless they had a limited amount of time up in the catwalk.” Tess was fairly serene about her job-induced paranoia. “Jane, I know you don’t want to hear this, but we really want you to lie low for a few days—”
“You mean, hide at home, cowering under my bed?”
“I mean stay someplace where we’re sure you’re safe for a—”
“I’m safe when I’m home, and I’m safe at the studio,” Jane said, her blood pressure and her voice both starting to rise. “That’s what we all agreed. I’m not safe on location—I’ve already given that up, which is both terrifying and infuriating, since I’ve got a director who
needs 24/7 supervision by the Creativity Police, otherwise he’s not going to make my movie, he’s going to make his, which is going to suck because his involves ignoring my actors completely and—”
“Jane,” Robin said. “Lenny’s not that bad. Breathe, okay? I keep picturing blood starting to geyser out of your arm, like something from a Monty Python movie.”
“Robbie, we’re re-creating the Normandy invasion in just a few days. Okay, yeah, on a much smaller scale than Steven Spielberg might’ve done, but I’m going to have to miss that and that makes me very unhappy!”
“An alternative solution might be to shut down production for a few weeks,” Tess suggested in an oh-so-innocent tone that matched her girl-next-door face. She looked as if she should be hosting a Tupperware party, not taking over team leader duties for Decker, who was off in another part of this hospital, getting his head examined.
Jane gave her a variation of Cosmo’s “oh, really?” look. “You know that’s the last thing I’d consider doing. We shut down—they win.”
“They kill you,” Tess countered, “they win.”
She had a point. “If they kill me,” Jane said to Robin, “use the insurance money to make sure this movie gets made.”
“Jesus, Janey . . .”
The happy nurse reappeared. “The doctor’s on his way down. I may not be able to give you anything for the pain, hon, but I have someone out here who’s eager to come in and see you.” She winked. “I know he’d make me feel better if he held my hand. . . .”
Cosmo. Jane closed her eyes. God, yes. A dose of Cosmo’s solid presence was exactly what she needed. “Please send him in.”
“Of course, I’m a big fan of his movies,” the nurse said, and Jane opened her eyes.
Ah, crap. She wasn’t talking about Cosmo. She was talking about Victor Strauss.
What was he doing here?
Although, on second thought, it wasn’t really that big of a surprise that Patty had turned a near-death experience into a promo op. After all, she’d learned from the master.
It was hours, at least, before Cosmo’s official shift began, before Jane could sit in the kitchen with him and have a cup of tea. And maybe, while in his comfortingly solid presence, safe in the knowledge that, unlike most people, he didn’t want or expect anything from her, she could be Jane for a while. And instead of laughing off the fear she’d felt, she could admit that for several terrifying moments she’d thought Decker was dead.
Her eyes filled with tears—God, she needed just a few minutes away from the relentless BS of her extremely public life—but she blinked them back.
She might as well make these hours count.
Jane pasted Mercedes’ smile on her face and prepared to make her visit to the hospital part of the big show.
“Patty!”
She stopped short at the sight of Wayne Ickes. Coming at her from the end of the hospital corridor, dressed like the Good Humor man. God help her.
For several seconds, she actually considered turning and running. Maybe she could pretend she hadn’t seen him. Maybe . . .
“Are you all right?” he asked. Too late. God, she did not need this right now. “I was up in the children’s ward when I heard what happened.”
That’s right, he’d told her his day job was at Cedars-Sinai. Of course this was where they’d come. And of course he was working this shift. She could not win today.
Today? Try this week.
Although, she had to give herself a high five for providing the news cameras—already gathered out in front of the hospital—with a very nice shot of Victor Strauss rushing in to see Jane. It was more proof for the tabloids that the two were romantically connected.
She’d been on the phone with Victor—he’d told her to call him by his first name, and he always took her calls, which was sweet—when the accident happened.
“I’m fine,” she told Wayne.
“I heard Mercedes needs stitches.”
“Just a few,” she said. “She’s getting ready to leave. And Deck’s all right, too. He’s not staying overnight, either.”
“Too bad,” Wayne said. “I could’ve gotten them extra Jell-O with their dinner.”
She stared at him. Was that supposed to be funny?
“Sorry,” he said. “Dumb joke. Look, I’ve got to get back to it—I need to leave early to get to the shoot tonight. I’m in the tank scene with Adam, you know.”
“It’s raining,” she told him. He must not have checked his voice mail yet. “It’s been canceled.”
“Oh,” he said, disappointed. But he brightened right away. “Well, in that case, you want to go to a movie?”
Was he kidding? “I’m just a little busy tonight,” Patty told him, already walking away, unable to keep the sarcasm from her voice. “My boss was in an accident. I need to make myself available.”
“I’m sorry. Of course,” he said, following her. He just didn’t quit. “But in the event she goes home and gets Percodaned up . . . Well, you know where to find me.”
She certainly did. And it therefore should follow that she knew where to go in order not to find him.
And then she should have just done it. She should have turned to him and said, “Here’s a clue, Wayne. After I spend the evening making sure Mercedes is comfortable, I’m going up to her brother’s bedroom to wait for him to come home. Naked. In his bed. Because I’m sleeping with him—we’re involved. So now you know where to find me.”
But she didn’t have time for the potential fallout. Knowing Wayne, he’d petition for a chance to audition to be her leading man—to prove himself just as capable in bed.
Which wouldn’t require all too much effort, considering.
Instead she made a beeline toward Cosmo and Murphy, who were deep in discussion. Normally she avoided Cosmo—his eyes were just too weird—but she desperately needed to de-Wayne.
“My seabag’s still there,” the SEAL was saying to Murphy. “I’ll come by to pick it up, but not until later. You know, I really appreciate this.”
“No problem,” Murphy said.
They both turned to look at her.
“Excuse me,” Patty said. “I’m sorry. Message from Jane—she’s almost ready to go.” It was more than likely that they’d already heard this from Tess, but Wayne was lingering, still watching her, and she needed to say something.
Murphy smiled at her. “Thanks, Pat. We’re on it.”
Cosmo actually spoke. “How many stitches did she need?”
“Six.” Over his shoulder, she could see Wayne finally disappearing down the corridor. Thank goodness.
Cosmo nodded. “That’s not too bad. She had a scrape on her leg—did they get that cleaned up, too?”
Patty hadn’t even noticed the scrape. “I don’t know.” She began backing up.
“Tell Jane I’m taking Cos’s shift for him tonight,” Murphy said. “She likes to know who’s where and when.”
“Sure,” Patty said, but she wasn’t even quite sure what she was agreeing to because, oh, my God, Robin was here. “Robin!”
He was talking to someone on his cell phone, and he stopped short when he saw her. He glanced back in the direction he’d come from, then . . .
Patty’s stomach twisted, because as she watched, Robin squared his shoulders and resolutely waited for her to approach him.
Which was exactly what she’d done when she’d seen Wayne.
Robin was running and hiding from her, the same way she was running and hiding from . . .
Oh, dear God.
She was Robin’s Wayne.
A pain in the ass. A relentless pursuer. A clueless fool, except in her case, she was even more foolish.
She’d actually thought “I love you” meant “I love you,” not “I want to screw you once, then never see you again.”
Patty didn’t wait for Robin to get off the phone. She didn’t wait for a moment alone. She didn’t wait for jack.
“FYI,” she told him before she marched awa
y, loudly enough for the nurses at the desk to overhear, “I’ve had much better sex all by myself.”
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CHAPTER
FIFTEEN
H e shouldn’t have come.
Jules stood under his umbrella, on the sidewalk outside the club, wondering what the hell he was doing here.
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