“I’m Emily. I don’t think we had the chance to meet the other night,” she said. “I got there late. Right before the, uh…excitement.”
“Good thing you weren’t out on the beach when that nutso fired,” Liza said as she, too, walked over to Reece, and shook his hand. “You know you’d better take care of my sister tonight, right? If any more bullets come flying her way, I’ll retract my blessing.”
Jessica groaned. This was worse than prom night. Well, the prom part at least. She and Liza had bailed on their mouth-breather dates and gone to a movie. A Reece Winchester one.
“I mean, my blessing for her to work for you, of course.”
“Of course,” he replied, his voice low and smooth.
Then he gave her his full attention. No more introductions or handshakes with her roomies—he was full-throttle, intense male, and was totally focused on her. He examined her, looking down at her feet, where the tips of the to-die-for shoes peeped out from the dress, and then his stare rolled up, studying every inch of her.
By the time he reached her face, Jess was shaking. She tried to disguise her reaction. “Hey, boss, the clothes were totally unnecessary.”
“They were entirely necessary. That dress should be ashamed to ever have hung on a hanger when it was so obviously meant to be on you.”
She saw Liza relax, and would swear Emily sighed. Jess rolled her eyes. “Good line.”
His eyes gleamed. “I’m no longer an actor; I don’t deliver lines. It’s merely the truth.”
Quivering on jelly legs, Jess tried to focus. “Did you get the speech I emailed you?”
“I did, thank you.”
“It’s okay?”
“Perfect. The tone is exactly right.”
“Good. I’ve never heard of this award you’re getting, so I had to do some research.”
Her research had revealed a lot about him. Reece donated profits from every one of his movies to a local organization that helped troubled youth, which was why he was getting an award tonight. The email from his administrative assistant had been professional but a bit gushy, so obviously those closest to him knew about his generosity to his favorite cause.
“Tonight’s going to be yet another let’s-pat-ourselves-on-the-back-and-pretend-we’re-all-the-best-people-in-the-world one,” he replied, sounding weary.
“I got that much.” She’d been wondering why he was going. It didn’t seem his style.
“I normally wouldn’t attend in person—I’m not interested in the preening. But I want the attention for the charity and hope my fundraising efforts will be matched by donations tonight.”
“Ahh.” That would be a lot of matching. She wondered who else was going to be attending this event. Whoever they were, they must have deep pockets. Feeling butterflies in her stomach, she hoped nobody there had seen the media images of bloody her in the torn dress.
“Are you ready?”
“Yes.” She spun around and reached for her purse, which sat on the table.
The moment she touched the bag, Emily shrieked. “Don’t you dare!”
“What?” She threw the shoulder straps of the big leather satchel over one arm.
“You are not carrying that monstrosity,” Liza said.
Reece frowned. “I apparently forgot something.”
“Wait!” Emily darted toward her room. They heard things bouncing around, being thrown, and in seconds, she was back with a small silver clutch in hand. “From when I did Hello, Dolly!. It’s not red like the shoes, but it’s close enough to the beadwork to look all right.”
Jess couldn’t even get a word out as her sister and their roomie yanked her floppy purse away and dug out the few things that would fit in the useless evening bag. Lipstick, a comb, her ID. The two of them worked independently of her. Although her initial reaction was irritation, she finally had to laugh out loud.
“What’s funny?” Emily asked.
“Two evil stepsisters you’re not. You are, however, both out of your minds.”
“He’s the one who’s out of his mind, Cinderella,” said Liza, jerking a thumb toward Reece. “For forgetting the damn purse.”
Reece’s let out a dramatic sigh. “I suck.”
Jess gaped, surprised to see this lighter side of him. She liked it. A lot. Of course, who could be dour and stern when surrounded by the wonderful warmth and solidarity of her besties?
“You’ve lost your acting chops, Mr. Academy Award Winner. That was not convincing.”
“True. But remember, I never won for acting.”
“You were robbed.” Liza’s indignation was audible. “Jess and I threw popcorn at the TV the year you didn’t win for Best Actor.”
Jessica glared at her sister, not feeling the need to give Reece any more proof of her youthful crush on him. She’d gushed enough the night they’d met, thankyouverymuch.
He didn’t acknowledge the comment other than with a tiny shoulder lift that probably accompanied a silent laugh. “I am sorry I didn’t think about a purse.”
“It’s fine,” she insisted, straightening a slipping shoulder strap of her gown. “I still can’t believe you went to all this trouble.”
“It was the least I could do considering what happened to your blue dress.”
Emily flicked the ruby Jess wore. “I think she could forgive you if she got to keep this.”
Jess gasped, mortified. “Emily! That is not funny.”
Reece didn’t hide the chuckle this time. “To quote someone I know, it was kinda funny.”
Remembering their conversation, right in the middle of their make-out session, she felt her cheeks heat with embarrassment. She’d been so nervous when they met, the smart-ass street kid within her had taken over her vocal cords. It was like she had a split personality.
Although she’d been trying to focus only on the here and now, the details about their near-miss sexual encounter tried to fill her brain. Memories pounded against her temples, her thoughts scattered and confusing. The laughter. The attraction. His kiss. Their torrid encounter. The photographer. The crack of a gun. Her torn dress. The glass showering on her.
His protectiveness as he shielded her body with his own.
Jess’s amusement faded as she acknowledged that they were attending a big public event together tonight. It worried her, especially if Johnny had been the attacker.
She didn’t worry so much about being in the line of fire herself. Her real worry was Reece. If Johnny had erupted into violence because he saw them kissing, then she was responsible for Reece’s injuries. Conversely, if someone were gunning for him, would they give up after taking a risk like that? Shooting into a public building packed with people, in a trendy area, indicated desperation and rage.
The more she’d thought about it, the more she worried about Reece’s safety. She cared about him far too much to even consider him being the target of someone’s rage, and she was determined to be his secret bodyguard, no matter what.
“Okay,” Liza said, “I think you’re ready.”
Emily hurried to the door and held it open. “Be good, kiddos. No splashy headlines, unless they’re titillating ones.”
Liza nodded, but then offered Reece a last warning look. “And definitely none involving guns, stalkers, or shattered windows. You put my sister in harm’s way again, and I’m gonna take my hammer and chisel and put a hurting on you.”
* * *
If Jessica was impressed by the stretch limo, she didn’t show it. Instead, as they rode in the back, a tinted window separating them from the driver, she insisted on tweaking his speech. It wasn’t necessary. She’d nailed it. Honest, blunt, funny—the words were just like her. There was also a poignancy to it, intended to pull at heartstrings and loosen purse strings. She’d obviously done her homework, and the words felt as natural as if she’d been the one involved with California Dreams for Kids—the charity helping underprivileged locals.
The speech had been so good, he’d become curious about her scriptwr
iting. He’d never produced anything from a student before, but he’d certainly read raw scripts and given advice.
“Are you even listening to me?” she snapped.
“I do have a bit of experience with public speaking.”
She tossed her head, which made her glorious red hair catch highlights in the early evening sunlight shining in through the open sunroof. She’d worn it down, as he’d asked her to, and it draped beautifully over her pale shoulders. He hadn’t been able to stop himself from wondering if she was wearing the matching lingerie beneath the wicked red dress.
Not going to find out. Tonight was about regaining her trust. He had to keep reminding himself of that, and not think about stripping her bare and getting back to where they’d been Friday before they’d gained a fucking audience. Not to mention a fucking attempted murder.
“Acting in a movie is not the same as giving a speech to a bunch of other rich, spoiled Hollywood types, you know.”
“You’re calling me a rich, spoiled Hollywood type?”
Funny. Anyone who knew the whole story—his siblings—knew he had never been spoiled or indulged as a kid. He’d grown up way faster than anyone should have to, as had his brothers. Especially in the months after Rachel’s death, before his mother had been hospitalized.
She’d been mad with grief, hungry for revenge, and high most of the time. When she started skipping her medication, the mental illness she had long kept in check took over, turning her into a person they barely knew. Her illness had left Reece and Rowan to be the adults, to take care of Raine. They’d also been the ones who’d had to cover up the things their mother was doing. Dark things. Potentially deadly ones.
No. Nobody died. He felt sure of it, as did Rowan. His twin had, years later, as a cop, searched endlessly for any mention of an unsolved hit-and-run in Beverly Hills or anywhere nearby that night. He’d found nothing. Still, the memory of how the two of them had spent their thirteenth birthday continued to haunt him. It always would.
“I’m sorry. That was rude.”
“Thank you,” he said, boxing up the traumatic memory and shoving it into a slot in his mind where he put all the dark stuff from the past.
“Now, let me hear it. Pretend I’m your audience.”
He groaned. The woman was as tenacious as a pit bull. “I swear, Jessica. I can handle making a few remarks without a fifth dress rehearsal.”
“But there are lines I think you should deliver…”
He put a hand up. “Employee? This is employer. Enough.”
“Fine,” she grumbled, crossing her arms over her chest. He didn’t see a pout on those lips, but he’d swear an invisible one was nearby.
“You’re such a sore loser,” he said, trying not to laugh.
“I didn’t lose.”
“Yes, I think you did.”
“Do we always have to revert to childish games?”
He grew entirely serious, wondering if she’d loaded the question intentionally. “No. I’d prefer not to. But you’re the one who has to call the play, remember?”
She understood. He could tell by the flare in her eyes and the way she licked her lips. He’d meant what he’d said about backing off and not trying to lead her through any scene he had set up. He only hoped she would soon decide to step forward.
Swallowing, looking nervous—so unlike her—she fell silent. A minute passed. He wondered if she was thinking she should never have come…or should never leave.
“Can I ask you a question?”
“It depends on the question.” Was there a purr in his voice? Maybe. He could hardly wait to find out what she wanted to know.
“What made you come back to Hollywood? You’d left the limelight and it sounds like you had a good life with your family back East. I’m curious about what motivated you to try to recapture your childhood acting career when you turned eighteen.”
He didn’t have to think about it. The memory of the moment he’d made his decision was imprinted on his psyche. “A tabloid headline.”
She didn’t respond, waiting for him to explain.
“It was a week after I graduated from high school. I was working at a car wash.”
“Seriously?”
“Nothing wrong with honest labor. I needed to earn college tuition.”
“But didn’t you have money left from your earlier years in the industry?”
He stiffened, not wanting to discuss where he and his brothers had spent all their movie earnings. Their mother had lived her final years in a very exclusive, private mental hospital, where she got the kind of treatment she needed. It hadn’t been cheap. “No.”
“Residuals?”
“For a twelve-year-old kid? Please.” Especially difficult when your inexperienced, high-strung mother was your manager, and your agent was a slimy piece of shit. “Anyway, I was on my break and went inside the gas station to get a beef burrito.”
“Brave man.”
He managed a smile before continuing. “I saw a tabloid with a cover article about Caleb Blankenship’s death. First and only time in my life I ever bought one of those things.”
“Caleb…his death was so sad. He was with you in Walk Along with Me. That movie was practically a part of my childhood.”
“I hear that a lot.”
“It’s strange, I recently found out my professor directed it.”
He froze, his teeth slamming together in his jaw, every cell going on alert. “Alan Bent?”
She nodded.
Although Reece’s stomach heaved, many years of hiding what he was thinking enabled him to not puke, or punch out the car window. “So, he’s back in town.”
“Yes. I’ve had him for a few classes. He’s my academic advisor.”
Jesus fucking Christ. He’d thought the dirt he and Rowan had dug up on the man had driven Bent out of California for good. They might not have been able to get enough evidence to convict him, but they could easily have ruined him and destroyed his legacy. Reece couldn’t believe the former director, who’d sworn he would retire to Arizona, had slunk back.
Jessica had continued speaking. He hadn’t even heard her. “After I discovered it, I must have watched that movie once a month when I was a kid. I even managed to hide the tape at every new foster home. I probably still have it somewhere.”
He hadn’t forgotten she’d been in the system; he just didn’t like to think about it.
“Is it one of your favorites, too?”
“It was fun to make.”
Despite the way the experience was colored now, through a veil of adult knowledge, the shoot had been one of the best of his childhood. He and the other two leads had been cast as a group of twelve-year-old boys on the run. They’d spent the summer playing in the woods. They’d gotten so close, it was like he gained two more brothers. The three of them—him, Caleb, and Jamal Stone—had decided to be friends forever, owning Hollywood when they grew up.
Reece was now a director.
Jamal was a surgeon in Chicago.
Caleb had died in the street of a heroin overdose when he was eighteen years old.
“So you found out about Caleb’s death when you saw the tabloid?”
“Yes. We hadn’t been in touch for years. Not after what happened with my sister.” So Reece hadn’t known what had happened to drive his friend to make his destructive choices. He wished he had; God, he wished he’d known and could have helped him. But he was so fucked up about his own family trauma he hadn’t even wanted to remember the people from his old life.
Jessica licked her lips and shifted her gaze. He knew what she was going to say next.
“Um…were the stories true? About what happened to him?”
Reece’s hands clenched into fists. “Yes.”
Like other vulnerable kids, Caleb had fallen prey to one of the monsters who lurked in Hollywood. Right after Reece read the article, he’d tracked Jamal down. His old friend had confirmed everything, saying Caleb had called him a few months before he died
. On the edge, strung out, and in pain, he had named the man who’d molested him. Jamal had tried to get him to come to Chicago, even sent him a ticket. But Caleb never showed up.
There was no doubt in Reece’s mind that the molestation led to Caleb’s eventual suicide, or accidental overdose. Frankly, he didn’t think either of those were correct. He considered it murder. It had just taken years for Caleb to die.
“I’m sorry.” Her voice lowered. “I’ve heard rumors it’s a serious problem in this town.”
“No,” he said, anticipating her next question.
“No, it’s not?”
“No, it didn’t happen to me or my brothers. That’s not why we left.”
He didn’t claim it hadn’t happened to Rachel. There were some things he wouldn’t share with anyone other than his immediate family. Some secrets were too dark, too dangerous, too loaded with potential repercussions, even all these years later.
“I’m glad. I guess this town really does need the kind of service your brother provides.”
“Oh, absolutely.”
Raine had seen more, known more, than either Reece or Rowan. The things the youngest Winchester knew—but couldn’t entirely remember—about their sister’s death had haunted him, damaged him, making him angry and rebellious. So much so a judge had given him a choice to go into the military or go to jail for stealing a car when he was seventeen years old. He’d chosen the military, leaving on his eighteenth birthday, immediately after one last fateful visit with his big brothers in California. That night. God, let me forget that night.
“Why did Caleb’s death make you want to come back? I would have thought it would have cemented your disgust with the whole industry.”
A hard smile, devoid of humor, pulled at his mouth. “It did. Which is why I came back. Getting high enough on the ladder enabled me to bring down some justice when I could.”
He didn’t continue, not wanting to discuss it further. If they went on, he might tell her what he thought about her professor. Bent, that monstrous, twisted piece of garbage, had been the first person Reece went after when he came back to LA. After Jamal had started him down the path, Reece had used every connection he had left to confirm it. What he learned made him feel worse about all the things he hadn’t noticed while they’d been making that long-ago movie. When he’d landed in California, he’d painted a target on the man who’d ruined Caleb’s life. And, judging by what he’d found out, other kids’ lives.
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