by Cindy Dees
She did cry then. So hard she couldn’t see, let alone think. No way was she going back to the mansion. She had no family to turn to. What friends she had were back in Los Angeles. She had nowhere to live. Most of what she owned had been trashed in the motel. Hell, her whole life was trashed.
Was she crazy to consider going through with having this baby? Should she think about terminating the pregnancy and saving her and Jackson a whole bunch of life-changing adjustments? Despair at the notion of giving up on Jackson’s child—and on Jackson himself—washed over her.
She directed the cab to the movie studio. It was as close to an actual home as she had right now. Adrian Turnow’s car was in its reserved spot out front, and she punched in the security code to unlock the stage door. The security guard at the front desk nodded a hello to her and waved her into the studio.
For his part, Adrian looked up in surprise from the bank of computer monitors as she stepped out of the shadows and onto the deserted soundstage. “Nice dress. What brings you here at this late hour?” he asked her in surprise.
“I, uh, was thinking about a fight sequence and I needed a bungee harness to try out a new move.”
He nodded rather distractedly and went back to work.
She probably did need the workout. It had always been her best form of stress relief. She changed out of the lovely dress that was as close to a wedding dress as she was ever going to come, and changed into leggings and a sloppy T-shirt in the trunk of her stuff that she kept in Jackson’s office.
She’d been jumping around like a kangaroo for a while in a bungee harness and actually had worked out a very cool combat sequence when Adrian called from by the exit, “Check out with the guard when you leave, okay?”
“You’ve got it,” she huffed back.
When she’d finally exhausted herself enough to sleep, she took a shower, changed into a clean set of sweatpants and a T-shirt from the stash of clothing she kept in her locker, and made her way to Jackson’s office.
She crashed on his couch. The way she figured it, he owed her a night in his office after being such a self-centered jerk earlier. She’d had such high hopes for him. He’d seemed to be coming along so nicely at committing to a relationship. And then tonight’s freak-out.
That was how it always was with him. He would let her draw close to him but not so close that he actually had to give up any part of himself to her. As soon as that threatened, he ran screaming in the other direction.
Not that she could blame him entirely for flipping out. If only he’d gotten his head out of his ass long enough to think about her for even a second. But he was too broken, too scarred, to see beyond his own fear of abandonment, his own terror of commitment, apparently.
She couldn’t stop the tears when they came again, this time more quietly. A pregnant woman was allowed to cry whenever she felt like it, right? She grieved for herself and for the hurt little boy inside Jackson. And she vowed silently that she would never, ever let her son feel so unloved or insecure, no matter how big a jackass his father might be.
The clean masculine scent of said jackass rising from the blanket she huddled beneath nearly did her in, though, before she finally managed to cry herself to sleep.
Something moving in the hallway outside his door made Ana jerk awake sometime later. Probably just the security guard. Except the guy was moving awfully quietly. She’d heard the roving guards’ boots slapping along earlier, and that wasn’t what she heard now. Maybe there’d been a shift change while she was asleep. She opened the door to let the new guy know she was here.
But when she threw Jackson’s door open, the hallway was pitch-black. That was weird. A few lights were always left on at the end of each hallway and on the sets. There were too many wires and too much equipment lying around at any given time that people could get hurt on, so the place was always partially lighted.
Her impulse was to call out to the guard, to let him know she was there, but some instinct warned her to be silent. She crept out into the hallway cautiously. It had sounded like the guard was headed for the main soundstage. She followed the quiet shuffling sounds ahead of her, speeding her steps to catch up with him as the weight of the darkness pressed in on her.
She caught sight of a shadow slipping behind one of the big trolley cameras across the set. She opened her mouth to call out to the guy, but then she heard another sound. A faint groan.
What the—
And then another sound reached her. A sound she knew all too well from her martial arts classes. The sound of knuckles slamming into flesh.
Holy crap. The shadow had just slugged something—someone—lying on the ground over there.
She ducked down fast behind a table full of computer monitors, her adrenaline screaming at her to run for her life. She eased around the edge of the table to peer toward the sounds. A door opened quietly and then clicked closed. Had the attacker left the set? Or was that a ploy to make her think he’d left? But a ploy would mean he knew she was here. Stay or go?
Panicked, indecision paralyzed her until it dawned on her that someone was down and possibly hurt behind that camera. Worry for whoever it was galvanized her into motion and she crept around the edges of the set, sticking to the shadows and hiding behind big equipment as she cautiously made her way toward where she’d heard the groan and the punch.
She reached the camera trolley and crouched down beside a big cloth curtain designed to absorb echoes. Was that a man lying on the ground in a heap over there? She crept forward, heart in her throat. Surely, if the guard had knocked out a bad guy, he’d have handcuffed the intruder, turned on all the lights and called the police.
Which meant the downed man had to be the security guard, and the bad guy was still roaming around the set. Was it her mugger, returned to set up another “accident”?
She forced her feet into motion and eased forward, hugging the curtain and the deep shadows shrouding it. The unconscious person came into sight. Oh, God. It was a guard. She recognized the uniform. And as she drew closer, she recognized the face of the guy who’d checked her into the studio earlier.
With a last furtive glance around, to be sure they were alone, she moved to the guy’s side and felt for a pulse in his throat. He was alive. And that was when she saw the ugly gash over his right ear and the black puddle of blood under his head.
She felt in his hair for the wound. It didn’t feel like it was bleeding anymore, but she had to get help right away! She fumbled at her jeans pockets. Crap. Her cell phone was back in Jackson’s office. She fumbled at the downed guard’s pants pockets and was relieved to feel the hard rectangle of a cell phone in one of them. She pulled it out and dialed 9-1-1.
She whispered when the dispatcher answered, “I need police and an ambulance at Starstruck Studios, Stage 4. There’s an intruder in the building and I’m with an unconscious and injured security guard at the back of the main stage.”
The dispatcher efficiently told her to find a bathroom to lock herself in and that emergency services had been summoned and would be there in under ten minutes.
Ten endless minutes to crouch beside this poor guy, her hand pressed over his wound to stop the seeping blood, and pray that the intruder didn’t swing back this way to check that the guard was still unconscious.
Unable to take the suspense, she dialed Jackson’s phone number.
“Hey, Bart,” he answered. “What’s up?”
“It’s me,” she whispered. “I’m at the studio and someone knocked Bart out. There’s an intruder.”
“Take cover, Ana,” Jackson ordered tersely. “Don’t make any more noise by talking but stay on the line. Find a spot to hide and don’t come out until I tell you it’s okay. I’m on my way. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
He sounded calm, but she sensed terrible urgency in his voice.
And then
she heard a movement behind her. The door the intruder had disappeared through was opening again. She dived for the acoustic curtain and rolled underneath it. She plastered herself against the concrete wall behind it and prayed she wasn’t making a bump that the intruder would spot. Her heartbeats sounded like booming bass drums in her ears. Surely the intruder could hear them.
She realized she was panting in terror and held her breath sharply.
In terror, she watched a pair of black work boots walk over to the guard’s body and stop. Oh, God. The guy wasn’t more than six feet away from her. One boot drew back and kicked the unconscious guard viciously in the mouth, and she had to bite her lips to hold back a gasp of horror.
In the distance, she heard a siren and it rapidly grew louder. The boots half turned and then took off running across the soundstage.
She lifted the edge of the curtain to see if she could get a look at the intruder, but it was too dark. All she saw was a large shape fleeing out one of the side exits.
“He ran, Jackson,” she breathed into the phone. “And I hear the police.”
“Stay where you are, baby. Don’t move. Don’t make a sound. The bastard may not be alone.”
Crud. She hadn’t thought about there being more than one intruder. She settled back behind the curtain. Her hands instinctively cradled her belly, protecting the tiny spark of life there. No way could she get rid of this baby. She already loved it and was fiercely protective of it.
The studio was as silent as a tomb around her. Only the screams of approaching sirens disturbed the thick blanket of night. She’d never felt so helpless as she crouched there, watching blood drip from the poor guard’s mouth.
She started when Jackson’s voice sounded in her ear. “I’m outside the studio with about six cop cars. We’re going to come in now. Where are you, Ana?”
“Back side of the main stage behind the acoustic curtain. About six feet from Bart. He needs an ambulance.”
“Got it. Don’t move. We’ll be there in a sec.”
The studio’s lights went on all at once and noise erupted everywhere as police barged into the building from every direction, clearing the huge studio loudly. And then, without warning, the curtain lifted away from her. Her hands whipped up defensively as a big, dark shadow reached for her. Jackson. She flew into his arms and all but knocked him over in her relief.
“I’ve got you, Ana. You’re safe,” he muttered into her hair. He wrapped her in a hug so tight she could barely breathe. But then she returned the favor and practically strangled him himself. He eased her backward, drawing the acoustic curtain around both of them until they were blanketed in darkness once more.
He placed his mouth on her ear and breathed, “We’re going to stay here until the police declare the building safe.”
She nodded against his chest, registering vaguely that he’d turned her until she was pressed against the wall and his body created a living shield between her and the rest of the movie set. She was nestled in his arms, safe once more. She always felt safe with him.
In a few minutes, the police shouting back and forth declared the building clear, and paramedics rushed over to take care of the unconscious security guard.
Jackson kept her plastered against his side as they watched the EMTs pack the guard’s mouth with gauze, collect the three teeth that had fallen out of the guy’s mouth and put them in a jar, and transfer the now moaning guard onto a stretcher.
And then the police descended upon her. She wished she could tell them more, but she’d been more concerned with staying alive than with spotting the intruder.
Adrian showed up on the set, his clothes akimbo. “What the hell’s going on?” he demanded of Jackson. “The police called and said there was an intruder.”
“Ana’s stalker came back. The police and our security guys are going over the set with a fine-tooth comb to make sure the bastard didn’t successfully sabotage anything before Ana scared him off.”
“I didn’t scare him off. The police sirens did that.”
“You called 9-1-1,” Jackson declared.
“Thanks, Ana,” Adrian chimed in.
She just shook her head. She was no hero. But she was getting sick and tired of being scared stiff. “We need to catch this guy and stop him,” she declared. “If not for me, then for everyone else in the crew.”
“I’m working on it,” Jackson replied, his voice grim. “Adrian, a few of the stunt guys are ex-Special Forces types. I’d like them to rig a few trip wires and booby traps around the studio with your permission.”
“Done,” Adrian declared.
Jackson growled, “Next time this bastard tries anything around here, he’s gonna get the surprise of his life.”
Jackson drove her home to the mansion and deposited her in bed without much conversation. He seemed distracted. Probably was busy planning how to trap the intruder at the studio. Too bad his protectiveness didn’t change anything from earlier. He still wasn’t prepared to have an actual relationship with her. And he damned well wasn’t ready to be a parent. And on that unpleasant note of harsh reality, she went to sleep, alone in his big bed.
In the morning, Ana woke sore and stiff from last night’s excitement. She rolled over, rubbing her stomach in disbelief. It was hard to believe a new life was under way inside her, and that she and Jackson had created it.
No matter how gigantic an idiot he’d been about it when she’d told him, she was secretly over the moon about this baby. She had no idea why she felt that way, but there it was. Apparently, she had some heretofore untapped female instinct for baby adoration. Who knew?
If Jackson had come to bed at all last night, there was no evidence of it. He was already out of the house when she strolled downstairs to nibble on dry toast and sip a little weak tea. They seemed to be the only things her stomach would tolerate in the morning anymore.
When the hour advanced enough for businesses to open, she called her insurance company to get an update. It turned out they were prepared to write her a check for the full amount of her renter’s insurance, which would cover the security deposit on an apartment with enough left over to buy a few pieces of furniture. The timing of the news could not have been better. She arranged to have the money wired to her checking account and headed out to rent herself an apartment.
She waited until she knew Jackson was in a meeting to call his cell phone. Relieved when it kicked over to voice mail, she left him a brief message to let him know she had moved out of the mansion. She disconnected the call and officially declared herself a big ole chicken.
She didn’t need a confrontation with him just now. Not when she was this fragile emotionally. She would deal with him later, when she had her feet under her. The two of them weren’t scheduled to shoot again for a couple of days. Plenty of time to fortify herself to face him. They had just one more scene to shoot together. She could get through one lousy scene, right?
By the end of the day, she’d settled into her tiny studio. No matter that it would fit inside the bathroom in Jackson’s suite. It was hers. She needed to impose some order on her life, and continuing to live with Jackson and his grandmother was not going to help her do that.
She cooked her first meal in her own place and settled down to nest a little. Except the apartment didn’t feel safe. After last night’s scare, her paranoia was working overtime. A call to a locksmith had a man at her place installing a pair of hefty dead bolts on the front door and security bars in all the windows that made her feel marginally better.
She would have to figure out how to get her personal stuff from the mansion later, but she couldn’t face Jackson or Minerva just yet. It was too painful to see what could have been every time she was around them. If only Jackson had been able to overcome his demons regarding women and trust.
Not that she had any right to cast stones in that de
partment. She’d spent plenty of time not trusting men, either. But now, with a baby on the way, she didn’t have years to wait around for him to figure things out. She had her own life to live and another one to look out for, and it was high time she got on with both.
She had just finished hanging curtains in the living room when a knock sounded on her front door. Cautiously, she peered out the peephole and saw a distorted image of Jackson standing there, looking thunderous. She cracked open the door a tiny bit without taking off the security chain. “What do you want?”
“I was worried about you when you didn’t come back to the house for supper,” he ground out.
She opened the door but didn’t invite him in. “I left you a message that I moved out.”
“Yes, but you didn’t leave me an explanation why.”
“I don’t owe you any explanations. You made it perfectly clear you don’t want a relationship with me. It’s high time I get on with my own life.”
His jaw muscles rippled in irritation but he said evenly enough, “One of the guys drove over here with me so I could drop off the Hugster for you. I thought you might need a car to get to and from work.”
She might have grudgingly thanked him, testing the waters to see if it was a peace offering or not, but the hurt over his rejection was still too fresh. “Thanks, but I don’t need it. Crash is giving me a ride over to the garage to pick up my Bug when he gets off set this evening.”
The simmering irritation in his gaze erupted into full-blown anger. She really, really didn’t want to talk to him while he was in this frame of mind. She’d gotten her fill of that at the Chesshire Hotel.
In her experience, people were most honest when they were caught off guard like he had been that night. No matter what he said now, she’d gotten a glimpse of his real feelings about her. He didn’t trust her and thought she was capable of trapping him in a relationship with her.
“Avoiding me?” he bit out sarcastically.