by Cindy Dees
“Hell to the yes,” she snapped back. “I’ve got nothing to say to you, and I damned well don’t want to hear what you have to say while you’re in this snit.”
“This is not a snit—” He broke off as Crash came bounding up the outdoor stairs, jangling his keys noisily.
“Hey, Jackson. C’mon, Ana. We gotta roll. Garage will close soon.”
“You got it, Crash.” She stepped into the breezeway, locking the door behind her. “Go home and have a beer, Jackson. You look like you could use one. I’ll see you on set Friday.”
She blew past him quickly, making sure to stay to the far right of the steps and not give him any opportunity to grab her and subject her to a grand chewing-out. She truly didn’t want a confrontation with him. If nothing else, he was her boss, and she needed to be able to get work after this film wrapped more than ever now that she was going to have to support a child.
Jackson was so tense he all but vibrated as she hurried past him, but thankfully he didn’t make a scene. He was still standing on the steps staring grimly in her direction as Crash’s car pulled out of the parking lot.
“Good news, Izzolo,” Crash announced. “I see your wreck out back. It must be finished.”
She climbed out of the car and looked where Crash pointed. Sure enough, there was the Bug Bomb. And she looked better than she usually did. The mechanic must have washed and waxed the old gal.
“That car would be worth a little bit if you restored her properly,” he commented. “Vintage Bugs have come back in style.” Given that he was the resident car expert on the stunt crew, she was inclined to believe he was right.
“I just need the transportation, and she was cheap when I bought her.”
He shrugged. “I’ve got a little garage and a lift at my place. I’d be happy to work on her some more, if you like. You pay for parts and I’ll throw in the labor.”
Ana stared at him, shocked by the generosity of the offer. “You don’t have to do that, Crash.”
“I know I don’t have to. But tweaking cars relaxes me, and I’m not working on one right now. It would give me a project to play with.”
“Thanks for the offer.”
“I’ve got a buddy who tows classic cars. Just let me know when you can spare your baby for a few days.”
She jolted at the reference to babies and looked over at him sharply. He was staring at the Volkswagen, thankfully.
The six-hundred-pound gorilla lurking in the corner of her brain stirred. What the hell was she going to do about raising this baby? If Jackson wanted to be part of his child’s life, she couldn’t very well keep him out of it. God knew he had a whole lot more money than she did if it came to a custody fight with lawyers involved. Panic at the idea of him taking her baby away made her a little light-headed.
Where on earth did a shared child leave the two of them?
Chapter 16
Jackson tossed and turned sleeplessly as the moon rose outside his window and eventually set again. What the hell am I going to do about a baby? And about its mother, for that matter.
He was a little shocked to discover that he wasn’t all that upset about the existence of a baby. But, Lord, getting pregnant was just the sort of thing his mother would have done. Except she’d have used a baby to trap a big movie star purely for the publicity, or even just to advance her career. He’d sworn long ago to cast off the taint of his famously wild, drug-addicted mother in Hollywood. But apparently, blood won out in the end.
Ana was being completely irrational and wouldn’t even speak to him, for God’s sake. It was not in his nature to avoid problems, but clearly he was going to have to give her a few days to cool down before he tried to talk with her again.
He punched his pillow and the faint scent of her vanilla perfume rose to meet his nose. His body stirred instantly. Dammit. Even the smell of her turned him on. Truth be told, everything about her turned him on. Even the fiery glint of anger in her eyes today had been sexy as hell.
Everything had been going so right for them. How could it all have gone so damned wrong so damned fast?
Before dawn, he gave up on pretending to sleep and went downstairs. He made his way out to the veranda as sunrise started to make the sky pink behind him. A tall mug of coffee did nothing to lighten his mood, nor did it offer up any answers to him about women and their incomprehensible ways.
He turned sharply at the sound of crunching in the driveway. He knew that particular tenor of thrown gravel. That was the Hugster. Ana’s home. Thank God.
He raced through the kitchen and punched the garage door opener on the wall impatiently. The big panel slid up achingly slowly as he waited to see her face again. To take her in his arms. To tell her how much he’d missed her and that he wanted to take care of her and the baby and wouldn’t abandon them.
The minivan pulled into the garage, and the door opened...
...and Crash Mashburn got out.
Damn, damn, damn. “What are you doing here?” Jackson demanded.
“Ana asked me to return the van to you. She’s got her Bug back, and it’s running.” He added ominously, “For now, at least. Thing’s a piece of crap. Needs a major engine overhaul...”
He tuned out while Crash listed the things that needed fixing on her car. Cold-sweat terror erupted in his gut. It was already starting. He and Ana had one fight, and the circling sharks moved in. Crash was a decent enough guy, but Ana was carrying his baby, God damn it. Doesn’t that somehow make her mine? He barely caught the keys Mashburn casually tossed him. Apparently not.
“Sweet ride for a minivan,” Crash announced drily. “Needs a suspension adjustment, though, if you’re planning to corner it hard. Rear axle’s running a little loose.”
Jackson scowled, and the stuntman said more seriously, “I assume you won’t mind giving me a ride in to work this morning since we both have the meeting with Adrian at nine?”
Work. Meeting. Adrian. He swore under his breath. “You had breakfast?” he asked reluctantly.
“Nope.”
“Come on in,” he said in resignation. “I’ll fry us some eggs.”
He managed to restrain himself until after he’d plunked down a plate of eggs, bacon and toast in front of Crash. Then he blurted, “How’s Ana doing?”
Crash answered around a mouthful of eggs and toast, “Settling into her place. Seems a little outta sorts, but the kid’s under a lot of pressure what with this being her first big acting role and all. And those attacks were rough. She’s tough, though. She’ll bounce back.”
Jackson made a noncommittal sound of agreement. He probably couldn’t get away with questioning Crash any more on the subject of Ana without rousing the guy’s suspicions. Mashburn was sharp as a tack and didn’t miss much that went on around him.
They’d arrived at the studio in the cursed minivan and were walking in from the parking lot when a call came in to Crash’s cell that turned out to be related to Mashburn having Ana’s car delivered to his place so he could work on it for her. Jackson couldn’t keep his mouth shut any longer. He put a restraining hand on Mashburn’s arm and the guy turned questioningly to him.
“Ana’s been through hell, Crash. Back off and give her some breathing space. She’s not ready for a major relationship right now.”
Mashburn snorted. “That’s hilarious coming from you. Maybe you should take your own advice, there, Jackson.”
“I’m serious, man.”
Crash took a step closer and stared him hard in the eye. “So am I. Ana’s a great girl. Boss or not, I’m tellin’ you. Don’t screw with her head.” And on that note, he whirled and strode ahead of Jackson into the studio.
What the hell had she told Crash about the two of them? Had she rebounded into the former race-car driver’s bed already? His blood boiled at the idea of her sleeping with Crash—hell, w
ith any other man. His teeth were still grinding together when he sat down with Adrian.
He struggled through the whole damned meeting to keep his mind on the topics at hand. Mostly, he failed. The saving grace was that Sheila, Adrian’s blessedly efficient assistant, had printed up copies of the shooting and production schedule that most of the meeting was devoted to going over. He would look at it later when he wasn’t dying to bury his fist in the face of the guy across the table.
Was Crash right? Had he taken advantage of her emotional fragility after a big scare and the huge shock of diving into moviemaking headfirst? Was he the villain in this scenario?
* * *
It felt strange being on her own again. Ana found herself watching her rearview mirror carefully and looking over her shoulder often, just like she used to. Weird how safe she’d felt after Jackson had come into her life.
Had she seen that tan sedan earlier in the day? The car looked familiar. She ran a red light trying to ditch it and earned a chorus of honking horns before she declared herself crazy and shook off the silly paranoia. Chandler LaGrange was locked up in a mental institution and couldn’t come after her. And even if he did get out, she lived on the other side of the country now.
Still, she couldn’t forget the firecracker sounds before that lighting rig had nearly crushed her. The police never had figured out who’d broken into her motel room. The intruder had probably worn gloves because he left no fingerprints behind that the police could discern. And, given the number of people who stayed in short-term motel rooms like that, there was no way to sift through the other forensic evidence to figure out who the last person in the room had been. Brody Westmore had been helpful but explained there was nothing more the police could do.
She saw the tan sedan coming with just enough time to brace herself against the steering wheel, but that was all. The speeding car smashed into her door with enough force to spin the little Bug all the way around.
Her body slammed violently against the seat belt and shoulder harness. The car was far too old for air bags. Oh, God, please let that not have hurt the baby. She undid her seat belt and pushed at the door, but it was a mangled mess bowing in toward her. She crawled over the center console to the opposite door and pushed it open. The frame of the car was bent and she had to give it a good heave with her shoulder, and she half fell out of the Bug as the latch gave way.
Righting herself, she climbed out of her car to check the other driver. Other drivers had stopped and were running her way.
“You okay, lady?” one of them asked.
“Yes, I’m fine. Check the other driver.”
She followed the Good Samaritan around the front of her vehicle to the tan sedan and stopped in her tracks. There was no driver. The driver’s side door was wide open, and no one was in the car. The engine was still running, but the car was empty. Who would slam their car into someone else and then just take off? An illegal alien? A criminal? Her stalker?
She felt her jeans pocket, and her cell phone was still in it. She pulled it out and dialed before she could stop to question her choice of phone numbers.
“Ana. What’s up?” Jackson sounded surprised. Pleased, maybe.
“I was just in a car accident, and the other driver fled. I thought you might want to call your security guys and have them respond.”
“Where are you now?” he responded tersely, in full crisis mode. “Do you need an ambulance? Have the police been called?”
“I definitely don’t need an ambulance. I’m fine.”
“Sit down and don’t stand up again until I get there,” he ordered.
She actually did as he’d said to when she started to feel a little dizzy and faint. Please God, let nothing be wrong with the baby. She’d die if she lost this miracle now.
The police arrived on the scene before Jackson—Brody and a guy she’d never met on the Serendipity police force—and questioned her in detail about the other car and driver. She wasn’t much help, though. She’d barely seen the car before it hit her, let alone the driver’s face. A man. Wearing sunglasses and a baseball cap. Not much help to the police.
All any of the witnesses could tell the police was that it had been a man. The descriptions declared him medium in every way. Medium height. Medium build. Medium brown hair, average features. Which was to say, no one had seen a thing.
Jackson was more decisive with the police when he got there. He was not amused when the police failed to find any fingerprints on the steering wheel after a dusting for them that he insisted on.
After the complete lack of prints, Brody’s partner came back to press her harder for any ideas she had regarding who might be out to harm her. She reiterated that she had no enemies, no ex-boyfriends and no idea whatsoever who could be targeting her like this, but this officer was even more skeptical than the last ones had been.
She was near tears in her frustration when Jackson finally stepped in to end the interrogation. “I’m taking her to the hospital now. You can call her tomorrow if you have any more questions.”
“I don’t need to go to the hospital, Jackson,” she protested.
“You’re pregnant. Indulge me,” he retorted in a voice that brooked no disagreement. When she tried to protest, he merely said, “Don’t make me invoke the insurance clause in your contract. I can legally force you to go.”
It took them a couple of hours of sitting around to get an ultrasound and get it read, but a doctor finally declared both her and baby hale and healthy. She didn’t know who was more relieved—her or Jackson.
“I’m taking you back to my place,” he declared.
“You most certainly are not!” she retorted sharply. “I’m going home. To my home.”
“Ana—”
“Don’t argue with me,” she warned him. “I’m in no mood for a fight tonight.”
Surprisingly, he took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly. Much more calmly than she expected, he said, “Fair enough. But here’s the thing. You’re carrying my child, and someone just tried to kill you. No way, no how, am I leaving you alone tonight. I’ll sleep on your couch or outside, leaning against your front door. But, honey, I’m not going away, and I’m not going to fight with you about it.”
She subsided and let him drive her back to her place...and honestly, it was nice to have a big strong man look out for her a little. The accident and disappearance of the driver had rattled her worse than she wanted to let on.
He ended up bunking down on her couch, and surprised her by not asking to join her in her bed. Which was just as well. She didn’t want to have to deal with him—or more accurately, her feelings for him—tonight. If only he wasn’t so damned dependable and decent in a crisis. He made it hard to hate him.
She took a long soak in a warm tub to ease the aches and pains she was going to feel tomorrow after the accident, put on her fuzziest pajamas, called it an early night and went to bed.
The nightmare shouldn’t have surprised her, she supposed. But it was worse than usual. The hands around her neck were tighter and more real than they’d been in a long time. She woke with a jolt, sitting bolt upright in the dark, shaking from head to foot in terror. Maybe she should think about calling her psychiatrist back home in the morning. This was getting out of hand.
What was happening to her? Who was doing this to her?
Jackson would come in here in a heartbeat and hold her the rest of the night. All she had to do was call his name. But dammit, she was going to have to learn to live on her own sooner or later—likely sooner given the state of affairs between them now.
She lay back down and pulled the covers all the way up over her head. That lasted until she decided she’d rather see her attacker coming and have a chance to defend herself. It was one of the hardest things she’d ever done not to ask Jackson to come sleep with her. She missed him all the way down
to her bones. Every cell in her body ached to be with him. But they could never be a couple. Not in the way she wanted—committed, loving and real. Her eyes burned with tears that refused to come.
She pulled the covers back down under her chin and stared gritty-eyed into the corners of her bedroom for the rest of the night.
Chapter 17
Ana sat on a wooden bench in the women’s locker room at the studio. Rats. She was going to puke again. And this time it wasn’t the combination of dry Cheerios and morning sickness making her stomach heave. It was knowing that, in a few minutes, she was going to have to go out and fake a love scene with Jackson.
Today was their last scene together. After filming wrapped this afternoon, they would be done with each other in every way. No more ties would be left to bind them together...except a child he didn’t want. An urge to cry like a baby washed over her, tightening her throat and making her eyes swim in unshed tears. Get a grip! Like it or not, she had a job to do.
How in the hell was she supposed to film a steamy love scene with him when they weren’t even speaking to each other? He’d waited until she was up and around this morning and had slipped out of her apartment without a single word to her. A security guard from the studio had been waiting outside her front door when she opened it and had given her a ride to the studio in what rode like an armored SUV.
How did actors and actresses have on-set romances and get through the end of films after their temporary romances blew up and they’d gone their separate ways?
She jumped as a loud mob of young women burst into the locker room, making more noise than a flock of chickens. She’d forgotten that today was an open casting call for bit-part actors. Which meant there’d be a huge audience to witness her humiliation with Jackson. Great. She zipped the green bodysuit up to her neck but left the hood down. Might as well get all smeared in green facial makeup and get her facial dots glued on before she put on the hot, uncomfortable hood. Glumly, she headed for makeup.
Tyrone Cozier, one of the top makeup artists in the biz, waved her into his chair this morning.