Second Chance Reunion

by Irene Vartanoff

  He could hire a new film editor, too. Why hadn’t she realized that hours ago? How could she help Lucas if David kicked her off the film?

  Her sudden fear must have shown on her face. He frowned, misreading its cause. “You’d still be on the team. George made you part of the deal.”

  What a relief. George was too shrewd to let David have full control. But soon, George would no longer be able to protect her. Both David and Lucas had influence in Hollywood far beyond her own. David’s motives were questionable, too. This situation was turning into a fiasco. How foolish she had been to believe her reunion with Lucas would be the culmination of her most romantic yearnings. She’d be lucky to leave here still having a career.

  She went to the French doors and peered out. The garden wasn’t lit tonight. Where was Lucas? Was he in the arbor, getting drunk? In what shape would he be tomorrow morning when the sheriff came? The morning would surely bring another awful scene between Lucas and David, or worse, between Lucas and the sheriff. Lucas might get himself arrested if he obstructed the film retrieval by the sheriff.

  How had David ensured the immediate cooperation of a local sheriff, when Lucas had lived here for years? Wouldn’t a sheriff normally side with a local resident against an arrogant newcomer?

  Lucas had suffered so much in his life. Why did David have to come here to smash Lucas's one failure in his face?

  What was Lucas doing in the garden? Drinking? Or something else? He wouldn’t harm himself, would he? Should she go after him? She had an LED flashlight in her room, bigger and stronger than the one on her phone. Perhaps she should go out to the garden and track Lucas down.

  Did Lucas smash things often? Had living alone turned him violent? Was she at risk if she confronted him when he’d been drinking? The whiskey bottle he’d taken with him had been more than half full. Drinking an entire bottle of whiskey could kill a man, if he wasn’t used to it. Or had Lucas become an alcoholic, in addition to a hermit? She should go after him, make sure he was okay.

  “What’s so interesting out there?” David asked from across the room.

  She looked over at him, blinking a little at the brightness of the room after she’d been squinting at the dark garden. “Lucas went outside.”

  David frowned. “It’s his house. Why don’t you come over here and sit down? We should get to know each other since we’ll be working together.” He patted a seat on the couch next to him. His frown easily slid into an appealing smile, one that reached out and stroked her.

  He was interested in her. He was so pleasant and sincere. Totally hot, too.

  Obvious sucker play. If he thought flirting with her would win her loyalty, he was dead wrong. “I have to get something in my room. Excuse me.”

  After escaping David’s thousand-watt gaze, she took a deep breath, relieved to have resisted the sexual pressure he’d casually turned on her. He was too handsome. Too seductive. Even his cliché lines were strangely appealing.

  Lucas might need her. She must go to him.

  After retrieving her flashlight from her bedroom, she slipped out into the garden via the patio room. She made her way past the fountain, which tonight was quiet and unlit. Darkness shaped the garden bushes into fantastic, menacing creatures, yet it was irrational to be afraid. The path was clear, and Leona had told her this morning that a worker checked the garden every day for dangerous snakes and other nuisance animals. Anyway, the flashlight was bright enough to make the path easily visible.

  She searched the entire garden, but didn’t find Lucas. Perhaps he went into the house by another door. Or maybe he left the walled garden for another part of his property. She didn’t dare venture past the gate. She turned back to the house.

  David Connor stood in her path.

  “What are you doing out here?” he asked. He towered over her, the most menacing shape in the garden tonight. He must have seen her light and come to investigate.

  “I was looking for Lucas. I wanted to make sure he was all right.”

  “Are you worried that he’s crying his sensitive eyes out because mean ol’ David yelled at him?” His tone of voice was a sneer.

  “That’s not why.”

  “Why do you automatically side with Lucas? What’s his hold over you?” He sounded disgusted.

  “I was his intern when you and Jennifer Barnes committed adultery,” she replied, challenge in her voice.

  “I get it. In your eyes, Lucas is a saint.”

  She didn’t want to tell this man that his liaison with amoral Jennifer Barnes had caused Lucas tremendous pain. David Connor didn’t deserve to know how much Lucas had suffered. She walked toward the house.

  David wouldn’t let it alone. He followed her. “You don’t believe Jen and I fell in love for real?”

  “They call it love in Hollywood,” she shrugged, not caring that she was insulting him.

  They reached the French doors. He put his hand on one and stopped her from opening it.

  She turned around and looked at him, hating him. He had ruined Lucas's life, and in the process, almost ruined hers, too. Only Lucas's innate goodness had spared her nasty gossip and possibly the destruction of her fledgling career.

  David said, “Jen dazzled me, and I fell, hard. But she fell, too. It was love. The real thing.”

  “I feel sorry for you then,” she replied, lying through her teeth. Lucas had the prior claim to her sympathy. “Now please let me open the door.”

  “Why won’t you listen? I’ve got to do this, for Jen’s sake.”

  Her eyes shot daggers at him. “I’m going inside now.”

  He dropped his hand. She opened the door and escaped him.

  In her room, she removed her toilet articles from the shared bathroom and firmly locked the door on her side. Let David Connor have it. She’d use the facilities down the hall rather than encounter him intimately again.

  Once she was ready for bed, she locked the door to the hall, too. She wanted no chance of a midnight encounter with a Hollywood star. Why he even wanted her to understand him or side with him was beyond her. Why should he care about what she thought? She was a film editor, not an executive. A film editor was an artistic technician of sorts, but the director of a picture had the right to the final cut. Whoever was the director of Desert Wind now was in charge. Sara herself was only an instrument. She didn’t require buttering up.

  If David Connor hadn’t arrived, she might have persuaded Lucas to give her more authority over the final edit. But even if he had, she’d expected he would slowly come around and show increasing interest in his abandoned project until he finally took it over again.

  Where was Lucas? Was he sleeping it off in some obscure corner of his property? How would he behave tomorrow morning? Would he even be awake by the time the sheriff arrived? If Lucas did put in an appearance, would he cause a scene?

  She should call George. But George was ill. She had leaned on him enough. He needed to rest. He couldn’t fight her battles for her. She must hold on and do her job.

  Why did Lucas keep running away? Why hadn’t he gotten over Jennifer Barnes? She could ask David for a clue, but his account of those fatal days was bound to be biased and hostile to Lucas. Plus, David hadn’t gotten over Jennifer Barnes, either. Two fixated men. One hiding out from his career, and one continuing his, but constantly replacing the dead woman with look-alikes.

  Lucas was such a wonderful man. He’d been so kind to her years ago, so sad at his wife’s infidelity. Life had dealt him a cruel blow twice. Perhaps he had wanted Jennifer Barnes to act in Desert Wind because he hoped to reunite with her once her infatuation with David Connor blew over. True, Lucas had divorced her, but perhaps only because she’d asked for her freedom. Lucas had even tolerated her lover on the project, humoring her.

  The accident had ended everything. Lucas must have felt a huge sense of being cheated. Perhaps he thought if he never left the place or the time when Desert Wind was last filming, he wouldn’t lose his wife to the finality of
death. But he was wrong. Even Sara knew that.

  Chapter 12

  Sara woke smelling smoke, not the comforting smoke of a wood-burning fire in a fireplace, but the noxious aroma of chemicals. What was burning?

  She sat up. The bedside clock said three a.m. It wasn’t a dream. The smoke smell was real. Where was the acrid odor coming from? Why wasn’t a smoke alarm sounding?

  She turned on the bedside lamp, wincing at the stab of bright light. Thrusting her feet into her sandals, she grabbed her LED flashlight. She ran to the window. Outside, everything was dark. When she cranked the casement window open, the smoke smell didn’t increase.

  Next she touched the bathroom door, but it was cool and the smell did not seem to be coming from under the locked door. When she unlocked her side, the other side was still locked. Dead end there.

  Finally, the obvious, she palmed the door to the hall. Again, cool. She opened it. The smoke was stronger here, but only safety lights glowed. She had no idea where the switches were for the overhead lighting. Which direction should she go?

  She coughed. The smoke was getting stronger. It was really a fire. Why weren’t smoke alarms buzzing?

  “David. David, wake up. There’s a fire.” She pounded on his door. She coughed again. The smoke was stronger here. Was it coming from his room?

  “David. Fire. Wake up.” She knocked again.

  His door opened. He stood there stark naked, looking like a Greek god. “What?”

  “Can’t you smell it? Something’s on fire.”

  She ran toward the increasing source of the smoke. She passed the dark living and dining rooms, coughing more as the smoke got heavier. Nothing in the kitchen. A light was on, though, and there were coffee makings out. But perhaps Leona always left them that way for the morning. No time to check.

  “Lucas. Where are you? Lucas,” she called.

  “Where’s his room?” David’s voice came from behind her. He now was wearing shorts and a T-shirt.

  “I think it’s down this hall,” she gasped. “If only we could find how to turn on the lights.”

  David coughed.

  “Lucas.” she called again. “Lucas, where are you?”

  Suddenly the lights were on. David stood by the switch.

  She turned a corner and the smoke came billowing out of one room.

  “Oh, no! The film booth—where he keeps the files on Desert Wind,” she cried.

  “He hasn’t.” David said, on a howl. “Damn his bloody soul.”

  They raced to the door and found the room a smoking wreck. Lucas lay on the floor unconscious.

  Raising her sleep shirt to shield her face, she ran in, but David dragged her back.

  “No, you don’t.”

  He covered his face with his shirt and crawled into the room on his belly. He dragged Lucas's inert body out into the hall.

  “Help me get him away from here.” They both dragged Lucas until they were in the main hall. Then, David hefted the older man in a fireman’s carry over his shoulder. Sara ran ahead to unlock and open the front door.

  Outside, they knelt over Lucas. David felt for a pulse. Then he slapped Lucas's face.

  “What are you doing?” she cried. “Don’t hurt him.”

  “Trying to find out if he’s passed out. There’s a pulse.”

  Lucas was unresponsive. David started CPR compressions.

  Tears rolled down her cheeks. “What should we do? We’re in the middle of nowhere.”

  “Call 911.”

  “But the house may burn down before anyone can come.”

  “Reach into my right front pocket. My phone’s there. Call.”

  With trembling hands, she did as he instructed. All the while, he pressed on Lucas's chest, counting. He stopped to check on Lucas's breathing. “He stinks of whiskey.”

  He started compressions again. “I’m wasting my time. He probably just passed out.”

  “You can’t be sure.”

  The 911 operator picked up and Sara relayed the information. “He’s breathing, but he’s unconscious. There’s a fire. We need help.”

  The operator asked pertinent questions. Behind her, she could hear David counting as he tried to bring Lucas around. Dazed, she responded automatically.

  She leaped up. “We can’t wait. I’ve got to put the fire out now.”

  She threw the cell phone at David and sprinted into the house.

  “Are you crazy? Don’t go back,” he yelled after her.

  She ran to the kitchen. Sure enough, near the stove was a small fire extinguisher, light enough that a woman could easily handle it. She unclipped it and tried to read the directions. She grabbed some dish towels and wet them, wrapping one around her nose and mouth.

  She raced to the room where the fire was. The film editing booth.

  She entered the room, which was illuminated by a recessed overhead light. Smoke poured from the editing system. What had he done to it? She aimed the fire extinguisher and pushed the handle. Chemicals streamed out, as if she were attempting to spray a giant wasp. She stopped, sobbing. Smoke still billowed from one section. She aimed at it and pushed the handle again. Finally, the smoke stopped.

  She backed out of the room, coughing despite the dish towel. She made it down the hall again and out the front door, then fell to her knees, hacking heavily. Then the sobs came, and she collapsed against the outside wall. “How could he do it? How could he destroy everything?”

  “Why the hell did you go back in?” David’s angry voice snapped her back to reality. “You could have died in there.”

  “I thought the whole house might burn down before anyone got here.”

  “It’s just a house.”

  “It was the editing booth,” she wailed.

  “I know.” His voice was heavy with anger. “I can’t deal with that now.”

  He continued his compressions.

  “Why doesn’t he respond?” she asked, tears in her voice.

  “From the smell of alcohol I’ve gotten every time I’ve leaned on the compressions, I’d say he’s passed out drunk.”

  “He doesn’t have smoke inhalation?”

  “Don’t know. Could you find the porch light?”

  “I left you in the dark,” she sobbed. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  She struggled to rise. Right inside the front door, inside, she found the light switch and flipped it. She also flipped the other switches next to it, flooding the inner hall with light that poured out to the apron of concrete around the front step.

  “You’re bleeding,” David said sharply. She looked down at a trail of blood.

  “My foot. I must have cut it,” she said, sitting down and awkwardly attempting to examine the sole of her foot. “I lost my zori.”

  He left Lucas and came over to where she lay. Kneeling down, he grasped her foot. Blood was dripping from the bare sole.

  “I—I must have stepped on something. Broken glass in the editing booth.”

  “Give me that towel.”

  He tore the towel in half and started to bandage her foot.

  “You don’t need to—I can do it. Stop,” she pleaded. “What about Lucas?”

  David ignored her resistance and finished tying the towel.

  “Where else are you hurt?” He started to pull up the sleep shirt that was all she wore.

  “I’m okay.” She put a hand on his to stop further examination. “Please. How is Lucas?”

  “He’s breathing now.” David sat on his heels, resting for a moment. “I’ll go give him some more CPR, although he doesn’t deserve it.”

  He returned to Lucas's body and resumed compressions.

  “I should have called 911 the moment I woke,” she said. Her hands twisted together. “But I didn’t know, I didn’t realize…”

  “You said the editing booth. He torched the film, didn’t he? The bastard did this deliberately. I should let him die,” he snarled. But he continued the compressions.

  “Don’t say that,” s
he cried. “You don’t mean it. A man’s life is worth more than some film.”

  The front door light streaming across his face showed open rage. “A woman’s life wasn’t. Damn him. He’s murdered Jen all over again.”

  She started sobbing again, mixed with coughs. Her foot throbbed.

  Chapter 13

  A voice spoke loudly in her ear. “Miss, can you hear me? Miss?”

  She opened her eyes. Had she fallen asleep? A large woman in an EMT uniform was attaching a blood pressure cuff to her arm.

  “Lucas…”

  “Where are you hurt, miss?” The woman made to strip off Sara’s sleep shirt. She stopped her.

  “Only my foot. What about Lucas?” She couldn’t see past the woman in her bulky uniform.

  “Don’t worry about him. He’s being taken good care of. Here. Let’s get you some better air.” She strapped on an oxygen nose piece.

  “My name is Lisa. What’s yours?”

  “Sara,” she answered, distracted by loud sounds coming from inside the house. “What are they doing in there?” she asked.

  “Checking for the source of the fire. Making sure it’s completely out.”

  “I used an extinguisher.” The noises got louder. “Do they have axes? Oh, don’t let them destroy anything. Where is David?”

  “Don’t worry about anything, Sara. Focus on me. I’m going to ask you some questions.”

  The EMT ran her through a list of personal and health questions, including, “Is there a chance you might be pregnant?”

  “No.” Tears rolled down her cheeks. “I can’t compete with a dead woman.”

  The EMT looked puzzled, but continued her questions. She also efficiently bandaged Sara’s foot.

  “Likely a cut from broken glass. When was your last tetanus shot?”

  Sara told her. Where was David? The men working on Lucas had strapped him onto a gurney. His face was covered by an oxygen mask. His eyes were still closed.

  “Will he be all right? Where are they taking him?” She put a hand on Lisa’s arm. “Please. Find out where they’re taking him. Please,” she said urgently.

  Lisa walked over to the men and spoke to them briefly. She patted one man on the back. The group took off, rolling Lucas down the front path to a helicopter parked in the center of the circular drive, behind an array of emergency vehicles and fire engines.