Marcus continued, "I want to talk to you and Kenzie half an hour after we get back to the hotel. Just a short meeting in the production office, mostly about some promotional ideas I'd like to kick around."
"Fine." She guessed that Marcus wanted to see how much cooperation Kenzie would provide for publicizing the movie when it was released. Having Kenzie on a few major talk shows would be invaluable.
Ordinarily publicity was spelled out in a contract, but since Kenzie hated doing such things, Rainey had avoided the subject when she worked out their initial agreement. Now Marcus had to coax his star into a commitment. She'd have to do promo gigs herself if she wanted The Centurion to do any business, even though she hated them as much as Kenzie did.
"There's been some bad news on the financial front."
That caught Rainey's attention. "How bad?"
"Two million dollars of money that was promised has fallen through."
Her fists clenched. "That's a big chunk of my budget."
"I think I can find at least part of that amount elsewhere, but you might want to consider if you really need all the more expensive scenes, like the welcome at Victoria Station when Randall returns from his captivity. Crowds of people in a large location?" He shook his head. "That sort of thing is a nightmare to shoot, which means extra time and more money."
"I have to do that! The welcome home shows how appalled and overwhelmed Randall is to find himself being greeted as a hero when he feels like a disgraced failure." She'd written that scene from memories of the suffocating panic she'd felt when she and Kenzie were mobbed in public.
Marcus frowned. "I see your point. Very well, see if there are a couple of smaller scenes that aren't essential." They rolled up in front of the hotel, and he assisted her from the car. "I'll see you in the office in half an hour."
Rainey would have loved to take a shower, or better yet, a long bath, but the day was far from over. She headed straight to the production office, a conference room on the ground floor of the hotel. Val was already there sorting through Rainey's mail. She handed over a sheaf of papers. "This report is personal business."
Scowling, Rainey dropped into a chair. By the time she finished skimming the pages, Val had made a cup of mocha latte and placed it by her hand. Rainey took a deep swallow, needing the combination of sugar, caffeine, and blessed chocolate. "You'll have noticed that this is from an investigator researching who my father might be."
"Yes, but you don't have to tell me anything about it." The espresso machine made gurgling noises as Val processed another shot of coffee. "All I saw was the first paragraph. I didn't look any further."
"Such restraint must have been painful for someone of your curiosity."
Val grinned. "Damn right it was, but the last thing you need is more stress."
"Since you've known me forever, you might as well hear what Mooney has to say. He doesn't have any definitive answers. Just a list of contenders for the honor of having fathered me, rated in rough order of likelihood and with notes on which are dead and beyond DNA testing."
Val sipped a cappuccino, delicately licking a line of cream off her upper lip. "Are you that curious about your father?"
"I'm not obsessed, if that's what you mean. It's more that this is a... a piece of unfinished business. Maybe I'll never find out who the bastard is, and if so, fine, I've survived this long without knowing. But I figured that if I wanted to know, I'd better get cracking. The trail is already over thirty years old."
"Since your mother was famous, plenty of people must remember her."
"They certainly do. According to Mooney, he's established that Clementine's likely partners around the time I was conceived are in the range of eight to ten."
Val winced. "She lived up to her reputation as a hard-lovin' woman."
Rainey consulted the report. "If the semen contributor was a one-night stand at a club or concert, he'd be virtually impossible to trace, so Mooney sticks to potential daddies who had something resembling a relationship with her. Two were Asian and one black, so they're rated low probability, given my rather Celtic coloring."
She flipped to the next page. "There were three musicians, one of them part of her backup band, a rather mediocre bass player. She had a fling with the star of a hit cop television show of the time. I've seen it in reruns—the guy couldn't act his way out of a canary cage. There are rumors that she was involved with a studio executive, and/or a recording company honcho, but Mooney hasn't any names on that.
"The highest probability listing is for her drug supplier. They apparently consorted regularly for some months, but he met an untimely end from lead poisoning—the kind that comes in concentrated pellets that do bad things to one's anatomy. That happened when I was about six months old, and if he was my father, I can only rejoice. That's all Mooney has for now. If I want to continue, he figures he can narrow the field down to more manageable numbers."
From Val's compassionate expression, Rainey knew she was overdoing the brittle humor. She slid the report back into the FedEx envelope, wondering if she really wanted to know more. Probably not—but she did want to tie up the loose ends of her life, and this was a big one. When the investigation was over, she could file the findings away and forget the matter of her father.
Seeing the tawdry details of Clementine's life made Rainey appreciate her grandparents more. They were cold, strict, and humorless, but at least she'd never had to worry about strangers emerging from their bedroom in the morning.
Marcus and Kenzie entered the conference room together. Val made cappuccinos for both of the men, which gave Rainey time to bury the past again. The stresses of a bad day of shooting were mild compared to her early childhood memories.
Kenzie leaned against a wall, self-contained as always, but Marcus sat down and helped himself to one of the sandwiches Val had ordered. "I need to talk to both of you about blocking out time for promotional appearances."
The phone rang, and Val caught it on the first ring. After a moment of listening, she said, "It's Emmy and she says it's really important."
"Go ahead and take the call," Kenzie said. "Marcus is trying to do an end run by acting as if I've already agreed to the promotion he wants and it's merely a matter of scheduling."
"Round one to Kenzie," Marcus said. "Shall we move on to round two?"
"Is that the one where you say I owe my fans more public appearances, and I reply that overexposure destroys a star's aura of mystery?"
Marcus grinned. "Okay, we'll jump to round three."
Ignoring the banter, Rainey said, "What's up, Emmy? Are you okay?"
"I'm fine. The good news is that I think I felt the kiddo kick this morning. The bad news..." She took a deep breath. "I didn't call earlier because I thought maybe we could turn this around, but after a day of fighting, I think the situation is hopeless. Jane Stackpole is dropping out of the production."
"What!" Rainey dropped her half-eaten sandwich and jerked upright in her chair. "She can't do that! Next week she's due to meet us in London."
"She can do it, and she has."
Rainey rubbed her pounding temples. "Why? Is she ill?"
"She got a better offer—the chance to be the love interest in a big Hollywood thriller. She almost got that role in the initial casting, and when the star decided he hated the girl who was first choice, they called Jane back."
"She practically kissed my feet when I offered her the part of Sarah," Rainey said numbly. "Swore that it was the most wonderful role she'd ever seen, and it was the opportunity of a lifetime."
"That was then, this is now. Being a bimbo pays better and offers more visibility," Emmy said cynically. "If I ever meet that ungrateful, anorexic traitor in person, I'll kill her, but in the meantime, is there someone I can call as a possible replacement?"
Rainey gloomily thought of all the actresses she'd considered and rejected. "I'll talk it over with Marcus and get back to you."
When she hung up, Marcus said, "We lost Sarah?"
&
nbsp; "Jane Stackpole got a better offer. Can we sue her for her back teeth?"
"Unfortunately, no. The final contracts are still at her agent's—maybe he was stalling in the hope that this other role would come through. Better we put our energy into finding a replacement." Marcus glanced at Kenzie. "You know the British actresses better than I do. Do you have any suggestions?"
His gaze went to her. "Rainey."
She gasped. "I can't play Sarah! I've already got a job on this movie."
"Plenty of actors have directed and starred in their own productions. No reason why you can't do the same."
"Male actors do it regularly. Females almost never." She groped for more reasons. "Besides, I'm not English, and I'm too old for the part."
Marcus was studying her with narrowed eyes. "Kenzie may have a point. With the right lighting age won't be a problem, and you do a fine English accent. Actually, when I first read the screenplay I thought you must intend to play Sarah. It's a terrific role, and you'll be able to handle it at least as well as Jane Stackpole."
It had been a long, difficult day, and facing two men trying to convince her to play a role she didn't want pushed Rainey to the snapping point. "No!" Barely managing to restrain herself from throwing her coffee cup across the conference room, she pitched her voice with ear-splitting clarity. "I am not going to play a simple-minded teenage virgin!"
Her uncharacteristic outburst produced startled silence. Then Kenzie straightened from his lounging position against the wall and crossed the room. "You need a time-out."
Before she realized his intentions, he unclipped the cell phone from her belt and tossed it to Val, then scooped Rainey up in his arms and headed for the door. Appalled, she struggled to free herself. "Damn it, Kenzie, what the hell do you think you're doing?"
"Abducting you," he said calmly. "Before you shatter into little pieces."
"Marcus, stop laughing!" She wriggled furiously but Kenzie had done a thorough job of pinning her arms so she couldn't get loose. "Are you going to let him do this?"
Her producer tried to look serious. "You could use a break, Rainey. A few hours away will be good for you."
Less amused, Val grabbed the phone. "Shall I call security?"
"Yes!" Rainey thought of the uproar that would cause. The security men would probably ask Kenzie for his autograph and laugh heartily about his masterful way of dealing with the little woman. "No!"
Before she could decide on the best course, Kenzie had carried her from the conference room. It was only a dozen steps to a side door. He turned and shouldered the door open, keeping a firm hold on Rainey. His rented SUV was parked just outside.
He opened the vehicle door, and had her inside in seconds. She grabbed for the handle while he circled to the driver's seat, but he'd locked her door with his remote. She was searching the unfamiliar controls when he started the ignition and they roared down the hotel driveway to the main road.
Her resistance collapsed and she buried her face in her hands, struggling not to weep with stress and frustration. A warm, familiar hand rested on her shoulder. "Relax, Rainey," he said quietly. "It's Saturday, and there's nothing that has to be done for tomorrow. Take a few hours off. You haven't seen anything of New Mexico that wasn't through a camera lens."
She wanted to jerk away, but she couldn't bear to sever the contact between them. "This compulsion you have to play Tarzan has gotten old."
"I dislike repeating myself, but direct action seemed a better approach than trying to talk rationally when you were freaking out." He released her shoulder to change gears, keeping both hands on the wheel after he shifted. "If you want to go back to the hotel, say the word. But why not slow down and get things back into perspective? I think I know some pretty good medicine for what ails you."
Did she want to go back to the hotel? Truthfully, no. Knowing their marriage was unfixable offered a weird kind of freedom. She'd enjoy spending some time with Kenzie, and it wouldn't be any more painful than working with him every day.
She studied his calm, perfect profile, wishing again that he wasn't such a damned nice guy. There was a deep kindness in him that she hungered for. Yet he'd broken their marriage as casually as someone tossing out a magazine, and never offered regret or apology.
She fastened her seat belt, but said in a warning tone, "Okay, it's break time, but if the medicine you have in mind is seduction, forget it."
"Actually, what I had in mind was kittens."
"Kittens?" she repeated blankly.
"I have to visit some nice people, and their cat has kittens. Very soothing."
She loved cats, but wasn't home enough to have one of her own, so borrowing someone else's kittens would be a nice break. She settled back to enjoy the scenery. She'd always liked New Mexico, but Kenzie was right. On this visit she hadn't seen any of the beauty around her except in terms of how it would work in the movie.
There was something to be said for a friendly abduction.
Chapter 12
Rainey dozed a little, wondering how many hours she'd spent in a car with Kenzie behind the wheel. He didn't have a macho thing about being in control—he simply liked driving more than she did, while she enjoyed letting go and letting him do the work.
The sun was still well above the horizon when he turned under a sign that announced Cibola. Deciding she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of asking where the devil they were, she held her tongue as they rattled down a long entrance road and pulled up in front of an adobe ranch house. It was a pleasing structure, perfectly formed from its setting.
Kenzie took a folder from the backseat, then came around the SUV and helped Rainey out. A dog trotted up and greeted him adoringly, then turned to study Rainey. She was cautiously extending her hand when a comfortable-looking older woman emerged from the house.
"Hi, Mrs. Grady. Here are the brochures I promised you." Kenzie gave the woman a hug. "This is Raine Marlowe. I brought her here to see the kittens."
Mrs. Grady's eyes widened a little, and Rainey knew that the woman recognized her as Kenzie's wife, and probably even knew they were getting divorced. But she only said, "They'll be happy to meet you, Miss Marlowe. The little devils have worn everyone else out with their playing."
The interior of the house was cool and restful after the heat of the day. Mrs. Grady said, "Would you like some lemonade?"
"That would be lovely."
Mrs. Grady rattled ice into a tall glass, then filled it with lemonade from a pitcher in the refrigerator. "The kittens are out in the garden. I don't let 'em run outside—they'd be a quick bite for a coyote. This way."
A door opened to a walled garden fragrant with flowers. Wondering if the small fruit tree trained against one wall was an apricot, Rainey walked out into the late-afternoon sun. As a tiny tabby roared across her foot, Kenzie said, "Enjoy."
He withdrew to the kitchen, leaving her alone in the garden with the kittens. A little gray guy trotted up and tilted its head back to study her. Rainey dropped to the ground and crossed her legs, scooping three kittens onto her lap. Their placid mother lay by a rosemary bush with a fourth kitten dozing under her paw.
The lemonade had the fresh, tangy flavor that came only when it was made from scratch. After a long, deep swallow, she gathered the kittens in her hands and rubbed her face against the soft baby fur. The tabby began licking her ear, the gray guy purred at a high pitch, and the third, mostly white with tabby patches, scrambled onto her lap and started to gnaw at a shirt button.
Peace. She petted the gray kitten when it settled on her shoulder. Kenzie was right—this was a way to regain perspective. Things always went wrong during production, and this movie was actually going rather more smoothly than most. Only the fact that she bore so much responsibility was making her nuts.
She still felt like spanking Jane Stackpole, but the girl wasn't the first to back out of a deal when a better one appeared, and she wouldn't be the last. It was a pity—Jane had a wonderful combination of fragility, grace, an
d inner steel, perfect for Sarah.
Casting was one of the most important parts of moviemaking, and the wrong person in a part could destroy the whole production. But there would be another ingénue who could do Sarah justice. Tomorrow morning, when it was a decent hour in England, Rainey would call some of her London contacts and set the wheels turning.
In the meantime—she had kittens.
* * *
The sun was dropping below the adobe walls when Kenzie looked out into the garden. "Ready to move on?"
Rainey sat cross-legged among kittens, looking lovely and relaxed. Like herself again. "I only wish I could take a couple of these little sweethearts with me." She kissed the tabby on its tiny nose before setting it on the ground, then rose lithely and followed him into the house.
Inside, she gave Mrs. Grady a warm smile. "Thank you so much. You could patent those little fellows as the Kitten Cure."
"Do you want a kitten or two?" Mrs. Grady asked hopefully. "They'll be old enough to leave their mother in a couple of weeks."
"If I weren't going to England next week, I'd take you up on that," Rainey said.
"There are always more kittens in the world when you're ready. It was nice to meet you, Miss Marlowe."
"Please call me Rainey. Thanks so much for letting me visit." With a last smile, Rainey accompanied Kenzie out to the SUV. As he drove across the ranch, she asked, "How do you know Mrs. Grady?"
"I'm buying Cibola from her and her husband."
She stared at him. "Just like that after only a few days in New Mexico?'
"Just like that. The Gradys will move to a modern redwood house, which will be built on the little lake to the west—you might not have noticed it. I came by today to drop off the brochures for some very nice factory-built houses. While you were kittenizing, Mrs. Grady was choosing the model she liked best. If her husband agrees, construction will get underway immediately."
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