Studio B

Universal City, California

 

Jason glanced at his phone, reading the brief message Stevie had just sent him.

“Home secure. Expect return at seven.”

Just a routine check, but it was important that they were all on the same page. He still didn’t like the fact that they weren’t using coms, but everyone had to adjust.

Colt was on set, reading through a scene with the director. Jason stood at the back of the cavernous space where Zeke had set up the monitors that were attached to Mastiff’s cameras. He was studying the feeds from the night before, trying to see if they’d caught anything with that runaway cart. He had a clear view of his quick rescue of Kat Carlisle, but the cart seemed to have just appeared out of nowhere. Somehow, the driver had managed to stay out of view of the cameras until seconds before nearly running Kat down.

No one on the lot had been able to identify the driver. The cart itself was found abandoned at the back of the lot in an area that was rarely visited anymore. It was like a prop junkyard, an area where vehicles that were not in use anymore were parked. The cart, it turned out, wasn’t even one that was registered on the lot. Someone had brought it to the set without telling anyone.

It was weird. If Kat Carlisle had been their client, it would worry the hell out of Jason.

Even though she wasn’t their client, it still worried the hell out of him.

Jackson Chamberlain wandered over to Jason, leaving the cluster around Colt Murphy without too much fanfare. He nodded toward the monitors.

“I heard about the excitement last night. You were quite the hero.”

“I just acted on instinct.”

“That’s why my son pays you the big bucks.” Jackson touched the screen that was currently focused on the runaway cart. “You figure out what happened?”

“It looks like someone did it intentionally.”

“Why would they do that?”

Jason shrugged. “Maybe the driver expected Colt to be walking across the lot just then, not Kat Carlisle.”

“You think this might be part of the threat against him?”

“I can’t rule it out until I find the driver.”

Jackson nodded. “Well, I hope it proves to be just a coincidence. I’d hate for the press to get ahold of this. ‘Killer Loose on Movie Set.’ Wouldn’t be a great headline after everything that happened to my family last year.”

Jason had heard the stories. Billy Chamberlain, the star of a popular cop show, had turned out to be a serial killer. Not only was he a killer in his spare time, but he’d managed to pin most of his crimes on his brother, Durango Masters—a well-respected police detective in Chicago—when his fiancée became one of the killer’s many victims. It was Durango and his FBI agent girlfriend who finally put the clues together and spooked the guy into action. It was a mess that ended with Billy dead, his father shot, and his brother injured in a car accident.

The headlines would have been the least of Jason’s concerns if he had a son or brother like that, but to each his own.

“Ms. Carlisle has asked for an audience with you, by the way.”

Jason looked hard at Jackson. “What?”

“She wants to meet you. Thank you for your assistance.”

He shook his head. “That’s not necessary.”

“Yes, well, she’s the star of our little movie here. So I’d see it as a personal favor if you went by her trailer at your convenience and allowed her to thank you.”

It sounded like a request, but it was more of an order. And Jason was a good soldier.

He crossed the lot several hours later, leaving Colt in Zeke’s capable hands on set as he approached Kat Carlisle’s trailer. His heart was pounding in his chest. From the first moment he’d heard her voice through those earbuds in the hospital, he’d developed this sort of fantasy about her. It wasn’t really a sexual thing, but it was…hard to describe. She’d pulled him out of his own head, made him remember that there was more to life than what had happened to him over in Afghanistan, more to life than the pain of his loss and the physical pain throbbing through his arm. She had given him hope.

To him, Kat Carlisle was more than just a pop star. Meeting her right now…he was afraid it would ruin that fantasy he’d held on to for so long.

But he didn’t have a choice.

Jason knocked, slamming his knuckles against the rough door in a quick, three-beat staccato. When the door didn’t open immediately, he turned, thinking maybe she wasn’t in there. But then Ricky Clarkson stuck his head out the door.

“What do you want?”

“Jackson Chamberlain asked me to stop by. He said Ms. Carlisle wanted to speak to me.”

Ricky’s eyes narrowed as he studied Jason. “She’s busy right now. Come back later.”

But then Kat’s voice came from the back of the trailer. “Let him in, Ricky!”

Ricky turned back to the dark interior of the trailer. “You have to go over your lines.”

“I know my lines. Let him in.”

Ricky sighed, but he moved back and gestured for Jason to enter the trailer. He took a deep breath and stepped up, his heart pounding like it used to do when he was about to walk into a gunfight. It took a second for his eyes to adjust to the dimmer light in the trailer. He expected opulence when he was able to look around, the same sort of indulgences Colt Murphy had in his trailer. Instead, he found himself looking at a simple trailer with just a couch, a small kitchen, and the tiny television that the trailer had come out of the factory with. No special accommodations, no fancy sound system, no gaming system, no gold plates. Just a place to sit and wait between takes.

Kat herself was standing at the back of the trailer in what would have been the bedroom if this were a classic travel trailer. The walls had been removed, and the space had been converted into a type of saloon where he could imagine they did her hair and makeup before each appearance in front of the camera. She was alone there now, holding a script in her hands. She was in costume, dressed in a simple pair of black slacks and a pink blouse that made her warm skin look slightly darker by contrast, and a white lab coat with the name of her character embroidered on one shoulder.

Toliver had been right about one thing: Kat Carlisle was hot. She had dark hair that was currently pulled back into a simple braid that fell nearly to her waist, and amber colored eyes that seemed to sparkle even in this dim light. Her skin had a warm, tawny hue to it, hinting at her Native American heritage. She had a long jaw that might have been unattractive if it weren’t for the softening roundness to her chin and her perfect bow-shaped lips. She didn’t need makeup. Her lips were perfectly red without lipstick, and her cheeks glowed naturally. And those eyes…he’d never seen such perfectly long lashes or eyes that popped in such a lovely way all on their own. The makeup just enhanced what was already there.

She took his breath away.

Kat set her script down on a low table and crossed toward him, one dainty hand held out to him.

“Mr. Stine, I’m so glad to meet you.”

“It’s an honor, Ms. Carlisle.”

He took her hand and could have sworn he felt a spark of electricity jump between them. There was a second when her eyes widened, and he thought for a moment she’d felt it too. But then she slipped her hand out of his and glanced at Ricky.

“Would you mind giving us a moment?”

Ricky hesitated, clearly caught by surprise by the request. “They’ll want you on set in a few minutes.”

“I know. This will only take a moment.”

“Then why—”

“Ricky, please?”

She said the words with such politeness that it almost could have been a request. But Jason knew an order when he heard one.

Ricky left the trailer, slamming the door with a little more force than was required. Kat bit her bottom lip, dragging her teeth against it as she stared at the door almost as if she could see her bass player storming off across the lot.

“Sorry about that,” she said softly.

“He’s only trying to protect you.”

She reached up to scratch a place just in front of her ear. “I wish that was all that motivated him.” She sighed, turning back to Jason almost as if she’d forgotten whom it was she was talking to. “I just…what you did yesterday was very kind. I never even saw the cart coming toward me.”

“It was just instinct, Ms. Carlisle.”

“I understand you work for Mastiff Security? That Colt Murphy is your client?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She grunted just under her breath. “Please, call me Kat.”

Jason wasn’t sure he could do that. It was bad enough that he found himself drawn to her, that he couldn’t keep his eyes from her face, couldn’t stop studying the expressions that danced through her eyes, the little quirks she had, like scratching the little spot by her ear. If she wasn’t careful, she’d scratch herself raw.

“Do you think the runaway cart was just an accident? Or was it meant for Colt?”

“We don’t know at this point. But it looks as though it likely wasn’t an accident.”

She nodded slowly. “Then it was meant for Colt?”

“We don’t know that for sure.”

Her eyes moved almost lazily over his face. “You could work for the Secret Service. You’re good at this whole evasion thing.”

“I wish I could tell you more, but we don’t know much.”

She lowered her head slightly. “Were you in the military?”

That question caught Jason by surprise. “I was,” he said, wondering where she was going with that.

“You have the carriage of a military man.”

Her eyes again moved over him, taking in more than just his face this time. Her gaze seemed to linger on his arms, making him wonder if there was some outward sign of the damage to his right arm. He wore long sleeves, as he’d done since the day he was released from the hospital, in order to hide the scars. There shouldn’t have been an obvious sign, but maybe there was.

He crossed his arms over his chest, tucking the right under the left. She scratched her face again, turning her head slightly as though in an attempt to force herself to stop staring.

“Sorry. I just…thank you for your service.”

He lowered his head, never sure what to say to that.

Kat cleared her throat. “I…uh…I just wanted to thank you for what you did. And ask that you let me know if you find out any more about the accident. I’d like a heads up if I need to hire more of my own security.”

“I can do that.”

She smiled softly. “Thank you.”

It was one of the most awkward meetings he’d ever been part of. But he was reluctant to go.

“I served in Afghanistan,” he said as she turned away. She paused and turned back toward him, her eyes filled with curiosity. “I was with the Army Rangers, running patrols in the mountains where it was suspected the villagers were giving refuge to Taliban and ISIS terrorists. I was on my third tour of duty when the Humvee me and several men from my unit were riding in drove over an IED.”

A little color drained from her face. “You were injured?”

“I was. The four men with me were killed.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, her eyes filled with a sort of sympathy that told him her empathy was genuine. “That must have been difficult.”

“My arm was crushed in the accident. I spent three months in the hospital while they put it back together, bit by bit. It was the longest, most painful experience of my life.”

“But you came out the other side with your health.”

“And my arm.” He studied her face for a long moment, drawn by the interest he saw there, the deep desire she seemed to have to know about him. It spurred him on. “I was destroyed with grief and anger, wanting nothing more than to go back to Afghanistan and find the people who’d done this to my friends. It became such an obsession that the doctors told me my attitude was impeding my recovery. I wouldn’t speak, wouldn’t deal with anyone. I was locked inside my head, lost in my need to make things right for my friends.”

She stepped close to him, touched his arm. “I’m sorry,” she said again, those simple words beautiful and kind, a gift.

He tilted his head slightly. “One of the hospital’s volunteers brought me an iPod she didn’t want anymore and it had one of your albums on it. Listening to your music, hearing your voice—”

She pulled back, her face suddenly changing. The open sympathy that had been there suddenly became a blank mask.

“—helped me find my way back to my life.”

She nodded slowly. “You’re a fan.”

“More than a fan. You gave me something I could never repay.”

“I’m glad you recovered.” She walked over to the counter where she’d left her script. “I can’t imagine what it was like, going through something like that. I’m sorry you had to experience that.” She brushed past him on her way to the door. “Thank you again for what you did.”

She was gone before he could say another word.

What had just happened?

He’d thought they were connecting. She seemed so curious about him, so empathetic to his story. Why had she shut down like that?

And there it was, the fantasy destroyed. She might seem different, but she was just like Colt Murphy. Stuck on herself, stuck on her own fame. She was bored with another fan coming forward, gushing over how great she was. Why had he done that? She must hear those stories every day and just got tired of pretending to care. And why should she? She’d never be in the trenches like the rest of the world, never lose something so precious that it took something extraordinary to pull her back from the edge.

And, suddenly, she wasn’t as extraordinary as he’d believed she was. Just another spoiled celebrity who didn’t give a shit for anyone but herself.

He should have known better.