by Devney Perry
My hair made a statement. My clothes did too. I had a petite frame that didn’t look good in pencil skirts or blouses because I didn’t have the curves to fill them out. Besides, that wasn’t me. I preferred thick-soled boots to heels. My go-to outfit was a pair of baggy overalls with a skin-tight tee underneath. I’d wear cargo pants held to my frame with a cinched belt to give the illusion of hips. If there was boyfriend in the description, chances were, I’d bought it. I’d shunned girly the day I’d left Chicago at eighteen.
The most feminine I’d been since leaving home had been on Saturday, dressed for my wedding.
Maybe Jeremiah had woken up on Saturday morning and realized he’d made a mistake. That he was still in love with the girl with long, blond hair who’d worn pastels and floral skirts. That he wanted the girl I’d left behind.
“Did, um . . .” Genevieve scrunched up her nose. “Did he call you?”
“No.”
The rumble of an engine saved me from another question, though I doubted the grace period would last long.
Leo and Emmett rode in on their Harleys, both parking against the chain-link fence on the far side of the parking lot. They dismounted as Dash pulled in on his own bike.
It was rare for all three of them to be in this early and to arrive together, especially Leo, who didn’t like to work before ten. Dash must have called them in for a meeting, probably about me. Fan-fucking-tastic.
The office door opened and the three men strode inside. The clock on the wall read seven thirty, and the other mechanics wouldn’t be in until eight.
“Pres, how you doin’?” Dash sat in one of the chairs beneath the windows.
“Fine.”
“You sure?”
I nodded. “I’m sorry—”
“Don’t.” He held up a hand. “No apologies.”
“I haven’t been out back yet, but I’ll go out there soon and get everything left put away.”
“We got it yesterday. There’s a few boxes of stuff for you to take, but everything else is done.”
My shoulders fell, heavy with the guilt that my friends had cleaned up my failed attempt at marriage. “I would have—”
“We know you would have done it,” Emmett said, leaning against a wall. His dark hair was trapped in a knot at the nape of his neck. “But we got you.”
“Thank you. And I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry.” Leo took up the space beside Emmett. “You feelin’ better?”
“Yeah.” Physically, at least.
Leo had come over to my house yesterday. He’d been the only one who’d visited, not just texted. He’d brought me Gatorade, saltine crackers and pickles. He hadn’t stayed long, just enough to deliver his hangover kit before leaving me to wallow. He’d probably left my house and come here to help tear down the wedding tent.
“We gotta talk about something.” Dash shared a look with Emmett and Leo. “Two things, actually. First up, Jeremiah.”
“I don’t want to talk about him.” My pleading eyes found his. “Please.”
“We can’t ignore this, Pres.” His gaze softened. “Doesn’t sit right with me that he’s done this to you. But . . . he’s a Warrior, and we don’t need them back in Clifton Forge. As much as I’d like to beat the shit out of his punk ass, we don’t need that kind of trouble.”
Jeremiah had moved to Ashton three years ago to join a motorcycle club. He lived there and worked there, while I’d split my life between the two towns because he’d needed this kind of family. His family in Chicago hadn’t spoken to him in years. He’d been an accidental pregnancy and his parents had always treated him as such. So I’d supported him. I’d stood back as he’d become part of a brotherhood.
Even when it was the wrong brotherhood.
The Arrowhead Warriors had been rivals of Dash, Emmett and Leo’s former club. I’d split not only my time, but my loyalty too. I’d spent three years straddling a barbed-wire fence between the family I had here at the garage and the man who’d asked me to be his wife.
Jeremiah deserved to have his ass kicked. Repeatedly. But I would never advocate for it. I was firmly on the right side of the fence now and wouldn’t put this family of mine in danger.
“Come on, Dash.” Leo stood taller. “That’s bullshit. He—”
“Please, Leo.” I met his gaze. “Just let it be over. If you go after him, it’ll just cause drama for me.”
He frowned, running a hand over his shaggy blond hair before muttering, “Fine.”
Genevieve let out an audible sigh. “I’m glad that’s agreed. We’ve had enough trouble.”
“That’s the truth,” Dash murmured, nodding at his sister. The siblings had different mothers, but they’d both gotten their chocolate-colored hair from Draven.
“What’s the second thing?” Genevieve asked Dash.
“Got a call from Luke Rosen this morning.”
The room went silent. Why was the chief of police calling Dash?
“What did he want?” Emmett’s eyebrows furrowed. “I just talked to him yesterday.”
“It’s a courtesy thing about Dad.” Dash looked to Genevieve. “He was going to call you, but I said I’d tell you myself.”
“Okay.” She stiffened. “Why do I feel like you’re going to give me bad news?”
“Because I am.” Dash rubbed his jaw. “There’s a production company from LA that’s making a movie about your mom’s murder.”
“What?” She shot out of her chair, Isaiah quick to follow. “Can they do that?”
“It’s public knowledge,” Dash said. “They’ll put the Hollywood spin on it so who knows what’ll come out, but yeah, they can do that.”
“How did Luke get the tip?” Emmett asked.
“The director wants it to be authentic, so they applied for a permit to shoot here. The mayor approved it on Friday. He called Luke early this morning.”
“They’re filming a movie in Clifton Forge.” My mind couldn’t quite wrap itself around that statement. “When?”
“Within the next month or so. Luke doesn’t know exactly when. The city wants the money, so they gave the production company a twelve-month window.”
“What does this mean for us?” Genevieve asked.
“I don’t know,” Dash answered. “But my guess is we’ll see them around.”
“Who? Like actors and shit?” Leo asked.
Dash nodded. “Luke said the mayor hinted that a director and maybe some of the cast might be out to meet the people they’re playing. We might get some visitors at the garage.”
My stomach plummeted. The last thing I needed was for the rich and famous of Hollywood to be at my workplace. I didn’t need to be the sad, pathetic side character they tossed into a movie script for authenticity.
“Do we know who to watch out for?” Genevieve asked Dash.
“Luke said the director’s name is Cameron Haggen.”
“The Oscar winner?” Emmett whistled. “Damn. Who else?”
Dash rubbed his jaw, hesitating. “The only other name Luke knew of was Shaw Valance.”
Shaw Valance.
“Holy fuck,” Emmett muttered as my jaw hit the floor.
Then this would not be a small movie. Even a woman who didn’t have much time for television or movies knew that Shaw Valance was Hollywood’s elite, leading male star. He was America’s hero. I’d seen an article in the salon’s latest issue of People that had estimated his salary for his latest blockbuster at fifteen million dollars. His handsome face was in each issue thanks to the paparazzi who stalked his every move.
Shaw Valance was the last thing we needed in this town and this garage.
Isaiah took Genevieve’s hand, squeezing it tight. “It’ll be okay.”
“I don’t want this.” Her face had paled.
“I know, doll.” He pulled her into his chest, wrapping her up tight. “We’ll lie low. We’ll stay away from it all.”
My friend had just come home to settle into a life with her husband,
but now she’d be forced to relive old memories of her parents’ deaths.
“Let’s hope they stay away, do their own thing and are gone before we notice,” Dash said, trying to ease Genevieve’s worries. “I doubt they’ll bother us individually. If anything, they might give some attention to the garage. Presley and I can field questions.”
Leo scoffed. “Or we tell them to fuck off.”
“Best thing we can all do is say ‘no comment,’” Dash said. “Give ’em the cold shoulder.”
Cold? No problem.
I’d made a decision yesterday while I’d been lying on the cool tile of my bathroom floor. I was done letting men hurt me. Jeremiah was the last, and I had no more shits to give.
From here on out, I was the woman with ice in her veins. The woman with a heart of stone.
If Shaw Valance or his award-winning director came anywhere near the garage, I was following Leo’s suggestion.
They could fuck off.
Chapter Two
Shaw
“This is not what I expected,” Shelly muttered.
I glanced over from the driver’s seat, gripping the steering wheel tighter. She’d been bitching about everything all damn day. “What’s the problem?”
“It’s so . . . flat. It’s nothing like the pictures.”
“What pictures?” If she’d googled Clifton Forge, Montana like I had a month ago, she’d know that the view through the windshield was identical to the photos from the search results.
“Are those the mountains?” She leaned forward, squinting through her purple-framed glasses. “They’re far away.”
I bit my tongue.
The mountains weren’t far away, maybe fifty miles at most. They cut across the horizon, standing proud and drawing a jagged line between heaven and earth. Beneath them rolled an open plain of green fields interrupted only by straight sections of barbed-wire fence. The breeze tickled the tops of the tall grasses growing along the road. Overhead, the azure sky was clear except for wisps of white clouds.
Some people, like me, might call this paradise.
I shot Cameron a look through the rearview mirror. He was wearing his signature round sunglasses, but I caught his eye roll.
“Is that it?” Shelly pointed ahead at a cluster of buildings in the distance.
I double-checked the map on my phone, my heart rate speeding up with every racing mile. “Yeah. That’s it.”
Clifton Forge.
I could see it with my own eyes. No more Google searches.
This movie had been announced a month ago, and I’d been itching to visit since. Hectic schedules and working to clear my plate for the foreseeable future had delayed my arrival, but finally, we were here.
I hit the gas, speeding down the highway. Blood pumped through my veins faster than it did during my morning run. Excitement and anticipation buzzed through every nerve ending. Goddamn, I was ready to get this project underway.
I hadn’t been truly anxious to play a role for five years. The films I’d been working on lately had all been variations of the same. I’d played the good guy, because that’s what the world saw when they looked at my face. In every movie, I won the girl at the end. I saved the day. American Hero was my brand, and I’d been reveling in it from the start. So had my assistant, manager and agent.
Well, fuck the brand.
I was tired of playing the game, sticking to safe roles and delivering common lines. Not even doing my own stunts had helped break up the monotony. It was time for something different. It was time to see if I actually had talent, or if the only reason I was making millions was because I hit the gym religiously each morning and my face looked good on magazine covers.
“It’s small,” Shelly said as the edge of town neared. “That’s good. Maybe we can add some mountains into the background with CGI.”
I huffed. “I thought we were going for authentic.”
That was the reason we’d hired Cameron, wasn’t it? Because of his reputation for keeping things real and raw and honest. As a general rule, Hollywood lacked honesty. Cameron’s vision for this film was the reason I’d gone full tilt, why I’d thrown so much of my own money in to make it happen.
I didn’t want to shoot in front of a green screen. I didn’t want to be sequestered in studio sets. I wanted to walk down an actual street lit by the actual sun.
“No CGI.” Cameron’s tone left no room for debate.
“Right,” Shelly agreed. “Forget the CGI. I just expected . . . something else. But this will work. It’s, uh, rugged.”
I could use a little rugged. The phony polish of Hollywood was wearing thin.
But here in Clifton Forge, life was real. The town didn’t thrive on tourism or cater to rich guests like some other areas of the state—something else I’d learned from Google. This town was fueled by agriculture and people who carved their living out of the land.
I respected that. I admired it. There were times when I longed for the hard days working on the force, when life had been a hell of a lot simpler.
Businesses sprang up along the road as we neared the town’s limits, welcome signs on doors and sandwich boards on sidewalks. It was the beginning of a parade, the early onlookers waving you down the road, inviting you into the fray. Windows were decorated with red, white and blue for the Independence Day festivities taking place in a few days. The GPS took me off the highway and straight down Central Avenue, a street packed with local shops and restaurants. The wide Missouri River flowed along one side of the street. A man stood at the helm of a fishing boat, casting his line into the rippled water.
I missed fishing. Maybe before shooting wrapped, I’d find some time to work in a day along the river.
“Motel first, Cam? Or do you want to drive around town?”
“Let’s get our bags dropped off and check in.”
I nodded and followed the directions to the Evergreen Motel, located two miles on the opposite end of town. Navigating two miles in downtown Los Angeles could take hours. Here, the miles went by too fast. My eyes struggled to stay on the road as I scanned storefronts and side streets.
Every cell in my body hummed. I itched to stop driving, get out and just walk. The schedule for this short trip was Cameron’s to dictate, but next time, I’d come alone. I’d spend time wandering and learn everything I could about this town and its people.
For once, I was going to enjoy being on location.
Most of the films I’d done had been made in LA. Any trips out of California were always short and grueling. I’d arrive at an airport after dark. I’d go immediately to the location, shoot for hours and hours on end—sometimes up to twenty per day—and the moment shooting wrapped, I was wheels up and headed home. There’d always been something next, either another project or a premiere or a press stop.
My agent and manager had pushed for me to do the same here. Get in and get out of Montana, Shaw. But I’d put my foot down.
During shooting, I was not flying back and forth to California. I’d stay in Montana to make sure everything went smoothly. Shelly had the official role of producer, but I was staying active. And once this film was done, I was taking time off. Six months. Maybe a year.
It was time to take a break.
From work. From the media. From the city.
Ahead, the single-story motel came into view. The building was shaded by pine trees on three sides, and its name on the dated sign fit perfectly.
The Evergreen Motel.
Our soon-to-be headquarters.
The scene of our crime.
I parked beside the office, hopping out to stretch my legs. Cameron, Shelly and I had flown in on my jet this morning, then rented the Escalade and gotten on the road. The nearest airport of any size was in Bozeman, two hours away. Next time, I might fly direct to Clifton Forge, but for this first trip, I hadn’t minded seeing more of the Montana countryside.
“This is great.” Shelly smiled, bouncing from foot to foot. “I hope they let me stay in her room
.”
“Jesus, Shelly.” I cringed.
She shrugged and took off for the motel’s office.
The her Shelly referred to was Amina Daylee. Four years ago, Amina had been murdered right here at the Evergreen Motel. She’d been stabbed to death seven times by the former chief of police, Marcus Wagner.
The villain.
The man I’d be playing in Dark Paradise.
Cameron and I shared a look—we were equally annoyed with Shelly—then followed her into the office. It was no more than a kiosk in the center of the motel. I stayed back as Shelly took the lead, greeting the clerk, who identified himself as the owner. Shelly rattled off our names for him to find our reservations. I cringed again as she asked to be put in the room where Amina had been murdered.
So much for a low-key visit to blend in and learn the layout of the place.
The motel owner’s expression turned hard as he retrieved three keys, each hooked to a green oval disk stamped with our room numbers.
“Thanks,” I told him when Shelly forgot.
He nodded. “Just, uh . . . let me know if you need anything.”
“Appreciate it.” I waved, key in hand, and held the door for Shelly as she marched outside.
Now I understood why Cameron had insisted on coming here alone during his other visits. Blending in with Shelly was nearly impossible, and it had nothing to do with her magenta hair.
We huddled around the rear of the SUV, scanning the U-shaped motel for our rooms. Cameron and I had adjacent rooms. Shelly’s room was on the opposite end. Thank God. My temples were beginning to throb.
Shelly and I had worked together for years. At times, her personality grated on me, but she was hardworking and reliable. She’d get the job done and done well, so I could deal with a slight headache.
Cameron and I hadn’t known each other long, having only crossed paths occasionally before he’d agreed to come on as director. As I’d gotten to know him, I’d learned his reputation lived up to reality. He was a legend. He worked with dedication, precision and utmost sincerity. If this project was my baby, it was his grandchild.
