Reason to Believe

by Roxanne St Claire

  He palmed her breast, and she responded with a shudder that rocked her harder against him. Her nipple budded and he lowered his head to kiss her throat, the rise of her chest. He pushed the tiny strap over her shoulder, his mouth already watering to taste her.

  The jarring sound of a ringing phone froze their tight, panting breaths.

  She swore softly, and he slid the strap back up. With her eyes still closed, she reached behind her to a cordless phone sitting in a charger. The groan she let out when she read the ID sounded nothing like the whimpers he’d just caused.

  “Speak of the devil,” she said. “My ex is calling now.”

  “With timing like that, maybe he’s the one who knows what you’re thinking.”

  “No. He’s the one who’s calling me into work.” She thumbed a button and held the receiver with her shoulder, immediately returning both hands to her exploration of his chest. “Hey, Brian.”

  Brian? The executive producer of her show was her ex? That relationship was definitely not in her file.

  “Oh,” she said, unbuttoning Chase’s top button with one flick of her finger. “I saw the ID and figured Brian was calling. Okay, well, what can I do for you?”

  She listened for a second, undid another button, and smiled at Chase with the minor victory. “All right.” She drew the words out in dissatisfaction. “I’ll be there in . . .” She finished the third button and dipped closer to the tent in his pants. “A few hours.” She listened for a second, then curled her lip. “Fine. One hour. Bye.” She threw the phone on the counter, and half pouted as she leaned back. “I’m afraid duty calls.”

  “The executive producer is your ex-boyfriend?”

  “Was. Over.” She lowered her hands and offered her mouth. “Can we finish?”

  “In under an hour? No.” He eased her off the counter. “Go get dressed.”

  Blowing out a breath of frustration, she grabbed her teacup. “So I’m going to work and you get to hunt down the Cal Tech geek all by yourself? That’s not fair.”

  He shook his head. “You weren’t paying attention to Protection 101. I go where you go. The geek will be there later, or tomorrow.” He caressed her bare arm, sliding down the silky skin until he reached her hand. He lifted it and kissed her knuckles. “You’re messing with the laws of nature, you know.”

  She arched one brow. “Where do you think those laws will take us, Rocket Man? Over the moon? To the stars?”

  “Right into that unmade bed.”

  Lifting up on her toes, she kissed him. “Then I’ve got a surprise for you.” She disappeared down the hall, leaving him hard and sweaty, and curious.

  But not about her surprise. Something made absolutely no sense to him.

  The show’s creator and producer didn’t believe she was a real psychic? That struck him as very, very odd.

  • • •

  Something wasn’t right at MetroNet Studios.

  The first thing that tipped them off was the look on Gary’s face when the good-looking young guard leaned into the window of Chase’s Porsche and frowned at Arianna. “I didn’t know you were coming in today, Ms. Killian.”

  “Brian’s office called me in for pickups,” she said.

  His frown deepened. “On sound stage four?”

  “Of course.”

  “Your set is closed today.” He checked his computer, then looked around his desk for a note he didn’t find. “Sound stage four is locked tight. Mr. Burroughs is on the lot, but no one is taping on that set today. No stylist is here, and no crew, no director.”

  She sent an uneasy look at Chase.

  “Who called you?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. A woman in Brian’s office. He has a couple of shows that tape on this lot, and I didn’t recognize her name.” She leaned lower to look up at Gary. “I’m just going to go to my trailer, then.”

  “But don’t touch anything,” Chase told her softly. “I want to have it dusted for Scheff’s prints. And we’ll stop in to the main security office and see if we can verify what time he left last night.”

  When the guard opened the gate and tapped in salute, Arianna settled back in her seat, tamping down concern. Why would someone call her in for pickups that weren’t scheduled? “We should go to Brian’s office, too,” she said when he parked. “I want to find out what happened.”

  “Someone locked your door and picked up your handbag,” Chase noted as they neared the trailer.

  She’d wanted to go back to do that last night, but he would have none of it. She’d been upset enough to agree, but now she wanted answers.

  As soon as she unlocked the trailer door, she knew she wouldn’t get them. “Damn,” she said, turning to Chase. “It’s been cleaned already.”

  That had never happened on a Friday, but Arianna recognized the distinct touches of Carmen, the cleaning person assigned to her. The pillows were plumped and angled perfectly on each of the love seats, and her wardrobe hung neatly on the rack, sorted by color and style. A dozen shoes stood sentry along one wall, her vanity looked like a makeup display counter, and there wasn’t a speck of dust, a half-empty teacup, or a crumpled-up script note to be found. Forget fingerprints, she thought dismally. They’d disappeared with Carmen’s overzealous dust rag.

  In one corner sat the abandoned backpack, all zipped and neat, her cell phone tucked in the front.

  She plopped on the sofa in disgust. “She never comes on any day but Monday. She hasn’t been here on a Friday the entire time I’ve been in this trailer.”

  “Maybe it wasn’t her.”

  Arianna picked up a pillow and dropped it. “I recognize her signature.”

  “Come on.” He reached for her hand. “Let’s go talk to security and see if we can find your ex . . . ecutive producer.”

  She let him pull her up, but teased him with a smile. “You jealous?”

  “Curious, not jealous.”

  “Curious about what?” she asked. “How long we were together? How serious it was?”

  “Among other things.” He led her out and locked the door behind them. Before they walked away, he stopped to examine the side of the trailer, running his fingers along the front.

  “Looking for the bullet?”

  “Or a mark of it.” He found something, grazed his fingers over the spot, and turned as if he were imagining where it had come from. “I didn’t see the flash, but my gut says it was over there. Whoever shot at you missed by a mile. My guess is that was deliberate, or they’re a total amateur. Either way, it served a purpose.”

  “To get me to run.”

  “Yes. And to leave the door unlocked so he could get in and look . . . for something. Any ideas?”

  She made a conscious effort not to touch the ring she wore. “I don’t keep much jewelry in there,” she said vaguely. “I don’t wear anything too expensive on the show because it’s offputting to people. I never have any cash.”

  No one on earth knew what the ring meant to her. No one knew what she was—or wasn’t—without it. It certainly had no street value, since it was just an inexpensive gold band.

  If Chase suspected the prize was her ring—since she had risked both their lives to get it last night—he didn’t say anything or even glance at her hand.

  “What’s closer?” he asked. “Brian’s office or security?”

  “Burroughs Production on-studio office is right around the corner. If he’s not on the set of another show, he’ll be there.”

  As they walked, Arianna nodded to a few familiar faces, including one of the cameramen from her show. Instinctively she rubbed the ring, hoping. But Larry the cameraman, if he was her target, wasn’t thinking about a car he pushed off a cliff on a rainy night.

  “So what came first?” Chase asked, pulling her from her zone of concentration. “The show or the affair with the executive producer?”

  “It wasn’t an affair,” she said defensively. “Neither of us is married. We dated first, about a year ago, introduced by mutual friend
s. After we’d been together about a month he saw me do a reading, and bam, he had the idea for the show.”

  “What were you doing before that? Just private readings?”

  “I was . . . floundering about. Looking for a purpose.” She’d really been struggling with an inner battle: the desire to do what her mother had done, versus flat-out fear of death. Fear of death had won hands down. “And his idea seemed smart.”

  “It’s certainly profitable.”

  She glanced up at him. “The show’s doing well, yes. But Brian has the Midas touch. Every show he creates makes money. You wouldn’t know it by these humble offices,” she said as they arrived at an older building, “but this is just a tiny little part of his empire. He has two shows that tape here, and two at Paramount. He’s really, really successful.”

  He held the door for her. “So what happened? Why’d you break up? Professional differences?”

  “I guess you could call it that.” It was easier to blame it on the fact that he didn’t believe in her, and that had certainly added to her irritation. But the real reason they broke up was the reason Brian broke up with every woman after six months.

  No one could compete with the woman he really loved.

  “He handles the day-to-day production out of these offices. Out on Sunset, he has a dozen people who handle casting, syndication, and all the minutiae of his business. But you can usually find someone here. An assistant, who changes depending on the day of the week or the temp agency we’re using, and Carla, his PA—production assistant—on Closure, and another PA on the game show Spare Parts. Joel Zotter, our director, and some other crew members come and go.”

  But no one was around when Chase and Arianna walked into the little front office at the end of the hall. The three desks were cluttered with scripts and memos, but vacant. One computer was on, with a MetroNet logo screen saver dancing around.

  “I guess everyone’s out to—”

  Chase put his fingers over her mouth. “Shh.”

  She heard nothing. “What is it?”

  He shook his head hard, frowning as he listened for something.

  Then she heard a low, muffled grunt, a groan, a whimper. Coming from the closed door of Brian’s office. Was that . . . what she thought it was?

  She looked at Chase, and could tell he was thinking exactly the same thing. She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t think I want to walk in on that.” She glanced around at the desks. One was Carla’s, for sure. Were they . . .

  A guttural groan of pleasure came from the other side of the door. The distinct uncontrolled call of a man about to have an orgasm. Arianna’s stomach tightened and she drew back, embarrassed.

  “Let’s go,” she whispered, tugging at Chase’s arm. “I really don’t want to hear the grand finale.”

  Brian moaned again, calling out baby or lady.

  “Come on.” She pulled Chase, disgust and panic rolling up her middle.

  He nodded, staying with her as she broke into a light run down the hall to the front entrance. Outside, she sucked in air and lifted her face to the warm California sun.

  “Well,” she said, with an uncomfortable laugh. “I certainly wasn’t expecting that from an unscheduled visit to his office.”

  Chase seemed unfazed, his focus on her. “You okay?”

  “Sure,” she said, feigning a casual voice. “Just heard a little bit of the nasty, but, hey, this is Hollywood.”

  “It seems odd that a man that busy and important would pleasure himself in the middle of the business day.”

  She blinked into the sun, the strobe effect as jumpy as her brain. “He wasn’t in there jacking off, Chase. Someone was doing it to him.”

  “I only heard one person.”

  “Maybe she had her mouth full,” she shot back. “He’s not the kind of guy to shut his door to spank the monkey—women throw themselves at him. It was probably Carla. She’d do anything to get ahead in this business.”

  “And is he the kind of guy who’d exchange sex for a promotion? You don’t strike me as a woman who would be attracted to someone like that.”

  Somewhere in that statement, there was a compliment. But she was still too caught up with what she’d just heard in Brian’s office to dissect his comment.

  “He just . . . he isn’t like that.” She knew she sounded lame, defending her ex-lover. “We never . . .” Well, they had, but not in his office, for crying out loud. “Believe me, he’s a workaholic. If I know Brian, we probably overheard an audition tape for a show he’s casting.” Oh, wouldn’t that be nice. She started walking, clinging to that pathetic hope. “I bet that’s what it was.”

  “Maybe someone wanted you to walk in on that,” Chase said.

  The thought brought her to a stop. “Whoever called me! Yes, that’s possible. Someone wanted to set me up. But why?”

  “Maybe to get you to quit?”

  “Why would that make me quit?”

  “Someone who thinks you’re still in love with him?”

  “I never was. We’re friends and we parted on great terms, but Brian . . . well, he’ll never have room for anyone in his heart but his first love.” She pointed across the lot. “The security offices are over there.”

  “You know,” Chase said, “all those e-mails do have that same subtext in the message. Like someone wants you to be exposed as a fraud, and then you’d have to quit. Are you sure there isn’t another psychic waiting in the wings to take over your job? Maybe that’s who was auditioning in there.”

  She considered her response, walking again. “At the risk of sounding like a total egotist, I’ll just tell you that Brian says it isn’t what I say, as much as how I say it. I don’t like to think that’s the only reason people watch my show, but I do like to think I offer . . . something special. He has me play it up, with lots of personality and way too much makeup. Some people have suggested rotating me with another psychic to build even more ratings, maybe a man like John Edwards. But Brian said I have . . . enchantment.”

  She stole a look at Chase, expecting a big eye roll. But he was just smiling at her. “He’s right. You are magic.”

  Her heart did a free fall at the sweet compliment. Or maybe it wasn’t a compliment, maybe that’s just how she heard it. “It’s not magic, what I do,” she said, still drinking in the look on his face.

  “I didn’t say you performed magic. I said you are magic. Big difference.” He draped his arm around her. “Come on, Tinkerbell. Let’s go see what else can go wrong today.”

  • • •

  When the head of security handed Chase a list of every vehicle that had come and gone from the MetroNet lot the day before, including the name of the drivers and passengers, it was obvious that plenty more could go wrong.

  “No Eric Scheff,” Chase said to Arianna. “He must have come in using a different name.”

  “We check photo ID on every single person who enters this lot,” the man insisted. “We don’t check the ID when they leave, but we do log each license plate, and there’s a camera at every gate. You’re welcome to match every car to every log entry on this list, and you will not find a discrepancy. I’ll stake my job on it.”

  Chase instinctively believed him and turned down the offer, mulling over the ill-fitting puzzle pieces. An Eric Scheff appeared on the list of studio guests, but not on the vehicle log.

  “I told you I didn’t see him in the audience,” Arianna said as they returned to the lot. “We could look at yesterday’s tapes.”

  “I think we should,” Chase said. “Just to confirm that he was there. Or not. Who has them?”

  Her face fell. “We have to go back to Brian’s office and find out which editing studio is being used today. It could be one of about six, even off the lot.”

  “Could you call?” he asked, his hand already on his cell phone.

  “I could, but . . .” She squinted up at him. “It’s been long enough for him to . . . I want to face him, maybe see who he was with. I like your idea that it wa
s a setup. Maybe . . .” She absently stroked the ring she wore. “I just want to go over there one more time.”

  He did, too. He was curious to get to know the man who’d hired Arianna even though he thought she was a fraud, and now that he knew they’d been lovers, he wanted to make a closer inspection of the guy.

  But it wasn’t to be. When they reached the office, a woman Arianna didn’t know sat at one of the three desks. Unless Brian’s taste ran toward fifty-year-olds with bad face-lifts, he hadn’t been catching a little afternoon delight with this lady.

  “He left a couple of minutes ago,” she told them. “Pretty agitated, I might add. Never even said goodbye.”

  And she was clueless about where they were editing, and confirmed that she hadn’t called Arianna in for pickups.

  “I’m a MetroNet temp, Miss Killian,” she said. “I’ve never worked in this office before. They called me this morning, but Mr. Burroughs didn’t have anything for me, and he was too nice to send me back to the temp agency. He told me to go kill a few hours in the cafeteria, which I did. I was hoping he’d just sign my time card and let me go, but he shot out of here before I could ask.”

  Arianna gave Chase a confused look. “Is Carla Lynch around? She’d have some answers.”

  “She was here this morning, but then she had to go to the office on Sunset.” Her face brightened. “Want me to call there? They might know where you can find the tapes.”

  “Um, okay.” Arianna’s attention drifted to the office, looking again to the room where Brian had been behind closed doors not so long ago. As the woman picked up the phone and started dialing, Arianna slowly took a few steps toward the darkened office as if she was drawn into it.

  “While you call, I’ll just check his desk to see if he left any notes about the editing.”