Of course, that had nothing to with me and more to do with the fact that my best friend, Lily, was the receptionist for the manager doing the hiring. Thank God for BFFs. Not that I’d ever say that to Mr. Acne next to me.
My camera bag at my feet, a meager writing sample and the small portfolio were all I had to prove that I could hack it as the fledgling magazine’s full-time photographer/interviewer. I was praying that no one actually asked to see my camera. In its glory days, it was the best on the market, but that was years ago. Now it would be considered mediocre at best and it had developed a finicky attitude. Like erasing pictures at random, or deciding not to turn on. Or off. Oh, I knew I was in too deep on so many levels; I had absolutely zero experience with a magazine, let alone one of this size. With only a handful of photography classes under my belt, I didn’t have a lot to put on my resume. There hadn’t been much extra money after Mom and Dad had passed away, neither one of them even had life insurance. They couldn’t afford it. So Ryan and I had to make do with what we could, paying off the debts with the sale of our parent’s house and then starting fresh together with the little bit of money left. The house we’d bought was small, old, and needed repairs, but the price had been right. We’d had just enough for the down payment—and nothing for the repairs—but neither of us minded. A place to call home was what it was, and to Ryan that had been more important than anything. He didn’t want to be a drifter, floating from town to town, as so many musicians did. Ryan wanted to have a real home, a place to lay his head at night, a place that was his and no one else’s. At least he’d had that for a little while.
But his cancer had pushed me into a hole that I was going to have to dig myself out of on my own. I could do it; it would just take time. There was no quick fix, no wealthy relative to help me.
Desperation did wonderful things for motivation. That, and the pittance I got from my retail job, had combined to bring me to this point. I’d even considered selling Ryan’s car—his baby; it had meant more to him than anything else. He and Dad had worked on it for years, putting it together a piece at a time, weekends and evenings spent tinkering in the garage. The car was not only a piece of Ryan, but a piece of my father too.
At the last minute, I’d convinced myself to hold off. The cherry red ’69 Falcon was the final piece of the men in my life, and I couldn’t bear to see it go. Besides, even if I sold the car, all it would do is hold the bills back, not pay them off.
The rush of heat and tears started, and I bit the inside of my mouth. No, I would not cry, damn it! Mr. Acne had moved so I could see his face again, and he gave me a smug half smile. I grit my teeth and again kept my hands still so I wouldn’t lash out and slap his stupid face. If Lily could function, so could I.
I thought about my best friend and wondered if she was lying to me about all the dates she was supposedly going on. My suspicion was she was told me what I wanted to hear. The problem? She’d loved Ryan her whole life, and losing him before she could even tell him . . . I think it broke what was left of her heart. I hadn’t been able to tell her yet what he’d said at the end. Ryan had said to tell her when the time was right, and right now, Lily was still grieving too hard to hear his final words to her.
Swallowing hard—I forced myself to think of other things like flowers and puppy dogs, anything that had nothing to do with Ryan—I jerked upright when a gruff older man I knew was Kevin McCall, the department manager, called my name. Grabbing my bag, I breathed in through my nose, out through my mouth, which was supposed to be calming—at least according to Lily. All it did was leave me light headed and I wobbled in my heels as I walked toward the office door. Mr. Acne chuckled under his breath, but I heard him loud and clear, the slimy, conceited jerk. Plastering on a smile, I stepped into the office and lowered myself into the seat my—hopefully—new boss indicated.
Throwing himself into the broken back leather office chair on his side of the desk, Kevin, as he introduced himself to me and asked me to call him, glanced over a few sheets. He was a big man, thick around the middle, obviously well fed. But he had kind eyes and Lily had spoken well of him, said he was a sweet guy with a soft spot for sad cases. Like me and Ryan. Crap on toast, at this point I would take anything to not have to go back and work for the chain store where I had to put up with people who defined the words ‘white trash’ for minimum wage.
“Your references are good, but you don’t have much actual experience. Your writing sample was straightforward, to the point, with some clever insights. Let me see your portfolio,” he said, leaning across the desk. I lifted the thin volume off my lap and handed it over to him. Most of the pictures were of Ryan, some before he was sick, some during his last months. I knew each page by heart as Kevin flipped through them, saw his reactions and knew which pictures he was looking at.
His face tightened and frown lines deepened over his eyes on the second to last page. “That’s my brother,” I said. “Right before he died.” The picture he was looking at showed Ryan in profile, one eye and his hand held up as if to ward something off in front of him. The lines in his face, the image of the IV buried under his skin, showed the cost of fighting off the cancer. Yet, even with that, there was light in his green eye, a spark of defiance. It was not my favorite as it reminded me too much of the inevitable, no matter how hard you fought, but it was still a damn good picture.
“You have raw talent,” Kevin said, closing the book and leaning back in his chair. He steepled his fingers and pressed them against his lips. “I worry about one thing though.”
Was he going to give me a chance? Please, please, please!
He continued to stare at me, his eyes thoughtful. “The men, and some of the women, you’ll be taking pictures of, they are . . . .” He rolled his eyes skyward as if seeking the answers from the ceiling.
I tried to help him out. “Unpredictable?”
“No.” He snorted. “Though that is true of them too. I’m worried because you are a beautiful young woman.”
I blinked several times. “I hope this job isn’t based on looks.”
Kevin laughed and leaned back. “If it was, you’d get the job.” I flushed and he went on. “It isn’t though, which is important. You would only get the job because of talent.” He tapped my closed portfolio. “No, I want to give you a chance to see if your talent comes through. But . . . the men in this industry are wild. Not just in their stunts, but in their lives. They’ll come onto you. A lot. And here at Wild Child, I won’t have my team sleeping with any of our interviewees. Do you think you can handle that?”
A bitter laugh rippled out of me. After losing Ryan, and both my parents, the last thing I wanted was another person in my life that would break my heart when they died on a stunt gone wrong. “I am not looking for anything, sir. And if I was, the last place I’d look would be at a bunch of men who seem to be intent on killing themselves in spectacular ways.”
Kevin smiled and reached his hand across the desk. I quickly reacted, reaching to meet him part way, shaking his hand.
“Good. Then we’ll give this a trial run. I want you to go and get some good shots, and the story, behind this guy. He’s the best in the business right now. So in demand you are going to have to follow him to his movie set. The thing is, we don’t actually know a lot about him. His past, how he started in the stunt industry. Shit, we don’t even have a picture. He’s come up so fast in the ranks over the last few years it’s like he’s showed up out of nowhere.”
My new boss handed over a small folder that I opened up almost reluctantly. My first interview’s name was Jethro ‘Jet’ Sterling. Good Lord, who named their kid Jethro? He must have had the crap beat out of him as a kid. I wondered if that was why he’d gone into being a stuntman. Maybe to prove himself? Already my mind whirled with the possibilities of how the story I would write to go with his pictures would pan out.
I scanned Jet’s stats: 225lbs and six foot two, but nothing else. He had a good six inches on me. I made a mental note to bring
my boots, the ones with the two-inch heel. No pictures of him, though; looked like Kevin wasn’t kidding there.
“So, Jasmin Vargas, are you ready for your first assignment?” Kevin smiled over at me.
I shut the folder and smiled back, though I could feel the hollowness of it on my lips. This was the break I needed; the money was good and it would keep the debt collectors at bay. It was all I could ask for, all I needed. “Yes, sir. I am. Is Mr. Sterling on set now? Do you want me to leave right away?”
He handed me another paper, flicking it with his fingers as I took it. “He’s here for a week.” He waved his hand in the air, indicating this new page. “Then he’s off to Vancouver for his next movie, in case you don’t get everything you need on the first set. I’ll have your tickets waiting for you at the airport as well as your hotel reservation.” His eyes softened. “Lily told me a bit about your situation, so I’ve also included a check with a small advance that should cover your expenses while you’re there.”
I stuttered a thank you, stunned at his kindness, but he just brushed it off, like it was nothing. Lily had been right, Kevin was a great guy, and I was lucky have a chance to work for him.
He gave me a smile. “As soon as you get back, as long as everything goes well, I’ll have your next assignment waiting on you.”
The slip of paper waffled in the breeze and I had to shake it once to get it to hold still. My eyebrows lifted and I mouthed the words. So much for wearing my tall, leather boots.
I was going to Mexico.
2
Jet
The signal came and I burst out the door on top of the five-story building, running full tilt for the crumbling adobe edge. Gunfire went off below me, the acrid scent of gun powder and explosives drawing me forward. Two strides and I leapt into the air, arms and legs wind milling as I fought gravity, the ground below me zipping by as I reached for the building across from me. It was too far away, but I wasn’t concerned. Hell, it wouldn’t be the first time I’d taken an unexpected fall, but today wouldn’t be added to that particular list of disasters.
Halfway through the leap, the ratchet kicked in and yanked me—via the belt strapped around my middle—across the gap, as the building I’d leapt from exploded. Intense heat scorched my back, and the jarring from the belt cinched around me shocked the air out of my lungs. I hit the blue, sweat-stained mats waiting for me on the far building and rolled, using the momentum to come to my feet with a hop.
“Perfect!” The director yelled up at me from the street below. Rodney Asher was young and ridiculous, but he had the money to make movies. And as long as he had the money to pay me, I’d work whatever gigs he wanted me to. Besides, every time I pulled off a stunt, the rush was like nothing else; not even sex could give me this feeling of being alive, of being on top of the world.
My best friend—and second best stuntman in the business behind yours truly—Hugh jogged over to me. “Does that kid even know he’s supposed to yell ‘cut’ before he starts praising people?”
I shrugged. “Who cares? He’s got the money, and if he has to do the scene again because he messed it up with his stupidity, then it means he has to hire us for a longer stint. Voila, we have a bigger paycheck.”
Hugh laughed and slapped my back. “Man, you are too much sometimes.” His face went serious, blue eyes darkening with concern and my gut tightened, knowing what he was going to ask before he did. “You heard from your little brother?”
I scrubbed my hands through my hair, and then shook my head. My gut tightened at the thought of Jasper so far away, with no one to watch his back. But it was his choice . . . I couldn’t protect him forever—if I’d ever managed to protect him at all—even if I wanted to. Forcing a smile to my lips, I brushed off Hugh’s concern.
“Nah, but Jasper can take care of himself. Europe won’t be the same after he leaves. Hell, they’ll be begging him to come back before he’s even on the plane.” The words were so simple, but what was behind them was not. Damn it all, why did Hugh have to bring this up now? For a moment there, working the stunt, I’d been able to just be Jet, not Jethro, not someone’s older brother. Just me.
The rooftop milled with extras, stunt crew, make-up and costume people, and even Reggie, our stunt coordinator. Usually, he stayed on the ground with the director, to keep an eye on things from there. But with this young director Reggie had to be on it at every level.
“You sure you’re okay, man?” Hugh asked and I knew he wasn’t talking about the stunt. God damn it, I did not want to talk about my family. My eyes flickered to half-mast, then fully closed, and I stilled; the suddenly too-fast beating of my heart had nothing to do with the current adrenaline.
Images, moments from the past curled up, seen behind my closed eyes whether I wanted to see them or not. Opening my eyes, I glared at my friend and he lifted his hands in mock surrender.
“You know I gotta ask and you keep dodging me. You can’t get away from me here. Jasper’s my friend too. I’m worried about him.” Hugh paused and shook his head.
“And you thought now was a good time to bring it up?” Guilt rolled over me, a feeling I’d never fully been able to excommunicate, like it was my religion and I was the only parishioner. What had happened was not my fault; Hugh knew it, I’d even said it myself. But inside my own head, I knew that was a lie I told myself to keep from losing my mind. I was the older brother . . . I should have done something . . . I should have known . . . .
“You need a distraction from this shit, man. Get laid, something. Clear your head,” Hugh grumbled.
I was surprised, and my face must have given my shock away.
Hugh stepped close, his two inches of height on mine not enough for him to tower over me, but close. “You need to get your head back in the game or you’re going to get killed. You know that. Women, booze, whatever it takes, do it and be done with this shit. Better yet, hash it out with Jasper, talk to him.”
Planting both hands on his chest, I shoved him away from me. I did not need his advice; I couldn’t just get ‘over’ this like it was a case of the fucking sniffles. We glared at each other from across the roof while we waited on Reggie to set up the next scene. Turning my back on him, I made my way to the ledge I’d just landed on.
I stood on the far side of the roof, forearms braced on the heat-baked adobe structure. Mexico was supposed to be like Vegas; what happened here, stayed here. Maybe Hugh was right. Maybe I just needed to let go for a while, bury my head in the sand, and see if it all went away . . . as if on cue, a sultry voice called out to me, the sound of heels clicking in time with her words.
“Hey, handsome, how about you and I grab a drink after your set?” I glanced over my shoulder at the delicious young red head with a chest that had to be surgically enhanced it was so perfect, as she sidled up to me. For a moment, all I felt was fatigue and a shudder of loathing at her obvious desire for what I had—connections—not who I was. But that wasn’t the Jet anyone knew and I kept that part of me to myself.
I winked at her, a forced smile on my lips; that was the Jet they knew and expected. Besides, I consoled myself, she was a distraction—exactly what Hugh seemed to think I needed.
I considered the possibility; to not think for a few moments, just revel in someone else’s body. She’d be good fun for a night while we were here on set . . . if I could get past the fact that in the morning she’d want me to introduce her to someone I knew. A director, an actor, a screenwriter.
“Gorgeous. Where you been all my life?” I called over my shoulder to her. She blew me a kiss, her long fake eyelashes giving her wink a perfected sultriness, then wiggled her fingers in my direction as she continued her saunter past me. There was a nice ass attached to the big breasts, not a bad combination at all . . . the idea of her and me, why didn’t it do anything for me? She walked past Hugh and grabbed his ass . . . yeah that would be why. If there was one thing I couldn’t handle, it was disloyalty. Not from Hugh, he knew better than that, but from the wo
men.
In this industry, it didn’t matter who you were, or what you looked like. The women just wanted a free ride to the big times. And with my connections to movie producers, directors, and the friends I’d made in the business, I was a perfect mark in their eyes.
I fucking hated it.
Hugh gave me a rueful smile and shrugged. “What are you going to do about it?”
I laughed and stood up fully, then walked over to my friend. “You’re lucky I don’t just kick your ass and get it over with.”
He dodged my half-hearted swat at him. “Let’s get out of this heat, I’m dying out here.” Hugh had enough sense to let our conversation go for now. It wasn’t the first time he’d tried to fix my broken family since we’d found out the truth about Jasper’s past. Sure, he meant well. I got it, I did. But he couldn’t fix this. For that matter, neither could I.
We walked across the roof and out of the ninety-plus degree weather into an air-conditioned green room that gave me chills the second I stepped foot into it. I didn’t want to think about my brother and what had happened. I couldn’t deal with the images every time I did think about him. Like a scar, you almost forgot about it until you moved, feeling it tighten across your skin; knowledge was the same. As long as I didn’t think about my brother, I didn’t feel the pain, the guilt. I had to stop thinking about him.
My skin crawled as I stepped further into the green room, but this time around, the chills were due to the buxom bleach blonde woman standing at the bar. Damn it all to hell, the last thing I needed was that psychotic woman following me around again! I put on the brakes, grabbed Hugh’s arm and dragged him back onto the roof.
“Son of a . . . I don’t think she saw us,” I said, staring at the closed door.
“Not Elise again.” Hugh let out a groan. “You’ve got to be kidding me? Man, you have picked some real winners, but that one takes the fucking cake.”
High Risk Love Page 2
