by Pamela Aares
“I need to sit down.” She edged into the living room and headed for the couch. “Could I have a glass of water?”
“I’m having scotch.”
“I can tell.”
“He was my friend too, Sabrina.”
In the flicker of his eyes she saw the tenderness he rarely showed, the man behind Derrick Ainsley, the actor.
“My friend once upon a time,” he said over his shoulder as he left the room.
And she knew then that Derrick had been right when he’d tried to talk Hayne out of taking on the role of an activist who’d contracted AIDS from a shared needle. Hayne hadn’t been ready for such a dark, brooding part, Derrick had argued. But Hayne had seen the role as the chance of a lifetime. The next spring Hayne had been nominated for an Oscar.
But when she’d seen him at an Oscar after-party, she’d known Hayne had taken that character deep. Maybe too deep. When he moved to New York, she’d phoned and sent emails, but he hadn’t returned any of her messages.
“LA water is much better with a splash of scotch,” Derrick said as he returned with a glass of cold water.
“Hayne fell in,” she said, using a term Derrick had taught her. Good actors wanted to immerse themselves in a role, but never wanted to fall in. She shivered as the reality struck her.
“It happens,” Derrick said when he dropped beside her on the couch.
Her heart softened when she saw the sorrow in Derrick’s eyes.
“You tried to stop him.”
“Not hard enough.”
“I’m sorry, Derrick.”
“Yeah. Me too.”
For a fleeting moment she again saw the unguarded Derrick, the boy behind the man, the breathing person behind the actor.
She sipped at the water. Derrick moved closer to her, his leg touching hers.
“What time are the others arriving?”
“Pity party,” Derrick said, snapping back into his polished, controlled demeanor. “Evidently too overwrought to have a go at the script tonight.”
He could slip into and out of roles in a way that disturbed Sabrina. Sometimes she wasn’t sure who the real Derrick Ainsley was. Sometimes she wondered if he knew.
“I postponed the read-through,” he said. “We’ll meet the day after tomorrow.”
“Why didn’t you text me?”
He ran his hand up her arm. “I thought it’d be a good chance for us to spend some time together.”
Derrick’s touch felt foreign, invasive, demanding. Not like Kaz’s touch, not at all.
“If we’re not rehearsing, I want to go back to the hotel.” She pulled her arm from his hand. “I’m tired and this news…” She straightened her spine and inched away from him. “I need some time alone.”
“Sabrina, keeping me at arm’s length only arouses me more.” The spicy scent of scotch wafted to her. “I want to marry you.”
Her skin crawled at his slurred words. Before Kaz, she’d thought there might be a spark between her and Derrick. But now she knew better. And she’d given him no reason to start talking marriage.
He closed his hand around her wrist and tugged. “We’d make a great couple.”
She stood, freeing herself from his grasp. “Let’s talk when you haven’t been drinking. Tomorrow. But not about marriage.”
The door clicked behind her as she stepped out of his house.
And as she drove back to the hotel, her thoughts raced. What was it that made the man she’d thought she’d been interested in suddenly repulsive and the man who’d captured her interest treat her like she was off limits?
Two more days until the read-through.
She could’ve stayed at the farm, worked with Kaz.
Right.
Working wasn’t what she’d had in mind when she’d kissed him. And though at the last minute he’d asked her to stay, he’d seemed mighty uncomfortable, as if he was asking against his will. She hadn’t helped matters any, throwing herself at him as she had.
So many things hadn’t turned out as she’d imagined. And some had turned out worse.
Back at the hotel, she paced her suite, feeling at loose ends. Maybe even feeling anxious. She picked up the water glass holding the lily blossoms. Goose bumps prickled along her arms. Hayne’s death hadn’t shocked her; it was as though she’d felt it coming. Scores of I should haves taunted her. But she knew that nothing she could’ve done would have made any difference. Still, the knowing didn’t ease the guilt that weighted her sadness like iron cuffs she couldn’t shake off.
She peeled off her clothes and ran a bath in the oversize tub. But soaking in bubbling hot water didn’t clear her head.
Derrick’s marriage proposal disturbed her. The first time, in the club, she’d believed his proposal was a publicity stunt. He liked to stay in the eye of the press, and outrageous moves and revelations kept him there. But tonight, even through the haze of alcohol, he’d seemed serious about wanting to marry her.
Though they’d become close during the work on the previous film, she didn’t really know him and he didn’t know her. And below those facts niggled her suspicion that she was just another strategic move in his long-term plan, a piece of a puzzle to be fit into a picture.
They’d make a great couple, he’d said, using the word couple like it was a thing to be had, something to set on his shelf beside his Oscars. Another more disturbing thought rose—Alex had warned her that her fortune would make her a target. But she hadn’t expected Derrick to make such a blatant play. Maybe his gambling debts had made him desperate. Or maybe he had another reason altogether. But she was sure no reason involved love.
Her skin stung, and she realized she’d been scrubbing the same spot on her leg for who knew how long. She wrung out the washcloth and tried to wring her suspicions about Derrick’s motives from her thoughts. Maybe she’d read too much between the lines. Maybe she was just tired.
After her bath she tried memorizing more of the script. She got to the scene where Kristen, the heroine, submits to her demon lover and he begins to destabilize her and use her as an agent in his scheme for power and control.
She stopped reading as she had every time she reached that point in the script. Her gut churned, even though she knew how the film ended. As if she feared that Kristen’s story might not turn out as written, that she’d turn the page and tragedy would bleed all over it.
Maybe the read-through with the other cast members would get her through the scene.
She shook her head—of course it would. She’d have to perform her part at a read-through no matter what fears she harbored.
But just thinking about where the story was going was making her tense. And after that scene with Derrick…
Derrick played the part of the dark vampire lover. Played it only too well.
She slapped the script on the nightstand and picked up her laptop. After reading a few online articles about Hayne’s death, some of them with far more graphic details than she’d imagined and photos she wished she hadn’t seen, she sank into a dark gloom.
She triple-locked the door and put a chair in front of it. Before the night at Kaz’s, she hadn’t had a sleepwalking episode for eight years, but tonight she wasn’t taking any chances.
Even before she closed her eyes, she knew that the nightmares would come.
And she feared she’d go walking blindly, searching for safety, as a means to escape them.
Just as she had done at Kaz’s farm.
Straight into Kaz’s arms.
Chapter Fourteen
The sun was slipping behind the hills as Kaz drove to Roberto’s house. He loosened his grip on the steering wheel and rolled his shoulders. If finding the illegal meth lab had put him on edge, seeing his neighbor Martin Erickson with a man known to be involved in drug gangs had sharpened that edge. He wanted answers and was pretty sure Roberto knew more than he’d said the day they’d discovered the abandoned lab.
The Mexican community was tight. And cautious. Kaz didn’t blame t
hem. If he faced deportation and harassment, he’d keep below the radar too. But cooking drugs on his land upped the ante. He wanted the mess dealt with before his parents returned. More than dealt with, he wanted the drug operations run out of the area. Roberto was the one man he could trust to help him.
Potted flowers lined the cement slab that served as the Mendietas’ front porch and patio. Kaz’s father had helped Roberto buy the small house ten years earlier.
Kaz made a mental note to drop off the paving stones left over from landscaping the farm’s front drive. In the rainy season, the stones would serve to keep the mud down at Roberto’s place.
In a newly fenced pasture, two well-cared-for horses nibbled at early grasses. A new feed barn and tool shed had been built near the house.
But Kaz hadn’t come to admire Roberto’s progress.
Yolanda, Roberto’s wife, waved as he got out of his car.
“Kaz, how good to see you.”
To Kaz, her usually warm smile appeared forced. He should’ve called, but cell reception was spotty on this side of the hill.
“How’s the garden coming?” Kaz knew she prided herself on her produce. With what they had from the Tokugawa gardens and their own, the vegetables probably fed the family.
Yolanda brushed her hands on her jeans. “The peas are not so good, but everything else is doing well. Come and see.”
“I came to talk to Roberto.”
The muscles tightened around her eyes. “He’ll be here soon.”
“Then let’s have a look at your garden.”
Before they made it around back, two trucks rolled into the driveway. Roberto jumped out of his, spotted Kaz’s car and then went to speak to the driver of the other truck.
Yolanda scurried into the house. Kaz recognized the driver—Tuco Ortega, the man he’d seen with Martin. He didn’t recognize the man riding shotgun.
Roberto raked a hand through his hair and gestured toward Kaz, shook his head and then backed away from the truck.
Kaz’s senses shot into alert as he strode up to Roberto.
The passenger made a snide comment about Roberto’s wife to Ortega. Kaz knew enough Spanish to get the crude barb. When Roberto didn’t react, Kaz did. Bullying one of his workers and casting aspersions on his family weren’t allowed.
Kaz stalked around to the passenger side of the truck. “We don’t go for that kind of talk.”
The passenger poked Ortega in the ribs and said something Kaz didn’t understand. But again he got the drift.
Sputtering, Roberto dashed around the front of the truck and headed for Kaz. At the same time, the passenger pulled a gun and aimed it at Kaz’s head.
“And we don’t like japonés telling us what to do,” the passenger said.
Ortega grunted at the man to lower the gun, but instead he swung it to point at Roberto. “You might want to back your dog off,” he snarled.
Kaz had the gun away from the man in seconds. It spun as it landed in the dirt at Kaz’s feet.
“Leave,” Kaz said as he kicked the gun away from the truck.
Roberto put a hand to Kaz’s arm and pulled him back, away from the truck. Then he turned and said something to Ortega in the same dialect Kaz couldn’t decipher.
Ortega scowled before he threw the truck into reverse, turned and sped out of the driveway.
“Want to tell me what that was about?”
Roberto picked up the gun and shoved it into his belt. “Come in. We can talk over a beer.”
Kaz shook his head. “Tell me about those two. And the meth labs.” The adrenaline spiking in him made it hard to control the demand in his voice.
“It is better to leave them alone.”
“I saw Martin Erickson with Ortega at Hallie’s Place. Stacy Kingston was with them.” Why he added the bit about Stacy, he didn’t know.
Stacy might not be his responsibility, but he wouldn’t let her walk blindly into trouble.
Roberto frowned. “Señor Erickson may not know about those men’s activities.”
“But you do.” Kaz felt his temper rising. Roberto knew more than he wanted to tell.
“I told you, they will not come near Tokugawa land again.”
“I want to help, Roberto. If I have to organize every landowner in the county to help me do it, I will see them run out. I reported the lab find to the sheriff. They’re looking into it.”
Roberto’s eyes widened. He picked up the small garden spade that Yolanda had left behind. “You must be careful. Their world and our world, they do not mix.” He shoved the spade into his belt next to the gun. “They have no respect for lives. Only money.”
“Why were they here?”
Roberto rubbed at his jaw and let out a breath. “They collect money. Protection money.”
Protection. It was the worst sort of extortion. But it explained Roberto’s unwillingness to talk. And Kaz hadn’t helped matters any by escalating the encounter.
“From other families too?”
Roberto nodded.
“Look, I have to be in LA for a couple of days. Nariko has a gallery opening of her newest works, and I swore I’d be there. When I return, I’d like you to go with me to talk to Sheriff Midland. He tells me they’re close to nailing the leaders behind the drug ring. Likely Ortega and the others extorting payments from you are in on it. You could help put them away.” He saw Roberto’s hesitation. “They can keep you and your family out of it. They just need information. Reliable information.”
“We can try.” Roberto rubbed the fingers of his hand against the back of his wrist, a gesture that told Kaz he was nervous. “Please tell your sister we send our best wishes. I’ll watch over the farm while you’re gone.”
“It’ll be in good hands.”
As Kaz drove back to his farm, he thought over what he’d asked Roberto to do. It hadn’t surprised him that Roberto was nervous; informing on a drug ring was a risky business. But it stung that Roberto hadn’t told him about the extortion. Surely he’d known Kaz would help. And maybe that was the problem. Paying Ortega for his so-called protection was likely less terrifying than the violence he threatened. But Ortega couldn’t know that the scheme he was running was exactly the sort of dishonorable activity that the samurai system had been founded to root out and destroy. Kaz made a silent vow to stop Ortega and his gang. Living in fear was a prison no family should suffer.
Chapter Fifteen
Kaz had never seen his sister so nervous. Nariko toyed with the silk cord dangling beside her painting.
“Thank you for coming, Kazi. I know with everyone away and your spring training about to start, fitting this in wasn’t easy.”
“I’d never just fit you in, Nari.”
She grinned. “Maybe it was my twentieth email reminding you that did the trick?” But her grin faded, and she fingered the cord again. “I’m not sure the LA scene is ready for samurai paintings.”
“The LA Times wouldn’t have run an article on you if that were true. Maybe you got a different edition of the Times than I did. Mine said: ‘Her work is an exploration of the duality of metal and the fleetingness of light,’ and I quote directly.”
Nari blushed and lowered her eyes. “We’ll see.”
The first guests filtered in and headed for the gallery owner, a tanned, thin woman in a silver sheath.
“Show time, sis.”
Kaz glanced back to the door.
“Will I meet Sabrina tonight?” Nari asked as she followed the path of his gaze.
“Why would you ask that?”
“Maybe because you’re staring at the door with the same hopefulness I heard in your voice the couple of times you mentioned her to me. Maybe because I’ve never seen or heard that expression from you before. Maybe because we’re in LA, and I saw in one of the tabloids that she was here getting ready to start shooting Exigent Two or whatever they’re calling it. Or maybe it’s because I dearly hope to meet the woman who has rattled my unflappable brother so I can seek some pointers.�
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Kaz turned from the door and simply stared at Nariko. He didn’t know whether to be frightened or awed by her insights.
He’d mentioned the show to Sabrina when she’d asked about the art at the farmhouse. Each piece she’d specifically mentioned had been created by Nari. Because of her questions, many of which he couldn’t answer, he’d guessed she’d enjoy the gallery showing.
“Maybe she’ll come.” He shifted his feet. “But I don’t know. The last time I saw her, we… It didn’t end well. But I did call her.” More than that, he’d asked Alex to do what he could to make sure she’d come.
“I need to give you some pointers,” Nari said with a smile that said she wasn’t going to let the subject drop. He shouldn’t have told her what little he had about his time with Sabrina.
“And you get points if she comes, Kazi—major points. It’d be a coup to have Sabrina Tavonesi at my opening. You do know she’s about the hottest thing in Hollywood right now?”
Nari crossed her arms, holding a powerful stance, a stance honed from years of training with his grandfather, with his father, with him and their brother. She was samurai, and she wasn’t about to be brushed off. Only the approach of a group of well-wishing gallery patrons saved him from being grilled.
He slipped away and started a tour of the gallery, stopping to examine the largest of Nari’s paintings. Only his sister could’ve coaxed life out of steel to create a painting that seemed to breathe off the wall.
“I imagine you’re just the guy to tell me what I’m seeing.”
Matt Darrington’s voice surprised Kaz. What the Giants’ star shortstop was doing in LA a week before spring training baffled him.
“And me too,” a lovely woman said as she looped her arm through Matt’s. “Although even without words, I can feel the power of your sister’s work. Sabrina was right.”
“May I introduce my wife, Alana Tavonesi,” Matt said. Kaz shook his head and looked from Matt to his wife. “As in Sabrina and Alex Tavonesi,” Matt said with a smile.
