Phantom Series Boxed Set

by Julie Leto

  “I want to know what Nigel was looking for at your house.”

  Lauren laughed humorlessly. “He’s your lapdog. Why did you send him to my house?”

  “I didn’t,” Ross insisted, and from the anxious look on his face, she knew he wasn’t lying.

  Helen, however, seemed to miss the nuance of his expression. “Who are you trying to con, Marchand? You sent him to steal the sword. Just like that guy who attacked Lauren in the hospital.”

  Ross’s mouth was a thin, unyielding line. Helen sidled up beside Lauren, which seemed to spark a fire in Ross’s muddy hazel eyes. “I need to talk to my wife alone.”

  In unison, Lauren and Helen both said, “Ex.”

  Ross cursed. “Fine. Ex. Ex-wife. Satisfied? Clear out, Talbot. What I have to say is for her ears alone.” Helen narrowed her gaze, then glanced at Lauren, who gave her a confident nod.

  “Don’t worry. I can take care of myself.”

  Helen headed to the door. “I won’t go far. I’m going to keep trying to get in touch with our friends. I’ll let you know what happened as soon as I know.”

  Once they were alone, Ross jammed his hands into his hair and marched to the couch, where he sat beside the weapon. Just to be on the safe side, Lauren moved the sword to the bar area. She did not feel Aiden’s presence, and in a small way she was thankful. After what had happened with Nigel this morning, she wanted to hear what Ross had to say. She didn’t need Aiden running him off on her behalf.

  Ross groaned. “I’m not here to steal that cursed hunk of steel.”

  “Cursed?”

  Did he know something?

  He sneered at the weapon. “More trouble than it’s worth. I shouldn’t have given in to you at that antiques store. Maybe if I hadn’t, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

  “What mess?”

  With a huff, he sank back into the cushions of the couch. “Nigel, for starters.”

  Not that she tried, but Lauren couldn’t muster a shred of sympathy for Ross’s butler. He’d treated her like something he’d accidentally smeared on the bottom of his shoe since the first minute she’d moved into the Marchand household. The fact that the dog she’d bought for protection had attacked him didn’t make her feel guilty in the least.

  “I assume he’ll live, even without the part of his ass that Apollo had for breakfast?”

  Ross grinned at her quip, despite the fact that he shouldn’t. “Sit down, Lauren.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest and remained standing.

  After a second he looked up. Again, she saw remorse in his eyes. And again, she couldn’t ignore it.

  “Please,” he said more sincerely, “sit down.”

  With a frown, she realized she had nothing to lose by getting off her feel. She squeezed by him and sat on the opposite side of the couch.

  He sat up straight, as if gearing himself up for a complicated explanation. “First, you have to know that I had nothing to do with Nigel breaking into your house this morning.”

  “Nigel doesn’t do anything without your ordering him to.”

  “That used to be true,” he muttered.

  “It isn’t anymore? Why?”

  He bit his bottom lip before responding. “My circumstances have changed. I’m in trouble, Lauren. Financial trouble.”

  She scoffed. “I saw your financials during the divorce, Ross. You’re doing fine.”

  “One doesn’t usually admit to their accountant the kind of debts I’m talking about.”

  “What kind of debts?”

  Lauren had known Ross to mix with business associates who could have stepped straight out or a Francis Ford Coppola flick, but he’d been fairly careful, separating his personal taste for rubbing shoulders with wise guys from his formidable status as a producer. Ross’s reputation wouldn’t inspire real respect if he laundered cash for criminals.

  “You remember that series of movies I did in Mexico?”

  “How can I forget? You were gone for nearly a year while I was shooting the second Athena movie.”

  “It was a risky enterprise,” he said, repeating words she’d heard him say a hundred times back when they were practically newlyweds. “Shooting three movies concurrently in a rough part of a corrupt country. I had to pay some serious dinero to some big-time players to get those movies made without my actors being kidnapped or my sets torched. All of it had to be under the table, too. I thought with the star power I’d brought in, all three films would have been smash hits, but, well…”

  His voice trailed away. Lauren didn’t need to remind him that the first two movies in the series had been so critically panned and publicly ignored that the third one had gone direct to video. The idea behind the series had been sound, the script fascinating and the actors top-notch, but the director had lost his marbles in the editing, and the flops might have ruined Ross entirely if not for the soaring success of the Athena franchise. Lauren remembered watching, horrified, during the screenings, wondering how such a successful producer as her husband would put out not one dud, but three—with his name on them. Now she was starting to understand.

  He didn’t have a choice. The best he could do was make sure the director took all the blame for the horrendous failure of the series. As far as Lauren knew, the guy had never made another movie. Not in Hollywood, anyway.

  It was Ross Marchand legend.

  “Every producer loses money, Ross.”

  He took a deep breath, pushing it out as his fists clenched into tight white balls of flesh and bone that he pounded on his knees. “It was more than that. Look, Lauren, I don’t want to tell you too much—not because I don’t trust you or because I’m embarrassed, but because I don’t want to drag you any deeper into my mess. And trust me, it’s a big fucking mess. I still owe a lot of money to some very mean hombres, if you get my drift. The Mexicans wanted a cut of the series’ gross, and they didn’t care that the movies tanked. They left me alone for a long time, but I guess business isn’t so good for them anymore, and they’re looking to make me pay up. That’s why I put so much pressure on you to make this last movie. I need my cut to pay off criminals I never should have gotten involved with.”

  Lauren’s head was spinning. How could the man she’d always admired for being savvy in the business world have gotten himself into such deep shit?

  “So you held the sword over my head to make sure I made the last film? Hate to break this news to you, Ross, but you’ve been holding that sword at arm’s length from me since the moment I first saw it in that shop. In all the years I lived with you, in all the years we were married, I never asked you for anything that you gave me. Never. It was the one time I found something I really, truly wanted. I suppose I was stupid for wanting you to give it to me when I could have bought it for myself, but…”

  Tentatively he reached over and placed his hand on hers, patting it twice before taking his touch away. “It was a test. I failed.”

  The gentle timbre of his voice told her he was sincere. They had a lot of baggage between them, but hashing out the past wasn’t going to solve whatever crap he’d gotten himself into now. She’d opened her mouth to tell him to drop the whole subject, when he broke in with, “I knew our marriage was falling apart a long time before I slept with—”

  “Don’t say her name,” Lauren begged. “I’ve moved beyond all that.”

  He didn’t argue. “Our marriage was falling apart even before that sword. You’d been distancing yourself from me for a long time. I guess it was only natural. You didn’t really need me anymore.”

  “I never should have needed you. I never should have married you,” Lauren said. “And you…you never should have asked.”

  She’d said the words to him before, but as she spoke them now, calmly and with the rancorous emotions between them having run their course during their divorce, Ross seemed to finally hear her.

  “I can’t change what was,” he replied. “But you know I never wanted to hurt you. I never sent Nigel to your h
ouse, I swear, and I didn’t have anything to do with that guy who broke into your hospital room. But I know who did.”

  Lauren’s entire body tensed as she listened to Ross pour out his guts about his recent association with a man named Farrow Pryce. A secretive and well-connected businessman, Pryce had somehow found out about Ross’s money troubles and had threatened to expose his deal with the Mexicans if Ross didn’t cooperate in Pryce’s quest for the sword.

  “If you hadn’t stolen the damned thing, I would have sold it to him and we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

  “So now you’re blaming me?”

  She moved to stand, but he took her hands and, with surprising gentleness, tugged her back down. “No, that’s not what I meant. I’m just trying to explain that I think Pryce sent that thug into your hospital room, and though he’s not saying, I think he black-mailed Nigel into breaking into your house on my behalf. You know Nigel. He’d do anything for me.”

  “Including put my life in danger. He probably got a kick out of that. How did he bypass my security code, anyway?”

  “You still using the numbers from your first paycheck as an actress as your code?”

  She winced. Some habits died hard. “I suppose I should change that, huh?”

  Ross nodded. “This Pryce guy is dangerous, maybe more dangerous than the guys I owe money to. Look, the prop guys photographed and measured that sword every which way from Sunday. They’re going to come up with a copy in a few days that will be indistinguishable from the original. Just let me sell the sword to Pryce now, and after this movie premieres and I’m back in the black, I’ll buy you twelve just like it. A whole collection.”

  “No,” she said.

  “Lauren, be reasonable.”

  “I don’t have to be reasonable, Ross. The sword is mine. It’s not yours to sell. Sell your damned house if you need to pay off someone, but I’m not parting with my…”

  The lights flickered, then went black. Lauren waited for the emergency light above her door to turn on, but it did not.

  “What the hell?” Ross said.

  Using her hands to feel her way, she moved toward the bar and placed her palm on the handle of the sword. She heard Ross stumble to the door and wretch it open. It was just as black outside as it was within.

  “Not again,” Ross groaned. “Hey!”

  Though it was black as night on the soundstage, it was certainly not as quiet. Shouts of frustration and fear from the sudden blackout drowned Ross’s pleas for someone with a flashlight to come into the trailer. Then, with a grunt, she heard Ross leave, though she had a sinking suspicion that he hadn’t done so by choice.

  “Ross? Who’s there?”

  Lauren grabbed the sword. She held the blade parallel with her body, as eager to keep the weapon with her as she was to avoid accidentally running someone through in the dark.

  No one answered. Even with the sounds from the melee outside, she thought she heard footsteps coming nearer. She feinted left, just in lime to hear someone whisper, “I’m sorry,” before something hard burst against her jaw and she fell to the ground.

  Thirty One

  “Not again,” Lauren mumbled as awareness returned. She was on the floor, and her chin hurt like a mother. Someone had coldcocked her in the dark. For a pampered actress who played an action hero only on the silver screen, she was getting the shit kicked out of her a little too often.

  She used the nearby bar stool to climb to her feet. The trailer, still dark, flashed with beams of light from the outside.

  “Ms. Cole?”

  She blinked, but saw who she thought was Marco blustering his way into the trailer. He shouted behind him for someone to help Mr. Marchand.

  “What’s wrong with Ross?” she asked, trying to stretch the pain out of her jaw.

  Marco flashed the light directly in her face, wincing at what he saw. “Ice! I need ice!”

  “Marco,” Lauren said calmly. “What’s wrong with Ross?”

  “Knocked out cold. Looks like someone yanked him out of the trailer. Gash in his head. He’s coming to, but we called the ambulance.”

  “Where are the lights?”

  Another security guard handled Marco the ice tray from Lauren’s freezer. He wrapped a handful of cubes in his handkerchief, gave it a few whacks on the bar to pulverize the ice, then pressed it to the swelling skin on her face. She recoiled from the cold, but then allowed the remedy to do its painful work.

  “Someone cut the power to the soundstage. Place is a pitch-black madhouse. You’re better off in here. What happened to you?”

  “Someone hit me,” she explained.

  “Mr. Marchand?” Marco asked, shocked.

  That would have been her first guess, too. Trouble was, she remembered that Ross had already been at the door when she’d heard someone else enter and say something to her before they’d knocked her out cold.

  Something like…I’m sorry.

  A voice in the dark. A voice that wasn’t Aiden’s.

  Aiden!

  “Marco, let me have that light.”

  She took the handle from him and stood, focusing the beam on the top of the bar. As she feared, the sword was gone. She turned the light and searched as best she could, but she already knew what had happened. Someone had used the blackout in order to steal the sword—and that someone wasn’t Ross. He was still lying on the floor, with several people attending to his injury. She could hear him cursing a blue streak.

  “Marco, I need to find Helen Talbot,” Lauren insisted.

  “Can’t find anyone until the emergency generators come on. Should be just a few more—”

  As if on cue, the lights popped on. Blinded for a moment, Lauren shoved the flashlight back at Marco and looked around for her purse. Damn. She didn’t even have her car. The studio had sent for her this morning, and Helen had driven her back after the break-in. When she heard Ross’s voice rise to a booming crescendo, she made her decision.

  The soundstage was in chaos. In the blackout several people had been hurt, equipment dropped and lighting destroyed. She bent down at the door to check on Ross, slipped her rusty but nimble thief’s fingers into his pocket and extracted his keys.

  “Where’s Farrow Pryce, Ross?”

  “Huh? What?”

  Blood was trickling down from the gash above his eye, but she knew better than anyone that head wounds often looked worse than they actually were. “Tell me where to find this Pryce guy. The sword is missing, Ross, and I want it back.”

  His gaze met hers, and she was actually happy to see that his pupils were small and focused. “He moved in. Took over the place. I didn’t have a choice.”

  She turned to Marco, who was staying close at her heels. Pressing her hand to his shoulder, she ordered, “Stay with Mr. Marchand. Make sure he gets to the hospital and receives the best care possible, got me?”

  “But, Ms. Cole, if someone hit you, you need—”

  “I need to know that Ross is going to be looked after, okay?”

  But mostly she didn’t need anyone else to slow her down.

  With chaos reigning around her, she was able to slip out of the soundstage. She found Ross’s car parked in his VIP spot and, with shaking hands, pushed the key into the ignition and revved the engine to life. When she flew backward out of the parking space, she heard a slam on the trunk. She spun around to see Helen holding up her hands.

  Lauren pushed the gearshift into neutral. Helen ran around to the passenger side and jumped in. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  Shifting the car into drive before Helen had closed the door entirely, Lauren honked the horn at a group of people dashing across the narrow service road, then sped off toward the exit. “I’m going to get my sword back. Someone stole it.”

  She stopped at the security post and waited for the gate to open. On a whim, she rolled down the window and beckoned the guard over, who smiled at her instantly in recognition.

  “Can you tell me if a Farrow Pryce came int
o the studio this morning, headed for the Athena shoot?”

  He checked his list. “No, ma’am. No Farrow Pryce.”

  “Did Mr. Marchand have any other guests he’d cleared for access?”

  He rattled off a few names, all of which Lauren recognized as investors.

  “What are you doing?” Helen asked.

  She turned to her friend and said quietly, “Someone slugged me in the dark and stole the sword. I’m trying to figure out who it was. Whoever it was apologized to me before knocking me out cold.”

  “Apologized?” Helen glanced forward, squeezed her eyes shut, then leaned around Lauren to speak to the guard. “What about David Drake? Is he on the list?”

  “You told me to take him off, Ms. Talbot,” the guard said defensively. “He didn’t come through while I’ve been here.”

  “Have you been here the whole time?” Lauren asked, knowing the guard took breaks.

  “Well, no…”

  “Can you check Mr. Marchand’s list?” Helen continued.

  He did so and verified that David had come to the studio two hours ago.

  Lauren thanked the guard and tore off in the direction of the highway.

  “Why would David be on the set?” Lauren asked. “Why would Ross have added him to the list?”

  “Why does your ex-husband do anything?”

  “To keep his ass alive and on top of the Hollywood food chain, that’s why,” she replied, then filled her friend in on what Ross had confessed about the Mexican movies, his overwhelming debt, Farrow Pryce and the man’s outrageous bid for the sword.

  “But Ross didn’t steal the sword,” Helen said. “He’s still back there on the set. And you believe him when he says he didn’t send Nigel to do his dirty work?”

  “Yeah, I do. I think Farrow Pryce appealed to Nigel’s sense of self-preservation and his desire to protect Ross at all costs and persuaded him to retrieve the sword himself. If he got caught, it would look reasonable, wouldn’t it? The loyal butler retrieving a stolen item from the ex-wife who’d taken it?”

  “But how is David tied in to all of this?”