I gripped the glass tighter. “She went missing?”
“Yes.”
“Well, surely Campbell’s an obvious suspect?”
“That’s what the detective investigating the case thought, too, but he was never able to come up with anything—including the whereabouts of the woman. She’s still missing after three years.”
“That’s horrible.”
“I told you it wasn’t pretty. There’s one more thing. Do you want to hear it?”
“Yes.” No, but I wasn’t going to back down now.
Marc’s eyes searched mine like he was still questioning how much he should tell me. “He’s worked on the last six films you’ve starred in.”
I stared at him, the cold water suddenly feeling out of place in my empty stomach.
“So you mean he’s been stalking me for . . .” I paused to consider how far back the last six films took me. “Over three years.”
“Potentially.”
The stool scraped on the tiles as I stood up.
“I told you it’s better you let me handle things.”
I shook my head and paced the kitchen. “No. No, it’s definitely not. You know why? Because one of those productions was in Africa. You know that, right? The sicko got himself on the crew for that and followed me across continents.”
“It looks that way, yes.”
I kept pacing. “Then surely there’s some evidence of his infatuation with me?” I demanded. “Please tell me you’ve found something.”
“The next step is to apply for a search warrant, but only the cops can do that, so I’ve turned it over to them.”
I stopped pacing. “But the press—”
“Will stay out of it,” he said firmly. “I trust the guys who are working on this to keep it confidential. The only issue is procedures take time. I’ve given them plenty of probable cause, so there’s every likelihood they’ll get access to search his premises, but it won’t happen tomorrow. That’s the compromise with using someone like me.”
I bit off a cutting comment on his relationship management skills, because for once, he didn’t deserve it. He’d been true to his word and given me the details of the investigation like I asked.
With a weary sigh, I sat back down on the stool. “At least I’m safe here.”
“You are.” His gaze lingered on mine before he turned back to the pan.
For how long, I wanted to ask, but didn’t.
Chapter 18
Later that night, I stared at my reflection in the mirror in dismay.
Post-surgery, my fair skin appeared too pale and my wide-set eyes looked haunted. It was the least of my problems right now.
“Shit,” I whispered. What was I going to do?
For all Marc’s well thought out security precautions, he hadn’t considered one particular issue.
My sling.
I blew out a long breath. Well, I wasn’t going to have a shower tonight, that was for sure. There was no way I was asking Marc for help to undress. It didn’t bear thinking about.
I’d have to text Ally and ask her to stay with me for a week or so, until I’d healed enough to be able to manage things on my own. For tonight, I’d go to bed fully dressed, which wasn’t exactly appealing. I was probably imagining it, but I could still identify the stark smell of hospital on my clothes.
I used my good hand to unzip the bag at the end of the bed and started going through the contents. Rita, my stylist, had done a great job in limited time but where was my cell phone?
I wanted to message Ally tonight so I could give her some warning that I needed help. I just hoped she wasn’t in the middle of any major designs for her fashion label that I would pull her away from. I knew without a doubt she’d be here for me, no questions asked, even if it meant upsetting her plans. I already felt awful about asking her to come, but what choice did I have?
Rifling through a bag with one hand wasn’t proving easy and my phone didn’t appear to be there anyway.
I exited the bedroom and walked down the hall to Marc’s room. The door was wide open but there was no sign of him so I knocked three times. Although dinner had been uneventful and I was nearing a degree of acceptance about having him around, I wasn’t looking forward to this conversation.
I expected him to be reluctant to let Ally come, but I couldn’t exactly invite her here without his knowledge because I had no idea where ‘here’ was.
“Yeah?” I heard him call out. It sounded like he was in the en suite attached to his room.
“I’m just looking for my cell phone,” I called back. “Have you seen . . .”
I gaped as he walked into the bedroom. He was shirtless and had a towel thrown around his bare shoulders. He wore jeans, but they were missing a belt and they sat seductively low on his hips.
“ . . . it,” I managed.
He glanced over at me as he made his way to a bag sitting on the bed. He showed no sign of discomfort at being half-naked in front of me. It was fair to say he had no cause to. Without wanting it to, the word ‘magnificent’ came to mind. He could have been carved out of stone, except the warm glow of his olive skin proved he was all man. He was still damp from the shower he’d obviously just had and the muscled contours of his back shone in the dim light as he searched through his bag.
“You haven’t seen it, because I have it,” he told me, turning around and slipping a navy T-shirt over his head. As he turned, I caught a glimpse of black ink on his left deltoid. A series of sweeping, curving letters that curled over his olive skin in dark swirls. I squinted in the dim light.
Semper fide—
I wasn’t able to make out the rest of it before the T-shirt covered it.
He faced me and waited for me to reply.
It took me a second to answer. “Then can you give it back please?” I asked, trying hard to focus.
I didn’t understand. I’d worked with plenty of good-looking actors, yet there was something about Marc that got under my skin.
“No,” he replied, oblivious to my racing pulse. He walked back to the en suite with the towel in his hand and disappeared from view. “Have you taken your drugs?” I heard him say.
I sighed. “Yes. And what do you mean, no? I need to contact Ally.”
He appeared again and put his hands on his hips, drawing my eyes to his slim waist.
“You’ll have to do without for now. We don’t want anyone to be able to trace you here. What did you need to tell Ally? I can get a message to her.”
“I need her to come and stay with me.” I was upset that he’d taken my cell without telling me, but having Ally here with me was more important.
He dropped his hands to his sides and narrowed his eyes. “This isn’t a vacation, Lena. I would have thought I didn’t need to tell you that.”
“No,” I said quickly, determined not to end up in another argument with him. “It’s not that. I need a female here with me.”
“What? Why?”
“A female,” I repeated. “To help me out.” I glanced down at my sling. “The usual things are a bit difficult at the moment.”
I heard Marc swear under his breath. It confirmed my suspicions he hadn’t considered the technical requirements of my injury.
“What do you need?” he asked.
“A female,” I said again.
“No, what do you need help with? Specifically?”
“I’d like a shower sometime,” I relented.
He nodded and walked toward me. “Come on then.”
I jumped backward. “What?”
He arrived at my side, his expression unreadable as usual. “Let’s go. I’ll help you.”
“You’ll do no such thing!”
I saw a flicker of amusement in his eyes, but he didn’t crack a smile. “You don’t have much choice.”
I had no way of proving it but I’d say he was enjoying this. “It’s fine. I’ll wait until Ally gets here.”
“Ally’s not going to come,” he told me firmly.
“Yes, she will. She’s a good friend and I know it’s a lot to ask—”
“Lena.” He silenced me by putting a hand on my good shoulder. “She can’t come here. It’s better if she stays away until we figure out the extent of the threat.”
“Yes, but—”
“Do you really want to endanger her after what happened earlier this year?” he said softly.
The weight of his palm on my shoulder was making it hard to think. “No.”
He was right, of course. Ally had dealt with her own stalker when she’d started going out with Jacob and her fashion career had been taking off. The last thing I wanted to do was put her at risk.
“We’ll manage,” he said. “Come on.”
He removed his hand from my shoulder and went to put it on my back, obviously about to lead me from the room.
I stepped out of his reach. I wasn’t used to him being this nice, not to mention understanding, but none of that changed the fact there was no way he was helping me to undress. “No thanks. I’ll manage on my own.”
“You’ll hurt yourself.”
That was possibly true, but it would hurt my pride a lot more to rely on Marc in such an intimate way.
“I’ll be fine. I’m used to looking after myself.”
Marc stepped back and shook his head. “You’re on-set in a tiny bathing suit for the whole world to see, and you won’t let me help you?”
“That’s different.” I crossed my good arm across the front of my body.
He looked at me incredulously. “How is that different? The cast and crew were watching. I’m just going to help with your sling and your top, not strip you naked.”
At the words ‘strip you naked’ a sharp jolt of something approaching pain shot from my belly. I swallowed, doing my best to ignore it. “No, thank you,” I said primly.
His eyes glowered in the dim light. “Believe me, if I wanted you naked, you’d know about it.”
My eyes widened and he shook his head at me. “Suit yourself, Lena. You know where to find me.” He turned back to the bag on the bed.
I stood there for a second, worrying my lip with my teeth—a habit from my teenage years I rarely resorted to now—then retreated into the hall.
*
I leaned against one of the archways as the dawn light spread over the valley. The sky was like a giant canvas brushed with strokes of blue and pink that an invisible hand painted as I watched.
I was an early riser but usually missed the first light of a new day. Something told me a new day never looked this good back home in the Hollywood Hills.
I breathed in the stillness and closed my eyes. I wondered if it was possible to fall asleep standing up.
“Couldn’t sleep?”
I straightened and turned to find Marc leaning against the door I’d left open.
“I slept.” On and off. I’d been lucky if I managed to get four hours, but I wasn’t telling him that. I was used to lying on my side and it had been hard to drift off. I’d lain staring up at the ceiling, losing the battle to my runaway thoughts. When the dark questions about Martin Campbell became too much, I found myself thinking about Marc. Those thoughts hadn’t been particularly conducive to restful sleep either.
He walked over to stand under the arch with me. “You get used to it.”
“What?” I’d lost the thread of our conversation.
“The peace and quiet.”
That hadn’t been what kept me awake, but I knew what he meant. Sometimes the absence of noise was louder than anything else.
“I like it. It makes everything else feel . . . ” I was going to say far away, but that wasn’t quite right.
“Small?” he suggested.
“Exactly.”
“I come up here when I need to think about a case. It gives me perspective.”
I glanced across at him. I wasn’t used to him volunteering information about himself.
“I guess you can’t really work up here permanently?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Logistically, no. All my clients and contacts are in LA, but I wouldn’t want to. I prefer to keep this place for me.”
Then why did you bring me here, I wanted to ask. Instead, I said, “Do you like LA?”
His eyes were on the horizon, watching the orange glow that lit the sky. I almost expected him to change the subject, so rare were his personal insights, but he replied after a short pause. “I grew up in LA. I’m used to it I guess, because I missed it when I was away.”
“Where were you based?”
“I moved around.”
“How long were you away?”
He didn’t answer straight away. “On and off, for something like eight years.”
“That’s a long time.”
“Long enough.” He pushed away from the wall and walked out into the early morning sunlight.
I had the distinct impression he’d had enough talking about himself.
“Are you hungry?” he asked.
“Not really. I’d prefer a walk.”
He turned back to face me and observed the shirt I was—still—wearing. “You’ll need a shower afterward if you go for a walk.”
I wasn’t sure if he was trying to annoy me or just stating the obvious. “I’ll manage.” Last night I’d given myself a sponge bath as best I could. I’d been able to change my panties and slip into a fresh pair of jeans this morning, but I was still figuring out how I’d put on a clean top.
After another long, measured look, Marc nodded. “A short walk, but that’s it.” He turned back toward the house.
There was something so fatherly in his tone, I couldn’t help myself. “Oh, I don’t know. I thought we might camp overnight somewhere.”
“And when was the last time you camped, Princess?”
I barely registered the amusement in his voice. When he glanced back at me because I didn’t give him a smart reply, he skidded to a halt. I was too lost in the memory of a summer sky and my mom’s laughter to really notice.
“I was sixteen. It was right before Mom was diagnosed. We used to go camping every year. Just the three of us. It was those two weeks every summer we always felt most like a family. Dad wasn’t working and Mom loved having us both there with her. I still thank God for those times. They were so special.”
The gravel crunched beneath Marc’s feet as he walked over to me. His dark eyes didn’t leave mine. I stared at him but didn’t resist as he threaded his fingers through mine and tugged on my good arm.
“Come on. Let’s go find you some shoes.”
Chapter 19
I was sure it was just the after-effects of surgery and being forced to spend time in a hospital, but I could feel the presence of my mother. Obviously that would explain my slip to Marc.
Whether it was my imagination—a lonely daughter’s attempts at holding onto the memory of her beloved mother—I never questioned the feeling. I just accepted it for what it was.
There’d been situations during my modeling career when I’d felt her near. Usually when I was being pressured to do something I wasn’t comfortable with. At those times, I’d recall her belief in me and find the courage I needed to stand up for myself.
As an actress, I’d often sense her close by, too. When a particularly emotional role would draw on all my reserves, I could feel her with me.
But right now, her presence didn’t make sense. Apart from the difficulties of my sling, I was safe—albeit in a strange location. If anything, I should have felt it when I was in the hospital, but that hadn’t been the case.
Distracted by my thoughts, I let Marc lead me to my bedroom. Inside, he dropped my hand and opened the bag at the end of the bed.
“They’re not hiking shoes, but they’ll do.” He set a pair of runners on the floor beside the bag.
I withheld a sigh when I saw them.
“I’ll help you with the laces.” Before I could argue, he crouched down in front of me.
Oh wow. Maybe I was under mor
e stress than I realized. Having brooding, tough guy Romero tie my shoes was all kinds of weird.
I hadn’t moved and he cocked an eyebrow at me.
Not wanting to appear precious—or start another fight—I went over and sat on the edge of the bed.
Marc picked up one of the runners and cradled my heel with the palm of his other hand. Even through my sock, the contact heated my skin.
I bit my lip, but only on the inside, so Marc wouldn’t see.
Gently, he slipped my foot into the runner and then propped it on his firm thigh. He was looking down at the lace, and not at me, and I found myself studying his face.
There was something about the light lines in his forehead that made me want to run a fingertip over them. For some reason, it felt like each one had a story to tell, and I wondered if they had deepened during his time in the FBI.
My gaze dropped to his eyebrows. They were furrowed in concentration as he did up my lace, and below them were impossibly long, dark lashes most women would kill for.
I straightened self-consciously when he reached over to pick up the other shoe.
“Not too tight?” he asked, already slipping it onto my foot.
“Fine.”
I waited while he did it up, feeling a little lightheaded. It was probably the drugs, but the sensation receded a bit when he rocked back on his heels and let go of my other foot.
“Are you sure you’re up for a walk? Maybe we should eat something first?”
“I’m fine.”
He stood up. “So long as you’re fine, then.”
I couldn’t see if he was smiling at me because he’d turned toward the door. I followed him out into the hall.
“Give me one sec,” he said, heading for the kitchen.
A moment later he was back and he handed me a banana. “Eat it.”
“I’m not—”
“Eat it, Lena.”
“But I’m not . . . ”
I stopped talking when he grabbed the banana and peeled it for me, then shoved it at me.
“Fine.”
He smirked and we went outside into the sunshine. In the short time we’d been inside the sun had climbed higher and the cool autumn morning had risen a degree or two.
Heartbreaker (Hollywood Hearts Book 2) Page 12
