“She has my cellphone number,” Winter said, her lips brushing the corner of his jaw. She only managed to reach that high because of the heels on her shoes.
“I’ll give you my phone and I’ll take yours for the afternoon,” Sebastian said. His voice reverberated against her back. His lips pressed against the nape of her neck. “We’ll talk to her. Make her see how this can’t happen, how bad it would be for you.”
More tension eased from her body. Nial alone could be intimidating and powerfully persuasive. Sebastian was potently charming when he chose to be. The two of them working to make Finka see how impossible this situation was for Winter...they would win Finka over.
Sebastian’s lips were travelling in the lightest of caresses along the open neck of her shirt, skimming her flesh. Making her shiver.
Winter reached up and wrapped her arms around Nial’s neck. “My next appointment isn’t for nearly ninety minutes,” she told them.
Nial’s hands swept down to the hem of her skirt. “Barely enough time,” he complained. He pushed her skirt up her thighs, his big hands skimming up to her hips once more, but this time sampling her flesh. His thumbs stroked, aiming unerringly for the hollows right next to her hipbones, and making her hips jerk as the highly sensitive nerves there fizzed and flared in reaction.
Winter gasped, but Nial’s lips were already covering hers. His tongue swept inside and she felt the pressure of his incisors against her mouth, behind his lips, telling her he was unusually aroused. Her pleasure leapt, knowing he would bite her as her pleasure peaked, intensifying her orgasm many times over.
Sebastian’s hands were busy, stripping her of her clothing. His mouth followed along behind, covering the flesh his hands revealed.
Winter let herself sink into the pleasure they were orchestrating, deliberately releasing all her worries over Finka Zupan and letting them go. Nial and Sebastian would take care of it for her. She trusted them utterly. It allowed her to let them seduce her into a mindless wanton in five minutes, screaming out her pleasure their hands and mouths and fingers invaded her genitals and toyed with her breasts.
Then they tore off their own clothes, both of them watching her, their expressions feral and hungry, as she lay on the rug, recuperating. Naked, they settled next to her.
‘You need a lesson, coniunx,” Nial said, sliding his hand over her waist.
Winter shuddered. “A lesson in what?”
“We’ll figure that out as we go,” Sebastian declared.
Winter let them take her, Finka Zupan already a dim memory.
Chapter Five
A space big enough for the Maserati miraculously opened up the second time Roman circled the block and he slid into it with a sense of satisfaction. It didn’t alleviate the subterranean layer of concern building in him, but it stopped the frustration from boiling over.
He looked around. He was familiar with the studios in this section of Van Iuys, but his knowledge was from back in the seventies. He hadn’t worked Hollywood from inside the studios since then.
He oriented himself and headed for the big, discreet building that was Kate’s. She had told him how pleased she had been with the bargain she got the old aircraft hangar for and how perfect it was for her work, with its endless amounts of square footage. It had been painted a fresh coat of white, and did nothing to advertise that movies were shot inside now.
He glanced at his watch again and his worry increased. His stride lengthened. What had happened? Why hadn’t she shown?
Just as he found the public entrance to the hanger, Roman got a hint of a possible answer. A long, tall skinny drink of water of a man stepped out from the building, a heavy briefcase hanging from his arm. Roman didn’t know his name but he recognized the man’s face and build. It was the lawyer that had been with Garrett five days ago in The Standard car park.
The lawyer nodded at Roman as he passed. He had been recognized.
Roman didn’t nod back. They didn’t know each other and as far as Roman was concerned, he didn’t yet know if they were enemies or not. Jovial nods were for when he knew where they stood on the board in relationship to each other.
The fact that Kate hadn’t turned up for their meeting and now this guy was emerging from her studio didn’t make him any happier, either.
He stepped inside and was bathed in the cool wash of air-conditioning. The area immediately inside the door was a low key reception area, unmarked by any company logo or name. A male receptionist sat behind a desk with nothing on it. His gaze ran over Roman, sizing him up.
Security, Roman realized. And top notch security at that.
“Kate Lindenstream isn’t expecting me,” Roman told him, fishing out his wallet and pulling out his driver’s license. “But she knows me. She’ll vouch for me.”
The man turned the driver’s license around and studied Roman, then the photo. “Got any other ID, sir?” he asked.
Roman nodded, appreciating the thoroughness. He pulled out his current social security card and flipped it onto the desk so it was facing the guard the right way around. The guard looked at it, then at the driver’s licence, then put the licence down on the desk next to the social security card, and picked up the telephone next to his elbow. “Have a seat, sir,” he suggested.
Roman moved away from the desk, letting the guard speak into the phone without being overheard, which was what the command to take a seat had really meant. He wandered over to the coffee table where a stack of magazine sat in a squared off pile, and read the spines. All of them were this month’s and none of them had anything to do with the movie industry. If anyone wandered into the studio by accident, they wouldn’t have a clue they had stumbled into the headquarters of one of the biggest producers in Los Angeles. The guard would ensure they didn’t progress any further inside. They would be bounced back out into the street without ever realizing where they were.
“You can go in, Mr. Xerus,” the guard said.
Roman turned. The guard was holding out his cards, his other hand pointing toward the inner door.
Roman walked over and took back his cards. “Thanks.”
“Someone will show you to Kate,” the guard said. “Just push on the door handle.”
Roman walked over to the door and just as he put his hand on the handle, he heard a lock click. The handle turned without resistance. He pushed the door open and stepped inside.
It was not what he expected.
The aeroplane hangar was still a hangar. The curved iron roof and struts soared seventy-five feet overhead, and frank concrete flooring spread across the expansive space. Some of the iron roofing sheets, perhaps one in every five, had been replaced by clear plastic ones. Natural light blazed down from the roof, illuminating a quiet, empty area, dotted with left-over bits of scenery, flats and props from the last three movies Kate had made, along with a dozen other movies, for Kate rented out the space to other directors when she didn’t need it herself.
Roman’s business brain tripped into high gear as he spotted props and scenery that he could easily sell at a hundred times their actual value to movie buffs and collectors, or that he could refurbish and store, for use by other directors for other movies. There were six Doric columns in prime condition collecting dust there. Doric columns appeared in dozens of movies, and directors were always desperate for them at the last minute.
“Mr. Xerus?”
He turned to his right. Hovering by a flower cart from nineteenth century London, complete with flowers, was a woman in the tightest pair of leather pants he’d ever seen, six inch spiked boots, and a tee-shirt with rolled up sleeves showing off painfully thin and blindingly pale white arms. Her hair hung lank, pale, and blonde down her back, while pimples dotted her forehead. She was clutching a clipboard to her chest like it might leap out of her arms if she loosened her grip. Production Assistant, Roman mentally classified. And very new at it, too.
“Hi,” he offered.
“Umm...Ms. Lindenstream said to show you to her tra
iler, so if you’ll just...if you’ll come with me?”
Trailer. Of course. It clicked into place with the neatness of Lego. The whole hangar was one big film studio, with no partitioning walls, no internal structure, except for the high-security reception area. Kate simply arranged things as she needed them for any particular movie situation. Her office was kept permanently inside a trailer that was parked inside the hangar when she was here. When she was on the road and filming on location, the trailer just moved with her.
Efficient. Elegant.
The P.A. was wobbling her way around a small mountain of scenery flats all stacked together and held secure with elastic packing straps. She glanced over her shoulder to ensure he was following her, and nearly tripped over her own stilettoes.
Roman hid his grin. The girl could barely be sixteen. She should be in bobby socks and giggly about her latest crush, in high school with her best friend forever. Instead, she was trying to make her bones in one of the most unforgiving industries in the world.
He dismissed her deliberately from his mind. He couldn’t afford to adopt every stray kitten he came across. He would have drowned in cats centuries ago.
Once they have moved far enough around the scenery, he spotted the trailer. It was big, yes, and once upon a time it had probably been expensive, but now it looked battered, weathered and old. The trailer had seen a lot of miles, and some of them had been tough. The paintwork on the back of the trailer, which faced them, was chipped and scraped by stones and gravel from countless unsealed roads and off-road travel. The bumper was dented and dinged. The license plate was faded by sun and age, and the cover over the spare tyre was so bleached by the sun the manufacturer’s logo had disappeared.
But there were three, not one, large gas bottles attached to the back of the trailer, and someone had done a damned fine job of building the extra racks to take the bottles. The trailer had what looked like pretty new tyres on it, too. The treads were good and they were top quality all weather tyres. There was an awning attached to the side of the trailer – not a tiny standard thing, either. This had been added to it after the fact, and it was a solid, useful-looking one.
The trailer was a home away from home and apparently an office on wheels. There were cables and plug-ins snaking from the side of the trailer over to a power box on the side of the hangar, and another tube wriggling its way out of a small door. That would be the water line.
Roman circled around to the side door. It was open, and the steps were lowered. He could hear Kate’s voice from inside.
The P.A. hovered by the door. “Go on in, Mr. Xerus.”
Roman hesitated. “What’s your name?”
“Britney.” And she blushed.
Of course. Britney. He made himself smile at her. “Thanks, Britney.”
She smiled back nervously, and bit her lip.
He stepped up into the trailer.
It was quiet inside. Kate was the only one in there, and she was on the phone, listening intently. She was sitting behind a perfectly normal desk littered with files, and a big laptop computer with its screen propped open. A cordless phone was jammed against her ear and her fingers were pressed against her other temple.
When she saw him, she waved him in, her frown not budging.
Roman moved another pace in and waited, the hairs on the back of his neck rising. Something was indeed wrong.
The trailer was unlike any normal trailer, on the inside. No big surprise there. It had been virtually gutted, except that, at the back of the trailer, through a door, Roman spotted what looked like a perfectly normal bed. Kate’s home away from home when she was filming on location. Hence, the water line. There was probably a bathroom back there, too.
The rest of the trailer had been turned into a business office, with two desks. One large one that Kate was sitting behind and a smaller one with a full sized desktop computer and printer set up. For the assistant, he assumed. The desks were cherry wood and glowed with care.
Along the walls were cabinets and shelves, cupboards and other built-in furniture that housed normal office equipment. It was an efficient, tidy arrangement. Economical, too. This way, Kate avoided the horrendous office space rentals that every other executive in L.A. got stuck with.
There were two very comfortable chairs in front of Kate’s desk and she waved at Roman again, this time with more force, insisting he sit in one.
Roman shrugged and sat. It put him directly in front of her. Her eyes met his and her brows lifted by the tiniest fraction before her gaze flickered away, drawn back by the speaker on the phone. The crease between her brows deepened.
He wasn’t the problem, then. It was the jerk on the phone.
A tiny trickle of relief touched him and he was able to study Kate with a neutral gaze, absorbing once more her natural features.
She wore makeup well, and knew how to use it, for she had started out as a model at a very early age, then moved into films as a B-grade actress, before landing one unforgettable role in a major production. That had been her entry into directing and production. That had given her the connections she needed. She had used all the money she had raised, plus all the influence she could leverage to fund her first low budget movie, and nothing had stopped her since.
She had long ago ceased trading on her looks, and Roman suspected that sometimes she even forgot she was considered a stunning blonde beauty. And she was all that.
He’d known who she was and what she looked like before he’d met her, but he hadn’t been prepared for the impact of her appearance in person. She was shorter and more fragile than he had expected, although she was still tall for a woman. But her eyes were as stunning in person as they were on the screen and in photos. No one had to touch them up. They had impact. More so now she was a power player in the industry, because she didn’t bother too often with feminine charm. She stared directly, with no quarter given, and her gaze with like a laser, direct and deadly. The jolt of her stare had been forceful, that first night.
But it was the way her mind worked that intrigued him the most. Roman hadn’t been braced for that one at all. She thought cleanly and clearly and with no quarter given for fools and those who were in the wrong. It was refreshing, especially coming from a Hollywood player and a woman.
Kate was winding up her call at last. It wasn’t a happy conclusion, for her frown hadn’t shift. “So, get back to me if anything changes,” she said at last, and paused. “Thank you.” She switched the phone off, dropped it on the desk, pressed her fingers to her temples and looked at him. “I missed our meeting, didn’t I?”
“I get the feeling you didn’t blow me off for anything minor.”
“Is that why you came here? To see if I had stood you up?” Her frowned deepened. “I would have told you, if that was the case. Some excuse. I wouldn’t have left you just sitting there.”
“I know. That’s why I came here.”
Kate stopped rubbing her temples and looked at him properly. “You’re checking up on me?”
Roman picked his words carefully. “I figured something major had happened if you forgot to even phone. I thought I’d see if you needed...help.”
Kate gave a laugh. It was probably supposed to be a dry one, but it twisted and there was a panicky sound to the end of it, and she pressed her lips together, her fingers over them for a moment. “Help?” she repeated. “I’d take help from Lucifer himself if I knew how to contact him, and if I thought he could possibly help. But I don’t think even he could get me out of this, Adrian.” She pressed her lips tightly together again and took a deep breath.
“What’s happened?” Roman asked.
Kate sighed. “What hasn’t happened? But I could sum it up in two words.”
“Calum Garrett.”
She sat back. “How did you...?”
“I passed his lawyer fellow as I was coming in.”
“MacDonald.” Her mouth curled down in disgust.
“What has Garrett done?” Roman asked curiously
.
Kate stood up. “I need coffee. I’ve been up since...early. Want one?”
He shook his head. “I’ve had too many already today, thanks.”
“It’s French Roast,” she coaxed, moving over to the sideboard where a mini espresso machine sat gleaming.
“Maybe the smell will talk me into it,” Roman lied. “You go ahead. And tell me what Garrett did.”
She held up the coffee scoop. “One. There is nothing directly connecting Garrett to any of this. He’s as devious as original sin, the fucking bastard. But he’s made sure I know it’s him every time, because that MacDonald character has delivered the coup de grace each time. The first time I wanted to skewer him with his own ancestral broadsword. The second time, I was ready to strangle him with my own bare hands. Now, it’s just fucking humiliating.”
As she spoke, she set up the espresso machine for making a single cup of espresso, her movements sharp and hard. Kate was growing angrier with each statement.
“Details, Kate,” Roman cajoled, keeping his voice soft and non-confrontational, although he had already begun to suspect the shape of it. If MacDonald was involved, then Garrett was staying in character. He was toying with Kate business-style, using legal means to strangle her and bring her to her knees. “What was the first thing?” he pressed.
She waved her hand again, this time at the window of the trailer. “You see it out there?” she asked.
He glanced at the window. “I saw it. It’s a great studio.”
“It’s empty.” She let her hand fall. “That great studio is costing me eight thousand dollars in lost revenue a day. There was supposed to be a horror film in here, on their third day of principal photography.”
“How did Garrett shut you down?” Roman asked curiously.
“My lawyer took a whole two days to confirm it was one of his companies, working it back through parent corporations and umbrella subsidiaries. But it seems that when you connect enough dots, back far enough, Garrett owns controlling shares in the company that holds the finance on this building.” She shrugged.
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