by Justine Davis, Amy J. Fetzer, Katherine Garbera, Meredith Fletcher, Catherine Mann
A little nervous twinge swept up her spine. She was afraid that if she saw him, she’d walk up to him and punch his lights out. Instead she strolled toward the driver, hips swaying, and her long legs in spike-heel sandals drawing attention. She rarely showed her body off like this, it practically screamed available and desperate.
She stopped, waiting till the driver noticed her. When he did, her resolve slipped a little.
It’s a role, she thought, and everything had to have a purpose. Coyly, she chewed her lip, glancing left and right, then sauntered up to him.
“Hi, there.” A French accent did nicely this time.
“Hey yourself.” He squinted through the smoke from his cigarette, then straightened, obviously thinking she was that actress.
“No, I’m not her,” she said. “But I want to be.”
His attention dissolved. “So does everyone else, kid. Beat it.”
She took a step nearer, eyes wide and hopeful. “But isn’t this Maurice Steele’s car?”
“Yeah, so.”
She giggled. “I was hoping to have a chance to speak with Mr. Steele.” What she wanted was the driver, a man Maurice kept waiting for his beck and call, to give up some details. Old ones.
“Send him your portfolio.”
Clearly, he wasn’t interested. She had to make him want her, then. “I have, but I need the edge, n’est-ce pas?”
The driver, Mike something, she recalled, eyed her from shoes to hair.
“You sure look like his type.”
“Really?” she said brightly, toying with her hair. “You think so?”
“Breathing is his type, lady.” Then in a moment of concern he said, “You sure you want to be near this man? He could make or break you.”
“I want him to make me.”
“Oh yeah?” Clearly he thought it would be the latter choice.
She cocked her head. “You don’t like him much, do you?” Her voice was sexy and smooth, her accent just enough to intrigue him.
“Baby, what’s to like?”
“I heard he was tough, but very smart.”
The driver scoffed, pitching his smoke.
“I’d do anything to get the chance to speak with him. Privately.”
“What’s anything?”
Darcy swayed up to the driver, letting her breasts and hips do the talking for her. She blushed, but the facial mask hid her embarrassment. She touched his arm, leaning into his side and whispering in his ear as if she were sharing an intimate secret.
“Oh mon cheri, what wouldn’t I do.” She could feel his muscles tighten and hoped his imagination was going wild. “And I’d do anything with someone who’d get me there.” Her voice was breathy and a little sound worked in his throat.
“Thinking of the casting couch, are you?”
She glanced pointedly at the silver-gray limo and let that speak for her.
He arched an eyebrow, practically smacking his lips in anticipation.
The sun was setting and he checked his watch. Maurice loved long, slow dinners, Darcy knew. All she needed was enough time to get this guy to talk.
“He’s with a director and a couple writers going over the last draft of a new script. He’ll be there awhile.”
They’ll be there half the night, Darcy thought. “And that means what to you and me, cheri?”
He simply popped open the car door, and she climbed in. Through the window, she could see him checking the area, signaling to another driver before slipping inside with her. Darcy already had the mini-tape recorder in her purse turned on.
She sat primly on the velvet seat, remembering riding in this car to premieres, to appointments and dinners. Just as she remembered the ugly things Maurice had said to her while the soundproof glass was between them and the driver. Maurice thought he’d made her into a lady, that she wouldn’t be anything without his personal touch. Well, he’d touched her all right, beating down her self-esteem so badly that she’d been a shell of who she was now.
The driver leaned toward her, and she couldn’t let him get too familiar or he might sense the facial mask. It had taken her hours to get the look she wanted, suggestive of a certain celebrity’s face, but not too alike.
He tossed the hat aside and pulled off his jacket. She scooted away.
He scowled. “You teasing me?”
“No, cheri.” She gave him an innocent look laced with seduction. “But I’m not playing with you till you can guarantee I get time with Mr. Steele.”
“Honey, you can be in this car, waiting for him if you want. When we’re done, of course.”
Her stomach knotted, yet she plastered on a smile and crossed her legs. His gaze followed them up to her skirt hem. “Tell me about him first, because when I’m done with you, you won’t have the energy to talk.”
He grinned. “He’s a prick.”
Her eyebrows shot up.
“He uses people and you’re better off not knowing him.”
“Then why do you work for such a man?”
“Money.” His gaze raked over her like a hungry wolf’s. “And the women.”
She behaved as if that last comment went right over her head. “But I met him once, a long time ago, three years I think. He was very sweet to me. I recognize this car.”
He scowled. “I remember every person that’s been in this car, lady.”
“Oh, I wasn’t in the car, I met him…” She chewed her lip provocatively, sliding closer to him and running her hand up his thigh, dangerously close to his crotch. He reached for her and with an odd tenderness, he touched her breast.
Darcy’s skin crawled as she suffered through it. She needed information.
“When did you meet him?” Mike asked.
She spit out the date. “October twenty-first. I believe it was late afternoon. I thought he might audition me for his movie—the one that’s coming out now—Dead Game.”
Mike stiffened, scowling. “That date sounds familiar. Were you at the studio, waiting?”
“Oui, I was.”
“The man never changes his schedule, but that night he’d stopped by Studio Eight, back lot.”
Studio Eight, Pegasus Studios? She knew that area. It was storage for special effects-stunt division.
“I remember because it was the only time he didn’t have me hang around.” The driver gave her a hot look. “Now I know why.”
“Oh, mais non, he wasn’t with me, not that way.” Or she wouldn’t be playing this game, dumb ass.
“If he was, he’d have had your skirts up, kid.”
Darcy doubted that. “He only said hello, and that he had an appointment. Perhaps another woman, oui?”
“Hell if I know. I came back an hour later, but no one else was there but Steele. And he was pretty eager to leave and pissed that I was two minutes late. The man doesn’t think that L.A. traffic applies to him.” He frowned. “Forget him, come here.” He pulled her onto his lap, shoving his hands under her skirt and cupping her behind. She moaned and wiggled appropriately, biting his neck and wanting to spit afterward. She ground onto his crotch, feeling him get hard, and knew she had to end this or be raped.
“Come on,” he said, “you’ve got me hard enough to crack nuts.”
Well wasn’t that graphic. “If we have time, cheri, then why rush things?” She pulled his shirt free, running her hands up his chest, then shifted, straddling his hips and gave him her version of a lap dance. He pawed her. She had to get away before his mauling wrecked her disguise.
Darcy wanted to run like hell to the nearest shower.
“I wonder who Steele was waiting for, if not me?” she murmured. “All I can remember is that he was wearing a dark suit. Looking very handsome.”
“Yeah, yeah, handsome, rich, and still a prick. And he wasn’t wearing a suit.” He stilled and frowned at her.
Before he wised up, Darcy quickly cupped him through his trousers, shaping his erection and dragging his mind into desire. He moaned, grinding her hand on him.
<
br /> Men were so easy sometimes.
“Feel good, cheri?” she purred when he buried his face in her breasts. He was massaging them as if they were softballs, almost painfully, and she decided it was time to end this before he separated the facial mask from her breasts. She rose up, wrapped her arms seductively around his neck, pushing his head to the side. She pressed and squeezed and kept the pressure on. In a few seconds, his hands slowed to a stop, a few seconds more and he was out cold. She released him and sat back.
Thank you, Athena Academy.
The sleeper hold wasn’t dangerous, just cut off air supply for a bit. He’d rouse in a few minutes. She checked his pulse, then righted her clothing before she searched him and the car for anything useful. She found a supply of condoms in the bar console and a couple scraps of paper, which she pocketed, then she stepped out of the limousine. The sun had set and the streets were lit with gas lamps, and she glanced back to where the three other drivers were gathered. They grinned at her and she put her fingers to her lips, giving them a sassy wink before walking off, behind swaying and boobs bouncing.
So, the studio was where Maurice had gone that night.
That was unusual. Maurice rarely stepped on a lot unless there was trouble on a film. And he was never around the Special Effects department because he had no reason to be. He had people who did that errand stuff for him.
She had to get a look at exactly what was stored in the area, though she recalled only one large warehouse with several garagelike doors.
She hailed a cab, the driver taking her past Maurice’s production offices. She closed her eyes for a second, trying to recall the layout. While it had a side-alley rolling door to bring in equipment, Maurice’s office was on the top floor. The entire top floor.
Darcy glanced back briefly. Anything Maurice wanted to keep secret would either be there or at the house, and going to the house was out of the question. The office she could hit later tonight. First she had to get on that lot and see what was there.
In the morning, Darcy took the tour of the studio with fifty other guests to sunny California. She’d dressed like a middle-aged tourist because in her natural state, she’d probably be recognized. A half hour into the tour, they were near the same lot where the driver had left Maurice. Slipping away from the group was easy. Once she was out of sight, she hid behind a giant metal storage box and stripped out of the cheap clothes, rolling down her jean pant legs and adjusting the plain top she wore beneath. She clipped on her old IDs, which she’d altered with a couple changes to the picture and name, then slung the bag on her shoulder. She started walking. People were filming two blocks away, but Darcy was interested only in this particular spot. She moved fast, knowing that security would find her if she was seen or made noise. They took the security on sets very seriously.
The tall, wide doors to the studio warehouse building were locked. She checked behind herself before she pulled out her lock-picking set and worked the padlock. In a minute, she was slipping inside. There was little inside beyond various size crates, barrels and rows of metal cylinders. The stunt crews used the CO2 canisters for things like making a car roll over or lifting fake buildings off the ground to give the effect of earthquakes. Not as if they needed that around the San Andreas Fault, she thought cynically, moving into the dark.
She was in a restricted area. If she got caught, she’d be thrown in jail and Maurice would win. So don’t get caught, she thought. With her penlight, she scanned the areas, the odor of chemicals floating in the air, making the back of her throat feel dry. Bitter. What is that? She checked the contents of a couple of drums, jotting down the names. The element names were unfamiliar and she’d have to check them on her computer later. The smells were making her a little dizzy.
What had brought Maurice here that night?
She moved to the back of the building just as one of the wide rolling doors scraped open. She lunged toward a corner, crouching behind drums as workers filed in, grabbing cartons and cables.
Oh, hell. Oh, hell. They’ll find me.
A truck engine roared as the vehicle backed into the warehouse entrance, and the crew began loading it with supplies for stunts. There were about ten people moving in and out and Darcy considered staying right where she was till they were gone, but couldn’t take the chance of anyone seeing the side-door lock was gone and trapping her inside. Workers moved toward her position, gathering supplies. Sweat trickled under her mask, and her heart pounded as they neared.
If they saw her bag, they’d immediately think she was stealing. Stealing explosive material was a crime. God, they’d find her clothes, know she wore a facial mask. Oh, crap.
They came closer, and she shoved the bag under a discarded wood pallet, then inched her way to the doors, waiting for attention to focus on the loading before slipping out.
Immediately, she backtracked behind them and grabbed a roll of heavy cable. She loaded it on the truck. No one spared her a second look. Being around them felt familiar, though back when she was hired for a movie, she’d worked in the makeup department and, if on location, out of a trailer. It had been a cushy job, with two assistants helping her.
“Hey, what the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Darcy looked up, hefting the stack of boxes and trying to keep the fear out of her expression. “My job.”
“This is a restricted area.”
“Well, no shit,” she said, showing her old IDs and praying he didn’t look at the expiration dates. “Penn sent me over here for more blasting caps.” Luckily Darcy had glimpsed the list needed for the stunts posted inside the truck bed and who would oversee them.
“Well, get out.” The man shook his head, rubbed his mouth. “Christ, they let anyone around this stuff.”
“I know, I know, blow us all to hell and it’s your responsibility.” She handed him the heavy stack of boxes, forcing him to take it. “Then I guess you need to do it or trust us.”
The assistant shot her a hard look and pushed the box back into her arms. “Get moving and don’t come in here without an escort.”
Darcy shrugged, chewing gum she didn’t have, and walked away, then deposited the cartons in the truck. As soon as she was out of sight, she kept walking and circumvented the building. She had to go back there to get her bag and to look again. She’d smelled something familiar, but couldn’t put her finger on what it was. Or where she’d smelled it before. Could it be just a memory of a smell from a movie set?
The workers and set directors kept her from getting inside without being noticed. Unfortunately someone had closed the padlock on the side door. She hid till the trucks rolled away, then, pulling tools from a small black pouch strapped to her calf, she went to work picking the padlock again. The sounds of trucks and cars moving around made her heart shoot to her throat. Voices grew louder, moving closer. Her hands shook so hard she couldn’t get the lock open. In one sharp moment, she took a calm breath and worked the lock. It sprang, and she darted inside, flattening against the wall.
She paused long enough to get her heart where it belonged, then flipped on her penlight. It was pitch-black but cool, air conditioners keeping the materials stable. She moved to the back, getting her bag first. Her head felt fuzzy, her limbs a little rubbery. She turned sharply, almost falling on a canister. It tipped and an odor rose up from beneath. The drum was leaking and she lurched back, staggering and reaching for anything to keep from falling. Her hand smacked on a crate and she held on.
I’m going to lose my breakfast, she thought, her mouth watering, bitterness burning the back of her throat. She was still, waiting for it to pass. But it didn’t and she struggled to reach the door, praying no one had put the lock back on, and grabbed the knob. Her head pounded, not with pain but as if it were filled with cotton and needed more room. She slipped out the door, and it took several tries to close the padlock. Darcy walked away, her steps weaving.
Unable to go another foot, she sagged against the wall and breathed deeply. The fu
zzy feeling started to clear, but the taste in her mouth was still there. She dug in her bag for a bottle of water and drank, thinking that was stupid. All those chemicals in there, she could have blown herself up.
She climbed to her feet, heading toward the entrance and hoping she made it to her hotel room before she passed out.
In her hotel room Darcy slept for an hour, and her head was clear when she woke. She ordered room service, called Megan and spoke to Charlie. He was sweet and silly, and having fun with Meg’s neighbors’ puppies. When Megan got back on the line she gave Darcy the rundown on the salon’s business.
“I don’t know what I’d do without you, Meg.”
“You’d fall apart. I want a raise.”
Darcy laughed softly. “Take it out of petty cash.”
“Jack called here for you.”
Darcy stilled. “Oh.”
“He didn’t seem surprised you were out of town for a couple days.”
“He saw Charlie on TV, Meg.”
“Oh, God.” Darcy told her about the segment about Rainy.
“You didn’t tell him more, did you?”
“I had to tell him I knew Rainy, because he knew he’d seen Charlie. But I didn’t say more than I had to, and he left angry.”
“Let’s hope Jack keeps his mouth shut about it.”
Fear streaked through her bloodstream, tightening her features. “Why wouldn’t he?”
“Maurice had millions, Darcy, how much would he pay for information on you?”
“Jack wouldn’t do that.” Would he?
“Are you ready to trust your life with that?”
“No, I’m not.” And it proved that she’d let Jack deep into her life when she shouldn’t have. “I’ll be home in two days. I’ll talk to him.”
“I’ll take care of things here, Darcy, but please, watch your back and don’t do anything stupid.”
“This is all stupid, Meg, but I have to, you know that.”
Or she’d be locked in this hell forever.
