Killing Time

by Leslie Kelly

  Lyons conceded the point with a brief nod and stepped back, removing himself from Sophie’s personal space. She felt Daniel’s hand drop onto her leg under the table. He gave her a reassuring squeeze that both congratulated her and reminded her to keep calm and cool and not get cocky just yet. They weren’t through with her, she imagined. Not by a long shot.

  “Did you go into the room?” the first officer asked.

  “I did. I found the sewing kit in the table, went into the adjoining bathroom and took off my costume to fix it.”

  “All right. Anything else?”

  She nodded. “I was standing in the bathroom in my long underwear, sewing my skirt when I heard the shot.”

  This time Willis looked slightly confused. Skipping right over the vital “shot” part of Sophie’s statement, he asked, “Long underwear? It’s only September.”

  “I was Little Bo Peep,” she explained with a simple shrug.

  He still looked confused.

  Daniel interjected, “Not long johns. Long frilly…female-looking things.”

  The officer’s face pinkened slightly. “Ahh.” The second officer—bad cop—merely grunted.

  “I had to get dressed again before I could go see what was going on.” She got tired just thinking about what a pain in the neck that costume had been.

  Then again, it could have been worse. She could have taken Daniel’s advice and gone as Freddy Krueger. Wouldn’t that have been interesting to the cops?

  Their questions continued for another half hour, and Sophie continued to answer as truthfully as possible. She admitted that she’d had a bad relationship with Miss Hester. And yes, she’d created some characters based on the woman in her books. And yes, she had murdered her in those books.

  “But I also murdered my piano teacher who used to smack my knuckles with a ruler,” she added helpfully.

  Lyons pounced again. “Her name and address?”

  Sheesh. These guys had no sense of humor at all.

  “Okay, gentlemen,” said Daniel, “you’re grasping at straws.” He stood and dropped his hand on Sophie’s shoulder. “She’s answered your questions. Now I think you should go.”

  Sophie could have kissed him right then and there, because she’d truly been at the end of her patience. Thank God Daniel knew her so well. He’d recognized that when she started cracking smart-ass jokes, she might go on to say just about anything.

  Lyons gave Sophie a piercing look. “We were hoping you’d provide a sample of your handwriting and your fingerprints.”

  Daniel took the man by the shoulder and ushered him toward the door. “You want fingerprints and handwriting, you charge her. Don’t come back without an arrest warrant.”

  Sophie sucked in a breath, shocked at how quickly Daniel had become angered. After the men left, she asked, “You don’t think that went well?”

  He shook his head. “I’m afraid not. They have something, some other evidence, and they think it ties back to you.”

  She thought it over but could think of nothing. In her fiction career, however, she knew the suspect was often blindsided by an unexpected witness or damning bit of testimony.

  She was living one of her novels. A sick feeling rolled through her stomach. “Thank you for getting them out of here. I don’t think I could have stood much more.”

  He stepped close and pulled her into his arms, giving her the kind of kiss that had always made her toes curl. When they drew apart, she asked, “You sorry you hooked up with me? Sorry you ever came to my rescue when that dog knocked me over onto the ice last winter?”

  Daniel shook his head. “Not one bit. Maybe we should have told them that story.”

  She raised a questioning brow. “Why?”

  “Well, we have reasons to be thankful to Miss Hester, don’t we? If she hadn’t been such a skinflint, the sidewalk at the church would have been salted, you wouldn’t have fallen and I wouldn’t have swooped in to rescue you.”

  She gave him a tremulous smile as the weight of everything began to descend on her shoulders. “You’re exactly right.” Then, as nervous tears rose to her eyes, she added, “So will you testify to that at my trial?”

  He drew her tightly in his arms, cradling her head and whispering sweet murmurs of support as Sophie gave in and truly cried for the first time all week.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  TRUE TO HIS WORD, Mick practically took up residence in the trailer on the set of Killing Time in a Small Town. He had a cell phone to keep in touch with his secretary and the other agents from the office. When he had a showing, he scheduled it to coincide with taping, so Caroline wouldn’t be by herself.

  Renauld Watson had given him a few annoyed looks. The guy had never forgiven him for not being wowed by his celebrity. Mick had simply crossed his arms and raised a brow, daring the cocky little bastard to say one word about him being here, protecting Caroline. Who, he had to admit, didn’t seem to need his protection, but did seem to like having him around for occasional shoulder rubs and makeout sessions on the love seat.

  “We shouldn’t be doing this,” she whispered against his lips as they curled up together Thursday morning. “Anyone could come in.”

  “I know. That’s part of the turn-on,” he whispered as he teased her into opening her mouth for him to deepen the kiss.

  When she did, their tongues met in a slow, lazy dance of warm desire. He’d just made love to her last night, a passionate, frenzied kind of love. But now he wanted her again. Wanted to go slowly, inhale every inch of her soft skin and savor the sounds she made. He loved her little hitchy sigh the best, even better than when she cried out and moaned. The helpless sigh always welcomed him home when he entered her, either in a deep, fast plunge, or a slow, gentle joining.

  She wriggled on his lap, upping the pleasure, increasing the heat that had already begun to center there. “Have I told you how much I love your legs?” he asked, sliding his hand under her short skirt to tease the soft skin of her thigh.

  “Considering you had a pretty good glimpse of them up my dress the night you hid in the storage closet in the dorm, I had to assume you did.”

  He chuckled, remembering that long-ago first night when he’d been hiding out from two girls in the dorm. He’d been knocked out by Caroline from the first time they’d met. A goner that night when she’d looked down at him hiding in the closet and called him a dog right to his face. But she hadn’t ratted him out.

  “I love more than your legs,” he said, giving her teasing little kisses on the corner of her lips, then her cheek, chin and, finally, her throat. She moaned softly, and arched farther back to give him access.

  “I love your hips,” he said as he nibbled just below her ear. He raised his hand higher, cupping her hip, running a teasing finger beneath the elastic edge of her panties. “I love holding your hips to keep you steady when you’re on top of me.”

  A warm flush rose in her cheeks. He laughed at the sign of embarrassment. How on earth she could be embarrassed around him after everything they’d shared, he had no idea. “I’m not teasing you. You’re beautiful. That’s one of the best views of my life—looking up and seeing that look on your face, your hair wild around you. Watching you touch your own breasts, or lowering them to my mouth.”

  She shook in his arms, and Mick realized he’d taken this office play session a bit too far. He was hard and hot and ready, wanting nothing more than to flip her skirt up, tear her little panties down and plunge into her, right here, right now.

  “We have to stop,” she mumbled, pulling away to look down at him with lethargic, lust-glazed eyes.

  “That door needs a damn lock.”

  The minute the words left his mouth, the doorknob turned. Caroline gasped and jumped up as they watched it swing open. Luckily, Renauld was yelling to someone and entered the trailer with his head turned away. Caroline had a few seconds to smooth her skirt. She managed to look calm and professional by the time the director got inside. Mick just stayed seated and wille
d his dick back into standby mode.

  “Have you heard from the people at Ambush Magazine?” Renauld snapped to Caroline as he stalked into the trailer.

  Caroline cocked her head to the side, looking confused. “Ambush?”

  Renauld nodded, brushing past her to check the contents of the fax machine bin. “They’re sending someone to cover the story.”

  Oh, great, Mick thought, the tabloids were in on the act. Ambush was a newer one that specialized in getting sordid photos of famous people, and digging up dirt wherever they could. If anything could kill a hard-on, it was the thought of those people digging around.

  “You can’t be serious,” Caroline said. “They’re the worst kind of trash.”

  “Publicity,” Renauld replied, a hint of impatience in his voice. “Even trash publicity is good publicity for a new television show.”

  Caroline crossed her arms. “I disagree.”

  Renauld seemed to hear the note of steel in her voice, a tone Mick had only heard her use on rare occasions. She wasn’t backing down. Renauld finally turned and gave her his full attention. Mick leaned back, crossing his arms on the back of the headrest and lacing his fingers together. This was starting to get interesting.

  “Now, Caro,” the director said, sounding conciliatory, “you know we have to take whatever spotlight we can get before the premiere.”

  She didn’t budge. “I never saw their name on the list of approved media visitors. We don’t need that kind of spotlight shining on this production.”

  Renauld shrugged. “So the magazine appeals to a certain type of audience. That audience does watch television.”

  She didn’t concede the point, though Renauld was probably right. Instead she asked, “Who approved this?”

  The cocky little rooster didn’t look so cocky now. He gazed away and shrugged. “It’s nothing official. So many other newspapers have called, the tabloid shows are here. What’s one more? What a story! Horror novelist murders church matron on set of new reality show. What could be better than that?”

  Mick sucked in a breath even as Caroline cast him a quick, reassuring glance.

  “We’re not going down that road.”

  Renauld merely smiled. “Of course we are. The studio is ecstatic.” Then he turned to Mick. “Oh, yes, the author, she is your sister, isn’t she? Pity. I liked her books. Do you think she’d have any interest in selling movie rights before she goes to jail?”

  Mick launched off the love seat so fast the obnoxious director had no time to react. Mick had pinned him against the wall, one arm tightly clenching his shoulder, the other pressed flat across the man’s neck. He leaned close and his voice shook with anger. “You do anything to hurt my sister and you’re going to have a hell of a lot more to worry about than ratings.”

  Caroline grabbed his arm, pulling him away. “Mick, let him go. Don’t do this.”

  Mick dropped his arm and stepped back, noting the paleness of Renauld’s face. “Violence runs in your family, I see.”

  “You wanna see violence…”

  Caro tugged at him again. “Stop, please. It isn’t going to happen.” She glared at Renauld. “No interviews given by anyone on this set will discuss R. F. Colt.”

  Renauld merely drew in deep breaths and straightened himself up. He backed toward the door, edging along the wall as if afraid to get within five feet of Mick. Before he left, he cast them both an angry glance. “Call the studio and discuss it with them and then we’ll talk again.” Then he pointed at Mick. “Without him. I want him out of this office, now.” Then he walked out of the trailer, slamming the door shut behind him.

  Once he was gone, Mick drew in a deep breath, trying to slow his racing pulse and let go of his anger. “That guy’s a real piece of work.”

  Caroline nodded in agreement.

  “You’re going to stop him, right?” he asked, looking in her eyes. “You won’t let them tear Sophie up in the press?”

  Caroline didn’t hesitate. “I’m absolutely going to stop them. Don’t worry, Mick. Renauld has a lot of enemies at the studio, which is why they usually give him these types of assignments, in faraway locations. They won’t give in to his stupid demands. The network won’t want this kind of trash publicity any more than I do.”

  He believed she meant every word coming out of her mouth. After drawing her into his arms, he kissed her temple and stroked her hair. Even as she reassured him, however, he couldn’t help wondering how the studio would really react.

  And how Caroline would respond if they didn’t back her up.

  SINCE THE BIZARRE crime Sunday night, Jacey hadn’t spent much time with Digg. The entire cast and crew had to move out for two nights, filling up every gnarly room at a nasty old motel out by the interstate. Mona and Ginger had had to share a room, and Jacey didn’t know who suffered more—Caro Lamb, who had to listen to their complaints, or the roaches, who had to listen to the two women bickering.

  But by Thursday, when they were allowed to resume production, she noticed the entire cast and crew were infused with a new energy and excitement about the project.

  “Genuine murder must really get the juices flowing,” she muttered aloud as she checked her gear to prepare for tonight’s elimination quiz. Because of the delay, they were stepping up the pace and three more contestants would be at risk tonight. Two would be gone by tomorrow. They’d be down to four by Sunday when they kicked into high gear to shoot the final two episodes.

  She found herself praying that Digg would be among those final four. Not just because she’d be happy if he won but because she wasn’t ready for him to leave. Not yet. Not until she figured out what their fast but intense little relationship meant. To both of them.

  “You really think the murder has everybody more in the game-playing spirit?”

  Jacey didn’t turn around, closing her eyes as his familiar voice washed over her in the abandoned parlor of the inn. God, how could she have so missed a man she barely knew? Why did those mornings they spent running in the park seem to have such significance to her? And oh, Lord, why could she touch her fingertips to her lips and almost feel that faint, interrupted kiss from Sunday night?

  Finally she turned around to face him. “Good morning.”

  “No run, I see,” he said, noting her work clothes.

  She shook her head. “Stricter rules now, because of the, um…situation.”

  Digg entered the room, closing the French doors behind him. He wore his typical dark jeans, black boots and tight black T-shirt that hugged his taut, trained body. “You never answered my question.”

  She forced her mind to the present, and off the image of Digg wearing his silly little fireman’s hat—and nothing else—leaning so close to kiss her that she still almost felt those phantom lips against hers. “What question was that?”

  “Do you think everyone’s more interested in playing amateur detective because there’s a real crime to solve?”

  Jacey nodded. “Yeah. I mean, I don’t think anybody figures they’ll actually solve the thing, but it does up the stakes a little, doesn’t it?”

  He stepped closer, so close his jeans brushed her long black skirt and she felt his warm, minty breath on her skin. His cheek was freshly shaven, but he’d missed the tiniest bit of shaving cream, up near his earlobe. Unable to resist, she lifted her finger and wiped it away, glad for the opportunity to touch him. That touch was electric, sending warmth through her hand, down her arm and on, until it filled her whole body.

  He closed his eyes briefly, then opened them and stared at her as she pulled her hand away. Before she could lower it, he’d grabbed her fingers and pressed them to his mouth. “Oh, Jacey…you had to go and do that. It’s too late, now.”

  “What does that mean?”

  He gave her a rueful smile and stepped even closer, until she lost herself in the golden flecks scattered across the dark brown eyes. “It means I can’t wait now for a more convenient time. Can’t wait until this is all behind us.”
<
br />   Wait? Wait for what?

  He answered her unasked question. “I’m just going to have to kiss you now.”

  She barely had time to absorb his words before his mouth was touching hers, his lips gentle and sweet. She moaned, or he did, or they both did, and the kiss deepened, becoming a living thing between them where there wasn’t just Digg, or just Jacey, there was now Digg and Jacey.

  It was only much later, after many more kisses and touches that ended with them wrapped in each other’s arms on the sofa that they heard the door click.

  And realized someone had been watching them.

  CARO HAD TO RUN over to the local office supply store to pick up a fresh stack of copy paper Thursday afternoon. Mick had agreed to her request that he go back to his office for the rest of the day. She didn’t need any more run-ins with Renauld.

  So far, she’d placed three calls to executives back in Hollywood and hadn’t gotten any response. She told herself not to worry, that they were on a different schedule. But she couldn’t help it—she was worried. As much as she hated to admit it, Renauld might be right.

  “Don’t even think that,” she reminded herself as she left the production trailer to run her errand. “Just go and by the time you get back, they’ll have called.”

  They’d run through reams of paper with all the writers’ changes, last-minute clues and the twisting turning nature of the show. Just the thought of that twisting turning nature made her smile. Killing Time was going better than she’d ever dreamed.

  She hadn’t been kidding when she’d told Mick she was taking real pride in this project. Personal pride. The kind that came from being responsible for a success, seeing a little dream grow into a thriving, entertaining, genuinely good product. And Killing Time in a Small Town had turned out to be just that. It could revive reality TV, could bring back the more strategic programs and maybe push aside some of the cheesier ones.