Killing Time

by Leslie Kelly

  But she wanted the show to do it on its own. Not because of some vicarious thrills viewers would get due to the scandal. Especially not at the expense of Sophie Winchester.

  She pulled her car out of the parking lot, waving at Jacey and Renauld, who stood on the porch of the inn. They looked to be having yet another heated conversation. Not surprising. The two of them didn’t get along at all.

  She didn’t realize it might be more than just another run-in until she got back from her errand to the store and found Jacey walking out the front door of the inn. The young woman’s camera bag was slung over one shoulder, and a duffel bag over the other “What’s up?”

  Jacey shot her a disbelieving glance. “You mean you don’t know?”

  “Know what?”

  “That I’ve been fired.”

  Fired? The best member of their crew had been fired? “That’s not possible.”

  Jacey gave Caro a searching look, apparently noticing her genuine shock. “You really didn’t know? I wondered if that’s why you left, so you wouldn’t have to be the one to do it. I didn’t know whether to thank you—for liking me enough not to have the heart to fire me—or to flip you the bird as you left.”

  Caro reached out and touched Jacey’s hand, wanting to make sure the girl knew she was being totally honest with her. “I knew nothing about any firing. And if I did, I’m certainly not enough of a coward to disappear when there’s something unpleasant to take care of.”

  Jacey nodded, accepting Caro’s words. “So it was just the butt-wipe.”

  “Which one?” Caro retorted before she thought better of it.

  “Renauld. He said my personal relationship with one of the contestants made it impossible for me to continue here on the set. He was so damned judgmental, as if I’d destroyed the pristine reputation of Hollywood.”

  Caro smiled, liking the girl’s sharp wit, which didn’t fade even under crappy circumstances like these.

  Jacey continued, “I wouldn’t be surprised if he calls my father.”

  “Father?”

  The camerawoman looked away. “Never mind.”

  Caro didn’t push for an explanation, sensing that would be a long one. “I want you to know, I didn’t tell Renauld about you and Digg.”

  “I know you didn’t. That would have been Mona or Ginger or Deanna. Though Deanna’s so busy going back and forth between Logan and James, I don’t think she’d have cared if she’d walked in on me and Digg, uh…”

  Caro couldn’t believe it. Jacey was blushing That was definitely color spreading over the girl’s ghost-white cheeks. It was attractive, though she sensed Jacey wouldn’t agree. “You and Digg…?”

  “Forget it. Doesn’t matter why. I’m outta here.” She looked around. “I just, uh, wish I had a chance to say goodbye to a few people. Charlie. And some others.”

  Caro knew whom she meant. “Digg and his team are supposed to be holding a strategy meeting in the basement. Go ahead and say goodbye.” But before Jacey could go, Caro added, “By the way, don’t leave after you see Digg. This isn’t over yet.”

  The camerawoman met her eye, then slowly nodded, reading Caro’s silent message. It looked like her battles with Renauld weren’t finished for the day. Giving her a grateful look, Jacey turned and went back into the inn, leaving Caro free to go find Renauld and get some things straightened out.

  She blew into the trailer, figuring she’d see the puffed up little rooster ready to regale her with the results of his massacre. But instead of Renauld, she saw Digg, sitting on a chair beside her desk. “Jacey was looking for you,” she said. “I told her you were at the meeting.”

  “I blew it off.”

  Caro sat opposite him, staring at the young man who held himself tightly in check. “You already heard.”

  “I heard. You have anything to do with this?”

  Caro raised a hand to her heart and the other in the air. “I swear I didn’t.”

  Digg shifted restlessly in his chair. “I figured that. I’ll just sit here and wait until I can talk to the person responsible. There’s no way I’m going to let Jacey get tossed out for something we both did.”

  Caro gave him an assessing look wondering just how far this young man would go. Had he really fallen for Jacey so fast? Did he honestly love her, or expect that he could? “What do you plan to say to Renauld?”

  Digg’s jaw stiffened. “That he’s a friggin’—”

  Waving her hand, Caro interrupted. “After that part.”

  Digg’s brown eyes flashed with emotion and anger, something she’d never seen before in the calm, reasonable young man. There was usually something very relaxing and comforting about him, as if you could rely on him for always, never doubt him.

  Why couldn’t she have fallen for such a man?

  Maybe because no man like that had ever excited her, driven her out of her mind and made her fall insanely in love. Only Mick. And frankly, thinking of the roller coaster ride their relationship had always been, she preferred it that way. Life with Mick would always be an adventure. Even if the adventure was only going to last another week.

  “I’m going to assume full responsibility for what happened. He can take it out on me,” Digg said.

  Caro leveled an assessing look at the young man. “You know he can’t do that.”

  Digg just held her stare. He understood what she was saying. Of all people on the cast, Renauld could not afford to let Digg go.

  “Maybe it won’t be his decision to make,” Digg replied steadily.

  He sounded like he meant it. This close to the end, with him looking like such a strong contender to win the game on Killing Time, he sounded ready to give it all up. For Jacey. “Would you really walk away? From the money, the fame?”

  He didn’t answer right away and she began to feel a hint of disappointment in him. So much for true love.

  He sighed and leaned back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling. He and Jacey shared that trait—looking up for answers when they weren’t sure what to say—which made her smile.

  Finally Digg returned his attention to Caroline. “I’m not the type of man to back away from my responsibilities. I made a commitment. To you, and to the guys at the station.”

  “The station?”

  He shifted uncomfortably, then looked side to side as if to make sure no one else was hiding in the tiny, cluttered trailer. “We have some plans for the money.”

  She still didn’t understand. “We?”

  He nodded. “We all knew someone that day.” He glanced at his discreet pin, which Caro had noticed before. She instantly knew what he meant, and Digg went up several notches in her estimation. “You’re giving all of it away?”

  He finally grinned, bringing out two cute little dimples that had probably had Jacey begging from day one. “Well, not all.”

  She laughed with him. From what she’d begun to surmise about Digg, she had a feeling “not all” would mean all but enough for him to do something nice for his family or other people he loved.

  In that respect, he was a lot like Mick. That’s one thing they had in common—a generosity toward people they loved.

  “Okay,” Caro said, coming to a decision. “Renauld is king here and I can’t force him to change his mind.”

  Digg’s fingers clenched in his lap, and Caro quickly hurried on to add, “But I know people who can, and I’ve already got calls in to some of them.” She swung around in her swivel chair and reached for the phone. “Time to start being a pest and call them all again.”

  CARO LEARNED two important things about Hollywood over the next twenty-four hours. First, producers would do anything to keep a good thing going, including undercutting the authority of the director if the occasion warranted it. And second, they were scared as hell of the word slander.

  Both those things worked in her favor when dealing with Renauld Friday morning. He’d breezed into the office, and she’d hit him with newsflash number one: Jacey was back on the job.

&nbs
p; “But, I fired her,” he said, looking stunned. “What do you mean she’s back?”

  “I rehired her.”

  “On whose authority?”

  She picked up the phone. “The studio’s. Want to call and double-check?”

  He sank to a chair, obviously understanding the implications. He didn’t have the power over the little nobody on-site producer that he thought he did. Caro had always known that. This was just the first time she’d had to prove it.

  “I don’t believe it,” he whispered. “They wouldn’t interfere with on-set operations. They know we can’t have a camerawoman involved with a contestant.”

  She leveled a steady gaze on him and fudged the truth just a teeny tiny bit. “He threatened to walk.”

  Renauld just stared.

  “Did you hear me?”

  Renauld finally got it. “Digg? Threatened to leave? Because of her?”

  Caro didn’t answer the question directly, because Digg hadn’t threatened directly. But he’d hinted, and that had been good enough for her. She didn’t even address the scorn in Renauld’s voice when he’d mentioned Jacey. That would just make her angrier, which wasn’t going to do her any good in dealing with the director.

  “I got on the phone with Mr. Littman.”

  Renauld looked ready to lose it. “You went to Littman?”

  She nodded. “I told him to look up Digg’s file, see if he thought we could afford to lose him and then call me back.”

  “Of course we can’t afford to lose him!”

  Exactly the point. Which was just what Littman had said when he’d called late yesterday afternoon. So Jacey was back on the job, with the understanding that she and Digg would have no personal interaction for the remainder of the shoot. Since it would all be over within a matter of days, she figured they were in the clear. At least on that issue.

  Before she could move on to issue number two—that of the tabloid trash reporters surrounding them—the door to the trailer opened. Mick walked in, carrying a paper bag which looked suspiciously like it held donuts.

  The last thing he’d said to her this morning as she’d left for work was that he’d wanted to have breakfast in bed. Powdered sugar donuts that would sprinkle sugar all over her body—so he could lick it off.

  She immediately flushed, going warm and liquid inside.

  “I ordered him off the set,” Renauld snapped, looking at Mick. But Caro noticed that, at the same time, he stepped back, closer to the desk.

  “You can’t order him off this property,” Caro said with a satisfied smile. “His cousin and his wife own it and they’ve given him express permission to access any part of it.”

  Renauld looked ready to spit.

  “Good morning to you, too,” Mick said, giving the man a measured nod. Then he put the donut bag on Caro’s desk and slid an arm around her waist. “I brought you breakfast.” He reached up a hand and touched his fingertip to her lips, letting her taste the tiny bit of powdered sugar on his skin.

  Fiend.

  Renauld huffed and turned toward the door. Before he could go, Caro delivered the final blow. “By the way, Littman also said we’re giving access only to legitimate news and TV organizations.”

  He turned to look over his shoulder, his jaw hanging open.

  “If anyone says a slanderous word about R. F. Colt, they’re to be escorted off the site, immediately.” Despite knowing Renauld would think she’d done it all for personal reasons, she still tried to make him understand. “The legal ramifications for slander against a public figure could kill us, Renauld. Littman and the other execs agree. Sophie Winchester hasn’t been charged with a crime and she’s off-limits in terms of interviews.”

  The man’s jaw snapped shut. Without another word, he stormed out of the trailer.

  “Well done,” Mick said when they were alone. He lifted his hand again and brushed more powdered sugar on her lips. “Thank you for going to bat for Sophie.”

  She licked off the sugar and closed her eyes. “Mmm. Tasty. And you’re welcome, though I would have done the same for anyone. We don’t need a lawsuit.”

  “Whatever the reason, I’m grateful.”

  She pulled her wits together enough to give him a warning. “It’s taken care of for now. But if she actually gets charged, Mick, I don’t know that I can control it.”

  He met her stare evenly. Caro hoped he understood, hoped he realized how much she was trying to hold everything together. The show, her career, his sister’s situation.

  And, most of all, them.

  “Understood.” Then he gave her one of those devastating smiles. It was accompanied by a devilish twinkle in his eye. “I have something else I brought for you today.”

  “Bagels?”

  Shaking his head, he reached into his pocket and drew out a padlock and key. Without another word he walked over to the door, drew in a top latch and hooked the lock through it, effectively trapping them inside.

  “Privacy,” he said. Then he began to walk toward her. Slowly. Deliberately. Like a wolf stalking its prey.

  “I’d call it insanity,” she said, her voice shaky.

  “We’re alone…”

  She took a step back. “We’re a few yards from a dozen other people.”

  He jiggled the bag and approached again, his smile decidedly wolfish now. “I have donuts with extra powdered sugar.”

  She backed up again, step by step, until her legs bumped into something and she could go no farther. “I have a brown suit that would show every little fleck of powdered sugar.”

  Wrong thing to say. That was a definite red flag waved before a bull. She knew it as soon as the words left her mouth.

  “Well,” he said, reaching to pull her into his arms, “we’ll have to get that suit off you so it doesn’t get messy.”

  Before she could protest, before she could even think to protest, her jacket was coming off, her blouse unbuttoned and her skirt lifted. “Mick…”

  “Shh,” he said as he reached into the bag and captured some powdered sugar between his fingers. He sprinkled it over her chest, letting it drip down between the curves of her breasts and over her lace-covered nipples. Then he bent down and unfastened the front clasp of her bra with his teeth.

  She groaned and gave up all protest. “Oh, God…”

  She started to tremble as he began to lick the sugar away. As with every aspect of his lovemaking, he was very thorough. His lips and tongue created incredible friction on her breasts until she was practically begging him to take her hard nipple into his mouth. When he finally did, she arched back and savored the strong pulling sensation as he suckled her. “You’re so wicked.”

  He didn’t bother to reply, just pulled her skirt higher, grasped between her legs to tug her panties away, then reached for his zipper.

  “You want me to stop?” he growled against her throat as he eased between her legs.

  “You stop and I’ll kill you,” she mumbled with her last coherent thought.

  Then he was sliding into her, taking her right there in the trailer. He lifted her legs around his hips, cradling her bottom in his big, warm hands. When he’d driven home, she gave a little, helpless sigh, which made him smile broadly. Then he began to move, pulling her with him in a wild tango to their own unheard music.

  Outside the voices of the crew carried through the morning air as they set up for the shoot. She didn’t care. She cared about nothing except the excitement and the danger and the incredible pleasure of feeling Mick’s body joined with hers.

  Their rhythm was driving, forceful, unusual for him since he usually liked to draw out the pleasure for hours. They strained and panted and then finally exploded together and fell to the love seat.

  When they could breathe again, Mick leaned over and placed a gentle kiss on her lips. “Tomorrow, I’m bringing pancakes.”

  She gave him a flirtatious look. “With maple syrup?”

  He shook his head, nuzzling her neck and whispering, “I think I prefer
Caro.”

  She could only shudder in anticipation and draw his mouth up so they could exchange one more long, loving kiss, before they separated to prepare for their day.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  MICK SHOULD HAVE KNOWN that sooner or later the state investigators were going to come knocking on his door. He was just glad they hadn’t shown up at the trailer when he’d been nose to nose with Renauld Watson. He might have been questioned this week along with Sophie.

  He was also glad they hadn’t shown up today when he and Caroline had been, um…having breakfast.

  “Mick?” his secretary, Sandy, said after buzzing him at his desk Friday afternoon. “I think you’d better come out here.”

  He expected exactly what he saw. The two state detectives—who, unfortunately, didn’t look nearly as incompetent as Chip and Dale—were talking in quiet tones. “Can I help you?” he asked.

  “We’d like to ask you a few questions if we may.”

  He cast a quick glance at Sandy. “Hold my calls.”

  “Consider them held,” she muttered under her breath. She then gave him a surreptitious thumbs-up as he led the two cops back to his office.

  “Can I get you something?” He played host despite knowing these bastards were out to nail a murder on his sister.

  “No, thanks,” the one officer, Detective Willis, said. Then he got to the point. “We’d like to ask you about the gun.”

  The gun. Shit, of course, the gun. It all came back to that, didn’t it? “You mean Louise Flanagan’s gun, I assume?”

  The officer nodded.

  Mick quickly affirmed what Caroline had already told them, making light of the whole situation, including making fun of himself for being caught with his pants down.

  Willis had a twinkle in his eye. Lyons remained emotionless, standing in the corner of the room, almost out of sight. When Mick had finished, he shrugged and lifted his hands in helpless resignation. “What can I say? I wasn’t thinking straight enough to even remember the gun until much later.”