by G. K. Parks
I looked around the trailer again. This was worse than any stakeout I’d ever been on. At least stakeouts had goals. What was mine? To stay awake? On the plus side, at least there was indoor plumbing.
I closed my computer and tucked it away. Then I checked my phone for what felt like the millionth time and made myself comfortable on the couch. A nap might help clear away the mental turmoil. Her inquisition into my job and the reasons I became an FBI agent didn’t help matters, so maybe I just needed to start the day over again.
Closing my eyes, I wondered what Cross would think of his newest investigator sleeping on the job. He wouldn’t like it, but he didn’t exactly want me poking around into Miss Allen’s private business either. If given the choice, he’d prefer me unconscious instead of causing trouble.
The first interruption was my phone buzzing. I fished it out of my bag. “I had a feeling you might call,” I said.
“Am I that predictable?” Martin asked.
“You weren’t last night.”
He didn’t offer an explanation. “What time do you think you’ll get home? You are coming back to our place, right? You didn’t say anything before you left, but I just assumed.”
“You assumed correctly, unless you’re not going to be there.”
“Why wouldn’t I?” He sounded confused. “All in means all in, Alex. I’ll make dinner.”
I glanced down at the call sheet. “I’m hoping to get back around seven, but it isn’t set in stone. Considering this isn’t even really a job, the hours shouldn’t be shit, but they are.”
“It’s okay. I’ll be here whenever you get home.” Before I could ask any questions about why he was so late coming home last night, someone called to him in the background. “Sorry, the meeting is about to start. I’ll see you later.” He disconnected, and I put the phone away.
I closed my eyes again, feeling slightly better about things. There was a rational explanation for everything. The flowers. Martin. Cross’s insistence to assign me the worst cases ever. It could all be explained, but right now, I didn’t want to think about any of it. However, my mind kept returning to Dinah.
From the photos I had seen from her early days as a model, she had spent a lot of time dating Christian Nykle. He might be the designer she was texting last night. After making a mental note to check into him just for my own peace of mind, since I had decided sometime between last night and just now that my mission was to determine who sent the flowers to her trailer, I attempted again to doze on the couch.
An hour passed, and I accomplished nothing more than counting the ceiling tiles. A noise outside caught my attention, and I cautiously went to the door. Throwing it open, I didn’t see anyone outside, so I went down the steps, glancing around. “Hello?” I asked, but no one answered. Not that I expected someone who might have been attempting to break into Dinah’s trailer to answer, but it was worth a try.
I circled the trailer, spotting Jett Trevino, Lance’s assistant, letting himself into Lance’s trailer. Nothing appeared to be disturbed, so I went back inside. I moved to the rear of the trailer and looked out the window. Something on the ground caught my eye, and I went back outside to find a couple of purplish black flower petals crushed into the pavement. They were wilted and crunchy on the ends. They might have fallen from the bouquet last night.
Picking them up, I gave the area a more thorough sweep, but I didn’t spot any more flower petals or anyone suspicious. In fact, no one was around. I went back inside. Maybe I was losing it or desperate for something to do. Eventually, I called Cross.
“Anything to report?” I asked after his assistant put me through to his line.
“Shouldn’t I be the one asking that question, Parker?”
“According to the lab, only three sets of prints were on the card that was delivered with the flowers, and I can name three people who touched it.”
“I’m aware.” As usual, Cross was acting dodgy. “Did you do as I suggested and check into Miss Allen?”
“Just a preliminary internet search.” I glanced at the door, afraid she might reappear at any moment. “She and her costar have a recent history. From the conversations I’ve heard today, I’d say he wants her back.”
“Do you believe he sent the flowers?”
“No.”
Cross waited a beat before adding, “Neither do I. According to Miss Allen’s security team, this isn’t the first time she’s received an anonymous gift. They have no idea who is responsible, but since the gifts have not been threatening in nature, they are chalking it up to a fan. At the present, they do not believe Miss Allen is in danger.”
“What do our people think?”
Cross’s voice contained a smile. “Our people are providing security on set. We are to safeguard the production and the property. Our role begins and ends at the gate. That being said, our security team does not believe the lot was breached. The flowers must have come in through official channels or were delivered by someone on set.” He cleared his throat, as he often did. “Why do you care about the flower delivery? Has Miss Allen expressed a concern?” Those were the same questions he asked last night.
“She acted pretty damn concerned, but no, she hasn’t said anything to me about it. I tried to ask her, but we were interrupted.”
“What are you doing, Alex? Shouldn’t you be providing insight into the mind of an FBI agent instead of chasing down some florist?” He waited a moment, but when I failed to respond, he pushed on. “Is this task too difficult for you?”
“No, sir,” I growled. Truthfully, it was difficult, even if I wasn’t entirely sure why. “But something is wrong with this situation. She was genuinely freaked out about the flowers. Are we sure there isn’t more to the story?”
“She is an actress. How can you be positive any of her reactions are genuine? You probably haven’t dealt with many thespians in the past, but I have. They are no different than con artists. Keep that in mind.”
“What if you’re wrong?”
“Her safety is an issue for her security team when she is off set, and I can assure you that when she’s on the lot, she’s perfectly safe. I only hire the best.”
“Obviously,” I teased, but Cross didn’t get the joke.
He lowered his voice. “You should be aware Dinah Allen was recently involved in a scandal. She has a habit of crying wolf, or, at the very least, the people who work for her like to cry wolf. Her manager made several allegations in Los Angeles that Dinah was being stalked. The police investigated, but they found no truth to these claims. In fact, the surveillance footage from the Allen estate wholly disproved her manager’s statements. Eventually, one of the members of her public relations team came forward quietly and admitted to faking the story in the hopes of gaining additional publicity. They wanted to make sure Dinah stayed in the public eye. Her manager denied knowing anything about this ploy and found someone to clean up the mess and bury the story once the truth came out.”
“Then how did you hear about it?”
“My people are better.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Focus on your assignment. It’ll make life easier on all of us.” Without so much as a goodbye, Lucien hung up.
That changed things. Even if Dinah wasn’t responsible, someone who worked for her might be pulling the strings. And then I realized something. Dinah was merely a vehicle for someone else to profit. Sure, she made six and seven figures easily enough, but plenty of people were making a percentage off of that. The producers stood to make billions off a successful film. There was plenty of incentive to keep the paparazzi and press focused on Dinah. No wonder Lance wanted their relationship to go public, fake or not. I closed my eyes, trying to remember the production pages I glimpsed. I was almost positive Lance was listed as one of the producers.
I considered checking into Dinah’s team but decided, in this instance, that it might actually be better to follow Cross’s orders. If Dinah wanted my help or if the security team dete
rmined there was a legitimate threat, that would change things, but for now, I was just a walking, talking encyclopedia on what it was like to be a woman in the FBI. Maybe I should call my friend Kate at the OIO and have her handle this.
Snorting at the notion, I picked up the memoir. It wouldn’t hurt if I found out what this New York Times bestseller had to say on the matter. Obviously, she was more of an expert than I was. Her career lasted longer, and she wrote a book about it. If nothing else, I might be able to copy some of her answers for the more difficult questions.
I was three chapters in, reading the details of her first investigation, when voices outside caught my attention. Climbing to my knees, I peered out the window. Clay and a few other people went into one of the neighboring trailers. Several PAs were running errands in the vicinity. A bike went by with one of the dozens of other cast members. Shooting must have concluded for the day. And now, this part of the lot looked like an RV park, but at least the actors and staff had places to rest and relax when they weren’t needed. Truthfully, I was thankful to have a place to hide. Maybe tomorrow I’d bring a book of my own to read or ask Kellan if I could help look for those hidden assets since I had so much free time.
Eight
The drive home from the studio took longer than expected on account of rush hour traffic which gave me plenty of time to think, except the last thing I wanted to think about was Dinah Allen and the film. When she returned to the trailer, she grilled me on a million different things. She wanted to know everything about the day-to-day. That wasn’t so bad, but her final question threw me for a loop. Would you do it over again?
I had no idea, and being stuck in traffic for twenty minutes was really screwing with my head. Instead of thinking about her question, my mind went to the only other topic of any concern — Martin.
Simply put, I loved him. I just wondered if anything could change that. I saved his life. He saved mine. Things had always been complicated between us, but fidelity was never a concern. Getting blown to smithereens or shot in the back of the head was. He even went so far as to convince the police department to let him train with one of their elite tactical units just to prove to me he could handle himself in dangerous situations. Someone who put in that much effort wouldn’t risk throwing everything away for a casual fling.
But what if he did? That was the question that gnawed at me. By the time I made it to our apartment, I had played out dozens of potential scenarios. None of them good. I ran through every approach, but FBI interrogation techniques would be the equivalent of throwing a live grenade into an already tense situation. Neither of us would walk away in one piece. Questioning him about last night wouldn’t end well. It would mean I didn’t trust him, and trust had been one of our problems. More in terms of him learning to trust me again, but still, if I doubted him, he would start doubting my conviction to us. And that would be it. After all, I was the liar who notoriously ran from our problems by calling it quits.
When I unlocked our door and saw him standing in front of the stove, I decided whatever happened last night didn’t matter. I just needed to get my brain to fall in line with my heart. Too bad I suspected the former controlled my mouth rather than the latter.
I dropped my bags on the floor and locked the door. He turned at the sound and smiled. “Rough day?”
“Strangely enough, yes.” I moved to the counter and watched as he turned the dial on the oven. “You’re home early.” Easy, Alex, the voice in my head whispered.
“Perks of being in charge.” He tossed me a playful grin. “The entire Board was pretty much dead on its feet after last night.” He ran a hand through his dark brown hair. “I owe you an apology.”
My stomach roiled. “Why?” I forced my voice to stay light and my tone to convey obliviousness.
He grinned. “You don’t remember the desperate, horny man that woke you up in the middle of the night?”
“Oh, him?” I shrugged. “I’m used to him, except he normally keeps better hours.”
“Well, he was an ass.” Martin stirred something on the stove. Then he turned around and put his hands on the edge of the counter and stared at me. “I know you’ve been having enough trouble sleeping lately, and with this new assignment, I should have made sure I was thinking with the right head.” He watched me carefully. “What are you working on? You haven’t said.”
“I can’t tell you much. I had to sign an NDA.”
He laughed. “That’s how it’s going to be?”
“That’s how it is.” I thought about taking a seat but was afraid if I did, I’d never get up. “Cross loaned me out to a production company. They needed a consultant for their movie.”
His eyes narrowed. “Shouldn’t this be your dream job?” He suddenly grew serious. “Any attractive actors on set?”
“They’re all attractive.”
“No wonder you hate this assignment.” He smirked. “It sounds torturous.”
“It actually is,” I said sincerely. “I don’t like probing questions.”
“I believe that’s why we didn’t do so well with couples counseling.”
I gave him a look. “You didn’t like the questions either.” I thought for a moment. “Do you think we should go back?”
“To therapy?” He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture I recognized as a nervous tic. “Wow, you must have had one shitty day.” His expression grew sincere. “Don’t let some actor get you all twisted around. It’s not worth it. What did he want to know?”
“She,” I corrected, “wanted to know why I joined the OIO, why I left, if I killed anyone.” I rolled my eyes. “The list goes on from there.”
“Shit.” He reached across the island counter and took my hand. “I’m sorry you had to deal with that.”
“At one point, I just started fudging the details because it was easier than giving truthful answers.”
“Yeah, I get that.”
I didn’t like his response, and I swallowed. Jerking my chin at the oven, I asked, “What’s for dinner?”
He turned around, supplying an answer while checking to see if the oven was preheated, but my mind wasn’t on his words. It was on last night. I moved around the counter and reached around him, turning the dials to off. He turned toward me, and I stood on my tiptoes so I could bury my face in the crook of his neck. It didn’t matter, I reminded myself. It just didn’t.
He grabbed my hips and hoisted me onto the island so we were closer in height and kissed me. “Don’t you want to eat first?”
“No.” I needed to put these stupid thoughts out of my head. I looked him in the eye, even as my fingers went to work on the buttons of his shirt. “Tell me you love me.”
He cupped my face in his hands. “I do.” He kissed me again, pulling slowly away and seeing something disconcerting in my eyes. “Is everything okay?”
I nodded, unsure what would come out of my mouth if I spoke. “Show me,” I managed, and he lifted me off the counter and carried me into the bedroom.
* * *
I forced one eye open and then the other. Where was I? The only thing I could see was a solid, dark wall. Something was buzzing. Martin removed his arm from where it had been securely wrapped around my middle and blindly reached over his head. The angle didn’t make sense, and I rolled onto my back.
From this position, our bedroom looked a lot different. Where the hell were the pillows? Martin’s other arm was under my head, and we were lying sideways at the top of the mattress. Fortunately, we had a king-sized bed, so my feet didn’t dangle over the edge. He couldn’t say the same. The buzzing stopped, and I rolled over to face him. We didn’t need pillows or bedding; the duvet he tossed on top of us was perfectly sufficient. Frankly, I just wanted to go back to sleep. I didn’t even have the strength to keep my eyes open.
“Alex, it’s your phone,” he said.
“It stopped,” I mumbled. And for the first time in as long as I could remember, the buzzing wasn’t followed by the annoying beep of a waiting voi
cemail message. “Wrong number.”
He pressed his lips to my forehead and wrapped his arm around me again, tracing patterns on my back. “Wrong numbers don’t call at two a.m.”
“Uh-huh.” I fell back into the oblivion, the exhaustion winning out over rational thinking.
Twenty minutes later, the buzzing returned. I didn’t hear it. What woke me the second time was Martin gently nudging me with his shoulder. “It’s Lucien.”
I fought to keep my eyes open, but I was losing the battle. “Put it on speaker, and don’t say anything,” I slurred.
Martin pressed the button and put the device down on his chest next to my head. I closed my eyes and waited. Maybe this was a bad dream.
“Alex, where are you?” Cross’s clipped tone sounded tinny from this angle.
“What do you want?” My voice was thick with sleep, and my eyes remained closed.
“There’s been an incident.”
My sleep-addled brain couldn’t even begin to process what that meant. “What kind of incident?”
He cleared his throat, the sound causing my eyes to flutter open. Whatever happened was serious. “The security team just phoned. I’m on my way to the lot. Get there as soon as you can.”
“What happened?” I asked again.
“We’ll be waiting for you.” He hung up.
When I failed to immediately jump into action, Martin took my phone and placed it back on the nightstand behind his head. “I have to get up,” I mumbled. Even the urgency in my boss’s voice wasn’t enough to jumpstart my adrenaline. “I need coffee.”
“You need sleep,” Martin said. “You’re exhausted. You passed out hours ago and haven’t moved since.”
Even now, I was still struggling to stay awake. “Just give me ten minutes. Then wake me up.” The buzzing sounded again, and I opened my eyes. It had been more than ten minutes. It was closer to twenty. Lucien had sent a text asking for an ETA. “You were supposed to wake me,” I growled.
“I’m sorry. I must have dozed off,” Martin replied, but I knew it was a lie. He put my needs above my boss’s. Too bad he didn’t think about that before waking me up to take the call. I sent a quick reply and searched for something to slip into before getting out of bed. When I couldn’t find anything, I wrapped the entire duvet around my body, leaving Martin fully exposed. My gaze swept briefly over him. “I bet those actors wish they had my washboard abs and other assets.” He smiled. “Are you positive I can’t convince you to come back to bed?”
