Freefall (44 page)
He looked away. “I don’t know.”
“Come with me.” She walked him into a study just past the powder room. From the desk she took a checkbook.
“Babe, no.” Excitement shot through him like adrenaline, chased by an unfamiliar emotion he’d have to call shame. He was shaky. He hadn’t been beaten in a long time.
“I can’t do the full amount without transferring funds. But I can give you half.”
“No.”
“Until you’re flush again.” She looked up.
“This isn’t why I came here. It’s not how I wanted—” His voice broke. He braced both arms on the desk. “I wanted to see you, but not …”
She came around the desk and handed him the check.
“Allegra.”
She cupped his shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry? I’m the one …” He shook his head. “I must’ve—”
“It’s not you, Curt. It’s me.”
He straightened slowly and shook his head again. “No, babe, you’re everything to me.” To be able to write a check for a hundred grand without even blinking.
“If this doesn’t satisfy him, tell me.”
He drew himself up. “You know how that makes me feel? I want to take care of
you
.” Her smile held depths of sadness he couldn’t fathom. What was happening? He didn’t want to see that. “Allegra.”
“Not now. Go take care of business.”
He swallowed. “Can I … kiss you?”
Tears sparkled in her eyes as she shook her head.
He took a step back. “Okay.”
Outside the door, he slid the check into his pocket, limped to his car, and pulled out of her driveway. Leaving the house behind, he ignored the splits and smiled.
Cameron buried himself in work.
He didn’t want to think, didn’t want to feel anything, only to drive toward a goal. Myra called, but he didn’t answer. Nica called, but he wouldn’t have been able to keep it from her, so he didn’t answer that either. Gentry had phoned that first day according to his call history, but it wasn’t on his missed calls, so Myra must have answered. He couldn’t begin to deal with that.
He pulled his truck up to the gym where a supposed accident victim worked out. He’d thought his BS meter finely tuned enough to sift anything. He’d been wrong. With Myra there were no limits, no depths. The boy could be his, could be anyone’s.
He carried his workout tote into the gym, purchased a guest pass, changed clothes, and hit the weight room. His mark was incredibly fit for all the pain and suffering he was claiming in his suit. He angled the camera in his tote to catch the guy’s activity.
Breaking a sweat, he followed the man’s workout circuit with his own, noted the weight levels on the machines before adjusting them. No way this guy’d had a major car accident with back injuries a month ago. He’d nail him.
Pain gripped his stomach, rage like acid burning him. He had dared to think, dared to hope his life could be restored. Like there was any chance. Like hope … ever … kept … its … promise. He shoved the bar up and hooked it, then rolled out and sat up.
He’d seen what he needed to, caught enough on film. Ordinarily he’d have showered, maybe engaged the guy in conversation. Instead he grabbed his bag, returned the locker key, and got out of there.
Denny had been gone the last three times Cameron went over, but this time his hunter green Miata was in the driveway, dripping from a recent scrub-down.
He went to the door and banged. With a curious expression, Denny opened the screen door. “All you had to do was huff and puff. You’d have brought it right down.”
He probably had put more into it than necessary. “Busy?”
Denny raised the can of Armor All and a rag. “Just a little spit and polish.”
They walked out together to the car. Denny tossed him the towel draped over the bucket. “Want to dry her off?”
Cameron carefully swabbed the water from the paint as Denny sprayed and rubbed the inside panel of the passenger door. “Taking Megan cruising tonight,” he said.
“Megan?”
“The waitress from the diner? Black hair. Dimples.”
Cameron nodded. “Sure.”
“She’s got a dog that loves to drive.”
“Is he licensed?”
Denny laughed. “Didn’t stop me turning over the jet to you.”
“Did I thank you?”
“A hundred times and counting.” He gave the armrest a final rub and looked up. “So what was that big-bad-wolf thing?”
“If you had to lay your life down on one answer, what would you guess?”
He sobered. “Myra?”
Cameron’s throat tightened. Denny was waiting for God to show him the right woman, one chosen to complete Denny Bridges in this life—unlike his good friend who’d jumped at the most intriguing woman he’d encountered without consulting, maybe even resisting, that divine counsel.
He told him the situation—everything Myra had said, her possible motivation, her obvious fixation on Gentry. Then, watching Denny’s features shift from concern to shock, he said, “It doesn’t matter whether he’s my son or not. Three and a half years after the fact, Mary and Tom are his parents. And she thinks I’ll just walk in there and tear him away.”
Denny blew out his breath. “I’m sorry, man. I know I counseled you to try everything to save your marriage.”
“I never had a choice.” Cameron shook his head. “I think it’s possible she has no conscience.”
Denny shook and folded the rag. “What are you going to do?”
Myra was right that he didn’t let go, that he held on until his arms were pried loose. The pain spread from his stomach to his throat. “Terminate my parental rights.” He hadn’t decided that until this moment. Maybe the thought had come from Denny, or the One who guided his life with perfect certainty. “That way he’s free and clear. Myra can’t get at him.”
“There’s no going back.”
He nodded. “I know.” But for the first time in too long he felt the hand of God.
In the hot, cramped studio office, Gentry put her signature on the contract. The ink on the page determined the next five months if all went according to schedule. Most of the other parts were cast, and they’d begin shooting in the next few weeks. Still dazed by everything that had happened, she left the office, feeling a little empty and a lot less excited than she’d expected.
“Hey, doll. Don’t I get a kiss?”
Smiling, she leaned over and kissed Dave’s cheek. “Thank you.”
“It’s a sweet deal.”
“You’re amazing.” He deserved credit, especially for protecting her limits.
“You’ll rock ’em.”
She shrugged. “It’s a good script.”
“It’s made for you.”
“Hope that doesn’t mean I’m typecast.” Another scrappy female in a situation too big for her. It hit a little too close to home.
She looked forward to sinking into the character, learning the lines. Once the cast gathered and the cameras rolled, the magic would happen. That was so much more to her than the contract, although she needed the income.
Steel
had provided a nice chunk after the renegotiations, but she’d been forced to get serious about her wardrobe and move into an apartment of her own. The one she’d shared with Helen had no security and, well, too much tension.
“You seem a little pensive. You over that shock on the island, or should you see someone?”
Good question. Since her return, she’d spent too much time looking over her shoulder. Bette Walden had quit following her, but had someone taken her place? With the ever-present paparazzi, it was impossible to tell whether someone with darker intentions than smearing her lurked in the shadows. In the middle of the night, she’d wake with a jolt, wondering who had hired Malakua. “I’m fine, Dave. Don’t worry.”
“If you say so.” He patted her shoulder. “You’re a tough duck.”
Right. She told him good-bye and headed for her car in the studio lot. A quiet afternoon reading over the script with a nice, cold—
“Gentry!” Helen came out a side door.
She stopped and waited for her to catch up. “Well?”
Helen grabbed her hands. “I got it.”
“Molly?”
Helen nodded, her face flushing to the pale roots of her hair. “I got Molly.”
Gentry threw out her arms and hugged her. When she’d seen the part for the secondary character who served as a foil for her own intrepid Eva Thorne, she’d lobbied hard for Helen to at least get a reading. Helen had done the rest.
“Congratulations.” Gentry gave her another squeeze.
“I can hardly believe it.” Helen’s cheeks were infused with rose, excitement shining in her eyes.
“Believe it.” Gentry set her back. “So what about the troupe?”
“I won’t be nearly as tied up here as you are.”
“It’s still too much to do both by yourself.”
Helen turned. “Do you want to come back?”
Not what she’d meant. She shook her head. “I was thinking of Troy.”
Helen widened her eyes. “You think he would? He hasn’t been part of it since …”
“I know. But I won’t be there, and I bet he misses it. Talk to him.”
Helen nodded uncertainly. “You don’t want to?”
“Do it, or talk to him?”
Helen shrugged. “I know he misses you.”
Gentry swallowed the sudden ache. “I miss him too. He’s a great kid. I’m just not sure where his head is.”
Helen looked down. “Can we go somewhere?”
“The studio has a cafeteria.” Anywhere else she’d be ducking fans and paparazzi. “This way.” They changed course, and she said, “It’ll be great working with you, Helen.”
Helen nodded, but her agreement seemed strained. Maybe their friendship had been irreparably torn. The lot they crossed smelled of oil and smog, and she quashed a sudden longing for balmy trade winds and fresh, clean rain. Gentry slid her card into the cafeteria door and pulled it open.
They went through the beverage line and got a table away from the few other people in the room. Helen had sounded serious and seemed uncomfortable.
Gentry sipped her iced tea. “The part’s perfect for you. I hope they won’t change your look too much.”
“They can do whatever they want. I’m just glad to be working.” Helen raised her diet 7-Up, then set it down without drinking. She looked up. The honest Helen she’d known would tell her right now that she didn’t want to chum it up on the set, that their friendship—“I need to tell you something, and I’m not sure how.”
There’d been a time when neither of them would have hesitated to share her deepest thoughts. Gentry felt the pang of loss. How many friends would this world of competition and success cost her? “Would it help if we lay on the floor and kicked off our shoes?”
Helen laughed. “Only if we had our pajamas on and pillows to throw.”
“You want to hit me?”
Helen paled, the pink leaving her face white enough to show the soft freckles along her cheekbones. “I already have.” She sat back in her chair. “I feel terrible.”
Gentry held her breath. Now that it came to it, she was not sure she could hear what Helen had to say.
After a couple false starts, she said, “Everything always works for you. People find you so interesting, so incredible. You landed Rachel Bach without even trying, and it all got so big and important. It seemed that even God would give you whatever you wanted.”
Helen must not have read the papers lately. Gentry rubbed the drops from her glass. “I’ve revised that assumption.”
Helen shook her head. “When Troy told me what was going on, you seemed like such a hypocrite, like I’d never known you at all.”
Her chest ached. “You didn’t even wonder whether it was true?”
“I would have, but when you landed Rachel Bach, I wondered what you’d been willing to do for it; I mean… Gentry, you must hate me so much.”
Hate wasn’t what she felt, just a pale desolation.
“He said your relationship had evolved and …”
“You gave the tabloids the pictures? My stage kiss with Troy?”
Helen gripped her hands together. “I wanted it to be true so that I wasn’t what it felt like I’d become. I even hired a detective to prove—”
“Bette Walden?”
Helen raised her teary eyes and nodded. “If she proved it, then I’d done a good thing, the right thing. She told me she’d been abused and shared my fervor for the truth. She worked for next to nothing.”
Gentry started to shake. “You wanted me killed?”
“What?” The color left Helen’s face. “No. Of course not.”
“You didn’t hire Grover Malakua to push me over the falls?”
Helen’s hands fell to her lap. Her mouth hung slack. Her turquoise eyes hollowed. “Gentry, I’m sure you can’t believe me after everything I just said …” Tears broke free and trickled down her cheeks. “But I never …”
Gentry closed her eyes and pressed her fingertips to the sockets. Helen wasn’t a good enough actor to fake that reaction, and why bring it up at all if she’d done something so heinous and illegal? She’d hurt and betrayed her, but it was crazy to think she could have orchestrated an accident on Kauai when she hadn’t even known about the trip. “I believe you.”
Cameron must have been wrong. Malakua had acted alone. Maybe he’d meant to kidnap her for ransom the way he’d taken Nica. Only, she’d fallen. She still didn’t remember what had happened above the falls, but that made more sense than someone wanting her dead. Now they had him, and it was over.
