Kaleidoscope Eyes (12 page)

Silas was nothing if not punctual.

The man hadn’t looked at all surprised to see him. He marched into his office, leaving Jed to follow in his wake. Plunking down in his plush leather chair, Silas launched in on all the reasons Jed needed to put Ken’s death—and the effects of that awful day—behind him.

“Business as usual, my boy That’s what you need right now”

Jed had listened as long as he could, then stood and paced as he listened some more. Finally he’d ended up staring out the window at the dark skies and surging waves.

A storm was coming. How appropriate.

As much as Jed wanted to, he couldn’t afford to stand here, to let himself get lost in the simple beauty of nature. Time deep in thought was not what he needed. What he needed was to stay too busy to think. Whatever it took to keep his mind off the one thing it wanted to focus on. The one face that kept filling his memory—

“E J?”

Patience wasn’t Silas’s long suit, so Jed knew his stubborn silence only stretched his mentor’s tolerance to the limits. But there was one thing his executive producer hated even more than waiting.

“Ernest Jediah, you’re being a fool.”

Ouch. When Silas used Jed’s full name rather than his professional moniker, it was a clear signal the man was not pleased. “I know.”

The older man’s busy eyebrows arched, then twitched, dancing like caterpillars on a tightrope. Silas planted his hands on his mammoth desk and pushed himself to his feet. He paced in front of the desk.

“Let me get this straight. You have one of the hit shows of the season—”

“I know that, Silas, but—”

The man’s hand sliced through Jed’s objection. “Please. Don’t interrupt.”

This time it was Jed who buried his hands in his pockets. “Sorry.” He moved to lean against the wall.

Silas recommenced his pacing. “Now, where was I?”

Jed crossed his arms. “I have a hit show.”

“Ah. Yes. You have the hit show of the season—”

Jed couldn’t help himself. “I thought it was
one
of the hit shows.”

Silas’s narrowed eyes pierced him. “Interrupting. Again.”

“Sorry. Again.”

“All right then, last week’s episode was the hit of the week. An audience share that made the network execs downright giddy.”

Jed held back a comment about how unsettling
that
image was.

“As for
this
week’s episode, well, I don’t have to tell you. Watching those firefighters, seeing the cost the way we did—” Silas cleared his throat—“well, it was more powerful than anything you ever put out.” The older man’s pacing halted, and the question in his stillness was clear: Am
I right, or am I right?

Jed’s confirming nod seemed to be reply enough. The pacing resumed. “Okay, so here you sit, a bona fide success. Your show’s just been picked up for another season—” Silas stopped midpace and faced Jed, the benign half smile on his thin lips utterly belied by the glare shooting from those pale blue eyes—“and you’re telling me you’re out of ideas?” He angled his head. “Do I have that right?”

“Silas, I—”

The glare intensified.

“What I mean is … well … after what happened …”

One caterpillar brow raised.

Jed let loose a heavy sigh, then stared down at the area rug that almost covered the floor of the spacious office. Silas loved that rug. Custom made. New Zealand wool.

Always the best for Silas. What was it he said? “Surround yourself with the best.”

At Jed’s low words, Silas studied him, then leaned back against his desk. “That’s right, boy. And that’s what you are. The best. Knew it the first time I saw your work. Wouldn’t have spent all these years on you if it wasn’t so.”

Jed raised his head. “I know, Silas. I owe you. Big time.”

A hand waved Jed’s words away. “Not the point, boy. It’s not what you owe me.” Pale blue eyes met brown and bored deep. “It’s what you owe yourself. You’ve got talent, E J. Don’t let it go to waste because of an unfortunate accident.”

Unfortunate.

Ken was dead, and that was … unfortunate?

No. Madness, maybe. Unacceptable and wrong, definitely.
But unfortunate? That word didn’t even
begin
to encompass what had happened. A flood of emotion crowded Jed’s throat. Sorrow. Anger. Loss.

And shame.

He had spent the couple of weeks telling himself he had nothing to be ashamed of. He hadn’t done anything wrong. And last week, as he and Andy did the final edit on the show, the shame practically burned a hole in Jed’s gut. A man had died. A good man. And there they were, watching it happen over and over, acting like it was just another show.

Yes, Jed had made the episode a tribute to Ken—and firefighters in general. Yes, he showed the episode to Ken’s widow before agreeing to use it. And yes, when the segment finished playing, she had put her arms around Jed and hugged him, tears streaming down her face as she gave permission to use the footage. But for all that, it seemed wrong. Wrong to benefit from the loss of such a good man.

Jed had mentioned his reservations to Andy on the drive back to the office from Ken’s house. Andy stared ahead, silent, for a full two minutes. A response Jed knew well. When there was a lot at stake, Andy thought things through. Finally he spoke.

“I think Ken’s story is worth telling.”

Jed couldn’t argue with that. And so they let it play. And as Silas said, it was a hit. The response even more so. More than any of them had dreamed. Phone calls. Letters. E-mails. More poured in every day. Along with donations. For Ken’s family For the fire station. For a newly established “Ken Hall Fund for Firefighters and Their Families.” All of which showed that what he and Andy had hoped for when they’d started out was happening.

Everyday Heroes
was capturing hearts.

Jed had known from the start that the concept was good. So much on the networks wallowed in the ugly side of life, Jed was convinced that people were ready for something different. Something that celebrated goodness. Then he and Andy hit on the idea of
Everyday Heroes
—follow people who help others, who
put themselves on the line every day. Watch them, listen to them, give them the chance to open up and remind us what is good and noble about not only them, but ourselves as well.

The first episodes featured a policeman, an inner-city teacher, a doctor who worked with children with AIDS, among others. With each episode, the stories deepened—and audience share grew. When the fire station had agreed to let them come in, Jed warned Andy that this episode would be intense. More than any of the others. Odds were good there’d be a fire, which meant they would follow the men into hell—or the closest thing to it on earth. So when it happened, Jed wasn’t surprised. Nor was he surprised by the danger and risk.

But the men themselves? They were a surprise. When fighting fires, they were as skillful and courageous as it got. But at the station, they were more like crazy frat brothers. One minute they tormented each other, playing practical jokes and throwing verbal insults like a bunch of kids hyped on turbocharged Kool-Aid. The next minute they sat and talked, late into the night, about anything and everything.

They were a family.

Jed knew after one day with these guys that this episode was going to be the best yet. And he’d been right.

But at what cost?

The emotions he’d almost quashed flamed to life again with the new influx of guilt, and Jed gritted his teeth against the pain. But some of it must have shown on his features, because Silas did something Jed couldn’t remember him ever doing before.

He gave Jed a break.

The older man’s glare faded, and he looked away. Out the window to the ocean, sparkling in the morning sun.

“Look, I know this was hard on you, son.”

There was an almost paternal kindness in the older man’s tone. Silas moved back to his luxurious leather chair, for which Jed was thankful. It gave him a few moments to recover from the shock of not receiving the chewing out he’d expected.

“Take a day or two and think about it. You’ve got a little time. Not a lot. You’ve got to get going on next season’s episodes. But enough to take a break and get your head back where it belongs.”

Jed pushed away from the wall. “On the block?”

Only the thinning of Silas’s lips showed that he’d heard the bland comment. “In the game. Remember, ‘Our doubts are traitors, And make us lose the good that we oft may win, By fearing to attempt.’”

Jed started, and Silas’s mouth actually almost gave way to a smile. “What’s the matter, boy? Think you’re the only one who can quote Shakespeare?” He picked up a pen. “Now get out of here.
Some
of us have work to do.”

ELEVEN        

I
t wasn’t fair!

Things had been going so well. Exactly as they should. And then this. This—tragedy.

It was wrong. He’d tried to prevent it, for all the good that had done.

He’d never imagined it could be this hard, this draining. What was the point of investing so much of yourself if it destroyed you? His hand lifted to his aching eyes. They stung, as though he’d been weeping. But of course he hadn’t. Crying was for losers. And he was
not
a loser.

Still … how was he going to fix things? How would he get it all back on track? Of course, he’d faced obstacles before. You didn’t get anywhere in this business without learning to either evade or scale obstacles. And learn he had. He always triumphed. Always found a way past the resistance and, often by sheer force of will, got the results he wanted. The results he deserved. Circumstances … people … it was all the same.

All meant to bend to his will.

Little wonder, then, that he always emerged on top. Exactly where he should be. But this time …

He slammed a fist on the table.

How could things go so wrong?

His fingers ached and eased open. He felt the fingers with his other hand. Fortunately nothing was broken. But as hard as he’d hit the table, something could’ve been. Stupid, stupid.

See what happens when you let things get to you? Just relax. Think it through. You’ve made it this far. Nothing’s going to stop you now.

It was true. He had his goal in sight. One more show … one more and he’d be so well established that nothing would unseat him. His position would be assured. His power would increase. And he’d have it all. Everything he’d worked for. Longed for.

Everything he deserved.

A star. That’s what he needed. Just one, and all would be well.

He stood.

Time to stop worrying and start doing. He needed a star, so he’d find one. And she’d be perfect. Because he’d chosen her.

Anything else was unacceptable.

TWELVE        

S
EPTEMBER
24

Sheriffs deputy Dan Justice sat at his desk, staring at the computer screen in front of him.

He guessed he should be glad no more threatening e-mails had arrived in his sister’s in-box. Trouble was, the cybercrime unit hadn’t been able to trace the two Annie had forwarded to him. Too bad she’d deleted the first e-mail she received. It might not have made a difference, but Dan figured the more the guys at cybercrimes had to work with, the better.

He picked up one of the printed posts and read it again. The effect was the same as when Annie had first given it to him: rage. Hot, blind rage. He wanted to crumple it into a ball and slam it down the throat of the creep who had invaded his sister’s life.

He tossed the paper back onto his desk and stood to refill his coffee cup.
Sorry, Lord. I know that’s not exactly a loving response …