Private Scandals (41 page)

Whatever else he’d intended to say was lost as she lunged at him. In one fluid move, she tore off her seat belt and whipped toward him. Her mouth was hot and wet and hungry. Through his shock, and instant arousal, he felt the violent thud of her heart.

And her hands. Jesus. Her hands.

Cars sped by them. He could only groan as she dived deeper into his mouth, her tongue greedy, her teeth vicious.

Both of them were panting for air when she leaned back.

“Well,” he managed, but his mind was wiped as clean as glass. “Well.”

“I’m not proud of it.” She flopped back in her seat, face flushed, eyes bright. “I don’t approve of intimidation or fighting. I absolutely don’t. Oh God.” With a half laugh, she squeezed her eyes shut. Her body was vibrating like an overheated engine. Intellect, she discovered, could be completely overpowered by glands. “I’m going to explode. Drive fast, will you?”

“Yeah.” His aching hand trembled a bit as he turned the key again. Then, as he punched the accelerator, he started to grin. The grin became a hard, deep-throated laugh. “Deanna, I’m crazy about you.”

She had to curl her fingers into fists to keep herself from tearing at his clothes. “We’re both crazy,” she decided. “Drive faster.”

Marshall comforted himself as best he could, pampering his bruised stomach muscles, taking a painkiller. Shame and fury had driven him out of the house. He opted for a drink first, then two, before keeping his date at the opera.

He hadn’t thought he’d enjoy the music, or the
company. But both had soothed him. He was a civilized man, he reminded himself. A respected man. He would not be intimidated by some grandstanding reporter like Finn Riley. He would simply bide his time, calmly.

Enchanted by the diva’s final aria, he still felt peaceful when he pulled in to his driveway, even though his stomach ached dully. Another dose of painkiller would take the edge off, he knew. Fury and frustration had been eased by Mozart’s music. Humming lightly, Marshall set the security on his car. If Deanna had the file, and he could no longer be sure, he would convince her to return it to him. But he’d wait until Riley was away on assignment.

They would talk, he promised himself, and finally set the past behind them. As Angela was behind them.

His eyes gleamed as he reached for his keys. He thought he sensed a movement to his left. He had time to turn, time to understand. He didn’t have time to scream.

Finn was watching Deanna sleep when the phone rang. They’d started on each other in the foyer, worked their way up the steps. Halfway up they’d decided, tactically, that they’d made it far enough.

It made him grin to remember how she’d torn at his clothes. Attacked him, he thought smugly. Of course, he’d been a willing victim, but she’d shown surprising energy, and amazing resilience. He almost thought it a shame he hadn’t dealt so satisfactorily with Pike before.

He dismissed all thoughts of Pike as he settled back, pleasantly aroused when Deanna curled her body against his.

He wouldn’t wake her, though it was very tempting to do so. He was too relieved that she no longer tossed and turned or awakened quaking as she had for several nights after Angela’s murder. Instead, he simply enjoyed the way her body fit to his.

He swore when the phone rang and she woke.

“Take it easy.” Like Deanna, he expected to hear nothing but breathing when he lifted the receiver.

“Finn? It’s Joe.”

“Joe.” He saw the tension dissolve from Deanna’s shoulders. “I guess it would be pointless to mention it’s after one
A
.
M
.”

“Got a tip for you, pal. I was whiling away some time with Leno and monitoring my police scanner. We had us a murder over at Lincoln Park.”

“I’m not on the crime beat.”

“I checked it out, Finn. Figured you’d want to know right away, instead of catching it on the early news. It was Pike. You know, the shrink who hassled Dee today. Somebody did him.”

Finn’s gaze cut to Deanna’s. “How?”

“The same way as Angela. In the face. My police connection wouldn’t give me much. But he bought it right on his own doorstep. A neighbor reported hearing gunshots around midnight. A black-and-white checked it out and found him. I’m calling from the cop shop. We’ve got a unit on it. Story’ll break top of the hour on
Sunrise.
”

“Thanks.”

“I figured Dee would take it better from you.”

“Yeah. Keep me posted?”

“You bet.”

He hung up, dispirited.

“Something’s wrong.” She could see it in his face, in the way the air had seemed to thicken around him. “Just tell me straight out, Finn.”

“Okay.” He covered her hands with his. “Marshall Pike’s been murdered.”

Her hands jerked once, then went still. “How?”

“He was shot.”

She already knew, but had to ask. “The same as Angela? It was the same as Angela, wasn’t it?”

“It looks that way.”

She made a strangled sound in her throat, but eased back when he reached for her. “I’m all right. We need to tell the police about what happened after work today. It has to be connected.”

“It’s possible.”

“Don’t circle around it,” she snapped out, and pushed off the bed. “Marshall harassed me today, and we went over there. Hours later, he’s shot. We can’t pretend that one had nothing to do with the other.”

“And if it is connected, what can you do?”

“Whatever I can.” She dragged a sweater over her head, snatched trousers from the closet. “Even though I didn’t pull the trigger, I am the cause, and there has to be something I can do.”

She didn’t resist when he put his arms around her, but clung to him, pressing her face to his shoulder.

“I have to do something, Finn. I can’t bear it otherwise.”

“We’ll go see Jenner.” He cupped her face in his hands, kissed her. “We’ll figure something out.”

“Okay.” She finished dressing in silence. She was sure he wouldn’t feel guilty about facing down Marshall only hours before, because he would see what he had done as pure and simple justice. And perhaps he was right.

Is that what whoever had leveled a gun at Marshall’s face had thought as well?

The idea sickened her. “I’ll wait downstairs,” she said as he pulled out his boots.

She saw the envelope before she reached the bottom landing. It lay crisp and white against the glossy floor of the foyer, inches inside the door. There was a quick pain, a twist in the gut like a fist punching muscle. Then she went numb, crossing the polished wood, bending down.

She opened the envelope as Finn came down behind her.

“Goddamn it.” He took it from her limp fingers, and read.

He’ll never hurt you again.

When they left the house, someone was watching, a heart bursting with love and need and terrible grief. Killing for her had been nothing. It had been done before, and needed to be done again.

Perhaps she would see, at last.

J
eff stood in the control booth overlooking the studio, biting his lip in agitation. Deanna was about to film her first show since Angela’s death.

“Camera Three, on Dee.” He barked out orders. “Take Two, zoom out. Wider on One, pan. Give me Dee tight, Three, music in. Great, great applause. Start the playback tape.”

He applauded himself, as did the others in the booth. From their perch overlooking the stage they could see the audience surge to its feet and cheer.

“Ride it,” Jeff ordered. Oh yeah, he thought, sharing the triumph. She’s back. “Ride the applause.”

Down below Deanna stood on the new set with its jewel tones and banks of cheery holly bushes and let the waves of applause wash over her. It was, she knew, a show of support, a welcoming home. When her eyes filled she didn’t bother to blink back the tears. She didn’t think about it.

“Thanks.” She let out a long, unsteady breath. “It’s really good to be back. I . . .” She trailed off while she scanned the crowd. There were familiar faces dotted among the strangers. Faces from the newsroom, from production. Pleasure glowed on her face. “It’s really good to see you. Before we get
rolling, I’d like to thank you all for your letters and phone calls over the past week. Your support has helped me, and everyone involved with the show, through a difficult time.”

And that, she thought, was all the space she could give, would give, to the past.

“Now I’d like to bring out a woman who’s given us all so many hours of entertainment. She’s incandescent. Luminous. With a talent as golden as her eyes. According to
Newsweek,
Kate Lowell can ‘ignite the screen with a sweep of the eyelash, by the flash of her signature smile.’ She’s proven both her popular and her critical appeal by holding the number-one box-office position for two straight years, and by winning an Oscar for her portrayal of the heroic, unforgettable Tess in
Deception.
Ladies and gentlemen, Kate Lowell.”

Again, the applause erupted. Kate swept into it, looking confident and fresh and every bit the star. But when Deanna took her hand, she found it cold and trembling. Deliberately Deanna wrapped her in an embrace.

“Don’t do anything you’re not ready to do,” she murmured in Kate’s ear. “I’m not going to push you into any revelations.”

Kate hesitated a moment. “Oh God, I’m glad you’re here, Dee. Let’s sit down, okay? My knees are shaking.”

It wasn’t an easy show, from any angle. Deanna was able to guide the first ten minutes through juicy Hollywood chitchat, keeping the audience amused to the point where she assumed Kate had changed her mind about the announcement.

“I like playing women of strength, and character.” In a fluid movement that rustled silk, Kate crossed her long, million-dollar legs. “And there do seem to be more scripts being written for strong women, women who are not just bystanders but who have beliefs and standards they’re willing to fight for. I’m grateful for the chance to play those women, because I didn’t always fight for what I wanted.”

“So you feel as though you’re able to do that now, through your work?”

“I relate to many of the characters I’ve played. Tess in particular. Because she was a woman who sacrificed everything, risked everything for the sake of her child. In an odd sort of way, I mirrored Tess. Mirror images are opposites. And I sacrificed my child, my chance with my child, when I gave it up for adoption ten years ago.”

“Damn.” In the control booth, Jeff’s eyes popped wide. The audience had dropped into stunned silence. “Damn,” he said again. “Camera Two, tight on Kate. Man, oh man.”

But even as he worriedly bit his lip again, he focused on Deanna’s face. She’d known, he realized, and let out a long, calming breath. She’d known . . . .

“An unplanned pregnancy at any time, under any circumstances, is frightening.” Deanna wanted her audience to remember that. “How old were you?”

“I was seventeen. I had, as you know, Dee, a supportive family, a good home. I’d just begun my modeling career, and I thought the world was at my feet. Then I discovered I was pregnant.”

“The father? Do you want to talk about him?”

“Was a nice, sweet boy who was every bit as terrified as I. He was my first.” She smiled a little now, remembering him. “I was his. We were dazzled by each other, by what we felt for each other. When I told him, we just sat there, numb. We were in LA, and we’d gone to the beach. We sat there and watched the surf. He offered to marry me.”

“Some people might feel that would have been the answer. You didn’t?”

“Not for me, or the boy, or the child.” Kate continued, using all of her skill to keep her voice level. “Do you remember the way we used to talk about what we wanted to do when we grew up?”

“Yes. I do.” Deanna linked her fingers with Kate’s. “You never had any doubts.”

“I’d always wanted to be an actress. I’d made some progress modeling, and I was going to conquer Hollywood come hell or high water. Then I was pregnant.”

“Did you consider abortion? Discuss the option with the father, with your family?”

“Yes, I did. As difficult as it was, Dee, I remember how supportive my parents were. I’d hurt them, disappointed them. I didn’t realize how much until I was older and had some perspective. But they never wavered. I can’t explain to you why I decided the way I did. It was a purely emotional decision, but I think my parents’ unflagging support helped me make it. I decided to have the baby and give it away. And I didn’t know, not until it came time to do just that, how hard it would be.”

“Do you know who adopted the baby?”

“No.” Kate dashed a tear away. “No, I didn’t want to know. I’d made a deal. I had chosen to give the child to people who would love and care for it. And it wasn’t my baby any longer, but theirs. She would be ten years old now, nearly eleven.” Eyes swimming, she looked toward the camera. “I hope she’s happy. I hope she doesn’t hate me.”

“Thousands of women face what you faced. Each choice they make is theirs to make, however difficult it is. I think one of the reasons you play admirable, accessible women so well is that you’ve been through the hardest test a woman can face.”

“When I played Tess, I wondered how everything would have worked out if I’d chosen differently. I’ll never know.”

“Do you regret your choice?”

“A part of me always will regret I couldn’t be a mother to that child. But I think I’ve finally realized, after all these years, that it really was the right one. For everybody.”

“We’ll be back in a moment,” Deanna said to the camera, then turned to Kate. “Are you all right?”

“Barely. I didn’t think it would be so hard.” She took two deep breaths, but kept her eyes on Deanna rather than look out at the audience. “The questions are going to come fast and furious. And God, the press tomorrow.”

“You’ll get through it.”

“Yes, I will. Dee.” She leaned forward and gripped Deanna’s hand. “It meant a lot to me, to be able to do
this here, with you. It seemed, for a minute or two, as if I were just talking to you. The way we used to.”

“Then maybe this time you’ll keep in touch.”

“Yeah, I will. You know, I realized while I was talking why I hated Angela so much. I thought it was because she was using me. But it was because she was using my baby. It helps knowing that.”

“Hell of a show.” Fran fisted her hands on her hips as Deanna walked into the dressing room. “You knew. I could tell you knew. Why the hell didn’t you tell me? Me, your producer and your best friend.”

“Because I wasn’t sure she’d go through with it.” The strain of the past hour had Deanna’s shoulders aching. Rolling them in slow circles, she went directly to the lighted mirror to change makeup. Fran was miffed. She understood that, expected it. Just as she understood and expected it would wear off quickly. “And I didn’t feel it was right to talk about it until she did. Give me a gauge on audience reaction, Fran.”

“After the shock waves died off? I’d say about sixty-five percent were in her corner, maybe ten percent never got past the stunned stage, and the remaining twenty-five were ticked off that their princess stumbled.”

“That’s about how I figured it. Not bad.” Deanna slathered her face with moisturizer. “She’ll be all right.” She lifted a brow at Fran’s reflection. “Where do you stand?”

After a moment of stilted silence, Fran exhaled hard, fluttering her choppy bangs. “In her corner, one hundred percent. It must have been hell for her, poor kid. God, Dee, what made her decide to go public that way?”

“It all has to do with Angela,” Deanna began, and told her.

“Blackmail.” Too intrigued now for even mild annoyance, Fran let out a low whistle. “I knew she was a bitch, but I never thought she’d sunk that low. I guess the list of suspects just expanded by several dozen.” Her eyes widened. “You don’t think Kate—”

“No, I don’t.” Not that she hadn’t considered it, thoroughly, Deanna thought, logically, and she hoped objectively. “Even if I thought she killed Angela, which I don’t, she doesn’t have any reason to have killed Marshall. She didn’t even know him.”

“I guess not. I wish the cops would figure it out and lock this lunatic up. It worries me sick that you’re still getting those notes.” Now that all was forgiven, she moved over, automatically massaging Deanna’s stiff shoulders. “At least I can rest easier knowing Finn won’t be going out of town until this is over.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because—” Fran caught herself, looked quickly at her watch. “Gosh, what am I doing sitting around here talking? I’ve got a hundred things—”

“Fran.” Deanna stood and stepped in front of her. “How do you know that Finn’s not going out of town until this is over? The last I heard he was scheduled to go to Rome right after Christmas.”

“I, ah, I must have gotten mixed up.”

“Like hell.”

“Damn it, Dee, don’t get that warrior look on your face.”

“How do you know?”

“Because he told me, okay?” She tossed up her hands in disgust. “And I was supposed to keep my big mouth shut about the fact that he’s canceled the Rome shoot and anything else that takes him out of Chicago.”

“I see.” Deanna lowered her eyes, brushed a speck of lint from her teal silk skirt.

“No, you don’t see because you’ve got your blinders on. Do you really expect the man to fly gleefully across the Atlantic while this is going on? For Christ’s sake, he loves you.”

“I’m aware of that.” But her spine was rigid. “I have things to do myself,” she said, and stormed out.

“Good going, Myers.” Muttering oaths, Fran snatched up the dressing room phone and called up to Finn’s office. If
she’d inadvertently started a war, the least she could do was tell him to be fully armed.

In his office above the newsroom, Finn replaced the receiver and sent a scowl at Barlow James. “You’re about to get some reinforcements. Deanna’s on her way up.”

“Fine.” Pleased, Barlow settled back in his chair, stretched his burly arms. “We’ll get all this settled once and for all.”

“It is settled, Barlow. I’m not traveling more than an hour away from home until the police make an arrest.”

“Finn, I understand your concerns for Deanna. I have them as well. But you’re short-sheeting the show. You’re overreacting.”

“Really?” Finn’s voice was cool, deceptively so. “And I thought I was taking two murders and the harassment of the woman I love so well.”

Sarcasm didn’t deflate Barlow. “My point is that she can obtain round-the-clock protection. Professionals. God knows a woman in her financial position can afford the very best. Not to slight your manhood, Finn, but you’re a reporter, not a bodyguard. And,” he continued before Finn could respond, “as skilled a reporter as you are, you are not a detective. Let the police do their job and you do yours. You have a responsibility to the show, to the people who work with you. To the network, to the sponsors. You have a contract, Finn. You’re legally bound to travel whenever and wherever news is breaking. You agreed to those terms. Hell, you demanded them.”

“Sue me,” Finn invited, eyes gleaming in anticipation of a bout. He glanced up as the door slammed open.

She stood there in her snazzy silk suit, eyes flashing, chin angled. Each stride a challenge, she marched to his desk, slapped her palms on the surface.

“I won’t have it.”

He didn’t bother to pretend he didn’t understand. “You don’t have any say in this, Deanna. It’s my choice.”

“You weren’t even going to tell me. You were just going to make some lame excuse about why the trip was canceled. You’d have lied to me.”

He’d have killed for her, he thought, and shrugged. “Now that’s not necessary.” He leaned back in the chair, steepled his fingers. Though he was wearing a sweater and jeans, he looked every inch the star. “How did the show go this morning?”

“Stop it. Just stop it.” She whirled, jabbing a finger at Barlow. “You can order him to go, can’t you?”

“I thought I could.” He lifted his hands, let them fall. “I came from New York hoping to make him see reason. I should have known better.” With a sigh, he rose. “I’ll be in the newsroom for the next hour or so. If you fare any better than I did, let me know.”

Finn waited until the door clicked shut. The sound was as definitive as that of the bell in a boxing ring. “You won’t, Deanna, so you might as well accept it.”

“I want you to go,” she said, spacing each word carefully. “I don’t want our lives to be interfered with. It’s important to me.”

“You’re important to me.”

“Then do this for me.”

He picked up a pencil, ran it through his fingers once, twice, then snapped it neatly in two. “No.”

“Your career could be on the line.”

He tilted his head as if considering it. And damn him, his dimples winked at her. “I don’t think so.”

He was, she thought, as sturdy, as unshakable and as unmovable as granite. “They could cancel your show.”

“Throw out the baby with the bathwater?” Though he wasn’t feeling particularly calm, he levered back, propped his feet on the desk. “I’ve known network execs to do dumber things, so let’s say they decide to cancel a highly rated, profitable and award-winning show because I’m not going on the road for a while.” He stared up at her, his eyes darkly amused. “I guess you’d have to support me while I’m unemployed. I might get to like it and retire completely. Take up gardening or golf. No, I know. I’ll be your business manager. You’d be the star—you know, like a country-western singer.”