Soft Focus (15 page)

“What . . . what . . . ” She had to force herself to take a deep breath. “What the hell do you think you're doing?”

“Making a movie.” Vicky Bellamy sounded dryly amused.

Elizabeth whirled around. She still had spots in front of her eyes from the effects of the sudden bright light, but she could make out Vicky's figure. The actress stood in the darkened space between two parked cars. The moonlight turned her hair to silver.

“Sorry about that.” The man who had yelled at her did not sound sorry. He sounded annoyed. He moved into the light, displaying a sophisticated handheld camera. “Didn't mean to scare you. But you almost screwed up the scene.”

The body on the ground stirred. “Can we finish this? It's getting damned cold down here.”

“Yeah, sure. Just don't move, okay?” The man with the camera hurried back to his post behind the lights.

Someone else adjusted the long arm of a microphone.

Vicky chuckled. “They're participating in the contest.”

“What contest?” Elizabeth asked.

“The Noir on the Fly contest,” Vicky explained. “It's an annual tradition at the festival. Participants get some film stock and equipment and are challenged to script, shoot, and edit a short film during the week of the festival.”

“I see.” Elizabeth was relieved to note that her breathing was returning to normal. “The body on the ground was awfully realistic.”

“Nothing is ever what it seems in the movies,” Vicky said very softly. “Or in real life. It might be a good idea if you remembered that.”

Elizabeth stilled. Surely she had not imagined the note of warning embedded in the words. “Thanks, I'll keep it in mind.”

“It's a little chilly out here, isn't it?” Vicky turned and
started back toward the loading dock. “You should have brought your coat.”

Determined not to be left behind, Elizabeth hurried to catch up. “I wasn't planning to stay outside very long.”

“What were you planning to do?” Vicky asked.

“I just wanted to get a breath of fresh air.” Elizabeth groped for some plausible details to flesh out her thin story. “We're sitting in the nonsmoking section, but you know how it is. The air is never really great when there's a smoking section nearby.”

“Yes,” Vicky said. “I know how it is. But if I were you, I wouldn't stay out here too long. Normally, the crime rate in Mirror Springs is almost nonexistent. But this week there are a lot of strangers in town. You never know what might happen.”

A shiver that had nothing to do with the chilled night air sent a trickle of alarm down Elizabeth's spine. She kept her smile in place with willpower alone. “You're certainly full of good advice tonight, Ms. Bellamy.”

“I hope you'll pay attention. I don't usually waste my breath on advice, but I thought I'd make an exception in your case.”

“Why?”

“I'm not sure.” Vicky's smile was enigmatic. “Maybe it's the way you look at your friend, Jack Fairfax.”

“Why is that important?”

“It's not important. Not really. It's just that once, a long time ago, I wanted to look at a man like that.”

“What way is that?”

“As if you're wondering if you should let yourself fall in love with him.” Vicky gave another throaty laugh. “My advice on that point, by the way, is don't.”

Elizabeth stumbled against a small stone she had not
noticed on the pavement. She sucked in a sharp, painful breath and quickly caught her balance.

“Are you by any chance trying to warn me off?” she asked bluntly.

Vicky gave her a long, considering glance. “A lady with a past has nothing to lose. But a woman with a future can't be too careful.”

Elizabeth came to a halt and said nothing. Vicky went up the three steps to the back door, opened it, and disappeared inside the club without looking back again.

Now what the heck was that all about?
Elizabeth wondered. She stared at the closed door of the club for a while longer and then the cold began to penetrate. She jerked herself out of her reverie and started toward the steps. So much for her big plan to pin Vicky down on the subject of Tyler Page.

The back door of the club opened without warning.

“Elizabeth?” Jack's voice sliced through the shadows. “What the hell are you doing out here?”

“Don't snap at me like that. I've already had a major scare tonight.”

“What's going on?” Jack came swiftly forward and took her arm. He glanced at the filmmaking going on in the parking lot. “What the hell are those people doing out there?”

“Making a film. Some sort of festival contest.” She glanced at him. “How did you find me?”

“Vicky Bellamy stopped me in the hallway and told me that she'd seen you step outside. Something about getting some fresh air.”

“That's not quite how it happened. She came out here first. I followed her.”

“Followed her?” Jack swept the dark landscape with a quick, assessing gaze. “Why?”

“Well, I did have a clever little plan in mind. I was going to see if I could trick her into admitting that she was involved with Tyler Page. But things didn't quite work out.”

“What happened?”

“Vicky gave me lots of sound advice instead,” Elizabeth said dryly.

Jack looked blank. “Advice?”

“Yep. And then she said something really, really interesting.”

“What was that?”

“ ‘A lady with a past has nothing to lose. But a woman with a future can't be too careful.' ”

“What's so interesting about that?”

“For starters,” Elizabeth said, “it's a direct quote from the script for
Fast Company
.”

“So?”

“So Vicky is one of a very small number of people who could possibly know that I had a copy of the script and might recognize the quote. She was the one who suggested I read it, in fact.”

Jack eyed her curiously. “What's your point?”

Elizabeth turned around to watch the filmmaking in the distance. “I think she was trying to give me a warning.”

Jack was silent for a long moment.

“Now why in hell would she do that?” he asked very quietly.

Maybe it's the way you look at your friend, Jack Fairfax. . . . Once, a long time ago, I wanted to look at a man like that.

“I don't know,” Elizabeth said.

“Well, damn. Maybe you were right about her being Tyler Page's femme fatale. If she was trying to warn you off, then
we have to assume that she's in this up to her phony blond hair.”

“Yes.”

“Why give herself away? And why try to get rid of you? If she knows anything about this deal, she knows you hold the purse strings for Excalibur.”

“Yes,” Elizabeth said. So many questions.

“And why would she think that some bad dialogue from
Fast Company
would be an effective warning?” Jack asked.

“Maybe because of what happens to the naive, not-so-bright female character who falls for the guy the femme fatale wants.”

“Okay, I'll bite,” Jack said. “What happens to her?”

“She gets killed.”

“STOP IT.” ELIZABETH THREW HER HANDS UP.
“Not another word. I've had all the arguing I can take for one night. I am not going back to Seattle, and that's final.”

Jack stood motionless in the center of the rug, the very spot where he had made love to her last night, and watched her sweep recklessly around the room. Her anger created a palpable if invisible wake.

When the argument had exploded into full flame a few minutes ago, she had had her arms locked tightly beneath her breasts. But now, as the momentum gathered, her hands were sometimes in the air, sometimes stuffed into the back pockets of her snug velvet jeans. Never still.

He tried for a semblance of calm, soothing logic. It was only a facade, and he knew it. Underneath he could feel an unholy mix of rage and tension and something that was uncomfortably close to fear simmering.
If anything happens to her
. . .

He paused midway through that thought, unwilling to complete it. The truth was, he did not know how he would react if anything happened to Elizabeth. He might go a little crazy—make that a whole lot crazy.

He pulled himself up short with an effort of will. He would not go down that road. There was no point. It would be a clear case of overreaction. This was not some film noir script come to life. This was high-tech theft. White-collar crime. People didn't get hurt in this kind of thing. Not usually, at any rate.

But that did not mean it could not get nasty.

“She threatened you,” he said for what must have been the thirtieth time. “We have to take it seriously.”

“She did not threaten me.” Elizabeth gave him a fulminating look. “Not exactly. She tried to warn me off. I think.”

“It doesn't make sense. If she's in this, she knows who you are. She knows you've got the Aurora Fund checkbook and she knows that you can shell out big bucks for Soft Focus on behalf of your client. Why try to scare you off before the auction? Unless—” He broke off abruptly, thinking it through.

“Yes?” Elizabeth looked at him from the other side of the room. “Unless what?”

“If Vicky is involved in this, then it's probably safe to assume that Dawson Holland is also involved.”

“Probably.”

“Okay, for the sake of argument, let's say that assumption is true. It still leaves us with at least two possibilities. Number one: Vicky and Dawson were the strategists behind the theft of Soft Focus.”

“Which fits in very nicely with my Vicky-as-Tyler-Page's-femme-fatale theory.”

“Or,” he continued deliberately, “possibility number two: They're here in Mirror Springs for the same reason we are. The same reason Hayden is, for that matter.”

“Because they've been invited to attend the auction?”

“Right. Think about it. There aren't a lot of folks Page can risk inviting to his auction. He's a lab man, a loner. He
doesn't move in the kind of circles where he'd be likely to meet high-rolling investors who would wink at the idea of bidding on a stolen item that can only be safely resold overseas. That crowd is definitely on the sophisticated side. If there's one thing Page is not, it's sophisticated.”

“I take your point.” She pursed her lips, eyes intent. “He would know about you and me, of course.”

“Worldly sophisticates that we are,” Jack muttered.

She ignored him. “He probably also knew about your long-standing rivalry with Hayden and could have guessed that your brother would be eager to bid up the price of Soft Focus.”

“Right. And the one other person we know for sure he's come in contact with lately who might have enough money and few enough scruples to take part in this kind of deal is Dawson Holland.”

Elizabeth frowned. “That would give us a motive for Vicky trying to warn me off tonight. She might be attempting to help Dawson by scaring off some of the competition.”

“Yeah.” He thought about it. “That does make some sense. I like it better than your femme fatale theory.”

“That's because there is no romance in your soul.” She shot him a withering glare. “You just can't envision a man taking the sort of risks Tyler Page is taking for love, can you?”

He was startled by the accusation in her voice. “I'm just trying to be realistic.”

“Yeah, right.” She halted abruptly. “You know what our real problem is?”

He raised his brows. “You want an annotated list?”

“I'm serious. Our problem is that we don't have enough information.”

He raised his eyes to the high, vaulted ceiling and asked for patience. “No shit.”

“We need to know more about Vicky Bellamy and Dawson Holland.”

“I told you, I'm having Larry check out Holland.”

She started toward the phone on the end table. “You asked your brother to check out Holland from a financial angle, right?”

“Far as I can see, that's the only angle that matters here.”

“Maybe.” She picked up the phone and punched in some numbers. “Maybe not.”

He glanced at his watch. “It's after midnight. Who are you calling?”

“My assistant, Louise. She spent twenty years working for the tabloids. She has all kinds of contacts in the entertainment industry. She might know someone who—” She stopped, listening to whoever had answered the phone. Surprise flashed across her face. “I'm sorry, I must have dialed the wrong number. I'm calling for Louise Luttrell.”

Jack walked to the window and looked out at the twinkling lights of Mirror Springs.

“Yes, I'll hold on a minute,” Elizabeth said in muffled tones. “Louise? Who in the world was that? What do you mean, an old editor from out of town called? How old?”

Jack glanced over his shoulder, amused by the disconcerted look on Elizabeth's face.

“No, of course I didn't think you lived in a convent. I just wasn't expecting a man to answer your phone, that's all. Not at this hour, at any rate.” Elizabeth glanced at Jack, saw that he was watching her, and turned her shoulder to him. “Uh, well, no, I'm not, actually. There was a slight problem with Jack's reservations at the resort, so he had to stay here and—”

She stopped speaking again and started to turn pink. Jack could hear the cackle of hysterical laughter on the other end of the line clear across the room. He smiled to himself.

Elizabeth cleared her throat and started to speak very quickly. “If you don't mind, Louise, I'm calling on a business matter. I want you to see what you can dig up on a small-time actress named Victoria Bellamy and her husband, Dawson Holland. I think they've both hung around the fringes of the film business for years and they're major figures here at this little festival.”

Jack waited until she had finished her conversation with Louise and hung up the phone.

“That should get us some useful information,” she said, turning back to face him. “Louise knows how to dig up the dirt on just about anybody. I should have thought of this yesterday.”

“It's not a bad idea,” he said.

“Gee, thanks for that glowing endorsement.”

“Speaking of problems, I'd like to get back to our earlier topic.”

“Which one?”

“You. Here in Mirror Springs.”

She leaned against the back of the sofa, braced her arms on either side of her hips, and gave him a fierce look. “Don't even think about trying to convince me to leave.”

“Elizabeth, I've got enough to worry about without having to wonder if Vicky is going to continue her little campaign to scare you out of town. It could get vicious. I don't want to take any chances.”

“What you're really saying is that I've become an additional complication for you.”

He spread the fingers of one hand wide. “You've been complicating my life since the day we met.”

“You seem to have coped,” she said a little too sweetly.

“Maybe. But this situation is getting messy.”

“Well, you'll just have to deal with it, because I'm not cutting out now.” Elizabeth gave him an oddly thoughtful expression. “Besides, she may come after you next.”

He smiled. “You think Vicky will try to scare me off?”

“Not necessarily.” Elizabeth studied him intently for a long moment. “If she's really into the role of the femme fatale, she might decide to try to seduce you instead.”

He blinked. Then he gave her a wolfish grin. “That possibility worries you?”

“Yes, it does.” She glowered at him. “Talk about complications. If Vicky sweeps you off your feet, we'll have real problems on our hands.”

He laughed softly. “Fat chance.”

Elizabeth smiled dangerously. “Are you saying you wouldn't be tempted if a woman like Vicky Bellamy came on to you?”

“Yeah, that's what I'm saying, all right. I was never good at juggling women. It's always a lot more difficult than it looks. At the moment, I've got my hands full.”

“Are you talking about me?”

“Of course I'm talking about you. See any other women in the vicinity?”

She hesitated. “No.”

“I thought I'd made it clear that there hasn't been anyone else for the past six months.”

She turned her back to him and stood looking out into the night. “You've been busy with Excalibur.”

He studied the rigid line of her graceful spine. The proud way she carried herself drew him like a magnet. “Not so busy that I couldn't have taken time to get laid if I'd wanted
it or needed it badly enough. A good CEO knows how to set priorities.”

“I see.”

“What about you?”

“I've been pretty busy, too,” she said, very offhand. “A few business dinners. That's about it.”

Hayden's mocking words came back to him.
You might as well have written her name on the men's room wall at the club: “For a good time you definitely do not want to call Elizabeth the Ice Princess.”

He walked across the room and came to a halt immediately behind her. He did not touch her. “Hayden told me that it's my fault you haven't had any serious relationships for the past six months.”

“Your fault?” Her voice rose in sharp outrage. “Good grief. Does he actually believe that I've been carrying the torch for you and you alone for six whole months?”

He winced at the derisive tone. “Not exactly. He thinks that after that blowup in the Pacific Rim Club, you got saddled with a certain, uh, reputation.”

“I see. The Ice Princess thing?”

“Hayden implied that the title may have scared off a few of your date prospects.”

She gave a short, ladylike snort. “Do you really think I'd want to date any man who got scared off that easily?”

He studied the arrogant tilt of her chin and smiled. He had definitely been wrong about the ice part, he thought, but not about the rest of it. There was something innately regal about her.

“No,” he said.

“Look, we're getting a little off track here. We were talking about Vicky and Dawson Holland.”

“I need to know,” Jack said simply.

“What, exactly, do you need to know?”

“Was it the fallout from that scene at the club that put a damper on your social life?”

She exhaled deeply. “Brace yourself, Jack. Believe it or not, there were one or two men who worked up the nerve to ask me out after you announced to the world that I was frigid. What's more, I got the distinct impression that they were interested in more than just a friendly chat about what the Fed will do with interest rates.”

He forced himself to ignore the sarcasm. He drew his finger across her bare nape. “So why haven't you been dating?”

“I've been busy.” She turned slowly around to face him at last. There was steely determination in her eyes. “About Vicky Bellamy—”

He knew that he had pushed her as far as she was willing to be pushed. Reluctantly he dropped his hand to his side. “If you won't talk about packing your bags and heading back to Seattle—”

“I won't even discuss it,” she said crisply. “I'm not going anywhere. You need me, Jack.”

He looked at her and felt everything inside him focus one hundred percent on her. He put his hands very carefully around her neck. He used his thumbs to tip up her chin.

“I won't argue with that,” he whispered.

Something in her eyes softened and deepened. “What a relief.” She raised her mouth for his kiss.

This time they made it upstairs to his bed before he got her out of her jeans.

LATER, AFTER SHE
had fallen asleep beside him, he lay back against the pillow, one arm behind his head, and
silently asked the other question, the one he had not asked earlier.

Do you need me?