Soft Focus (25 page)

She glanced at him as he took the aisle seat beside her. He wore an expensively cut, deceptively casual jacket, black pullover, and black trousers. His attire was similar to that of a number of other men pouring into the theater, but unlike the majority of them, he looked as if he really did wield power and control. It wasn't a question of money or industry influence, she thought. It was that impression of self-mastery that radiated from him. That was what made him both dangerous and compelling.

She was still wondering what she had misunderstood about the kiss in the resort parking lot yesterday. One thing was for certain: She was not about to ask for explanations. Jack had made it obvious that his only concern was his mission to find Tyler Page.

She studied his hard profile as the other ticket-holders streamed down the aisles to their seats. During the drive to the Silver Empire Theater this evening, he had been silent. He had handled the car and the narrow, winding road with his usual flawless precision and control, but she had sensed the cold determination in him. She had known that the scene with Hayden had disturbed him, but she was somewhat surprised by the return of this chilling reserve.

Just like the old days, she thought. She had seen a lot of this attitude during the past six months.

“Are you going to stay in this mood all evening?” she asked pleasantly.

“Depends.”

“On what?'

“On whether or not Tyler Page shows up.”

“It wasn't wondering if Page would show that turned you surly tonight,” she reminded him. “It was that conversation with Hayden last night. Want to talk about it?”

He frowned and turned briefly to look at her. She was startled to see a flash of surprise in his eyes.

“No,” he said.

She sighed. “That is so typical.”

He slanted her a brief, derisive glance. “Of the male of the species?”

“No, of you, in particular. You always act like this when things don't go just the way you planned them.”

“Like what?”

“Like
this
.” Bright little flashes of crimson danced before
her eyes. Her nails. He had her waving her hands again. She checked the telltale movement and quickly folded her fingers neatly in her lap. “You go all distant and cold and watchful. It makes it difficult to carry on a meaningful conversation.”

“Really? I hadn't realized that we were involved in a meaningful conversation.”

Anger sparked through her. She covered it with a steely smile. “You know, a shrink could have a field day analyzing the relationship between you and your brother.”

“I doubt if any therapist would touch our case.”

“Why not?”

Jack's smile was devoid of all amusement. “Because neither Hayden nor I would ever pay anyone real money to analyze us. And I can't see any therapist worth his or her salt doing the job for free. Can you?”

“No. Especially if he or she knew that the clients weren't interested in the results.”

THE FILM CLIP
from
Fast Company,
the audience was told, was a scene that took place three-quarters of the way through the movie. The dramatic lighting gave Vicky Bellamy's spider-woman character a luminous glow. It wasn't Rita Hayworth in
Gilda,
or Lauren Bacall in
The Big Sleep,
Elizabeth thought, but it wasn't bad.

Unfortunately, the dialogue wasn't
Casablanca,
either.

“But I didn't kill him. Eden, for God's sake, you've got to tell the cops the truth.”

“I make it a habit to never tell the truth, Harry. I believe in living a simple life, and the truth always seems to complicate things.”

Under cover of the enthusiastic clapping that followed the clip, Jack leaned toward Elizabeth.

“We're wasting our time. He's not here. I've checked every damn seat in the house.”

“I don't understand it,” she whispered. “How could he stay away? He might not have expected
Fast Company
to win Best Picture at the festival, but what about Vicky?”

“I told you that you were putting too much stock in the theory that Page is a victim of passion.”

“I still think he's here somewhere,” she insisted.

“The ceremony is almost over. Only Best Actress and Best Film left. If Page is here, he'll probably try to leave just before the houselights come up.”

“Then it's time for my fallback plan,” Elizabeth said briskly. “Ready?”

Jack hesitated, then reluctantly got to his feet. Elizabeth collected her coat and followed him up the darkened aisle. A moment later they emerged into the plush, red and gold upstairs lobby. It was empty except for a couple of idling ushers and the waiter lounging behind the wine bar.

“You're sure you want to do this?” Jack asked.

“It's not like we have a lot of other options,” she reminded him.

“All right. You take this exit. I'll take the other one.”

He turned to the left, as though he intended to go to the men's room. Elizabeth hurried in the opposite direction toward the women's room.

Once in the dimly lit hall she kept going past the door marked “Ladies,” all the way to the emergency exit. She was relieved to see that it was not equipped with an alarm.

She glanced over her shoulder to make certain that no one was watching her. Then she opened the door. Unlike the lush Victorian lobby, the stairwell was starkly utilitarian. The
harsh, fluorescent lighting revealed a set of concrete steps. She grasped the handrail and went quickly down to a door marked “Exit.” When she pushed it open, the brisk night air swirled around her.

Outside she huddled into her coat and walked swiftly down the alley toward the back of the theater. When she got there she saw a small parking area. Jack stepped briefly into the weak yellow glare of the single streetlamp that illuminated the rear of the theater. He raised a hand to let her know that he had seen her. Then he moved back into the shadows on the opposite side of the building.

She pulled up the collar of her coat and prepared to wait. The plan was simple enough, she reminded herself. She would watch the emergency exits on this side of the theater. Jack would watch the exits on the other side. Between the two of them they would be able to see anyone leaving via one of the side doors.

Jack had bought into the scheme with something less than enthusiasm, and only after she had pointed out that they would be within easy hailing distance of each other. He considered the vigil a waste of time.

Minutes ticked past at a relentlessly slow pace. Elizabeth scrunched deeper into her coat and clenched her gloved hands inside her pockets. Eventually the dull, muted thunder of applause broke out inside the theater. The Best Actress Award. She wondered if Vicky had won.

Next up would be Best Picture.

A few minutes later, muffled applause again echoed through the old theater building. Elizabeth tensed in expectation and peered into the alley. If Tyler Page had attended the ceremony, he would no doubt try to leave quickly and quietly now that it was over. With any luck, by a side entrance. She watched the alley door, waiting for it to open.

There was another rumble of applause inside the theater. The ceremony was over. Still the alley door did not open. Frustration rose inside her. She had been so sure of her analysis of Page's motivation. The man had done what he'd done for love of Vicky Bellamy, his femme fatale. How could he bring himself to miss his lover's big night?

People were leaving the theater now. She heard laughter and conversation from the vicinity of the front entrance. But the emergency exit door on her side of the building did not budge.

She sensed Jack and turned to see him coming toward her. With his coat collar up and his face hidden, he looked like Humphrey Bogart in
The Maltese Falcon.

“Give up?” he asked.

“Not yet. Maybe he decided to wait until the theater is empty. He could be hiding in the men's room or a utility closet.” She took one hand out of her pocket and made a shooing motion. “Go back to your post.”

“Face it, he didn't show.”

“I still think—” She broke off as the roar of a motorcycle engine split the darkness behind her.

She and Jack both turned quickly toward the sound. A single headlight beam pierced the night. Elizabeth realized that the motorcycle was racing along a service road behind the theater. As they watched, it turned into the small parking lot where she and Jack stood.

“What the hell?” Jack took her arm and hauled her deeper into the darkness near the wall. “Don't move,” he said in her ear.

She obeyed, standing very still in the circle of his arm.

The motorcycle flashed past the pool of shadows where they waited. The driver did not appear to notice them. He drove down the narrow alley on the right side of the building
toward the entrance of the theater. The vehicle was not moving at a great speed, but the engine was revved to a loud, full-throated roar.

Once the motorcycle had gone safely past them, Elizabeth felt Jack release his hold on her. Together they stepped out into the alley to watch the bike zoom toward the street.

When the cyclist passed beneath the yellow bulb above the exit door, Elizabeth caught her breath. The pale light glinted malevolently on a black helmet that effectively concealed the driver's face. Metal studs gleamed on a black leather jacket and, very briefly, on the metal trim that decorated a familiar-looking black leather boot.

“Jack.” She grabbed his arm and tugged him forward in the wake of the cycle. “It's the other guy who tried to beat you up the other night. Ollie, the one that got away in the van.”

“How do you know?”

“His boots. Come on. Something's going to happen, and I bet it's going to involve Vicky.”

He did not argue. Together they ran down the alley in pursuit of the motorcycle. Elizabeth silently cursed her high heels.

The cycle had reached the brightly lit front entrance of the theater. It slowed. Elizabeth saw the driver raise one hand. He was holding something in his gloved fist. A cylinder-shaped object.

At that moment Vicky Bellamy appeared. Her white and silver gown glowed in the brilliant marquee lights. Dawson was a short distance behind her, smiling proudly. He paused to speak to a man in a dark coat.

The driver of the motorcycle made a throwing motion with his arm. A stream of liquid arced through the air.

“Whore. Scarlet woman. Jezebel.”

Vicky screamed, a high, cresting shriek of mingled anger and fear, as the red paint splashed across her gown.

“For God's sake, somebody stop him,” Dawson shouted.

As if there were anything that anyone could do, Elizabeth thought. It had all happened too fast. The driver gunned the motorcycle's engine and careened off into the night. The crowd of theatergoers gazed, dumbfounded, after him.

Elizabeth limped to a halt beside Jack, breathing hard.

Vicky's voice rose to a theatrical wail above the murmurs and exclamations. “Dawson, look what he did. Why does he hate me? Why does he call me those terrible names?”

Dawson put his arm around her shoulders in an unmistakable protective movement. “I'm going to talk to the police again, my dear. There must be something they can do. Whoever he is, he's sick and he's dangerous. I'm afraid he's growing bolder.”

JACK TOOK THE
cognac bottle down out of the cupboard. He watched Elizabeth kick off her sadly scuffed high heels and flop lightly down on the sofa in front of the fire. The skirt of her slim black gown rode high on her thigh. It occurred to him that she had very pretty feet—elegantly arched and incredibly sexy, especially when sheathed in a pair of black hose.

And to think he'd never considered himself a foot man.

He heard a sharp clink and winced when he realized he'd struck the edge of one glass with the neck of the cognac bottle.
Clumsy
.

Out of the unholy mix of murky emotions that had been screwing up his thought processes lately, at last emerged one he knew that he could comprehend. It glowed like a homing beacon. Bright, obvious, riveting. That was the nice thing about sex. It wasn't complicated.

He allowed his eye to follow the long line of Elizabeth's neatly curved legs to the point where her thighs disappeared beneath the hem of her dress. He felt his blood heat.

She scowled at him as he finished pouring the cognac into two glasses. He remembered that she had berated him earlier for being in a surly mood. So much for sex not being complicated. He groaned softly. With Elizabeth, everything was complicated.

“There was something strange about what happened outside the theater tonight,” she announced.

“There's something strange about this whole damn setup.” He picked up the glasses and walked around the corner of the granite counter. “I feel like we're in one of those films where everything keeps turning out wrong and the characters get sucked deeper and deeper into a quagmire of disaster.”