Soft Focus (26 page)

“I know what you mean.” Her eyes traveled to the bound script lying on the coffee table. “Sort of like the plot for
Fast Company
. But I meant that there was something weird about Vicky's reaction tonight.”

He stopped beside the sofa and handed her one of the glasses. “Why do you say that? Looked like a pretty straightforward publicity gimmick to me. Beautiful star victim of crazed fan.”

“Her initial scream sounded genuine.”

“She's an actress, remember?”

Elizabeth turned the glass of cognac in her hands, studying it. “The scream sounded for real. But a few seconds later, she sounded like an actress again.
Why does he hate me? Why does he do these things to me?
Kind of phony. And Dawson sounded even phonier when he talked about going to the cops again because the stalker was getting bolder.”

Jack snorted. “I think it's a good bet that Holland has not gone to the police about the so-called stalker. If he had, good old Ollie would have been out of a job by now. He's not smart enough or fast enough to avoid getting caught.”

“And if everyone's right about the stalker incidents being a publicity gimmick, Dawson wouldn't want to have the police looking too closely into the incidents anyway. But that's not my point.”

Jack noticed that her brows were etched in a frown of deep concern. “You're worried that the stalker thing is part of Dawson's plan to get rid of a third wife, aren't you?”

Elizabeth twisted restlessly on the sofa. “It's just that I got the impression that Vicky wasn't expecting to have red paint thrown at her tonight. I wonder why not. After all, she must be involved in the planning of the stalker incidents. They'd have to be choreographed ahead of time, wouldn't they?”

“If you were after maximum publicity, yes.”

“You know what?” She met his eyes across the top of the cognac glass. “I think something went wrong tonight. Vicky recovered fast, but I'd be willing to bet that she didn't expect the stalker to strike.”

Jack thought back to the scene at the theater entrance. Holland folded protectively around his wife, warning everyone in earshot that the stalker was getting bolder. “Dawson expected it.”

“Yes.”

They looked at each other for a long moment. Jack exhaled slowly.

“You've warned Vicky. There's nothing more that you can do. And we could be wrong about Holland.”

“I know.” She sat up on the edge of the sofa and put the cognac glass down on the table. “There's something else
that's worrying me. I still think that Tyler Page is madly, passionately in love with his femme fatale. What's going to happen when he discovers that Vicky doesn't intend to run off with him after the auction of Soft Focus? Because I sure can't see her throwing away everything for poor Dr. Page.”

Jack groaned. “Please don't tell me that you're starting to worry about that little bastard. He's the one who created this mess, remember?”

Elizabeth's expression grew more troubled. “He's obviously a man of intense passions. Something tells me that he won't take Vicky's rejection well. Not after he's sacrificed so much for her. He could make himself . . . difficult.”

“How?” Jack asked dryly. “By going to the cops? Not a chance. Like everyone else involved in this thing, he's not about to drag the police into it. He could end up in jail if this deal goes public.”

“I can't help but think of Page as a victim of passion.”

“Victim? The little shit stole Soft Focus.” Jack set his glass down very forcefully on the mantel and left it there. He started across the room toward Elizabeth. “If you're going to feel sorry for anyone, feel sorry for us. If we don't find him and that damned crystal, Excalibur will go out of business, my professional reputation will be in the toilet, and the Aurora Fund will lose a hell of a lot of money.”

“I'm very aware of the business and financial implications,” she said stiffly. “That's not the issue.”

“The hell it's not.” He reached down, closed his hands around her shoulders, and pulled her to her feet. “This is no time to lose sight of the main objective.”

“I know.”

The anxiety in her eyes irritated him. “Do me a favor. Don't go all soft and sentimental about Tyler Page—or Vicky Bellamy, either, for that matter. Both of them can take
care of themselves. They don't deserve your sympathy. You know something?”

“What?”

“You've got a bad habit of feeling sorry for people. Page, Vicky, your brother-in-law, Camille Galloway. Hayden. Hell, yesterday afternoon in the parking lot you felt sorry for me. Where does the list stop?”

Her chin came up fast. “It stops with you.” She turned away from him with a sharp, angry movement. “I can see where you got the idea that I'm the world's easiest pushover. After all, I'm sleeping with you, aren't I?”

He stiffened. “That's got nothing to do with this.”

“It has everything to do with it.” She spun around, eyes alight with anger. “You think I'm a wimp or an idiot, or both.”

“Damn it to hell, that's not true and you know it.
I just don't want to be on your feel-sorry-for list.
”

She blinked. For an instant he thought she was going to throw something at him. Then, quite suddenly, the fires of battle faded. He was not sure he liked the closed, speculative expression that took their place any better. Fires of battle he understood. This look was much more complicated and therefore much more dangerous.

She folded her arms. “If you don't think I'm a wimp or an idiot, what do you think?”

His blood chilled. What had gone wrong? He was losing control of the situation again. Why in hell did this kind of thing always happen whenever he tried to talk to her about something other than business? He groped for a way to get the conversation back on track.

“You once asked me what I would do if I failed to recover the crystal for Excalibur,” he said.

“You told me that you would liquidate the company for the Ingersolls and track down Tyler Page.”

“Right. I'm real clear on those two points. But what about us?”

She went very still in front of the fire. “Are you asking me if I'm interested in continuing our affair after whatever happens”—she waved a hand—“happens?”

“Yes.” He watched her, aware that inside he was coiled so tightly he was afraid he might snap. “That's what I'm asking.”

She did not take her eyes off the flames. “Don't you think it's a little too soon to be making any long-range decisions in that direction?”

Shit. Now what the hell was he supposed to say? He tried to plow forward, afraid that he was sinking deeper with each step. “What I think is that we're both attracted to each other. We've fought it for six months.”

Her mouth twitched. “We haven't exactly been fighting it this past week.”

“You've got to admit that what we've been doing for the past few days is pretty convincing evidence that we wasted a hell of a lot of time during the past six months.”

She put one hand on the mantel. Her lipstick-red nails glowed like rubies in the flickering light. “You know something? I've been thinking about what's been happening between us since Soft Focus disappeared.”

Hope ignited in him. He took a step toward her and then stopped. “Me too.”

She contemplated him thoughtfully. “We've been thrown together under a highly abnormal set of circumstances. We're both under a lot of stress this week. We're two single, healthy people forced to share the same space. We're united in a mutual goal.”

“I'm probably going to hate myself for asking, but just where are you going with this?”

She began to tap her nails against the mantel. “I'm saying that, what with everything that's happened during the past few days, it's quite possible that we have both experienced an artificial sense of bonding.”

“Is that what you call it? Bonding?”

She pursed her lips. “It seems obvious to me that sex may be our bodies' natural way of relieving the tension in what is, after all, a highly unnatural situation.”

“There is nothing unnatural about it.” His jaw tensed. “Or artificial, either, for that matter.”

“I don't think we should read too much into what's been going on between us during the past few days.”

“You're calling this a one-week stand?”

“What else can we call it?” She swung around to face him. “Don't you understand? We won't really know how we feel about each other until we're back in Seattle. We need to try having a normal relationship before we can decide what this is all about. It's possible that what's happened between us here in Mirror Springs is just one of those things.”

The fierceness that had been gnawing at his insides all evening welled up once more. He took another step toward her. “I already know that I want us to continue sleeping together after we return to whatever passes for a normal life back in Seattle.”

“I think we should go very slowly here. Neither of us should put pressure on the other.”

“Why the hell not?”

She eyed him with an unreadable expression. “Well, for one thing, I've got a rather poor track record when it comes to choosing the right man.”

“I knew it. You don't trust your feelings for me.” He smiled slowly. “Who would have thought that the Ice Princess would be such a coward?”

Anger flared in her eyes. “Don't you dare call me a coward just because I want to make sure that this whole affair amounts to something more than a one-week stand.”

He gathered her into his arms. “What are you afraid of, Elizabeth?”

“I'm not afraid of anything.” She put her hands on his shoulders, holding herself away from him. “I just don't intend to make any more mistakes where you're concerned.”

“For six months we've been stuck together like a couple of staples in a jammed stapler.”

“Oh, that's a romantic image.”

He ignored her. “Now we're sleeping together, which, for my money, is a lot more comfortable. What's wrong with this picture?”

“Nothing, as far as this week goes,” she shot back. “It's comfortable, all right. But I refuse to be pushed into making a sweeping decision about what will happen when this business with Soft Focus is finished. I don't want to go too far out on a limb.”

“When are you going to realize that we've already gone too far out on this branch? You can't turn back now any more than I can.”

She opened her mouth. He realized she was going to continue to argue. He also knew that he was out of words. He kissed her quickly, swallowing her indignant protest with a kiss.

She made a muffled, exasperated sound.

“Okay, okay,” he muttered against her mouth. “No commitments beyond this week. I'll take what I can get and shut up.”

She tilted her head back against his arm. “Will you really? Shut up about it, I mean?”

“It might be a one-week stand, but it's the best week I've
had in six months, even if I have lost my client's only tangible business asset and very possibly my own career.” He lowered the zipper of her gown to her waist. “Which only goes to show how miserable the last six months have been.”

“A COUPLE OF
jammed staples?” she mumbled a long time later.

“I'm a CEO, not a scriptwriter.”

SHE STILL DIDN'T TRUST HIM. OR MAYBE SHE
just didn't trust herself. Either way, the result was the same. He had a problem.

Jack punched up the pillow behind his head so that he could study the dull glow of a cloudy mountain dawn. Beside him, Elizabeth slept soundly, the sweet, lush curve of her derriere settled against his hip. He had called her a coward, but he knew the truth. The tension between them was all his fault, not hers. He had really pissed in his chili six months ago.

The bottom line was that he'd gotten exactly what he'd told himself he wanted: a second chance with Elizabeth in his bed.

Be careful what you wish for . . .

She was willing to have an affair, or at least a one-week fling, but she was not about to commit to anything more. Not yet, at any rate. He had a sudden vision of finding himself back in Seattle and discovering that she intended to see other men while she waited to find out exactly how she felt about him.

The bleak mood that had crowded in on him during those rare hours when he had not been working during the past six
months threatened to settle on him again. But this time he could not escape to the dojo. This time his problem was lying right here beside him.

Somehow he had to make her see that what they had was worth working on—worth a commitment.

He tried to step back mentally and view the situation the way he would any other kind of business problem. He needed a strategy. He was usually pretty good at strategies.

The phone rang, cutting into his swirling thoughts. It was the house phone, he realized. Not his cell phone. Elizabeth stirred beside him as he groped for the receiver.

“Fairfax here.”

“I'm calling for Elizabeth Cabot.”

For a split second he didn't recognize the low, sultry voice. Then it hit him. He sat up suddenly. “Vicky Bellamy?”

There was a slight pause before she said, “May I please speak with Elizabeth?”

“Sure. Right.” He shook Elizabeth gently. “For you.”

She opened her eyes and yawned. “Who is it?”

He put his hand over the mouthpiece. “Vicky Bellamy.”

She snatched the phone from him.

“This is Elizabeth.”

Jack listened intently to the silence while Elizabeth listened to Vicky. He saw her expression change from surprise to cool and shuttered.

“I can handle it,” she said crisply. “I'm really not as naïve as everyone seems to think. Why did you call?”

More silence.

“I understand.” Elizabeth turned toward Jack. “I can promise you that he won't.”

Another pause.

“Yes, of course. I'll be there.” Elizabeth gave the phone back to Jack.

He tossed it down onto the end table. “What did she want?”

Elizabeth sat up amid the tumbled sheets and wrapped her arms around her updrawn knees. “She wants to talk. Privately. She doesn't want Dawson to find out that she's meeting with me.”

Anticipation pumped through him. “How the hell is she going to arrange that?”

“She's got it all figured out,” Elizabeth said thoughtfully. “I got the impression that she spent a lot of time planning this before she called me. I wonder why.”

“Should be interesting.” Energized by the new turn of events, he threw back the covers and got to his feet. Then he remembered something. “What did she say to you when you first took the phone?”

“Hmm?” Elizabeth sounded distracted as she reached for her robe.

“Your answer was ‘I can handle it.' What was the question?”

“Nothing important.” Elizabeth tied the sash. She did not look back at him as she walked toward the bathroom. “She just asked me if I knew what I was doing sleeping with you.”

She disappeared into the bathroom. Jack looked at the closed door for a long moment.
I can handle it
.

THE ONLY LIGHTS
in the empty interior of the Silver Empire Theater were the dimly glowing fixtures located at the ends of the aisles. The details of the ornate ceiling were lost in the darkness overhead. The rows of velvet seats marched down the sloping floor, a regiment of hulking, headless robots frozen in formation. Steeped in the thick gloom, the heavy crimson curtains appeared as dark as
midnight. The thick folds of velvet were drawn closed across the stage, concealing the screen.

“It's a different world when there's no crowd and nothing happening on the screen, isn't it?” Vicky said from somewhere in the darkness.

Elizabeth, poised at the top of one aisle, started slightly at the sound of the other woman's voice. She peered into the depths of the theater, willing her eyes to adjust quickly to the dim light.

“Just isn't the same without the smell of popcorn,” she said.

“That can be faked, too, just like everything else in the movies.” Vicky rose languidly from an end seat. The pale, smoke-colored pantsuit she wore gave her a ghostly look. “Remember what I told you, Elizabeth. In the movies and in life, things are seldom what they seem.”

“It's the same way with business.” Elizabeth started slowly down the aisle. “But I assume you didn't ask me to meet you here just to trade philosophical observations on our respective careers.”

“No, I didn't.” Vicky smiled slightly. “I understand that the Aurora Fund has an old tradition of underwriting business ventures launched by women.”

“The Fund has branched out in recent years, but you're right. Aunt Sybil started it with the goal of helping entrepreneurial women get financial backing when they couldn't secure it from other sources.” Elizabeth halted when she was two rows away from Vicky. “Did you call me because you want to request funding for a business venture?”

“Something along those lines, yes. I'm changing careers. I'm getting out of the film business.”

“I have to say, I'm surprised.”

“It's time to move on. I know that better than anyone.
Whatever chance I had came and went years ago. I'm too old for Hollywood now, and I've decided I've had enough of the independent film industry.”

“You're just going to walk away from your acting?”

“Not bloody likely.” Vicky gave a short, harsh laugh. “I've acted all my life. It's the only thing I know how to do. But I won't be doing it in front of a camera anymore.
Fast Company
will be my last film.”

“I see. And you want the Aurora Fund to underwrite your new career?”

“Not entirely. Just some of the initial start-up expenses. I've always known this day might come.” Vicky hesitated. “I just didn't expect it to come quite so soon. I thought I'd have a little more time.”

A chill went through Elizabeth. She tried and failed to read Vicky's face in the darkness. “What are you going to do?”

“I'm going to disappear.”

Elizabeth felt her jaw unhinge. “Disappear? For heaven's sake, why?”

“It's time.” Vicky gazed out over the rows of velvet seats. “In the old days they used to call women like me adventuresses, you know.”

“I've heard the term.”

“It was a euphemism, of course. What people really meant was that we used sex to get what we wanted. They said that we lured men into our webs and manipulated them as if they were stupid, mindless creatures who thought only with their balls.”

“Femme fatales.”

“Yes. Nice work if you can get it, hmm?” Vicky's eyes were ice cold. “But I can tell you from experience that it isn't as easy as it sounds. For starters, you have to be able to act big time. I mean, you've got to be
good
. Academy Award good.”

Elizabeth nodded. “I can see where it would be difficult to live a lie twenty-four hours a day.”

“The hard part is not letting your so-called victim know that what you really want to do is run into the bathroom and throw up every time you have sex with him.”

“Yes, I can see that would put a strain on a relationship. You were saying something about disappearing.”

“I've got good survival instincts,” Vicky said. “For the past few months they've been telling me that it was time to move on. I should have done it by now, and I would have if it hadn't been for
Fast Company
. I knew it would be my last film. I wanted to see how it would go over in the independent film circuit. But after last night, I knew I couldn't wait any longer. I've pushed my luck as far as it will go.”

“Last night? You mean the red paint incident after the awards ceremony? I thought that was just a publicity stunt. Are you telling me that the stalker is for real?”

“The stalker thing was Dawson's idea. He thought it would help grab some publicity for me during the festival. But last night's assault was not on my schedule. I have a feeling that there may be more incidents like that. One of them will go too far.”

“My God.” Elizabeth stared at her. “Do you think some nutcase has decided to stalk you for real?”

“Nutcase.” Vicky sounded briefly amused. “I wonder if—” She broke off with a shrug. “Doesn't matter, I guess.”

“What's going on here, Vicky?”

Vicky seemed to collect herself. She was abruptly all business. “Dawson handles my publicity. As I said, he came up with the stalker concept. He scripted all the incidents. Hired an out-of-work stuntman to carry them out.”

“A hulking type named Ollie. Wears black leather boots with metal trim on the heels, right?”

“You know about him?” Vicky's eyes narrowed.

“We had a run-in with him and his pal on the road the other night. They said they had been sent to deliver a warning. We figured it came from Dawson.”

“And you ignored it.” Vicky chuckled. “Ollie told Dawson that the warning had been delivered. But obviously that was not the whole story. Not if you managed to learn his name. Dawson would not be pleased if he knew that there had been a screwup.”

“You said last night's stalker incident was not on your schedule?”

Vicky's full mouth tightened. “Dawson arranged the assault, as usual. But he didn't bother to tell me about it until afterward.”

“Why not?”

“He claims that I was getting blasé about the stalker. He said that my reactions were not believable. He thought my acting would improve if I was taken by surprise.”

Elizabeth grimaced. “Some surprise. I can imagine how you must have felt when that jerk threw the paint.”

“I like to think I rose to the occasion,” Vicky said dryly. “But I was furious with Dawson for not warning me. He had promised me that there wouldn't be any more incidents. It was only later that I thought about what you said to me the other day in the spa. I did some checking, and now I'm starting to wonder if Dawson has rewritten the script. Maybe given it a different ending.”

Elizabeth drew a deep breath. “Holland did take out a policy on you, didn't he?”

“Yes.” Vicky's voice was clipped and emotionless. “A business policy. Taken out by the Holland Group. But Dawson is the Holland Group. After you and I spoke, I went on the Internet. Did some research. Found out that you were
right about the deaths of his first two wives. There were rumors and questions, even though Dawson was never officially under suspicion.”

“And after last night, you no longer trust him, is that it?”

Vicky laughed softly, harshly. “I don't trust any man. Professional suicide for an adventuress.”

“I suppose so.”

“I've made my decision. I'm getting out. But it's not going to be simple. Lately Dawson has been acting increasingly possessive. He rarely lets me out of his sight. Right now, for instance, he thinks I'm in the spa. It was the only excuse I could come up with that would allow me to get away from him long enough to see you in private.”

“What do you want from me?”

“I'm going to make you a business proposition,” Vicky said. “Think of it as an application to the Aurora Fund.”

“I'm listening.”

“I've got some information to sell.”

Elizabeth held her breath. “What kind of information?”

“Call it deep background concerning the provenance of a certain item that is scheduled to go up for auction soon.”

Elizabeth reminded herself to breathe. “Go ahead.”

Vicky gave her a cool, knowing look. “I'll tell you everything I know about Dawson's other business here in Mirror Springs. I admit it's not a lot. But you and your friend, Jack Fairfax, might find some of it helpful. At the very least, you won't be going into the auction unprepared.”

“You think we should be prepared?”

Vicky smiled grimly. “If you plan to go up against Dawson Holland, yes, I think you should be prepared. I don't know what it is that's being auctioned off, but I can tell you that Dawson will do whatever is necessary to get his hands on it.”