Soft Focus (7 page)

“I know the feeling.” Unable to think of anything else to do, Elizabeth patted her gently on the shoulder. “Maybe a glass of cold water?”

“Stay away from him. He'll only use you.”

“I have no interest in your husband, Mrs. Shaw.”

“I saw the way he looked at you tonight.” Gillian blotted her eyes. “I know he wants you.”

“I don't want him,” Elizabeth said gently.

“I don't believe you.” Gillian lowered the soaked tissues. Her voice rose. “Of course you want him. Just like I did. Until I found out what he was really like, that is.”

Elizabeth was about to argue the point when she felt the familiar tingling. Simultaneously a lean, dark figure appeared in the hall behind Gillian.

“Ready to go home, honey?” Jack walked toward her with assured arrogance. His tone was unmistakably intimate, bordering on the possessive. “It's getting late, and we've got a long trip ahead of us tomorrow.”

At the sound of his voice, Gillian raised her head sharply and quickly blotted away the rest of her tears. “Oh, damn. This is so embarrassing.”

Elizabeth looked past her at Jack. Unseen by Gillian, he raised his brows and smiled with cool, knowing amusement. He was coming to her rescue, and he knew she didn't like it. He also knew full well that she was in no position to refuse his help.

“I'm ready, Jack.” She managed a bright little smile. “I was just having a word with Mrs. Shaw. Have you met her? Gillian, this is Jack Fairfax.”

“Gillian and I know each other,” Jack said with surprising gentleness.

“Hello, Jack.” Gillian blinked away the rest of her tears and gave him a watery smile. “Sorry about the scene.”

“Forget it.”

“I heard you took over Excalibur a few months ago. How are things going there?”

“We've been busy.” Jack took Elizabeth's arm, casually proprietary. “But Elizabeth and I finally managed to clear our calendars for the same week. We're going on vacation tomorrow. I think we both need one, don't we, honey?”

Elizabeth kept her smile fixed in place, but it wasn't easy. “We certainly do.”

“I don't understand.” Watery confusion glittered in Gillian's eyes. She glanced from Jack's face to Elizabeth's and then back again. “You're going away together?”

“That's right,” Jack said. “Been looking forward to it for weeks.”

“I see.” Gillian looked as if she was having a problem assimilating the data. “I hadn't realized that you two were seeing each other.”

“We've kept it quiet.” Elizabeth gave Jack a warning smile. “For business reasons.”

“Are you going to the coast?” Gillian asked.

“No.” Jack tightened his fingers on Elizabeth's arm. “We're going to a resort in the Rockies. No fax, no phones, no E-mail. Just the two of us alone in the woods. But we've got an early plane to catch, so I'm afraid you're going to have to excuse us.”

“Yes, of course,” Gillian murmured. She blotted her eyes one last time and gave Jack a warm, tremulous smile. “Have a good time.”

“Thanks. We intend to do just that.”

He turned Elizabeth and steered her down the hall toward the lobby.

Neither spoke until they walked outside and came to a
halt beneath the bright lights that illuminated the hotel's front entrance.

“Don't look back. She followed us into the lobby,” Jack said.

“I'm not surprised. She's very upset.”

“It will look better if we share a cab,” Jack said.

Elizabeth said nothing, just gave a clipped nod, acknowledging the suggestion. He was right. If Gillian was watching them, it would be better if they left together.

Jack signaled the doorman, who raised a whistle to summon the next cab in line. When the door opened, Elizabeth slipped quickly into the rear seat. Jack got in beside her. The door closed.

The back of the cab suddenly seemed like a very small, very intimate space.

Elizabeth gazed straight ahead through the window as the taxi pulled out onto the street.

“I suppose I should thank you,” she said stiffly.

“Don't worry, I'm not expecting you to go overboard.”

She groaned and settled back into the seat. “Thank you.”

“You're welcome,” Jack said.

“What happened back there was a little awkward.”

“I sort of figured that,” he said.

“You were right. The divorce is not final.”

Jack slanted her an enigmatic glance. “Told you so.”

She controlled her temper with an effort of will. “Yes. You did, didn't you?”

He did not respond immediately. She glanced warily in his direction and saw that he was looking out the side window of the cab into the night. The weak glare of a streetlight glanced off the strong line of his cheekbones and jaw, leaving his eyes in deep shadows.

“I heard Angela paid you a visit this week,” he said after a while.

The change in topic surprised her. “Angela generally comes to my office twice a month. What about it?”

“What did she want this time?”

Elizabeth thought about the unpleasant scene that had taken place three days earlier. Angela Ingersoll Burrows was a tall, striking, formidable woman. Her marriage of fifteen years had ended abruptly when her fifty-three-year-old, mild-mannered husband had stunned everyone by running off with his twenty-two-year-old secretary. Left with a teenage son to raise, Angela now focused most of her time and attention on making certain that her only offspring received what she considered his fair share of the family inheritance. The family inheritance consisted solely of the assets of Excalibur.

“We talked about her usual concerns,” Elizabeth said as diplomatically as possible. “She wants to see Excalibur sold or merged. She's convinced it's the only way her son will ever see a dime out of Excalibur.”

“What did you tell her?”

“The same thing I tell her every time she comes to see me.”

Jack watched her from the shadows. “Which is?”

She flexed her fingers around the edge of her evening bag and kept her voice very flat. “Which is that you are Excalibur's best hope and that, therefore, her son's best chance of coming into a significant inheritance from Excalibur rests with you.”

There was another short, heavy silence. Jack shifted slightly in the seat, seeming to settle deeper into the shadows.

“You backed me,” he said.

“Yes.”

“You always do. Not just when it comes to dealing with Angela but on the board, as well.” He sounded as if he were
making an observation about rain in Seattle. It was expected, it was routine, it was predictable. Still, it warranted comment. “Why?”

She was almost amused by the question. “You and I have our differences, but I've never quarreled with the fact that you are very good at what you do. If Excalibur has any chance at all, it lies with you.”

“In other words, your decision to back my decisions as CEO is just a business move on your part,” he said neutrally.

“What else could it be except a business move?”

“Damned if I know,” he said. He looked at her. “We've both got a mutual interest in recovering Soft Focus. Since you insist on coming along for the ride—”

“I'm not along for the ride,” she said tightly. “I'm a full-fledged partner in this thing.”

“All right, partner, what do you say we try to cooperate until we get our hands on that damned crystal?”

“Define cooperate.”

“I figure it's like porn,” Jack said. “You know it when you see it.”

THE TIMBERED HOUSE WAS DESIGNER RUSTIC.
With its burnished wooden walls, steeply sloped roofline, and expansive windows angled to capture the view, it looked like something off the cover of a high-end resort-and-travel magazine. Night had fallen, but there was sufficient golden light pouring through the windows onto the deck to illuminate a hot tub. It looked large enough to hold half a dozen people, provided they were feeling friendly. There was a massive, high-tech, state-of-the-art stainless steel outdoor grill next to the tub. Thickly padded loungers and a table completed the outdoor furnishings.

And this was just the outside.

Trust Elizabeth to land digs like these on short notice in a sold-out town.

Jack glanced again at the covered hot tub. An image of Elizabeth sitting naked in the bubbling water flashed across his brain. He took a deep breath of the very crisp, impossibly pure mountain air and counted backward from ten. When he got to zero he realized he was still semi-erect. He was also a little light-headed. He reminded himself that it took a while to adjust to the altitude.

He forced his attention away from the hot-tub fantasy and concentrated on the problem at hand. No matter how he played it, he was going to look less than brilliant. He dropped his duffel bag in front of the door and banged the brass, bird-headed knocker. This was not going to be easy.

He planted one hand against the wall while he waited for Elizabeth to respond and studied the view. The lights of the expensive condos and homes that climbed the hillsides above the village of Mirror Springs twinkled in the night. Down below he could see the glow of the shops and restaurants housed in the carefully restored Victorian-era business district. The brightest lights of all were those that marked the entrance of the Silver Empire Theater, one of the focal points of the film festival activities.

“Who is it?” Elizabeth's voice was muffled by the heavy wooden door.

He steeled himself. “Jack.”

There was a short pause. He made the mistake of holding his breath again. Then he heard the sound of the dead bolt being disengaged. The door opened.

Elizabeth stood in the cozy glow of the fire. She was dressed in a black cowl-necked sweater made of some soft, cuddly-looking material. It fell to a point just below her hips. In addition to the sweater she wore a pair of snug black velvet leggings. Her dark hair was brushed straight back and secured at the nape with a silver clasp.

She gazed at him with that cautious, watchful expression that made him want to grind his teeth.

“What are you doing here?” she asked. “I thought we agreed that we would meet for dinner somewhere in the village after we each got unpacked. You said we could go over our game plan then.”

“A problem has arisen.”

The caution in her eyes turned to suspicion. “What kind of problem?”

“When I tried to check in at the resort I was told that there were no rooms available.”

“So?”

“So,” he said very deliberately, “I haven't got a place to stay.”

Suspicion congealed into accusation in her gaze. “You said you knew some people who could pull some strings to get you a room.”

“The strings broke.”

“I see.” She propped one shoulder against the doorjamb and folded her arms beneath her breasts. “What do you expect me to do about it?”

He glanced through the doorway at the high, vaulted ceiling and the expansive, warmly furnished great room behind her. A cheerful-looking fire burned in a handsome stone fireplace. He could see a staircase that led to two sleeping lofts that overlooked the central room.

He cleared his throat. “I thought maybe you could let me share this place.”

“Now, why would I do that?”

“Because we're supposed to be cooperating.” He switched his gaze back to her. “Look, I'm sorry about this, but the whole damn town is filled to capacity. The people at the hotel said there was absolutely nothing else available anywhere nearby. I promise I won't leave my socks lying around on the floor, and I'll try to remember to put the seat down in the john.”

She deliberated a moment longer, her eyes cool and enigmatic. Then, with a small, resigned groan, she straightened away from the jamb. “I should have known something like this would happen. Okay, you can share this place. There are
two bathrooms. You can do whatever you want with the seat in yours.”

“Thanks.” A heady sense of relief and anticipation swept through him. Probably just the altitude again. He'd get acclimated soon. “I owe you.”

“You certainly do.” She stepped back to allow him to enter.

She made him feel the way Dracula must have felt when he wangled the invitation to cross the threshold, he thought. He picked up the duffel and went through the doorway.

He glanced around at the gleaming wooden floors, the deep-pile rug in front of the fire, and the plush, leather furnishings. “I don't see a stuffed moose head mounted on the wall. Shouldn't there be a moose head?”

“If you want a moose head, you'll have to supply it yourself.”

“That's okay, I'm adaptable. I can make do without the moose head.”

She gave him a brief, reluctant smile that hit him straight in the gut because it brought back memories of all the radiant smiles he'd received from her B.D. Before the Disaster.

She gestured toward the stairs. “I've already settled into the loft on the left. You can have the one on the right.”

“No problem.” He crossed the room to the stairs before she could change her mind. “Just give me a few minutes to unpack. Then we can drive into the village to grab a bite to eat. I may have screwed up with my hotel arrangements, but I think I can redeem myself.”

“Really?” She sounded distinctly skeptical. “How?”

He glanced back over his shoulder as he started up the stairs. “I've kept Larry busy for the past couple of days gathering background info on the other people involved in
Fast Company
.”

“Who's Larry?”

“The computer whiz I told you about. He's also my half brother.”

She looked surprised. “I didn't know you had a half brother.”

“I've got two of them. It's sort of complicated.” He reached the landing, turned right, and set the duffel on the bench at the foot of the bed. “Anyhow, I told Larry to concentrate on the money people, but I also had him give me anything else he could dig up on the writer, the actors, the director, and everyone else involved in the film.”

“And?”

“And, not surprisingly, they're all scheduled to be here in Mirror Springs this week.” He unzipped the duffel. “I figure we should be able to track down some of them. Maybe one of them can give us a lead on Page.”

“The town is crammed with people. How are we going to find the people involved in
Fast Company
?”

He dropped a folded shirt on the bed, walked to the railing, and looked down at her. “Thought we'd start by attending a party scheduled for tomorrow night.”

“A party?”

“The guy who's throwing it is the film's real moneyman. His name doesn't appear in the credits, but he's the one who structured the financing package for
Fast Company
. His name is Dawson Holland.”

She was starting to look intrigued. “Interesting.”

“There's more.” He folded his arms on the railing. “Holland's wife is Victoria Bellamy.”

Elizabeth frowned. “The star of the film?”

“Right. What do you want to bet she's the reason he backed the picture in the first place?”

“So that she could star in it?”

“Why not?” Jack straightened and went back to the duffel
bag. “He wouldn't be the first man to finance a film in order to give the woman he loved a role in it.”

“No, I guess not.” Another pause. “How do you suggest we get into this party without an invitation?”

“Easy. If anyone questions us, we'll just tell them the truth.”

“Which is?”

“We know the producer,” Jack said. “Tyler Page.”

THE INTERIOR OF
the Reflections café exuded a chic, contemporary ambience in spite of its Victorian-era bones. Elizabeth glanced around as she took her seat. Like virtually everything else in Mirror Springs, the restaurant glowed with the expensive, golden aura associated with glossy travel-magazine ads.

A fire crackled on the huge hearth. The light gleamed on a lot of wooden surfaces and cast intimate shadows. The diners all looked as if they had just flown in from L.A. or New York. Pleated black trousers, slouchy linen jackets, and black shirts unbuttoned far enough to show off a lot of chest hair were prevalent. So were sleek little black dresses. Those who weren't wearing black were in denim.

This wasn't the Hollywood studio crowd, Elizabeth reminded herself. These were the independent and fringe filmmakers and their fans; people devoted to the kind of small, arty films that would never appear at the mall multi-plexes. She knew enough about the independent film business to know that festivals such as the Neo Noir event here in Mirror Springs constituted the only venues for the vast majority of the small, low-budget pictures made by this group.

There was something oddly touching about the passion and enthusiasm she heard in the conversations taking place at nearby tables.

“. . . incredible imagery in her stuff. She uses the language of film to create a completely separate reality . . .”

“Very Chandleresque, of course. Great visual style. No real narrative closure . . .”

“. . . couldn't get away with letting the killer live in the old days. The Production Code was very strict. The murderer always had to die in the end . . .”

Elizabeth looked across the table at Jack. She had probably made a huge mistake when she had agreed to let him share the house with her. But what was she supposed to do, given the circumstances? She watched him wrap a strong, long-fingered hand around the glass of zinfandel that had just been placed in front of him. Machiavellian fingers, she reminded herself. She must not forget that.

He noticed her staring at his hands and cocked an inquisitive brow. “Something wrong?”

“No.” She picked up her menu.

“You notice anything strange about this town?” he asked.

She tried a sip of her Chardonnay and then carefully set down the glass. “You mean like the fact that the sidewalks are spotless and there are no signs of any homeless people and every other business in town is either a cute restaurant or an art gallery?”

“Yeah. Like that.”

She shrugged. “Best zoning ordinances money can buy, I imagine.”

Jack nodded. He watched her for a moment over the rim of his glass. “So you want to talk about it?”

“The Mirror Springs zoning laws?”

“No.” He paused very deliberately. “Us.”

She felt as if all the air had just been sucked out of the room. A direct confrontation was the last thing she had
expected. But then, this was Jack Fairfax. Expect the unexpected.

“No,” she said very carefully.

He held her eyes. “We're going to have to work closely together for the next few days. Might help if we clear the air.”

What was going on here? In her experience men generally avoided this kind of conversation. She took a couple of deep breaths and told herself to stay focused.

“What's to clear?” She was pleased with the way that came out. Casual. Cool. Uncaring. Downright heartless. “There's no reason to dig up the past. I prefer to let it stay buried.”

She must have got the tone right, because Jack's eyes hardened. His voice, however, was steady. Relentless.

“Let's get one thing straight,” he said coldly. “What happened at Galloway, Inc., was not personal. Morgan hired me to design the acquisition strategy, and that's what I did. I'm a consultant, Elizabeth. I do stuff like that all the time.”

Just like that, all her good intentions went out the window. The outrage, anger, and raw hurt that she thought she had successfully suppressed suddenly threatened to erupt like lava through ice. She had to fight to keep her voice from shaking.

“No, you do not do stuff like that all the time, Jack. I did some checking after I found out who you really are.”

“Who I really am?” He gave her a derisive look. “You make it sound like I've got a secret identity.”

“As far as I'm concerned, that's what it amounted to. As I said, I did some research and I discovered that the Galloway deal was definitely not your usual kind of job. You went after that company like a shark. Don't you dare sit there and tell me it wasn't personal.”

“It was business.”

“You destroyed Galloway. A lot of people got hurt in that takeover, including the nice old lady who had given them all jobs in her firm.”