Soft Focus (9 page)

Vicky grimaced. “I wound up with a lot of red paint on my clothes, as usual. It's the third time the bastard has struck in the past month. I think Dawson is getting worried.”

Elizabeth stared at her. “You're being
stalked
?”

“Some idiot has decided that I'm the incarnation of a
biblical harlot. He started stalking me about a month ago.” Vicky made a circular motion with her finger near her ear. “A real loony.”

“Good grief,” Elizabeth whispered. “I can't imagine anything more terrifying than being stalked.”

Vicky's jaw tightened. “It is a little scary, I admit. Dawson is more concerned than I am.”

“What are the police doing about it?” Elizabeth demanded.

“There's not much they can do. The police chief here in town is a man named Gresham. He's very nice and very earnest, but the fact is, he's got a very small force and it's not exactly high-tech or state of the art. This week it's probably overwhelmed with the crowd that's in town for the festival.”

“Maybe Dawson should hire a bodyguard for you,” Spencer suggested with an odd look. “He can afford one.”

“He's mentioned it,” Vicky said vaguely. “But I've asked him to hold off for a while. I really hate the thought of having to have a bodyguard. I'm hoping the police will catch him before we have to go that route.”

“Good luck,” Spencer mumbled into his drink.

“Thanks.” Vicky stepped back. “Well, if you'll excuse me, I'd better keep circulating. Enjoy yourselves.”

Spencer watched her disappear into the crowd. Elizabeth noticed that several other men and one or two women did the same. She thought about what Jack had said earlier and decided to run Spencer through a test.

“She's really beautiful, isn't she?” Elizabeth asked casually.

“Yeah,” Spencer replied. “The amazing thing is that she's not a half-bad actress. Not Hollywood material, but not bad.”

“I feel sorry for her. That stalker stuff must be very frightening.”

Spencer gave a short bark that was probably meant to be a laugh. “I wouldn't worry too much about Vicky and her stalker if I were you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Five will get you ten that it's all a publicity stunt. Probably dreamed up by Vicky herself.”

Elizabeth felt her jaw drop. “Are you serious?”

“Sure.” Spencer seemed amused by her reaction. “Hey, this may not be Hollywood, but this is still the movie business, lady. For someone like Vicky Bellamy, publicity is interchangeable with blood in her veins.”

“That sounds a little cold.”

“You kidding?” Spencer drained his glass. “I'll bet Vicky has to drink antifreeze in her orange juice every morning to keep herself from freezing solid.”

“THE THING ABOUT
noir is that it all hinges on vision and lighting,” Bernard Aston declared. “You gotta have vision and lighting.”

“And money,” Jack said.

He glanced around the room, searching for Elizabeth. He hoped she was having better luck than he was. Thus far he had talked to a lighting technician, a member of the camera crew, and two people who claimed to have had walk-ons in
Fast Company
. None of them seemed to know or care about Tyler Page. He had finally managed to track down the director, but Aston wasn't proving any more helpful than the others.

Bernard was short and heavy, and he had left his designer denim shirt unbuttoned a little too far down his chest. The silver ankh dangling in the sparse gray hair that covered his midsection and the straggly ponytail did nothing to enhance the image Jack suspected he was trying to project.

“Lining up the money is the producer's problem. As the director, I gotta stay focused on vision and lighting,” Bernard explained.

“Sure. But with Dawson Holland handling the financing, you had the luxury of staying focused, didn't you?”

“Shit. Holland was a pain in the ass right from the start. He made it clear that the main condition for financing
Fast Company
was the female lead for Vicky. It wasn't easy making her look good, I can tell you that. Woman can't act her way out of a paper bag.”

Jack glanced up at one of the huge posters that dangled from the high ceiling. “She looks pretty good in that shot.”

“Vision and lighting.” Aston removed the olive from his martini and popped it into his mouth. “Vicky was a pain in the ass, too. Never made it in Hollywood, you know.”

Jack suspected that Vicky was not the only one present tonight who had failed to make it in Hollywood.

He was formulating a question that would lead to the subject of Tyler Page, when Aston glanced past him and raised his martini in a careless salute.

“Nice party, Holland,” Aston said.

“Don't thank me, thank Vicky. She handles things like this. Glad you could make it, Aston.”

Jack turned very casually at the sound of the dry, cultured voice. He took in Dawson Holland with a quick glance, measuring him against the information Larry had supplied.

At fifty-seven he was more than twenty years older than his wife, but if Larry hadn't supplied the age factor, it would have been tough to guess. He had refined, ascetic features and a judicious amount of silver in his hair. “Distinguished looking” was the phrase that most people would probably come up with to describe him, Jack thought. Holland moved with the athletic ease of a man who took care of his body. He
was wearing a black silk shirt and black trousers, but he somehow managed to carry off the look without appearing too painfully L.A.

He looked at Jack and smiled slightly. His gray eyes were politely quizzical. “Don't believe we've met.”

“Jack Fairfax.” Jack held out his hand. “And no, you didn't invite me. My date and I crashed your party. Our only excuse is that we know the producer. Or at least, the guy who got the credit in the film. Tyler Page.”

“No problem, Jack.” Holland's handshake was as solid as a banker's. “Business associates of people who pour money into films are always welcome here. Are you interested in getting into the game yourself?”

“I don't know.” Jack glanced meaningfully at the posters. “Looks expensive. And I hear the independent film business is a real crapshoot from a financial point of view.”

“Tell me about it.” Dawson's chuckle was easy, unforced. “But there's nothing quite like the final product, eh, Aston?”

“No.” Aston's eyes gleamed briefly. “Nothing else in the whole damn world like making pictures.”

“Are you and your friend here for the festival, Jack?” Dawson asked.

“My friend likes old movies.” Jack shrugged. “So we're here for the whole week.”

“Your friend has good taste.” Dawson winked. “Besides, it usually pays to please the ladies.”

Jack glanced across the room and saw Elizabeth. She was chatting earnestly with a young man in glasses.

“Some ladies are a lot harder to please than others,” he said.

DAWSON LOUNGED BACK AGAINST THE PILLOWS
and watched Vicky come out of the turquoise and white tiled bath. She wore the robe she had brought back with her from Paris last month. It was made of heavy maroon silk decorated with elaborately stitched flowers. Her hair was piled on top of her head.

She had removed her makeup. Even without it she was still stunning. His two previous wives had both been beautiful, but neither of them could hold a candle to Vicky.

He felt the familiar heaviness between his legs. He knew that a lot of men never got past Vicky's beauty. The fools never noticed the razor-sharp brain. But he had noticed. That was why she was with him instead of some other man. Vicky traded on her beauty, but she had only disdain for men who could not see beyond it or who did not care what lay beneath the surface.

He thought fleetingly about the redhead in L.A. last month. He could not recall her name, just the nice tits.
Not nearly as nice as Vicky's.
He gave a small inward sigh and wondered again why he bothered with the one-night stands. None of the other women he had been with during the past two years since his marriage to Vicky meant anything to
him. They were nameless and faceless. When he came with one of them, he usually fantasized that he was with Vicky.

Why the hell did he waste his time with the others when he had a woman like this in his bed? he wondered. It was a question that had begun to bother him more and more frequently during the past few months. Maybe he should see a shrink, he thought.

He watched Vicky sit down on the white velvet chair in front of the dressing table and cross her long legs. One high-heeled slipper dangled.

“I thought it went well tonight,” he said. “You were spectacular, as always.”

“Thank you.” She swung one ankle absently and met his eyes in the mirror. “We may have a problem with the stalker thing, though.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I think people are starting to conclude that it's just a publicity stunt. Spencer West mentioned it. I could tell that he had his doubts, and I'm pretty sure he's not the only one. Maybe it's time to end it.”

“Let's let it run through the festival. The local paper gave you several column inches after the last incident. So what if a few people suspect it's a stunt? No big deal. We'll get our money's worth out of it.”

She smiled. “You mean
your
money's worth.”

“My pleasure, I assure you. If it helps to advance your career, I consider it a worthwhile investment.”

Vicky's smiled faded. She regarded him with a somber, considering look. “You're very good to me, Dawson.”

“I enjoy being good to you, my dear.”

She uncrossed her legs, stood, and unbelted the silk robe. She wore nothing underneath.

Dawson felt himself grow rock hard. “Damn, but you're beautiful.”

She smiled again, turned out the light, and came to him in the darkness. When she took him into her mouth he felt as though he had been swept up and roiled in a tidal wave. With the others he had to do all the work. But Vicky made love to him with the skill of a trained courtesan. All he had to do was lie back and give himself over to the thrill of the experience.

His questions about the fling with the redhead in L.A. evaporated. Vicky would never know about the others, he promised himself as she flowed across his body. He was always very careful.

He liked to think that he practiced discretion out of consideration for her. She was his wife, after all. She deserved at least that.

Just before the powerful orgasm seized him and shook him until he was limp, he thought about the way Jack Fairfax had studied one of the posters featuring Vicky in
Fast Company
. There had been a calculating look in his eyes. Probably imagining what it would be like to have Vicky in his bed.

Fairfax would never know the answer to that question, Dawson thought, because, unlike his first two wives, Vicky did not cheat.

Her priorities in life had been obvious from the outset: She craved the financial security his money provided, and she wanted to star in films. Although she could act her way through an orgasm as well as any woman he had ever known, he was almost certain that she had no great personal interest in sex. It was simply the commodity she offered in exchange for what he could give her.

She was expensive, but she was worth it. He'd had a lot of women in his bed, but never one like Vicky.

Later, just before he collapsed, exhausted, from the sex, he wondered again why he bothered with the others.

JACK SETTLED DEEPER INTO THE SIMMERING
waters of the hot tub. The steam that rose from the surface was invisible in the darkness, but he could feel the cloud of warmth that enveloped the pool.

He had not turned on any lights when he had come downstairs a few minutes ago. He had left the underwater lamps inside the tub off, too. The only illumination on the deck came from the cold glow of the moon and the stars.

He stretched his arms out along the edge of the tub on either side and leaned back to contemplate the late-night sky. It was after two in the morning. He and Elizabeth had returned to the house shortly before one.

As far as he could tell, she had gone straight to sleep, which, for some obscure reason, irritated him. How could she drop off so easily while he lay there staring through the glass at the night-shrouded mountain? The answer was all too obvious. The fact that he was in a bed a short distance away from her didn't affect her one damn bit.

He had eventually concluded that he might be able to think more clearly out here in the hot tub. He got some of his best ideas in the middle of the night, he reflected. But there
was some risk involved, because he had also been known to come up with some of his dumbest ideas at night. Take the decision to start an affair with Elizabeth before he told her that he had been the man behind the Galloway takeover. Six months ago, that brilliant idea had come to him shortly after three in the morning.

He listened to the muted hum of the hot-tub motor and the soft bubbling of the churning water. The only other sound was the faint sighing of nearby tree branches.

It occurred to him that for most of his adult life he had taken for granted his ability to focus on a specific goal. His father, Sawyer Fairfax, had once told him it was a gift, like being able to write music or paint pictures. It was like anything else, Sawyer had told him. Use it or lose it. Jack had used it.

His big mistake six months ago, he decided, had been trying to concentrate on two goals simultaneously: Elizabeth and Excalibur.

He had lost the first and was precariously close to losing the second.

He heard the sliding glass door open behind him.

“Jack?” Elizabeth's voice was sharp with curiosity. “What in the world are you doing out here?”

“Thinking.”

“Oh.” There was a short pause. “Give me a minute. I'll join you.”

“I'm not sure that would be a good idea,” he said softly. Much too softly for her to hear.

She vanished back inside the house. A light came on upstairs. A short time later she reappeared. Jack watched her walk toward him through the shadows. She was enveloped in a fluffy white toweling robe.

A surge of heat went through him as she undid the sash of
the robe. She should have turned off the light before coming back down here, he thought. There was just enough glow spilling from the upstairs windows to enable him to see her.

If she expected him to simply ignore her while she climbed into a hot tub with him, she could damn well think again.

She slipped out of the robe, revealing the one-piece bathing suit she wore. So much for his fantasy of getting naked with her in a hot tub.

She frowned at him as she climbed cautiously into the tub. “Care to share the joke?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because it's on me.”

She gave him another quick, unreadable look and then settled down on one of the benches. In the shadows he could see the water frothing around the gentle swell of her breasts, but everything beneath the surface was concealed. He would have to use his imagination, he decided. Then again, maybe that wasn't such a terrific idea, either.

“Couldn't sleep after all?” he asked.

“I did for a while. But I woke up a few minutes ago and started thinking.” She tilted her head back against the edge of the tub. “We didn't make much progress tonight, did we?”

“I wouldn't say that. We identified a lot of the people who knew Tyler Page on the set of
Fast Company
. One of them might be able to give us some idea of where he is now.”

“Mirror Springs is filled with people. If he's staying somewhere in town, he must have made his reservations weeks ago. Maybe we should—”

“Forget it. I had Larry check out that angle first. There's no record of a Tyler Page registered at any hotel, motel, or bed-and-breakfast in town or anywhere nearby. If he's here,
he's hiding under another name. And according to Larry, he's still not using his credit cards.”

Elizabeth pondered that for a moment. “If he made reservations several weeks back under an assumed name and booked them without using a credit card or check, he must have planned to steal the specimen some time ago. This wasn't a spur-of-the-moment thing.”

“Nope. Looks like the little SOB planned it for quite a while.”

“All this crafty, detail-oriented plotting doesn't quite fit with what you've told me about his personality. You said he was absentminded and something of a slob. Except when it came to his work.”

“Maybe he considered the theft part of his research and development of the crystal,” Jack said. “Gave the project the same kind of attention he gave his work.”

“Or maybe he had a little help,” Elizabeth suggested quietly.

Jack groaned and settled deeper into the tub. “I've been trying not to think about that possibility. If there's more than one person involved in this thing, it's going to get much more complicated.”

“But it is a possibility.”

“Yeah, it's a possibility. But on the positive side, there's no one else mysteriously missing from the lab where Tyler Page worked. He seems to have had no close friends or relatives.”

“What about a lover?”

Jack grunted. “Everyone who knew him at Excalibur says he didn't have a love life. Didn't seem to be interested in women.”

“Men?”

Jack shook his head. “Or men, either. All he cared about was Soft Focus and making movies.”

She closed her eyes. “We might not find him, Jack.”

He flexed his fingers around the edge of the tub. “We'll find him. He'll turn up here at the festival. He won't be able to resist.”

“You're very sure of that, aren't you?”

“Like I said, when you know a man's greatest passion, you know his greatest weakness.
Fast Company
is Page's passion. Sooner or later, he'll turn up. I still think he'll try to sell the crystal back to me.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“There's nothing else he can do with it except sell it. I'm his best potential buyer.”

She opened her eyes and looked at him. “A couple of days ago you made some comment about not letting Tyler Page ruin your professional reputation. But what will you really do if we don't get the specimen back in time for the Veltran presentation?”

“I'm committed to saving Excalibur,” he said evenly.

“And your reputation.”

“And my reputation,” he agreed.

“You picked a hard one this time, Jack. But most of them have been hard, haven't they?”

He glanced at her. “What are we talking about now?”

“The kind of work you do. I did some checking during the past six months. Excalibur isn't the first small, family-held company you've tried to save. Why?”

What was this all about? he wondered. Why was she getting so intense? “Turning around companies like Excalibur is what I do.”

“Maybe, but I would have figured that you were too smart to waste your time with a company facing the kind of odds Excalibur is facing.”

“I like the odds.”

“Even if you get Soft Focus back, you can't be sure the firm will have the resources to take it to market.”

“If we get it back, I can get it to market.”

“Why don't you cut your losses and go find another client?”

He looked at her across the foaming water. “I don't walk away from a client after I sign the contract.”

“That brings up another question. I made some calls. Asked some people I know about some of your past contracts. I noticed a pattern.”

“What the hell is this? Have you spent the past six months setting up a file on me?”

“I didn't spend the
entire
time setting up the file,” she said. “Just some of the time.”

He was dumbfounded. She'd made a file? On him? He didn't know whether to be angry or wary or flattered.

“Well, hell,” he finally said neutrally.

“I noticed that you almost always sign on with small, struggling, closely held or family-held companies. The contract you signed with Morgan to strategize the Galloway takeover was an exception to your usual pattern.”

He looked up at the stars. “I needed a company the size of Morgan to make it happen. A small operation wouldn't have had the resources or the incentive to do the job.”

She smiled thinly. “And you were bound and determined to have your revenge on Galloway, weren't you?”

He said nothing.

“Tell me,” she said, “why do you only work for small, privately held firms? I would think that, generally speaking, the larger the company, the bigger the payoff for a turnaround consultant. Everyone knows about those golden parachutes executives in your position usually get when they take the helm of a major firm. Even if the companies go under, they
routinely walk away with huge bonuses in addition to their salaries. But you don't sign contracts like those.”

“You know that for a fact, huh?”

“Your business life history is in my file.”

“Huh.” A file. On him.

“Care to explain?” she prodded.

He chose his words with caution. “I like working with the small family-helds. I have greater control. More opportunity to affect the outcome. And there are no stockholders to appease.”

She gave him a look of mingled amusement and disbelief. “You're telling me that you actually prefer dealing with squabbling family members like the ones on the Excalibur board?”

Her wry tone made him grin briefly. “I'll admit that handling the Ingersolls, especially Angela, is a challenge. Want to know a deep, dark secret?”

“What's that?”

“There have been times during the past six months when I've been damned glad you forced me to give you a seat on the board.”

She gave him a knowing look. “You've used me to back you up, haven't you?”

“Yeah.”

“Nice to know I haven't been a complete and unmitigated thorn in your side.”

“I didn't say you weren't a thorn in my side, just that you've been a useful thorn.”

She studied him for a while. “So it's the challenge and the sense of control?”

“Now what are you talking about?”

“The reasons why you almost always work for the little firms. You like the challenge and the control you have in those kinds of turnaround situations.”

“Like I said, it's what I do.”

“How very macho.” Her mouth curved slightly. “The modern equivalent of the hired gun back in the days of the Wild West. Loyal to your employer come hell or high water. When the job is done, you ride off into the sunset.”

He did not respond.

“I think there's more to it than that, Jack,” she said very softly.

“Mind telling me why we're having this conversation?”

“Probably because it's after two o'clock in the morning.” She paused. “Maybe I shouldn't have come out here.”

“Maybe not.”

She stood up abruptly in the churning water. The wet bathing suit clung, sleek and snug, to her slender waist and full hips. “This discussion appears to be deteriorating. I think I'll go back to bed.”

He watched her climb out of the hot tub. “You really have a file on me?”

“A nice thick one.” She pulled on her robe. “I just hope for both our sakes that you're as good as your track record says you are.”

She turned and walked toward the darkened doorway.

“Yeah, me too.” He stood up, strode through the frothing water to the tub steps, and climbed out.

“For heaven's sake, Jack.”

He paused in the act of wrapping the towel around his waist and glanced toward the doorway. “Now what?”

She stared at him for a few seconds. Then she looked quickly away.

“Nothing.” Her voice sounded oddly muffled.

“What the hell is wrong?”

“I didn't realize—” She had her back to him. “I mean, I just assumed that you were wearing a bathing suit, too.”

“Why would I wear a suit? Hell, I didn't even bring one with me.”