A First Date with Death (3 page)

F
irst I fought the wave of nausea that swept through my body, then the urge to punch Paul in the face.

Harris introduced him as “Paul, the Insurance Salesman.” Paul flashed a grin at Harris and said, “Thanks for the warm welcome.”

He turned to me and outstretched his hand. “So nice to meet you.”

What kind of charade was this?

Nice to
meet
you?

There was something in his eyes. A warning.
Play along, Georgia,
it said.

I clenched my teeth and gripped his hand. A zing, on par with a full-on electric shock, zapped through my waist and hips. I didn’t trust my voice, so I said nothing.

I glimpsed myself in the mirror over the fireplace and realized that I looked mean. Downright hard. Why would any of these guys want to date me? I forced a smile.

Paul smiled back. He looked every bit as Hollywood-handsome as the others did.

He released my hand and took a seat on the couch next to Ty, who touched the brim of his hat and winked at me.

Harris clapped his hands loudly. “So, Georgia, you’ve met your eligible bachelors—or not so eligible.” He gave a little shake of his head as if he had just amused himself to no end. “You will select five for your first group date and tomorrow the fun will begin.”

It dawned on me then: The introduction to Paul was meant to replace meeting Aaron. Redo, re-create. A little Hollywood magic, some snips and edits, and Aaron never existed.

“Cut,” Cheryl yelled.

The cameramen took their units off their shoulders and left the area, presumably heading to the craft services area they had set up next door with unlimited coffee and tables overflowing with pastries.

“Okay,” Cheryl continued, “gentlemen, go change, then come back to this room and lounge around waiting for the invite card. Georgia, you can go get ready for the date.”

It was an order, not a request.

I never did well with orders; my stomach churned at the thought that that very trait had been one of the reasons for the end of my police career and likely even one of the reasons for the end of my engagement with Paul. But, hell, sometimes you can’t fight your nature.

“What’s going on?” I demanded.

Harris linked his arm through mine. “I know you’re probably watching your figure, but they have amazing doughnut holes next door. Why don’t you have one? I’ll watch your figure for you.”

He raised his eyebrows at me in what I was sure was supposed to be a flirtatious way, only it came off flat and sort of like a cautionary signal.

I glanced at Paul. His smile was intact but the warning message in his eyes remained.

Everyone was telling me to shut up and leave the room.

•   •   •   •   •   •   •   •   •

“W
e’ll have you change into your date clothes and then you can get back to hair and makeup,” Harris said, as he led me to the craft services area.

I was fuming. “Tell me what’s happening.”

He looked confused. “With what?”

“With what?” I practically screamed at him. “With Aaron, with Paul, with the do-over, with—”

The cameraman at the craft services table stared at us. Becca appeared at my side and grabbed my elbow. “Hey. That was fast,” she said.

Harris ignored Becca. “Well, you were there. You know the poor guy isn’t coming back and we can’t air what we shot. So we’re doing it over on a set, with safety nets.”

Becca glanced at her watch. “In about forty minutes, to be exact—”

Harris laughed. “You better skip the doughnuts, cupcake!” he said, proceeding to pop three doughnut holes into his mouth in rapid succession.

Becca rolled her eyes at him, telegraphing that the conversation was over. Then she piled a plate with cheese and crackers, placing two grapes on top. “One for me, one for you. We need to eat our fruit. Come on. We’ll take this to go.”

“Spill it,” I said the moment we were outside.

She shrugged. “We need to reshoot the first date. What was that about Paul, though?”

“He’s here. He’s the bachelor replacing Aaron.”

Becca’s eyes widened and her jaw dropped.

I leaned into her personal space. “Yes, Becca, exactly. How
did
that happen?” I mocked her expression of outrage and matched it with my own.

She closed her mouth and stood up straight, taking on an air of indignation. “You’re not accusing me of anything, right?”

I squinted at her. “What could I possibly be accusing you of?”

“I . . . um . . . I wasn’t for getting him on the show,” she stuttered.

I pressed my lips together and motioned with my hand for her to continue.

She glanced around to make sure we were alone. “I told Cheryl it was a bad idea.”

“Uh-huh. And how did Cheryl come up with the idea exactly?”

“It wasn’t me. I swear.”

“Is he undercover?”

Becca shrugged helplessly.

Paul worked on 35 Car for SFPD. It was an undercover detail known to have free range to do what they pleased. But if Paul was here on assignment, why had we been able to leave the jurisdiction of San Francisco?

Further, if Paul was undercover, it could only mean that Aaron’s fall hadn’t been an accident.

A strange energy surged through my body.

An active investigation?

The door from the craft services room flew open and Cheryl appeared next to us on the sidewalk. She quickly assessed the situation. “What are you doing still in your evening clothes? Didn’t Becca tell you that we’re leaving in a few minutes?”

Becca popped a grape into her mouth and gave me a “don’t tangle with Cheryl” look.

I ignored her. “What’s the deal with my ex-fiancé showing up as a bachelor?”

Cheryl’s face registered surprise, then changed into something else. Something along the lines of devilish delight. “Your what?”

I stared at her, then at Becca, who now seemed to have enormous interest in the sole grape on her plate.

“I find it hard to believe you didn’t know,” I said.

“Well, I didn’t.” Cheryl smiled and studied Becca, who studied her grape. “But that certainly is a pleasant surprise.” She stroked her chin and I imagined her with a goatee much like I would Satan. “We can’t let on to the others, you know. It wouldn’t seem fair that you’ve already had a relationship with one of the bachelors.”

Before I could protest, she wagged a finger at me. “You should be happy. It’s to your advantage that you already know he’s
unavailable
. Practically cheating.”

She gave a vulgar snicker.

I clenched my fists, reminding myself that while it would probably stop her snorting if I smacked her in the nose, it most likely would lead to problems. I took a deep breath and simply said, “I’m not doing it.”

Cheryl stared at me. “Not doing what?”

“The show,” I said firmly.

Cheryl waved her hand at me and said to Becca with a laugh, “Pfft. What a prima donna.”

I walked away from them. I heard the door to the craft services room open and close and then Becca was at my side. I glanced backward: Cheryl was gone. Becca grabbed my arm.

“Honey, you can’t walk off like that. You’re under contract, remember?”

“Then I’m calling my lawyer,” I said.

“You don’t have a lawyer, sweetie, and you can’t afford one. Besides, even if you did get one, the network has an entire legal
division
. I mean, who are you kidding? You can’t just walk off.”

I wasn’t listening to her anymore. She was right. I didn’t have an attorney and I couldn’t afford one, but there was someone.

I turned back toward the bachelor house.

“Where are you going?” Becca asked.

“Richard! He’s an attorney.”

“Richard? From the show?” Becca sounded slightly hysterical.

I nodded and kept walking.

“You not allowed to go in there without a crew,” Becca said.

“Then come with me. You’re part of the crew,” I said.

“No. It’s not the same. I mean, cameras and—”

Suddenly the walkie-talkie at her waist crackled. Cheryl’s voice came over the line. “Did you get the
prima
into hair and makeup yet?”

Becca looked at me. I shook my head and said, “No! Tell her I’m not going to do it. I’m done.”

Becca grabbed the walkie-talkie off her belt and said, “Yup, on our way.”

B
ecca steered me toward hair and makeup, all the while chatting back and forth with someone other than Cheryl on her walkie-talkie.

We both knew the reason I’d continue on the show was for her. She’d been my best friend since middle school, practically a sister to me. There was nothing I wouldn’t do for her. She’d gotten me on as the lead when my life had come unglued and if I bailed on the show I’d ruin her chances to produce her own series down the road.

Not to mention, if there was an active investigation in progress . . . and I somehow managed to help . . . perhaps even resolved the case . . .

Although, how could Aaron’s fall be anything other than an accident? Was he really in the hospital? Was it possible he had died and the producers were just placating the cast?

No, that didn’t make sense. If Aaron had died, there would be legal implications to the producers for not discussing the information with us. And yet, what was Paul doing here? If he was here undercover, that was one thing, but was I going to have to date him?

“Leave her in the dress,” Becca said to a blond woman who had materialized in front of us.

“What? Why?” I asked.

“We need to reshoot the intro scene,” she answered.

“The whole scene? I thought we were only doing the first date again.”

Becca gave me a strange look. “An intern just reviewed the tapes. Aaron is in practically every shot at the cocktail party. We need to reshoot the introductions so we can match up the lighting. Cheryl wants to rerun the scene from the top.”

•   •   •   •   •   •   •   •   •

I
stood on the cobblestones in front of the mansion, waiting for the limo to arrive. They were only driving it around the corner. What a joke.

I smiled for the camera and refrained from tapping my foot with impatience. However, clad in the awesome Sergio Rossi shoes that exactly matched the violet of my dress, I think the cameraman might have been happy to zoom in on the tap.

The first time we’d done this I’d been nervous and excited. Had it really been only a few days before? I’d been eager to meet the men, wondering if one really could be my Prince Charming. All certainly were handsome and I’d even felt a little zing with some of them, but now the entire process seemed ludicrous.

I’d quickly lost my patience with the camera. That had been almost immediate. The first night I’d been talking to Aaron and had completely forgotten where I was, his boy-next-door charm sucking me in and making me feel like I was the only person on earth. Then Cheryl had interrupted us, repositioning Aaron and me. When he’d asked her if his lighting was all right, I’d lost that loving feeling.

The limo stopped several yards away from me. The driver got out and opened the door. Pietro stepped out. He looked as stunning as he did the first time I saw him—his Italian good looks complemented by the tux he was wearing. He crossed the pathway confidently and outstretched his hand to me.

“I am Pietro. So happy to make your acquaintance,
signorina
.”

I squeezed his hand. “Thank you. Yes, me, too.”

He took my hand and pressed his lips against it. “We will have fun inside, no?”

I smiled. “Yes.”

He gave my hand another little squeeze and winked. I couldn’t help but feel he was winking more toward the camera than at me. He released my hand and strode off toward the door.

I took a deep breath; the next person out of the limo was Scott, with his shaved head looking sexy as ever. He crossed the cobblestone path and smiled at me. He took my right hand in his and with his left grabbed my elbow. The warmth of his hand sent a shock through my body.

“I’m Scott,” he said, his voice smooth and polished, making me flush.

I nodded and squeaked out, “Pleased to meet you.”

This was ridiculous. Why was I having such a schoolgirl reaction to a man squeezing my elbow? Especially this one. The gruesome, ghoulish horror writer!

It had to be hormonal.

As if sensing my hesitation, Scott released my hand, saying, “I’ll see you inside.”

The next person out of the limo was Ty. He was wearing his signature cowboy hat and boots. He put a hand to his hat and tipped it, saying, “Howdy, ma’am.”

“Howdy,” I said.

He looked me up and down and said, “Sure are lucky, the little lady they picked for us looks good to me.”

I looked him up and down in return and I couldn’t help but smile. God, he was sexy.

“I’ll be looking for you inside,” he said as he left.

Next was Dr. Edward. He walked toward me, his gait projecting a certain resoluteness. He stuck out his hand and said, “I’m Edward. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance this evening.”

The first time we’d met we’d had a little repartee about his being a doctor. I’d said something about his making my heart go pitter-patter and he’d promised to give me a checkup.

Somehow I felt compelled to let him make that first impression again with the audience. So I placed my hand over my heart and gave him my corny line. Then he said his line.

We both laughed and he strode toward the door.

The next person out of the car was Nathan, the surfer. He was the only one so far not dressed in a tux. Instead, he was wearing tight-fitting jeans and an orange tee that set off his tan and showed his massive biceps. Under one arm was his surfboard. His smile lit up his face—almost making me forget that the last time around Aaron had been the final guy to step out of the first limo.

Nathan strode toward me and wrapped his free arm around my waist. He easily lifted me off my feet and twirled me. “Wow,” he gushed. “When I signed up for this show I was sure hoping the girl would be hot and you are. Doll, you’re smoking.”

Every alarm signal in my body went off.

The first time around, Nathan had done exactly the same thing, only I’d thought he’d been sincere. How had he managed to do and say exactly the same thing in the same way? Edward had needed prompting and even then it came off flat, but not Nathan. No, this was just an act for him. Now I knew he was definitely on the show for the money.

I pasted a smile on my face. “Nice to meet you.”

He gave a little shake of his head and his longish blond curls shook. He licked his lips and headed toward the door.

As soon as he’d disappeared through the door, Harris came out to make small talk with me.

“Cut,” Cheryl called. She took Harris aside and whispered something to him.

A team of hair and makeup people descended upon me. One stylist was doing something to my hair and the other woman was touching up my face powder. The one doing my makeup was the same woman I’d been trying to place earlier. I studied her while she fluffed me up.

Suddenly I pictured her in another setting . . . a courtroom.

My stomach lurched.

This woman touching up my makeup bore a striking resemblance to Teresa Valens, a woman I had put behind bars five years before.

“Clear the set!” Cheryl yelled.

Teresa flitted off.

Good God. What would Teresa be doing here? And she’d been on the set in San Francisco. My breath caught as I recalled standing on the railing of the bridge and the hand pressing against my back just at the moment when I needed my balance most. Could that accident have been intended for me?

Before I could process the thought the limousine arrived again, with its second load of passengers.

Richard, the attorney, stepped out. He wore an ascot and a top hat. I smiled inwardly because he looked like the type of guy my dad would want me to end up with.

He oozed class. He introduced himself, kissed my hand, and walked into the house. I liked the simple introduction.

Next was Bruce, the techie geek. He smiled, revealing a slightly crooked front tooth, which reminded me of my first boyfriend in fifth grade. I had trusted him immediately.

Then out of the limo came Mitch, the real estate investor. He walked with confidence and then read me a cheesy poem from one knee. I laughed and thanked him for the poetry.

Next out of the limo was Derek; he used a cane and slightly hobbled. He had a military crew cut and I learned the first night that he’d been injured in Afghanistan and had a few bolts in his ankle. He was expected to have a full recovery but it was still early for him, thus the cane.

Finally, Paul got out of the limo. Unexpectedly my entire body began to shake. I wanted to run into his arms and tell him about Teresa Valens and finally feel like there was something in my life that I didn’t have to go at alone.

Paul walked over to me and smiled stiffly. He said, “I’m Paul.”

My breath caught and I felt a pain in my chest as if my heart had just cracked. I fought the tears threatening to spring into my eyes. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me cry. He gripped my hands. “Georgia, you’re shivering.” He released my hands and immediately took off his coat and wrapped it over my shoulders.

“Here, this will keep you warm.”

My heart sank. He’d misunderstood me yet again.

He put his arm around me and led me toward the house.

“Cut!” Cheryl yelled.