Aim For Love (16 page)

She’d played with possible reasons for his rebuff as she’d driven back to LA. Some were humbling. Maybe she wasn’t his type. She sure didn’t in any way resemble the blond, voluptuous Stacy. Or maybe he didn’t like cosmopolitan women; some men didn’t. But Kaz hadn’t struck her as one to judge along such lines.

There’d been a spark between her and Kaz. She’d felt it and was pretty sure she wasn’t imagining that he did too. Something had made him step back, something more than the fact that he was supposed to be helping her. After all, it wasn’t like he was crossing some sort of professional line. But then again, maybe his samurai practice played into his actions, his outlook, more than she realized.

It didn’t matter that he’d asked her to stay—given the raw passion that rocked her, she couldn’t face working beside him anymore. Kaz might have the skill to ignore or channel powerful energies, but she didn’t.

Although her initial embarrassment had faded, she was still piecing together the events that led to her sleepwalking incident. Maybe the body work or the trauma techniques had stressed her beyond her limits. And the kisses hadn’t helped any. Had she known what it would feel like to kiss Kaz, would she still have done it? She didn’t have to ponder to know the answer was yes. What woman, even if she knew a dear price would be paid, wouldn’t want to feel such stunning, blazing passion?

She rearranged the lilies, freeing them from the tightly knotted arrangement the florist had sent up. In her mind’s eye she pictured the simple arrangement that had graced the guest room bureau at the farm. She pulled out two stems of blossoms and a piece of curly willow branch and pinched off the stems so she could arrange them in the water glass beside the bed. The lifted faces of the two lilies looked like they were thanking her for their liberation.

She changed into a pair of white linen pants and a petal-pink silk shirt. As she strapped on a pair of heeled Jimmy Choos, she thought of Kaz telling her that heels could throw off the alignment of her spine.
Yeah, and a sultry-eyed, exotic man with a touch that thrilled her to her core could throw off her life
. With a curse, she kicked off the sandals and slipped on a pair of soft leather flats.

There were no cars at Derrick’s house when she arrived, though she didn’t think she was that early. She walked up the wide stone steps and rang the bell.

“Where is everybody?” she asked when Derrick opened the door.

“Hello to you too,” he said, brushing a kiss to her cheek. She smelled alcohol on his breath.

“Am I early?”

“I guess you haven’t heard the news.”

“What news? I just got back two hours ago.”

“Hayne Thornton’s dead. Found in his apartment. Overdose.”

Nausea swept her. Hayne and she had gone to UCLA together. He was one of the best actors and kindest men she’d ever met. It was Hayne who’d taught her how to allow a character to enter her as if that character lived at her core, who’d taught her to dive deep into a part. But it was Derrick who’d taught him.

“I need to sit down.” She edged into the living room and headed for the couch. “Could I have a glass of water?”

“I’m having scotch.”

“I can tell.”

“He was my friend too, Sabrina.”

In the flicker of his eyes she saw the tenderness he rarely showed, the man behind Derrick Ainsley, the actor.

“My friend once upon a time,” he said over his shoulder as he left the room.

And she knew then that Derrick had been right when he’d tried to talk Hayne out of taking on the role of an activist who’d contracted AIDS from a shared needle. Hayne hadn’t been ready for such a dark, brooding part, Derrick had argued. But Hayne had seen the role as the chance of a lifetime. The next spring Hayne had been nominated for an Oscar.

But when she’d seen him at an Oscar after-party, she’d known Hayne had taken that character deep. Maybe too deep. When he moved to New York, she’d phoned and sent emails, but he hadn’t returned any of her messages.

“LA water is much better with a splash of scotch,” Derrick said as he returned with a glass of cold water.

“Hayne fell in,” she said, using a term Derrick had taught her. Good actors wanted to immerse themselves in a role, but never wanted to fall in. She shivered as the reality struck her.

“It happens,” Derrick said when he dropped beside her on the couch.

Her heart softened when she saw the sorrow in Derrick’s eyes.

“You tried to stop him.”

“Not hard enough.”

“I’m sorry, Derrick.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

For a fleeting moment she again saw the unguarded Derrick, the boy behind the man, the breathing person behind the actor.

She sipped at the water. Derrick moved closer to her, his leg touching hers.

“What time are the others arriving?”

“Pity party,” Derrick said, snapping back into his polished, controlled demeanor. “Evidently too overwrought to have a go at the script tonight.”

He could slip into and out of roles in a way that disturbed Sabrina. Sometimes she wasn’t sure who the real Derrick Ainsley was. Sometimes she wondered if he knew.

“I postponed the read-through,” he said. “We’ll meet the day after tomorrow.”

“Why didn’t you text me?”

He ran his hand up her arm. “I thought it’d be a good chance for us to spend some time together.”

Derrick’s touch felt foreign, invasive, demanding. Not like Kaz’s touch, not at all.

“If we’re not rehearsing, I want to go back to the hotel.” She pulled her arm from his hand. “I’m tired and this news…” She straightened her spine and inched away from him. “I need some time alone.”

“Sabrina, keeping me at arm’s length only arouses me more.” The spicy scent of scotch wafted to her. “I want to marry you.”

Her skin crawled at his slurred words. Before Kaz, she’d thought there might be a spark between her and Derrick. But now she knew better. And she’d given him no reason to start talking marriage.

He closed his hand around her wrist and tugged. “We’d make a great couple.”

She stood, freeing herself from his grasp. “Let’s talk when you haven’t been drinking. Tomorrow. But not about marriage.”

The door clicked behind her as she stepped out of his house.

And as she drove back to the hotel, her thoughts raced. What was it that made the man she’d thought she’d been interested in suddenly repulsive and the man who’d captured her interest treat her like she was off limits?

Two more days until the read-through.

She could’ve stayed at the farm, worked with Kaz.

Right
.

Working wasn’t what she’d had in mind when she’d kissed him. And though at the last minute he’d asked her to stay, he’d seemed mighty uncomfortable, as if he was asking against his will. She hadn’t helped matters any, throwing herself at him as she had.

So many things hadn’t turned out as she’d imagined. And some had turned out worse.

Back at the hotel, she paced her suite, feeling at loose ends. Maybe even feeling anxious. She picked up the water glass holding the lily blossoms. Goose bumps prickled along her arms. Hayne’s death hadn’t shocked her; it was as though she’d felt it coming. Scores of
I should haves
taunted her. But she knew that nothing she could’ve done would have made any difference. Still, the knowing didn’t ease the guilt that weighted her sadness like iron cuffs she couldn’t shake off.

She peeled off her clothes and ran a bath in the oversize tub. But soaking in bubbling hot water didn’t clear her head.

Derrick’s marriage proposal disturbed her. The first time, in the club, she’d believed his proposal was a publicity stunt. He liked to stay in the eye of the press, and outrageous moves and revelations kept him there. But tonight, even through the haze of alcohol, he’d seemed serious about wanting to marry her.

Though they’d become close during the work on the previous film, she didn’t really know him and he didn’t know her. And below those facts niggled her suspicion that she was just another strategic move in his long-term plan, a piece of a puzzle to be fit into a picture.

They’d make a great couple, he’d said, using the word
couple
like it was a thing to be had, something to set on his shelf beside his Oscars. Another more disturbing thought rose—Alex had warned her that her fortune would make her a target. But she hadn’t expected Derrick to make such a blatant play. Maybe his gambling debts had made him desperate. Or maybe he had another reason altogether. But she was sure no reason involved love.

Her skin stung, and she realized she’d been scrubbing the same spot on her leg for who knew how long. She wrung out the washcloth and tried to wring her suspicions about Derrick’s motives from her thoughts. Maybe she’d read too much between the lines. Maybe she was just tired.

After her bath she tried memorizing more of the script. She got to the scene where Kristen, the heroine, submits to her demon lover and he begins to destabilize her and use her as an agent in his scheme for power and control.

She stopped reading as she had every time she reached that point in the script. Her gut churned, even though she knew how the film ended. As if she feared that Kristen’s story might not turn out as written, that she’d turn the page and tragedy would bleed all over it.

Maybe the read-through with the other cast members would get her through the scene.

She shook her head—of course it would. She’d have to perform her part at a read-through no matter what fears she harbored.

But just thinking about where the story was going was making her tense. And after that scene with Derrick…

Derrick played the part of the dark vampire lover. Played it only too well.

She slapped the script on the nightstand and picked up her laptop. After reading a few online articles about Hayne’s death, some of them with far more graphic details than she’d imagined and photos she wished she hadn’t seen, she sank into a dark gloom.

She triple-locked the door and put a chair in front of it. Before the night at Kaz’s, she hadn’t had a sleepwalking episode for eight years, but tonight she wasn’t taking any chances.

Even before she closed her eyes, she knew that the nightmares would come.

And she feared she’d go walking blindly, searching for safety, as a means to escape them.

Just as she had done at Kaz’s farm.

Straight into Kaz’s arms.

Chapter Fourteen

The sun was slipping behind the hills as Kaz drove to Roberto’s house. He loosened his grip on the steering wheel and rolled his shoulders. If finding the illegal meth lab had put him on edge, seeing his neighbor Martin Erickson with a man known to be involved in drug gangs had sharpened that edge. He wanted answers and was pretty sure Roberto knew more than he’d said the day they’d discovered the abandoned lab.

The Mexican community was tight. And cautious. Kaz didn’t blame them. If he faced deportation and harassment, he’d keep below the radar too. But cooking drugs on his land upped the ante. He wanted the mess dealt with before his parents returned. More than dealt with, he wanted the drug operations run out of the area. Roberto was the one man he could trust to help him.

Potted flowers lined the cement slab that served as the Mendietas’ front porch and patio. Kaz’s father had helped Roberto buy the small house ten years earlier.

Kaz made a mental note to drop off the paving stones left over from landscaping the farm’s front drive. In the rainy season, the stones would serve to keep the mud down at Roberto’s place.

In a newly fenced pasture, two well-cared-for horses nibbled at early grasses. A new feed barn and tool shed had been built near the house.

But Kaz hadn’t come to admire Roberto’s progress.

Yolanda, Roberto’s wife, waved as he got out of his car.

“Kaz, how good to see you.”

To Kaz, her usually warm smile appeared forced. He should’ve called, but cell reception was spotty on this side of the hill.

“How’s the garden coming?” Kaz knew she prided herself on her produce. With what they had from the Tokugawa gardens and their own, the vegetables probably fed the family.

Yolanda brushed her hands on her jeans. “The peas are not so good, but everything else is doing well. Come and see.”

“I came to talk to Roberto.”

The muscles tightened around her eyes. “He’ll be here soon.”

“Then let’s have a look at your garden.”

Before they made it around back, two trucks rolled into the driveway. Roberto jumped out of his, spotted Kaz’s car and then went to speak to the driver of the other truck.

Yolanda scurried into the house. Kaz recognized the driver—Tuco Ortega, the man he’d seen with Martin. He didn’t recognize the man riding shotgun.

Roberto raked a hand through his hair and gestured toward Kaz, shook his head and then backed away from the truck.

Kaz’s senses shot into alert as he strode up to Roberto.

The passenger made a snide comment about Roberto’s wife to Ortega. Kaz knew enough Spanish to get the crude barb. When Roberto didn’t react, Kaz did. Bullying one of his workers and casting aspersions on his family weren’t allowed.

Kaz stalked around to the passenger side of the truck. “We don’t go for that kind of talk.”

The passenger poked Ortega in the ribs and said something Kaz didn’t understand. But again he got the drift.

Sputtering, Roberto dashed around the front of the truck and headed for Kaz. At the same time, the passenger pulled a gun and aimed it at Kaz’s head.

“And
we
don’t like
japonés
telling us what to do,” the passenger said.

Ortega grunted at the man to lower the gun, but instead he swung it to point at Roberto. “You might want to back your dog off,” he snarled.

Kaz had the gun away from the man in seconds. It spun as it landed in the dirt at Kaz’s feet.

“Leave,” Kaz said as he kicked the gun away from the truck.

Roberto put a hand to Kaz’s arm and pulled him back, away from the truck. Then he turned and said something to Ortega in the same dialect Kaz couldn’t decipher.

Ortega scowled before he threw the truck into reverse, turned and sped out of the driveway.