The Burning Point (49 page)

His soon-to-be-ex-wife knew how to bait a hook. She was a great fan of his work, claiming that he made acting look so easy that it was always the people around him who won the awards. She might be right, and while he didn't need an Oscar, he was human enough to want to be considered good as well as successful. "Are you playing Sarah?"

She shuddered theatrically. "No way. She needs to be painfully young and innocent. I was never that young."

"Maybe not in your personal life, but you could play nineteen with the right lighting and makeup."

"I've already got a terrific young English actress, Jane Stackpole, to play Sarah. I'll be plenty busy directing."

"Directing is a popular ambition."

Though his tone was neutral, she reacted vehemently, setting down her weights and stalking to the glass to stare out at the ocean. "When I was young, I wanted only to act. Now that I've done that for years, I want more. I want to tell
my
stories
my way
instead of being a puppet playing out someone else's vision. But you know how hard it is for a woman to get a chance to direct" A tremor, instantly suppressed, sounded in her voice. "I want to make this story, now, and to do that I need you."

The rigid set of her shoulders showed how much it was costing her to ask for his help. "Who else is involved?" he asked.

"Marcus Gordon will be the executive producer."

"Impressive. If he's on board, you shouldn't have any trouble with financing."

Her hands clenched. "He's always had a soft spot for me, but he's a businessman first Even though he thinks the script is terrific and that I can probably do a decent job of directing, he wants a bankable star like you to ensure that the movie at least breaks even."

He studied her slim silhouette against the window, alarm bells going off in his head. Agreeing to this project would be a very, very bad idea. They'd rub against each other painfully every minute of every day. The odds were high that they'd end up in bed together again, which would mean another excruciating separation when shooting ended. He'd be tempted to forget common sense and try to get her back, while she'd probably want to strangle him, especially when he was making cinematic love to the toothsome young Sarah.

But he couldn't resist Rainey. The fierce clarity of her will had attracted him from the moment he first saw her screen image. She had dreams and passions and the willingness to work to achieve them.

He'd also worked hard, achieving great success in worldly terms, but he hadn't been building toward a goal like Rainey. He'd been running from life. He flowed while she burned. They were complementary personalities, and together they'd produced blistering, dangerous steam. He knew in his bones that they were better off apart, but that didn't prevent him from missing her like an amputated limb.

The rationalizing part of his brain pointed out that even though making this movie was a terrible idea, there was no risk it would change their situation, since Rainey was resolved on divorce and nothing would change her mind. He'd be able to do one last project with her, and in the process help her achieve her dream of directing. If at the end he was crippled by sorrow--it wouldn't be that different from how he felt now. "Very well. I'll make your movie."

She whirled to face him, startled. "Without even reading the script?'

"I'm willing to trust you and Marcus Gordon that it's good." Wryly he paraphrased the words English judges had used when pronouncing the death sentence: "And may God have mercy on our souls."

Book Excerpt

from

Twist of Fate

Book 3 of the Circle of Friends Trilogy

Prologue

∗ ∗ ∗

He pushed away the remains of his last meal: shrimp Creole, corn bread, chocolate mousse cake, and single malt Scotch whiskey to wash it all down. He'd been liberal with the whiskey, wanting to dull the edge of his fear. He would die as he'd lived, with cold superiority.

The guards arrived to take him to the execution chamber. He had come to know all the regulars on death row. None of them loved him--he'd made sure of that--but none of them looked happy about his last walk either. He hoped they'd have nightmares.

It was only a few steps down the corridor to the place where legal murder was done. Face composed, he refused the offered comfort of a minister and scarcely glanced at the witnesses who had come to watch him die. He made a particular point of avoiding the gaze of the one family member present. No question about the nightmares there.

The guards strapped him onto the gurney. It took effort, now, to act as if he didn't care.

Three shots--the first for unconsciousness, the second to paralyze his breathing, the third to stop his heart. He flinched involuntarily as the first needle went in. Then the second stabbed...

Rob Smith jerked awake with hammering heart, sweat on his face. He always woke at this point, just before the end. Would the nightmare leave him if it ever progressed to the end? Or would his heart quietly stop as if the lethal drug really had been injected?

He stared through the darkness at the ceiling as he forced his breath into a steady rhythm. Gradually his tension eased. After all, he had never been on death row. He was plain Rob Smith, a man whose only crimes were the sort that didn't get prosecuted.

That wasn't the same as being innocent.

Chapter 1

∗ ∗ ∗

Val Covington Barreled into the office, briefcase swinging. "Sorry I'm behind schedule, Kendra--the judge was in a chatty mood. Has the FedEx package from Houston arrived?"

Kendra Brooks glanced up from her computer monitor. A paralegal and Val's assistant when one was needed, she was tall and athletic, with a sense of style that made her look like an international supermodel. "Yes, the documents are on your credenza, since your desk would disappear under the pile. But you can slow down a little, Val. Howard Reid called to say that this afternoon's deposition has to be postponed."

"The honorable opposing counsel loves his golf and probably decided it was too nice a day to waste inside," Val said dryly. "Still, I can use the time to get caught up."

"You will never be caught up. Being constantly behind is a fact of life at Crouse, Resnick, and Murphy." Kendra Brooks returned to her computer, dark fingers moving faster than seemed quite humanly possible.

"You are so comforting." With a more moderate pace, Val opened the door that connected their two offices. After

taking off her tailored suit jacket and hanging it in the closet, she dropped into her chair and checked her voice mail. Eleven messages, three of them urgent. After dealing with those, she did a fast triage on her e-mail, shooting off quick responses to some, forwarding others, printing out a couple more.

Kendra buzzed through on the intercom. "Boss? Bill Costain wants to see you tomorrow at 9:00 a.m. Is that okay?"

Val checked her calendar. She had planned to use the time to work on a brief, but Bill's manufacturing company was her biggest client, and he was nice as well. She could draft the brief this evening. "Fine. Ask him if he prefers his place or mine?"

Kendra chuckled. "That will make his day. Will do."

Val was returning to her e-mail when the direct line telephone rang. Since only a few friends and top clients had the number, she picked up immediately. "Hello?"

"Don't tell me--you're multitasking again. You have that sound in your voice." The comment was followed by a famously husky chuckle.

"Rainey, how are you doing?" Glad to hear from of one of her oldest friends, Val tilted back the chair and rested her high-heeled pumps on top of her desk. "I promise to give you my full attention. I don't suppose you're in Baltimore?"

"No, I'm in Los Angeles for the day, doing business meetings. Tedious."

Val grinned. Raine Marlowe was a successful actress, producer, and director, but she didn't get there by enjoying meetings. Even when they were in grade school, Rainey had preferred action to talk. "Did you get a green light on the next project?"

"Close but no champagne. Soon, I hope." Raine's voice changed. "I had a different reason to call. Remember when you and I were working on the script for
Centurion
, and I told you that without your help I would have quit?"

"You were only feeling down that day. You would have been back the next, sinking your terrier teeth in it." Rainey was not the sort to give up easily. Against all the odds, she wrote, produced, and directed a movie based on a Victorian novel called
The Centurion
, and saw it take off into a major hit that won several Oscars for her and her crew. Now she was in a good position to create other movies that excited her.

"I probably wouldn't have given up," Raine admitted, "but you were crucial both in preproduction and during the actual shooting, when I was on the verge of nervous hysterics. That's why I gave you a production credit on the movie."

Val grinned. "I got such a kick out of that. It added to my wild woman image among the staider elements of the Baltimore bar."

"Anytime you want to move to L.A. and go into production, there's a job waiting for you. Several jobs."

"No way, Rainey. I had great fun working with you on that one project, but show business is not for me. I haven't got enough gypsy in my soul."

"Do you remember me saying I'd give you a profit point?"

Val thought back. "Vaguely, but I figured you were just suffering sugar shock from an overdose of hot fudge sundaes. Everyone knows that profit points don't mean anything--Hollywood accountants are famous for making sure that movies never make any profit, even when they're a wild success."

"Accountants do not play games on my movies. Even with no special effects,
Centurion
was a solid success all over the world and in the secondary markets. Your percentage point is worth well over a million dollars and climbing."

Val almost dropped her phone. "You're kidding!"

"Not about this," Rainey said with satisfaction. "So what are you going to do with your windfall?"