Triple Threat (21 page)

“We’re doing everything we can to ensure your safety,” Ethan said, taking center stage again. “But we understand some of you may be uncomfortable continuing with the production. If so, please come talk to me, Ted or Judith privately, and we’ll make arrangements for you to leave, no questions asked.” He pushed back his shirtsleeve and checked his watch. “We’ll start rehearsal in fifteen. Be back here and ready to go. We’ve got less than forty-eight hours until curtain and a hell of a lot of work to do.”

“Holy shit,” Malcolm muttered as Ethan and company left the stage. “This is serious.”

“Want to bail?” Nick asked.

“Nah. If I avoided everyone who wanted to kill me, I’d never leave my apartment. You?”

“No way.” As long as Holly was there, so was he. Nick took a sip of water and grimaced. “You were right. This stuff does taste like crap.”

“Not really.” Malcolm shoved his hands in his pockets and looked at his lap. “Just keeping the minions on their toes.”

“Seriously, though.” Nick held out the bottle. “Try it.”

Malcolm hesitated, his eyes narrowing. “Where did you get that from?”

“One of the PAs. Wes.”

“Short kid? Shaved head? Always wears a sweater vest?”

“That’s him.”

Malcolm whipped out a tissue and used it to grab the neck of the bottle.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Preserving the evidence.” Malcolm held the bottle away from his body. “I saw it when I did a guest-star role on
NCIS.
”

“What evidence?”

“I might be paranoid,” Malcolm said, dropping his voice to a whisper, “but I think our friend Wes tried to poison you.”

* * *

“
Y
OU WANTED TO
see me, Mr. Phelps?” Wes’s eyes darted from Ethan, to Nick, to Malcolm, then back to Ethan again.

“Sit down, Wes.” Ethan motioned toward the empty chair across from the desk in his third-floor office.

“Is something wrong?” Wes shuffled to the chair and lowered himself into it.

“That depends.” Nick leaned against the wall, arms crossed in front of his chest.

Wes swallowed visibly and plucked at the collar of his vest. “On what?”

“On what Sergeant Chang finds in the trash can in the greenroom.” Ethan stood and walked around to the front of the desk.

“What does that have to do with me?”

“Tell him, Malcolm.” Ethan sat on the corner of the desk, his eyes never leaving Wes.

“I saw you put something in Nick’s water bottle.”

“I... It’s... That was mine. I’m fighting a cold. Jimmie Lee gave me some of that powdered vitamin C stuff everyone swears by.”

“Nice try.” Malcolm came from behind Wes to sit on the opposite corner of the desk. “But Nick said his water tasted funny. And you gave it to him.”

“I did, but—”

The door swung open and Sergeant Chang entered, followed by Cade and Holly. Nick caught her eye for a brief second before she hid behind her friend.

“We found it.” The police officer held up a clear plastic evidence bag with a small white bottle inside. “Eye drops. Ingested they can cause blurred vision, nausea, vomiting, seizures and even death.”

Wes made a little choking sound. “Death? He told me...”

“He who?” Nick pushed off the wall.

“Before you say anything more I should advise you that you’re under arrest.” Sergeant Chang pulled Wes up by the shoulders, yanked his arms behind his back and handcuffed him. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be held against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney.”

“What’s going on here?” Ted squeezed into the already crowded office, trailed by his wife. “Why wasn’t I called?”

“I was just about to,” Ethan explained. “Wes spiked Nick’s water bottle with prescription eye drops, and I’m pretty sure we’ll find he’s responsible for the fire and the other incidents, too. We didn’t want to tip him off before we had him in custody.”

“He’s the one who should be in custody.” With his hands cuffed behind his back, Wes could only jerk his head in Ted’s direction.

“Get him out of here,” Ted barked.

“Hold on.” Cade stood in the doorway, his frame, though not as big as Nick’s, more than large enough to block anyone from leaving. Nick tensed, ready to jump in if things got any uglier. “I’d like to hear what he has to say.”

“I...I didn’t want to hurt anyone.” Wes’s gaze ping-ponged from face to face, finally settling on Nick. “Honest. Mr. Aaronson swore he just wanted to scare everyone so the show would close.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Ted huffed. “What reason would I have to shut down my own show?”

“I can think of a few million reasons.” Judith, silent until now, stepped forward, distancing herself from her husband. “I’m filing for divorce. If this show fails, the value of our production company takes a huge hit, which would let Ted lowball me when he buys me out.” She swiveled her head to look at him, her eyes brimming with confusion and regret. “Is that it, Ted? Do you hate me so much you’d rather lose a fortune than see me with it?”

“I built that company up from nothing,” Ted snarled. “It’s mine.”

Holly shrank back from Ted and Nick reached for her, drawing her back against his chest and wrapping his arms around her to keep her there.

Where she belonged. Forever.

Nick pushed that unsettling thought aside and tried to focus on the scene playing out in front of him instead of the warm, soft, sweet-smelling woman in his arms. Cade had Ted in cuffs, and Sergeant Chang, with Wes still in hand, was reading the producer his rights.

“Do you understand these rights as they have been read to you?”

Ted muttered something Nick couldn’t catch, but the police officer, apparently satisfied, nodded and addressed the group. “We’re going to take these two down to the station for booking. We’ll need to get statements from all of you in the next few days, so make sure we have your contact information.”

“That’s easy.” Judith might have been responding to Sergeant Chang but her eyes were glued on her husband. “We’ll be here, at the theater. We open Friday.”

“Fat chance,” Ted sneered, prompting Cade to tug on his cuffed wrists. “You can’t pull it off alone.”

“Watch me,” she replied calmly, hands on her hips in a classic don’t-fuck-with-me pose.

Nick fought off a smile. The lady had balls, keeping it together and facing off with her soon-to-be ex. She reminded him of Holly, going toe to toe with his father in the high school parking lot.

The next few minutes were a blur of activity. Cade and Sergeant Chang led Ted and Wes away. Judith and Ethan went in search of Jimmie Lee so they could work out what to tell the rest of the cast and crew and readjust the rehearsal schedule to make up for lost time. Malcolm took off, muttering something about having his assistants check his props and costumes for evidence of tampering.

“I should probably call my parents,” Holly said, slipping out of Nick’s arms and fleeing for the door the minute they were alone. “I don’t want them to hear this through the Stockton grapevine.”

“Wait.” He caught her elbow. “Talk to me.”

“About what?”

“About whatever’s bothering you.”

She gave him a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “You mean besides the fact that someone tried to kill my boyfriend and sabotage my play?”

He slid his hand from her elbow to her wrist, winding his fingers through hers. “I get the feeling there’s something more than that. You’ve been acting funny ever since my trip to the hospital. Have I done something to upset you?”

“What could you have done?” She squeezed his hand. “You were practically comatose, remember?”

He frowned. “You’re sure?”

“Sure, I’m sure.” She went up on tiptoe to give him a quick, hard kiss. “We’ll talk tonight. I promise.”

Nick watched her go, a cold, dull ache growing in the pit of his stomach. Her words were right, but her behavior was all wrong, and he had the sinking feeling he’d just witnessed the beginning of their end.

20

T
HE BALLROOM OF
the Omni Hotel glittered with refracted light from the crystal chandeliers. Smartly dressed waiters passed among the two hundred or so guests at the play’s closing-night festivities, balancing trays laden with exotic hors d’oeuvres and flutes of champagne. The soft strains of a Gershwin tune underscored the buzz of conversation.

Taking advantage of a rare moment alone, Holly snagged a glass from a passing waiter and retreated to the far corner of the room. She found an empty table and sat down as gracefully as she could, her feet aching, thanks to two hours spent standing in heels. Thank God she hadn’t worn the shoes Noelle had tried to foist on her—sky-high, candy-apple-red Manolo Blahniks. She’d need a wheelchair.

She took a sip of champagne and sighed, watching the partygoers enjoy themselves. Marisa was chatting it up with a manager who had flown in from L.A. to see her perform. Ethan and Jean-Michel were schmoozing a group of investors Judith was courting for a Broadway run. She couldn’t spot Nick anywhere, but Malcolm was on the dance floor, doing a fair impression of the tango with one of the ushers. Holly smiled wistfully as he dipped the young woman, making her screech and giggle.

Why couldn’t she be like Malcolm and the others, cheerful and lighthearted and apparently unconcerned about what was in store? She always got a little gloomy when a show closed, even as a techie in high school and college. Ethan called it her “postproduction depression.”

But this time it was about more. This time it was about Nick.

She’d been preparing herself for this moment ever since her realization in the hospital. Four weeks of steeling her heart for the day the show would close in New Haven and, with no word yet on a Broadway transfer, he’d go back to the west coast. Keeping to her stupid “casual fun” credo. And the end result?

Epic fail.

There was nothing casual about her feelings for Nick. All she’d accomplished was to put herself on edge for what could have been four amazing weeks with the man she loved. The man she’d always love, even if he was thousands of miles and a lifestyle away from her. Some days the joy of seeing her show on stage had barely registered through her moping. Her play and her affair were over as of tonight.

Someone clinked a glass and Holly looked up to see that the band had stopped playing and the dance floor had cleared. Judith stood in the center, champagne flute in one hand, spoon in the other, surrounded by Ethan and the investors he’d been wooing.

“If I could have your attention.” Someone passed Judith a microphone, which she traded for the glass. “I won’t take up too much of your time. I know you all want to get back to eating, drinking and dancing. At my expense.”

Laughter rippled through the crowd. When it died down, Judith continued, “We’ve certainly had our share of ups and downs with this production. And I want to thank each and every one of you for the faith you showed in me by seeing it through. I think together we created something moving and beautiful, and the critics and sold-out audiences agreed.”

Applause broke out and someone yelled, “Hear! Hear!”

“Some shows you wish would go on forever,” Judith said when the clapping faded. “
The Lesser Vessel
is definitely one of them, which is why I’m thrilled to announce that, thanks to these fine folks from the Churchill Foundation—” she gestured to the group of dark-suited men and women standing behind her “—this show will go on. On Broadway, that is. This fall.”

If the cheering was loud before, now it was a deafening roar. Holly, suddenly discovered in her corner and swamped with well-wishers, sat stunned.

She’d made it. Broadway was hers again. So why did she feel so empty?

She stood to accept their congratulations, her eyes scanning the ballroom for the one person she wanted—no, needed—to share her success with.

“Has anyone seen Nick?”

“About five minutes ago,” Jimmie Lee offered. “He was with his agent in the bar.”

“Thanks.”

Holly made her way through the boisterous crowd, out the ballroom’s ornate double doors and into the lobby. Her heels tapped briskly on the parquet floor as she hurried past the reception desk and down the hall toward the bar.

The show was going to Broadway.

What did that mean for her and Nick? If he stayed with the show and in New York for a few months, maybe they had a shot at something. Something strong enough to withstand distance and starlets and paparazzi when he went back to making movies.

From day one, everything about their romance had been surreal, from finding him in the audition room for the first time in years to falling in love. Ending their fling now would hurt but make sense. She was braced for the sting and could keep her dignity intact. But if they agreed to go further and he lost interest or moved on... She had no idea how she’d survive professing her love, then watching him leave. The alternative—chin up, play it safe—hurt almost as much. What was she supposed to do?

Be bold. Be brave.

Nick’s advice to Mr. Traver’s drama students—her own teenage words—echoed in her mind. You didn’t win without taking chances. If he’d taught her anything, it was not to stay silent and hidden. However he reacted, she had to know. Her body gave a little stage-fright shudder and she checked her voice. Throat closed, vocal cords paralyzed. Big moment coming up.

Holly heaved in a gulp of air, pushed open the door to the bar and blinked, her vision adjusting to the mood lighting. When she could see, she took a few steps inside, searching for Nick. The place was a virtual ghost town, only a couple of patrons at the far end of the bar, and neither Nick nor his agent were anywhere in sight.

She was about to head back to the party, hoping Nick had done the same, when she heard what sounded like Garrett’s voice from a booth in the corner.

“You did it, man.”

“No, we did it. I’d still be doing deodorant commercials if it wasn’t for you.” The deep rumble of Nick’s voice, the clink of glasses, then silence as the two men drank.

She started toward them, wondering if they’d heard about Judith’s announcement or were just toasting the end of a successful run at the Rep. “They want you back in L.A. on Wednesday for costume fittings. Location shooting starts in three weeks in Indiana.”