Читать книгу Film at Eleven - Kelsey Roberts - Страница 10

“It worked! They bought it.” Feeling triumphant and high on success, he looked at his companion.

Approval. Admiration. Reading that in those eyes eased the rapid pounding of his heart. He felt fortified, bolstered. Because he’d done his part perfectly, the plan was in motion.

“Patience, son.”

Oh, for— He didn’t want to be patient. Not anymore. Patient sucked. It was his time, damn it! His turn. Without responding to the unnecessary caution, he rose and went into the tiny, galley-style kitchen and ran water over his hands until the stream went from red, to pink, to clear. Grabbing the vegetable brush his mother kept in a frog on the lip of the sink, he began scrubbing at his finger tips. Who knew it would be so hard to get blood out from under his nails?

How like his mother to be a pain in the ass even in death.

His companion stood, collected his briefcase and brought it over to the kitchen table. The metal locks clicked loudly as he depressed the tabs. “This should tide you over through the next phase.”

Drying his hands, he moved to ogle the tidy rows of money displayed neatly in the open leather briefcase. Wiping his palms down the leg of his pants first, he lifted one banded stack of bills. Heavier than he’d’ve thought. His heartbeat sped up as he fanned the crisp notes, enjoying the breeze created against his face. “This is great.”

His companion pulled the money from his grip and dropped it back into the case with an authoritative plop. He closed the lid and snapped the locks back in place. As if he had the right. As if he still owned the money. “This is to be used as we agreed.”

“I know.” Of course he knew. Hadn’t he gone over and over this countless times? He wasn’t a moron. Still, as much as he resented it, he craved the man’s approval.

“You must stay focused. Too much is at stake here.” His expression softened as he returned the cash. Next, he reached beneath the bills and took out a metal rod with a circular emblem welded to one end. “You know what to do?”

Once again he felt torn; irritated by the implication that he didn’t know what he was doing, and then annoyed by his need for approval. He nodded stiffly. “I rigged the propane tank out back.” Why did he always have to explain himself? Hadn’t he proven that he was loyal and capable? The right choice to lead them toward their destiny? Hadn’t he made the ultimate sacrifice?

“Can I trust you to handle the rest of the arrangements on your own?”

“Of course,” he answered, resentment building at always having his abilities questioned. “I’ve got it under control.”

His companion nodded, turned to leave, then hesitated. “There is much at stake.”

Yeah, yeah, yeah. “I know that.” Feeling more in control, now that he had the money and he’d accomplished the biggest hurdle, he reined in his temper. This powerful man would see a display of temper as a sign of weakness. Just you wait, he thought, feeling smug and self-satisfied as he stood, shoulders slightly hunched, eyes downcast. Just you freaking wait. Soon he’d be the one making all the decisions. He’d be the big man in charge.

That was the goal.

That was his destiny.

He was so close to making his goal a reality.

“SPEAKING FROM EXPERIENCE, I don’t agree.”

“It was a prank, Dr. Jameson,” Chandler insisted. “Do you have any idea how many times this sort of thing has happened in the past?”

Molly squared her shoulders, feeling mildly annoyed that she had to tilt her head back in order to hold his gaze. He was the most annoying man. And the prime reason she felt that way, she had to admit, was her body’s visceral reaction to him. His insistence that the man on the phone had been pulling a prank was, in her professional judgment, a huge mistake. The caller had sounded not only completely sincere, he’d sounded triumphant.

The fact that she was both annoyed and strangely attracted to Landry bugged the hell out of her. There weren’t two more diametrically opposed people on the planet. “You have people committing and confessing to murders on air often, do you?” Molly demanded, trying to drag her libido back in line. Plenty of men had sparkling brown eyes and long dimples in their lean cheeks. Landry looked as though he had a delicious secret.

Molly didn’t care to find out what that might be.

He was good-looking. So what? Jasper had hundreds of good-looking men.

He rolled those chocolate-colored eyes at her pithy comment, and made a dismissive sound that made her want to smack his smugly handsome face. A reaction that horrified her. Not only didn’t she have a temper—under normal circumstances—but her training had taught her the pitfalls of physical violence. In under an hour this man had turned her into someone she didn’t recognize.

She took a deep, calming breath and reminded herself that Chandler was a news reader, hardly in a position to assess the seriousness of a mentally disturbed person appropriately. “He—”

Chandler cut her off. “People seek attention, Molly. It’s a risk and a reality on live TV. It was probably just some fool getting his kicks at our expense.”

“I didn’t get that sense,” she replied, keeping her voice reasonable with an effort.

“We’ve got to clear the studio,” Chandler gathered his script sheets into a pile and stood. “Let’s go back to my office. We can wait for Seth there. I’m sure it was a joke,” he assured her for the umpteenth time. Her gray-green eyes narrowed as she looked up at him, and he saw she wasn’t going for his theory one bit. He sighed inwardly. She was a shrink. Hell, she’d see mental defect in everyone as a matter of course. “Sick,” he said firmly, “but a joke nevertheless.”

Clearly not convinced, Molly frowned slightly as she rose. Chandler didn’t move back as she straightened, so they were closer together than two strangers would feel comfortable with. Her perfume drifted up to him. Something soft and subtle. Roses, he thought. Maybe with a touch of citrus. He stayed where he was, waited to see what Molly would do.

She held her ground. She might not be willing to show that his size and nearness intimidated her, but he sure as hell noticed the sudden increase of her pulse in the creamy hollow of her throat. Points to the lady.

“Maybe,” she said, meeting his eyes unflinchingly. “But he sounded serious to me. I guess that’s the problem with call-in therapy. It’s really hard to diagnose someone as a sociopath over the phone.”

He grinned, nice to meet a shrink with a sense of humor. Normally he found members of her profession way too serious, and frequently screwier than the people they purported to treat. For example their regular guest for the mental health segment Gavin Templesman. Now there was a guy filled with his own self-importance. Knowledgeable but pedantic and superior. Chandler thought the guy was an ass. He figured he should keep that opinion to himself, since he wasn’t clear on the relationship between Templesman and Molly.

The lights in the studio dimmed. A broad hint from the control room.

“Are we going somewhere?” Molly asked pointedly. “Or are we staying here in the dark?”

He wouldn’t mind standing in the dark with Dr. Molly a while longer, but Chandler figured she’d get a little cranky if he didn’t move it.

“My office. He placed his palm against the small of her back to guide her out of the studio and toward his office. The stiffening of her spine was infinitesimal beneath his palm, but she didn’t make a verbal protest. “You must know Dr. Templesman pretty well for him to suggest you fill in for him at the last minute.”

She slanted him a look. “Was that a question?”

Yeah. He wanted to know if the old guy was her lover. Chandler smiled. “Are you partners or something?” Mentally, he added, professional or otherwise?

She blandly replied, “I’ve known him for twelve years,” walking a little bit faster so that his hand fell away from her waist in a silent rebuke. Another point to the lady.

And a nice nonanswer, he thought. Her movement caused some of the silken strands of wheat-blond hair to slip from their neat bundle. His fingers itched to reach out and give a gentle tug, just enough so that her hair spilled over her shoulders. Instead, he shoved one hand into his pocket and dropped the other to his side. Best to keep his hands to himself…at least for now.

He paused at the entrance to his office and ushered her inside with a wave of his hand. “Make yourself comfortable,” he suggested, grabbing two three-quarter-inch tapes off the chair. He put the tapes and his script into the top drawer of his desk. “Seth should be here shortly. Just a formality. While I’m sure the guy wasn’t serious, the station will want to be sure to cover its ass. Just in case.” Everyone was sue happy these days.

The base of his chair squeaked as he dropped into the battered leather cushions that conformed perfectly to his body. His eyes scanned Dr. Molly’s very serious face. She was really pretty—wholesomely pretty, femininely pretty. And pretty much not interested in him, apparently.

This, of course, made Chandler that much more fascinated. Without vanity, he knew he was attractive and attractive to women. It had been a while since his advances, subtle as they were, had been coolly and politely rebuffed.

“You’re staring,” she commented. Her voice was soft, nonthreatening, almost observational. Despite the scrutiny, she neither shifted in her seat nor fidgeted under his perusal. More points to the lady. She was racking them up.

It irritated him a little that he couldn’t get a read on her. Observing people was his forte. He flashed her his best and most effective smile. “You’re a beautiful woman. It’s my job to stare at you. Part of the Man Code.”

No grin, no smile, not even a faint twinkle in her eyes. Flattery didn’t impress her. Okay, he’d try another tack.

“Your book really was quite good.”

Full-on, perfect-teeth smile. Okay, I get it. The way to this woman’s heart was through her intellect.

“Thanks.” A little of the frost left her eyes. “I’m surprised you read it. I’d expect someone like you to glance at the Table of Contents, maybe check out at a few chapter headings.”

Chandler leaned back in his seat, stretching his legs off to the side and crossing them at the ankles. She was really something. What, he wasn’t yet sure. But her quick assessment of him stung. He shot her a cool look. “Someone like me?”

Her cheeks held just a hint of color. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

That wasn’t an apology, he surmised easily. Not a real one. She wasn’t sorry she’d implied that he was too stupid to read, only that telling him as much wasn’t supposed to be offensive.

“I like to read,” he replied easily. “I’m especially fond of books with lots of colorful pictures.”

Her cheekbones flamed. “I…I.” She snapped her mouth shut as her brain scrambled for a way out. But there wasn’t one. Taking a deep breath, she met his dark eyes and admitted, “You’re right. That was an unkind way to put it. But the truth is, you’ve got a reputation as someone who, well, who…who…”

“Isn’t too bright?”

She felt herself cringe. “Well, people don’t usually mention your IQ, Mr. Landry. Any time you make the papers, there’s usually mention of the fact that you’re gorgeous and single. Montana’s Second Most Eligible Bachelor, as I recall?”

“Imagine how pissed off I was at not being named number one,” he countered. “And yes, I’m aware of the focus often placed on my appearance, but then, I work in a visual medium, so I can’t really complain.”

“I suppose not,” Molly agreed. “I shouldn’t have accepted the stereotype so easily. I do apologize.” And boy, did she hate doing it too. Stupid, stupid, stupid, she told herself. Making a thoughtless comment like that to a man like this, was tantamount to poking a sharp stick through the bars of a lion’s cage just to hear him roar. She knew better.

Chandler simply shrugged. Well, it wasn’t all that simple. Not when the fabric of his jacket pulled taut against broad, hard muscle. Molly swallowed and willed her brain not to dwell on his physical attributes.

“Most of the time my, er, celebrity is a bonus. I can get into most of the decent restaurants without a prior reservation and I can usually find a date on short notice.”

Molly mentally rolled her eyes but kept her gaze steady and her hands neatly in her lap. “Two important life skills,” she told him dryly.

“That was pretty snippy,” he said without even a hint of annoyance. “How about I get us some coffee?”

“That would be great,” she agreed readily. Maybe a shot of caffeine would improve her mood.

Chandler rose from behind his desk, a large, powerful, charming male in his prime. Her mouth went dry. She inspected a slight hangnail on her thumb as he walked past her chair and disappeared. Leaving her free to explore his small, tidy office. She took a couple of quick, necessary breaths to control her heart rate. The man was potent.

She glanced around his office. The first thing that struck her was the organization. It wasn’t just orderly; it was Obsessive-Compulsive-Disorder neat. His functional desk was gray laminate and formed an “L” shape out from the wall. He’d divided it into two separate and distinct areas. The portion facing the door was devoid of anything but the telephone. Not a pencil, not a scrap of paper, nothing. Just the telephone. With a perfectly coiled cord. Very precise.

On the short portion of the “L” sat a state-of-the-art laptop. It was one of the sleek, chrome models that supposedly traveled well. Next to the computer was a small tower of disks, color-separated and labeled in bold, block letters that were so perfectly matched in shape and size that she had to look twice to confirm they were handwritten.

Dropping her purse next to the chair, Molly rose and went to the first of three bookcases that lined the opposite wall. Black plastic videotape cases were lined like soldiers on the first three shelves. A closer inspection revealed that they were in alphabetical order. Seriously anal.

The second case was a collection of reference books, alphabetized and separated by size, color and topic. He had everything ranging from the Annotated Laws of the State of Montana to a Zoologists Guide to Bears. Pathologically anal.

Had it not been for the contents of the third bookcase, she would have started wondering about his mental health. On these shelves she found glimpses of him as a man. There were several framed photographs. Many, she guessed, were family pictures. They seemed to cover decades. One in particular caught her eye. Carefully, she lifted it off the shelf. Nine sets of smiling eyes looked back at her.

She shivered at the mere thought of such a huge family. The parents made a handsome couple. Chandler obviously came by his good looks honestly. His father was a very handsome man and his mother was stunning. She looked quite out of place among all that testosterone.

She also looked sad, Molly thought. There was something in her clear-blue eyes that seemed distant, unconnected. Molly felt herself smile, the poor woman was probably sleep deprived. She probably hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep since the birth of her first of seven sons.

“I’m the cute one—second from the left,” a slightly familiar male voice said from the doorway.

Molly turned to find Seth Landry smiling a greeting. He looked quite official in his sheriff’s uniform. And her brain made the predictable comparisons. Seth, like Chandler, was tall, dark and incredibly fit. His smile was warm and charming. Charm seemed to be an inherited trait among the Landrys.

Molly replaced the picture in its spot and extended her hand as she stepped forward. “Nice to see you again, Sheriff.”

“That’s right,” he acknowledged with a slight nod. “You worked with my nephew a few years back.”

“How is Kevin?”

“Great. Spoiled. Adjusting to being a big brother.”

“I ran into Callie at the grocery store,” Molly recalled. “She had little Sheldon with her. He’s adorable.”

“I think so, but then, I’m the favorite uncle, so I’m prejudiced.”

“I’m the favorite uncle,” Chandler insisted. He moved past Seth to place two mugs of coffee onto the desk, then hugged Seth and gave him a loud slap on the back.

Molly looked on with a twinge of envy. It must be nice to have a sibling. She hadn’t had that kind of physical contact with anyone since her father’s death. While she adored Gavin, it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t this.

“Sorry to drag you out here,” Chandler said. “I’m sure it’s a waste of your time.”

“I disagree,” Molly insisted. “I think that once you review the call, Sheriff, you’ll believe, like I do, that there is cause to investigate.”

“I’ll defer to you, Doctor,” Seth replied easily. “Chandler rarely takes anything seriously enough. It’s been a problem his entire life.”

Chandler tossed his brother a “kiss-off” look, then turned his attention back to Molly.

Her pretty eyes were little more than angry gray-green slits. Her pale skin was flushed but otherwise perfect. She was beautiful. And she was wrong.

“I’m sure it was just a crank call,” he reiterated.

“I disagree,” she countered. “I think if you listen to the tape—I assume one was recorded?”

“Yes,” Chandler supplied.

“It’s being cued in the control room as we speak,” Seth added. “I’d like the two of you to walk me through it.”

“My pleasure,” Molly said, spinning on her heel and walking ahead of them.

Chandler shook his head at the sight of her rigid back. His expression softened as his eyes dropped lower. Down to the gentle slope of her hips, lower still, to her shapely, toned legs. The woman had a great body.

Chandler’s brother grabbed his upper arm, holding him back and leaning closer before whispering, “Killer body.”

“You’re an old married guy, you shouldn’t be noticing bodies anymore. Killer or otherwise.”

“Just doing my job,” Seth retorted.

“How is admiring the good doctor’s tush part of your job description?”

“Investigation.” Seth shoved his Stetson back against his forehead and tilted his head slightly to the right as they slowly followed Molly down the hallway.

“Knock it off,” Chandler groused. “You have a beautiful wife. Go look at her.”

“I do,” Seth said on a contented sigh. “Every chance I get.”

“Then leave this one for me.” He saw Seth’s reproachful look out of the corner of his eye. “What?”

“She knows Callie. And Sam. And Kevin. And Taylor.”

Chandler’s brain flashed the images of his sister-in-law, his brother Sam, their son, and the Landrys’ housekeeper, Taylor Reese. None of the pictures in his mind deterred him from admiring the enticing view of Molly in her fitted navy suit. “So?”

Seth made a sound somewhere between a grunt and a groan. “Don’t be stupid, Chandler. You know better than to fool around with a friend of the family. When it ends—and we both know it always does—there’ll be divided loyalties and hell to pay.”

Chandler shrugged, knowing there was some merit to Seth’s argument. Very few things in life were as scary as the wrath of a woman. One surefire way to incur said wrath was to date and dump a friend. Women were amazing. Their friendships created a universal agreement that made the Musketeers look like pikers. Dump one and the others made you pay. Big-time.

“I’m just window-shopping,” Chandler said. “No harm in that, is there?”

“With you?” Seth asked. “Hell yes. You’re never satisfied by looking. Never were, never will be.”

Chandler jabbed his brother in the ribs with his elbow. “I’ll have you know I’m the picture of self-control.”

Rolling his eyes, Seth snickered. “You’re like a two-year-old, little brother. You need instant gratification. You see something you like, you want it five minutes ago. And you bore easily.”

Chandler watched as Molly shifted her purse from one dainty hand to the other. “How could anyone get bored with such a stunning creature?”

“You’d find a way,” Seth insisted. “Try some restraint. It builds character.”

“Screw character,” Chandler whispered as he donned his best poker face.

They reached the end of the corridor and Molly appeared to be at a loss. Placing his hand at the back of her waist, Chandler nudged her gently in the direction of the control booth. Inwardly he smiled as he felt her body shudder beneath his touch. To a lesser man, that might have been a deterrent. But he knew better. That small flinch was an acknowledgment, tangible proof that she was aware of his fingers splayed against her spine.

“In here,” he said, stepping to the side of the door and gallantly making a production out of allowing her to enter first.

Seth stepped forward and mumbled, “Suck up.”

“Jealous.”

“Hardly. I’ve got a wife, remember?”

“Who wants a wife when you can have her?”

“Who says you can have her?” Seth countered. “She seems pretty uninterested to me.”

“She won’t be for long.”

“Don’t go there, Chandler. She’s a nice lady. Been good to our family.”

“And those are two very good reasons for me to invite her to dinner.”

“Suit yourself,” Seth sighed. “But when you mess this up, I won’t save you from Callie or Taylor.”

“Who says I’m going to screw up?”

“Your entire life history.”

He shrugged and muttered, “I wish I’d been an only child.” Still, Seth’s words struck an unpleasant chord. Though he’d bite off his tongue before admitting it to his brother, Chandler knew his dating credentials fell far short of stellar. He did tend to rush into relationships, only to discover after the fact that he’d chosen poorly. But that didn’t make him incapable of having a real relationship. Did it? He sighed. Okay, so he’d done some borderline wrong things. But never once, not even for a split second, had he ever intended to hurt anyone.

Molly was fascinated by the vastly complicated electronic equipment crammed into a small, two-tiered room. One entire wall was monitors. Some were tuned to network programming, others were blank, still others were live feeds from the cameras located in the studios.

There were two long consoles in the room, with too many switches, dials and colored buttons to count. Several casually attired people with headsets manned the control boards. Yanking off his headset, a rotund man in a rumpled golf shirt stepped forward to welcome them.

She recognized the voice immediately. He was the producer who had called her with arrangements to do Good Morning Montana. He was also the disembodied voice she’d heard over the studio’s speakers.

“I’m Mike Murray,” he said, offering a beefy hand, and looking at Seth over her shoulder. “We’ve got the tape all set-up, sheriff.”

“Thank you,” Seth said. “Mind if we do this in private?”

The producer looked perplexed. “Yeah, I do. This is a newsroom. If it turns out there’s something to this call, then we have a responsibility to our viewers to stay on top of it.”

Seth did not appear pleased. “You also have a responsibility not to hinder my investigation.”

The burly producer seemed to be mulling it over.

Chandler stepped up and said, “Don’t sweat it, Mike, I’ll run the tape machine and if anything of interest comes of this, I’m on it.”

As soon as the other employees were dismissed, Molly and Seth were given seats at the console. Chandler opted to lean against the edge of the second row, his fingers within easy reach of the machine’s controls.

They watched the tape twice in silence, then Seth began asking for their impressions at various parts. After almost three hours, Molly had memorized every syllable of John’s call.

“He’s young,” she said when the tape ended. “Early twenties.”

“Why do you say that?” Seth asked.

“He mentions the government screwing him. Teenagers don’t really have much interaction with the government.”

“But he could be older than twenties, right?” Seth asked.

“Assuming he isn’t a crackpot,” Chandler spoke up, “his vocabulary is more in keeping with a young adult.”

Molly turned and gave him a smile. “Very good. And I agree. He used ‘lousy’ and ‘crappy’ which would be more appropriate for a twenty-year-old than a thirty-five year old. He also said his mother needed him. It indicates an inflated sense of self-importance.”

“Aren’t all men self-important?”

Molly again had to smile at Chandler’s question. “Pretty much,” she agreed, amused. “But in this case, he lumps his mother in with all his other problems. It shows minimal separation. I would guess this guy hasn’t had a great deal of life experience apart from his nuclear family.”

“This is good, I think—” Seth’s thought was interrupted by the sound of his cell phone. Grabbing it from the clip on his belt, Seth flipped it open and placed it against his ear. “Yes?” There was a lengthy pause, then “Say that again. Got it. I’ll be right there.”

“Problem?”

Seth’s brow wrinkled into a deep frown that reached the corners of his eyes. “Maybe. Just got a 911 call for a floater in Spawn Creek.”

“A woman?” Molly asked, a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. “Could it be John’s mother?”

“Won’t know for a while.” Seth stood and put his notepad into the breast pocket of his uniform shirt. “I’ve got to go.”

“I’ll go with you,” Chandler offered.

Seth shook his head. “No way. I don’t want any press on this just yet.”

“It’s a crime scene, Seth,” Chandler argued. “I’ve got every right to be there with a camera crew.”

Molly saw a flash of anger pass between the two men. It was so intense that she actually flinched.

“No camera, Chandler. Not on this one.”

“Why? What’s so special about this one?”

“It’s bad,” Seth answered slowly. “Really bad.”