Dreaming With My Eyes Wide Open (Hollywood Legends #2) (22 page)

“I don’t like the idea of a killer running around my town.”
Danny looked grim. “I’d like to talk to these friends of yours. The more they
can tell me the better.”

“I’ll give you the contact information for H&W Security.
However, this won’t be your problem for long, Sheriff.”

“Why is that?”

“Because I’m leaving as soon as I can make the
arrangements.”

“What?” Paige couldn’t believe her ears.

“If I’d thought I was putting anyone else in danger, I never
would have come, Paige. If I stay, this could happen again. And whoever is
nearby might not be as lucky as we were.”

“No.”

“He’s right, Paige.”

“What about Dad? He’s counting on you to help him make Mom’s
movie.” Paige knew she sounded desperate, but she didn’t care. She refused to
let Nate walk out of her life so soon. She knew it was inevitable. Just not
right now.

“When I explain, he’ll understand. He’ll probably pack my
bag and drive me to the airport.”

“I don’t believe that. There has to be another solution.”
Jumping to her feet, she waved a finger in front of Nate’s face. “You agreed to
do a job and you aren’t leaving until it’s finished.”

“Paige.”

Nate watched her storm out of the room. He knew why she was
upset. Did she think he wanted to leave her? After last night? He wanted more.
His plan had been to spend the next few weeks making love with Paige again and
again. It wasn’t easy knowing their first time together might have been their
last.

JAMES CRANSHAW WAS not a brave man. He was a weasel. Hiding in
holes. Coming out at night where he could slip into the shadows — undetected.

He made his living by taking jobs from people who wanted bad
things done but didn’t want to get their hands dirty. James Cranshaw didn’t
mind. The pay was good and he liked the thrill of ruining lives while knowing
he would never have to pay the consequences.

His specialty was fire. James shivered. Watching flames
engulf a building — especially if someone was inside — turned him on like
nothing else. Women were a dime a dozen. Give him a roaring blaze any day.

Mistakes were rare. However, they did happen. Which was why
he always insisted on half of his fee upfront. Clients didn’t like sloppy work.
On occasion, they refused to pay — even after he rectified the situation. That
wasn’t the proper way to do business. Being a man who hated confrontation, he
slinked back into the shadows without his money.

Not that he allowed his client to get off that easily. A
month, maybe two, later, a fire destroyed something the client loved. A fancy
car. A beachside retreat. A spouse.

Lesson learned.

Anonymity was the key to his success. It made him a rich man
and kept him breathing. Never meet. Never give your name. He kept over two
hundred post office boxes all over the United States. Small towns. Large
cities. From Florida to Hawaii. James liked to travel — though never under his
real name.

Even James Cranshaw was an alias. That person ceased to
exist thirty years ago. After his first fire. Bye-bye, Mom and Dad. The
backwater police assumed he died with them. No one questioned the notion. That
night he walked into the shadows. And that was where he had stayed. Until two
years ago.

It was his own fault. He liked to drink. He called it his
second love. Fire and alcohol. In the wrong hands, they could be a lethal
combination. James knew how to handle both without getting burned.

He didn’t know how Michael found him. A casual comment
exchanged in a liquor store. A mutual love of aged whiskey. James made three
mistakes that night. Going out when he had already consumed the last half of a
bottle in his apartment. Striking up a conversation with a stranger. And not
watching his back.

He woke the next morning with a bump on his head and a brand
new burner phone, and a new
friend
. Not Michael — if that was really his
name. He worked for someone. A man who was as anonymous as James used to be.

The first call came while James packed his few possessions.
The plan was to be gone before whatever shit was about to hit the fan, landed
on him. He would lay low for a few months. He didn’t want to move his money.
The accounts were safe. But he wasn’t going to take a chance on his activities
being traced. He had a secret stash that would hold him over.

James almost didn’t answer when the phone rang. No one who
went to this much trouble would let him get away that easily. Screwing up his
small supply of courage, James took a deep breath.

“Hello.”

“Mr. Cranshaw.”

The voice was smooth. Educated. It sent a shot of ice
through James’ veins.

“Who is this?”

“Call me your… friend. Yes. I like that. This is your
friend, James. Your
best
friend.” The man’s laugh was the least jolly
thing James had ever heard.

“I doubt that.”

“But it’s true, James. I’m about to give you the greatest
gift any friend can give another.”

“What is that?” James held his breath.

“Why, the gift of life. You do what I tell you, and you get
to live.”

James sank onto the beat-up sofa that came with the
apartment. High-end booze was the only thing he spent his money on. His
pleasure came from knowing it was there — and the memories of how he acquired
it.

For the first time, he wished he had splurged now and then.
A new car. Nicer clothes. He was going to die, and damn it, unless he could
swallow every cent, there was no way to take it with him.

“Relax, James. I don’t want to end your life. I have spent
too much time looking for you.”

“Me?”

“Naturally, I don’t mean you in particular.” His tone was
slightly chastising. “I meant someone with your unique skill set.”

James didn’t answer. What could he say to that? Thank you?

“To get what I want, from time to time, people need to die.
You are going to take care of that, James. I will be happy. You will live. And
as an added bonus, I’m going to pay you your usual fee.”

“Why not hire me? Why bother with all of this?”

“That is a very good question, James. What do you think is
the answer?”

James heard a match striking and the familiar puffing sound
that accompanied the lighting of a cigar. James’ father loved a good smoke. He
used one to set his childhood home on fire.

“You want control over me.”

“Very good. I never do anything unless I know I’m pulling
all the strings. Hmm. That makes me the Puppet Master. I like that.”

“How will this work?”

“Whenever I need a favor, a disposable phone will be delivered.
The next day, a text will be sent. There will be a name and a location. The
rest will be up to you. And James?”

James swallowed. “Yes?”

“I do not tolerate failure.”

That was how the unholy alliance began. James had no
illusions about himself. He lit fires. Sometimes people died. Simple and clean.
Working for the Puppet Master changed that. He was no longer his own man. His
new
boss
insisted on exclusivity. No freelancing. No exceptions.

He received a monthly payment — automatically deposited into
one of his three offshore accounts. When he completed a job, a bonus amount was
added.

James kept to the agreement — he was afraid not to. The two
times he tried to disappear, he paid the price. A broken nose. Then a broken
arm. He didn’t want to find out what would be next. He didn’t tolerate pain
well.

He did what he was told and he did it right — the first
time. No screw-ups. Clean. Easy. Never a trace left behind. No witnesses. No
messes to clean up.

Until now.

The truck had been a mistake. Miscommunication. The Puppet
Master wouldn’t tolerate that excuse. He would know the real reason James
screwed up.

Single malt whiskey.

Damn it. It wasn’t his fault. He was in the middle of
nowhere. Fucking Montana. Why would anyone choose to live here? Miles and miles
of nothing. After that? More nothing.

When the command came in for him to get his ass to Basic,
James assumed he would be in and out. A quick job. Easy. What could there be to
keep him busy in such a backwater hole?

Two weeks later, he had his answer.
Nothing
. There
was nothing for him to do.
Break a camera? Really?
It had been so far
below his skill level, he almost protested.
Almost
. Instead, James
drank. He brought five bottles of the good stuff with him. More than enough. Or
so he thought. He was down to one bottle. Half of which he had been consuming
when the text came in.

Last minute instructions issued at two in the morning? How
could he be at his best? Blurry, bloodshot eyes didn’t focus well in the middle
of the night. A line that read,
get rid of him
, wavered into, get rid of
them
. Anyone could have made that mistake.

The only thing that might save him was the fact that he
hadn’t succeeded.
Who was he kidding? He was a dead man
.

James didn’t go back to his hotel room. The only things
there were some dirty underwear and a death sentence. He headed out of town in
the old Chevy he had purchased for this journey into oblivion. As he literally
drove for his life, he went over the mistakes of the evening.

He should have waited until some of the alcohol had worn
off. He knew better than to do a job when the booze was freshly singing in his
veins. It made him reckless. One of the main reasons he drank. It was the only
time he was released from the weight of his fears.

Whiskey made him stand tall. It also made him dumber than a
sack of rocks.

The house should have been his target. It was small. A few
charges strategically placed and boom. Blame it on a gas leak. End of story.

The size of the house made him go for the truck. His hands
weren’t steady. He worried about being heard. Normally, he would be in and out.
Slick. Silent. However, his head started to pound. He had been convinced the
entire town could hear the thunder of his footsteps. He couldn’t risk being
caught. So he skipped the house and put a remote-controlled detonator under the
gas tank of the truck. As soon as the man and woman were inside, he would hit
the switch.

Any halfway-decent investigator would determine it wasn’t an
accident. But so what? No one would trace it back to him — or the Puppet Master.

The plan would have worked. Except he fell asleep. Something
woke him. The sound of the front door closing? Whatever it was, James sat up
with a start, panicked that his targets were getting away. Without thinking, he
reached for the remote and set off the charge. For a second, he forgot his
pounding head and the inch-thick coating of fuzz on his tongue. The night was
ablaze. Fire. The surge of excitement was familiar — welcome. He let the
feeling rush through him. Until he saw something moving on the porch. One body.
No two.

Holy Fuck
. They were alive.

James didn’t think twice. He started the car and drove.
Three hours later, the panic hadn’t worn off. He kept running his mistakes over
and over in his mind. One piled on top of the other. He was well and truly
trapped beneath a shit-pile of his own making. His head was clear enough to
realize there was no digging out. So he did the only thing he could. He kept
driving. North. To Canada.

Luck wasn’t his friend. Not that it ever had been. The SUV
ran him off the road and into a tree. The crap car was old. Too old for
airbags. Goddamn it. His face was smashed up. He could taste the metallic bite
of his own blood.

“I fucked up.”

“Yes. You did.”

Michael. From the liquor store. One bullet to the brain.
James had one last thought before his life ended.

Fucking Montana
.

NATE WONDERED IF he was the only sensible person left in the
world. Or maybe he was on caffeine overload. He was certain the words coming
out of his mouth were intelligible. Logical. Yet instead of agreeing, Chuck,
the cast, the crew, and even the horses, acted as though nothing had changed.

Lottie had driven Nate and Paige home. It was a bit of a
detour on her way to work, but she said she felt better personally seeing that
they were dropped off safe and sound.

The trip was uneventful — and silent. Paige wasn’t speaking
to him. Lottie — in solidarity — for once kept her thoughts to herself. Nate
hated the chill that had settled between him and Paige, but there was nothing
to say. He was leaving. Not because he wanted to. It was for her safety. For
the safety of her father and her friends.

As they approached the house, he was surprised to see so
many vehicles in the driveway. Surely, Chuck had canceled today’s shoot. Word
of the explosion would have reached everyone long before now. What reason could
they have for being here?

“Looks like a party.” Lottie eased her car to a stop. “I’m
sorry I have to miss it.”

“Thanks for the ride.” Paige gave her friend a hug. “Call me
later. I could use a girl’s night out.”

“Really?” Lottie glanced at Nate. He shook his head before
getting out of the backseat. “After everything? Let’s wait a few days. After…”

“He’s determined to leave, Lottie.” Paige sighed. Her eyes
carried a resigned sadness. “I would rather go out with you than sit home and
mope.”

“Drinks it is.”

Lottie hated to see her friend defeated. Paige was a
fighter. But how did you fight for a man who wasn’t yours and now, never would
be? It was her job as best friend to help ease the pain. Tequila shots, loud
music on the jukebox, and a sympathetic ear. Lottie would be there to make sure
Paige didn’t do anything stupid. Too much to drink? Yes. Rebound sex?
Absolutely not.

“It looks like everyone is gathered in the barn.” Paige
started to walk in that direction. When Nate didn’t join her, she turned. “Come
on. You might as well get this over with. It will be easier to explain yourself
to the group. It will save Dad having to do it.”

Nate couldn’t argue. Nor did he want to. He brought this
mess with him. It was up to him to clean it up. That meant making those people
who had put their trust in him understand that he wasn’t abandoning them. The
movie would get made. However, someone else would be stepping in as director.

Nate decided what to say when his phone rang. Wyatt. He
looked up to see Paige waiting for him.

“It’s my brother.”

Paige nodded. “I’ll let everyone know you’re coming.”

“What’s up, Wyatt?”

“You tell me.”

Nate could picture his oldest brother. It was after nine.
That meant Wyatt was in full producer mode. Italian suit — tailored to
perfection. Crisp white shirt. His tie would be straight as a pin. He looked
like the perfect young executive. And in many ways, that’s what he was.

“You heard.” Shit. The first call Nate made after the police
should have been to his parents. “I’ll call Mom and Dad right away.”

“That can wait a few more minutes. Chuck spoke with Dad a
few hours ago. He assured him that you were fine. Mom tried calling, but she
got your voicemail. You can imagine how that went over. If Dad hadn’t stopped
her, she would be halfway to Montana by now.”

“I turned my phone off while we were giving our statements.
I didn’t think to check my messages when I turned it on.”

“The
we
being you and Paige Chamberlin?”

“That’s right.”

There was a long pause. Nate knew this game. Wyatt was a
master of it. He asked a question then waited until the other person spilled
their guts. More than once, Nate had caved under the pressure of the
excruciating silence.

Not this time. Paige was none of Wyatt’s business.

Nate wasn’t certain, but he thought he heard Wyatt chuckle.
Before he could decide his brother dropped some news Nate could have done
without.

“My assistant has been fielding questions from the press.”

“Well, shit.”

“I know you hate publicity, but—”

“Goddamn it, Wyatt.”

“Hear me out. Jesus.” Wyatt sighed. “I have three brothers,
each more frustrating than the last. You, Nathaniel, have been generating a lot
of interest. Over the past few months, you have slowly been losing anonymity.”

“Not by choice.” Nate ran a hand through his hair. He
noticed Rollie, her head seeming to beckon him. He walked to the corral and
scratched her nose. Silly, but he felt calmer with the horse rubbing her muzzle
against his hand.

“I know.” Wyatt’s voice softened. “I wish I could tell you
it will go away. You know it would be a lie. First, the accident on the set of
your last film. By the way, the theory that it
wasn’t
an accident is
gaining traction.”

“Is that good or bad?” Nate had the feeling he already knew
the answer.

“The crazies are coming out of the woodwork. According to
one person, what happened to you ties into the Kennedy assassination,
Watergate, and Iran-Contra.”

“What time machine did that guy step out of? Hello. Restrict
your conspiracy theories to events from the twenty-first century.”

“I had an intern set up a tip-line.”

“It’s gotten that bad?”

Nate exchanged looks with the horse. She seemed as annoyed as
he was. It was nice to know she was on his side.

“Yes.” Wyatt didn’t like to mince words. “You are the
current social media darling, Nate.”

“That’s a bit of an exaggeration.”

“Check out the numbers. You have almost one hundred thousand
likes on Facebook alone.”

Groaning, Nate rested his forehead on Rollie’s neck. The
horse nickered. Sympathy? Nate didn’t care. That was his interpretation.

“Now you understand why this morning’s news has caused such
a stir. The Landis name plus everything else? You need to get ahead of this.”

“I should give an interview.”

“One,” Wyatt said before Nate could protest. “We pick the
time, the place, and the person. You know how it works. Get the facts out
there, diminish the interest.”

“The facts?”

“The ones you want to share. The rest you can gloss over. If
you want, I can have a press release made up. All you will need to do is be
charming and smile, and the world will be happy.”

“Nothing is released without my approval, Wyatt.”

“Jesus, Nate. Really? This is your brother. You think I’m
going to screw you over?”

Shit. Nate felt Wyatt’s slap-down from here. He deserved it
— and worse.

“I’m sorry. This has knocked me for a loop.”

“Almost getting blown up will do that.” There was an edge to
Wyatt’s voice. “I don’t like the idea of losing my brother.”

“I’m with you,” Nate said. “I’m leaving as soon as I can.
Set up the interview. I’ll be back in Los Angeles in a day or two. After I
check in with the family, I’ll head out again.”

“Where?”

“I don’t know yet. Someplace where I don’t have to worry
about anyone else getting hurt.”

“We’ll talk about that when you get here.”

“My mind is made up, Wyatt.”

“We’ll see.”

Nate wasn’t going to argue. He knew what Wyatt thought. The
family would gang up on him and convince him not to leave. They could try, but
there was no way he would put them in danger. He had almost cost Paige her
life. He wasn’t taking any more chances with the people he loved.

Nate froze.
People he loved
?
Paige
? It was a
slip. His brain was as tired as the rest of him. That was the only explanation.

Rollie gave him a knowing look.

“Keep your thoughts to yourself.”

“What?” Wyatt asked.

“Nothing.” Nate frowned at the horse before turning away. “I
need to explain things to the movie crew, Wyatt. Tell Mom and Dad I will call
them in a few hours.”

“Will do. And Nate?”

“Yes?”

“Watch your back.”

Nate put away his phone, thinking back to the day he arrived
in Montana. Jack Winston had given him the same advice. At the time, it hadn’t
occurred to him that someone would try anything this drastic. How did one
prepare for this kind of attack? How could he protect himself, or anyone else,
from a bomb?

There was only one answer.
Get as far away from
civilization as possible
.

“Nate.” The sobbing call of his name greeted him the second
he stepped into the barn.

“Oh, Nate.” A sobbing Jenna threw herself at Nate.

“Calm down.” Awkwardly, he patted the girl’s back. “I’m
fine.”

As gently as possible, Nate peeled Jenna’s arms from around
his waist and handed her over to her equally distraught friends.

“Cut the blubbering,” Homer said with disgust.

“Oh, shut up, Homer.” Jenna wiped at her eyes, careful not
to mess up her mascara. “Go play with your camera.”

“Enough.” Chuck gave the youngsters a warning look. “Nate.
Why don’t you take a seat? You look done in.”

“Thanks, Chuck, but I’m fine.”

Nate looked around the room. It appeared that almost
everyone was here. Beauty scampered to a halt at his feet, her eyes filled with
unconditional adoration. He picked her up, smoothing a hand over her head.
Happy to be in her favorite place, with her favorite person, she relaxed with a
huge puppy sigh.

“We know the shoot was canceled.” Edith Potter offered Nate
a cup of coffee. There was a table filled with the usual assortment of pastries
and beverages. When Nate shook his head, she smiled. “Coffeed out?”

Nate nodded. He searched for Paige, finding her in the back.
A few of the women stood by her, but her eyes were on him. Nate held her gaze,
trying to see past the exhaustion etched on her face. She looked like a warrior
returned from battle. It was a fanciful thought, but somehow accurate. His
heart twisted. He knew she was angry. And hurt. And he knew he was the reason.
The knowledge killed him. The sooner he got away from her, the better.

“We wanted to see for ourselves that you and Paige were all
right.”

“I appreciate it, Edith. I’m sure Paige feels the same.”

“Oh, Paige filled us in while you were on the phone. I can’t
believe something like that happened here in Basic. Thank God you walked away
unharmed.”

“I’m glad you’re all here.” Keeping his gaze off Paige, Nate
took a deep breath. He hadn’t realized this would be so difficult. In a short
time, he had grown fond of these people. No matter how good the reasons, he
hated letting them down.

“I want you to know how much working with all of you has
meant to me.”

“Why does it sound like there is a ‘but’ coming after that
statement?”

Nate gave Edith a weary smile.

“Because there is. I’m heading back to Los Angeles first
thing in the morning. I have a friend who has agreed to take over. He has a lot
more experience so you don’t have to worry. The production will continue.”

Nate had expected a few protests. The eruption of angry
voices had his eyes widening in surprise.

“We refuse to accept your resignation.”

“Edith—”

“I mean it, Nate. I think I speak for everyone when I say it
won’t work with anyone else. You know us. You understand what Erin wanted.”
Edith looked around the barn, her eyes coming to rest on Chuck. “Ask him.”

“Chuck. Do you want to risk these people?” Nate shook his
head. “Paige could have died today.”

“This isn’t about me, Nate. Not anymore.” As Edith did, he
looked around the room. “I’ll admit, when I first started, I wasn’t thinking
past my wants. My needs. It was selfish and I’m sorry, Paige.”

“Oh, Dad.” Paige crossed the barn, her arms slipping around
her father’s waist. “You weren’t selfish.”

Chuck snorted, making Paige laugh.

“Maybe a little selfish. Why is that a bad thing?” She met
his gaze. Brown eyes, so alike, the emotions mirrored. “Mom would love this.
Somewhere I believe she is cheering you on.”

“Cheering us on.” Chuck kissed Paige on the forehead. “You
see, Nate. You have too many people who want you to stay. Including Erin.”

Nate wondered if the combination of too much coffee and too
little sleep was making him a little crazy. His argument was sound. Sensible.
Hell, every person here should be pushing him out the door as quickly as
possible.

Instead, they used every trick in the book to make him stay.
Guilt and sentiment topping the list.

The problem was Nate didn’t want to leave. To his
ever-growing surprise, he was having a blast directing the movie. It didn’t
signal a new calling for him. However, it was interesting to see things from
the other side of the camera. He was getting a little insight into Garrett’s
professional life. And maybe, just maybe, he would be more sympathetic the next
time a director drove him crazy with unreasonable demands.

And then there was Paige. She was his biggest reason to
leave. Her safety. His heart.
Shit.
There it was again. If he left, his
heart would be safe. That made him a selfish bastard — and a coward.

If he stayed, he risked everything. The lives of people he
had come to care for. And falling hard for Paige. Correction. Falling
harder
for Paige. He was on the precipice. Nate watched as she gave her father another
hug. The ground beneath his feet was crumbling — inch by inch. The smart thing
would be to jump back before he tumbled all the way. When Paige smiled, her
eyes meeting his, Nate gave a mental sigh.

Stupid or not, it looked like he had made his decision.

“If I do this—”

Homer let out a whoop of excitement.

Nate pinned him with his best steely gaze. Homer sat down,
chastised but still grinning.

“I have to insist on a few things.”