Phantom's Touch: Sexy Paranormal (Book 2, Phantom Series) (25 page)

“I suppose we could say the same about the sword,” he surmised.

Cat shoved the photographs into the envelope, then settled back as if prepared to enjoy the comfort of the limousine, which Ben had only just noticed had crisp leather seats, dark windows and a minibar area, though it hadn’t been stocked with so much as an ice cube.

“No, Aiden’s in that sword,” Cat reassured him. “Or he was. Now we just have to hope he believes you when you tell him who you are.”

Ben glanced out the window, which, though tinted, allowed him a fairly clear view of the outside. He wasn’t a native of Los Angeles or even a frequent visitor, but he had taken the time to map the route to the movie studio earlier, out of curiosity about how long their trip would take. And from what he could tell, they were going in the wrong direction.

He pulled out his cell phone and tapped into the GPS system, confirming his suspicions. They were going the wrong way. After a quick glance toward the dividing glass, he showed the results to Cat.

“What’s going on?” she asked, her voice hushed.

Ben shrugged, unwilling to act on his instincts just yet. He could think of no reason why Helen Talbot would send them on a wild-goose chase. Before he jumped to conclusions, he’d look for the logical explanation, no matter how the hairs on the back of his neck were standing on end.

He tapped on the window until the driver slid it a quarter of the way down.

“Excuse me, but I thought you were taking us to the studio where the Athena film is shooting.”

The driver did not take his eyes off the road. “There’s a location shoot this afternoon.”

Cat grabbed his shoulder from behind and shook her head. He had no idea whether she was relying on her psychic abilities or some piece of information she hadn’t shared with him, but either way, his urge to bolt was too strong to ignore. The driver was lying.

“Okay, fine, then,” Ben replied, his grin forced.

The driver replaced the partition.

“I have a bad feeling about this,” Cat said quietly. The car had just eased onto the freeway and was picking up speed.

“Looks like we’ve gotten ourselves into a bit of a pickle,” Ben said, trying to keep his tone jaunty even while his heart was thudding against his chest. He didn’t mind dangerous situations. He’d been in more than his share of scrapes in his lifetime. But he didn’t like dragging Cat into the danger zone.

As if sensing his fear on her behalf, she curled her hand around his arm and beamed at him. The trust in her eyes steadied his heartbeat just enough for his brain to free up and work on a solution.

“And we’ll just have to figure out a way to get ourselves out,” he declared.

Suddenly the car swerved into the emergency lane and braked. Cat flew forward, tumbling, and Ben had just grabbed her hand and was pulling her toward the door when the handle popped out of his grip and a second man—not the driver—slid into the backseat, a 9mm handgun aimed at Cat’s head.

“I say we all sit tight,” the man said. “You want to arrive alive, don’t you?”

“Arrive where?” Cat asked boldly.

But the man didn’t answer, and, seriously, Ben wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

“What do you mean, they weren’t there?” Helen barked into her cell phone.

Lauren dropped the glass she’d been holding, but it stopped an inch short of the ground, then settled softly onto the carpeted floor, upright.

She whispered, “Thanks.”

They had a good two hours until sundown, but Aiden had been patient, remaining quiet and still while the sword had been handled, photographed, measured, weighed and fawned over by several of the workmen and artisans associated with the film. The art director, as Helen had predicted, had nearly wet himself with glee over the beauty of the weapon, though as Lauren handled the sword for the awestruck stunt coordinator, she could sense that Aiden took no pride in the compliments. She supposed that to him the sword was nothing more than a prison.

“I am weary,” Aiden murmured into her ear.

She understood. Remaining active while in this insubstantial state wiped Aiden out.

“Rest now,” she encouraged him. “We’ve got everything under control. I’ll see you soon.”

And after the thrill of what felt like the soft pressing of lips against hers, Lauren sensed Aiden withdrawing, pulling completely into the sword until sunset.

After dumping into the sink the water she’d nearly spilled, Lauren stared at Helen and hoped her plan to connect Aiden with his supposed nephew was still on track. She’d done everything in her power to clear everyone from the costumer to the hairstylists, assistant directors and screenwriters out of her trailer in anticipation of the meeting with Ben Rousseau.

On the ride from the house to the studio, Helen had filled her in entirely on what Ben had told her during the meeting at the Crown Chandler, though Lauren suspected Ben knew more than he’d revealed over martinis. Cinda had done her magic on the computer and learned that a Paschal Rousseau, Ben’s father, was a professor of Romani studies at a university in Texas. They’d found no photograph of him, so it was impossible for Aiden to determine any family resemblance, but they guessed the Gypsy connection could not be a coincidence.

And after questioning, Helen volunteered Ben’s girl-friend’s name—Catalina Reyes. The same woman, Lauren guessed, as the one associated with the Crown Chandler subsidiary responsible for the Forsyth family tree Web site. Cinda’s research also revealed that the Reyes woman was a respected paranormal researcher, with a lineage tied deep into the world of the unexplainable. Between Rousseau’s knowledge of the Gypsies and Reyes’s apparent expertise in the supernatural, they had to possess some clue about how to free Aiden once and for all.

But since neither Lauren nor Helen was big on trusting strangers, whoever they might be, they’d arranged to meet the pair in a fairly public place. Here on the soundstage, surrounded by cast and crew, they’d have a modicum of protection in case, like Nigel and whoever had attacked Lauren in the hospital, Rousseau and Reyes were simply trying to get their hands on a valuable and much-sought-after sword.

Helen had disconnected her call and was dialing again. In between buttons she informed Lauren that when the studio limo showed up to fetch their guests, they were not there.

“Why would they leave?”

Helen shrugged, then said, “Amber? Hi, this is Helen Talbot.”

When this second call was over, Helen frowned deeply. “She says they left in another limousine about ten minutes before the studio car showed up.”

“What? Why would they do that?”

Helen waved her hand, as if this odd turn of events meant nothing dire. Lauren had not told Helen the truth about Aiden, but her friend understood that the sword was a commodity that someone was pretty desperate to get their hands on.

“The concierge at the Crown Chandler gave me Rousseau’s cell phone number,” Helen explained. “I’ll call him and find out what happened. It’s probably just a misunderstanding.”

But the call wasn’t answered. Helen left a message, then jumped when someone knocked hard on the door but didn’t wait for an answer before barging in to Lauren’s trailer.

“What do you want?” Lauren asked before Ross had even shut the door behind him.

“I want to know what Nigel was looking for at your house.”

Lauren laughed humorlessly. “He’s your lapdog. Why did you send him to my house?”

“I didn’t,” Ross insisted, and from the anxious look on his face, she knew he wasn’t lying.

Helen, however, seemed to miss the nuance of his expression. “Who are you trying to con, Marchand? You sent him to steal the sword. Just like that guy who attacked Lauren in the hospital.”

Ross’s mouth was a thin, unyielding line. Helen sidled up beside Lauren, which seemed to spark a fire in Ross’s muddy hazel eyes. “I need to talk to my wife alone.”

In unison, Lauren and Helen both said, “Ex.”

Ross cursed. “Fine. Ex. Ex-wife. Satisfied? Clear out, Talbot. What I have to say is for her ears alone.” Helen narrowed her gaze, then glanced at Lauren, who gave her a confident nod.

“Don’t worry. I can take care of myself.”

Helen headed to the door. “I won’t go far. I’m going to keep trying to get in touch with our friends. I’ll let you know what happened as soon as I know.”

Once they were alone, Ross jammed his hands into his hair and marched to the couch, where he sat beside the weapon. Just to be on the safe side, Lauren moved the sword to the bar area. She did not feel Aiden’s presence, and in a small way she was thankful. After what had happened with Nigel this morning, she wanted to hear what Ross had to say. She didn’t need Aiden running him off on her behalf.

Ross groaned. “I’m not here to steal that cursed hunk of steel.”

“Cursed?”

Did he know something?

He sneered at the weapon. “More trouble than it’s worth. I shouldn’t have given in to you at that antiques store. Maybe if I hadn’t, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

“What mess?”

With a huff, he sank back into the cushions of the couch. “Nigel, for starters.”

Not that she tried, but Lauren couldn’t muster a shred of sympathy for Ross’s butler. He’d treated her like something he’d accidentally smeared on the bottom of his shoe since the first minute she’d moved into the Marchand household. The fact that the dog she’d bought for protection had attacked him didn’t make her feel guilty in the least.

“I assume he’ll live, even without the part of his ass that Apollo had for breakfast?”

Ross grinned at her quip, despite the fact that he shouldn’t. “Sit down, Lauren.”

She crossed her arms over her chest and remained standing.

After a second he looked up. Again, she saw remorse in his eyes. And again, she couldn’t ignore it.

“Please,” he said more sincerely, “sit down.”

With a frown, she realized she had nothing to lose by getting off her feel. She squeezed by him and sat on the opposite side of the couch.

He sat up straight, as if gearing himself up for a complicated explanation. “First, you have to know that I had nothing to do with Nigel breaking into your house this morning.”

“Nigel doesn’t do anything without your ordering him to.”

“That used to be true,” he muttered.

“It isn’t anymore? Why?”

He bit his bottom lip before responding. “My circumstances have changed. I’m in trouble, Lauren. Financial trouble.”

She scoffed. “I saw your financials during the divorce, Ross. You’re doing fine.”

“One doesn’t usually admit to their accountant the kind of debts I’m talking about.”

“What kind of debts?”

Lauren had known Ross to mix with business associates who could have stepped straight out or a Francis Ford Coppola flick, but he’d been fairly careful, separating his personal taste for rubbing shoulders with wise guys from his formidable status as a producer. Ross’s reputation wouldn’t inspire real respect if he laundered cash for criminals.

“You remember that series of movies I did in Mexico?”

“How can I forget? You were gone for nearly a year while I was shooting the second Athena movie.”

“It was a risky enterprise,” he said, repeating words she’d heard him say a hundred times back when they were practically newlyweds. “Shooting three movies concurrently in a rough part of a corrupt country. I had to pay some serious
dinero
to some big-time players to get those movies made without my actors being kidnapped or my sets torched. All of it had to be under the table, too. I thought with the star power I’d brought in, all three films would have been smash hits, but, well. . .”

His voice trailed away. Lauren didn’t need to remind him that the first two movies in the series had been so critically panned and publicly ignored that the third one had gone direct to video. The idea behind the series had been sound, the script fascinating and the actors top-notch, but the director had lost his marbles in the editing, and the flops might have ruined Ross entirely if not for the soaring success of the Athena franchise. Lauren remembered watching, horrified, during the screenings, wondering how such a successful producer as her husband would put out not one dud, but three—with his name on them. Now she was starting to understand.

He didn’t have a choice. The best he could do was make sure the director took all the blame for the horrendous failure of the series. As far as Lauren knew, the guy had never made another movie. Not in Hollywood, anyway.

It was Ross Marchand legend.

“Every producer loses money, Ross.”

He took a deep breath, pushing it out as his fists clenched into tight white balls of flesh and bone that he pounded on his knees. “It was more than that. Look, Lauren, I don’t want to tell you too much—not because I don’t trust you or because I’m embarrassed, but because I don’t want to drag you any deeper into my mess. And trust me, it’s a big fucking mess. I still owe a lot of money to some very mean hombres, if you get my drift. The Mexicans wanted a cut of the series’ gross, and they didn’t care that the movies tanked. They left me alone for a long time, but I guess business isn’t so good for them anymore, and they’re looking to make me pay up. That’s why I put so much pressure on you to make this last movie. I need my cut to pay off criminals I never should have gotten involved with.”

Lauren’s head was spinning. How could the man she’d always admired for being savvy in the business world have gotten himself into such deep shit?

“So you held the sword over my head to make sure I made the last film? Hate to break this news to you, Ross, but you’ve been holding that sword at arm’s length from me since the moment I first saw it in that shop. In all the years I lived with you, in all the years we were married, I never asked you for anything that you gave me. Never. It was the one time I found something I really, truly wanted. I suppose I was stupid for wanting you to give it to me when I could have bought it for myself, but. . .”

Tentatively he reached over and placed his hand on hers, patting it twice before taking his touch away. “It was a test. I failed.”

The gentle timbre of his voice told her he was sincere. They had a lot of baggage between them, but hashing out the past wasn’t going to solve whatever crap he’d gotten himself into now. She’d opened her mouth to tell him to drop the whole subject, when he broke in with, “I knew our marriage was falling apart a long time before I slept with—”

“Don’t say her name,” Lauren begged. “I’ve moved beyond all that.”

He didn’t argue. “Our marriage was falling apart even before that sword. You’d been distancing yourself from me for a long time. I guess it was only natural. You didn’t really need me anymore.”

“I never should have needed you. I never should have married you,” Lauren said. “And you. . .you never should have asked.”

She’d said the words to him before, but as she spoke them now, calmly and with the rancorous emotions between them having run their course during their divorce, Ross seemed to finally hear her.

“I can’t change what was,” he replied. “But you know I never wanted to hurt you. I never sent Nigel to your house, I swear, and I didn’t have anything to do with that guy who broke into your hospital room. But I know who did.”

Lauren’s entire body tensed as she listened to Ross pour out his guts about his recent association with a man named Farrow Pryce. A secretive and well-connected businessman, Pryce had somehow found out about Ross’s money troubles and had threatened to expose his deal with the Mexicans if Ross didn’t cooperate in Pryce’s quest for the sword.

“If you hadn’t stolen the damned thing, I would have sold it to him and we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

“So now you’re blaming me?”

She moved to stand, but he took her hands and, with surprising gentleness, tugged her back down. “No, that’s not what I meant. I’m just trying to explain that I think Pryce sent that thug into your hospital room, and though he’s not saying, I think he black-mailed Nigel into breaking into your house on my behalf. You know Nigel. He’d do anything for me.”

“Including put my life in danger. He probably got a kick out of that. How did he bypass my security code, anyway?”

“You still using the numbers from your first paycheck as an actress as your code?”

She winced. Some habits died hard. “I suppose I should change that, huh?”