Soft Focus (11 page)

DAWSON HOLLAND LOOKED
out at the audience. He smiled wryly. “This panel has done its best to tell you about the pitfalls of getting involved in the production of an independent film. When it comes to reliable methods of losing money, financing a film ranks right up there with walking into a casino and throwing cash into a slot machine.” He paused meaningfully. “I can't help but notice that a lot of you are still here, however.”

The crowd that had filled most of the seats at the producers' seminar laughed. Standing at the back of the room, one shoulder propped against the wall, arms folded, Jack watched Dawson as he summed up the comments of the panel.

“Any film is a huge financial risk. That goes double for small, independent films, because there are no studios with deep pockets to stand behind you and absorb losses,” Dawson said. “Bottom line is, if you can't afford to lose your money, stay out of the business.”

“But what if a major studio picks up your film and gives it national distribution?” someone asked.

Dawson shook his head. “That's the big dream, but in reality, it almost never happens. True, you might find your film on the bottom rack of a video store someday, or it may be screened at a festival such as this one. Sometimes you can make a little in the foreign market. But realistically speaking, odds are that the only payoff you'll ever see is your name in the credits.”

Someone else spoke up. “But isn't there a lot of important, experimental work being done by independent filmmakers these days?”

One of the panelists snorted. “Important, experimental
work and a dollar won't even buy you a cup of cappuccino. If you're going to get into the business of making movies, do it because you love film, not because you expect a return on your investment.”

“My colleague speaks truth,” Dawson said. “One last word of advice.” He paused for effect. “On the off chance that your film actually does turn a profit, always remember the mantra of this business: Make sure your contract states that your payoff comes in the form of a percentage of the
gross
profits, not the net. For as sure as the sun will rise tomorrow morning, I can assure you that there will never be a net profit.”

The audience broke into more laughter and desultory applause. As far as Jack could tell, no one looked the least discouraged by the hard facts of life concerning the independent film business.
Everyone wants to make movies,
he thought as he turned to leave the seminar room. The enthusiasm, excitement, and anticipation that animated the crowd of would-be producers was painful to behold.

Tyler Page had been gripped with this same fever, Jack reminded himself. Probably planned to use the profits from the sale of the crystal to finance another film.

Talk about stupid.

Then again, any man who could make a fool of himself the way he had last night with Elizabeth wasn't exactly in a position to scoff at another man's doomed dreams.

He walked out of the seminar room and started down the wide, windowed hall that led to the lobby of the Mirror Springs Resort. He glanced at his watch and saw that he was ten minutes late. Elizabeth had promised to meet him at noon for lunch.

“Well, Fairfax?” Dawson fell into step beside him. “Did we succeed in discouraging you?”

Jack snapped his thoughts back and glanced at Dawson. “You did a good job of laying out the downside of
independent filmmaking. If it's such a great way to lose money, how come you're still involved in the business?”

Dawson put his hands into the pockets of his jacket. Comfortable. Sure of himself. “Like I said, you've got to love filmmaking. Nothing else like it on the face of the earth. And, of course, there's Vicky.”

“Right. Vicky.”

“My wife is very, very important to me, Jack,” Dawson said. “I would do anything to make her happy. And what she likes to do is act in films.”

“So you make her dreams come true, is that it?”

“It's a small price to pay for the pleasure of her company.” Dawson paused. “Is the charming Miss Cabot an aspiring actress?”

“No.”

“Your interest in filmmaking is personal?”

“You could say that.”

“Then you have much in common with the others in that seminar. In real life they're dentists and stockbrokers and business executives.”

“And research scientists.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“The producer of
Fast Company,
Tyler Page, worked in a high-tech lab in Seattle.”

“Ah, yes, Page.” Dawson nodded absently. “I believe he did mention that he lived in Seattle. But he didn't say much about his professional life.”

“He must have poured a ton of money into
Fast Company
to get his name in the credits as the producer.”

“He made it clear at the outset that he did not want to share the credit. He said he wanted the film to be his movie. He was willing to put up the money to pay for the privilege.”

“What about the other investors?”

Dawson shrugged. “None of them was willing to put up the same kind of money.”

Jack felt his professional curiosity stir. “So tell me, how do the investment partnerships work for the guy who puts the package together?”

“Someone in my position, you mean?”

“Something tells me you don't take the same kind of risks that the other investors take, do you?”

“I do get a commission for my work,” Dawson said. “It's one of the standard expenses of the partnership.” He broke off as a figure suddenly loomed in his path.

The stranger scampered awkwardly backward, hands raised in front of Jack as if to ward him off. The man was of medium height. His head had been completely shaved to expose a lot of pink scalp. His clothing consisted of a black turtleneck, black trousers, and low, black boots. There was a silver ring in one ear. His eyes were concealed behind a pair of stylish sunglasses that were entirely unnecessary in the dimly lit hotel hallway. Jack wondered if the man wore the glasses in an effort to add a dramatic edge to what was otherwise a soft, round face.

“Future noir,” the man intoned.

Jack did not slow his pace. “Huh?”

“Future noir.” The man continued to backpedal along the corridor in front of Jack. “Gothic realism. The dark night of the soul in a dark future. Think moral ambiguity. Think murder for passion's sake. Think the eternal femme fatale. All against a black-and-white, futuristic background.”

“Would you mind getting out of my way?” Jack took another look at his watch. “I'm meeting someone in the lobby.”

Dawson chuckled. “Allow me to introduce you to Leonard Ledger. He's a filmmaker. Like a number of other people here, he's looking for someone to finance his next film.”

“
Dark Moon Rising,
” Leonard said.

Jack eyed him curiously. “
Dark Moon Rising
?”

“That's the working title,” Leonard explained. “I see it as the classic noir story told against a black-and-white future. Incredible lighting effects. Minimal sets. All angles, lines, and shadows.”

Jack nodded. “And you need money.”

Leonard continued to walk backward. “This is very high-concept stuff. The kind of film the major studios will pick up for distribution. They'll kill for a film like this.”

“I'll get back to you,” Jack said. He glanced at Dawson. “That's the right phrase, isn't it? I'll get back to you?”

“Obviously you were born for this business.” Dawson looked amused.

Jack turned back to Leonard. “Excuse me,” he said. “I think I mentioned that I have an appointment?”

“Sure, sure.” Leonard reluctantly sidled out of Jack's path. “I've got a script. I'll get it to you. You're gonna love it.”

Jack kept walking. Leonard's voice gradually receded into the background.

“Get used to it,” Dawson advised. “Now that you've been spotted as a potential source of money, you're going to meet a lot of Leonard Ledgers.”

“I'll watch where I step,” Jack said.

He was about to ask another question concerning the financing of
Fast Company
when he turned the corner and walked into the elegantly rustic lobby of the Mirror Springs Resort.

He spotted Elizabeth right off. She was standing near the massive stone fireplace. She was not alone. The man leaning intimately over her, obviously engaged in close conversation, was Hayden Shaw.

“Son of a bitch,” Jack said very quietly.

“I'M SORRY ABOUT THE MISUNDERSTANDING.”
Hayden's mouth thinned. “And on behalf of my soon-to-be ex-wife, I apologize for whatever Gillian said to you at the reception. She's not happy with the proposed settlement. Her father's lawyers told her that they could get more money out of me, but it's not going to happen.”

Elizabeth tried to peek over his shoulder to see if she could spot Jack coming out of the meeting-room hallway. “I really do not want to discuss your divorce, Hayden.”

He leaned in a little closer, very intense. There was something vaguely familiar and slightly unsettling about the way he zeroed in on his target, she thought.

“You need to know that for all intents and purposes, I'm a free man,” he said.

“Not quite.” She gave him a pointed look. “And even if that were true, it's not important to me because it has no bearing on this situation. You didn't come here to see me or because you've suddenly developed a keen interest in low-budget filmmaking.”

“You underestimate yourself.”

She frowned as a thought struck her. “How did you get a
room in this place? This town has been booked for months.”

He made a dismissive movement with one hand. “No big deal. I know the general manager here at the resort.”

“Pulled some strings, did you? Well, you wasted your time.”

“What do you mean?”

She glared at him, exasperated. “Stop playing games. You're here because of those rumors you heard about Soft Focus, aren't you?”

“Is that why you're here with Fairfax?” he countered. “Keeping an eye on your number-one investment?”

“That's none of your business.”

“Gillian found me in the crowd at the reception after you and Jack left.” Hayden grimaced. “She was gloating. Couldn't wait to tell me that you and Fairfax were going off on a vacation together. But I know damn well that you wouldn't suddenly decide that you wanted to jump back into bed with the bastard who played you for a sucker six months ago. You're too smart to fall for his line again.”

“You're right about one thing: I'm smart. Smart enough to know that you're here because of Soft Focus, not because of me.” The pieces of the small puzzle clicked into place. “Damn. You were invited, weren't you?”

He gave her a politely quizzical look. “Invited to what?”

“You know what I'm talking about.”

He exhaled slowly, his gaze speculative. “There's no reason we can't join forces and work together. Together we can outbid Jack. Without you, he hasn't got much in the way of resources.”

Her worst fears were confirmed. Hayden had been invited to the auction. She clenched her hand around the strap of her shoulder bag.

“Give me one good reason why I would want to hurt my client by bidding against him,” she said.

Hayden smiled slowly. “Revenge?”

She stared at him, mouth open, for a few seconds. He was serious, she realized. “Hurt Excalibur just for the sake of a little revenge? Good grief, Hayden, do you think I'm an idiot? I'm a businesswoman, remember? My job is to keep my clients profitable. The simple fact of life is that the Fund doesn't make money unless they do.”

He glanced around with deliberate casualness and then bent his head in a seemingly intimate gesture. “If Soft Focus has even half the potential I've heard it has, there are other ways to make money with it besides leaving it in the hands of a struggling little R & D firm that will probably get swallowed up by the first big company that comes along.”

A chill went through her. “I can't believe I'm hearing this. In fact, I refuse to believe it. You aren't suggesting that I sabotage my own client? Not for something as empty and meaningless as revenge?”

Hayden's eyes hardened. “There's nothing empty and meaningless about it.”

She searched his face. “What did Jack ever do to you to make you hate him so much?”

Hayden did not reply. His attention had shifted to a point just behind her.

Elizabeth did not need him to tell her that Jack was coming toward her. The familiar prickle of awareness had already wafted across the back of her neck.

She turned and saw him cut through the crowded lobby with fluid, cold-blooded grace. There was no doubt that she and Hayden were his target. His face was disturbingly expressionless.

“Looks like your business associate has arrived,” Hayden said. His eyes held a malicious gleam. “And he doesn't look happy to see me. Think about my offer, Elizabeth.”

Jack came to a halt just behind Elizabeth's shoulder. He was close. Too close. She could feel the possessive aura that he flung around her like an invisible cloak. It was annoying, but she told herself that this was not the time or place to make an issue of his politically incorrect attitude. The last thing she wanted to do was pump up the level of testosterone in the vicinity. It was already much too thick.

Jack looked at Hayden. “I had a hunch you'd show up sooner or later.”

“I always did like to go to the movies.”

“Just make sure that all you do is watch,” Jack said. He glanced at Elizabeth. “Let's go. We're late.”

His hand closed around her arm. She considered digging in her heels and then reminded herself that the last thing she wanted was a scene.

“Where are we going?” she asked, grimly polite. “I thought we were supposed to have lunch here in town.”

“We're going back to our place,” he said, laying a not-so-subtle emphasis on the
our
. “I've got some work to do.”

She forced herself to smile at Hayden. “See you later.”

“Yeah,” Hayden said coldly. “You will.”

Elizabeth allowed herself to be drawn toward the front of the lobby. An attendant jumped to open one of the heavy plate-glass doors.

Outside, the snapping air and the too-bright sunlight slapped Elizabeth in the face. She pulled her sunglasses out of her purse.

Jack already had his dark glasses in his hand. When he put them on, his already stony expression became bleak and menacing.

“Where's he staying?” he asked without preamble.

That was not the question she had been expecting. “What difference does that make?”

“A lot.” He turned his head. He was looking at her, but his own eyes were concealed behind the sunglasses. “Hard to get a room here in Mirror Springs, remember?”

Belatedly she realized where he was going with the question. She frowned as the implications hit her. “Hayden said he had a room here at the resort.”

“Amazing.” Jack's mouth twisted laconically. “Wonder how he got it on such short notice.”

“He said he pulled some strings.”

“Bullshit.”

“Do you really think so?” She felt a stab of icy amusement. “Seems to me I recall you telling me something similar not too long ago. Guess his strings must have been better than yours, though. They didn't break.”

Jack ignored that. He came to a halt on the passenger side of the car and looked at her through the dark lenses. “Be interesting to find out just when Hayden made his reservations.”

“Why?”

“Because if he made them anytime before last Tuesday night, it would mean he knew in advance about the plans to steal the specimen.” Jack yanked open the car door. “Maybe he even helped plan the theft.”

The sharp, crisp air made Elizabeth pull her jacket more snugly around herself. “If you're thinking of wasting a lot of time investigating Hayden, I'd advise you to save your energy. I'm almost positive he didn't know about the theft until he heard the rumors late Tuesday. I think he's here because he was invited to the auction.” She slid into the car seat.

Jack just stared at her for a long moment.

“Damn,” he said very, very softly.

A fresh wave of unease shot through her. “What?”

“I wonder who else was invited.”

The car door shut with a distinct and very final-sounding
ker-chunk.

Elizabeth watched Jack walk around the front of the car and get in behind the wheel. Who else had been invited to the auction? It was a disturbing question.

Jack put the silver-gray rental car in gear, reversed out of the slot, and drove toward the parking lot exit.

“Look, if Hayden's here for the auction,” Elizabeth said, “at least it means that he wasn't involved in the theft.” She did not know just why that was important, but it was.

Jack grunted. “That make you feel better?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

She propped her elbow on the window ledge and braced her chin on her hand. “I sort of like him. I guess I just don't want to find out that I've been completely wrong about him—” She broke off quickly.

But not quickly enough.

“You don't want to discover that you were wrong about him,
too
.” Jack did not take his eyes off the road. “The way you were wrong about me? Is that what you were going to say?”

“As Aunt Sybil would say, I think it's time to change the subject.”

Jack's jaw tightened into a hard line. “It's possible that Hayden was involved in the theft, but now he's here for the auction because things went wrong.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Think about it. Maybe Hayden orchestrated the theft
with Tyler Page's cooperation. But what if Page decided afterward that he didn't need Hayden to help him sell the crystal? What if he's got his own agenda?”

“You're suggesting that there was a falling-out among thieves? And now Hayden is trying to find Tyler Page and the crystal?”

“Just like us.”

Elizabeth watched the mountain road unfurl in front of the car's hood. “I think we may have an even bigger problem on our hands.”

Jack shot her a brief glance. “What's that?”

“Before I ran into Hayden at the resort, I had an interesting conversation with a young woman named Christy. She was the makeup artist on
Fast Company
.”

“And?”

“And she thinks that Tyler Page was madly in love.”

Jack greeted that with a short, undiplomatic snort of disgust. “Page? In love? Give me a break.”

For some reason his complete disdain annoyed her. “Why is that so unbelievable? It might explain why he stole Soft Focus. He's obviously got an obsessive passion for film. Maybe he's got an obsessive passion for a woman, too. Maybe he stole the crystal for her sake.”

“Are you saying you think Tyler Page stole Soft Focus so that he could sell it for a bundle of cash he could use to impress a woman?”

“Christy overheard him talking on his cell phone to someone he called Angel Face. He promised her that when this was all over they would be together forever.”

Jack took his gaze off the road just long enough to throw her a quick, curious look. “You really think that there's a woman involved in this?”

“Page loves film noir. You know what they say about life
imitating art. What if he's fallen for a femme fatale type? Someone who seduced him and encouraged him to steal the specimen so that they could run off together into the sunset? It might explain his bizarre behavior.”

Jack drove in silence for a while. He was concentrating again. She could almost feel him processing the data in his brain.

“Don't think so,” he said eventually.

“Why not?”

“That kind of thing might work in the movies, but in real life a man doesn't throw away everything he's worked for most of his life, for the sake of a woman. For the sake of a fortune, yes. For the sake of a fortune to spend on his films, yes. But not for a woman.”

Elizabeth settled deeper into her seat and folded her arms. What was the matter with her? Had she actually started to wonder if Jack had a secret romantic streak?

JACK'S CELL PHONE
rang just as Elizabeth finished cutting the last of the tapanade, lettuce, and tomato sandwiches she had hastily put together for lunch. He set down the two bottles of springwater he had removed from the refrigerator and took the device out of his pocket.

“Fairfax here.” Pause. “Don't worry about it, Milo. My instructions were to call with any updates. What have you got?”

Elizabeth listened absently as she carried the plate of sandwiches around the long, granite counter that separated the kitchen from the living area of the house.

“Is Durand sure?” Jack's voice was suddenly charged with intensity. “How the hell did Kendle ever get hired in the first place? No, don't answer that. I know how he got onto the Excalibur payroll. Nobody bothered to check out his
references, right? Tell Scott in HR that he's going to have some explaining to do.”

Elizabeth put the sandwiches down on the table.