One that had belonged to Dayne Matthews.
Dayne was hanging from a window ledge, his feet dangling against the outside of an old brick building in downtown Los Angeles. Lost to the cameras was the fact that he was only two stories up and a pit of foam rubber lay directly beneath him.
They were filming the toughest scenes, the climax of the romantic thriller he was working on, and every scene was high energy and intense—a life-or-death matter. His costar Angie Carr was supposed to be trapped in the room. The script called for Dayne to vault himself onto the ledge and kick through the window, intending to pull off a surprise rescue.
Instead, he would see through the dirty glass that Angie was working with the con men, that she was in on the dirty deeds. She was one of the bad guys. It was a turning point in the movie, and Dayne had to be at his best. He couldn’t afford to think about any of the things that consumed him these days. Not Kelly or the baby, not the faith of his birth parents and adoptive parents.
And especially not Katy Hart.
“All right . . .” The director’s voice boomed across the set. Ron Foster was doing a brilliant job so far. Dayne had worked with the director twice before, and both films were huge successes. Ron would settle for nothing but the best. “Let’s move the ladder in.”
Between takes when Ron was talking to Angie or blocking some other part of the scene, a ladder would be rolled in beneath Dayne—since there was a limit to how long he could hang from his fingertips. As soon as he could feel something under his feet, he would stand and let go of the window ledge.
Three times already he’d practiced pulling himself onto the ledge, then lowering himself back down when he realized what was happening inside the room. Ron Foster had offered a stunt double for the scene, since the shot was filmed entirely from Dayne’s back.
But Dayne liked doing his own stunts.
He’d spent two hours in his home gym every day since Katy left. Physically he was in the best shape of his life—that would have to make up for the fact that every other area was falling apart.
He was rubbing out the kinks in his fingers when Angie slid open the window. She was wearing a revealing tank top, and the makeup team had applied a thin layer of petroleum jelly to her chest and arms, her cheeks and forehead. Even though it was barely seventy degrees in LA today, she gave the appearance of someone overheated. The movie was supposed to take place in Atlanta in July—so the two of them needed to glisten with sweat in almost every scene.
It was the sort of detail Ron was adamant about.
Angie leaned out the window and grinned at him. “You’re amazing.” She rested her elbows on the sill and cocked her head. She ran one finger along the definition in his upper arm. “Most guys would take the stunt double for a scene like this.”
He was balancing on a ladder, leaning one hand against the brick wall. He couldn’t go anywhere. “It’s a two-story window, Angie.” He shrugged one shoulder. “It’s not like it’s a risk.”
“I know.” She lightly ran her finger up his neck and tapped the end of his nose. “But swinging yourself onto a window ledge?” Her eyes sparkled. “You’re pretty strong, Mr. Dayne Matthews.”
Dayne didn’t know what to say to that.
Angie had been this way throughout the filming. She was a great actress and a savvy businesswoman. It would’ve been impossible to miss her beauty and the way she used it to her advantage every possible chance she had. But he truly wasn’t attracted to her. Angie Carr had a history of connecting with her leading men. The stories in Hollywood about Angie’s love affairs were legendary. Tempting as she could make herself, for a dozen reasons Dayne had no intention of being another notch on her belt.
He glanced over his shoulder to where Ron Foster was standing with a bullhorn, talking to the stunt driver of one of the three cars that would race by when Dayne decided to bail on the rescue of Angie.
He didn’t mind interrupting. “How much longer?”
Ron shaded his eyes and looked at him. “Two minutes. Hold tight.”
Angie made a quiet chuckling sound. “You enjoy it, don’t you?”
He faced her again. “What?”
“Me. Chasing you the way I’ve done on this film.”
“Hmm.” Dayne knew better than to anger Angie Carr. Not when their chemistry was so crucial to the film. He grinned and felt his dimples spring to life. “You can tell?”
“Of course.” She angled her body, half-sitting on the windowsill. Her eyes never left his. “I get what I want, Dayne Matthews.” The suggestion in her eyes was so strong she might as well have shouted her feelings from the rooftop. For a moment she pouted her famous lips at him. “Is it Kelly Parker? Is that who you’re pining for?”
Dayne kept his cool. Kelly hadn’t said anything about her pregnancy. When she did, everyone would know. The tabloids, the television media, and every actor and actress in Hollywood. He switched hands and leaned against the other one. “Who says I’m pining?”
“Well—” she thrust her body closer to him—“you’re resisting me pretty well.”
“Just testing my strength, Angie.” He winked at her. “Figure if I can resist you, I can do just about anything.”
She smiled, pleased with herself. He silently congratulated himself for saying the right thing. She leaned closer still. “Okay, but you don’t have to resist me.” Another pout. “I’ve made that clear, right?”
“Ah, Angie . . . I don’t know.” He was playing with her, stalling. “You’re so hard to read.”
“Oh, sure.” She slumped a little. “Like the other afternoon when I was in your trailer half-dressed waiting for you and you never came?”
He resisted a laugh. “I was working lines.” He made a face that implied he’d made a mistake by not following her into the trailer.
“Okay, but come on.” She straightened, her expression more curious than before. “It’s Kelly, right? That’s where your heart is these days?”
Dayne pictured Katy Hart, the way she’d looked standing on his deck in the moonlight . . . “Okay—” he grimaced, giving her a mock look of resignation—“you caught me.”
She ignored his teasing. “I knew it.” She processed the information for a few seconds. Then she leaned so close he could’ve kissed her if he wanted to. “You want the bad news now or later?”
Bad news? Dayne didn’t react. He steadied himself, and for a moment he considered looking over his shoulder and once more asking Ron Foster how much longer. But something in Angie’s tone told him she wasn’t kidding. “Bad news?”
“About Kelly.” Angie sat up and rolled her eyes. “Come on, Dayne. The whole world’s reading the tabs, and what do you do? Go straight home, hit the gym, and fall into bed by yourself?”
“Pretty much.” She’d left out the thinking and missing and aching part, but basically she was right on. Gone were the days when he would stop at Starbucks and pop into the drugstore a few doors down for a look at the latest celebrity gossip.
Angie clucked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “It’s on the covers of three of them this week.”
“Something about Kelly?”
“Yeah.” She sang the word with two syllables, as if Dayne were possibly the least informed person on the planet. “Everyone knows. She moved back in with Hawk Daniels.”
Dayne was glad for the ladder and the brick wall. In that instant he wouldn’t have had the strength to stand on his own, let alone hang from a window ledge. Kelly had moved in with Hawk after they had wrapped up filming Dream On in Bloomington. But in January when she had called Dayne with news about the baby, she told him she was back home.
“Well . . .” He kept his smile easy, his tone unaffected. “I guess you’re right. I should read the tabs more often.”
“She’s not worth your time.” Angie crossed her arms and made a face. “She’s with Hawk; I promise you.”
Dayne tried not to react, but his thoughts battled within him. Kelly was back with Hawk Daniels? Tha
t explained why she hadn’t returned his calls for a week. Here they were four months from becoming parents and so far the whole thing was the best-kept secret in Hollywood.
“All right, places!” Ron Foster bellowed into the bullhorn. Not that he needed one. He was a teetotaler, but even at a nightclub full of drunken celebrities he was the loudest person in the room.
In light of Ron’s announcement, people across the set fell silent. He lifted the bullhorn again. “When I raise my hand, I want the ladder removed.” He looked toward the window. “You ready, Dayne?”
“Ready.” Dayne repositioned himself and gripped the window ledge.
Angie gave him one last smile and returned to her place inside the room.
When Ron raised his hand, two set guys ran over and moved the ladder from view. “Three . . . two . . . one . . . roll ’em.”
Dayne heard the slap of the chalkboard, his cue to kick into action. He pushed his feet against the brick as he swung himself onto the ledge. But in that instant, instead of seeing Angie Carr inside the room talking with the bad guys, he saw Katy Hart and Kelly Parker. How could he be in love with one woman and ready to pledge his life to another?
Focus, Matthews . . . come on, focus. He ordered himself to get his head into the scene. As he shifted, looking inside the way he was supposed to, he slipped but caught his balance before he fell. Anger burned in his veins, and he gritted his teeth. Whatever Kelly was doing, he could deal with it later. This scene deserved everything he had.
He peered into the window, swung back down so he was hanging from the ledge again, glanced over his shoulder, and pretended to push himself out from the wall and down onto a moving truck, the one driven by his brother in the movie.
In reality, he landed on his hands and knees in the foam-rubber pit. A stunt double would take the actual jump from the window ledge to the top of the moving truck.
The moment he landed he heard Ron’s voice. “Perfect. I’ll take it!”
He heard feet jogging in his direction as he climbed a nylon rope ladder on the inside of the foam pit. He kicked his legs over the edge, landed on the ground, and dusted off his hands. Ron must’ve seen his slip, his near fall, but for some reason he’d let the scene go.
The director was grinning as he reached him. “Did you add that, Matthews? The slip?” He chuckled and adjusted his black baseball cap. “Brilliant move. Very realistic.”
Dayne hated to tell him it was a mistake. “Thanks.”
“I mean, now we have the star of the show leaping onto a window ledge, getting the shock of his life, and nearly falling in the process.” He nodded. “Works, Matthews; works great.”
“Right.” Dayne gave a halfhearted laugh. “Thanks.” He expected Ron to be angry. There was no excuse for him to slip like that. If he wasn’t distracted, he would’ve held on the way he was supposed to.
The rest of the day Dayne doubled his efforts, turning in what the entire cast believed was some of his strongest work on the film so far.
He was exhausted by the time he drove to his house at nine that night. Filming in Los Angeles meant long days, for sure. There was always something else to do, another scene to cut, rough footage to review.
But at least he had home to look forward to when the day was over.
Even though the location shoot in downtown LA was closed to the public, dozens of photographers had found places to lurk and snap pictures. Two of them were tailing him now as he headed along Hollywood Boulevard, but he was pretty sure he could lose them.
He looked in his rearview mirror and made a plan. When there were enough cars around to slow the media hounds, he changed lanes from the right to the left, sped up, cut back into the right lane, and made an immediate turn into the entrance of a gas station and mini-mart.
The move happened so fast that both cars were left stuck in the flow of traffic, unable to follow him.
Dayne drove his Escalade around the back side of the gas station, slipped on a gray knit beanie and a pair of dark glasses, flipped up his coat collar, and made a quick exit from his SUV. His eyes downcast, he rounded the sidewalk, walked into the mini-mart, found the magazine section, and grabbed each of the three tabloids with Kelly Parker’s picture on the front.
He slapped a ten-dollar bill on the counter and pretended to look at the arrangement of candy bars and gum just beneath the counter. The checker had a Spanish accent; he didn’t seem interested in who was behind the glasses.
Dayne took his change and the bag of magazines, headed to his vehicle, and was back on the road in minutes. Still free of the paparazzi, he took surface streets to Pacific Coast Highway and made his way home without being followed.
When he was inside his house, he dropped to the nearest kitchen chair and spilled the bag of magazines onto his table.
He grabbed the first one, the one that showed Kelly on the balcony of what looked like Hawk’s beach house. Kelly was in Hawk’s arms, and the two of them were grinning at each other. The headline read: “On Again? Kelly Parker Moves Back in with Hawk Daniels.”
Dayne didn’t have to flip to the article. If the tabloids had Kelly back with Hawk, chances were that’s exactly where she was. He pulled out his cell phone and punched in her number.
She answered on the second ring. “Hello?” He heard voices and loud music in the background.
For a moment Dayne considered hanging up on her. He’d put his entire life on hold so they could try to work something out, so they could be the best possible parents to the baby she was carrying. So why was she being evasive, and how could she have moved back in with Hawk?
The noise in the background grew muffled. “Hello, can you hear me?”
“It’s me. Dayne.”
“What? Dayne, is that you?”
He drew a long breath. “Kelly, can you get to a quieter place? We need to talk.”
There was the sound of her heels clicking on the floor, and then the background noise disappeared almost entirely. “Sorry.” She giggled. “I’m at The Zone.”
He wasn’t sure where to begin. “Did you get my last two messages?”
“Dayne, don’t start with me.” Her tone was suddenly icy. “Where was this attention before I mentioned the baby, huh?”
The magazine was still staring at him, still shouting at him. “You and Hawk are back together?”
“Are you kidding?” This time her laugh was more nervous. “Don’t tell me you believe the tabs! Come on, Dayne—you? After all they’ve said about your life?”
“They’re usually not too far from the truth.”
“Well, they are this time, okay?” The attitude was back. She dropped her voice. “Listen, you can’t blame me for having fun with my friends. Everything about my life is about to change.”
Dayne stood and moved to his sliding door. He hadn’t been out on his deck since Katy left. “You plan to party right up until you deliver, or what?”
“I don’t appreciate your sarcasm.”
“Kelly, please . . .” The anger left his voice. His heart felt heavier than it had all day. He didn’t want to be enemies with Kelly Parker. “You and I were best friends back when, remember?” He hesitated. “Tell me you remember.”
“I do.” Her tone was softer now. “I’m sorry, Dayne.” The pretense was entirely gone. In its place was the vulnerable young woman who had gotten lost along the way. “I need a little more time.” She paused. “Is that okay?”
Dayne felt his anger stir again, but he kept it out of his voice. “Time for what?”
“To figure things out.” She sounded like a little girl. “The premiere for Dream On is in a month. I’ll be ready then.”
“You’re five months pregnant now. You wait that long and people will notice, Kelly. Don’t you think?”
“No.” There was a pout in her voice. “I’m not showing. The doctor says I can hide it until the premiere, no problem.”
He rested his forehead against the cool glass. The moon shone on the water, bright enough that
he could see the beach was empty. “So that’s it, then? We don’t talk for another month?”
“We’ll talk.” Her tone was whiny and flirty all at once. “I’m just not ready to move in and be the mommy. Not yet.”
“Fine.” He wasn’t sure what to say. In the background he could hear someone walk up, talk to Kelly. She seemed to cover the phone and tell the person to hold on, but the guy near her—it was definitely a guy—wouldn’t let up. Dayne exhaled hard. “Need to go?”
“Stop . . .” She stifled a giggle. “Listen, can I call you back? Soon, okay. Very soon.”
He wanted to tell her not to bother. That she could go party with the night crowd and hang out at Hawk Daniels’s house and live her own life for all he cared. But that wasn’t how he felt. Not when she was carrying his baby. Whatever rules she wanted to play by, he’d have to live with them. He could hear the guy’s voice clearer now, teasing her, asking her to kiss him, to make out with him.
Dayne would know the voice anywhere, the voice of his costar from more than one movie. The voice of Hawk Daniels.
“Hey . . . I gotta go.” Kelly didn’t sound drunk. At least, he hoped she wasn’t drinking—not when she was pregnant. But she sounded beyond distracted, deliriously happy with the attention from Hawk.
“Bye, Kelly.” He clenched his jaw and turned back to the kitchen table. “I’ll be here when you’re ready to talk.”
The conversation ended, and Dayne tossed the phone on the table next to the magazines. Then he opened the patio slider and walked out onto his deck. If the paparazzi were hiding in the bushes, so be it. He could stand against his railing and watch the waves if he wanted to.
He took up his place, the spot where he’d stood next to Katy a month earlier. How had everything changed so quickly? Katy was gone, probably for good. He’d called her twice—to see how she was and to apologize for the hurried way their good-bye had ended. She hadn’t returned either call.
The seagulls were quiet now, lined up along the base of the bushes, heads tucked under their wings. But the waves were relentless, crashing against the shore time and time again. He lifted his eyes to the moonlit sky and breathed in long and slow.