Skin Deep: The O'Hurleys Read online

  “I’m fighting myself more than him.”

  “Exactly. Let’s run through it.”

  They worked until six. Before it was over, special effects had pumped smoke onto the set. Hailey, dazed by the smoke, terrified of the fire that had begun to roar through the cabin, crawled along the wooden floor in a desperate search for the door. All she carried was the music box.

  * * *

  “Hell of a day,” Quinn commented later when they were in Chantel’s trailer.

  “Tell me about it.” Weary, she creamed off the streaks of soot makeup had smeared her face with. “I don’t even want to eat, just sleep.”

  “I’ll tuck you in.”

  She smiled and, after drying her face, swung her bag over her shoulder. “Tuck me in? I prefer having someone to snuggle against.”

  “You’ll have that, too, in a few hours.” They walked out of the trailer, past the soundstage, where the director and cinematographer were having an impromptu meeting.

  “Going somewhere?”

  “I’ve got some business.” He thought of Matt, his friend, and of Chantel, the woman he loved. “I’ll tell you about it when I get back.”

  “I’d rather you told me now.” When they were outside, Chantel headed straight for the waiting limo. “Quinn, I don’t want to be protected this way. Not anymore.”

  She was right, and he’d known that sooner or later he’d have to tell her. When she settled into the limo, he slid his arm behind, ready to comfort her.

  “I didn’t want to get into it in New York. You had your sister’s wedding, and we had our own problems to deal with. Yesterday …” He hesitated, still not sure how to describe what that one twenty-four-hour period had meant to him. “I wanted yesterday for both of us.”

  “I understand.” She lifted a hand to his. “So, what is it, Quinn?”

  “I got a lead on the man who ordered the flowers.” He felt her tense but didn’t try to soothe her. She wouldn’t want soothing now. “He paid cash, so there’s no record. The florist couldn’t give me much of a description. The guy wore dark glasses and a hat. There were a couple of things the florist noticed, though.” He hesitated, hating to be the one to destroy a trust and a friendship. She was more important than both. Than anything. “He smoked a foreign brand of cigarette and carried a monogrammed silver money clip.”

  For a moment her mind was blank. Slowly, the meaning came through. Rather than disillusionment, he saw a quick flash of determination. “A lot of men prefer foreign tobacco and clips.”

  “A lot of men don’t work closely with you. This one said he did.”

  “He could have been lying.”

  “Could have been. We both know he wasn’t. All along the one thing we could bank on was that this man knows you, and you know him. Chantel, you gave a silver money clip to someone who works with you.”

  “It’s not Matt.”

  “Angel, it’s time to separate what you want from what is, or at least what might be.”

  “It doesn’t matter what you say, I won’t believe it.”

  “I called Matt while we were in New York.” He lifted a hand to cup her face. His grip was firm. “He was out of town, Chantel.”

  “So he was out of town.” There was a quick flutter just beneath her heart, but she ignored it. “A lot of people go out of town on weekends.”

  “He was in New York on personal business.”

  She paled, but just as quickly shook her head.

  “Quinn—”

  “I have to go talk to him.”

  “I don’t want you to accuse—” A look from him cut her off. “All right,” she murmured, turning her head to stare out the window. “I’m not supposed to tell you how to do your job.”

  “That’s right, angel. Look.” He took her shoulder and turned her toward him. “Look at me.” When she did, he swore under his breath and brushed the hair back from her face. “I don’t want this to hurt you.”

  “You’re telling me that my closest friend is your top suspect. I can’t help but be hurt.”

  “Go home.” He leaned closer and touched his lips to hers. “Go to bed. Stop thinking about it tonight. For me,” he said before she could speak. “I love you, Chantel.”

  “Stay home and show me.”

  “No.” He caught her face in his hands. “I won’t be long. And this is going to be over. I promise you that.”

  They went through the gate and up the long, quiet drive. “I trust you,” she told him, and forced herself to relax. “I’m going to wait for you.”

  “Wait for me in bed,” he murmured, hoping for her sake that she’d fall asleep quickly.

  They stepped out of the limo. “You’ll be careful?”

  “I’m always careful.”

  She started up the steps, then stopped and turned back. “I hate this, but I can’t regret it anymore, because it brought you. Come back soon.” She walked into the house without looking back.

  She wouldn’t think. The day’s work had drained her body, and she would concentrate on that. She’d have a late supper brought upstairs when Quinn came back. For now, she would wind down with a swim and a whirlpool.

  If it was Matt, it could all be over tonight. Over. For a moment, her hope centered there. Abruptly she felt the sickness hit the pit of her stomach. No, she wouldn’t wish for that. Running away from her own thoughts, she hurried upstairs to change.

  * * *

  “I’m glad I caught you in.”

  “Even superagents don’t party every night.” Matt was dressed in a casual sweater and slacks and comfortable boat shoes, and was wound tight as a spring. “Actually, I’m having a quiet dinner at home tonight. I didn’t expect to see you. Want a drink?”

  “No. Thanks.”

  Matt set the decanter down. “How’s Chantel?”

  “She’s fine.” Rather, he was going to see that she was fine, no matter what he had to do. “Funny, I thought you’d be checking a bit more closely on that yourself.”

  “I figured she’d be in good hands with you.” Matt rocked back and forth on his heels, not sitting, not offering Quinn a chair. “And I’ve been a little tied up on some personal business.”

  “The business take you into New York over the weekend?”

  “New York?” Matt’s brows drew together. “What makes you think that?”

  “The florist got a pretty good look.” Quinn drew out a cigarette, watching Matt as he lighted it.

  “Yeah?” With a half laugh, Matt finally sat. “What the hell are you talking about, Quinn?”

  “The roses you sent to Chantel. You made a mistake this time. The envelope for the card had the florist’s name on it.”

  “Roses I sent?” Matt dragged a hand through his hair as he shook his head. “I don’t know what you’re getting at. I—” He stopped then, as understanding came into his eyes. “Good God, you think I’ve been doing this to her? You think it’s me? Damn it, Quinn.” He sprang out of the chair. “I thought we knew each other.”

  “So did I. Where’d you spend the weekend, Matt?”

  “None of your damn business.”

  Blowing out smoke, Quinn remained in his chair. “You can tell me, or I can find out. Either way, I’m going to see to it that you’re out of her life.”

  Fury showed in clenched fists. Quinn glanced at them, almost hoping Matt would put them to use. A physical outlet would be more to his taste than this psychological sparring, hoping to wear down his opponent’s resistance. “I’m her agent. I’m her friend. When she hit rock bottom, I was there for her. If I’d had those kind of feelings, I could have acted on them then.”

  “Where were you over the weekend?” Quinn demanded, determined to play this through to the bitter end.

  “I was out of town,” Matt snapped. “Personal business.”

  “You’ve had a lot of personal business going lately. You haven’t shown up at all during the filming. You’re such a good friend of Chantel’s, but you’ve only seen her twice since y
ou found out what was going on.”

  Guilt flashed briefly in his eyes, but then temper obscured it. “If Chantel had wanted me, she would have called me.”

  “I wonder if it’s you who’s been calling her.”

  “You’re crazy.” But Matt’s hands shook a bit as he went to pour a drink.

  “You use a money clip, Matt. A silver one,” Quinn continued. “One Chantel gave you. The florist picked up on a couple little details like that.”

  “You want to see my money clip?” Furious, Matt reached into his pocket and yanked out a wad of bills held together by a small metal clip. It hit the table with a quiet thud.

  Frowning, Quinn picked it up. It was gold, not silver, with Matt’s initials engraved on it.

  “I’ve been using that for two months, since you’re so interested. Ever since Marion gave it to me.” He picked up his drink and tossed it back. “If it wasn’t for Chantel, I’d take a shot at tossing you out.”

  “You’re entitled to try.” Quinn dropped the clip again. “Maybe you’d be smarter to level with me. Where were you over the weekend, Matt?”

  “New York.” Swearing, he walked to the window and back. “Brooklyn. From Friday night until Sunday afternoon—I was meeting Marion’s parents. Marion Lawrence, a twenty-four-year-old schoolteacher. Twenty-four,” he repeated under his breath, rubbing a hand over his face. “I met her about three months ago. She’s twelve years younger than me, bright, innocent, trusting. I should have walked away. Instead, I fell in love with her.” After sending Quinn a furious look, he fumbled for a cigarette of his own.

  “I’ve spent the last three months thinking about how I relate to houses with picket fences. This young, beautiful woman is going to marry me, and I spent the weekend trying to convince her conservative and very concerned parents that I wasn’t some Hollywood playboy out to take their daughter for a ride. I’d rather have faced a firing squad.” He puffed on his cigarette without inhaling.

  “Listen, Quinn, if I haven’t been around as much as Chantel needed, it was because I’ve lost my head over an elementary school teacher. Look at her.” Matt flipped a photograph out of his billfold. “She looks like she could still be in school. I’ve been living on nerves for weeks.”

  Quinn believed him. With a mixture of relief and frustration, Quinn shut the billfold. It could have been a lie, but one man in love easily recognizes another. “What the hell does she see in you?”

  Matt gave a shaky laugh. “She thinks I’m terrific. She knows about the gambling, about everything, and she thinks I’m terrific. I want to marry her before she finds out any different.”

  “Good luck.”

  “Yeah.” Matt put the billfold away. His temper was gone, as were his embarrassment and his nerves. But guilt remained. “If we’ve got that straightened out, I’d like you to fill me in about Chantel. This character sent her flowers in New York?”

  “That’s right.”

  “He looked like me?”

  “I don’t know what he looked like.”

  “But you said—”

  “I lied.”

  “You always were a bastard,” Matt said without heat. “How’s she holding up?”

  “She’s struggling. She’s going to be better knowing you’re clear.”

  “Let me ride out with you.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I would’ve told her about Marion before, but I felt—I guess I felt like an idiot. Here lies Matt Burns, agent of the stars, knocked unconscious by a woman who helps kids tie their shoelaces all day.”

  * * *

  With her hair wet and loose, Chantel came into the pool house after a quick swim. The water and exercise had helped clear her head. Now all she wanted was to soothe her body. Hitting the switch for the whirlpool, she sent the bubbles gushing. A sigh of gratitude purred out as she lowered her body into the hot, churning water.

  Quinn would be back soon, and one way or the other they would work things out. She had to concentrate on that, and not on the circumstances that had brought them together. Not on the circumstances that had taken him away tonight.

  Beams from the setting sun came through the ribbon of high windows. The skylights above were the deep blue of early evening. Chantel let the jets of water beat the fatigue out of her muscles and soothe the lingering tension from her limbs.

  She was on the verge of having everything she wanted. She had only to say yes to Quinn. He loved her. Chantel closed her eyes on that thought. He loved her for what she was, not what she appeared to be on the surface. No one but her family had ever accepted her totally, with her flaws, her insecurities, her mistakes. Quinn did. A woman could live a lifetime and not find a man who loved what she was on the inside.

  What held her back from taking what she needed was the fear that she might not be able to give him everything—not a family of his own.

  She wanted children. His children. What if she ultimately disappointed him that way? What if he, too, had to pay for her past mistakes? If she didn’t love him so much, it would be so easy to say yes.

  She wanted him to come back, to be with her now. If he could just hold her now, she’d know, somehow, the right answer to give him. Chantel closed her eyes and let herself sink a little deeper. When he came back to her, she would know, and whatever she did would be right for both of them.

  She heard a sound, a soft one, at the back of the pool house. Straightening, Chantel pushed the wet hair away from her face. “Quinn? Don’t say anything now.” She closed her eyes again. “Just come here.”

  Then she heard the music, and her heart shot to her throat.

  It was quiet, lovely, with the bell-like quality only the best music boxes achieve. The sky was nearly dark as the strains of the “Moonlight Sonata” flowed over the sound of churning water.

  “Quinn.” But she said his name knowing he wasn’t there. Her hand shook as she reached over and turned off the jets. In the silence, the music box continued to play. Putting the heels of her hands behind her, Chantel pushed herself out of the tub.

  “I’ve waited so long for this.”

  At the whisper, the air clogged in her throat. She had to breathe, she told herself. If she was to get to the door she had to breathe, and the door was so far away. The lights dimmed, and the fear raced along her skin.

  “You’re so beautiful. So incredibly beautiful. Nothing I could imagine or create could be as perfect. Tonight, we’ll finally be together.”

  He was in the shadows near the rear door. Chantel forced herself to look, but even then she couldn’t see who it was. “There are guards outside.” She balled her hand into a fist, refusing to allow her voice to quiver. “I could scream.”

  “There’s only the guard at the gate, and he’s too far away. I had to hurt the others. Sometimes you have to hurt when you love.”

  She gauged the distance to the front door. “How did you get in?”

  “Over the wall by the tennis courts. You haven’t been using the tennis courts. I’ve been watching for you.”

  “The alarm—”

  “I took care of the alarm. I have some knowledge. My reputation for careful research is well deserved.” Brewster stepped out of the shadows with the music box in his hands.

  “James.” The air in the pool house was sultry, but Chantel began to shiver. “Why are you doing this?”

  “I love you.” His eyes were glazed, and she could see no emotion in them as he walked closer. “When you first formed in my mind, I knew I had to have you. Then you were there, flesh, blood. Real. I had this made for you.”

  He held out the music box, and Chantel stepped back.

  “Don’t be afraid of me, Hailey.”

  “James, I’m Chantel. Chantel.”

  “Yes, yes, of course.” He smiled at her, then set the box down on a little table beside the tub. It continued to play, romantic and sweet. “Chantel O’Hurley, with the perfect face. I’ve dreamed of you for months. I can’t write. My wife thinks I’m agonizing over my new book. But there is no
book. There’ll never be another book. Chantel, you wouldn’t keep my flowers.”

  “I’m sorry.” Quinn would be back, she told herself. The nightmare would be over. She felt exposed in her brief suit, so she reached for her wrap. Training kept her gestures casual, even as her heart roared in her head. “It was the way you sent them, James. You frightened me.”

  “I never meant to. Hailey—”

  “Chantel,” she corrected, a flutter of panic in her voice. “I’m Chantel. James, I think we should go into the house and talk about this.”

  “Chantel?” He looked momentarily puzzled. “No, no, I want to be alone with you. I’ve waited too long for tonight. The perfect night, when the moon is full. The song.” He looked at the music box. “It was meant for you.”

  “Why didn’t you just talk to me?”

  “You would have rejected me. Rejected me,” he repeated in a rising voice. “Do you think I’m a fool? I’ve seen you with those young men, all muscles and smooth faces. But none of them love you like I do. You’ve driven me mad with waiting. You were obsessed with Brad. It was always Brad.”

  “There is no Brad!” she shouted. “He’s a character. There is no Hailey. You made them up. They’re not real.”

  “You’re real. I’ve seen you with him. I’ve watched the way you look at him, let him touch you, when it should be me. But I’ve been patient. Tonight.” He started toward her. “I’ve waited for tonight.”

  Chantel raced for the front door, knowing that if she could beat him she’d have a chance. Grabbing the knob, she pulled, but it held firm.

  “I locked it from the outside,” Brewster told her quietly. “I knew you’d try to run away. I knew you’d throw my love back in my face.”

  Chantel spun around, pressing her back to the door. “You don’t love me. You’re confused. I’m an actress; I’m not your Hailey.”

  He winced as if in pain and pressed his fingers to his eyes. “Such headaches,” he murmured. “No, don’t,” he warned when she edged toward the back door. He blocked her way, then stepped back into the shadows to pick something up. “I know what I have to do, and there’s no running for either of us now, Hailey.”