Page 102 of Just Killing Time


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She didn’t budge. “I never saw their name on the list of approved media visitors. We don’t need that kind of spotlight shining on this production.”

Renauld shrugged. “So the magazine appeals to a certain type of audience. That audience does watch television.”

She didn’t concede the point, though Renauld was probably right. Instead, she asked, “Who approved this?”

The cocky little rooster didn’t look so cocky now. He gazed away and shrugged. “It’s nothing official. So many other newspapers have called, the tabloid shows are here. What’s one more? What a story! Horror novelist murders church matron on set of new reality show. What could be better than that?”

Mick sucked in a breath even as Caroline cast him a quick, reassuring glance.

“We’re not going down that road.”

Renauld merely smiled. “Of course we are. The studio is ecstatic.” Then he turned to Mick. “Oh, yes, the author, she is your sister, isn’t she? Pity. I liked her books. Do you think she’d have any interest in selling movie rights before she goes to jail?”

Mick launched off the love seat so fast the obnoxious director had no time to react. Mick had pinned him against the wall, one arm tightly clenching his shoulder, the other pressed flat across the man’s neck. He leaned close and his voice shook with anger. “You do anything to hurt my sister and you’re going to have a hell of a lot more to worry about than ratings.”

Caroline grabbed his arm, pulling him away. “Mick, let him go. Don’t do this.”

Mick dropped his arm and stepped back, noting the paleness of Renauld’s face. “Violence runs in your family, I see.”

“You wanna see violence—"

Caro tugged at him again. “Stop, please. It isn’t going to happen.” She glared at Renauld. “No interviews given by anyone on this set will discuss R. F. Colt.”

Renauld merely drew in deep breaths and straightened himself up. He backed toward the door, edging along the wall as if afraid to get within five feet of Mick. Before he left, he cast them both an angry glance. “Call the studio and discuss it with them and then we’ll talk again.” Then he pointed at Mick. “Withouthim. I want him out of this office, now.” Then he walked out of the trailer, slamming the door shut behind him.

Once he was gone, Mick drew in a deep breath, trying to slow his racing pulse and let go of his anger. “That guy’s a real piece of work.”

Caroline nodded in agreement.

“You’re going to stop him, right?” he asked, looking in her eyes. “You won’t let them tear Sophie up in the press?”

Caroline didn’t hesitate. “I’m absolutely going to stop them. Don’t worry, Mick. Renauld has a lot of enemies at the studio, which is why they usually give him these types of assignments, in faraway locations. They won’t give in to his stupid demands. The network won’t want this kind of trash publicity any more than I do.”

He believed she meant every word coming out of her mouth. After drawing her into his arms, he kissed her temple and stroked her hair. Even as she reassured him, however, he couldn’t help wondering how the studio would really react.

And how Caroline would respond if they didn’t back her up.

SINCE THE BIZARRE crime Sunday night, Jacey hadn’t spent much time with Digg. The entire cast and crew had to move out for two nights, filling up every gnarly room at a nasty old motel out by the interstate. Mona and Ginger had had to share a room, and Jacey didn’t know who suffered more—Caro Lamb, who had to listen to their complaints, or the roaches, who had to listen to the two women bickering. But by Thursday, when they were allowed to resume production, she noticed the entire cast and crew were infused with a new energy and excitement about the project.

“Genuine murder must really get the juices flowing,” she muttered aloud as she checked her gear to prepare for tonight’s elimination quiz. Because of the delay, they were stepping up the pace and three more contestants would be at risk tonight. Two would be gone by tomorrow. They’d be down to four by Sunday when they kicked into high gear to shoot the final two episodes.

She found herself praying that Digg would be among those final four. Not just because she’d be happy if he won but because she wasn’t ready for him to leave. Not yet. Not until she figured out what their fast but intense relationship meant. To both of them.

“You really think the murder has everybody more in the game-playing spirit?”

Jacey didn’t turn around, closing her eyes as his familiar voice washed over her in the abandoned parlor of the inn. God, how could she have so missed a man she barely knew? Why did those mornings they spent running in the park seem to have such significance to her? And oh, why could she touch her fingertips to her lips and almost feel that faint, interrupted kiss from Sunday night?

Finally, she turned around to face him. “Good morning.”

“No run, I see,” he said, noting her work clothes.

She shook her head. “Stricter rules now, because of the, um…situation.”

Digg entered the room, closing the French doors behind him. He wore his typical dark jeans, black boots and tight black T-shirt that hugged his taut, trained body. “You never answered my question.”

She forced her mind to the present, and off the image of Digg wearing his silly little fireman’s hat—and nothing else—leaning so close to kiss her that she still almost felt those phantom lips against hers. “What question was that?”

“Do you think everyone’s more interested in playing amateur detective because there’s a real crime to solve?”

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