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“I bet it’s that guy who quotes Shakespeare. Nobody could have that personality for real.”
“Thatwashis real personality,” Jacey said, having spent a few minutes talking to the professor, Nigel Whittington. “He teaches English at some college.”
Ginger shot her a look that told her to mind her own business. “That could be a cover story.” She shivered delicately and oozed closer to the fireman. “I’m so glad he ended up going in the other car. He might kill someone off before we even get to the inn.”
Ginger obviously hadn’t read the background documents on the show. Or else she was forgetful. Or just stupid. “Nobody knows who the killer is,” the fireman said, sounding not a bit impatient as the women on either side of him kept their rapt attention on his face. “To keep it as fair as possible, nobody finds out anything until we’re all on site.”
They nearly melted at the display of manly wisdom. For a brief second, Jacey couldn’t blame them. He had some face. Some body, too. But he was so completely not her type.
“Not even the killer knows he or she is the killer yet,” said the fireman, who Jacey finally remembered was named Digg. She shouldn’t have forgotten such an unusual name.
The mousy chick, who introduced herself as Mona, a florist from Virginia, nodded in agreement. Jacey had a feeling, judging by the worshipful look on her face, that Mona would agree if Digg said the earth was flat and if you sailed off the edge, you’d fall off into a dragon’s mouth.
Jacey swallowed a grunt of disgust. A stud on the set was never a great idea. There were sure to be catfights. Then she smiled inwardly. Maybe on a regular TV set catfights were to be avoided. But on a reality show? “Perfect,” she whispered.
“Excuse me?” Digg asked, turning the full onslaught of his attention on her.
Jacey could handle him. She’d been handling smooth-talking men half her life. “What’s your story? Digg’s an unusual name.”
“Short for Diego,” he replied, his name rolling off his tongue with the rhythmic cadence of someone who fluently spoke another language. Likely Spanish.
Mona and Ginger nearly swooned. Not surprising since they so obviously dug Digg.
“And I have no story to speak of,” he continued. “I’m a fireman at a station in Queens.” He kept those big brown eyes of his focused entirely on her. He didn’t frown, didn’t look away, didn’t react at all to her unorthodox appearance.A gentleman, she reminded herself. And apparently more, judging by the small, discreet Remember 9/11 pin on his collar.
She wondered if he’d known people who’d been there that day, telling herself she was only interested because of its historical significance. If that had anything to do with why he’d become a firefighter. If he was the kind of man she’d only ever read about or seen on TV.
A hero.
“What’syourstory?” he asked.
Jacey ignored the question. She wasn’t about to let these three, or the five other people sitting in this stretch limo, know that she was part of the crew ofKilling Time in a Small Town.
Won’t they be surprised.
“What would you do with that much money?” This came from a burly guy in a dingy T-shirt and jeans, one who’d given the redhead a visible leer when they’d entered the limo this morning. Willie Packard, Jacey recalled. She’d easily remembered that one because of an old joke from her childhood.Willie P or won’t he?
“I’d quit my job,” Ginger said, “and travel the world.”
Fireman Digg merely nodded.
“I’d help the poor.” Mona watched for Digg’s reaction.
Again, he responded with just a nod, even as Jacey rolled her eyes. He turned his attention toward her just in time to catch the exasperated sigh she couldn’t contain. They exchanged a long look. He revealed nothing in his stoic expression, the same one he’d been wearing since they’d entered the limo.
Tilting her head back in challenge, Jacey declared, “I’d buy a bad-ass house, and a bad-ass car and a bad-ass man to take care of my every bad-ass need.”
The two women tsked and frowned. Jacey met fireman Digg’s stare, held it, dared him to give her one of his nice, polite nods like he had the other women.
He didn’t. Instead, Digg smiled. Arealsmile, just for her. His wide, sexy grin revealed perfect white teeth, and two dimples deep enough for a woman to swim in. Genuine amusement and a certain acknowledgment that she’d scored a hit sparkled in his dark eyes.
Jacey didn’t quite recognize the sensation washing through her. She didn’t know why her hand suddenly wanted to smooth her hair in place, or why she instinctively sat up straighter. Or what the absurd fluttering in her stomach was all about, unless the Chicago hotel had laced her eggs with salmonella.
Then she recognized the unfamiliar feeling.Attraction.
God, she was attracted to the clean-cut, gentlemanly fireman with a hero complex and the stupid name of Digg.
She should be screaming or slitting her wrists. But funny…suddenly, keeping a close, camera’s-eye view on the thick-chested, dark-haired guy didn’t look to be much of a hardship.
