“How did you do that?” she asked, amazed. He’d awakened exactly one hour from when he’d shut his eyes.
“Internal clock. It got honed in the Army,” he said, raising the back of the seat and finger-combing his longish hair. He checked his surroundings in the mirror and then picked up his cell phone and began briskly checking messages.
“How long did you serve in the Army?”
“Five years of active duty after college, two years of reserves,” he said distractedly. “Your driver’s name is Jim, isn’t that right?”
“What?” she asked, startled by his question. She grew concerned when she saw he was still peering at his messages. “Yes, Jim Adair. Is everything all right? Did you get some kind of message about Jim?”
“Not at all,” he said, making a scrolling motion with his thumb. His cell phone looked oddly small in his big hand. It was strange, the contrast of his largeness and the subtlety of his touch. “I’m just asking because I forgot to ask during our planning session. How long has Jim been with you?”
“Eighteen months,” Gia said, giving him a wary sideways glance.
“Do you trust him?”
“Completely,” Gia stated with force. “He lives on the grounds in the carriage
house. I wouldn’t have anyone live so close that I didn’t trust completely.”
He nodded. “But we’re still in agreement that it would be best for you not to be in contact with him, or anyone at all, for the next few weeks?”
“Seth,” she said, exasperated. “Did you get a message that relates to Jim or not?”
“No,” he said with emphasis, setting down his phone. She caught a glimpse of his expression and sensed he was telling the truth. He quirked his dark eyebrows expectantly, and she made a frustrated sound.
“Yes, I agree that I won’t be in contact with anyone. I wrote my parents and a couple friends and told them I was okay, but off the map for a few weeks, just like we talked about. Jim and my housekeeper have been told something similar, except that Jim knows a little more since he was driving during the switch-off with Leti. You really are the suspicious type, aren’t you?”
“Now is not the time to be blindly trusting.”
“Am I supposed to read multiple meanings into that?”
“No,” he rumbled, the vision of him spreading and planting his long legs distracting her. “It’s just common sense in this situation.”
She scowled as she stared at the road. “Talk about doublespeak. You really are a trained spy, aren’t you?”
“Not anymore.”
“Hmph. Once a spy, always a spy,” she said under her breath. She felt his stare on her face in the darkness. It caused her neck to prickle in awareness. It was as if she could feel his hand pressing against her breast and beating heart and hear his roughened voice.
I don’t think it’s possible to regret what just happened.
She experienced an irrational desire for him to touch her. She tamped it down with effort.
“It almost sounds like when you talk about McClarin, it’s personal,” she said, rallying. When he didn’t respond—or even move—in the passenger seat, she shut off the radio. “Seth?” she prompted. “Do you know Sterling McClarin?”
“No, not personally,” he said after a pause. “Let’s just say I know of his type.”
She glanced at him expectantly. “What do you mean?”
He exhaled and raked his fingers through his hair in an impatient gesture.
“There was a girl who was an extra on a film I did a few years back. She was new to the area and the industry. She was young. Too young. Dharma came from a fucked-up family in a tiny town in Maine and had just come to Hollywood in hopes of healing all her scars by seeing her name in lights. She didn’t know anyone in L.A. and was excited and scared and just plain lonely. You know the type,” Seth said gruffly.
Gia clamped her mouth shut and stared at the road. Yeah, she knew the type, all right. Sad, sweet, naïve men and women who craved acknowledgment and self-esteem so much, they would do practically anything for the mother lode of the stuff: Fame.
Is that how Seth saw her—Gia? The thought made her vaguely queasy.
“She got mixed up with a new-age cult at the same time we were working on the film,” Seth was saying.