The man plowed past a crew member, who careened back against a piece of lighting equipment. Then two extras jumped aside, creating a path for the chase.
The guy headed toward the front gate of the studio lot, where Rick knew security would stop him. Rick could only guess how the intruder had gotten onto the lot. Had he hidden in the back of a catering truck, as paparazzi had been known to do?
Gaining on Chiara’s admirer, Rick put on a final burst of speed and tackled the guy. As they both went down, Rick saw in his peripheral vision that they’d attracted the security guards’ attention at the front gate.
The man struggled in his grasp, jabbing Rick with his elbow. “Get off me! I’ll sue you for assault.”
Rick twisted the man’s arm behind his back, holding him down. “Not before you get written up for trespassing. Where’s your pass?”
“I’m Chiara’s fiancé,” the guy howled.
Rick glanced up to see that two security guards had caught up to them. “I found this guy trying to break into Chiara Feran’s trailer.”
“Call Chiara,” her alleged fiancé puffed. “She’ll know.”
“Chiara Feran doesn’t have a fiancé,” Rick bit back.
Someone nearby had started filming with his cell phone. Great.
“We’re together. We’re meant to be together!”
Nut job. Rick was in great physical shape due to his stunt work, so he wasn’t out of breath, but Mr. Fiancé was no teddy bear, either; he continued to put up a struggle.
Suddenly the trespasser wheezed. “I can’t br-breathe! Get off me. I have asthma.”
Great. Rick eased back and let one of the security guards take over while the other spoke into his radio.
Things happened slowly but methodically after that. Police were summoned by the studio’s security, and Chiara’s special fan—who’d given his name as Todd Jeffers—was led away. Eventually Rick was questioned by a police officer. Chiara materialized soon after and was similarly prodded for details by the officer’s partner.
Before the police left, Rick gleaned that Chiara’s overly enthusiastic fan would be charged with criminal trespass, disorderly conduct and harassment. Well, that’s something. But by the time Rick had finished talking about the incident to Dan, the director, Chiara had holed up in her trailer.
Rick eyed Chiara’s door, twisted his mouth in a grim line and made his way to the trailer for some answers.
He didn’t bother knocking—chances were better for a snowstorm in LA right now than for her rolling out the red carpet for him—and simply marched inside.
He came up short when he found Chiara sitting at a cozy little table, a script in front of her.
She was memorizing her lines? He expected her to be rattled, upset...
He looked around. The trailer was a double-decker, and with walnut paneling, it was swankier than his own digs, which were done in a gray monochrome and had no upper level.
When his gaze came back to rest on Chiara, she tilted her head, and said, “People weren’t sure when you tackled him whether it was a stunt, or if you were rehearsing a scene from the movie.”
“You’re welcome.” Leaning against a counter, he folded his arms, like a cop getting ready for an interrogation. He wanted answers only she could provide, and after getting into a fight with her admirer, he was going to get them. “Luckily you weren’t in your trailer when he got here.”
“I was rehearsing. We’re shooting a difficult scene.”
Rick figured that helped explain why she was sitting with a script in front of her, though he imagined her concentration was shot.
“I can only imagine the press coverage that today will get.” A horrified look crossed her face, and she closed her eyes on a shudder.
So she wasn’t as unaffected as she seemed. In fact, Rick had already dealt with suppressing the video of him tackling Jeffers. The person who’d been taping had turned out to be a visiting relative of one of the film crew. But even if those images didn’t become public or weren’t sold to the tabloids, the media would get wind of what happened from the police report and show up for Jeffers’s court hearing. Then, of course, Jeffers himself might choose to make a public statement...
“Hey, at least it’ll take attention away from your father’s latest losses at the gambling tables.” He wondered if Chiara appreciated just how close she’d come to danger. It had been dumb luck that her overly enthusiastic fan hadn’t found her earlier.
She opened her eyes and raised her head. “Yes, how can I forget about my father? How can anyone?”
“So you have a stalker.” He kept his tone mild, belying the emotions coursing through him. Damn it. Chiara was slender and a lightweight despite her mouth and bravado. His blood boiled just thinking of some jerk threatening her.