“If you’re in the protection business, then I suspect you’re ex-military?”
Joe nodded.
“Special ops?” Remy guessed, but didn’t wait for confirmation to continue. “You’re too cool to be anything else.” He smiled a beat and waited, but Joe said nothing. She knew what was coming.
“I’d love to drain your brain over drinks some time—in the next few days before I get into the script too deep. It’d be good prep for my character.”
Joe gave a miniscule nod of his head. Mae knew he was only humoring the guy, but Remy looked satisfied.
Laura said, “This is Willa Eve, though she needs no introduction. She’ll be playing the kick-ass heroine. We’re waiting for one more actor and the assistant producer, Paul Johnson.”
Mae was assessing Willa and hoping her height, mostly legs, wouldn’t be a costuming problem—when it registered that Mae would be working withPaul Johnson. He was the best at Alpha Centurion. Unable to stop the grin, she knew she was nodding like a bobblehead. She took a breath, focusing on her job.
“Sounds perfect. Any idea what kind of look we’re going for?”
The set designer spoke up. “So far we’re thinking of hues of blue for the look—bright blue for the summer shots and slate blue for the winter.”
Mae said, “I can work with that.”
“It’s beachy, but not Hawaii—not a lot of flora and fauna,” the head writer said. “No Hawaiian shirts. We’re sophisticated yet casual because we’re New England, not the Hamptons.”
“Although,” Laura said, “We’re thinking there will be a sprinkling of cameos with well-known figures to give it a Yankee-chic vibe—no one from Hollywood or Broadway, though. Maybe some sports stars, politicians, scientists, possibly musicians. Still working out the details.”
Mae nodded her head again. “Got it.” She eyed Remy and said, “Can you stand for me? I’d like to take a few measurements if you don’t mind—unless you know your measurements.” The man rattled them off as he stood. She went to his end of the table to examine his body type more closely. He was tallish and had bulging biceps, but otherwise a normal build that would be easy to work with. She returned to her seat and realized how she must look to someone who had no context for this business, someone like Joe.
But her man Joe looked unfazed, as usual.
“Let’s wait another few minutes before we get any further,” Laura said. “I don’t want to have to catch Paul up on the details.”
Half listening to the willowy Willa Eve and the serious Remy Todd compare notes about how they prepared for their roles, Mae noticed Joe slip his phone from his pocket and take a look at it while he held it discreetly on his lap.
He leaned over and whispered in her ear, creating a wisp of longing in her for real intimacy with him, intimacy not related to him doing his job. “It’s the police detective. I have to take this.”
* * *
Joe’s fascinationwith the cast of characters in the room would have to take a back seat to Detective Harvey’s call. When Joe picked up, the detective was all business.
“You sure picked a doozy to get mixed up with. Sal the Snake and his father Killer Tony. The son takes after the father for being notoriously irrational. That’s why they never made it big except in the media. Mostly large bank jobs and—what got them in the most trouble—high-end hits.”
The detective paused while Joe’s adrenaline pooled as if preparing for a fight. This was not good news. It confirmed what he’d found in the sensational Internet articles. He’d been hoping they were exaggerated or fictionalized.
“What about stashed money the father might have left behind?”
“Getting to that, Mr. Temple.”
“Call me Joe.”
“Sure. You can call me Detective Harvey. I’m not your friend, Joe. You have an impressive calling card, so I’ll work with you, but you’ll need to stay out of my way and do exactly what I tell you to do.”
“Yes, sir.” Joe had been in the army. Detective Harvey was a spaniel puppy compared to the likes of Joe’s special ops commanders but Joe knew how to get what he needed.
There was a pause on the other end, presumably while Harvey sorted out whether Joe was serious or a wiseass. He let the detective take his time.
“Good. I’ll need something from you to justify a warrant to search Sal’s last known address—which, according to recent press, is likely a hotel in the LA area. We’ll need to do a computer search to find out which one.”
“You got nothing from the crime scene? From Mae—Ms. Monday’s house?”
“I didn’t say that. But nothing that would justify a warrant—either for a search or to bring him in for questioning. Your client’s papers—Ms. Monday’s papers—may be key. But I have another idea and I’m relying on you to convince your client to go along with it.”