Cold Read online

  “Have you eaten anything today, baby?” Levi asked beside me, and he pulled me closer into his side, gently tucking the afghan I was wrapped up in around my legs.

  I shrugged. “I’m sure I ate something.”

  “No, you haven’t,” Camilla kindly offered from the kitchen. “You skipped breakfast, you were too busy to eat lunch, and you didn’t eat a single bite of the pizza we had for dinner.”

  Normally, I was a scheduled eater. Three meals a day peppered in with some snacks, and I stuck to that regimen. Missing meals only happened when I was either ill or stress and anxiety had stolen my appetite.

  Tonight, it was the latter.

  We’d only been home from the set for a few hours, but I still couldn’t shake the fact that some lunatic had found their way into my dressing room.

  Me.

  I had no idea who Me was. I didn’t even have a list of possibilities.

  All I knew was that this person was too close.

  Between the flowers, the windshield incident, and now, a creepy candid picture inside my dressing room, I was officially freaked out.

  I’d thought Levi had acted crazy talking about evidence and crime scenes when we were in the hospital parking lot, but this had put everything into perspective.

  Worst-case scenarios? Yeah. I’d imagined at least one thousand of them. And that was just during the four or so mile drive home from the set.

  Levi tapped my thigh with his hand. “You need to eat something.”

  I looked up at him and swam in the comfort of his blue eyes. “I’m not hungry,” I whispered. “My stomach is in knots, and I’m having a bit of an internal freak-out at the moment.”

  He held me tighter. “What are you freaking out about?”

  “Me,” I whispered, and his lips pushed into a firm line at the mere sound of that normally innocuous two-letter word.

  “You have nothing to worry about, okay?” he said, his voice reassuring and his big presence providing just enough solace that I could let my shoulders relax and release the tension pinching at my neck. “We’ve filed the police report. Every officer in a fifty-mile radius is aware, and you now have a security detail outside your door.” He kissed my forehead softly, letting his lips linger for a long moment. “I won’t let anything happen to you, okay?”

  “But what about you?” I asked on a whisper, all of my worst fears coming to fruition. Sure, my anxiety was partially related to my well-being, but mostly, it revolved around the people I loved most in the world. Camilla and Levi were at the very top of that list.

  “Don’t you worry your pretty little head about me,” he said, and a soft smile crested his lips. “I’m big and ugly enough to handle shit.”

  That made me giggle. “Big enough? Sure, I can definitely agree with that,” I said and sat up straight to place a kiss to his lips. “But ugly enough? Hell to the no, you big, fat liar. Have you seen your eyes? Lord Almighty, they are a million miles away from being remotely close to ugly.”

  He grinned and tapped an index finger to the tip of my nose. “Ditto, baby. I’m a big fan of your eyes too.”

  “Hey, Ivy! Your phone is vibrating!” Camilla called from the kitchen, and a few seconds later, walked into the living room to toss me my cell.

  I looked down at the screen to see several text message notifications.

  Once I opened my inbox, I was face-to-face with a message from Boyce.

  Boyce: Are you at your rental?

  Me: Not sure why that matters, but yes. Why?

  Boyce: Good. Get some sleep tonight. Last-minute reshoots tomorrow morning. Be on set by 9.

  Me: What? Why? Hugo said we wrapped today.

  Boyce: After I had a long discussion with Hugo, he has agreed to let me run the show for a few reshoots for the scene at Gaskins’s house.

  My jaw fell into my lap of its own accord. Was he being fucking serious right now?

  Me: But Hugo was happy with everyone’s performance…

  Boyce: Like I said before, Hugo has given me the green light for reshoots tomorrow. Be there at 9. And make sure you get in bed early. I’d like to get these done within a few takes.

  I felt like curling up into the fetal position and crying and screaming and breaking shit all at the same time. I stood up from the couch with a groan and kicked the afghan off my legs as I did.

  “What’s wrong?” Levi asked, and I started to pace the living room like a caged animal.

  “Boyce just sent me messages about fucking reshoots. He says I need to be on set at nine a.m. tomorrow. What the fuck?” I questioned, and anger rose in my voice. “I feel like he’s got it out for me!” I yelled, storming from the living room to my bedroom and dropping the weight of my body onto the bed.

  My skin felt painful, anxiety prickling under the surface of it. I’d bled out everything I had to give emotionally for the scene at the house with Walter Gaskins. I’d given my heart and my soul, and I’d died for a cause I felt worthy.

  But a reshoot felt like torture. As if, without the possibility to give more, I’d only be giving less. Not to mention, the things that Levi had told me and the way they changed how living out Grace’s last breaths would feel.

  I would sense the heartbeat of her baby within; I would be drawn to protect the womb.

  “He doesn’t have it out for you,” Cam murmured after following me into the room and sitting on a hip beside me. She lifted a hand and stroked my back.

  “He does, Cam,” I insisted.

  Her eyes were soft but stoic, and I knew without having to ask that she thought I was being dramatic about not wanting to do the scenes. Desperate, I shifted my focus from her to Levi, where he stood leaning against the doorframe to my room. His jaw was hard and lean body tense, even as he stood in supposed repose.

  “He’s got it out for her,” he agreed, knowing I needed him to be on my side. “He’s been riding her since day one, and I don’t think it’s based solely on performance.”

  “This is how producers are,” Camilla argued.

  “I can’t do it,” I whispered, the prospect of living it again slowing the beat of my heart. It felt needlessly torturous and superfluous. Hugo had been happy with the scene; he’d told me so himself.

  But Boyce was like a dog with a bone, and he wouldn’t give up on the idea of shooting it again.

  “You don’t have to.”

  Camilla shook her head, disagreeing completely. “Yes, she does. I know you guys are in that stage of your relationship where people shit rainbows and everything they say is right, but this is her job. And if they say she has to do a reshoot, she has to.”

  I looked at Cam, and she looked at me. I wanted her to take back her words, to agree with Levi and say I didn’t have to do those stupid fucking reshoots.

  But, she didn’t.

  “It’ll be okay, Ivy. It’s just one more day to push through,” she added, before offering a sympathetic smile and heading out of my bedroom.

  Just one more day to push through.

  I hated that I agreed with her.

  “God,” I cried and sank my head into my hands. “She’s right.”

  And she was. It didn’t matter that I was personally attached to the story or the real-life people behind the characters now. It didn’t matter that I’d given all I had to give for the scene and couldn’t imagine I’d ever be able to do more.

  I was the actress. I’d signed a contract and sold my opinions for a paycheck. It was my job to deliver, and I had to do it to their standards. If Boyce was demanding reshoots, I had to do them.

  I didn’t see Levi move, but I felt the warmth of his arms as they came around me reassuringly. “Ivy,” he whispered right in the shell of my ear.

  I wrapped my arms around the width of his back and squeezed in return, soaking in all of the comfort he had to give. It was ironic, really, seeking comfort from the man who’d actually been through the imaginary hell I was tired of living.

  “I just need to sleep,” I said, both to convince
myself and him. Maybe if I could forget the day, put all of the chaos of pushy producers and possible stalkers to bed, I could wake up back in the perfect bliss of that morning.

  Levi’s lips on mine; the promise of the future bold and palpable.

  “That’s a good idea,” Levi agreed.

  He shifted away from our hug just enough and tucked the blankets around me. “I just have to run home and get some clothes, okay?”

  A cold chill ran up my spine at the threat of his absence, but I shoved it aside and nodded.

  He’d dropped everything to make sure I was protected and seen to, and he’d listened thoughtfully as I complained about my stupid, fantastical problems. Problems he’d actually lived.

  “Okay,” I agreed, steeling my voice to sound sure. I could give this to him. I could find the strength to be okay for the both of us.

  Cam walked back in after a soft knock on the door, her hand a fist that she held out in front of her. “I thought some Tylenol PM might help you sleep.”

  I smiled my thanks and took them, tossing them back with ease and then reaching for the glass of water in her other hand. The cool liquid coated the column of my throat and soothed the burn of unknowns.

  Cam took the glass back with a smile and stepped outside, and I settled back into the bed.

  “I’ll make sure Dane is good to go outside before I leave,” Levi assured, rubbing a thumb over the smooth skin of my arm.

  Fear curled my body into itself. I’d been ignoring the threat for so long, the potency had built in the meantime.

  Officer Fox, ever the protector, didn’t let it linger.

  Levi’s lips felt perfect and reassuring as they sealed to my own and opened and closed. My tongue peeked in the opening, just enough to touch the tip of his, and the air in my lungs suddenly felt fresher.

  Like the weight of the day and the world would be lighter now that Levi was there to help me hold it.

  I closed my eyes as he skirted a hand over my hip and stood up from the bed, and I did my best to calm my mind.

  I pushed myself to think thoughts of beach days with an Adonis and little raven-haired babies. I wasn’t ready for it now—the commitment, the marriage, the kids—but I loved the idea of someday.

  Sleep ebbed and flowed like the roll of the tide, and when the last wave crashed, it was finally enough for the restorative water to pull me under.

  To dream lives and dream men. Far away from the recurring nightmare.

  The soft click of Ivy’s door shutting behind me made Cam’s head come up from her spot on the couch. The hall was dark and long, and she waited for me to close the distance before breaking the silence.

  “She asleep?” she asked.

  I nodded. “Will be soon anyway.”

  “She’s not normally this hysterical, honestly. It’s kind of surprising to see her acting like—”

  I shook my head and held up a hand, and Camilla stopped talking.

  “I told her some things. About me. About Grace. I didn’t really think about what that would do to her ability to act it out.”

  “What kinds of things?” she asked immediately, not nearly as careful with my feelings as her sister. For as weird as things had started between us, it was amazing how easily we’d fallen into sibling type roles.

  I chuckled. “None of your business.”

  “Yeah, sure. She’ll tell me if I ask her. She tells me everything.”

  I glanced over my shoulder, back down the hall, and pictured the woman who was so emotionally invested in my life—in the things I’d told her—that she was having anxiety attacks over putting herself back in the role of Grace.

  My smirk was small but effective. “Not this, she won’t.”

  Cam rolled her eyes and then moved them back to her book before asking, “I’m assuming you’re staying the night?”

  The floor creaked as I started moving again, a slow advance to the hook by the door where my coat hung.

  “Yeah. After I run home real quick for a change of clothes.”

  “What’s the matter? Not to the sleeping naked portion of the relationship yet?” she teased.

  I shook my head and smiled as I pulled the door open. “I said a spare set of clothes. Not pajamas.”

  She stuck out her tongue and smiled, but I didn’t wait for her to say anything else. Instead, I stepped outside and closed the door behind me.

  “Hey, man,” Dane greeted. “You headin’ out?”

  “I just have to run home, but I’ll be back.”

  I noticed him nod in my periphery as I looked at the shining light through the mostly closed blinds. I thought about the women inside and fought against the pull in my gut. The flowers and the heart on the windshield and the gift in Ivy’s dressing room. All of it felt like a record on repeat.

  Flashes of the past taunted me with my mistakes and dared me to give love a go again. A vision of Grace on the floor of Walter Gaskins’s kitchen made me close my eyes.

  “You don’t get distracted for a second, okay?” I ordered.

  The bounce of Dane’s head was enthusiastic as he assured me of his vigilance. “No worries, man. I got this.”

  With a clasp of his shoulder and a jerky nod, I moved away from the front door and climbed into my truck.

  It started up quickly, and before I knew it, the cold air and the hot exhaust had mixed to close me in a white cloud of smoke. Eager to get home and back, I rushed the warm-up process and shifted into reverse.

  The driveway was long, and I paused at the end to survey the surroundings. No lights, no sounds, the road was as abandoned as was to be expected on a weeknight at almost midnight.

  Only the critters were active, glowing eyes and peeking positions at the side of the road as they ventured out for nighttime meals.

  When the quiet became too much, I switched on the radio and pulled out of the drive, headed for home.

  It was a short trip, about a mile and a half one way, but as the darkness yawned before me and as the distance between Ivy and me got larger, it felt like forever.

  Unease and dread coated the end of “Blowing in the Wind” by Peter, Paul, and Mary, and I welcomed the change of song as it came to a close.

  But the reprieve was short-lived.

  The first notes of “Blue Bayou” were just as eerie as always, and my heart kicked into overdrive.

  Goddamn, someone needs to outlaw this fucking song.

  A flash caught my eye in the reflection in my mirror, and I slammed on the brakes to scout what I’d seen. Roy sang on about seeing his baby again, and my chest got tight.

  With one swift move after another, I shifted into reverse and slammed my foot to the floor. The truck swung around violently, and I threw it into drive, back in the direction I’d come.

  I couldn’t describe my mania as anything more than a feeling, but feelings were meant to be felt.

  Life and love and goddamn intuition didn’t work as well when you were numb. Ivy had been the one to teach me that.

  The driveway came up fast, and I took the turn entirely too quickly.

  Gravel sprayed as I sped up the long road to the end and slid to a stop right behind Dane’s cruiser.

  The front of the house was noticeably empty, and my eyes scoured the siding desperately for the contrast of Dane’s dark uniform.

  I didn’t even bother with closing the door as I climbed from the truck and rushed back up onto the front porch and straight for the front door.

  I had my hand to the knob, ready to enter, when a glint of light pierced me in the eye from the bush at the side of the porch. I moved slowly, cautiously, to the edge and put to my hand to my gun at the side of my hip.

  Brown leaves and leftover snow, the landscaping was a perfect depiction of the cold mess our little town fell into every winter.

  But there was something else there, among the shrubbery and ice.

  Blond hair and innocent, open eyes—and a five-inch slash across his throat.

  Fuck. Oh God, no.
r />   With no time to mourn Dane now, I swore to do it later as I moved back to the front door and pushed my way into the house.

  The crack of the door against the wall startled the man and woman wrestling on the couch into a spin, and the knife in his hand settled on her creamy white throat.

  “Levi!” she yelled, startled eyes and determination coloring her face bright pink.

  I lifted my gun and trained it on the intruder.

  “What the fuck is going on here?” I asked, trying to calm the surge of adrenaline enough to figure out the answer. “Boyce?”

  His eyes were wild and his appearance disheveled as he pushed the large, already bloodied blade farther into her delicate throat.

  “She’s mine,” he said softly, all traces of sane Hollywood producer gone. He’d been replaced by a desperate psychopath. “I’ve seen you with her, but I’m the one she’s meant to be with.”

  Red hair and green eyes and with all the threat to life I could handle, I closed one eye and lined up the shot, right in the middle of Boyce’s eyes. As soon as I was sure I could hit him clean, I’d take it.

  “Please, Boyce,” she said. “Camilla’s sleeping.”

  My heart seized.

  “Can’t we go somewhere and talk about this?”

  His laugh was manic. “Now? Now, you want to talk?”

  I pulled back on the trigger slightly, ready with just a tap as soon as he gave me the opportunity.

  They were too fucking close together, her head just slightly in front of his, and desperation ran hot inside my veins as I strived to find an open shot.

  But Boyce knew my challenge and did everything in his power to keep them in motion while holding the knife firmly beside her neck.

  They bobbed and they weaved, and then…it was too late.

  Too late to talk.

  “It’s too late to talk. You should have thought about that before. The only way you’re leaving here, leaving me, is dead.”

  Too late to stop him.

  Boyce’s arm moved swiftly and without warning, dragging across her throat just as I pulled the trigger. Both of them hit the floor together.