She chose a pale pink angora sweater and white jeans to change into. They were basically her only decent clothes left after the vandalism of her other audition clothes at the studio earlier.
She tossed her purse over her shoulder and headed downstairs in the gathering dusk. Tonight, she would burn some of the remaining gasoline in her car to get to Romalettis and back. If she actually landed this job, money to fill up her car wouldnt be a problem anymore.
She approached her vintage VW Beetle affectionately. The Bug Bomb and she had been through a lot together over the years. Hopefully, times were looking up for the two of them. And it started with this dinner tonight
Maybe because she was distracted thinking about Jackson Prescott, or maybe because she simply forgot the first rule of self-defense, which was to be aware of her surroundings, but she didnt see the attack coming. One second she was reaching for her car-door handle, and the next she was flat on the ground with a heavy body on top of her.
Ohgod, ohgod, ohgod. Not again. And maybe because this reminded her so much of the last time she was attacked, she panicked a little and forgot the second rule of self-defense, which was to make as much noise as possible and attract help, or at least the attention of passersby.
She pushed in silent panic against the gravelly asphalt, trying to turn over. To get her hands or feet free to defend herself. Something hard and heavy slammed into her right temple, and the world went black for a few seconds. She didnt quite lose consciousness, but she was dazed and had to work to stay conscious, let alone fight back.
Her years of self-defense classes finally caught up with her and one more cardinal rule belatedly registered in her brain: never give up. She struggled weakly beneath her attacker.
Bitch, a male voice ground out in her ear, dripping with vitriol.
She fought harder. But trapped on her stomach like this, there wasnt much she could do. All her martial arts training was negated by her inability to move. Her purse was gone, the mace container inside it useless. The motels parking lot had no light in it and was usually deserted, anyway. Fat lot of good noticing all that did her now.
She should have been more aware of her surroundings. But shed been so caught up in fantasizing about Jackson Prescott that shed failed to pay the slightest attention to anything around her. She almost deserved whatever happened next.
She didnt want to die, dammit. And that was when the rest of her self-defense training finally, belatedly, came back to her. She opened her mouth and screamed as loudly and bloodcurdlingly as she could.
Her attacker swore as a door opened nearby. A hand reached for her mouth but she bit the salty palm as hard as she could and screamed again.
Hey! Are you okay, lady? somebody called.
Help! she screamed.
And that was the last thing she remembered before something slammed into the side of her head again, and she did pass out this time.
Chapter 3
Jacksons cell phone rang just as he was heading downstairs. He didnt give many people his private number, so he was surprised when he pulled out the device and didnt recognize the number on the caller ID. Normally, he would ignore it, but he was in a good mood in anticipation of dinner with Ana.
Hello?
Mr. Prescott?
Whos this? he demanded.
San Placido County Hospital emergency room. Are you familiar with a woman named Anabelle Izzolo?
Is she all right? he burst out in alarm.
Theres been an incident, sir. We couldnt find any emergency contacts for her, but we did find your phone number in her purse.
Ill be there in five minutes.
Crapcrapcrapcrapcrap. What had happened? He ran for his motorcycle and flung it out of the driveway like a stunt driver. It was more like a ten-minute drive down to the county hospital under normal conditions, but his five-minute estimate turned out to be fairly accurate. He charged through the swinging doors to the emergency room, helmet still on his head.
Where is Ana Izzolo? he demanded of the nurse behind the admissions counter. Is she okay? What happened to her?
And you are? the nurse asked.
Jackson Prescott. You called me. He tore off his helmet and the nurse gasped in recognition. What the hell good was it being a movie star if he couldnt turn it into preferential treatment now and then?
He leaned forward and murmured low, I would rather not sit here in the public waiting room until the paparazzi show up. Is there any chance you can take me back to be with Ana and avoid a scene?
Of course. Come with me. The woman stepped out from behind the counter to escort him personally.
Thanks, so much he glanced down at her name tag Nurse Simpson.
Oh, its my pleasure, Mr. Prescott. I loved you in that movie about everyone having to leave Earth.
Thanks. It had been the success of that movie that had led him and Adrian to produce the space Western they were working on right now.
The nurse led him into a tiny vestibule crammed with machines and a big hospital bed. A young police officer looked up as they entered. Jacksons gaze riveted on Ana, small and pale in the big bed. How is she? he demanded. He still had no idea what had happened to her and how serious it was.
The cop answered, Shes just coming around. Maybe she can tell us what happened. I found her in a parking lot, unconscious.
Alarm gripped his chest in a vise so tight he had trouble drawing his next breath. Was she mugged? Or worse?
Based on her abrasions, Id say she was knocked down from behind. A guest at the motel heard her scream and called us. Her purse was still on the ground beside her and her clothes were intact, so it looks like she fought the guy off or scared him away. Shes just coming around. Talk to her and see if shell respond to your voice.
Jackson moved to her side to pick up her hand. Hey, babycakes. Its me. Jackson. Youre late for our date.
Ana groaned. He encouraged her to wake up and talk to him for a few more seconds, and she eventually mumbled, My head hurts.
The nurse nodded in approval at him and then unceremoniously elbowed him aside, How many fingers am I holding up, Miss Izzolo?
Ana squinted and got the number right. That was a good sign, right? Jackson fretted in the corner hed been relegated to, where he would be out of the way. If only there was something he could do for her. He felt so damned useless. But he didnt have the slightest bit of medical training. Hell, he didnt have training to do anything practical. He could act. That was it. Sure, it had made him a boatload of money, but he figured it was as much a win of the genetic lottery as any real talent he might have. His brothers were soldiersa helicopter pilot and a Marine officer. Accomplished men with distinguished careers. And he...he was pretty.
Jackson waited impatiently while a doctor came in and peered into Anas eyes, asked her a bunch questions, poked her some more and declared her basically unharmed. She apparently had a mild concussion that went with the lump on the side of her head over her ear.
A cop came into the room. Good-looking guyblond, blue-eyed, deep surfer tan, lanky physique to go with it. Introduced himself as Brody Westmore.
A cop came into the room. Good-looking guyblond, blue-eyed, deep surfer tan, lanky physique to go with it. Introduced himself as Brody Westmore.
Jackson was deeply relieved when she told the cop shed been mugged but nothing more. She glossed over the details of the attack and finished by describing screaming her head off and then passing out.
Officer Westmore had apparently already interviewed the motel guest whod called 9-1-1. Enterprising guy. Surfer cop concluded that, given the timing of the call to the police and their arrival shortly after the scream, her mugger had fled the scene soon after knocking her out.
The cop asked her to check if anything was missing from her purse. A pitifully small amount of cash in her wallet was apparently intact, but her cell phone had gone missing. She was upset about it, but Jackson intervened quickly. The studio will replace it for you. Well need to be able to get in touch with you on short notice. Or more to the point, he would need to be able to get in touch with her on short notice for his own peace of mind.
The police officer asked, Maam, is there someone we can call to let them know youve had an accident? A family member? Spouse?
Embarrassment flashed through her transparent gaze and she mumbled, No. No one.
Im the significant other, Jackson blurted, leaping to the rescue of the damsel in distress. Apparently, he had a heretofore untapped knight-in-shining-armor complex. Not to mention a bizarre possessive streak where Ana was concerned.
She looked startled and the cop looked skeptical until Jackson added defensively, She was on her way to dinner with me when she was attacked. He took satisfaction in the way Surfer Cops expression fell in disappointment.
The nurse interjected, Then youll be with her tonight, Mr. Prescott? We cant release her with a concussion unless she wont be alone.
Ana struggled to sit up, looking freaked at the idea of spending the night in the hospital. Or maybe she was freaked at the idea of spending the night with him. He frowned. Of course. Ill take her home with me. Ill wake her up every two hours or whatever I need to do. Hed been in a movie last year where his female costar had to be woken up periodically after a concussion. It had been a plot point that they made love each time he woke her up. Fun couple days of shooting
The nurse broke his train of thought. She wont require anything that extreme. Just keep an eye on her for nausea, vomiting, disorientation, slurring of speech, balance problems, mood changes, restlessness, excessive light or sound sensitivity, or trouble focusing her eyes.
Well, okay then. He followed the nurse out front to deal with the discharge papers, and he wrote a check for the cost of the E.R. visit. He remembered what it had been like to be a struggling young actor couch surfing and living from hand to mouth between jobs.
After all of the paperwork was taken care of, he headed back down the hall to collect Ana. He wasnt thrilled to see the cop still there, perched on the end of her bed chatting her up. She was his dinner date, dammit.
Ready to go home, Ana-banana?
He caught the glimpse of wistfulness that passed through her expressive eyes before she masked it. It tugged at his heart. An orderly shooed him aside to help Ana into a wheelchair. The cop walked out beside her while Jackson cooled his jets behind the procession. He wasnt used to having competition for women, and he didnt particularly like it.
At least he got to put the hot girl on the back of his bike and peel out of the parking lot while the cop climbed into his piece-of-junk Crown Vic cruiser. There was a little justice in this world, after all.
He murmured over his shoulder, Hang on tight, baby. Ive got you now.
* * *
Ana leaned into Jacksons back and wished desperately that his comment could be true. She was so tired of fighting her own fights and looking out for herself. Particularly since she didnt seem to be doing that hot a job of it.
His bike accelerated onto the Coast Highway, and it felt phenomenal to breathe in clean, ocean air as the wind whipped past. It had been a scorching-hot day and warmth still lingered in the evening. She reveled in having survived the attack. In having her arms around this man. Euphoria overtook her at having cheated death for real. In her stunt training, shed done plenty of risky things, but all of that paled before the danger of real life.
You okay? Jackson asked over the comm system between their helmets.
She replied, Um, yes. Why?
You tensed up.
Oh. Sorry. She consciously relaxed each major muscle group in her body one by one and let herself flow with the movements of the motorcycle and the man confidently maneuvering along the moonlit ribbon of asphalt.
Jackson pulled into the parking lot of her motel. She slid out reluctantly from behind him, startled by how sexy it felt to rub her body across his like that. His gaze snapped to hers, and for a second, his eyes blazed white-hot. Yowza.
Embarrassed as all get-out, she made a production of taking off her helmet and passing it to him. He stayed seated on his bike for a few extra seconds, securing first her helmet and then his before climbing off the Harley and following her up the stairs to her second-floor room.
Except as they approached her door, she spied something odd about it. The whole thing looked...crooked. Jackson shoved past her abruptly, hooking an arm around her front and simultaneously pushing her behind him and jumping in front of her. What the heck?
Get back, he ordered low and hard.
Whats wrong?
Your doors busted.
It was probably like that before she started.
Jambs broken. Boot print by the doorknob, he interrupted. Stay out here.
What?
He stopped in front of the door and spared her a glare. You heard me. Dont come in until I tell you its clear. He used his forearm to push open the sagging door. She frowned until it occurred to her he was intentionally not leaving fingerprints on the doorknob. Sheesh. Paranoid much?
He disappeared into the dark interior of her dingy room. Ignoring his instructions, she stepped into the doorway to see what he was doing. She caught sight of him just spinning into her bathroom in a low crouch. Whoa. Where did he learn a move like that?
That was when her eyesight adjusted enough to really see the interior of her place. What. The. Heck? It was trashed. As in totaled. As in a tornado had shredded the place. Every piece of furniture was knocked over. Every cushion was gutted, and stuffing was all over the place. Drawers were pulled out and thrown on the floor. The TV was smashed. Curtains yanked down off the rods and sliced into rags.
She jumped as Jackson reappeared in the doorway of her bathroom. I told you to stay outside. He sounded irritated.
Is anyone here? she blurted, her heart pounding.
No. But if a crook had been in here, you couldve put yourself in the line of fire and gotten hurt.
She flipped the switch beside the door that turned on the lamp across the room. Nothing happened. What on earth was going on? It was as if someone was targeting her. But who? The only person on earth who wanted to kill her was in jail.
Jackson moved to her side and reached past her to close the broken door as much as it would go. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed a phone number without answering her question. Hello, Id like to report a break-in. He gave her room number and the name of the motel, but he gave the person on the other end of the line his cell phone number.