Dark Angel 03: Broken Dream (20 page)

Amber kept up her slick, professional front. ‘I understand. It’s natural for you to be worried about your friend, but Miss Linton is taking good care of her.’

‘We needed to see that for ourselves.’

‘Again, I hear you. But our security guys have a job to do. If you take a look at your temporary passes you’ll see that they ran out of time.’

‘… One frickin’ finger!’ Holly warned Owen.

‘OK, Holly, let’s go,’ Grace insisted, smiling at me as she took control.

It’s obvious but worth saying anyway – Grace is exactly the friend you need in a crisis. People think she’s soft and gentle, golden and sunny, but underneath she’s smarter and sharper than anyone I know.

She stepped out into the corridor and instantly took the heat out of the situation, giving me a small, reassuring wave as she took Holly’s arm and walked her out of sight.

‘Whoa!’ Macy laughed. ‘What a day, right?’

Drawing a deep breath, I tried not to think about Grace and Holly driving back to Bitterroot without me. Instead, I focused on our meeting again in less than twenty-four hours.

‘No way will they get passes.’ The confrontation hadn’t dented Macy’s joie de vivre. In fact, she was smiling and giggling her way through the drama. ‘Did you see Owen? The guy had martial arts training, don’t you think? If your buddy had made a wrong move, he’d have laid her flat.’

Natalia frowned. ‘Macy, it’s not funny.’

‘No one got hurt, did they? Plus, Tania’s OK now – it was just a panic attack. Happy ending.’

‘I guess.’ Natalia sighed then looked at her watch. ‘Tania, you’re welcome to stay here as long as you like, only I have an appointment with the Starlite chief exec.’

‘No, I’m OK. I’ll go back to my room.’

‘I’ll make sure she gets there,’ Macy volunteered.

‘I have just enough time to change my clothes and go meet Ryan James at a private reception. His helicopter’s due to land at seven.’

‘No problem,’ Macy insisted. Then, seizing me by the arm as if I was a senior citizen who needed help to cross the street, she steered me into the corridor.

‘Call me if you need anything,’ Natalia insisted as she closed her door.

Macy and I walked what felt like miles of carpet. Rather, I walked, she chattered, bubbled and fizzed. ‘Ryan James is the executive producer on the
Siege
movies,’ she explained. ‘He financed the whole deal – in fact, he
is
Mister Starlite!’

‘Take it easy,’ I pleaded, stopping to draw breath before I pressed the elevator button to take us down to my room on the third floor. The door opened and for a moment I was back in the underground car park in New York. My mugger was stepping out of the lift with his bullet-head concealed beneath a fur-lined hunter’s cap. He was here at Carlsbad Lodge, carrying a knife.

Then my muddled brain clicked back into reality mode and Macy and I stepped into the elevator.

Between floors, Macy rambled on. ‘Owen’s met Ryan on a couple of previous occasions. Actually, Owen knows a lot of important people. He’s an up-and-coming actor – this bar job is only temporary. Isn’t that cool, Tania?’

‘If it’s true,’ I cautioned. Not for the first time I thought that fifty per cent of what Macy told me could be wishful thinking. Take her overnight stay with Charlie as an example – in Macy’s mind sleeping with Jack’s stunt double meant they were practically engaged.

‘Of course it’s true. I’m only dating the next hot Hollywood superstar!’

‘You and Owen are dating?’ I asked as we stepped out of the lift.

‘Yeah, he’s invited me to the final wrap party on Saturday night. It’s going to be cool. Everyone will be there. There’ll be live music, themed costumes – everything!’

Oh, crap! My legs almost buckled when she said the word ‘party’. It was the first I’d heard of it but it straight away made total sense. A celebration to mark the end of filming was exactly the occasion the dark angels needed – time for dressing up in costume, playing music, creating a ritual and finally inviting Orlando across to the dark side.

Now I definitely needed to be alone, to clear my head. ‘OK, Macy – my room’s number 310, just down the corridor. You can leave me here.’

‘Sure?’ she asked, checking her reflection in the mirror-wall at the back of the lift – big-volume, flame-red hair, ear and nose studs, strappy black top with a zipper running diagonally across her chest from shoulder to waist.

‘Yes – get back in the elevator before the door closes.’

‘If you’re OK now …’

‘I am. Go find Owen – go!’

She stepped in as the door slid shut.

A final wrap party on Saturday, a movie mogul arriving in a helicopter – there was a lot to think about as I made my way to my room, swiped my plastic key and staggered the last few metres to my bed. The sheets were already turned back and there was a silver-wrapped chocolate mint lying on the pillow.

My head swam. I thought of the supercharged Formula 1 pace of Macy’s love life with all its swerves, skids and manoeuvres, and it scared me. Now Owen, not Jack and definitely not Charlie, was the one who could do no wrong. I remembered the manic look in her eye, compared it with Orlando and Gwen then felt my heart skip a beat.

Lying on my back, I reached to switch on the bedside light. Get to the truth for a third time and find freedom, my good angel had told me, back in the old silver mine. No more death and suffering – this time for ever.

But truth shifted and floated; it swam inside my head and couldn’t be grasped.

Who was my real enemy, the dark angel I must name and defeat? Had I met him yet, back in Manhattan or here on Carlsbad? So far I had no way of telling.

All I knew as I lay on those cool, crisp hotel sheets in the pool of gentle light cast by the lamp was that I had until Saturday night to save Orlando.

I
t turned out Ryan James wasn’t the quiet, fly-on-the-wall, grey-suited type of investor – he was the total opposite.

I ran into him at breakfast the next morning and no one had to tell me who he was.

There in the restaurant was this guy in his forties with a mane of blond hair. It was swept back from his small-featured, tanned face and curled over the collar of his white cotton shirt, worn with jeans and a belt with an ornate silver buckle – the type cowboys like to wear. He looked like he had at least one personal trainer, plus hair stylist, manicurist and masseuse on his permanent staff.

The money man’s presence at the breakfast bar acted like a magnet and all of Starlite and Xcel’s employees were the iron filings.

‘Let me get that for you, Mr James,’ said the girl serving bacon. She took the warmest plate from the bottom of the pile, scooped up six rashers and asked him would he like his eggs over easy.

‘Sir, would you prefer wheat toast?’ asked the man behind the toaster.

‘Fresh fruit, Mr James?

‘Coffee with that, sir? With cream or without?’

Ryan smiled at each and every one, shook hands with a member of the sound crew, even remembered that his name was Robert Brownlow, gave him a pat on the back and moved on.

‘Hey, Larry!’ he called to the director, who had made sure to get down to breakfast before his boss. ‘Be a good guy – scootch over and squeeze in an extra seat for me at your table.’

Larry King jumped up like he’d been scalded, rearranged the furniture and stayed standing, ready to shake the hand of the guy who was financing what he hoped would be a whole string of
Siege
movies if only Jack Kane would clean up his act and stay alive for five more years.

‘How’re you doing, Larry?’ Ryan skipped the formal handshake and slapped him on the back instead.

Sitting at a nearby table with Macy, I noticed that Mr James’s forehead was as uncreased as his freshly ironed shirt. Closer inspection told me that his lips had most likely been pumped up with collagen and that the mane of hair owed a lot to a professional colourist.

‘What do you think?’ Macy whispered, loud enough for our whole table to pick up. ‘Has he had work?’

Eaters at our table gasped then clanked their cutlery and shuffled their chairs in case Macy came up with another comment which could get them fired.

‘I’m not even looking,’ I lied, and told her I was too busy waiting for Orlando to show up.

Ryan meanwhile was asking after his most bankable star. ‘So, Larry, how’s Jack? Is he screwing his leading lady like they say in all the gossip magazines?’

‘Never believe what you read,’ the director told him with an uncomfortable laugh and a glance towards the corner of the room where Natalia was dividing blueberry pancakes between Charlie, Phoebe and Adam.

‘Did I say I believed them, Larry? I’m just interested in the column inches our boy generates. The only thing I really care about is – is he showing up for work?’

The director trotted out the answer that Ryan wanted to hear. ‘Yeah, we’re on top of the schedule. We have a great cast. Rocky is superb in this movie.’

‘Pity we have to kill him off,’ the great man smirked. ‘Likewise Angela – she meets a sticky end on a ski-lift ride if I remember the screenplay correctly.’

Larry dared to disagree. ‘No big deal. There are a hundred Angelas out there, all waiting to step into her Manolos.’

‘Ah, Natalia!’ Ryan took his nose out of his bacon and eggs long enough to spot another bankable star and call her to his table. ‘Beautiful as always. How do you do it? Up partying until three, and here you are, fresh as an eighteen-year-old.’

‘Hey, Ryan.’ Accepting the compliment and the chair he’d vacated, Natalia seemed happy to be there, offering both porcelain cheeks to be kissed by those collagen lips.

‘Which is more than can be said for Jack,’ Ryan went on, trying to knot his brows into a recognizable frown. ‘This poor girl’s husband didn’t make it past ten thirty.’

Larry came in with a quick explanation. ‘He knew what time we started shooting this morning. I asked Charlie to get him to bed early.’

‘Charlie Speke.’ Ryan prided himself on knowing every detail of budget, script, locations and cast, even down to the star’s body double. ‘It’s good to have him on the team, huh?’

‘We definitely couldn’t do these movies without him,’ Larry agreed. ‘What this industry needs isn’t more CGI and 3D special effects – it’s more clones like Charlie.’

‘You hear that, Charlie?’ Ryan spotted what he thought was his secret weapon getting coffee from the bar. He ordered Lucy Young to move off the table to make room. ‘You play your cards right and you could stop being a stand-in and start being a major player.’

‘Oh!’ Natalia was the first to spot Ryan’s gaffe. After all, she was still married to Jack and it was definitely Jack who was sitting down next to her. The trembling hand gave him away. ‘You’re so funny!’ she giggled at Ryan.

‘And I’m busting my sides,’ Jack grunted. He was bleary-eyed and unshaven – a movie star long past his sell-by date. Going on to talk to Larry about the day’s schedule, he turned his back on Ryan, who in turn chatted with Natalia about a new Starlite project he was working to get off the ground.

‘With a major role for you,’ he promised her.

A gorgeous smile lit up Natalia’s face – the sort of smile a camera wants to get close to and linger on.

I gazed at her from the next table, fascinated by her ability to paper over the cracks in her marriage, and was only distracted by Macy springing up from her seat and running to greet Owen with an enthusiastic kiss and hug. He was off duty, dressed in a black T and jeans, and with his Scandinavian looks he made a big impact. I couldn’t make up my mind whether or not he was glad about the kiss. In any case, he was followed into the restaurant by Gwen and Orlando, who saw me, spoke quietly to one another then quickly turned and left.

‘Ouch!’ Macy mouthed to me from across the room. ‘Are you OK?’

I nodded, though I wasn’t, of course.

‘Talk about twisting the knife!’ she whispered as she and Owen came to sit at my table.

I had to get up and out of there. Choking back tears, I ran out into the hotel lobby, where Amber on reception was busy handing out room keys to members of Ryan James’s staff. It looked like the helicopter pilot, a couple of personal assistants who could have stepped straight off the Miss World podium, and a whole bunch of well-built guys who must be his bodyguards.

‘Jay Weller? You’re in room number 311.’ Amber handed a key card to the first man in line.

The bodyguard took his key and walked towards me. I looked once and then twice; felt my heart bump and beat unevenly. Weller was mixed-race, short and heavy set. He passed by almost close enough for me to touch.

I smell death. Fear rises like a black tide and drowns me
.

Ryan’s bodyguard didn’t glance my way. He examined his plastic key, mouthed the numbers ‘311’, and pressed the elevator button.

Fear rises. I run to hide behind the Angel of the Waters statue but the guy with the knife waits for me; he’s right behind me as I flee towards the arches beneath Bow Bridge. He stops to watch me as I run along the tiled colonnade. Any time he likes, he can reappear and plunge the long blade into my heart
.

It was definitely my New York mugger and now he had a name – Jay Weller. He was here in the Carlsbad Lodge, in the room next to mine. He pressed the button and stepped into the elevator. I saw the back of his shaven head, the short, thick neck and the broad shoulders.

Struggling for breath, I leaned against Amber’s desk. She gave me a puzzled glance as she handed out the next room key to a much taller guy with striking blond hair similar to Owen’s – thick and almost shoulder length.

‘There you go, Mr Nixon – room number 315,’ Amber informed Ryan’s second bodyguard.

He turned and I saw him clearly – the broad, strong face and square jaw, the clear grey eyes that looked straight through me.

I am by a lake in late summer. There are swimmers in wetsuits plunging into the water. Sunlight catches the rising spray. Lake Turner is alive with thrashing limbs.

Beneath the lake lies a flooded town with streets and empty houses, a church with a steeple, rows of underwater graves. Uprooted trees lie on the bed of the lake, their bare limbs trapping corpses that have drifted free of their rotting coffins. Souls call out to me, hands stretch and catch at me, they drag me down.