Love & Loyalty (18 page)

“It's my job,” Jim interjected.

Ed gave him a hand wave to dismiss that.

“Then after the trial and Della's passing—well, he's taken very good care of me.”

“Enough, please. This movie isn't about me.”

“Maybe it should be,” Griffin said, and Jim gave him a glare. But then he winked, and Jim knew he was being ribbed.

“Jim, the action-hero cop with a heart—maybe even a television program.

I'd watch that,” Ed teased.

Jim took his sandwich and iced tea and stalked back into the kitchen.

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Laughter followed him, and he sat down at the table with a smile on his face.

* * * * *

Ed fell asleep at some point in the afternoon. Jim was used to it, but Griffin clearly was not. Jim took the other man by the arm and led him outside for a quiet conversation.

He didn't want to betray Ed's trust, but…

“What's wrong with him?” Griffin asked as they sat on the front steps, side by side, thigh to thigh.

“Listen, you have to swear not to tell anyone—not even Daisy.”

“I promise, Jim, honestly. Just…what's wrong with him? He's sick, that much I can tell.”

“Pancreatic cancer.” Jim sighed deeply. “He hasn't got that much time left.

To be honest, he won't be around long enough to see your movie get made.” It hurt to be honest, but saying the words aloud was almost a relief to Jim. He'd been carrying this secret around for so long with no respite.

“Shit.” Griffin folded his arms and laid his chin down. “Why is he doing this movie, then? If he's not even going to be around?”

“Money, I guess. I don't really know. There's no one to leave anything to, and I'm handling all the legal stuff after he's gone.”

“Do you think…” Griffin looked at him sideways. “Maybe he's going to leave the money to you.”

That startled Jim, and he shook his head. “I have more money than I know what to do with.”

“Does Ed know you're a trust-fund baby? Or does he think you're a really hardworking cop who only has his pension waiting for him?” They were good questions; Jim pondered them as he watched a few birds pecking the lawn for food. They hadn't ever discussed Jim's monetary 146

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situation, and without a search of public records, it was doubtful Ed would find out how much money his grandfather left him when he died.

“Well, fuck,” Jim muttered.

“Yeah, so…” Griffin's voice trailed off. “Listen, Jim, maybe this movie isn't such a good idea, you know?”

“It's what Ed wants, and I'm going to comply with his wishes. If the money is coming to me, then I'll do what you suggested in that first meeting…a community garden, a scholarship. All the money will go to projects in the Kellys' name.”

“That's very nice of you. I know how much you hate this Hollywood stuff.” Jim shrugged. “Hollywood's still weird, but I'm glad I met you out of the deal.”

Griffin smiled and Jim followed suit. It was hard to resist Griffin in his natural tousled state with those glasses and impossible-to-entirely-control hair.

“You liiiike me,” Griffin teased.

Jim gave him a shove.

“Well, you like me.” He coughed.

“Yeah, I do.”

* * * * *

Ed woke up a few minutes later and joined them outside. Jim got up to pace, leaving the other two men the steps.

There was some general chitchat, with Ed declaring it was Griffin's turn to spill out his family life.

Griffin had good stories of his hometown and his slightly unconventional family. He talked about his father a great deal, Jim listening with half an ear as Griffin recounted Bill Drake's single parenting of nine closely spaced children.

“We might have gotten a reality show out of it, but alas, wrong decade,” Griffin said drily, and Ed laughed.

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“Your dad must be proud of you,” Ed said.

Griffin nodded. “He is. I'm sort of an alien in my family, but he's proud.

Encouraging. I kinda miss him, to be honest.”

“You should go see him soon,” Ed advised, coughing into his hand a bit.

“Take Jim.”

Griffin and Jim blushed in tandem, which Ed found hilarious.

“I wish I had a camera right now.” He snickered.

* * * * *

They stayed a little longer, but Ed was clearly tiring again. Jim and Griffin got into the truck and waved at the slender figure in the driveway.

Silence reigned for most of the ride back into Seattle.

“Why do you think Tripp Ingersoll was found not guilty?” Griffin asked suddenly.

Jim's hand vibrated on the wheel.

“The jury didn't want to believe a kid with that much going for him would throw it away by strangling a hooker in a parking lot.”

“Carmen was just a kid, though…”

“And she had already wasted her life. Drugs, hooking, misdemeanor crime. They wrote her off.”

Jim's voice was surprisingly calm. He hadn't discussed the case much since the verdict.

“There was evidence.”

“No smoking gun. He admitted having sex with her that night, so that explained the forensics. He said he left her in the parking lot. She was alive.

Someone else must've come along and done it…”

“That's…”

“Possible in that neighborhood, or at least in the minds of the jury.” Griffin hmphed loudly and kicked the dash.

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“I know.” Jim switched lanes, slowing down as the traffic began to build.

“Believe me. I hated that jury for a long time. But they did their best.”

“You're being too nice.”

“I thought I was no-nonsense.”

“Apparently you're also a solid-gold Boy Scout.” There was affection in Griffin's voice, and Jim looked over to meet his gaze for a moment.

“I'm just a guy.”

“Cute guy.”

“Stop.”

“You're extra cute when you blush.”

“I'm leaving you on the side of the road in five seconds if you don't cut that out.”

Griffin laughed and played with the radio for the rest of the ride to the loft.

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Chapter Twenty

When there was no word from Daisy by the end of the week, Griffin kissed Jim good-bye, grabbed his wallet, and hopped a flight back to Los Angeles. He figured he'd be back in time for a late dinner with Jim, and he would be none the wiser.

But enough was enough.

Griffin took a car over to Bright Side's studio, double-checking at the gate that Claus was, indeed, on-site today.

“Good morning, Dawn! I need to see Claus,” he said as he breezed into the executive offices. The blonde bombshell behind the desk looked up and then down again.

“He's in a meeting,” she said, bored and disinterested.

“Tough. It's an emergency.”

“Come back later.” She gave him a glare over the desk. “Seriously, Griffin, come back later. Like…two hours. You don't want to interrupt him right now.” Dawn throwing him a bone was a surprise; Griffin nodded and slid his sunglasses back on. “I'm going to the commissary and charging something expensive to the account. See you in two hours.” He sauntered out before she changed her benevolence.

Griffin ate a tuna sandwich and wandered around the studios for a while.

He had some friends here and there to shoot the shit with. There was a shoot going on—apparently Nico had been rehired, because Lina was shooting her debut on soundstage two.

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He hung out for a bit watching. Lina was untalented but absolutely gorgeous; no doubt the camera loved her. She followed the director's comments faithfully, her face set and serious with each take.

Maybe she had a future as the next Daisy. Griffin wanted to warn her it wasn't all it was cracked up to be.

He left instead. No one believed you when you gave advice like that.

Everyone thought they were different, special. It wouldn't happen to
them
.

Just like Griffin believed it wouldn't happen to
him
. He wouldn't be jerked around or betrayed. He could count on his friends.

He could count on squat.

Back in Claus's office, Dawn waved him into the inner sanctuary.

It was decorated like a safari hunter's wet dream, right down to the heads on the wall. Griffin always thought he put giant horned heads up there because human ones would be illegal. But Claus would if he could.

“What do you want?”

“Nice to see you too, Claus.” Griffin sat down in one of the plush leather chairs across the room. “I need to talk to you about something.”

“Talk fast—I have meetings with actual important people in fifteen minutes.” Claus hadn't even looked up from his computer since Griffin walked in.

“The Ed Kelly project.”

Claus looked up.

“What about it?”

“So you know.”

Claus made a sputtering, gasping sound that Griffin recognized as his attempt at a chuckle.

“Of course I know. Daisy's business is my business. Why you two thought you could hide it from me, I don't know.”

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“We're just two kooky kids on an adventure.” Griffin leaned forward, twirling his sunglasses. “I want to buy the project from you.”

“I own it? Oh yes, I do. Because my wife lost everything when she signed away the prenup.” Claus smirked.

“How much?”

“Two million.”

“Claus, give me a break, okay? You know I don't have that kind of money.”

“Then you can't have it.” Claus shrugged. “I've actually procured the services of a second screenwriter to work on the story.” Griffin's jaw snapped shut. “It's my project, Claus. I've already done the interviews and the research…”

“You haven't talked to everyone.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Come back today at four. I'll have a great person for you to talk to about the Ed Kelly case.”

“Claus…”

“Do you want to write this or not?” All business now, Claus pressed the Intercom button and Dawn's voice came through.

“Dawn, confirm my appointment at four and add Mr. Drake to the guest list.”

He turned back to Griffin. “See you at four.”

* * * * *

Griffin paced in the hot Los Angeles sun until he felt dizzy and dehydrated. The lack of information, Claus's smug face—it was crazy-making.

He wanted to call someone, to get some reassurance, but no one came to mind.

Daisy still wasn't returning his calls, and that made sense; Claus knew about the project, Claus
owned
the damn project, and he was toying with Griffin because he knew how much it meant to him.

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Two million dollars. He didn't have two million dollars or anything close.

Fear gripped him.

He sent a text to Jim saying he'd had to run to LA for business but would be back later that night. He prayed that would be true.

* * * * *

At three forty-five, Griffin all but staggered back into Claus's office. His mind was awash with worry and a thousand and one possibilities of who might be in the office, but when he saw the clean-cut young man sitting on the sofa with an older gentleman, he nearly keeled over.

Tripp Ingersoll was sitting there, plain as day, dressed like a stockbroker without a care in the world.

Griffin did a double take.

Tripp just nodded politely and went back to his
Forbes
magazine. The man next to him, who smelled like a lawyer, tapped away on his BlackBerry with a stylus.

Dawn stood up and gestured toward the door. “You can all go in now.” Claus was still at his computer, but he quickly pushed it aside when Griffin, Tripp, and the lawyer entered the room.

“Gentlemen!” He gestured to the small round conference table near the window. “Come, sit down. Dawn, bring in the refreshments.” Griffin staggered into a chair and sat down hard. He couldn't stop staring at Tripp, the man who'd killed Carmen Kelly. Here, in this room.

In a meeting with Griffin. About the Kelly project.

Claus made introductions and small talk; after Dawn left, he stirred his coffee and stared pointedly at Griffin.

“Well, I'm glad this worked out for us to all speak about the Kelly project,” Claus began.

“He's involved,” Griffin said, blinking in surprise.

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“I already have a book coming out—you know, telling my side of the story.” Tripp opened a bottle of water. “The whole prosecution and the suffering my family went through because of that asshole cop.” Griffin's blood pressure jumped dangerously.

“But Claus called me with this cool idea. Like sort of an O.J. thing.” He took a drag of water. “Like, I'm not saying I did it, but what if…you know?”

“What if?” Griffin leaned forward. “The screenplay doesn't include the actual murder.”

“I think it should.” Claus tapped on the table with his knuckles. “More dramatic. Otherwise it's just a dull trial film.”

“It's about the family.”

“Boring,” Claus said, and Tripp laughed. Actually laughed. Griffin wanted to punch him in the face.

“We'll also be optioning Tripp's book for a movie, so in all honesty—once the screenplays are finished, I'll make a final decision about which one we'll actually make…”

The floor dropped out from under Griffin.

“Or just combine them,” Claus finished.

Tripp was nodding. The lawyer was nodding.

Griffin stood up. “I need to leave.”

“Griffin, don't be so dramatic. You can write the Kelly script. I'll get someone else to do Tripp's side of the story. Then we'll see what we have in a few months.”

“I'd really like you to reconsider selling me the rights.” Griffin stayed as calm as he possibly could.

“Come to me with two million dollars, and we'll talk.”