Sunday, March 12, 2023
🎬🎭Oscar Night 2023🎭🎬
Summary:
The Art of Murder #5
Murder: Live and in Technicolor
Working undercover gives FBI Art Crime Team agent Jason West the illusion that he’s safe from his stalker, Dr. Jeremy Kyser. Though film history and preservation are not Jason’s area of expertise, he’s intrigued by the case of a well-connected UCLA film studies professor whose family believes she may have been murdered after discovering a legendary lost 1950s PI film.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the country, BAU Chief Sam Kennedy gets disturbing news: the Roadside Ripper, the serial killer Sam believes murdered his college boyfriend, may not have been working alone.
Original Review March 2023:
Jason West and Sam Kennedy may not be my favorite Josh Lanyon couple, they may not even be my second or third favorite but I do love them! If you are drawn to opposites attract, co-workers, sort-of-friends to lovers, and attraction-found-amongst-trouble tropes you will love West and Kennedy. I say "sort-of-friends" because personally I don't know that I would ever really called their beginnings a friendship but they were definitely more than just co-workers.I know some are disappointed when the explicit heat is off page but not me. Don't get me wrong, I love the explicit stuff but it's not a must, not a make or break scenario for me. Actually when done right, off page heat can be even hotter than the highly detailed acts because it makes the reader's imagination work overtime and I think most of us have pretty healthy imaginations😉😉.
As for The Movie-Town Murders, I found a great blend of on & off page heat to get my brain gears working. I don't think there was ever any real doubt as to how the men felt about each other but I found the pair, especially Sam, to express their emotions more in Movie-Town than the previous entries even though for a majority of the story they aren't even in the same location. A lovely realistic progression of the couples' relationship, both occupationally and emotionally.
Now on to the mystery side of Movie-Town. Okay so you know what's coming: no spoilers and it's a mystery which means everything can be a spoiler so no real plot points touched on here. I enjoyed seeing Jason in an undercover role in a topic that may not be his primary expertise but it definitely falls in line I think in his art crime division, or at least on the outskirts. I will say there is a bit of a cliffhanger in this entry and I know some don't like that but I loved it! Talk about building up my adrenaline rush another notch!
RATING:
Summary:
Boyfriend for Hire #2
When the lines between pretense and reality blur, can the actor and the boyfriend-for-hire discover something real?
Ryan Levesque is Hollywood’s newest blue eyed boy. Moving from soap operas to the big screen has paid off for the kid from Minnesota, and he’s hot property. But, when a video from the lowest point of his past is shared on social media everything begins to unravel and old hurts resurface. His agent suggests a way out of the mess, and he jumps at the chance to make things right by pretending he’s in a committed, loving relationship with the tall, dark, sexy boyfriend for hire, Kaden. Only, he never counted on the impact Kaden would have on his life, or his career.
When Kaden Moore’s next assignment lands in his lap, he’s expecting nothing more than a self-centered celebrity who’s messed up. Kaden’s new role is that of Hollywood A-lister Ryan Levesque’s boyfriend, a PR stunt concocted by his agents to restore the actor’s dented popularity. Kaden is aware of the video that surfaced from Ryan’s past, and though it raises questions about what kind of man Ryan is, it’s not any of Kaden’s business. Kaden has been pretending his entire life, and knows he can show the troublesome actor a thing or two about the world beyond the Hollywood bubble. But maybe Kaden isn’t as clued up as he thinks, especially when it comes to the heart and love.
Ryan Levesque is Hollywood’s newest blue eyed boy. Moving from soap operas to the big screen has paid off for the kid from Minnesota, and he’s hot property. But, when a video from the lowest point of his past is shared on social media everything begins to unravel and old hurts resurface. His agent suggests a way out of the mess, and he jumps at the chance to make things right by pretending he’s in a committed, loving relationship with the tall, dark, sexy boyfriend for hire, Kaden. Only, he never counted on the impact Kaden would have on his life, or his career.
When Kaden Moore’s next assignment lands in his lap, he’s expecting nothing more than a self-centered celebrity who’s messed up. Kaden’s new role is that of Hollywood A-lister Ryan Levesque’s boyfriend, a PR stunt concocted by his agents to restore the actor’s dented popularity. Kaden is aware of the video that surfaced from Ryan’s past, and though it raises questions about what kind of man Ryan is, it’s not any of Kaden’s business. Kaden has been pretending his entire life, and knows he can show the troublesome actor a thing or two about the world beyond the Hollywood bubble. But maybe Kaden isn’t as clued up as he thinks, especially when it comes to the heart and love.
The fake boyfriend trope can be hard to pull off without sounding cliche but RJ Scott & Meredith Russell have not only managed to give the concept life once but twice(and hopefully more). When a drunken rant and threat is caught on video and leaked to the press, Hollywood actor Ryan Levesque is in need of the services Boyfriend for Hire provides. Kaden Moore may not be too gung-ho about his next job with the actor having seen the leaked video but he has a job to do and he goes with it. As much as I loved Darcy, book one in the Boyfriend for Hire series, I think Kaden is even better(not something one often says).
The set-up of drunken actor in need of good PR may seem a bit cliche or overused on the service but we quickly learn that there is so much more to what was behind Ryan's drunken video. Now you know I won't go into what the "much more" is or touch on what is in Kaden's past either but just know this: I can't imagine any two people who needed each other more than Ryan and Kaden. Life is all about timing, right place and all that jazz, well the stars were definitely aligned when these two were put in each other's radar.
You'll want to hate Ryan when you first meet him, he comes across as the quintessential Hollywood I'm-too-good-for-this type but we quickly see there's more to him than that partial video. That point right there was actually one of my favorite things about this story, the pace Scott & Russell set, some authors might have dragged out seeing the real Ryan to heighten the drama but personally that would have weakened the story's beginning. We might not learn the whole truth behind what led to the video for a bit but I think seeing Ryan's vulnerability(for lack of a better word) early on strengthened the connection between character and reader.
Some might say these two are broken and in need of fixing but I don't see them that way, I saw two people who are brought together out of necessity that led to more and through that "more" they grow stronger. Some might think I'm giving away too much by that statement but we all know its going to end in HEA, the joy, entertainment, and heart comes from the journey not the ending. Trust me, you'll want to know the journey these two took getting from point A to point Z.
RATING:
Summary:
When tailor Marvin Gottschalk abandoned New York City for the brash boomtown of silent-film-era Hollywood, he never imagined he’d end up on screen as Martin Brentwood, one of the fledgling film industry’s most popular actors. Five years later a cynical Martin despairs of finding anything genuine in a town where truth is defined by studio politics and publicity. Then he meets Robbie Goodman.
Robbie fled Idaho after a run-in with the law. A chance encounter leads him to the film studio where he lands a job as a chauffeur. But one look at Martin and he’s convinced he’s likely to run afoul of those same laws—laws that brand his desires indecent, deviant… sinful.
Martin and Robbie embark on a cautious relationship, cocooned in Hollywood’s clandestine gay fraternity, careful to hide from the studio boss, a rival actor, and press on the lookout for a juicy story. But when a prominent director is murdered, Hollywood becomes the focus of a morality-based witch hunt, and the studio is willing to sacrifice even the greatest careers to avoid additional scandal.
When tailor Marvin Gottschalk abandoned New York City for the brash boomtown of silent-film-era Hollywood, he never imagined he’d end up on screen as Martin Brentwood, one of the fledgling film industry’s most popular actors. Five years later a cynical Martin despairs of finding anything genuine in a town where truth is defined by studio politics and publicity. Then he meets Robbie Goodman.
Robbie fled Idaho after a run-in with the law. A chance encounter leads him to the film studio where he lands a job as a chauffeur. But one look at Martin and he’s convinced he’s likely to run afoul of those same laws—laws that brand his desires indecent, deviant… sinful.
Martin and Robbie embark on a cautious relationship, cocooned in Hollywood’s clandestine gay fraternity, careful to hide from the studio boss, a rival actor, and press on the lookout for a juicy story. But when a prominent director is murdered, Hollywood becomes the focus of a morality-based witch hunt, and the studio is willing to sacrifice even the greatest careers to avoid additional scandal.
It's been a year-and-a-half since I read Silent Sin and I loved listening to it just as much as I loved the original read. Greg Boudreaux brings the characters and the era to life in a way that keeps you on the edge of your seat even, if like me, you already read the story and know it. 98% of the audiobooks I listen to are books I've previously read because I tend to zone out occasionally and that is no reflection on the story but because I listen mostly while working on the computer or in the kitchen and before I know it I'm concentrating on the task at hand and not the story, knowing the tale previously allows me not to have to try and find where I "zoned out".
Anywho, back to the narrator. One of my boxes to tick that make an audiobook go from good to great is the expectation of hearing a sponsor's ad. Now for those who don't know what I mean, I have been a collector of old radio programs since I was 10 and if you have never heard an ORP from the 30s & 40s they have one sponsor unlike the multi-commercials of television today. Some shows incorporate the sponsor into the show others take a break for the ad in the middle. So when I say "expectation of hearing a sponsor's ad" what I'm really looking for is a narration that gets me so involved I feel like I'm listening to an episode of Screen Actor's Playhouse where they often would bring a radio version of a hit movie to the masses. Greg Boudreaux brings EJ Russell's words to life in such a manner and considering the setting is Old Hollywood I had a higher level of this expectation and he definitely delivered. I look forward to re-listening for years to come.
Original Review July Book of the Month 2021:
Silent Sin is brilliant!
I've been looking for a story set in Old Hollywood for about 3 years and when this popped up in a FB group rec request I one-clicked immediately. 2020 screwed with my reading mojo so unfortunately I just got around to reading it and I loved it! EJ Russell really sets scene of the silent era, incorporating real historical facts and scandals that add just the right level of reality into her fictional story. Don't worry, Silent Sin isn't a tell-all, Hollywood documentary but it definitely shows the author's respect for the past with the balance of reality and fiction.
As for the characters, watching Robbie's journey from "runaway" country bumpkin to studio chauffer to stand-in to ???(well I don't want to give away all the lad's secrets😉) is an uplifting, heartfelt tale of entertainment. Seeing Martin's journey of trying to stay true to who he is and who he lets the studio bosses and fans see makes you smile, laugh, and a few times you just want to shake him. When their paths cross you just know that it's fate but you also know it won't be easy but it will definitely be captivating. You can't help but want to wrap them both up in Mama Bear Hugs and tell them everything will be okay, of course there are a few times I want to smack them too and scream but that's what makes Silent Sin such a delight.
I have featured some of EJ Russell's books on my blog before but Silent Sin is my first read. For me it's the perfect introduction to a new author, Sin ticks so many of my boxes:
historical✅romance✅Old Hollywood✅friendships✅author's respect for the era✅plenty of heart✅
I have to admit one of my favorite moments comes between Robbie and Martin's manager Sid, the actual activity happens off-page but we learn about it and it put the biggest smile on my face and a loud "YES!" in my internal monologue. Just another example of how the author has written more than romance and how sucked into the story I became.
Again, Silent Sin is brilliant!
Summary:
Montana #4
An actor in the closet, a sheriff in love, and memories that won’t stay hidden.
Jordan Darby is known as the King of Christmas. The star of eight made-for-TV Christmas movies, the leading man who always gets his girl. Filming at Crooked Tree Ranch in Montana, in the ice and snow, Jordan is fighting to make a go of his new company and dealing with fears of exposure over one huge secret. After all, who the hell would buy into him being a romantic straight lead if rumors about him being gay were proven to be true?
Sheriff Ryan Carter is advising on the new movie being made at Crooked Tree. He hoped this would be one day of work and nothing more. Until, that is, he meets the hero. But while Jordan is sexy, he’s also very much stuck in the closet—everything that Ryan doesn’t need in his life. And then lust becomes part of the equation, and Ryan’s quiet life is thrown into turmoil.
Their story unfolds against the chaos that overtakes the ranch, with Adam regaining memories that terrify him and make him look at Justin differently, and Justin leaving the ranch to make things right. Only through trusting in love and friendship can Justin and Adam learn to look to the future instead of letting the past destroy everything. But will they ever see clearly enough to do that?
I don't generally re-read, or in this case re-listen, to a book in the middle of a series without starting from the beginning. What can I say? It's just the Christmas spirit that's got me listening to some of my favorite holiday reads😉. If you haven't read the previous entries in the author's Montana series before, I highly recommend experiencing them first. However you read it you'll fall in love with the whole Crooked Tree Ranch crew and Sean Crisden continues to bring RJ's words to life.
Audiobook Review December 2018:
Once again another spot on reading by Sean Crisden bringing to life RJ Scott's Snow in Montana. His voice and her words are a match made in heaven, or in this case Montana😉. As much as I loved reading(and re-reading) Snow, listening to Jordan and Ryan come alive added a whole new level of awesome-ness to the story. Definitely a win-win on all fronts.
Original ebook Review December 2016:
What do I say about Snow in Montana that could even begin to come close to successfully express how much I loved the latest installment of the Montana series? It's RJ Scott! Okay, maybe I need to say more, lol. Snow might be Ryan and Jordan's tale but we also get to see Adam and Justin's stories advance. Jordan's contribution to the holiday season might be a list of cheesy Christmas films that most of us secretly classify as a guilty pleasure but when him and Ryan meet, it's less cheese and more spiked punch that threatens to short out your ereader and burn your fingers, but in the absolute best way imaginable. I'd be lying if I said Snow in Montana is just another RJ Scott holiday story because it's so much more than that, it's a little bit of everything, well there's no science fiction or paranormal elements but everything else is there. The fact that it's all wrapped together in a great big Montana sized package with a big bright red bow on top just makes it even better.
RATING:
Summary:
Thomas Vale is one of Hollywood’s most sought-after actors. He’s as humble as they come and adores his family. This Christmas he wants to give his dying grandfather the only thing he’s ever asked Thomas for: for Thomas to fall in love.
Noah Berry has worked for Thomas since before he was a household name. He doesn’t have a close-knit family, but he’s fine with the way things are as long as he has Thomas. After all, Noah has been secretly in love with the man for years.
Thomas gets the crazy idea to bring a fake boyfriend home, but Christmas approaches and nobody is worthy enough to fulfill the task. Noah steps in—if he can’t have Thomas in real life, he can pretend for a little while and make an old man happy.
Davidson King does the holiday!! YUMMILICIOUS!!!!
Fake boyfriends✅
Unspoken love✅
Friends to lovers✅
Holiday-loving family✅
Romance✅
Humor✅
Heart✅
You're the One ticks all my holiday romance boxes. Thomas and Noah's Christmas journey may not have the mystery, violence, and action that Davidson King often brings to the page but that doesn't make it any less brilliant. Personally, I think those missing elements speak volumes to the incredible talent the author has for storytelling.
Knowing King's penchant for giving her couples a HEA, I think we can all guess where the men's journey ends up but the road they travel getting there is so much fun, so full of holiday spirit, so many edge of your seat smiles that I won't spoil it for anyone. Just know that you won't be bored, you won't be Bah Humbugging, you'll be Santa HO! HO! HO-ing! many hours after the final page.
If you're a fan of Hallmark Christmassy romances, not only will you love You're the One but you'll be blown away because IMO, King's holiday fare is 200% better. Some may call it "holiday schmaltz" but I call it "holiday heart". Davidson King may regret having written such a holiday gem because I am already highly anticipating next year's holiday story.
RATING:
The Movie-Town Murder by Josh Lanyon
The Skydome Lounge was a revolving restaurant and bar on the top floor of the North Tower of the DoubleTree Hilton in Crystal City. The muted George Jetson meets George Washington decor was uninspired, but no one came for the beige ambiance or even the Tomahawk Ribeye. It took less than forty-five minutes for the glass dome to complete a full 360° rotation, and when the weather was clear, like today, the views of the Pentagon, DC, and the Potomac were phenomenal.
Also, the Skydome’s bartenders understood the art of the free pour.
Jason scanned the mostly empty room and spotted Sam seated at a table beside the wall of windows. His dark suit jacket was draped on the back of the chair, and he was working on his laptop. For a moment Jason let himself enjoy the sight of Sam being Sam: his hard not-quite-handsome profile absorbed in whatever he was reading, white shirtsleeves rolled to reveal tanned and muscular forearms, one well-shod foot moving in absent, restless rhythm.
At a nearby table, two attractive, well-dressed women whispered to each other and tittered as they sized Sam up.
Otherwise, the restaurant was deserted. A DJ station sat vacant in the middle of the room, surrounded by a small parquet dance floor that would barely accommodate three couples. Four large televisions tuned to MSNBC hung from the ceiling, reporting on the continued lack of cooperation from pretty much everyone for pretty much everything.
As Jason approached, Sam glanced up. His severe expression softened, though in order to recognize that, you’d have to know what to look for. Sam took off his gold-wire glasses and pushed down the lid of his laptop.
Jason said, “Hey.” He was still disconcerted—though happy, no question—to find Sam waiting for him in his hotel.
“Hi.” Sam studied him. “Okay?”
Jason nodded, pulled out the chair across from Sam, and sat down. “Yep. Just…surprised.”
About everything. The truth was, he felt shaken in the aftermath of all that adrenaline. The way you did after any close call. He’d been braced for the worst. He was still trying to absorb that the worst hadn’t come to pass.
Sam nodded to the bartender, who crossed the little dance floor to them. “What are you drinking?” Sam asked Jason.
“Whatever’s on tap,” Jason told the bartender.
She nodded. Glanced at the empty rocks glass next to Sam’s elbow. “Another?”
Sam nodded. As the bartender walked away, he said to Jason, “What happened?”
Jason said cautiously, “Kapszukiewicz said you phoned her?”
“We talked on Friday. She hadn’t come to a decision yet.”
Jason offered Sam a crooked smile. “Then you’ll appreciate the irony. Per Kapszukiewicz, both my grandfather and Roy Thompson are deceased and therefore have—had—no active ongoing ‘interest’ in the case.”
Sam’s brow furrowed as he processed.
“Had Thompson still been alive and facing prosecution, then the possibility that my grandfather allegedly ordered him to steal artifacts could have created conflict on my part, since my grandfather could, again allegedly, have been materially involved in the conduct subject to my investigation.”
Jason could see the moment it clicked. Sam’s eyes—the same uncompromising blue of the FBI seal—flickered. His mouth curved wryly. “Your investigation was into ownership of the art, not whether Thompson was guilty of theft.”
“Yes. Right.” Jason expelled a long breath. “Whether my grandfather ordered Thompson to take the art and other items—which he’d never have done—or Thompson ‘liberated’ those things on his own, the bottom line is the treasure was still stolen.”
Sam looked thoughtful. “How the art was acquired wouldn’t affect the outcome of the investigation.”
Jason laughed, wiped his eyes because this was still painful. “Right. In a nutshell. Which is what I must have been. Nuts. What concerns Kapszukiewicz isn’t the ethical conflict. It’s that I believed there was an ethical conflict—and acted accordingly.”
Sam said, “It’s always the cover-up, never the crime.” He added, “Not that you committed or would commit any crime.”
Jason appreciated that Sam felt that way now. He hadn’t seemed to feel that way three days ago.”
“Right. I just…short-circuited. I don’t know why.”
“I do,” Sam was curt. “You do too. So does Kapszukiewicz.” Sam had made no bones about the fact he believed Jason was suffering from nervous exhaustion. He’d probably shared that belief with Kapszukiewicz. Which Jason did not appreciate, but, given recent events, could hardly argue with.
Sam must have been reviewing his own actions and reactions because he added, “This is why speaking to an ethics official ahead of time would be helpful.”
“Yes. Agreed.”
Sam had viewed Jason’s actions as negatively as Jason had. It was never going to be funny, but it was a lesson to both of them. About a number of things.
Jason flicked him a rueful look. “So when you phoned Kapszukiewicz on Friday, that was before you left Montana?”
Sam’s pale brows rose in polite inquiry.
“Before you arrived in LA. Before we talked.” The hours during which Jason had believed their relationship truly was over. And, he would have bet, the hours during which Sam had also believed their relationship was at an end. Because he had ended it.
Or at least that had been Jason’s takeaway because then, like now, Sam had said nothing.
And continued to say nothing.
“Thank you.” Jason steadied his voice. “I mean it. You didn’t have to do that. Especially given your feelings about…everything.”
“I shared my thoughts with Kapszukiewicz. But I can’t tell another unit chief how to handle their team. I wouldn’t if I could.”
“No, I know.” And yet, per Kapszukiewicz, Sam had, in his own way, interceded on Jason’s behalf. That alone had shaken Jason. It was like discovering the sun could occasionally, when it chose, rise in the west and set in the east.
They had traveled a very long distance since that final confrontation in Sam’s temporary office at the Bozwin RA. A distance that had nothing to do with the thousand-plus miles between Montana and California. In fact, most of the journey had happened over the weekend in Jason’s little bungalow on Carroll Canal.
“Personal feelings aside, you’re a good agent, West. You’re ACT’s superstar. I think firing you would be a huge miscalculation. For a lot of reasons.” Jason opened his mouth, but Sam added, “And as far as my personal feelings?” He gave a funny smile. “I think you know there’s not much I wouldn’t do for you.”
Jason really didn’t want to get caught crying in his beer—especially when the beer had yet to arrive. He said briskly, “George phoned too, also asking for clemency.” He was trying to joke, but mild-mannered Supervisory Special Agent George Potts’ attempt to save him meant nearly as much as Sam’s.
The bartender arrived then with their drinks. It seemed Sam was running a tab. So was he not heading out to Quantico after all?
Jason picked up his frosted beer mug. Sam lightly knocked the heel of his glass to Jason’s. “Welcome back, West.”
Jason dipped his head in acknowledgment—the weirdest things choked him up lately. “Geronimo.” He took a long swallow of beer.
“Anyway, like I said, you’re a valuable asset.” Sam sipped his drink. Yet when his gaze met Jason’s there was a look that got to Jason in some hard to explain way. Not sympathy exactly, but a sort of utter and complete understanding that gave Jason a peculiar feeling in his belly, left him feeling warm and weak.
Maybe—well, no maybe about it—it wasn’t fair or even accurate, but he’d always believed there were conditions attached to Sam’s…affection for him. Now they seemed to have crossed into a no man’s land of awareness and acceptance. He had no idea what their future held, but he felt confident of Sam’s feelings in a way he never really, fully had before.
Jason sipped his beer, watching a plane flying into Regan International. In a few hours he’d be flying out himself. But he was not going to look beyond this minute, this stolen time with Sam. God only knew when they’d be in the same town at the same time again.
Suddenly, he remembered something from the interview in Kapszukiewicz’s office and made a sound of amusement.
“What?” Sam asked.
“I almost forgot. Kapszukiewicz said J.J. phoned and told her he objected to having three different partners during his field training period and would prefer that I remain at the LA field office.”
Sam choked on his whisky sour. “Jesus Christ.” He hastily wiped his chin.
Jason laughed.
They had a couple more drinks, talked about nothing much. Jason’s thoughts kept pinging back to the meeting with Kapszukiewicz, reliving every excruciating minute. He was torn between abject relief he still had a career, and mortification that he had come so close to losing it.
By the time five o’clock rolled around, the bar was filling up, the noise level rising accordingly.
Sam raised his brows in inquiry. “Did you want to order dinner or…?”
Jason’s heart lifted. That was one question answered. Sam was staying over. He smiled. “Or. Definitely or.”
Sam’s mouth quirked. He pushed his chair back.
Kaden by RJ Scott & Meredith Russell
Chapter One
The rich scent of coffee hung in the air, mixed with the familiar new leather scent of his cousin Gideon’s office. Kaden Moore closed his eyes and relaxed into his seat beside the window. With a contented sigh, he angled his face toward the warming rays of the afternoon sun and tapped the arm of the chair in time with the ever-present ticking of the clock hanging on the wall behind him.
“You're like my cat." Gideon interrupted the rhythm Kaden had been strumming along to. "Even the smallest strip of sunlight and she'll be laid in it. Usually, somewhere I end up tripping over her, the pest."
Kaden opened his eyes, blinking as the brightness caused his vision to blur. He turned to focus on Gideon, who was shrouded in darkness on the other side of the room.
“You have a cat?” Given Gideon appeared to be permanently glued to the office, Kaden wondered when he found the time to care for a pet.
Gideon owned and managed Bryant & Waites. The boyfriend-for-hire company was his baby, and looking around the gorgeous office now his eyesight had adjusted, Kaden was reminded of his cousin’s success. From the leather to the wood paneling and the crystal chandelier, it was tastefully done and a far cry from the house where Kaden had grown up. When Kaden was a child, his family had been just him and his mother. It wasn’t until he was fourteen Kaden realized he wasn’t as alone as he’d believed, and family had become something more. It was then that people like Gideon had come into his life, and for the better.
Gideon picked up his cup of coffee. “You sound shocked I’d want a cat.”
“I do?” He shouldn’t have been. Kaden was aware of the time Gideon made for the people around him. He was one of them, after all. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to.” Kaden rested his hands over the closed file sitting in his lap and tried not to fidget. The thought of having another living being relying on him left Kaden with tightness in his chest.
“A three-year-old Ragdoll.” Gideon blew the surface of his drink. “Kimi has the prettiest blue eyes. You’ll have to visit one day. It’s been a while.”
Despite Gideon’s presence in his life for more than a decade, Kaden was still in the habit of keeping him at a distance. There was also their age difference. Gideon was more than fifteen years his senior and had forged a direction for his life before Kaden was even born. Kaden couldn’t help but continue to feel disconnected from the other man despite all the assistance Gideon had given him.
“Couldn’t help but fall in love with her when I found her in my yard.”
Kaden smiled. “Love, huh.”
There was a brisk knock at the door, and Rowan Phillips, Gideon’s hardass PA, leaned inside.
“I’ve just had the client’s agent, Arthur Dennis, on the phone.”
“And?” Gideon looked at him over the top of his coffee cup.
Rowan frowned as he stepped into the room. He hated anyone being late, which Kaden had learned to his cost when he’d listened to Rowan’s speech about punctuality after he was caught on a broken-down train. Rowan had ended by explaining how Kaden could have called a cab after climbing out of the window of said train and that being the owner’s cousin didn’t give him a free ride. Yeah, he took punctuality very seriously.
“They say they hit some traffic.” He rolled his eyes. “ETA is another ten minutes on top of the twenty minutes they’ve already missed by.”
“Right.” Now it was Gideon’s turn to frown. “How greatly does that impact the rest of the afternoon?” Gideon was a man who liked order, which made him and Rowan such a good team.
“Not too badly.” Rowan pushed the door closed, then made his way over to Gideon’s desk. “Look.” He opened the planner that Gideon kept there, and leaned forward slightly, running his finger over the page. “Darcy and Mrs. Peterson are at two, but that should be pretty straightforward as it’s their fourth date now. He’s her regular companion to those art functions she attends. So we should be able to make the time up there as it’s a quick in and out. I’ll contact them and advise them we may be running late.”
Gideon glanced at Rowan, then nodded. “Thank you.”
“Not a problem.” Rowan smiled, his gaze lingering on the planner for a moment. With a small laugh, he switched his attention to Kaden, who was mid-yawn. “Excited as always, I see.” He walked around to the other side of the desk. “This job is for a Hollywood star. Are you really not at all excited about the Ryan Levesque coming here? Or even a little bit interested?”
“In what?”
“Him? His characters? The bright lights of show business?” Rowan underlined that last part with jazz hands, and Gideon stifled a laugh behind his fist. “He’s one young and sexy guy.”
Kaden ran his fingers over the file. “You’re a fan of this Ryan guy, then?” Until a few days ago the name Ryan Levesque had meant very little to him. He knew the man was an actor, had risen from a recurring role on a long-running soap opera to become a sought-after commodity, thanks to some teen fantasy movie, but that was the end of it.
“Maybe a little.” Rowan folded his arms as he sat on the edge of the desk. “The soap opera he was in was somewhat of a guilty pleasure while I was between jobs. Destiny Cove, so bad it was good. Have you ever seen it?”
Kaden shook his head. “Can’t say I have.”
Rowan shrugged. “Mr. Levesque’s character, Logan, was kind of fun, if not a little bit trashy as he got older. I mean, there was this whole storyline where we found out his dad wasn’t really his dad. His real dad was, in fact, his grandfather. All very overdramatic with debatable acting, but I couldn’t stop watching.”
“I’m sorry I missed it.” Kaden assumed his tone expressed his disinterest, but it seemed Rowan saw it as something to be challenged.
Rowan smiled as he explained, “The grandfather had slept with his son’s wife. And so the man that Logan thought was his dad was actually his half-brother, and his sister was therefore also his niece. And I guess it meant his mom was also his sister-in-law.” Rowan raised a finger to his mouth, tapped his lower lip. “Huh.”
Kaden cleared his throat. “And I thought my family had problems.” He winced as the statement left his mouth, aware Rowan was then staring at him with interest.
“Is this a rare mention of the elusive Moore family?” Rowan grinned. Kaden ran his hand back over his shorn hair, feeling the prickle against the palm of his hand. “It suits you, by the way,” Rowan changed the subject and tilted his head. “Your hair being short like that.”
“You think?” Kaden lowered his hand and rested it over his other on the file. He wondered how uncomfortable he must have looked for Rowan to willingly give up his pursuit of information and instead steer the conversation elsewhere.
“I do. It’s different. Though I confess, I was partial to your curls―”
“How are June’s accounts coming along?” Gideon lowered his cup to the desk with a thud. He glared up at Rowan, and there was an undeniable message in the look that spoke volumes.
“I’m nearly done.” Rowan checked over his shoulder. He raised an eyebrow as he met Gideon’s gaze. “And I should probably get back to it.” He stood straight, tugging his shirt to smooth the creases at his stomach. “I’ll let you know when Mr. Levesque and his party arrive.” Rowan backed toward the door.
“Thank you, Rowan.”
“Yes, sir.” He gave a casual salute, and the catch made a soft click as he pulled the door closed behind him.
“You’ll have to excuse Rowan. It’s that time of the month,” Gideon said.
Kaden was surprised. Was Gideon trying to be funny? “Erm, time of the month?”
“Yes, when he’s playing catch-up on the accounts and paperwork. He enjoys looking for distractions and stopping in the office to talk. Today you’re his distraction.” He met Kaden’s eyes. “What did you think I meant?”
“That, obviously.”
Gideon laughed. “He’s right about the hair, though. It suits you. Any reason behind getting it all cut off?” Kaden’s selling point had always been his messy curls. His innocent yet seductive charm from beneath long wavy bangs.
Kaden reached up to touch his hair. “I just figured a change might be for the best, considering the job. I know I’m not expected to give any direct on-camera interviews, but I’ll be present for a lot of them, even if I’m just hanging around in the background.”
The intercom sounded, and a crackle of interference momentarily distorted Rowan’s voice before clearing. “Sir, I've just buzzed in Mr. Levesque and his associates. Should I bring them straight through?”
Gideon held down the speak button. “Yes, please.” He rose and buttoned his jacket, straightening his spine.
Following Gideon’s lead, Kaden placed the file on his seat and pulled at his shirt’s cuffs.
What kind of man was Ryan Levesque?
Kaden had decided against putting too much time into researching the actor, had figured he would avoid wading through the media bullshit, be it positive or negative, and make up his own mind when he met Ryan in person. He had been made aware of why Ryan needed a fake boyfriend, and that it had something to do with a leaked video. For the time being he held no opinion one way or the other over its content, although he’d watched it a few times. Even good people were capable of ignorant acts and ill-thought words, especially when they were drunk as Ryan had been. He wasn’t ready to crucify the man along with the online masses without getting a handle on the situation first. On the other hand, he wasn’t going to excuse it.
There was a brief moment of anticipation, followed by a knock on the door.
“Come in.”
Rowan held the door open as two men, and a woman followed him into the room. “Sir, Mr. Dennis, and Mr. Levesque.”
“Thank you, Rowan.”
The older of the two men approached Gideon’s desk with his hand outstretched. “I apologize for our tardiness.” He patted the breast pocket of his navy suit jacket. “Arthur Dennis.” Then indicated in the direction of his male companion. “Ryan Levesque I assume you know, and this is his sister Carmen. Thank you for seeing us today.” He gripped Gideon’s hand and gave it a firm shake.
“Gideon, and not a problem. Please have a seat.” Gideon sat.
Arthur settled into one of the chairs in front of Gideon’s desk. “Ryan?” Arthur glanced over his shoulder. “Can you join us, please?”
Ryan hesitated, having chosen to hang back with the woman called Carmen. Probably in an attempt to maintain his anonymity, Ryan was wearing dark glasses, along with a hooded sweater, which cast shadows over his features.
The woes of being a celebrity. Being recognized entering the premises of an agency that hired out boyfriends was not what the troubled actor needed right now.
Carmen rested her hand on Ryan’s shoulder to encourage him. She leaned in close to whisper in his ear. Her long blonde hair obscured both her and Ryan, and she reached up to tug Ryan’s hood back. Eventually, she pulled away and gave Ryan a firm look from over the black frames of her glasses.
“Yeah.” Ryan’s voice was low and held an edge of weariness. “Yeah, of course.” He removed his glasses and joined Arthur, then sat forward in his seat. “So how does all this work?” His voice wavered as he folded down his glasses arms. He held them in his lap and cleared his throat.
Gideon glanced in Kaden’s direction. “Our meeting today is about introductions and working out the small details.”
Kaden caught the tightening of Ryan’s jaw, the way he tensed. He wasn’t happy to be there; in fact, he appeared scared. He flicked his head, his long bangs parting, and stared directly at Kaden. “Are you the fake boyfriend they partnered me with?” His sharp and confident words were at odds with his guarded expression.
“I am.” Kaden didn’t move from his position beside the window. He felt that approaching could cause Ryan to fortify his defenses. “Kaden Moore.”
Ryan looked Kaden up and down and then settled his frosty blue gaze on Kaden’s. “Have you done this before?”
“Been hired to act as someone’s boyfriend?” Kaden had been with Bryant & Waites for just under three years.
“I assume it’s a given you’re not inexperienced, but I meant someone as high profile as me?” There was defiance in Ryan's expression and haughtiness that spoke of privilege. Kaden imagined he was used to people going out of their way to reinforce his self-assessment.
“Not a high-public profile, no,” Kaden admitted.
Ryan clicked his tongue and shrugged, dismissing Kaden. “You said they had someone, Arthur. It’s ridiculous to expect someone with no experience with paparazzi and the pressure to be able to pull this off.” He cast a quick look at Kaden, who met his gaze. His fear was more apparent.
Gideon interjected, “The fact his previous work has been of a more discreet fashion is important here and is exactly why I selected him after receiving your brief.” He leaned back. “Though not a common occurrence, there are a few of our boyfriends who, depending on how much interest media outlets take, could be recognized from prior engagements. So I consider Kaden to be the best fit for you and this arrangement.” His smile conveyed it was he who was in charge when it came to his office.
“Maybe we need to find someone else,” Ryan snapped.
“I do have companies I can refer you to.” Gideon remained calm. “But of course, at this late stage, you will be lucky to find someone with Kaden’s credentials.”
“I’m sure we can find someone,” Ryan pressed.
“You can try,” Kaden murmured, just loud enough for Ryan to hear.
“Do you know anything about actors?” Ryan asked, pointedly.
“Not much, no.”
“And movies?”
“I’ve seen one or two.”
Ryan was wide-eyed now. “Arthur, what did we—?”
“We take great pride in matching our clients with the right men, and you will find none finer at this point than Kaden Moore,” Gideon interrupted.
Ryan opened his mouth to comment, but Carmen laid a hand on his shoulder, and Ryan sat back, abruptly subdued.
Arthur cleared his throat. “We want to thank you for your handling of this delicate situation. Understandably, it’s got us all a little tense.” He glanced at Kaden. “I’m sure we’ll make this work.”
“Totally understandable.” Gideon motioned for Kaden to join them. “So, shall we begin?”
The meeting lasted an hour, and by the time they were done, they had a series of dates scheduled over the next two weeks. All opportunities for Ryan and Kaden to spend time together before the long stretch of calendared promotional interviews, photoshoots, all leading to the red-carpet premiere of Ryan’s upcoming movie release. Kaden stayed quiet, interjecting when he needed to, and Ryan grew steadily more agitated as the meeting wore on. He couldn’t sit still and kept stopping the meeting to confer with Arthur in low tones about imagined scenarios where it could all go wrong that everyone in the room could hear.
He was tense, his forehead creased in a permanent frown, that only eased when it was time for the meeting to end.
“Thank you for your time.” Arthur shook Gideon’s hand. “We’ll be in touch in a couple of days.” He squeezed Kaden’s hand between both of his. “I appreciate your help.”
Kaden smiled, his gaze was drawn past Arthur to Ryan, who was already walking out the door. “I look forward to working with you, Ryan.”
The actor didn’t look back.
“What do you think?” Gideon asked as soon as they were alone.
“Ryan seems… difficult.” There was no denying the two of them had a long way to go. But Kaden was sure he could make it work. He just hoped Ryan would let him.
“He probably doesn’t like the pressure from the studio.” Gideon shrugged. “Definitely not chilled like my Ragdoll.”
“Your cat?”
“Ragdolls are known for being docile and affectionate. Despite the similarities in their striking blue gazes, Mr. Levesque is quite prickly in his temperament.”
Kaden caught his lower lip between his teeth. The color of Ryan's eyes hadn't wholly gone unnoticed by him. “So it wasn't love at first sight this time, then?”
Gideon chuckled. “Not for me.” He patted Kaden on the back, then returned to his desk.
Kaden considered the meeting with the unsettled, twitchy actor. Ryan was hard to figure out. Yes, he was spiky, but considering what was going on with him, those prickles were probably a way of protecting himself, above anything else. The first thing Kaden needed to do was earn Ryan’s trust.
Trust, huh? How?
Silent Sin by EJ Russell
Chapter One
July 28, 1921
Robbie slid the last crate of fruit out of Mr. Samson’s truck and only wobbled a little as he handed it off to a grocer’s assistant on the dusty Bakersfield road. He took off his battered straw hat, wiped the sweat off his forehead with the side of his arm, and settled the hat back on his head. Not that it kept out much sun—it was more holes than straw by this time.
Mr. Samson, the orange grower Robbie had been helping for the last two days, strolled out of the little store, tucking a wallet into his back pocket. Robbie snatched his hat off his head again.
“Will there be anything else, sir?”
“Not here.” Samson’s gaze slid away from his. “Don’t have the cash to pay you anything now, but I might have something for you back home at the groves.” He nodded at the truck. “I’ll give you a lift.”
Robbie’s empty belly sank toward his toes, but he forced a smile. He’d learned in the last six weeks that the promise of a job rarely translated into money in his pocket, even if he actually did the work. A lift with the promise of work at the end of the ride—anything that got him farther from Idaho, really—was more than he could hope for. “Thank you, sir.” He stumbled toward the truck cab.
“Hold on, you. Not up front.” Samson jerked his thumb toward the truck bed. “Back there. But give us a crank first.”
Robbie nodded and scuffed through the dirt, where a pebble worked its way through the hole in the bottom of his right boot. He waited for Samson to get behind the wheel and then gave the handle a practiced crank. The engine caught, and the truck belched exhaust. Robbie hurried to the rear before Samson could change his mind about the lift too.
As he was about to scramble over the tailgate, he spotted half a dozen discarded half-squashed fruits—a lemon and five oranges—almost beneath the wheels. He scrabbled them out of the dust, rolled them into the truck bed, and heaved himself in after them. The jerk when Samson put the truck in gear nearly sent Robbie over backward, but he grabbed on to one of the rough slats that bracketed the bed to save himself, driving a sliver into his thumb.
He crawled forward, herding his contraband in front of him until he could sit with his back to the cab. As the truck jounced along, raising clouds of dust in its wake, Robbie gathered the precious fruit in his lap and hunched over his knees. Fingers trembling, he tore into the skin of the first orange and dropped the peel through the slats. He shoved the first section into his mouth and moaned as the tart juice hit his parched mouth and throat. Squashed or not, this is pure heaven. How wonderful that people can grow something this marvelous, let alone make a living at it.
His last meal was nothing but a hazy memory, so he ate one fruit after another—even the lemon, so sour it made his eyes water—as the string of discarded peels fell behind, a trail of gold dimmed by dust.
After he polished off the last orange, he licked his fingers. Then he picked at the sliver in this thumb as he tried to dodge puddles of fermenting juice whenever Mr. Samson took a corner too sharply. The exhaustion of weeks of rough travel, most of it on foot, caught up with him, and he fell into a fitful doze.
With a bone-rattling thump, the truck pulled to a stop. Robbie blinked, disoriented, and peered around in the glare of the setting sun. Where are we? His heart sank when he took in the sturdy buildings lining both sides of the road. A good-sized town. He tried to keep to open country whenever he could—less chance of getting work, but easier to find a stream for a drink and a wash or a secluded barn where he could catch enough shut-eye to go on the next day.
Mr. Samson slapped the side of the truck. “End of the line, kid.”
Robbie scrambled to his feet and wiped his hands on his trousers, not that it did much good. His pants were as sticky as the truck bed.
He hopped down onto the road and caught the tailgate when a wave of dizziness threatened to take him down for the count. “Thanks for the lift. I appreciate it.”
Mr. Samson tilted his cowboy hat back and scratched his forehead. “No skin off my nose. You were a good worker. But turns out, now I think about it, I don’t need any help on the farm.” He shrugged. “Sorry.”
“I understand. Thanks anyway.” He wished he hadn’t fallen asleep on the ride. He had no idea where he was. “Does this road lead to Mexico?”
Mr. Samson hitched his dungarees up under his prosperous paunch. “Whatta you want to go there for? Nothing you can get there that you can’t get here.”
“Where’s here?”
He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Hollywood.”
Robbie shaded his eyes with one hand and scanned the storefronts across the road. Hollywood Dry Goods. Hollywood Haberdashers. Hollywood Drug Store. “I guess it is.”
With a touch of his hat brim, Mr. Samson climbed into his truck. “Give us another crank, will you?”
Robbie complied and then backed away as the truck rattled off up a side street.
What the heck can I do in a place like this? Robbie doubted his years of scratching out a living on a potato farm would qualify him for work in some other grower’s orange grove. There weren’t any factories that he could see, and Hollywood Haberdashers wouldn’t hire somebody with only one set of clothes—and those almost too worn to be decent.
Mexico still seemed like the best bet, but suddenly he couldn’t muster the energy to take the next step or cadge the next lift or scrounge the next dime.
So he shoved his hands in his empty pockets, forced his back straight, and strode down the sidewalk as though he truly had someplace to go, as though he wasn’t adrift or as castaway as his namesake—Robinson Crusoe Goodman. He shook his head as he followed the route Mr. Samson’s truck had taken, away from the main street and up a slight hill. Ma sure had some odd notions when it came to naming her sons. Eddie had been lucky. At least Pa had put his foot down over Oedipus.
At the back of Mr. Samson’s orange grove, Robbie found a wooden shack worthy of his old man’s farm and secured with nothing but a two-by-four across its door. He slipped inside and blinked until his eyes adjusted to the gloom after the brightness of the westering sun. The dirt floor was littered with arm-long sections of metal pipe as big around as his head, and a stack of broken crates leaned against the wall like a rummy who’d never heard of the Volstead Act—not the most comfortable flop but better than he had any right to expect.
He curled up on the floor with his back to the wall, arms wrapped across his belly, and begged sleep to take him before he cried.
*******
“I’m not working with Boyd Brody again, Sid. I can’t.” Martin Brentwood met his own gaze in the mirror over the drink cart in his living room. God, he looked like ten miles of bad road. “He tried to drown me.”
Sid Howard, Martin’s manager, emerged from the kitchen, drying his hands on a dish towel. “Come on, Marty. He was just kidding. Giving you the business, same as he does with any actor. You can’t take this personal.”
“I damn well do take it personally. He’d never try that shit with Fairbanks.”
“Shite.”
Martin frowned at Sid. “What?”
“A baronet’s son from Hertfordshire wouldn’t say ‘shit.’”
“But I’m not a baronet’s son from Hertfordshire.” Martin sloshed more gin into his glass. “That would be you. Me? I’m only a tailor’s apprentice from Flushing.”
Sid tossed the towel on top of the piano and pried the glass out of Martin’s grip. “No. That would be me. And don’t forget it, even when we’re alone. Even in your own head. It’s easier to remember the lies if you live ’em full-time.” Sid sniffed the contents of the tumbler and made a face. “And don’t drink this shit. You’ll go blind.”
“I’ll have you know this gin was brewed in Barstow’s finest bathtubs.” Martin shuffled to the davenport and flopped down on the cushions. “But you’re right.” He bared his teeth. “It’s shite.”
“That’s more like it.” Sid settled in the wingback chair across from Martin. “So. I met with Jacob Schlossberg today.”
“Better you than me,” Martin muttered. “I loathe the bastard, and the feeling is decidedly mutual.”
“Maybe. But the reasons for the hate are different. You hate him because he’s—”
“A pontificating blowhard with delusions of grandeur and the morals of a weasel?”
“Because,” Sid raised his voice over Martin’s, “he’s the one who controls your career.”
“He’s not the only one. Ira owns half the studio.”
“Yeah, but Ira’s the talent-facing brother. Jacob’s got his sausage-like finger on the studio’s financial pulse. And when it comes down to it, at Citadel Motion Pictures, money’ll trump talent every time.”
Martin snorted. “So much for art.”
“Pictures aren’t art, Marty. They’re business. Big business. And if nobody pays to see your picture, it don’t matter if it’s as arty as the Russian crown-fucking jewels.”
“Really, Sid,” Martin murmured. “Your language.”
Sid grinned. “Unlike some, I don’t forget who I’m supposed to be.” Sid folded his hands on his knee, and no matter how much he might be able to ape a working-class stiff from Queens, if anybody in Hollywood paid attention, his hands would give him away. Tailor’s apprentices didn’t have the kind of practiced grace that had been drilled into Sid when he was busy getting kicked out of every prep school in England.
“As I said, I met with Jacob today.”
“And?”
Sid’s heavy brows drew together. “He and Ira are split on whether they want to re-up your contract. Ira’s liked you since he brought you in from Inceville and put you in a suit instead of a cowboy hat. He thinks you’re the best bet the studio has to counter Valentino. But Jacob… well….”
“I know, I know. He hates queers.”
“Nobody knows for sure that you’re queer, Marty.” Sid’s scowl said, “And keep it that way” louder than words could. “Anyway, Jacob may hate queers personally, but he depends on them too, as long as they’re in their place.”
Martin’s snort was a low-class sound, but nobody could hear him except Sid, who already knew the truth. Sid had invented Martin’s backstory. Hell, Sid had lived Martin’s backstory and he’d traded it with Martin’s when it became obvious which one of them could make a go of it in pictures.
“Right. In wardrobe. In the art department. Where the public never sees.”
“It’s not the invisibility that he cares about. He covets their taste. He knows he’s got none. He’s a stevedore’s son from the Bronx. He craves sophistication, so you’ll keep delivering it, because the only thing Jacob really hates is a threat to his profits. You can be as queer as Dick’s bloody hatband and he wouldn’t care as long as your pictures make money. But they won’t make money if your fans turn away. Remember what happened to Jack Kerrigan.”
“Kerrigan’s popularity dropped because he made that asinine comment about being too good to go to war, not because he’s queer.”
“Exactly. But with the Hollywood press in their back pocket, the studio didn’t lift a finger to save him. He’d become a liability with all his talk about no woman measuring up to Mother, and his lover tucked cozily away downstairs, masquerading as his secretary. You don’t want to be in that position.”
Martin pinched his eyes closed. “If it’s not because they suspect I’m in the life, then what is it? The cocaine? Because I told you, I’m never taking that stuff again, no matter how much the studio doctor prescribes.”
“No. It’s because of your last driver. What was his name? Homer?”
“Vernon, actually.”
“Right. Well, they don’t like that you fired him.”
“I fired him because he was a manipulative son of a bitch who saw driving a studio car as a sure way to stardom, provided he could fuck the right people.”
“Swive.”
“What? Are you telling me a baronet’s son wouldn’t say fuck?”
“Baronets’ sons definitely do, especially when imprisoned at boarding school with dozens of other baronets’ sons. But Martin Brentwood, leading man and one of Hollywood’s finest gentlemen, does not.”
Martin leaned his head on the cushions. “Jesus, Sid. Don’t you ever get tired of the act?”
“I’ll keep up with the act as long as it pays the bills. And so will you.” Sid crossed his legs. “I met with Ira too. He needs you back in to do retakes on that pro-Prohibition picture you wrapped last week.”
Martin groaned. “Good lord. Must we pander to the temperance unions and morality clubs even more? Wasn’t it enough that I died horribly in the gutter at the end?” Martin should have gotten a clue about where his career was headed when he was cast as the drunken lout instead of the fellow who heroically takes an axe to the kegs of evil whiskey.
“It has nothing to do with your performance. There were light flares in some of the scenes, and the cutter can’t fix it.”
“Very well. I’ll return tomorrow to die again.”
“Good. They expect you at ten.”
“Ten.” Martin cracked open an eye. “That’s a civilized hour, but how am I supposed to get there? No chauffeur, remember? The studio still won’t let me drive, and you refuse to learn how. I’d take the streetcar, but—”
“No. The last time you tried that, you nearly caused a riot.” Sid stood up and collected his briefcase from the ormolu side table. “I’ll contact the studio. They’ll assign you a driver, although you may have to share.” He lifted one perfectly straight eyebrow. “You’re not Valentino, after all. Yet.”
“Isn’t it grand that I don’t want to be, then?”
Sid sighed. “Marty, you need to think about your image. The studio’ll only protect you as long as you’re an asset, and you’ll only be an asset if—”
“If I make Jacob enough money.”
“If you don’t make their job harder. Having a car at your disposal twenty-four hours a day is more of a temptation than you need right now.”
Martin pushed himself upright with clenched fists. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Lay off the steak and pinochle parties with Bill Taylor and George Hopkins. Stay away from Pershing Square. The only reason Homer—”
“Vernon,” Martin murmured.
“—was a real threat was because he suspected what was really going on there. If one of those jokers decides to spill to the press—”
“They wouldn’t. Nobody who’s in the life would ever give me away. We don’t do that to one other. Not ever.”
“That’s what everyone says until the first time. If anyone suspects the truth—”
“Truth? This is Hollywood, Sid. Truth is what the fan rags print, and the studios have all of them in their back pockets, cheek by jowl with their string of crooked cops.”
“Maybe. But you can’t depend on that lasting forever. Remember Kerrigan.” Sid settled his straw boater on his head. “A studio driver’ll pick you up tomorrow by nine thirty. I’ll take care of it.”
Martin heaved himself to his feet to walk Sid to the door. “Thanks, Sid.”
“And next time? If you’re gonna fire your driver, at least make sure you wait until he takes you home.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
Sid grabbed Martin’s wrist, his dark eyes serious. “I mean it, Marty. Be careful. This may be your last chance at Citadel, but if you pick the wrong man, you may not have another chance at anything.”
Martin opened his mouth to argue, but Sid walked out before he could gather his thoughts. He stood in the doorway as Sid strode down the sidewalk, the July sun beating down on the dusty boxwood hedges that lined the bungalow court.
Damn it, he’s right.
The places where it was safe to be a man who preferred men were few—New York, San Francisco, Hollywood. And even there, security was an illusion. The only thing that shielded them was the total obliviousness of most of the country. Hell, they didn’t even have a word for it.
In the life. A nice, nondescript phrase that could mean anything. But to the men and women who sought their partners from their own gender, its very blandness was the only thing that stood between them and ruin, scandal, imprisonment… worse. With sodomy laws on the books in every state, the punishment for a conviction could be positively medieval.
Martin shuddered, and as he wandered back to the drink cart, the streetcar bell clanged on Alvarado. I’ve still got some of my costumes from my vaudeville days. I could take the trolley to Pershing Square. Just for a little while. If he dressed in the rough clothes of a dockworker or the cheap suit of a salesman, nobody would know him for Martin Brentwood, movie star.
He leaned his forehead against the wall, excitement warring with shame in his belly. One last time. Without a driver, nobody would know.
So much of being a star was in behaving like one. Presenting yourself like a person who would prompt people in middle America to shell out their dough for the privilege of watching you caper around on a screen for an hour or two. Hell, he’d heard United Artists was going to charge a two-dollar admission for Fairbanks’s next picture.
It was nuts.
It was nuts, but Sid was right. It paid the bills—his and Sid’s. He owed it to them both not to destroy his career, not to destroy his life. Because the sailors in Pershing Square might be thrillingly rough, but you never knew where they’d been. The last thing he needed was a case of the clap. Sid was right about that too.
Martin wandered over to his desk. He had a pile of fan mail that needed answering. He probably should do that—he had few enough fans left. He’d best keep the faithful remnants happy.
With one last sorrowful glance at the gin bottle, he sat down and picked up his fountain pen.
Snow in Montana by RJ Scott
Chapter 3
Ryan
“Morning, Sunshine,” Saul said and slid a coffee across the table.
Ryan took it and grunted his thanks. His brother knew there was no way he would be capable of much rational speech this early in the morning, and they’d dropped into this system whereby perpetually cheerful Saul, the oldest of five boys, made everything better. How Saul could be this awake at 5:00 a.m., Ryan didn’t know.
Saul ran a bar. Carter’s Bar was his baby, and even though he had staff, he couldn’t have closed much before 2:00 a.m.
“What time do you need to be at Crooked Tree?”
Ryan glanced at his watch, but it was a blurry mess without his glasses or contacts. “Six.”
Something bumped his hand and he glanced sideways at the plate of toast.
“Eat,” Saul ordered.
“Yes, Dad,” Ryan snarked, then took a few bites. It was coffee he really wanted, and Sam might well have food he could scrounge when he got to the ranch. Or maybe Ashley had baked. Still, the toast helped, and the coffee began to work to sharpen his senses.
“Eddie is bringing the kids up on the weekend,” Saul said.
Ryan didn’t have to look to know that Saul had his ever-present diary notebook out on the table. Somehow the eldest Carter hadn’t let go of that need to look after all his brothers. There were columns for all of them in age order, and in there, Ryan knew, there would be notes of his shifts and anything else Ryan had mentioned. Saul was eighteen years and three days older than Ryan, and the other three Carter boys ranged in the middle.
Saul had been just old enough to take responsibility for his brothers at eighteen, including the baby Ryan. “How is he?”
“You’d know if you called him,” Saul admonished in that soft tone that made Ryan feel guilty in an instant.
“Last time I called he hung up on me,” he explained.
Saul muttered something and then sighed. “Saying you were going to do a background check on his new girlfriend will do that to a guy.”
“After what Sarah did to him—”
“It’s not our business, and Jenny is lovely, and she’s good with the kids.”
“Says the brother who knows exactly where we are and what we’re doing every minute of every freaking day.”
Saul changed the subject. “Thought we’d do a barbecue. Be here at noon?”
Ryan wanted to point out he wasn’t going to be anywhere else. He was on duty until eleven. He lived over the bar, sharing the apartment with Saul, so of course he’d be here.
“I’ll be there.”
Saul scratched something in the diary—probably some kind of tick in the attendance column.
“Bring a friend,” Saul said, his tone that infuriating mix of hope and interference. “How about Mark? I liked him. He was nice.”
Ryan was really not going there at 5:00 a.m. in the freaking morning. Mark had lasted exactly a week, right to the point when Mark explained how he wanted him and Ryan to have an open relationship.
“Back off,” he snarled, snapped, and laced it with a little brother’s patented whine. Then he pushed his chair back and stomped out of the kitchen.
“Ryan and Mark, sitting in a tree,” Saul shouted after him.
“Whatever.” He grimaced as he took the steps up to his room two at a time. At least now he was awake.
A shower, his contacts, and dressed in uniform, and he was back in the kitchen. One last coffee and he was out to his car.
When he arrived at Crooked Tree, he walked into chaos. Or at least it looked like chaos to him, but to everyone walking in and out of trailers in the parking lot it was probably highly organized chaos.
“Ryan!”
He turned to face the owner of the voice, spotted Sam and Justin just inside a large tent, and decided that direction was as good as any. He wanted to check in with Justin, see how the man was doing. A couple of people nodded at him, muttered “Officer” or “Sheriff,” but no one stopped to talk. Everyone had something to do, and Ryan wound his way past wires and boxes to what he assumed was the catering tent.
Justin had gone before he got there, leaving Sam and a table groaning with food. Two young guys there, both in chef’s whites, were clearly assisting with the burden of catering for however many people were present.
“Twenty-seven,” Sam explained, “but I catered for more, so help yourself.”
Ryan didn’t hesitate; he grabbed a plate of eggs, crispy bacon, and fluffy pancakes, and stood back in the corner, checking his watch every so often. Ten minutes to go and he’d cleared his plate while watching Sam doing his thing, ordering around his two assistants.
Still no sign of Justin coming back.
In fact, Justin did a very good job of avoiding Ryan, and with ten minutes to kill, Ryan decided to zip up his coat and go looking. Something about the way Justin wouldn’t quite look him in the eye had him feeling off. Justin had secrets—he’d been working for some shadowy kill squad after vanishing years ago with Adam. There was no information that Ryan could dig up, a blank of years that frustrated his analytical law enforcer’s brain.
He finally found his quarry standing with Marcus, hands in his pockets and a stony expression on his face. Marcus had been overwhelmed getting his son back, and Justin had tried hard to fit back into Crooked Tree life, but it was plain to see there was tension between father and son. When Ryan observed the two of them together, he often thought the pressure was going to snap into something more, but there was always a rigidity about Justin. The guy only truly relaxed when he was with Sam.
Justin saw him coming, lifted his chin, and stared. “Sheriff,” he said, with a nod.
“Ryan,” he emphasized, and not for the first time. “Call me Ryan.”
They were surely friends more than professional acquaintances. Being five years older than Justin meant they’d never been at school together, but still… more than just acquaintances, surely.
Another nod and Justin pressed his lips into a thin line. Ryan just knew that Justin wouldn’t be calling him by his first name.
Then they ran out of things to say. Or rather, Ryan wanted to ask questions and Justin didn’t want to answer them. They’d fallen into this weird, stony face-off, and Marcus had long since left.
“Can I talk to you?” Justin asked.
Ryan frowned and looked left and right. Justin was actually addressing him, right? “Of course.”
“Not here, not now. I’ll text you.”
And then he slipped away, sidestepping Ryan in one of his freaky ninja moves, and by the time Ryan made it to the front of the tent, Justin had vanished again.
Well, that wasn’t at all covert and weird. He shook his head and stepped out into the icy early morning half-light.
“Hey,” someone said from his side, “Good morning, Sheriff.”
Jordan was there, in so many layers of coats and scarves that it was difficult to see any more than a thin strip of his face, but Ryan would recognize those eyes anywhere. Then he remembered Jordan had a twin; was this Micah? They hadn’t looked the mirror image of each other, and Ryan couldn’t recall the color of Micah’s eyes.
Which reminded him he needed to google the man and find out about the father, then look for photos of Jordan and his twin, Micah.
For information purposes only, obviously.
“Hey,” Ryan said, abruptly very unsure.
Something in his tone must have shown hesitation because Jordan—or possibly Micah—pushed down the scarves from his face.
“Jordan. Remember me? I fell asleep in your car.”
Ryan held out a hand and they shook, which wasn’t easy when both were wearing heavy gloves.
Jordan kept talking, his voice less gruff than it had been two days ago, and he was staring right at Ryan.
For a second, Ryan imagined he had egg on his face and dismissed the idea. Just because a guy stared at him didn’t mean he had food on his face. He hadn’t the last time, and he didn’t now.
Still, he brushed at his mouth with his gloved hand, just in case, because Jordan made him feel like he wanted to look perfect.
What the hell? Where did that come from?
“I’m sorry about that, by the way,” Jordan carried on. “I usually don’t go sleeping in sheriffs’ cars.” He smiled, and Ryan’s brain short-circuited because, fuck, dimples.
“You spend a lot of time in sheriffs’ cars?” Ryan asked before his brain caught up with his mouth. I’m losing it.
Jordan shook his head. “No, I guess not. I was dosed up and ill.”
“I know.” And then he recalled the usual thing that normal people might say at this point. Normal, sane, rational, people. “Are you feeling better?”
Jordan wrapped his hands around himself and stamped a bit. “Much. Just freaking cold.”
Ryan searched his brain for an answer to that one while trying not to lose himself staring into those gray eyes. “It’s Montana,” he said lamely.
Jordan chuckled, coughed a little. “So it is. You want me to show you around?”
Ryan didn’t want to take Jordan away from whatever he was supposed to be doing, so he said, “I can do my own thing.”
“No, it’s okay. Follow me.”
Jordan pivoted and led Ryan through the maze of tents and wires, stopping and explaining that this was Production, this was their version of a green room, and this was Editing.
Ryan spoke to everyone, got a feel for the way things were running, and filed away as much information as he could. There wasn’t much he could say, although he had a list of things he needed to check when they were somewhere warmer. Not for his sake—he was plenty warm enough, a Montana native with enough layers to make him look like a snowman—but Jordan still hadn’t got the idea and he was shivering under the coat. Which had Ryan considering one question they hadn’t covered…
“How will you film outside scenes without coats?”
Jordan looked a little panicked for a moment, but it soon cleared and cheerful optimism seemed to carry him through. “We’ll be fine.”
Ryan didn’t want to point out that this was early in the day, and if there were night shoots, Jordan was in danger of becoming a Popsicle.
Jason arrived a little after nine, in uniform and clearly just off shift judging by the tiredness bracketing his eyes.
“Hey, little brother,” he said on a yawn.
That was the way he always addressed Ryan, but somehow, in front of Jordan, Ryan didn’t want to be identified as little. Then, Jason held out a hand, and he and Jordan did that whole awkward glove-slap thing.
“Jason Carter, MFD liaison,” Jason said and yawned again. “Sorry, long night.”
“Thank you for coming.”
Jason did that thing when he smiled and winked and showed way too much happy despite being exhausted. Ryan often wished he could channel Jason’s eternal happiness.
“You’re welcome,” Jason said with another smile. “Show me the way.”
And like that, Ryan’s part in this was over. He watched Jason and Jordan leave to check out whatever pyrotechnics plan they had cooked up, and realized he was standing there like a prize idiot and Jordan was looking back at him and sketching a small wave.
So, Ryan waved back, a thank-you wave—not at all a sexy wave, really—and then he felt even more of an idiot, so he left to find Jay, with his list of concerns in his head.
Jay was in his office, which wasn’t exactly his office anymore; Adam was sitting on one seat, Micah on the other. From the papers spread out on the desk, they were talking horses, and Ryan didn’t really have much to say on that, but he indicated he just needed paper and a pen and wrote out in careful block letters the things he thought needed checking out. Jay mouthed a thank you and placed the paper to one side with a thumbs up.
Ryan moved to leave but stopped when Adam grasped his hand.
“A word?” Adam asked softly and stepped out into the chaos without a jacket.
Ryan immediately went into protective mode, which was his default setting with Adam. After all, Adam had years of missing memories and still suffered from killer headaches. Should he be standing out in the cold? “Everything okay?”
“It’s Justin,” Adam said, worry in his expression.
“What about him?”
“Something’s wrong. He won’t talk to me or Ethan, and he’s quiet.”
“He’s always quiet,” Ryan said, not because he wanted to play devil’s advocate, but because it was the truth. Not only was Justin trained to be stealthy, he also played his cards close to his chest.
Too many secrets.
“No, this is more than normal, and I think it’s my fault.” Adam tapped his shoulder. “My tattoo. I woke up from a dream that I think could have been memories of the man who did the tattoo, and then I dreamed about being on that ranch and seeing the two men with me die. I mean, I’m not entirely sure, but when I told Justin, he just looked really pained and pale.”
Ryan filed away the information. Maybe this was what Justin needed to talk to him about. “I’ll talk to him,” he reassured Adam.
“There was something else…,” Adam murmured, as if he didn’t really want Ryan to hear and ask him what it was.
“What?”
“In the dream….” He hesitated again, then couldn’t look Ryan in the eyes. “Justin was there in the dreams, front and center.”
Too many questions. “I’ll talk to him,” he repeated. Adam turned to leave, but Ryan stopped him with “Are you okay?”
Adam glanced back, a lost expression on his face, one Ryan had seen many times. “Today isn’t a good day, so I gave in and called Ethan. He was coming home anyway, so he’s just leaving earlier. I don’t like doing it, but I just…”
“Need him,” Ryan finished.
“Yeah.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
Sometimes Adam was too lost, needed his fiancé by his side, and Ethan was working his notice at the job in Missoula. They hadn’t worked out what he would do at Crooked Tree, but Ethan wanted to be with Adam full-time and not just between shifts.
Ryan wished they had the budget at the sheriff’s office, but that wasn’t happening anytime soon. They had a rookie and that was pretty much all they could afford.
“No, thank you. I’ll be okay,” Adam said.
And that answered everything. “Good.” Ryan ushered Adam back into the warm office, then left.
Justin was waiting for Ryan next to his car, his hands thrust deep into his jacket, a beanie pulled low on his head. “Hey.”
Justin always looked so wary, as if, at the drop of a hat, Ryan was going to pull his gun and arrest him or shoot him.
“Hey,” Ryan said, and waited for more.
“Is Adam okay? I saw you talking to him.”
Ryan considered lying, but Justin wasn’t stupid. “He thinks that he remembered something and wanted to talk to me about it.”
Justin gave a sharp nod. He was in constant movement from one foot to the other, his expression fixed on Ryan, but Ryan imagined he was aware of every single inch of his surroundings. Whoever trained him way back had done a good job.
“What exactly did he think he remembered?” Justin asked.
“You know I can’t divulge information like that.”
For the longest time, Justin stared at him, his expression blank. Then he sighed. “Tell me he’s okay.”
Ryan wished he could say that, wanted to be able to say that he was, but he would be lying. “You should talk to him,” he advised, because that was the best he could do.
Justin looked down and kicked at a stone next to his boot. “He won’t talk to me. He’s avoiding me, or I’m avoiding him, fuck knows.” When he returned his gaze to Ryan, there was real grief in his eyes. “He’s remembered something and he looks so beaten down. How can I help him?”
That was the most Justin had exposed of himself to Ryan, ever, and part of Ryan, the compassion that wished he could help, wanted desperately to explain that Adam was dealing with memories that made no sense.
He couldn’t.
“Find him. Talk to him if you can,” Ryan said, and then he added with feeling, “I’m sorry, Justin.”
“Not your fault.” Justin drew himself tall. “I’ve got him. I’ll do what’s best for him.” He added, “Always.”
If only it was that easy.
They shook hands, and Justin walked back up to Branches.
Justin held too many secrets, and that scared Ryan. Because after today, with what Adam had told him, secrets could destroy Justin and Adam and any friendship they may have.
And likely rip families apart in the process.
Ryan
“Morning, Sunshine,” Saul said and slid a coffee across the table.
Ryan took it and grunted his thanks. His brother knew there was no way he would be capable of much rational speech this early in the morning, and they’d dropped into this system whereby perpetually cheerful Saul, the oldest of five boys, made everything better. How Saul could be this awake at 5:00 a.m., Ryan didn’t know.
Saul ran a bar. Carter’s Bar was his baby, and even though he had staff, he couldn’t have closed much before 2:00 a.m.
“What time do you need to be at Crooked Tree?”
Ryan glanced at his watch, but it was a blurry mess without his glasses or contacts. “Six.”
Something bumped his hand and he glanced sideways at the plate of toast.
“Eat,” Saul ordered.
“Yes, Dad,” Ryan snarked, then took a few bites. It was coffee he really wanted, and Sam might well have food he could scrounge when he got to the ranch. Or maybe Ashley had baked. Still, the toast helped, and the coffee began to work to sharpen his senses.
“Eddie is bringing the kids up on the weekend,” Saul said.
Ryan didn’t have to look to know that Saul had his ever-present diary notebook out on the table. Somehow the eldest Carter hadn’t let go of that need to look after all his brothers. There were columns for all of them in age order, and in there, Ryan knew, there would be notes of his shifts and anything else Ryan had mentioned. Saul was eighteen years and three days older than Ryan, and the other three Carter boys ranged in the middle.
Saul had been just old enough to take responsibility for his brothers at eighteen, including the baby Ryan. “How is he?”
“You’d know if you called him,” Saul admonished in that soft tone that made Ryan feel guilty in an instant.
“Last time I called he hung up on me,” he explained.
Saul muttered something and then sighed. “Saying you were going to do a background check on his new girlfriend will do that to a guy.”
“After what Sarah did to him—”
“It’s not our business, and Jenny is lovely, and she’s good with the kids.”
“Says the brother who knows exactly where we are and what we’re doing every minute of every freaking day.”
Saul changed the subject. “Thought we’d do a barbecue. Be here at noon?”
Ryan wanted to point out he wasn’t going to be anywhere else. He was on duty until eleven. He lived over the bar, sharing the apartment with Saul, so of course he’d be here.
“I’ll be there.”
Saul scratched something in the diary—probably some kind of tick in the attendance column.
“Bring a friend,” Saul said, his tone that infuriating mix of hope and interference. “How about Mark? I liked him. He was nice.”
Ryan was really not going there at 5:00 a.m. in the freaking morning. Mark had lasted exactly a week, right to the point when Mark explained how he wanted him and Ryan to have an open relationship.
“Back off,” he snarled, snapped, and laced it with a little brother’s patented whine. Then he pushed his chair back and stomped out of the kitchen.
“Ryan and Mark, sitting in a tree,” Saul shouted after him.
“Whatever.” He grimaced as he took the steps up to his room two at a time. At least now he was awake.
A shower, his contacts, and dressed in uniform, and he was back in the kitchen. One last coffee and he was out to his car.
When he arrived at Crooked Tree, he walked into chaos. Or at least it looked like chaos to him, but to everyone walking in and out of trailers in the parking lot it was probably highly organized chaos.
“Ryan!”
He turned to face the owner of the voice, spotted Sam and Justin just inside a large tent, and decided that direction was as good as any. He wanted to check in with Justin, see how the man was doing. A couple of people nodded at him, muttered “Officer” or “Sheriff,” but no one stopped to talk. Everyone had something to do, and Ryan wound his way past wires and boxes to what he assumed was the catering tent.
Justin had gone before he got there, leaving Sam and a table groaning with food. Two young guys there, both in chef’s whites, were clearly assisting with the burden of catering for however many people were present.
“Twenty-seven,” Sam explained, “but I catered for more, so help yourself.”
Ryan didn’t hesitate; he grabbed a plate of eggs, crispy bacon, and fluffy pancakes, and stood back in the corner, checking his watch every so often. Ten minutes to go and he’d cleared his plate while watching Sam doing his thing, ordering around his two assistants.
Still no sign of Justin coming back.
In fact, Justin did a very good job of avoiding Ryan, and with ten minutes to kill, Ryan decided to zip up his coat and go looking. Something about the way Justin wouldn’t quite look him in the eye had him feeling off. Justin had secrets—he’d been working for some shadowy kill squad after vanishing years ago with Adam. There was no information that Ryan could dig up, a blank of years that frustrated his analytical law enforcer’s brain.
He finally found his quarry standing with Marcus, hands in his pockets and a stony expression on his face. Marcus had been overwhelmed getting his son back, and Justin had tried hard to fit back into Crooked Tree life, but it was plain to see there was tension between father and son. When Ryan observed the two of them together, he often thought the pressure was going to snap into something more, but there was always a rigidity about Justin. The guy only truly relaxed when he was with Sam.
Justin saw him coming, lifted his chin, and stared. “Sheriff,” he said, with a nod.
“Ryan,” he emphasized, and not for the first time. “Call me Ryan.”
They were surely friends more than professional acquaintances. Being five years older than Justin meant they’d never been at school together, but still… more than just acquaintances, surely.
Another nod and Justin pressed his lips into a thin line. Ryan just knew that Justin wouldn’t be calling him by his first name.
Then they ran out of things to say. Or rather, Ryan wanted to ask questions and Justin didn’t want to answer them. They’d fallen into this weird, stony face-off, and Marcus had long since left.
“Can I talk to you?” Justin asked.
Ryan frowned and looked left and right. Justin was actually addressing him, right? “Of course.”
“Not here, not now. I’ll text you.”
And then he slipped away, sidestepping Ryan in one of his freaky ninja moves, and by the time Ryan made it to the front of the tent, Justin had vanished again.
Well, that wasn’t at all covert and weird. He shook his head and stepped out into the icy early morning half-light.
“Hey,” someone said from his side, “Good morning, Sheriff.”
Jordan was there, in so many layers of coats and scarves that it was difficult to see any more than a thin strip of his face, but Ryan would recognize those eyes anywhere. Then he remembered Jordan had a twin; was this Micah? They hadn’t looked the mirror image of each other, and Ryan couldn’t recall the color of Micah’s eyes.
Which reminded him he needed to google the man and find out about the father, then look for photos of Jordan and his twin, Micah.
For information purposes only, obviously.
“Hey,” Ryan said, abruptly very unsure.
Something in his tone must have shown hesitation because Jordan—or possibly Micah—pushed down the scarves from his face.
“Jordan. Remember me? I fell asleep in your car.”
Ryan held out a hand and they shook, which wasn’t easy when both were wearing heavy gloves.
Jordan kept talking, his voice less gruff than it had been two days ago, and he was staring right at Ryan.
For a second, Ryan imagined he had egg on his face and dismissed the idea. Just because a guy stared at him didn’t mean he had food on his face. He hadn’t the last time, and he didn’t now.
Still, he brushed at his mouth with his gloved hand, just in case, because Jordan made him feel like he wanted to look perfect.
What the hell? Where did that come from?
“I’m sorry about that, by the way,” Jordan carried on. “I usually don’t go sleeping in sheriffs’ cars.” He smiled, and Ryan’s brain short-circuited because, fuck, dimples.
“You spend a lot of time in sheriffs’ cars?” Ryan asked before his brain caught up with his mouth. I’m losing it.
Jordan shook his head. “No, I guess not. I was dosed up and ill.”
“I know.” And then he recalled the usual thing that normal people might say at this point. Normal, sane, rational, people. “Are you feeling better?”
Jordan wrapped his hands around himself and stamped a bit. “Much. Just freaking cold.”
Ryan searched his brain for an answer to that one while trying not to lose himself staring into those gray eyes. “It’s Montana,” he said lamely.
Jordan chuckled, coughed a little. “So it is. You want me to show you around?”
Ryan didn’t want to take Jordan away from whatever he was supposed to be doing, so he said, “I can do my own thing.”
“No, it’s okay. Follow me.”
Jordan pivoted and led Ryan through the maze of tents and wires, stopping and explaining that this was Production, this was their version of a green room, and this was Editing.
Ryan spoke to everyone, got a feel for the way things were running, and filed away as much information as he could. There wasn’t much he could say, although he had a list of things he needed to check when they were somewhere warmer. Not for his sake—he was plenty warm enough, a Montana native with enough layers to make him look like a snowman—but Jordan still hadn’t got the idea and he was shivering under the coat. Which had Ryan considering one question they hadn’t covered…
“How will you film outside scenes without coats?”
Jordan looked a little panicked for a moment, but it soon cleared and cheerful optimism seemed to carry him through. “We’ll be fine.”
Ryan didn’t want to point out that this was early in the day, and if there were night shoots, Jordan was in danger of becoming a Popsicle.
Jason arrived a little after nine, in uniform and clearly just off shift judging by the tiredness bracketing his eyes.
“Hey, little brother,” he said on a yawn.
That was the way he always addressed Ryan, but somehow, in front of Jordan, Ryan didn’t want to be identified as little. Then, Jason held out a hand, and he and Jordan did that whole awkward glove-slap thing.
“Jason Carter, MFD liaison,” Jason said and yawned again. “Sorry, long night.”
“Thank you for coming.”
Jason did that thing when he smiled and winked and showed way too much happy despite being exhausted. Ryan often wished he could channel Jason’s eternal happiness.
“You’re welcome,” Jason said with another smile. “Show me the way.”
And like that, Ryan’s part in this was over. He watched Jason and Jordan leave to check out whatever pyrotechnics plan they had cooked up, and realized he was standing there like a prize idiot and Jordan was looking back at him and sketching a small wave.
So, Ryan waved back, a thank-you wave—not at all a sexy wave, really—and then he felt even more of an idiot, so he left to find Jay, with his list of concerns in his head.
Jay was in his office, which wasn’t exactly his office anymore; Adam was sitting on one seat, Micah on the other. From the papers spread out on the desk, they were talking horses, and Ryan didn’t really have much to say on that, but he indicated he just needed paper and a pen and wrote out in careful block letters the things he thought needed checking out. Jay mouthed a thank you and placed the paper to one side with a thumbs up.
Ryan moved to leave but stopped when Adam grasped his hand.
“A word?” Adam asked softly and stepped out into the chaos without a jacket.
Ryan immediately went into protective mode, which was his default setting with Adam. After all, Adam had years of missing memories and still suffered from killer headaches. Should he be standing out in the cold? “Everything okay?”
“It’s Justin,” Adam said, worry in his expression.
“What about him?”
“Something’s wrong. He won’t talk to me or Ethan, and he’s quiet.”
“He’s always quiet,” Ryan said, not because he wanted to play devil’s advocate, but because it was the truth. Not only was Justin trained to be stealthy, he also played his cards close to his chest.
Too many secrets.
“No, this is more than normal, and I think it’s my fault.” Adam tapped his shoulder. “My tattoo. I woke up from a dream that I think could have been memories of the man who did the tattoo, and then I dreamed about being on that ranch and seeing the two men with me die. I mean, I’m not entirely sure, but when I told Justin, he just looked really pained and pale.”
Ryan filed away the information. Maybe this was what Justin needed to talk to him about. “I’ll talk to him,” he reassured Adam.
“There was something else…,” Adam murmured, as if he didn’t really want Ryan to hear and ask him what it was.
“What?”
“In the dream….” He hesitated again, then couldn’t look Ryan in the eyes. “Justin was there in the dreams, front and center.”
Too many questions. “I’ll talk to him,” he repeated. Adam turned to leave, but Ryan stopped him with “Are you okay?”
Adam glanced back, a lost expression on his face, one Ryan had seen many times. “Today isn’t a good day, so I gave in and called Ethan. He was coming home anyway, so he’s just leaving earlier. I don’t like doing it, but I just…”
“Need him,” Ryan finished.
“Yeah.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
Sometimes Adam was too lost, needed his fiancé by his side, and Ethan was working his notice at the job in Missoula. They hadn’t worked out what he would do at Crooked Tree, but Ethan wanted to be with Adam full-time and not just between shifts.
Ryan wished they had the budget at the sheriff’s office, but that wasn’t happening anytime soon. They had a rookie and that was pretty much all they could afford.
“No, thank you. I’ll be okay,” Adam said.
And that answered everything. “Good.” Ryan ushered Adam back into the warm office, then left.
Justin was waiting for Ryan next to his car, his hands thrust deep into his jacket, a beanie pulled low on his head. “Hey.”
Justin always looked so wary, as if, at the drop of a hat, Ryan was going to pull his gun and arrest him or shoot him.
“Hey,” Ryan said, and waited for more.
“Is Adam okay? I saw you talking to him.”
Ryan considered lying, but Justin wasn’t stupid. “He thinks that he remembered something and wanted to talk to me about it.”
Justin gave a sharp nod. He was in constant movement from one foot to the other, his expression fixed on Ryan, but Ryan imagined he was aware of every single inch of his surroundings. Whoever trained him way back had done a good job.
“What exactly did he think he remembered?” Justin asked.
“You know I can’t divulge information like that.”
For the longest time, Justin stared at him, his expression blank. Then he sighed. “Tell me he’s okay.”
Ryan wished he could say that, wanted to be able to say that he was, but he would be lying. “You should talk to him,” he advised, because that was the best he could do.
Justin looked down and kicked at a stone next to his boot. “He won’t talk to me. He’s avoiding me, or I’m avoiding him, fuck knows.” When he returned his gaze to Ryan, there was real grief in his eyes. “He’s remembered something and he looks so beaten down. How can I help him?”
That was the most Justin had exposed of himself to Ryan, ever, and part of Ryan, the compassion that wished he could help, wanted desperately to explain that Adam was dealing with memories that made no sense.
He couldn’t.
“Find him. Talk to him if you can,” Ryan said, and then he added with feeling, “I’m sorry, Justin.”
“Not your fault.” Justin drew himself tall. “I’ve got him. I’ll do what’s best for him.” He added, “Always.”
If only it was that easy.
They shook hands, and Justin walked back up to Branches.
Justin held too many secrets, and that scared Ryan. Because after today, with what Adam had told him, secrets could destroy Justin and Adam and any friendship they may have.
And likely rip families apart in the process.
You're the One by Davidson King
CHAPTER ONE
Noah
“You need to calm down, Miss Thing.” I narrowed my gaze at the blond bombshell standing in front of me who thought she was getting in to see Thomas.
“He’s expecting me.” She tried to push past security, toward me, thinking we’d roll over because she was Chantel Morrison, a box-office draw.
“No…no, he is not. Shoo.” I made a sweeping motion with my fingers, and her ivory skin flushed red.
“Listen, you little gnat—”
“Nope.” I covered my ears. “Bye.” I spun on my heel and went into the room she was desperately trying to enter.
When I shut the door, Thomas was sitting on the couch, a small smile on his face as he looked at me. “She’s relentless.”
“Why, Thomas? Why did you have to take her to the Oscars with you? Now she thinks you’re going to have babies with her.” After locking the door, I went and sat beside him.
“I didn’t know she’d turn into a face-hugger, Noah. She was actually quite relaxed and calm at the show. Then the next day it was bam, let’s get married.”
Thomas Vale was everything in Hollywood, and I was his personal assistant. I’d been by his side since the days he could only get a minor role on a soap opera. When he skyrocketed to fame, he’d made sure I was holding on. We were friends…and I was madly in love with him. Not that he knew that—no, he could never. The trust Thomas had in me was worth never telling him that little fact.
“Might I suggest going solo to the next award show?”
He chuckled. “Noted.” His phone buzzed and he sighed.
“What’s wrong? Did she get your number? I will go out there right now and—”
“No, she didn’t, and if she had, I’d have blocked her. No reason to summon your inner Bruce Lee on my account.”
Yeah, I was only five foot seven, and the only exercise I got on the daily was swimming laps at night…well, when I could. Sure, a swift wind could blow me over. But I was spunky. I had defensive skills, thanks to many bullies while growing up.
“Fine. Explain the frown and sigh and dejected body language?” I eyed him, then his phone, which he was scowling hard at.
“Christmas is next month.”
“Oookaaay? I’ve never known you to be a scrooge, Thomas. You’re actually a festive fella.” I laughed when he rolled his eyes.
“I love Christmas. You know I always go home. Spend it with my family in the mountains. It’s the only time all of us are together for the year.”
“And, what, it was canceled?” Getting him to tell me things sometimes was like pulling teeth.
He turned his body slightly, folding his leg so he was now sitting on his foot, staring at me. “My grandfather—”
“Victor or—”
“William.”
“Okay, continue.”
“He’s dying.” Thomas’s shoulders slumped, and as if his pain were mine, I gasped.
“Thomas, why didn’t you tell me?” I knew his family as if they were my own. Sure, I’d never met them because Thomas barely even had time to see them himself. But I’d practically memorized everything about them. Birthdays, anniversaries, where they lived, the pets they owned…all of it.
“I was well aware you’d do this thing you’re doing right now, had I told you.” He waved a hand at me.
“I’m concerned; how is that a thing?” He shrugged. “Just is. You’re dramatic.”
“Says the actor,” I huffed.
“I know my grandfather is old…like really old. It was going to happen eventually.”
“Yes. Life is funny that way.” He slapped my leg. “What? I’m agreeing with you.”
“Anyway. Last Christmas, he knew he was sick. Lung cancer.”
“Seriously, Thomas, why did you never tell me any of this? You said your grandfather had the flu. I sent flowers from you saying get well soon…to him…and he had lung cancer.”
“I didn’t want anyone to know. I’m sorry.”
Here I was making him feel bad for not telling me when his grandfather was dying… I suck. “No, forget it. I’m a brat. Go on. I assume the cancer is back?”
He nodded. “Thing is, last year he and I were sitting outside, watching my nieces play in the snow. He took my hand, Noah, and pleaded with me that before he died, he wanted me to fall in love. Of course I swore to him I was fine, but as his dying wish…he made me promise to try and let someone in.”
My eyes widened. “He made you promise to fall in love with someone?”
“No. He just said it would be his dying wish. And I really thought he was going to be okay, and I’d have time but…” He sighed again.
“But time is running out.”
He nodded. “I wish I could give him that. Show him I have someone in my life to love and I’ll be fine.”
“Thomas, you can’t force yourself to love someone to appease a dying man’s last wish, even if it’s your grandfather. Don’t you think it would hurt him even more if he found out you were putting on a show on his account?”
Thomas’s eyes widened and a huge smile graced his handsome face. I knew that look. “Noah, you’re a genius.”
“Um, Thomas, whatever you’re thinking, no. It can’t be good.”
“Because I’m happy?”
“No. Because something you clearly heard made you grin like the Grinch, and nothing I said was a good idea.”
He tilted his head back and laughed so hard his body shook. Carefree Thomas was the best.
“Hear me out.” He giggled like a child, excited and quite animated.
“As if I have a choice.”
My sarcasm was completely lost on Thomas, or he was ignoring it. More likely it was the latter.
“The doctor gave him three months. If I can bring someone home for the holidays, and it’s massively convincing that we’re in love, it will make his final time peaceful.”
All I could do was stare at him, waiting for the “Just kidding.” It never came. Sweet Mother Mercy.
“Thomas, that’s a disaster waiting to happen.”
“I don’t think so. If I find the right person to—”
“Lie to? Thomas, you’re going to grab someone and be all, ‘Hey, I love you, meet my family?’ ”
Thomas huffed. “No, but I’m in an industry full of actors. I’m sure I could find someone willing to do this.”
I had to pinch the bridge of my nose to release the pressure. “And you don’t think, at the slightest convenience, they won’t sell this story to the tabloids? Thomas, why are you acting dumb? It’s not who you are. You’re above average in the smarts department.”
He snickered and sat back. “It has to be the right person. Someone trustworthy but who could pull it off. We can have them sign an NDA.”
“We…oh, I’m helping?”
“Who else would be able to find the perfect person for me other than the person who knows me best?” He beamed and fucking fluttered his eyelashes…the asshole.
“One day I will quit.”
He stood and went over to the vanity. He was about to go on The Tonight Show in fifteen minutes, right before Chantel Morrison, which explained why she was there.
“You’ll never leave me, Noah.”
He looked at me through the mirror and I pouted, knowing he was right. Was it just because I loved him? No, Thomas needed protecting, and I’d never let anything happen to him.
“Fine, let me see what my brain can come up with. Operation Fool Grandpa is in full effect.”
They knocked and told him it was time, and with one last titter, he left the dressing room. I sat on the couch for a few moments wondering how in the hell I’d help him pull this off.
Bestselling author of over sixty titles of classic Male/Male fiction featuring twisty mystery, kickass adventure and unapologetic man-on-man romance, JOSH LANYON has been called "the Agatha Christie of gay mystery."
Her work has been translated into eleven languages. The FBI thriller Fair Game was the first male/male title to be published by Harlequin Mondadori, the largest romance publisher in Italy. Stranger on the Shore (Harper Collins Italia) was the first M/M title to be published in print. In 2016 Fatal Shadows placed #5 in Japan's annual Boy Love novel list (the first and only title by a foreign author to place on the list).
The Adrien English Series was awarded All Time Favorite Male Male Couple in the 2nd Annual contest held by the Goodreads M/M Group (which has over 22,000 members). Josh is an Eppie Award winner, a four-time Lambda Literary Award finalist for Gay Mystery, and the first ever recipient of the Goodreads Favorite M/M Author Lifetime Achievement award.
Josh is married and they live in Southern California.Her work has been translated into eleven languages. The FBI thriller Fair Game was the first male/male title to be published by Harlequin Mondadori, the largest romance publisher in Italy. Stranger on the Shore (Harper Collins Italia) was the first M/M title to be published in print. In 2016 Fatal Shadows placed #5 in Japan's annual Boy Love novel list (the first and only title by a foreign author to place on the list).
The Adrien English Series was awarded All Time Favorite Male Male Couple in the 2nd Annual contest held by the Goodreads M/M Group (which has over 22,000 members). Josh is an Eppie Award winner, a four-time Lambda Literary Award finalist for Gay Mystery, and the first ever recipient of the Goodreads Favorite M/M Author Lifetime Achievement award.
Writing love stories with a happy ever after – cowboys, heroes, family, hockey, single dads, bodyguards
USA Today bestselling author RJ Scott has written over one hundred romance books. Emotional stories of complicated characters, cowboys, single dads, hockey players, millionaires, princes, bodyguards, Navy SEALs, soldiers, doctors, paramedics, firefighters, cops, and the men who get mixed up in their lives, always with a happy ever after.
She lives just outside London and spends every waking minute she isn’t with family either reading or writing. The last time she had a week’s break from writing, she didn’t like it one little bit, and she has yet to meet a box of chocolates she couldn’t defeat.
Meredith Russell lives in the heart of England. An avid fan of many story genres, she enjoys nothing less than a happy ending. She believes in heroes and romance and strives to reflect this in her writing. Sharing her imagination and passion for stories and characters is a dream Meredith is excited to turn into reality.
Multi-Rainbow Award winner E.J. Russell—grace, mother of three, recovering actor—holds a BA and an MFA in theater, so naturally she’s spent the last three decades as a financial manager, database designer, and business intelligence consultant (as one does). She’s recently abandoned data wrangling, however, and spends her days wrestling words.
E.J. is married to Curmudgeonly Husband, a man who cares even less about sports than she does. Luckily, CH loves to cook, or all three of their children (Lovely Daughter and Darling Sons A and B) would have survived on nothing but Cheerios, beef jerky, and satsuma mandarins (the extent of E.J.’s culinary skill set).
E.J. lives in rural Oregon, enjoys visits from her wonderful adult children, and indulges in good books, red wine, and the occasional hyperbole.
Davidson King, always had a hope that someday her daydreams would become real-life stories. As a child, you would often find her in her own world, thinking up the most insane situations. It may have taken her awhile, but she made her dream come true with her first published work, Snow Falling.
When she's not writing you can find her blogging away on Diverse Reader, her review and promotional site. She managed to wrangle herself a husband who matched her crazy and they hatched three wonderful children.
If you were to ask her what gave her the courage to finally publish, she'd tell you it was her amazing family and friends. Support is vital in all things and when you're afraid of your dreams, it will be your cheering section that will lift you up.
Josh Lanyon
EMAIL: josh.lanyon@sbcglobal.net
EJ Russell
The Movie-Town Murder by Josh Lanyon
B&N / GOOGLE PLAY / iTUNES
KOBO / iTUNES AUDIO / AUDIBLE
Kaden by RJ Scott & Meredith Russell
Silent Sin by EJ Russell
Snow in Montana by RJ Scott
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