1
Teddy Fay flicked his gaze to the rearview mirror and grimaced. The gray sedan was still following him.
Returning his attention to the blacktop ahead, he searched for a turnoff to another road he could use to help him lose his tail. But there wasn’t even a wide enough spot where he could pull over. For as far as he could see, the road in front of him was squeezed between the rise of a mountain slope on one side and its descent on the other.
When he glanced again at the mirror, he caught sight of the fear in his own eyes. Fear that this lonely mountain road would be where he died.
He squeezed the steering wheel and shook the thought away. He couldn’t let them win. Would not let them win.
He glanced again at the car in the mirror. “Go ahead. Give me your best shot. I will not let you get to me today.”
With renewed determination, he pressed down hard on the gas. For the first time since he’d realized he was being followed, the gap between the other vehicle and his grew instead of shrinking.
If he could, he would have gone even faster, but knew if he did, the force of a turn might send him crashing into the hillside or flying over the drop-off.
He rounded another ridge, hoping this time he’d spot a turnoff he could use to escape, but the twisting road continued as far as he could see.
He swallowed back his fear. “You can do this. You have to. For them.”
He leaned toward the steering wheel, his eyes glued to the road ahead just as the other car came into view behind him.
“Cut.” Peter Barrington’s voice came through a speaker mounted under the dash of Teddy’s car. “I think we got it, Mark.”
The tension in Teddy’s face vanished. “Excellent. If you’re happy, I’m happy.”
Teddy released the steering wheel and leaned back. His car was being towed behind the camera vehicle that had been filming him, and he’d only been pretending to drive.
Handling the mountain road on his own would have been child’s play. But, alas, today he wasn’t Teddy Fay, but rather Academy Award–winning actor Mark Weldon, one of his three main identities. The other was that of film producer Billy Barnett.
Thanks to a talent for altering his appearance, honed during years spent in the CIA, only a select few knew that the three men were one and the same.
This trip up the mountain was Teddy’s and the crew’s fifth of the day. On the first three, a cameraman had been in the seat beside Teddy, filming close-ups and shots of the pursuing sedan. During the last two trips, Peter’s crew had been focused on capturing exterior shots. Peter was the film’s director, and the only director for whom actor Mark Weldon worked.
The film was called Storm’s Eye. Its plot centered on a man named Tyler Storm, who’d spent most of his life on the wrong side of the law but was now trying to make amends for his past deeds. Peter had written the part of Storm with Mark in mind, a lead role to celebrate Mark’s status as a major award winner.
The camera truck towed Teddy’s car into a dirt parking lot where several other production vehicles waited, as well as Peter, who was standing behind the television on which he’d been watching the camera feed.
When Teddy climbed out of the car, he gave Luke Reed, the man in charge of the rig carrying Teddy’s sedan, a nod. “Thanks for not driving us off the cliff."
“They have to pay extra for that.”
“Then I’m thankful we have a cheap producer.”
“Ha, I’ll tell Billy you said that when I see him.”
“Trust me, it’s not anything he doesn’t already know.” Teddy smiled to himself. If only Luke knew. When Teddy reached Peter, who was reviewing what they had shot, he glanced at the monitor. “Everything look good?”
“See for yourself.”
Peter pressed a button and the footage from the last trip up the mountain began to play. Teddy had no ego when it came to his acting. All he wanted to do was a good job. When he watched himself, he did so rationally, looking for how he could improve his performance.
The direct shots of Teddy were full of tension and worry, while the footage of the pursuing sedan had the right sense of urgency he knew Peter was after. As he watched, he picked out a few moments in which he felt he could have done a better job, but he was pleased overall.
Peter smiled as the playback ended. “I’d say you’re starting to get the hang of this acting thing.”
“Maybe someday I can make a living at it.”
“It’s always good to have goals, even for you.”
With his lead role in Storm’s Eye, Teddy was making enough from Mark Weldon’s acting work to live quite well. Given the even larger amount he earned as Billy Barnett, and the tidy sum he’d already amassed before entering the film business, Teddy was more than comfortable.
“Do we need to go again?” he asked.
Peter clapped him on the back. “I’ve got what I need. You’re wrapped for today. Go back to the hotel. Grab a drink and enjoy some time by the pool.”
“I like the way you think.”
“Then you’ll love this. If I’m not mistaken, you’re off tomorrow morning, too.”
“You’re full of good news today.”
Peter chuckled in a not-so-fast kind of way. “I was thinking that if you see Billy, you could tell him tomorrow morning might be a good time for a set visit.” Unlike Luke the camera truck driver, Peter knew all about Teddy’s identities.
“If I happen to run into him, I’ll let him know.”
2
Teddy felt the familiar sensation of being watched the moment he stepped into the lobby of the Santa Barbara Hills Hotel.
At least two-thirds of the patrons were sneaking glances at him. Since receiving his Oscar for best supporting actor, Mark Weldon could no longer roam the streets—or in this case, walk through a hotel lobby—unrecognized. It was all rather unfortunate. The persona had served Teddy well when no one had known who Mark was. But gone were the days of conducting any truly covert work as the actor. He had no choice now but to limit Mark’s appearances to shoot days like today, and big events at which Mark’s attendance was expected.
“Hello, Mark.”
Teddy turned toward the familiar voice of Ben Bacchetti, head of Centurion Studios, the studio behind all of Peter Barrington’s movies. Like their fathers, Peter and Ben were best friends. Some friendships might be strained by working together, but theirs had only grown stronger.
Ben walked toward Teddy from the direction of the hotel restaurant, in the company of Peter’s father, Stone Barrington. A successful lawyer with a reputation for being an expert at handling difficult situations, Stone was on Centurion’s board of directors. He was also the man responsible for Teddy working with Ben and Peter.
“Ben, Stone, isn’t this a pleasant surprise.”
“Good to see you, Mark,” Stone said.
“Here to check up on the shoot?”
Ben shook his head. “Not this trip. We’re here for a meeting with a production company looking for a studio partner. I’ll be heading back to L.A. when we’re done.”
“Don’t production companies typically come to you?”
“This isn’t a typical production company. Have you heard of Carl Novak?”
“The tech billionaire?”
“That’s the one. You’ve probably seen his wife before, too. Rebecca Novak? She used to be a model. You name a fashion magazine, and she’s been on the cover.”
“They want to get into the film business?”
“They already have a few productions underway, documentaries and films that deal with problems that don’t get a lot of attention. Without a studio partner like us, they’d be stuck making only a film or two a year. They’d like to do more than that. We’re one of several groups they’re talking to.” Ben’s phone buzzed. He checked the screen. “Our car’s here. We’ll see you later, Mark.”
Ben headed for the exit, but Stone turned to Teddy instead of immediately following. “Could you do me a favor?”
Teddy arched an eyebrow. “Depends on the favor.”
“If you run into Billy Barnett, can you tell him I’d love to have dinner with him? Say, seven-thirty?”
Teddy twisted his head to the side, attempting to look at his back.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m trying to see if someone put a Billy Barnett’s personal assistant sign on my back. He has a secretary and an actual personal assistant now, you know. You could call one of them, and they’d let him know.”
Stone smiled and patted him on the arm. “I figure this way’s faster.”
3
Across town, the owner of Smiling Eyes Flower Shop tore off the receipt and held it out. “Thank you, Mrs. Novak. I’ll make sure they’re delivered to your house by one p.m. tomorrow.”
“Perfect.” Rebecca Novak glanced at the clock on the wall. It was already a quarter to three. “Is that the right time?”
The clerk looked to see what she was talking about and nodded. “Within a minute or two, I think.”
“I didn’t realize it was so late. Thank you again for your help.” Rebecca returned her wallet to her purse and hurried out the door.
She’d spent more time in the shop than she’d planned and would need to rush to get home in time for the start of the meeting with Centurion Studios.
As she approached her car, she noticed the passenger door of the sedan beside hers was open, blocking her way. A man was leaning into the other vehicle, as if he was getting something out of the glove compartment.
At any other time, she would have patiently waited for him to finish, but she was already running behind. “Excuse me.”
The man didn’t seem to hear her.
“Sir? If you don’t mind, I need to get into my car.”
He looked over his shoulder and then at her car, as if only now realizing he was in her way. “Oh. I am so sorry.”
He closed his door and stepped to the side to clear the path.
Once he was out of the way, she flashed him a smile and moved past him. “Thank you.”
As she reached for the handle of her door, ...
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