Secrets Of The A-List Complete Collection, Episodes 1-12. Cat Schield

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СКАЧАТЬ is a damned waste of my time,” he grunted, his eyes seemingly unable to lift from Harrison’s body.

      “Why do you say that?” A simple question, delivered with a face lacking expression.

      “This guy’s comatose. Look at him.”

      “He’s resting.” The Fixer was dismissive.

      “Resting?” Jim scoffed. “Come on.” Harrison’s face was pale, but for the dark purple bruises that covered one side of him. His body looked lifeless.

      “Resting,” the Fixer emphasized, knowing the dislike was obvious and not caring. “But when you leave here, you’ll be able to report back to your bosses that you had a nice in-depth conversation with him.”

      “You’re shitting me.” The reporter laughed, a sound that was incongruous with the worry knitted tight to the Fixer.

      “No. I’m not shitting you.”

      “You’re actually asking me to fabricate a story?”

      “Oh, that’s a pessimistic way to look at it.” The Fixer bared some teeth. “I’d prefer you to see that I’m giving you an opportunity.”

      “To wreck my career by going on air with a lie? You drag me down here to look at what might as well be the cadaver of Harrison Marshall and expect me to go on air and lie about it? Yeah, right. I’d last about three seconds.”

      “I’m giving you an opportunity to save yourself.”

      The words were different from those said before, but the Fixer had issued a variation on them enough times to understand the effect they had. The threat that was implied in their soft, passive utterance.

      “From what?” Defiance was bravado; the Fixer had Jim’s attention and they both knew it.

      “You know—” The Fixer was in the zone now. The game was about the subtle lingering of a finger on a button at the right time. The adversary in the game always had to believe the Fixer was willing to press down on it—the threat was more useful than the deed, quite often. “I think there are greater threats to your career than a harmless stretching of the truth.”

      Jim’s breath was coming in loud spurts. “Such as?”

      No matter how many things fixed, this never got old. “That kinky little affair you’ve got going with the underage daughter of your network’s major shareholder?” The Fixer’s head shook slowly from side to side, tut-tutting with the appearance of sympathy. “How would your boss feel? Your network? Your wife? Not to mention law enforcement. What a shame it would be to see your promising career cut off at the knees like that, when here you stand, potentially on the brink of a major professional breakthrough.” The Fixer’s smile was wolfish. “I’d hate to see you make the wrong decision.”

      Jim Avon was shocked; it emanated from every line of his body. He was now pale enough to rival Harrison’s pallor. “ I... It’s not like that.”

      “Oh, really?” The Fixer laughed. “Walk out of here, then.” Closing the distance between them easily, the Fixer’s face was now within an inch of the anchorman’s. “I dare you.”

      The Fixer could hear Jim swallow and could smell adrenaline firing off his flesh. People really were transparent. A few bad decisions in life and someone, somewhere, had a loaded gun ready to fire. Not the Fixer, though. Because the Fixer didn’t make mistakes. Ever.

      “You can’t do this.” It was a common enough refrain to bore the Fixer. Even after hearing it many times, the Fixer had foolishly expected better of this one.

      “A theory I’m happy for you to test.”

      Their eyes met, but not for long. Jim looked away quickly, his gaze shifting to Harrison’s weak frame. The Fixer resented the intrusion. Harrison deserved better than to have this lecherous pervert spying on him like this. But the means were justified. The sooner the media backed off, the better.

      The Fixer could see Jim relenting. Yes, he was close to accepting the predicament he found himself in.

      Just one last nudge should bring it over the line. Hit hard then offer relief. “I have no desire to ruin your life. You are of very little concern to me. When you walk out of this hospital, so long as you do what I need, you’ll never hear from me again. You can continue your...affair.” The Fixer said the word with distaste. “Though I would encourage you to think better of bedding someone young enough to be your daughter.”

      A muscle jerked in Jim’s weak jaw. “Are you lecturing me at the same time as blackmailing me?”

      “Yes.”

      Jim drew in a deep breath; the bald-faced admission had apparently surprised him. Unsettled him, too, for how could he doubt the Fixer’s intentions? “So, what? I do this and we become best friends or something?”

      The Fixer laughed, a low, soft sound that sent a shiver radiating along Jim’s spine. “I don’t have friends.” The voice was gravelly. “But you’d better believe I have enemies. I’d urge you to avoid becoming one of them.”

       Chapter Four

      It was a perfect afternoon. Sunny and bright, with the hint of a breeze carrying salt from the ocean. Elana breathed in deeply, waiting for the usual heady sense of relief the tang of the sea gave her.

      But her nerves were too stretched, almost to breaking point. They were going to see Harrison at Whispering Oaks. She wanted to see her father, of course, and yet fear lodged in her heart when she imagined what might confront them. Would he be worse?

      It wasn’t easy to get out there, either. Since his accident, the paparazzi had been camped out on the street near Casa de Catalina, though Santa Barbara PD had a few motorcycle cops perusing the perimeter. Going undetected meant eschewing their usual chauffeured limo and employing measures worthy of a spy drama. The cars Rafe and Luc had organized were understated and matching, so that they could take separate routes to divert any paparazzi who pursued them. Rafe had even said he’d bring baseball caps and dark glasses to keep their anonymity.

      Elana had laughed when he’d suggested it, but she wasn’t laughing now.

      Rafe and Luc were late.

      Only a few minutes, but enough for her to be tempted to ignore their plans and take her own car. Just as she was contemplating asking a chauffeur to bring around the Merc the crunch of tires on gravel alerted her to someone’s arrival. She stopped walking and watched as the car pulled to a stop right beside her. It was a black sedan. A family car. Hardly the kind of thing any of them usually got around in. The windows were heavily tinted, and, Elana admitted grudgingly, it would definitely blend in to the crowds.

      She waited to see which of her brothers would emerge and was relieved when Rafe stepped from the vehicle.

      “Hey,” she said, unprepared for the wave of intense emotion that besieged her at her brother’s arrival. “You’re late.”

      “Traffic was a bitch.” He grimaced as he stepped from the car. Dressed in slim-fitting jeans and a Façonnable polo shirt, СКАЧАТЬ