Page 89 of Blood Stone

Just after midnight, Roman came over to Garrett’s chair and dropped into a crouch beside it, watching the twenty-third take go sour with a twist to his mouth.

Garrett winced.

“So,” Roman started.

“She sent you with a message.”

Roman nodded. “She wants you off the set.”

“I didn’t think she was superstitious.”

“She isn’t. Not exactly. But you’re making her mad every time she looks at you. That’s not helping her concentrate and it’s making everyone else jumpy. What the fuck did you say to her, Garrett?”

“Her business, Adrian.”

Roman nodded. “Fair enough. Will you go back?”

Garrett sighed. “She’s probably right.”

* * * * *

Kate didn’t need Adrian’s whispered “He’s gone,” to know that Garrett had left the set. But that didn’t ease the tightness in her chest and gut one iota. The rest of the night’s filming was an unmitigated disaster. She knew there would be very little in the can that she could use when she uncorked it later.

The knowledge didn’t help her mood as they were driven back to the base camp. The sun was just lifting over the horizon and despite the solid six hours of sleep Adrian had rigged for her the previous day, she was baked.

No one in the van talked to her. They all knew it had been a lousy night of shooting, too.

At the camp, as she unfolded from her seat and stretched, Patrick Sauvage, still in his Murad armour and robes, strode up to her. She spared him a smile. He had worked like a dog all night. He was a true professional – uncomplaining, and trying hard to give her what she wanted, even though she suspected that what she had been asking for had been contradictory and impossible to deliver.

He stopped in front of her and wiped at his face with a black towel, removing a bit more of the makeup. He glanced around casually, taking in observers and eavesdroppers. “A bit of a tough night,” he said.

“A bit,” she agreed.

“They happen.”

“They do.”

He glanced around again, this time with just his eyes. He leaned forward just a fraction of an inch. “He’s not an enemy, Kate. Loosen your grip. You’re squeezing too hard.”

Then he smiled cheerfully at her. “Elizabeth Bradley arrives tomorrow. I’ve been looking forward to that for two weeks. I can’t thank you enough for casting her as the lead. I’ve never had the pleasure of working with her and there’s that big wedding night scene.” He winked and headed for the costume tent, his armour clinking softly in the chill dawn air.

Kate turned her gaze toward Garrett’s big luxury trailer. It could be seen from almost every corner of the base camp, it was that big and that distinctive.

Her anger, which had been simmering all night, surged up almost as strong and fierce as when Garrett had first provoked it. She started walking toward the trailer and soon she was striding, her hands curled into fists and her jaw clenched.

She banged on the trailer door. “Garrett!”

“It’s open!” His voice was muffled and from further inside.

Kate hesitated, taken aback by the invitation. She had half expected Garrett to tell her to fuck off, or never darken his doorstep, or something equally as dramatic. She was on his turf, now. Didn’t the Scots have all that clannish territory thing going on?

She opened the door. It was, indeed, unlocked. She stepped up into one of the most lavish trailers she had ever been inside…and she had seen many trailers in her time.

Movement sounded from what had to be a bedroom, connected to the main room she was in. Then Garrett’s voice. “I heard the vans returning. How did filming go after I left?”

He came out into the room, his head down and Kate caught her breath. His hair was damp and he was towelling it dry. He’d clearly just stepped out of the shower, for he wore nothing but a towel around his hips.

A very small towel.