Perfect Target, page 11
"Who have you cooked for besides me? And who says I don't have high expectations?"
"Good point. Someone like you is probably used to Michelin-starred restaurant food."
"I have eaten at the best restaurants in the world," she admitted. "But I still really like this. Do you have a woman in your life who you cook for? A wife, maybe?"
"No wife. And while I occasionally cook for a woman, it's not a regular thing."
"Then who were you referring to when you talked about your audience?" she asked, digging in to take another bite.
"My younger brother, David. He was five when our parents died, and someone had to feed him. It was easy when he only wanted mac and cheese out of a box, but as we got older, I had to get more creative."
She sipped her water, thinking about what he'd just told her. "It sounds like you were responsible for him, even though you were only a kid yourself. Twelve, right? What about other adults in your life?"
"They came and went. Some were better than others," he said vaguely. "Tell me about your mom. Does she always give you a panic attack?"
She wanted to go back to his parents, but the look in his gaze stopped her. There was too much pain and darkness there. "My mom stresses me out," she admitted. "She pushes and pushes, like a runaway bulldozer that can't be stopped. I wouldn't have been a star without her, but I also wouldn't have gone off the deep end if I'd had someone less ambitious and driven in my corner. My career was her career. I learned early on that I had to take care of the family."
"Why was that?"
"My mom didn't have any particular skill set when my dad died, so she was working minimum wage jobs. But she had great instincts. I was a cute baby, and she thought I could help make us some money. She got me into commercials and found an agent and I got my first part in a movie when I was five. I couldn't even read my lines. Someone had to feed them to me, but I knew how to play to the camera, and suddenly I was getting lots of callbacks."
"Did you like acting?"
"In the beginning, it felt like a game. I was pretending. It was like playtime. And the money I made allowed us to move into a bigger place, and my mom always bought me a present when I got a new role. It was fun. I liked being on shows or working in movies with other kids. Since I didn't go to regular school, those other child actors were my friends. If I hadn't had them, I would have been pretty lonely. Actually, even with them, I was sometimes lonely. But no one wanted to hear that from a girl who was living a dream life."
"Probably not," he said. "When did it go bad?"
"There wasn't one moment. As I grew up, a lot of other things came into play, especially when I was a teenager."
"Like what?"
"There were so many other things I had to do besides act. There were endless interviews and paparazzi following me around. I wanted to have friendships. I wanted a boyfriend. I wanted to do normal things, like go to a high school football game on a Friday night, but instead I had to attend a premiere or a party with people who were a lot older than I was. My mom put a lot of pressure on me. Nothing was ever enough. I was a TV star, but she wanted me to be a film star, too. She wanted me to sing, to dance, to think about Broadway. She kept saying I needed to have marketable skills in order to transition to a career as an adult. It was just too much. I couldn't really fight her, so I started to just escape."
"Drinking, drugs?"
"Mostly alcohol, but I can't say I didn't try a few other things. It never made that much of a difference. I still felt lonely, even when I was in a crowd."
"I can see that."
"Can you? It sounds weird to say that out loud." She didn't know why she was telling him as much as she was, but he was easy to talk to, and the chaos of the last forty-eight hours had somehow loosened her tongue.
"Was it lonely when you were on The Carmichaels? There were a lot of kids on that show, weren't there?" he asked.
"There were. I had Bryce and Tara Lynn—they played my siblings. Bryce was super funny. He was always making jokes and flirting with whatever girls were on the show."
"Did that include you?"
"No. Bryce and I grew up together. I was nine when it started, and Bryce was eleven. We felt like siblings."
"And Tara Lynn?"
"She was three years younger than me. I always felt like her big sister."
"Was she on the yacht the night of the fire?"
"No. She wasn't at that party."
"Who else did you hang out with?"
"Becca Alden played my best friend for a season. And Megan Withers made several guest appearances as the mean girl at my high school. We had to be so bitchy to each other when the cameras were rolling, but off-screen we became good friends." She stopped abruptly, realizing she was talking way too much about people she didn't need Beck to get interested in. But he was already interested because they'd been at the cemetery with her yesterday.
"Becca and Tara Lynn were at the cemetery," he said, echoing her thoughts. "You stayed friends even after you quit the biz?"
"Yes." She didn't want to talk about the cemetery or her friends.
"Are they all still acting?"
"Some are. Some aren't." She wiped her mouth and tossed her napkin onto her plate. "That was a great dinner, Beck. I'll clean up." She got up and took her plate into the kitchen.
"No way." Beck stood up, bringing his plate to the counter and setting it down.
"Beck, I can clean up."
"You were in an accident. You're going to sit down and rest. You don't need to clean up to avoid talking to me," he added, with humor in his eyes.
"It's not just that," she lied. "I've been talking a lot and cleaning up will be a good distraction."
As she moved, he blocked her way. They were suddenly just inches apart, and her nerves tingled with anticipation. "Beck?" she questioned nervously. "What do you want?"
"What do you want?" he countered, his dark gaze boring into hers.
That was a loaded question. "I know what I don't want," she said slowly. "I don't want to think or answer any more questions. I don't want to talk. I just want…" She licked her lips, and his gaze darkened.
"What?" he asked again.
She silenced all the warning voices in her head, refusing to listen to the alarm bells going off. She'd worked hard on not being impulsive, not making bad decisions, but tonight…
Her gaze moved to his mouth. And she felt overwhelmed by a rush of desire, of want. Impulsively, she put her hands on his face and pressed her lips against his.
He reacted immediately, his lips hot, demanding, needy, and the spontaneous kiss turned into so much more. She needed to pull away, but she kept going back for more.
Beck's arms came around her body, pulling her up against his hard chest. She felt excited and safe at the same time, and it was a dizzying combination.
And then somewhere she heard a phone buzzing repeatedly. Beck finally broke the kiss, giving her a breathless look. "Phone," he bit out, reaching into his pocket. "Sorry."
For once, it wasn't her phone that was going off.
She took a step back as her heart continued to pound against her chest.
"Who was the car registered to?" Beck asked.
She stiffened, realizing he was probably getting information on the person who had forced her off the road.
"Right," he muttered, then listened to whatever was being said.
The silence on his end went on far too long, and she gave him an impatient, pleading look.
But his attention was focused on the call. He was better at compartmentalizing than she was. Her lips were tingling, and she could taste him on her mouth. She was still feeling the ragged edge of desire, but Beck was all business.
Maybe it had been a mistake to kiss him.
No maybe about it, she told herself. Of course, it had been a mistake.
It had also been really, really good.
Finally, he ended the call.
"What?" she asked. "Do you know who was driving that car?"
"The car was registered to Neil Price, who manages a homeless shelter in Torrance. He said it's his second car, and he leaves the keys out for residents so they can use the car for job interviews. He doesn't know who took it or when it disappeared, but it's not at the shelter now."
"So, we still don't know who was driving?"
"No, but my team is reviewing camera footage around the area of the shelter. They should be able to pick up the car at some point and hopefully get an image of the driver. We'll find him."
"Okay." She tucked her hair behind her ears as their gazes met, sharing an intimate memory of being locked together just minutes earlier. "You should go, do whatever you need to do to find that person. That's more important than babysitting me."
"Nothing is more important than your safety. And my team will find the driver." Another silence followed his words. "I'm sorry, Piper."
"For what? I started it. I shouldn't have, but I did."
"Why did you?" he asked with a curious gleam in his eyes.
She shrugged. "I wanted to."
A smile curved his lips. "I'm glad that was your reason."
"It wasn't smart."
"Well, I'm not going to say I didn't like it. Clearly, I did. But…" His expression grew more serious. "It wasn't professional on my part. If you're uncomfortable with me staying, I can call a female agent to come over."
A part of her wanted him to do that, because her feelings about him were all mixed up. But another part of her didn't want a stranger in her house. She didn't completely trust him, but she trusted him more than anyone else.
"Piper?" he questioned.
"It's fine. You can stay if you want to. There's a guestroom upstairs."
"I'll stay down here on the couch."
"Why?"
"I'd rather keep a closer eye on the doors."
She frowned at the reminder that she might still be in danger. "Do you want a blanket?"
"I'll be fine. It's a warm night."
She was still feeling exceptionally hot. "I'm going upstairs then. Feel free to watch the TV or whatever."
"Thanks. Don't worry about me. But I don't want to chase you upstairs. We can hang out. We can talk. You don't have to be concerned that…" His voice trailed away. "I won't touch you. I won't make a move. You don't have to worry."
She drew in a breath and let it out. "I'm not worried about you. It's more me."
A glitter of desire brightened his eyes. "You're being surprisingly honest."
"Which is why I'm going upstairs."
"Afraid you're going to spill another secret?" he challenged.
"Goodnight," she said. She grabbed her bag off the counter, making sure she had both phones with her, then ran for the stairs before she changed her mind and threw herself back into his arms.
Chapter Twelve
When she got into her bedroom, Piper pulled out her burner phone and went into the bathroom. She turned on the shower to drown out her voice and called Megan.
Megan answered almost immediately. "Piper, what's going on? You were supposed to call me a long time ago. Have you checked the app? Has the device picked up anything at Nicholson's house?"
"I haven't had a chance, but I don't think Nicholson was hanging out in his office during the party, so we may not get anything until tomorrow."
"I just hope it's soon. When news starts breaking on Trent, I don't know how long it will be before someone realizes what's going on. Which is why you need to go to that party on Monday night, Piper, the one at Ethan Cawley's house."
"I don't know if I officially have an invitation. It probably depends on whether I do the Monday morning shows."
"So do them. Is it really that big of a deal?" Megan challenged.
"It's easy to ask that question when you don't have to do it," she snapped.
"I would do it, if I could, Piper."
"I know, but you don't understand what’s going on, Megan. I'm caught up in what happened to Larry in ways I never imagined. Tonight, after I left Nicholson's house, someone ran me off the road. I was on Mulholland Drive at the time. My van went down a hill. I almost died."
"Oh, my God! Are you alright?"
"Yes, but I was really lucky."
"Why would someone do that? Did they see you plant the bug? Are they on to us?"
"No. I don't think so. An FBI agent told me that one of the other witnesses to the bombing, Larry's security guard, was attacked earlier today. It looks like someone thinks I saw something."
"This is bad, Piper."
"Trust me, I know."
"You haven't told the FBI about our project, have you? Because you can't do that, Piper."
"I know," she said, not willing to admit she'd already told Beck more than she should have. "But you have to understand that things are getting complicated."
"I understand, and I'm sorry for pushing you, Piper. I know you're doing your best, and I'm really glad you're okay. You need to be careful."
"I will be." She suddenly realized how steamy the bathroom was getting. "I'll talk to you tomorrow." She set down the phone, and then stripped off her clothes and got under the spray.
She needed to clear her head so she could sleep. She didn't want to think about Larry or Juliette or Nicholson or anyone. But while they faded from her head under the steady stream of water, the one person she couldn't stop thinking about was Beck.
He was going to be a problem, not just as an agent, but as a man, a man she liked a little too much.
Beck heard the water running in Piper's bathroom. She was taking a hell of a long shower. He was almost tempted to go up there and make sure she was all right, but that was a bad idea on many levels. Finally, the water went off, and he blew out a breath of relief, but he still couldn't calm down. He was too amped up after the kisses they'd shared. That had been unexpected. He'd been wanting to kiss her for probably far longer than she'd been wanting to kiss him, but she'd made the first move.
A move she most likely regretted. She'd been running on adrenaline. She was confused. She wanted a distraction. And he'd been right in front of her. He couldn't let himself think it was more than that. In fact, he should be happy that's all it was.
His phone buzzed, and he picked it up. "Flynn, what's up? Any more news on the driver?"
"No, but I did just reach Agent Garfield regarding the death threats the senator received. Garfield claims that Brixton met with him privately, that the senator said he knew who the threats were from, and he wasn't concerned. It was a personal matter. He didn't want to fill his staff in on it. He asked Garfield to leave things alone."
"That's a new twist. Do you believe him?"
"Not sure," Flynn said. "Garfield was convincing. But it doesn't make sense that Brixton wouldn't have talked to his staff. Now that Brixton is dead, Garfield is understandably concerned about his job and his decision to drop the investigation."
"He could be lying, trying to cover his ass for doing a shoddy job."
"Could be."
"What about the steward? With the latest attempt on Piper's life, we need to keep him safe. Or find out why he's the only witness not in danger."
"Wyatt has been in contact with Mr. Baron. He offered him protection, but Baron was on his way to catch a plane to the Caribbean where he is going to pick up another charter. We checked with the charter company, who confirmed his recent hiring. We also checked his phone, his financials, and his work history. He has spent the past several years as a yachtie. While he has an apartment in LA with two other guys, he has rarely been there this past year. There are no red flags that would indicate he was involved in this. So we let him go."
"One less person to worry about."
"We ran through the same checks on Piper, and there are no red flags with her, either, except for the fact that she knew Brixton, and she was on a yacht that caught fire seven years ago. Outside of that, she has no online presence beyond the bakery website, no sudden changes in her lifestyle or her financial records. Anyway, we can talk more tomorrow. I promised Callie I'd spend some time with her this weekend."
"Go. Make your wife happy." He'd barely set down the phone when it rang again. The name that flashed across the screen was a welcome distraction. "David," he said, greeting his younger brother. "Are you ready to graduate?"
"Finished my last final today," his younger brother said. "Of course, I still have to pass the bar."
"You will. Don't worry about that now. It's time to celebrate." He paused, hearing noise in the background. "Or maybe you're already celebrating."
"About to get started. I couldn't have done this without you, Beck. You raised me."
"We raised each other."
"I don't think that's the way it went," David said with a laugh. "Commencement is on Tuesday morning. I'll text you the details. I know you're busy, but I hope you can make it."
"I'll do everything I can to be there."
"I know you will. You were always there for me, Beck. You were my brother and my best friend. You put me through college and law school. I know you've worked long hours for me, so if something comes up, I'll understand. It's not a big deal."
"It is a big deal, and I will try to be there." He hated the idea of David not having anyone at his graduation.
"How are things going with you?" David asked. "Are you on a case?"
"I am."
"Does it have something to do with a yacht blowing up?"
"It might."
"I couldn't believe it when I heard. Larry Brixton—AKA Jim Carmichael? Who would want to kill him? He was America's favorite father."
"That was years ago."
"I thought he was a popular senator, too."
"Well, someone didn't like him."
"He always seemed like the best dad to me," David said. "We watched that show every Friday night. Remember?"
"I remember."
"I heard Piper Nolan was with him on the yacht. That's crazy."
"She delivered some cookies for a party he was having. She runs a bakery now."
"Did you see her? Is she still hot?"
"Yes, to both," he admitted.
