Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 108974 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 545(@200wpm)___ 436(@250wpm)___ 363(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108974 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 545(@200wpm)___ 436(@250wpm)___ 363(@300wpm)
“I’m glad to hear it wasn’t so bad.” He frowned as a chiming sound filled the air. He slid his cell out and answered it. “Hello?” He paused. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
Well, that answered one question that had been going through her head. She wasn’t going to invite him in. She unbuckled her belt. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah.” He set the cell back on his console. “But I’ve got to go take care of something. I’ll pick you up around ten tomorrow if you still want to go.”
“I do.” She wasn’t going to let his touchy question ruin what had been a nice night. She opened the door and eased out to the ground in front of her cabin. “Duke and I will see you then, and I’ll make sure we’ve got a nice lunch. Thanks for dinner, Major. I had a lovely time.”
“Me, too.” The words were pleasant, but there was a tightness to his expression that let her know he was already thinking about whatever that phone call had been about. “See you tomorrow.”
She shut the door and walked to her cabin, realizing he wouldn’t leave until he’d seen her go inside. She opened it with her key and wondered what had put that look on his face. She didn’t know him well enough to ask, and it had seemed urgent. Probably deputy things.
The cabin was aglow with the single light she’d left on, but she realized things were wrong when Duke came running up.
“I thought I left you in your crate, buddy.” Had he turned into an escape artist? She’d made sure it was secure when she’d left.
“I let him out. You know I believe animals should run free.”
She managed to not let out a scream because she knew that voice. “The funny thing is I was just talking about how you need firm boundaries.”
Gavin Jacks was a journeyman actor. He’d started as a leading man on a TV show back in the eighties, and he was one of those faces almost everyone recognized. He’d been set to be a film star, when he’d gotten in trouble with drugs and alcohol. It had sidetracked him for years.
Now his biggest indulgence was herbal tea and, apparently, breaking and entering.
Gavin shrugged as he sank down onto the couch. “An actor shouldn’t have boundaries, Brynn. Have I taught you nothing over the years? And poor Duke was obviously in distress being in that cage. He and I understand each other. It’s his nature to be free.”
“Well, I hope you didn’t let him out without a leash because with the wildlife around here, it’s his nature to be a snack.” She picked up her pup.
“Of course I didn’t. We had a nice walk of the grounds with him fully leashed. You made yourself plain the last time I visited.” Gavin wore loose pants and a V-neck T-shirt. He looked far younger than his fifty-four years, the outcome of several decades of clean living and a very good plastic surgeon. “So it seems you’ve already made contact with our hosts. Have you started the research without me? By the way, did you meet the man who owns the place? He’s only got one leg. There has to be an interesting story there.”
It wasn’t a long story. “He lost it during his time in the military.”
“Excellent,” Gavin said. “It’s inspirational. I like it.”
“You are far too old to play him,” she pointed out because if she let him go, poor Harry would find himself being asked a million questions about his life.
“Stephen isn’t, and he’s looking for a new project. It would be good to get the two of you back together. Besides, I’m looking to get into directing,” Gavin admitted. “Television is so wearing, and I’d like to spend more time at home. I’ve been on the road or in a studio for ten years.” He patted the couch next to him. “Imagine it. You could play the wife. If we throw in a serial killer, it might have some pizzazz.”
“I don’t think Harry and Seraphina had to hunt down a serial killer.”
“You know every biopic is better when you embellish a bit,” he said. “And I like the small-town killer vibe. We can open with a shot of how peaceful the bayou looks and then have a gator eat something and sink back into the water, revealing the horror under the surface.”
“Or it could be a nice romance where the gator is just a gator and not a metaphor for the ills of American life.” She felt the desperate need to point out his pretension. He was one of those types who believed a film was only art if it made a statement. And if everyone was miserable at the end.
He shuddered. “That is the bourgeoise streak in you talking. Still, romantic comedy does sell. I’ll have to think about it. So when is your mother getting in? And how is it going with the locals? I’ve heard some strange things about this town.”