Authors: Patricia Sargeant
You Belong To Me (33 page)
Malcolm shifted in his chair. He looked around the table in his company's conference room. He couldn't believe he was playing host to both Omar Carter and Nathan Rutherford. Tyrone must be spinning in his grave.
“I thought you two hated each other,” Nathan asked with his usual lack of tact. “What makes you think you can work together?”
The question was directed toward Omar. Malcolm waited with interest to hear his temporary partner's response to this very revealing question.
Omar chuckled. “Who says I have to like the guy to work with him?”
Malcolm groaned inwardly. He started to step in when Omar continued. “I don't hate Mal. I've never hated him. I admire his work. He's very talented.”
Malcolm was taken aback at Omar's sincere tone. “I have a lot of respect for Omar's abilities as well.”
“I never said I respected you, partner. Let's not get carried away.” Omar winked.
Malcolm smiled, getting used to Omar's sense of humor. Maybe this interview wouldn't be so bad.
Nathan turned to Malcolm. “Does that mean you're intending to replace Tyrone with Omar?”
Malcolm stiffened. He'd been too hasty in adjusting his opinion of the interview. He took a moment to temper his response. “No. I'm not looking for a replacement.”
Omar jumped in. “No one could replace Ty. I wouldn't even try. He was a genius. But a project of this size requires two people to handle its production.” His chuckle sounded a bit forced. “Steven Spielberg couldn't handle it on his own.”
“Why would you sign up for this project, Omar?” The reporter changed gears. “Scandal and death are associated with this production. Suppliers are jumping ship. Why are you climbing on board?”
“I believe in this project.” Omar spoke with firm sincerity. “It's successful on paper. It'll be a success at the box office, too.”
Malcolm decided on a more direct approach. “Someone doesn't want us to make this movie. For whatever reason.”
Omar quirked a brow but didn't try to rein Malcolm in as he described the threats and attacks against Nicole.
Nathan wrote furiously. “That's where the real story is.”
“If you want to put it that way.” Malcolm's tone was dry.
Nathan continued scribbling even as he spoke. “You two are competitors who are now joining forces. Do you think these threats are coming from another competitor?”
“We don't know who's behind these threats,” Omar said. “They're written as though a fan sent them.”
“But whoever it is, we want them to know nothing is going to derail this project. We're moving for ward.”
Nathan looked up from his reporter's notebook. He gave Malcolm a challenging stare. “One person has already died. From what you've said, Nicole almost did. Aren't you afraid?”
“What I am is determined. I own the movie rights to this project, and Omar and I are going to produce it.”
“No matter what happens?” Nathan pushed.
“Right,” Malcolm confirmed.
“No matter what,” Omar echoed, capturing Malcolm's gaze.
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“I'm glad you both came.” Nicole clasped Malcolm's hand and smiled at his partner.
Omar glanced dubiously around the walk-in-closet-sized guest dressing room in the
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L.A.
studio. “I'm looking forward to watching the taping.”
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L.A.
studio. “I'm looking forward to watching the taping.”
“That makes one of us,” Nicole joked weakly.
Malcolm squeezed her hand. “You'll be great.”
“Have you ever been interviewed on television before?” Omar asked, flipping through a magazine he'd found on a corner table.
“No,” Nicole admitted.
“Well, don't worry about it. No one ever listens to those interviews, anyway. Especially not morning show interviews.” Omar looked up from the glossy pages. “All they really care about is what you're wearing and how you look. And, honey, you look marvelous.” He stretched out the last word in a poor Latin accent.
Nicole laughed. Glancing at Malcolm, she saw him smile as well. She was glad the two men were getting along.
A make-up artist/stylist had just left. The young man had tidied her hairstyle and applied the television make-up. The guest dressing room was so small that, while the stylist was fussing over Nicole, Omar and Malcolm had waited outside.
Now, the quarters were a bit cramped while the two men kept her company. Omar sat sideways on a cushioned bench so no one would trip over his long legs. Malcolm leaned against the vanity table while Nicole perched on a stool, her knees tucked between his thighs.
“Well, this is cozy.” A strong female voice interrupted. Nicole turned to see Denise squeezing into the room behind her and settling into the last free space.
“Denise. I can't believe it,” Nicole said, startled. She popped gingerly off the stool and squeezed her way over to the newcomer, wrapping her in a tight embrace. “I can't believe you came. Thank you.”
“Girl, you should have known I wouldn't miss this. But I have to say, I thought it never rained in Southern California?” She swiped at droplets of water on her blazer. “It's pouring out there.”
“We get the occasional weather patterns, just to keep us on our toes,” Malcolm said.
Nicole shifted until she faced Malcolm and Omar.
“Omar Carter, I'd like you to meet Denise Maitland, my agent and best friend.”
“You remember that, girl. Diamonds aren't a girl's best friend. Agents are,” Denise joked before roaming her gaze over Omar from the tip of his Italian leather shoes to his Bill Blass suit to his salon-cut hair.
Omar stood and extended his hand. “It's a pleasure to meet you, Denise.”
“The pleasure's all mine, cowboy,” Denise purred as she caressed Omar's hand. The long, slow gaze she slid over his lanky frame made Nicole blush.
She interrupted her agent's optical foreplay. “Denise, I'm sure you remember Mal.”
Her agent pulled her gaze from Omar. She leaned forward to take Malcolm's outstretched hand. “I'm very sorry about Ty. He was a class act.”
Malcolm took her hand. “Thank you for the flowers you sent to his funeral service. They meant a lot to me and to Ty's family.”
Denise nodded, then turned back to Nicole. “Why don't you sit back down, honey? That'll give us more room in here.”
Nicole slid back onto the stool.
“That's better,” Denise continued. “Now let me get a look at you. Turn into the light.”
Denise moved so Nicole's face was in the light, and her back was to Omar. She bent over awkwardly to study Nicole's hair and make-up.
“You look great. Just a little too much forehead.” Denise used her pink-tipped fingernails to adjust Nicole's hair. “Much better.”
Denise stepped back, then came up short. She straightened and brushed a hand across her hips. Looking over her shoulder, she cocked an eyebrow at Omar. “Is that your knee, cowboy, or are you just happy to see me?” She stroked the tip of her tongue over her blush-tinted lips.
Omar's startled expression prompted a coughing fit from Malcolm. Nicole shook her head, used to Denise's ploys with attractive men. But she didn't feel a need to protect Omar. She was certain once he caught a bead on her, Omar would give back to Denise and more.
“When are you going back to New York?” Nicole asked her agent.
“My flight leaves at eleven tomorrow morning.”
Malcolm conquered his coughing jag. “Where are you staying tonight?”
Denise moved aside so her back wasn't to Omar any longer. “I've booked a room in a nearby hotel.”
“Why don't you stay with us?” Malcolm offered.
Denise smiled with surprised pleasure. “Thank you for the offer, but I don't want to impose.”
“It's not an imposition,” Malcolm insisted. “I have a spare room.”
“Or you can stay with me,” Omar suggested. “I have a spare pillow.”
Nicole smiled. It seemed Omar had taken Denise's measure.
“Perhaps you should slow down, cowboy.” Denise winked. “I may be too much woman for you.”
Omar laughed. Denise's gaze lingered on him again before returning to Nicole and Malcolm.
“Excuse me.” Malcolm struggled with another coughing fit. “I'm going to get more water.” He grabbed the pitcher and slipped out of the room.
Nicole checked her purse under the vanity. “I forgot my cover flats in Malcolm's car. The host asked to use them as props.” She spotted Malcolm's keys on the vanity. “I'll be right back.”
“Oh, hold up, girlfriend.” Denise moved to block her on the stool. “I'll get them. I don't want you going out into the rain before your interview and messing up your appearance.”
Nicole hesitated. “Are you sure?”
Denise extended her hand for the car keys. “Of course. Where are you parked?”
Nicole told her where to find Malcolm's car in the parking lot. She also described his vehicle and where'd she'd placed the book cover flats. “Take my coat so you don't get too wet.”
Denise shrugged into Nicole's brown trench coat. “I'll be right back.”
“Thanks. I owe you,” Nicole called as Denise left on her quest.
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Malcolm headed back to the guest dressing room after an unsuccessful search for a water fountain. From the other end of the hall, he heard hysterical screaming. Clutching the empty pitcher like a weapon, he sprinted toward the sound and found a crowd gathering around a young woman.
“Our guest! Our guest!” the woman screamed. “Someone ran her over in the parking lot.”
Shock quaked through him. The empty plastic pitcher dropped from his numb hand. In the split second before his body went into fight-or-flight-mode, a dozen thoughts flooded his mind, all centered on the woman he loved more than life. Nicole was in trouble. Nicole was hurt. Nicole was dying. His mind rebelled from that thought. Fury and rage denied its possibility.
Malcolm muscled through the crowd until he cleared a path to the entrance. His anxious gaze searched the parking lot as prayers tumbled over and across his mind.
Please, God, don't take her from me. Not now that she's with me again. Not ever. Please, God.
His heart stopped, and his prayers were silenced when he saw the heap of clothing sprawled across the asphalt like discarded rags. Damaged book cover flats were scattered around it.
Please, God, don't take her from me. Not now that she's with me again. Not ever. Please, God.
His heart stopped, and his prayers were silenced when he saw the heap of clothing sprawled across the asphalt like discarded rags. Damaged book cover flats were scattered around it.
Tears burned Malcolm's eyes. He forced himself to move forward, toward the brown trench coat he'd helped Nicole put on that morning. He dropped to his knees beside her and tenderly turned her limp body over. Confusion froze him as he gazed down at Denise's bloodied, battered face. Shaking off his surprise, he searched for a pulse in her neck, her throat, her shattered wrists. Nothing.
“Denise!” Nicole screamed behind him.
Malcolm rose and turned in one movement, his first thought to protect Nicole from the sight of her friend's lifeless body. He wanted now more than ever to keep her safe from everyone and everything. Even at the cost of his own life.
He stepped toward her. “No, baby, stay back.”
Nicole didn't seem to hear him. She raced toward Denise. Malcolm moved to intercept her. He grabbed her hurtling body. Wrapping one arm around her waist, he buried her face in his chest. Nicole beat at his shoulders, crying hysterically.
“Where is she? Denise! Denise!” Her voice was wet with tears.
Malcolm held Nicole closer, his heart breaking for her. “Oh, baby. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. She's gone.”
“No!” Nicole screamed. She stopped struggling and gripped his shoulders as though to keep from falling off a cliff.
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Nicole had no idea how long they'd stood outside, Malcolm holding her while she'd bawled. Omar had joined them. She hadn't wanted to believe Denise was dead, but Malcolm and Omar had verified her friend no longer had a pulse. Nicole had asked them to bring Denise's body into the building, but they had reminded her that moving the body would compromise the crime scene. She didn't want to do anything that would hamper the police's search for her friend's murderer.
Tears still streamed down her cheeks, but she had regained some of her composure as they returned to the television station. Her body trembled, but she wouldn't fall, not with Malcolm's arms to support her.
The trio stopped in front of a pale and shaking young woman, who someone had identified as the accident's lone witness. She sat holding a glass of water and wadded tissues. A curtain of straight, mouse-brown hair shielded her face. The talk-show host knelt before her, and an older gentleman stood nearby directing people in preparation for the police's arrival.
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