Chapter 4

          "Don’t let Paul bully you," Alicia advised over one shoulder as Kayla and Brigit obediently followed her down the nearest ramp, toward the gently waving trees. "We really couldn’t survive without him. But God bless his hyperactive little heart, he does need a heavy-duty lithium drip!"
          "Does he ever relax?" Brigit ventured, squinting against the bright afternoon sun. "I think it’d do him good."
          "It’d do him wonders," Alicia agreed with a chuckle. "Until filming’s done, though, don’t expect miracles. God knows how, but he seems to thrive on all that nervous tension.
          "Now, here’s your hut," she warned, stepping into the sultry shade. "I’m afraid it’s not the Ritz, but you should be able to move around inside, Kayla, even with that wheelchair. Our set crew had a great time cobbling together ramps so you can navigate around camp. They even rigged the door so you can open it from a distance," she added, pointing at a thick cord cleverly stretched between the door handle and the sturdy guard rail. "Give them a problem, they’ll find a way to solve it--and thank you for the challenge!"
          "It’s marvelous! So much more than I ever expected!" Kayla felt hot tears of gratitude begin to sting her eyes. Sternly she fought them back into submission. "Fortunately my chair folds up when I’m not using it, so we shouldn’t be too crowded."
          "Someone already brought in our bags and your laptop," Brigit observed, swinging the door open. The prefab hut was even smaller than her tiny apartment, merely a single room with long curtains strategically draped to hide a pair of beds and the portable bathroom facilities. Four plastic chairs ringed a battered table in the only open corner.
          To Kayla’s wondering eyes, it looked like the Presidential Suite.
          "Generally we all eat together on the beach," Allie explained. "But if you don’t feel like joining us, I’m sure I can wrangle a hotplate and some utensils from the cook."
          "Do the ramps extend that far?" Brigit turned to peer through the single window.
          "Of course. Jerry made sure you’ll have access to all the important areas. We may be roughing it in this little paradise you dreamed up," and her green eyes glittered with amusement, "but we know how to do it right. You even have electric power for your laptop. God only knows how you blackmailed Jerry into that!"
          Kayla grinned up at her. "He wants a sequel."
          Her ingenuous reply made Alicia laugh. "That figures!" she smirked. "Grab him by the wallet, and his heart and mind will follow!"
        Then she sobered again, and swept a hand around the small room. "Now, do you need help unpacking? I’m afraid we didn’t haul in much furniture, so hopefully these shipping crates will serve well enough for drawers. It’s only for a week."
          "They’re fine. I wouldn’t care if I was sleeping in a tent," Kayla assured her. "I’m here! That makes up for everything else!"
          Alicia studied her glowing expression, then slowly nodded. "Yes, I suppose it does," she murmured. "You’re a remarkable woman, Kayla Farrell."
          Kayla’s heart flip-flopped wildly in her chest. Alicia Huntington, Hollywood’s premiere leading lady, thought she was remarkable?
          "I really do have to hurry, or Paul will have twin kittens," Allie continued, smiling again as if that somber moment had never occurred. "But if you need anything, just give young Charlie a shout. He knows to keep an ear out for you."
          The compact hut seemed to vibrate with energy even after she glided out, and the screen door flapped closed behind her. Outside, the beach exploded into activity as she headed gracefully toward the makeup tent.
          For one crazy moment, Kayla wasn’t sure whether to laugh hysterically, or burst into confused tears. Brigit broke the silence first, giggling as she swept both arms out in a wide, ecstatic gesture. "Welcome to Paradise Island!" she warbled, spinning in a dizzy circle. "Welcome indeed! By all the saints above, darlin,’ we have arrived!"

• • • • • •

          It was oh, so tempting to head out onto the beach right away...to hover on the fringes and spy on techies racing around, shouting countermanding orders...to study how the cameramen angled gracefully back and forth on their flimsy-looking gantries. To savor perfection in motion as Troy MacAllister and Mariah Conners raced down the golden-white sand in hot pursuit of a deadly hit-man. Her deadly hit-man.
          But Kayla stubbornly choked back the longing, and concentrated on her glowing laptop screen. There would be time later to watch from the shadows. She didn’t want to alienate anyone by intruding too soon. And she did desperately want to record every single moment since their arrival, before the vivid memories faded.

          Neither of them are at all what I expected, she read, frowning over her rough notes as another keen jolt of disappointment saddened her. Who would have guessed that Alex Matthews could possibly be shy under that brash, confident exterior? I think he switched to Mac’s character right away because I made him nervous. I hate that.
          He has the most amazing eyes! Even more riveting in person than on TV. I’d swear you could sink right into them and drown, they’re so powerful. How could his ex-wife ever walk out on him? I never could understand that.
          If only I could have brought along my body brace. But of course that wasn’t possible, since Jamieson said we could only bring the barest essentials. Which is reasonable, considering our locale. Besides, Anthony would have twin kittens--to use Alicia Huntington’s expression--if sand mucked up his precious invention.
          The island is so beautiful! I think I could stay here forever! All the brochures and pictures I studied online didn’t come close to doing it justice. I still can’t believe Jamieson agreed to film the movie here. Is it because he was ‘catering to a cripple?’
          Or maybe Anthony had something to do with it. He swears he didn’t. But I saw that smile, when I told him Jamieson had signed the contracts. I wouldn’t put it past him to have ‘arranged’ something. He’s going to run through that trust fund before he’s thirty, at this rate!
          Maybe Jamieson will let something slip while I’m here, if I approach him just right.
         I don’t think he likes writers very much. Probably because he likes to create all the ideas himself. Writers must threaten him. So I wonder why he agreed to let me visit the set and watch the filming. It’s obvious, from the way he’s housing us, that he’s hoping to chase us away again fast.
          Won’t the surprise be on him when I stick out the entire week, despite everything? I’d stay longer if I could, crummy broken-down furniture and all. What an adventure this is going to be!
          Alicia is another surprise. She always seems so serious onscreen. It startles me every time she smiles or laughs. She reminds me a little of Grace Kelly, she has that same rare kind of timeless beauty. I’d always wondered if it was just good makeup, but seeing her in person, it’s obviously natural. Her skin is absolutely flawless, like creamy satin, even in this heat. The rest of us should be so lucky!
          Maybe I can learn some secrets from her makeup artist before we go home. Not that it’ll do me any good, until I can get out of this wheelchair.
          I really do wish we were going to be here longer. Alicia and I seem to have a lot in common. Given enough time, I think we could become friends. And that’s something I never even dared to dream about, before today.
          I wish Alex wasn’t so nervous around me, too. Until he became ‘Mac,’ he reminded me of Patrick, back when we first met. So shy, so unsure of himself. It’d be fun to draw him out of that shell.
          But what am I thinking of, he’s a world-famous actor. For all I know, he might really be just like Troy MacAllister’s character, and he was just trying out the shy routine for kicks, to see how I’d react. Who can tell, with actors? Every situation’s just a new stage to them.
          Which one is the real Alex Matthews? Or is he someone else entirely?
          Why does it matter so much to me?
          And what in the hell happened when I shook his hand? I’ve never felt anything like that before, not even the first time Patrick kissed me. ‘Mac’ is certainly a live wire on TV, but this is pushing things, even for him!
          Too many questions, and no answers. I hate that, too. I hope we’ll be here long enough for me to solve at least a few of the puzzles.
          Whatever happens...I know this will be a week I’ll carry with me for the rest of my life.

          As usual, her troubled rambling wandered, like a drunken Irishman, in aimless circles. But Kayla didn’t bother trying to organize her notes into coherent topics right now. It was enough that she’d jotted down her initial impressions, and voiced the haunting questions brimming in her mind.
          Brigit eagerly bounced off her cot as Kayla pressed the Save button. "Ready now?" she urged. "I can’t wait to see what they’re doing out there! It sounds like a mob scene!"
          Kayla swung her wheelchair away from the tiny table. "I told you not to wait," she chided. "You’re not here to dance attendance on me, Brig."
          The freckled redhead tossed her an unrepentant grin. "I’d only be gettin’ in their way, wantin’ to know how everything works. This way, we can share the experience. An’ that’ll be so much more fun!"
          "It’s bound to be an experience, all right," Kayla concurred, pushing the screen door open. "Ready to face the chaos?"
          "Whenever you are."
          She closed the door quietly, so it wouldn’t interrupt whatever was happening on the beach. But she needn’t have worried. The cast and crew were so involved in rehearsing their next scene, a three-way gun fight, that they wouldn’t have noticed bombs exploding at their elbows.
          Or so Kayla thought.
         Alex noticed. The moment she edged from the dappled shadows, he was achingly aware of her presence. She looked like a goddess sitting regally on her throne, he realized with a scowl. Or a mesmerizing wood nymph, with those wispy bangs and her silky shoulder-length hair trimmed into a charming pageboy curl.
          Late-afternoon sunlight glanced off the rippling ocean, and lit her eager face with dancing specks of white fire. He tried to ignore the fetching portrait she created, in her colorful calf-length skirt and ivory peasant blouse--and couldn’t stop wondering what her creamy soft skin tasted like. Or what his kid sister Marcy’s opinion would be of this enigmatic writer.
          Had there been more time, he might’ve considered flying Marcy in from the mainland. She always enjoyed visiting the "Bureau" sets, and he hadn’t seen his adorable twin nephews in nearly six months. By now they should be walking on their own...
          But Kayla Farrell was only going to be here for a week. No point in dragging Marcy halfway around the world for nothing.
          That damned anvil was back, slamming full-force into his gut again. And he didn’t like it one little bit. The last thing he needed was to get hung up over some spooky screenwriter. Even if she did look like something out of the latest Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Classic.
          Frowning, he deliberately turned away.
          Alicia slyly followed his sideways gaze, and hid a smile. For some reason she couldn’t quite identify, his covert interest was immensely satisfying. Maybe it was because she’d never seen him so flustered by anyone before. And she didn’t think Kayla’s wheelchair was the real issue.
          Flustered or not, he caught his cue, and the 9mm Glock she threw in his direction, with experienced ease. It took more than a pretty face to rattle him when the cameras were running. An atomic bomb might do it, she speculated with an inner chuckle as she dodged around vines and through clinging underbrush, firing blanks at the movie’s evil-hearted villain. But nothing short of that would ever faze him. Thank goodness!
          "Cut!" Paul’s bellow drew her up short, and she tucked her own weapon back into its protective leather holster. "That’s a wrap! Nice job, people!"
          The bad guy slid to a stop, hooked an arm around the nearest palm tree to reverse direction, and cheerfully trotted back toward the bustling makeup tent. "So when do I get to meet this sadistic genius who brought me back to life?" he quipped, clapping Alex on the shoulder.
          Tommy Anders’ loathsome character, Bryce Spencer, had been shot, and presumed killed, at the beginning of their fifth season. But Kayla had written in a plausible way for him to survive, and recuperate in hiding. Allie liked Tommy just as much as she despised his onscreen character, and was glad Kayla had brought him back.
          Before Alex could slip away, she angled closer, and blithely hooked an arm around each man’s waist. "Guard your heart," she chuckled, beaming up at Tommy. "She’s a looker!"
          "No one could outshine you, Allie!" he vowed, dramatically laying his free hand over his heart. Then he stopped dead, and stared across the beach in stunned wonder. "But my God, she sure comes close!"
          Alex scowled again. Wasn’t it bad enough that Kayla Farrell was disrupting their tight schedules with this unwelcome visit? Did she have to captivate every man in the camp? Even young Charlie Watkins, and Jerry--who was hardened enough to know better--were hovering nearby, intently listening as she related something amusing in that low, sensual voice of hers.
          Hell, Jerry was just trying to be polite, he reminded himself. As much as that crusty old bastard was capable of politeness. Of course he wasn’t really falling under her spell! Make her feel welcome for the duration, let her see everything possible--as long as it didn’t interfere with his precious filming. Then boot her out again without a trace of remorse. That was Jerry, right down to the core.
          As for Charlie, he’d been temporarily reassigned as Kayla’s aide. Keep her out of trouble, help out where he could, and basically dance attendance on her. Make her feel warm and fuzzy. Or whatever writers felt. God knew he’d never been able to figure them out.
          The hard knot in his chest eased slightly--until Tommy surged forward, his dark eyes aglow with rapt enthusiasm.
          "For God’s sake, Anders, act your age," he muttered in a disgruntled tone.
         Tommy flashed him a brilliant smile. "I have a pulse and a Y chromosome. How else should I act?" he protested.
          "She’s in a wheelchair, you idiot!" Alex felt his nerves clutch again at the mere thought of that hated device, and the gruesome events that had forced her into it.
          Tommy’s return glance was genuinely baffled. "So? That doesn’t make her any less attractive--or any less talented," he pointed out. "Look at Stephen Hawking!" Then a mischievous grin curved his lips. "The way I see it, a wheelchair’s a definite advantage! She can’t run away from me!"
          Allie rolled her eyes in mock-disgust. "If your pick-up lines haven’t improved since Season Five, she’ll beat you over the head with it!"
          That, Alex had to admit, was a sight he’d rather enjoy seeing. Not because he held any kind of personal grudge against Tommy. Despite their onscreen animosity, they were good friends behind the camera. But the sight of their local Casanova being walloped by a mere slip of a girl in a wheelchair--that did provide an amusing mental image!
          "Knock yourself out," he drawled, sweeping into a generous half-bow of invitation. "But don’t say you weren’t warned!"
          Kayla watched their mocking byplay from her perch near the tent, and stifled a keen pang as Alex purposely turned away. There were so many questions she wanted to ask him about the filming, about his character, that would help her refine her new script. If only he wasn’t so uncomfortable around her!
          Suffering a bit of hero worship there, aren’t you, luv? Patrick’s amused whisper echoed in her mind. I think you just want to be near him, regardless of your script. Don’t worry, he’ll come around soon enough. Just give him some time.
          Time was the one thing she didn’t have. In six short days, she’d be back on the helicopter, bound for home again.
          So...she’d better make every moment count. And she’d wanted to meet Tommy Anders ever since he’d first been introduced to the show. He was like J.R. Ewing, the bad guy you loved to hate. His innocent, youthful appearance only made the contrast more intriguing. What woman could possibly resist those big dark puppy-dog eyes, even when he was waving a gun in MacAllister’s angular face?
          She pasted a welcoming smile on her face, and greeted him so enthusiastically that Allie, who was watching nearby, decided she should have been an actress herself.
          Alex spared Tommy one last derisive look, then turned toward his own snug hut.
          "Hey, Mac!" Allie cheerfully caught him up, and hooked an arm through his. "Buy me a drink, soldier?" It was an old private joke, and one that had never failed to cheer him before. "I hear the boss shipped in three cases of Mountain Dew specially for the occasion!"
          Alex hesitated, debating. He survived well enough on bottled water and Pepsi, but every man had his weaknesses.
          "Come on, Alex," she added in a low warning voice. "Kayla came here to see you. And it’s only for a week. You can handle that long standing on your head. Even if she is a cripple."
          "Don’t call her that!" The very word inspired horrible images of gushing blood and missing limbs. Alex, who had never suffered a serious illness or injury in his life, found it impossible to equate Kayla’s stunning beauty with grim hospital vistas. "She’s not mangled or ugly."
          "She is in a wheelchair," Allie prodded, encouraged by his instinctive denial.
          "That doesn’t make her a cripple. And I’m not avoiding her. I was just--looking for my script. I left it in my hut," he muttered, glancing away.
          "You left it inside the makeup tent. Where you always leave it." Smug, Allie turned him back toward Kayla and Brigit, and gave him a subtle nudge. "Chin up, Mac. Camera’s rolling."
          He’d never walked away from a camera, or such a blatant challenge, in his entire life. Fire sparkled in his eyes as he straightened, and stalked back toward the techies milling eagerly around Kayla Farrell.
          She’d come to see Mac...and Mac she would see.
          It was only for a week.