His Every Defense (6 page)

“Because I might need to use it,” he said, watching the road. “We’ll see if this guy is serious or not.”

“You’re scaring me,” she said.

“I’m protecting you.”

Kallie looked behind her, out the back windshield. What she saw was a tan SUV, probably five or six yards behind them.

“Is it the car right behind us?”

“Yup. I saw it on the drive to the restaurant, but I thought maybe I was imagining things. Being paranoid.”

“Maybe you were.”

He shook his head. “Then, when we started coming home, the exact same car was right behind us again. There’s no way it’s a coincidence now.”

“Could it be Detective Phillips?”

“I don’t think so.” He slowed down drastically, and the car slowed down behind them.

Kallie was shaking. Any moment, she thought, shots would start ringing out and glass would shatter. She didn’t want to die out here. She didn’t want to be killed today.

Hunter had his handgun at the ready. He slowed down to a complete stop on the right hand side of the road.

The car behind them stopped as well and waited, as if malevolent, seeming to mock their fear and hesitation.

“I’m getting out,” Hunter said, starting to open his door.

“No, please.” She grabbed his arm and tried to hold him back. “Please, I have a bad feeling. Don’t go out there.”

The SUV was still sitting there, no movement at all. Its windows were tinted and so it was impossible to see who was in the car. It was like some evil futuristic machine, Kallie thought. Just looking at it made her feel ill.

“Fine, let’s just go. I’m not playing anymore games,” he said, about to put his car in drive again.

But suddenly the other vehicle roared to life, heading for them at a high rate of speed. “Shit!” Hunter yelled, throwing his arms over Kallie to protect her from the inevitable collision.

However, the impact never came. At the last moment, the SUV swerved around them and shot by, pausing once to issue a loud series of beeps and then continuing down the road. Eventually, it disappeared out of sight.

Kallie was shaking and crying, partly out of fear and partly out of relief. A moment later, Hunter put the gun back in its secret compartment.

“Who was that?” she said.

“I think we know who it was.”

“Should we report it to the police?”

He just laughed. “You know how that’ll go. They’ll probably think we’re making it all up because I’m trying to cover my own ass.”

“This is awful. I don’t want to be looking over my shoulder the rest of my life.”

Hunter leaned across the seat and hugged her, kissing her forehead. He smelled like cologne and fresh soap. His warm, strong embrace enveloped her and made her feel safer.

“You don’t have to look over your shoulder, Kallie. I’m going to take care of this. Just give me some time.”

“I don’t know,” she whispered. “I have a terrible feeling. I feel like something horrible is about to happen.”

“It’s not. They’re gone. Nobody’s going to hurt you again, as long as I’m here.”

***

Over the next few days, things slowly returned to normal—or, as normal as anything ever could be, given the fact that Hunter was seemingly preoccupied with whatever he was writing in his study, and Kallie was left to her own devices.

The fear that had been so strong and all pervasive when the strange car had followed them from the restaurant—slowly dwindled away to almost nothing.

As the hours turned into days, it was the boredom that Kallie found most problematic. Boredom that was broken up only occasionally—once when Nicole and Red and baby Riley came for a short visit, and another time when Hunter emerged from his study long enough to cook dinner and watch a movie with her.

But other than that, Kallie found herself with not much to do except watch TV

and read the endless mountain of scripts that Hunter had given her access to.

What had started off as a fun and exciting diversion, had now become something of a dreary routine. After a few days, Kallie was used to picking up a fresh new screenplay, grabbing her trusty pen, and going through page after page of drivel.

She was starting to understand why Hunter had been avoiding this task for so long.

Initially, reading these things had been interesting, different. Occasionally there would be a storyline that she found somewhat entertaining. But as time wore on, they all began blending into one another and the scripts themselves started to seem formulaic and trite and dull.

Kallie started rolling her eyes, making comments about clichés in the margins, and writing searing commentary on the back page that told of all the wrong steps that had been made in the creation of such bland work.

She was burning out.

The problem was, there was not much else to do. Hunter was spending more and more time in his study, ostensibly writing—whatever it was, he certainly had no intention of telling Kallie what he was up to.

He would emerge from time to time, after hours and hours in his cave, in order to make himself a cup of coffee, grab some water or take a bathroom break—perhaps occasionally to eat a quick meal.

During these brief interludes, Kallie tried to make conversation with him, ask him about how he was feeling, even trying to discuss the weather.

Hunter seemed distracted, moody, distant—and almost angry. He wasn’t really angry, or at least he never said anything outright rude to her. But Kallie could tell that he was in some other place, and that despite him being with her for the moment, he was already back in that other place in his mind, and was just waiting for his body to do its business and follow suit.

At night, he would come to bed at around eleven or midnight, after taking a brief shower, and crash onto the mattress beside her.

He’d hug her, give her a kiss, make a little joke, and then moments later he’d be snoring softly.

When she awoke in the morning, he would invariably already be up and out of bed, and by the time she got downstairs, there’d be a full pot of coffee brewed and Hunter would be typing away in his office.

After a few days of this routine, Kallie woke up in a very bad mood. She had a headache, she was groggy, she was annoyed.

She grabbed her crutches and hobbled downstairs and poured herself a cup of coffee. She frowned as she drank it alone at the kitchen table, glancing through the pages of the newest issue of The New York Times, barely seeing the articles in front of her.

Checking the clock, she saw it was only just after seven in the morning, which meant she had fifteen or sixteen hours left to kill, and not much to look forward to.

Sighing, she crutched down the hall to the dreaded script closet.

As she opened the door and glanced at the pile of screenplays, a little voice in her head, spoke:

You can leave. Go back to Nicole and Red’s house.

She knew it was true. They would welcome her back with open arms, and she’d be safe there, with all that security at the front gate.

But that would mean telling Hunter she didn’t enjoy staying with him. It might mean a deathblow to their relationship. How could they ever truly be together if she was this dispirited after less than a week spent in his company?

Kallie told herself to give it more time. Once her ankle healed, she’d be more mobile and…and what? She thought, grabbing a new script and tucking it under her arm.

What would she do around the house when she had two good legs? She might even go crazier. There was nothing to do and it was driving her nuts.

Hunter was off in his own little world, and he’d left her behind.

Not only that—he hadn’t even looked at the script coverage she’d done. All the screenplays she’d read were stacked in a neat new pile in the script closet. And even after she’d mentioned it to him a few times—Hunter had just grinned and said he’d get to her coverage “real soon.”

Which meant never.

Sighing and sighing again, Kallie went and plopped herself on the couch and started reading the newest screenplay. A buddy cop movie. Ugh. She’d already read a bunch of these, all the same, tired story told almost the same way.

She grabbed her pen and started making notes.

***

By the time evening rolled around, she was truly finished.

Hunter emerged from his writing cave for dinner, only this time he made himself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and started to head immediately back to his office.

Kallie followed him into the kitchen, only to find he was already leaving.

“Hey,” she said.

He turned, as if he hadn’t realized she was still even staying there. “Hey,” he said, sounding surprised.

“Aren’t we going to at least eat together?” she asked, trying to control the disappointment in her voice.

Hunter blew air out his mouth in a rush. “Kallie, I can’t stop just now. I’m—I’m kind of in the middle of something.”

“What?”

“What do you mean, what?”

“I mean, what are you in the middle of?”

He gave her a look and waved his sandwich around. “I don’t have time for this.

I’m busy. I’ve got a lot of work ahead of me and I don’t need to justify how I spend my time to you.”

“So I can’t even ask?”

His eyes bugged out of his head. “You asked. I don’t have to answer. There’s nothing that says I have to answer your every question.”

She laughed. “You don’t answer any of my questions.”

“That’s bullshit,” he said, waving the sandwich again.

“No it’s not.”

“What else haven’t I answered?”

“Do you really want me to go there?” she replied.

He paused, seemed to try and gather himself. “Look, I understand that I haven’t been very available lately, but I’ve got a lot of work to do.”

“Then maybe I should leave and let you get back to it. Nicole and Red would be happy to have me at the house again.”

Hunter’s eyes narrowed. “Listen, I want you to stay. I’ve tried to do the best I can to make this a comfortable place for you. I even let you read scripts because you said you wanted to help—“

“And then you refuse to even look at what I’ve done,” she said. “I’ve done coverage on dozens of screenplays and you just ignore all my work.”

He looked down and smirked. “It isn’t always about you,” he said softly. “Now, I really want to continue this conversation. But I need to—“

“Fine, just go. Just go eat your silly, floppy peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

Enjoy it,” she said, and then pivoted on her crutches and hobbled away from him.

She went back to her couch and sat down, her breast heaving as she breathed rapidly, her eyes darting around the room. Kallie was angry, she was furious. She was so sick of him acting like she didn’t have anything to contribute to his life.

It was as though he wanted her as an object to worship, to keep enshrined somehow—but not as a real partner in a real relationship.

It’s not fair, she thought.

She wondered if Scarlett ever had to deal with his attitude, or had he thought too much of her to put her through this kind of treatment.

Hunter never came in to check on her or to try and smooth things over.

She’d finished doing coverage on yet another terrible screenplay—maybe the worst one yet. Picking it up, she dragged herself back to that closet and opened the door.

The mountain of unread and uncared for scripts loomed larger than ever.

She almost was sick to her stomach, looking at it. She threw the latest one in the

“done” pile, the one Hunter would probably never so much as glance at.

Just stop already, she told herself. He doesn’t care, so why should you?

She knew there was no point to this exercise. It was futile, it wasn’t going anywhere, and it had stopped being fun days ago.

But what else was there to do? Perhaps tomorrow morning, she would call Nicole and arrange to be picked up and taken back to the house in Connecticut.

Grabbing another script, she slowly meandered to the couch and set her crutches down beside her, opening to the first page and taking out her trusty pen.

Gone was the enjoyment she’d felt when she’s started trying to help Hunter, gone was any thought of being entertained. The only thing left was her determination not to quit just yet.

And that’s when it happened.

Like magic, Kallie discovered that this script was different than all the others.

From almost the very first line, she was smiling. She was drawn in, enjoying the story from the beginning, her pen forgotten. There was no thought of writing comments in the margins, no thought given to complaints about clichés.

She was hooked.

It was a romantic comedy, but not a cheesy one. It was the kind of movie that guys would enjoy nearly as much or perhaps even more than women. Some of the humor was rough, a little dirty, but it was hysterical. Kallie found herself laughing out loud during some of it.

This was new. She couldn’t believe that she’d come across such a good piece of material in the stack of dreck Hunter had hidden away in his closet.

It was truly a diamond in the rough, she thought.

As the time ticked by, she waited to discover a problem, to find that something made the story less enjoyable. However, she found that as the story went on, she was becoming more invested.

In fact, when Hunter finally came out of his study to get ready for bed, she was still reading away.

He peered inside the room and saw her on the couch, reading.

“Everything okay?” he said, blinking tiredly.

“Yeah. Just caught up in this screenplay.” She wanted to say more, to rave about it, but one look at his face told her that now wasn’t the time.

“Good,” he said. “I’m hitting the shower. You coming to bed or staying up?”

“I guess I’ll stay up just a bit longer.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Okay, then.” He yawned. “I’ll see you in a while.”

And then he walked off.

She went back to reading, having decided that for now, she wouldn’t worry about Hunter or what his opinions might be.

Kallie simply wanted to know how this script was going to end.

And just after one in the morning, she finally finished it, and breathed a sigh of relief. This was really good. She’d found something that needed to be seen, needed to be made so that others could experience what she’d experienced when reading it.