Intimate (24 page)

It was a long time before he fell asleep.

*   *   *

Late Monday afternoon, after a long day shooting the first of the winery commercials for Fletch, Kaz slipped into a comfortable pair of yoga pants, a faded crop top, and her flip-flops for the short walk home. Their first day had been at a gorgeous restaurant less than six blocks from the house she shared with Lola and Mandy.

Fletch had paired her up with Tim Milbank, the model from Top End. Their chemistry was surprisingly good, and the entire day had been fun. Exhausting, but fun. Tomorrow's shoot was scheduled at a beautiful home on Ocean Beach.

She tucked the address into her bag and headed home. Walking by the coffee shop on the way, she spotted Mandy working inside. Kaz made a quick about-face and stepped through the door. The screech of tires and a cacophony of honking horns spun her around. Horrified, she watched an old pickup truck jump the curb and plow into the wall right where she'd been before she turned back to come into the shop.

Patrons inside the coffee shop scrambled to safety as the big, plate-glass window exploded, throwing glass around the room. Mandy screamed. Kaz yelled at her, “You okay?” Mandy nodded, and Kaz raced out of the shop to check on the driver.

Half a dozen cars were scattered about the street, but no one appeared to be hurt. Just as Kaz reached the truck, the driver climbed out through the shattered windshield and took off running. Within seconds he reached the far side of the road and disappeared down an alley.

“Wow.” Mandy and all the patrons in the shop had come outside to watch. “He just missed you.”

“I know.” Kaz stared after the kid, long gone now. That had been way too close for comfort, and reminiscent of that night in Healdsburg just last week. A cold chill swept over her arms.

A police car arrived. The officer got out and directed traffic around the truck. Kaz stepped back inside the shop and helped Mandy clean up the broken glass, while the shop owner called about repairs. After the bulk of the mess was cleared away, Kaz took a seat by the wide-open window where she could watch the excitement. Mandy brought her a caffè mocha and took the seat across from her.

“My shift's over,” she said, sipping her latte. “That was too damned close for comfort. Seconds, Kaz. Two seconds and you'd have been squashed like a bug.” She shook her head. “I wonder what made him lose control?”

Kaz shrugged. “It's probably stolen. He didn't look old enough to drive. He sure didn't hang around for long.” She sipped her mocha, thinking of last Tuesday night, of the car bouncing off the light pole, Jake pulling her to safety.

She finished the coffee, took Mandy's empty, and then got up and carried the mugs to the counter. A tow truck was hooking up to the pickup as she and Mandy stepped outside. The policeman was writing his report, using the hood of his cruiser like a desk.

Kaz stopped beside him. “Any idea who it was?”

The cop raised his head, but before he could speak, Mandy said, “He almost hit Kaz. It was like he was aiming for her.”

He straightened and took a closer look at Kaz. “Is she right? Do you think it was intentional? Something more than an accident?”

She shook her head. “No. Not really. It was just too close for comfort. I don't think he was very old, more like a kid, but I didn't get a good look.”

“The truck was reported stolen last night. Probably just out joyriding.” He gave her another appraising glance. “I'm glad you're okay.”

“Thanks. Me, too.” She turned to Mandy. “C'mon. Let's get home.”

Later that evening, she picked up her phone to call Jake. Stared at it, and said, “Funny thing happened today, Jake. I almost got squashed when a truck skipped the curb.”

And then what?
She put the phone down. There really wasn't anything to report—it was a skinny kid driving this time, not the same man from Healdsburg, so all the call would accomplish would be to worry Jake for nothing.

The rest of the week turned out to be so busy, the “almost getting squashed” incident lost importance, as Fletch had her take on a larger speaking role in what turned out to be an entire series of commercials he was filming. The days sped by while she and Tim worked on the neat sets Fletch lined up. The spots grew more involved as Fletch took advantage of the chemistry between Tim and Kaz. He expanded their speaking parts, turning the short commercials into mini-stories filled with a gentle humor Kaz found really appealing.

They spent a couple of days at the house near Ocean Beach and then filmed in Golden Gate Park. That shoot required an impromptu picnic on a red tablecloth—carefully orchestrated—that reminded Kaz much too much of the most exquisite lovemaking ever in the vineyard in Dry Creek Valley with Jake.

Everything she did reminded her of Jake, but she couldn't bring herself to call him.

Instead, she lay awake for hours each night, thinking of him. Missing his long, strong body beside hers, his soft, sexy laughter, his amazing kisses.

Missing Jake.

*   *   *

Late Friday night, Jake sat in his darkened office, still going through the pictures of Kaz. It was impossible, choosing the best of the best, because every single shot was pure gold, but at least he'd managed to send a half-dozen stellar shots to Marc's art department for posters for the launch. He had to get his ass in gear, though. Marcus Reed wanted to see more.

Reed was thinking long-term with Kaz.

Jake had delivered enough shots for the printed booklets to Marc a couple of days ago, and then had had the pleasure of standing beside his friend while the man exclaimed over the perfection of Jake's model. He'd loved everything about the photos showcasing his jewelry.

It only hit Jake later that, as the photographer, he'd been more proud of Kaz than of the pictures he'd taken. It was impossible to get a bad shot of her. Absolutely impossible.

His phone chimed. He was expecting a text from Marc and welcomed the chance to interrupt his depressing musings about Kaz. He grabbed the phone off the charger, glanced at the screen, and a chill raced up his spine.

Fanboy
. Fuck.

Hey, RJ! Had a good week? I'm glad one of us has. Figured out who I am yet? We go back a long way. You're a smart boy—make that a smart-ass. You'll figure it out.

Another text came through. Marc. He was obviously still awake. Jake called him. Marc answered immediately. “What's up?”

“I got another text from the bastard. Any info on who it is?”

“That's why I'm calling you. Heard back from my head of security. Bill says he's using burner phones—no way to trace them. You buy them cheap with prepaid minutes, use them, and then toss them. He could be anyone, anywhere.”

“Crap.” He'd been counting on Marc. He ended the call after answering a couple of questions Marc had about the ad campaign, and realized he was staring at Kaz's image on his computer once again.

Damn, but he missed her. He'd picked up the phone to call her too many times, and like the coward he was, set it back down again. It sounded clichéd, but he just wanted to hear her voice, make sure she was okay, that Fletcher was treating her well. He wondered what actor or model she'd been paired with—was it someone she could laugh with? Someone she liked?

Someone without a lifetime of baggage weighing him down?

He ran his finger over her image on the screen, and it felt almost as if she turned to look at him, her dark eyes condemning him for the idiot he was. But what other way could he have handled it? The truth would end any chance he might have of Kaz ever loving him. Hell, did he even know the truth anymore?

His entire adult life had been spent denying what he'd done, who he'd been, and now his worst nightmare was coming true. Someone had found him, someone who, for whatever reason, was doing his best to drive Jake nuts. But why?

Kaz didn't know Jake at all. She only knew the person he'd allowed her to see.

That guy was a bigger jerk than R. J. Cameron had ever been.

*   *   *

Fletch had them working through the weekend, taking advantage of a high-end hotel suite that had opened up due to a cancellation. The dresses Kaz had been asked to wear, designed by the owner's girlfriend, had had to be modified to look even remotely attractive, and Tim's critique of each outfit had her fighting the giggles through too many shots. Even Fletch had gotten into the teasing, but after seven straight days of filming, they were all a little punchy.

“Okay, kids. That's it for today.” Fletch rubbed his hands together and grinned like a little kid. “Tomorrow, AT&T Park by seven. That's seven in the morning, children. There's a game at one, but we've got the Hall of Fame Suite for two hours pregame for filming. Kaz? My gift to you? You may choose your own outfit.”

She gave him a magnanimous bow. “You are too kind. Sounds like a skinny jeans, poet's shirt day for me.”

“Do it in orange and black and we're good to go.”

“You promoting the Giants or the wine, Fletch?” Tim Milbank carefully settled his orange and black cap on his perfectly styled blond hair.

“Both. We get the box for free as long as my models dress ‘appropriately.' So dress appropriately, okay?” He sent them off laughing.

Tim walked with her as far as the Muni station. They'd developed a closer friendship working together during the past hectic week than they'd ever had at Top End. She'd miss him when this job ended. She'd almost told him about Jake—Tim would understand—but something kept her from saying anything.

He gave her a quick hug before his train arrived. “I've had fun this week,” he said, echoing Kaz's thoughts. “But I want to tell you before you hear it from anyone else. I'm leaving Top End. Fletch offered me a spot in a pilot he's filming for an investment group that wants to break into the cable TV market.”

“Tim! That's wonderful. But you'll have to tell me more about it tomorrow. Your train's pulling in.” She sent him off with a quick kiss and crossed to the platform to wait for her ride.

The light rail cars were just pulling in when something hit her hard from behind.

Kaz screamed and tumbled toward the tracks.

A strong arm wrapped around her waist, jerking her out of the path of the train so quickly she slammed back onto her rescuer, knocking both of them to the raised platform, mere seconds ahead of the oncoming train.

Gasping, sucking air as if she'd run a mile, she slowly rolled away from her rescuer, dragging in deep breaths. People moved past and around them, boarding and exiting the train, but Kaz was barely aware of the activity. She focused on the man who'd saved her, noted skin the color of dark chocolate, black sweats, and a sleeveless T-shirt showcasing more muscles than she could recall seeing on any single body.

“Thank you. Ohmygod.” On hands and knees, she dragged in another breath before she was able to turn, sit on her butt, and hang her head between her upraised knees. “You saved my life.” She swallowed, shuddering. “Thank you. Did you see who pushed me?”

He stood slowly, shaking his head. “Not sure. You were the tallest in the crowd. I was on your left, heard you scream, saw you jerk forward. Thought at first you'd stumbled, but a guy took off, running like hell, the train was coming … didn't look real good.” He chuckled as he took her hand and helped her to her feet. “One of those split-second decisions: chase the ugly white dude or be a hero and rescue the gorgeous woman from certain death. The woman won.”

“And I do appreciate that.” She brushed her hair back from her eyes. “Did you get a good look at him?”

“Not really. Average height, white guy, maybe dark hair, but he was wearing a hoodie. I couldn't see his face. Security cameras might have something. I'd say report it to security, have them check.”

Kaz glanced at the empty tracks. Her train had come and gone. She was still shaking. “Can I buy you a cup of coffee? Or a drink? I owe you big time.”

“You don't owe me a thing. I'm glad I could help, and if I didn't have a beautiful wife and an even prettier brand-new baby boy home waiting for me, I'd take you up on your offer.”

Smiling, she held out her hand. “Kaz Kazanov, and I am truly in your debt.”

“Martin Jackson.” He shook her hand. “Now you be careful. That guy who pushed you? He's either crazy as a loon or he has it in for you. Keep your eyes open.”

She was still thinking of Martin's comment when she caught the train a while later. She'd left a brief report with the security officer working in another part of the station. He'd missed the incident, but she told him about what had happened, that she'd been rescued by a quick-thinking fellow passenger, and left her contact info in case they were able to ID the guy.

She didn't mention the car in Healdsburg or the truck at the coffee shop, but still, three strange incidents in less than two weeks was a bit too much to be coincidental.

When she finally got home, Mandy met Kaz at the front door with a glass of wine. “How'd your day go?”

Kaz took the wine and drank about half of it down. Mandy stared at her while she swallowed. “That bad, eh?”

“You don't know the half of it. Is Lola home?”

“I'm here.” Lola stepped out of the kitchen. “You're late. You usually beat me home. What's up?”

Kaz led them into the kitchen, reached into the refrigerator for the wine bottle, and refilled her glass before taking a seat at the table. “Okay, I told you about the guy who almost hit me in Healdsburg, and Mandy was there when the pickup truck hit the wall where I'd been standing. Today, some jerk shoved me in front of a Muni train.”

“What?”

“Who?”

Kaz laughed. Sitting in her familiar kitchen, none of this felt real. “What I said, and I don't know who. I didn't see him. The train was coming, and someone hit my lower back—it felt like he used his shoulder—hard enough to launch me off the platform. Then the biggest dude I ever saw snatched me out of the way before I fell.” She took another, slower, sip of her wine. “He said he had a split second to decide—chase down the ugly white dude or rescue the beautiful woman.” She tapped her chest. “That would be me, of course.”