Third Half (3 page)

             
"Don't worry M.C.," Liane had assured her.  "I may have to fly
all the way to L.A. to do it, but I'll find out what's going on."

             
Irritated, she finally tried the knob and found the door
unlocked.  Slowly she stepped into the room, glancing around the
outer office.  There didn't seem to be anyone around.  Across the
room, the door to the inner office was slightly ajar.  She assumed it
was the agent's personal office.  As she went further into the room she
thought she heard movement from inside the inner office.  "Hello,"
she called out loudly.

             
Everything was going wrong, the man thought as he sifted
through the heap of papers on the huge oak desk.  The plan that had
been put together so carefully had definitely gone awry.  The last thing
he expected when he came here this morning was this.

             
He ran his fingers roughly through his sandy-brown hair as he
glanced around the room.  Everything was as it should be.  Except one
thing, he looked at the body on the floor.  He knew it would take a medical examiner to tell exactly how long the body had been there,
but judging by the condition of the body, his guess was it wasn't that
long, an hour, maybe two. 

             
Maybe he'd find a clue here, he thought as he lifted the
appointment book, pausing as he heard a faint knock on the outside
door.  "Damn!" He muttered, hoping whoever it was would go away.

             
He heard another persistent knock, then a woman's voice from
inside the outer office. 
Why didn't I bolt the door?
  It took him only a
moment to close the gap between the desk and the door, skirting the
body laying in the middle of the room.

             
"Can I help you?" The tall, bearded man said as he stepped
through the doorway into the reception area, carefully closing the door
to the office behind him.  "Are you looking for someplace in
particular?" 
And why do you look so damn familiar?

             
"I am in the right office." Liane forced a smile, noting how this
man seemed different from any agent she had ever met.  Dressed in
his brown, leather flight jacket, he looked more like an outdoors man
than a man who spent most of his time behind a desk.  Even his voice
sounded different, warmer, deeper than it had seemed when she talked
to him on the phone the day before.

             
"What I'm wondering is if I have the right man?  I have an
appointment with Mr. Devereaux.  My producer, Martin Sloane, made
it for me, Ann Page."  She forced back a smile as she recalled Martin
quickly choosing a false name for her off a package of cookies.

             
"I see." The man glanced down at the appointment book still in
his hand.   "Yes, Ms. Page, referred by Martin Sloane. . . .  What can I
do for you?"  He crossed the room and placed the book on the
secretary's desk, then turned back to face his companion, hoping to get
rid of her as quickly as possible.

             
She bit her lip, remembering how irritated this man had been
on the phone the previous evening.  She suspected he'd be no less
gracious once she told him she was here under false pretenses.

             
"Excuse me, Miss . . ." the agent started.  "I'm really in a hurry. 
This is a Saturday."

             
"I'm well aware of what day it is," she snapped.  "I'll try not to
take too much of your time."  She reached into her purse and pulled
out the photograph of her brother and held it out to him.  "If you could
just tell me if you know this man, and if so where he might be, I'll let
you get back to your Saturday schedule."

             
He merely glanced at the photograph, then back at her.  "Sorry,
can't say I know this man."
So, that's who you are.

             
"Look again, closer," she persisted, shaking the photograph in
front of his face.  "His name is Jack Spencer . . ."

             
The man firmly grasped her hand and lowered it, looking into
her face instead of the photograph as she wanted.  "I think you should
try listening to what people tell you, Ms. Page . . ." 

             
"But Mr. Devereaux, I believe my brother is indeed one of
your clients.  Possibly under another name.   Please, just look at his
picture before you throw me out of here." She again held it right in
front of his face.

             
"I can't help you.  Now, if you'll please . . .  I was on my way
out." 
This is the last thing I need to complicate things further.

             
"No!" She stared at him in growing anger.  "Not until you take
a good look.  I promised my sister I'd make certain, before we take
further steps in trying to locate him."

             
Further steps.
That definitely got this attention.  He knew he
had to prevent that.  "Is there a particular reason you're going to such
great pains to find him?"

             
"He's our brother!"

             
"I see." He took the picture from her hand.   "Well, it seems to
me he may not want to be found just now.  Looks like a handsome
fellow . . ..  Probably off with a lady-friend someplace."

             
"Oh. . ." She sighed, her frustration accented by the creases on
her forehead.  "Please, trust me.  I have a good reason for being
worried about him."

             
"Ms. . . .Page,
please trust me.
You might be better off staying
out of things like this," the man said, holding her green gaze as he
spoke.  "This fellow in your picture here, looks far from a little boy
who would need a sister to chase after him.  I'm sure he's capable of
taking care of himself.

             
The agent's manner was annoying, adding fuel to Liane's
mounting anger.  She wouldn't stand for his condescending attitude. 
"Since you feel certain you don't know my brother, I suppose I'll have
to take your word," she said through clenched teeth as she reached
into her purse trying to find her cell phone. 

             
"That's a very bright idea."  His sarcasm was too obvious.

             
She bit back a retort trying for politeness instead. "I seem to
have left my cell phone at home.
  Would you mind if I use your
telephone?  I'm sure it's the least you can do for a stranger in your
city."

             
He nodded, stepping aside so she could reach the phone.

             
She dialed for information then immediately requested the
number of the National Actor's Guild, but before she could finish the
bearded man stepped forward and took the phone from her hand.

             
"I suggest you give up and take my advice," he stated firmly as
he grasped her by the shoulder.  His dark eyes bored right into her
blazing emerald ones.  "Leave things well enough alone."

             
"Who do you think you are?" She jerked out of his reach.  "I
don't take orders from you, or anyone, Mr. Devereaux.  I've come here
to find my brother, and I intend to do just that!  I won't be leaving
your fair city until I do!" she lied.

             
"In fact," she continued, fabricating a tale as she went.  "I've
booked a room for an indefinite amount of time.  So if you don't want
me to call the guild from here, fine.  I'll call from my hotel."

             
"I think you would be far better off . . ." the man started, but
Liane didn't listen as she rushed out the door.

             
"Damn," he groaned as he watched her leave. 
As if things
weren't bad enough, now I have to get her out of the picture
.  Slowly
he lifted the telephone and dialed
Nine, one, one
.

             
Outside, Liane stormed toward the corner, nearly falling as she
ran into a tall uniformed man.  "Oh damn!"  she grumbled as the
contents of her purse spilled to the sidewalk.

             
"Here, let me help," the young officer said as he knelt down
beside her.

             
"Oh my," she said, biting her lip as she realized the
russet-haired man she had carelessly run into was a police officer. 
"I'm sorry . . ..  I'll do this." She grabbed her personal belongings and
shoved them back into her purse.

             
"You're certainly in a hurry." The officer laughed as he spoke,
looking her over from head to toe, his wide toothy grin showing
obvious pleasure at what he saw.  "I haven't seen you in the
neighborhood before."

             
Liane blushed, all too familiar with the look in the man's pale
eyes.  Men often found her attractive, but she carefully avoided
relationships, preferring to put all her efforts into her career.  It
seemed that being a police officer didn't change the fact that he was a
man. 

             
"No, I'm not from around here.  I'm just here trying to see my
brother."

             
"Oh, I see.  And who might he be?"

             
"No one you'd know . . ..  I mean, it seems that nobody around
here knows him."

             
The officer's expression suddenly changed to a more
professional one, as he squared his shoulders and took a stance of
authority.  "Do you need any assistance?"

             
"Well . . .as a matter of fact, yes.  You could show me where I
could find the nearest public phone."

             
The man's cheerful smile returned as he pointed across the
street to a tiny delicatessen.  "And while you're in there, in case you're
interested, the food is very good."

             
"Thank you," Liane said fumbling to close her purse as she
turned on her way.  She didn't want to waste any more time.  As it was
she'd have to hurry to make the call and still return to the airport in
time to catch her plane.

             
The moment she heard the recording she knew her time had
been wasted.  She would have to wait until Monday and make the call
from New York.  Hopefully by then she would no longer need the
information because Jack would already be found.