Chapter 12

She wantedout of the movie business.

Emily closed her eyes. Clearly, she was losing her mind, just a little, but that's what happened when a girl sat duct-taped to a hard backed chair for six hours in the attic of the abandoned house of the finale scene of The Drifters.

The long night had allowed her lots and lots of empty time to consider her stupidity. Yes, Spenser might have been a jerk, but she'd been wrong not to tell him about her epic level of fan commitment. She knew about the stalker, knew he was a little sensitive to, um, overzealous fans. But she'd been so…normal.

Mostly normal.

She'd only quoted a few lines. And she hadn't asked him, not even once, to speak Iwoni.

Certainly, he knew that her feelings for him weren't…well, weren't about Quillen.

Except, of course he clearly hadn't known because, as she rolled film of their moments together in her hours and hours of empty time, she saw herself quoting the shows and calling him Quillen and generally fangirling all over him.

She'd push her away, too.

And yes, it hurt that he'd thought she'd sabotaged the set, but even that, painfully, made sense.

Although, she hadn't sabotaged the set.

Trace Wilder had, although she hadn't a clue why. Hard to ask questions when a guy knocked you out and then, you know, taped your mouth shut. He'd left her there in the thick of the night too, giving her a beautiful view of the attic window, out of which she watched the stars and tried to remember her father's survival tips.

She'd managed to turn her wrists red and raw from trying to work out of the duct tape securing them to the sides of the chair. Her ankles were no better. She had managed to loosen them a little, but he'd wrapped the tape so much, she hadn't a prayer of breaking free.

She had made progress on the tape over her mouth, but not enough to shout through a closed, albeit broken window, and down three stories to the gaffers and grips who arrived at O'dark thirty to set up for today's scene.

Certainly, someone would come upstairs. Please!

But no. Apparently, the scene, an epic shootout—and she knew this from reading the script—would be shot entirely outside.

She'd read the script, as well as the Scene Breakdown. A beautiful ending where Deacon Cooper and Hawken face down the bad guys, and Deacon dies while trying to rescue Blossom and Dusty from the house.

Blossom and Dusty are thrown as the house explodes, and her guess was that's when she'd die too, so, that was an exciting finale. Because she had no doubt that Trace had tampered with the cannons that would create the explosion.

The house, of course, wasn't really supposed to explode—just a massive explosion out of the front door while Dusty and Blossom ran away. But surprise, surprise, the house would go up in flames, then they would turn, holding each other as they looked back in horror.

So much horror.

And Hawk would join them in a final epic shot.

She would have liked to see that shot. She bet Spenser would nail it, and maybe that made her even more pitiful.

She wasn't even angry at him.

The final scene would be the epilogue a year later when Hawk and Blossom would ride to town, Dusty in the wagon, Blossom pregnant with the next generation of Coopers.

And everyone would swoon.

The sun's rays cast into the room, orange and gold, the light of morning just clearing the eastern peaks. It was magic hour, and any moment now, Cosmos—or rather, Indigo, would shout ‘Quiet on the set,' then ‘Speed,' and ‘Action,' and the ending would begin.

Yes, she might be losing her touch with reality a little. But really, how could it be that she'd found herself exactly in the place of her nightmares?

Breathe.

She just had to make enough noise for someone to hear her. Now, along with the gaffers and grips, the cameramen and ADs had arrived, the PAs and costume assistants, the prop people, the craft services tent, and all the extras from Irish's crew that played the villains.

Even Kathryn and Spenser and Winchester—she spotted Win outside talking with Indigo. Cosmos, checking camera angles. The boom man holding the mic.

It was a virtual city outside. Certainly, someone would find her.

She just had to make noise.

If only Trace hadn't shoved her into the attic.

Then of course, there was the small issue that her feet couldn't touch the ground. She swayed back and forth, harder, harder—yes, the chair thumped.

Pitiful.

She put a little more oomph into it. Thumped again.

Better.

She thumped again. There, certainly someone?—

Bam! She went over, shoulder slamming onto the floor. Heat spiked up her arm, and she groaned.

That felt thunderous. C'mon!

Please! Hello! No one?

She lay there, listening to the voices outside. For the love.

She closed her eyes.

Don't panic.

Maybe it's not about where you are, or what's happening around you, but who you're with.

Spenser. His words in the cave. But, right. Yes.

Please, Jesus, be here with me.

Footsteps sounded on the stairs.

She loved a fast reply.

"Mmm!" She had tried to loosen the tape with her tongue but had gotten nowhere. She thumped on the floor. "Mmm!"

More steps and she tried to bang her shoulder. Here! In here!

The doorknob turned, and she held her breath.

And then, Bucky opened the door. He wore a pair of jeans, a dirty shirt, his hair mussed, ready for his shot. He stood in the doorway, just stared at her.

"Mmm!" She wriggled hard.

His mouth opened.

C'mon Bucky. Shout, or come over here. Do something.

"Bucky! Come down here!" Kathryn, her voice from below, maybe the first floor.

No—no?—

Bucky turned and closed the door. Footsteps sounded, running down the stairs.

What…wait!

Aw, Bucky.

She gritted her jaw, refused tears.

Now what? She closed her eyes.

Breathe.

Don't panic.

Five. Five things she saw. She opened her eyes. The door, with the half-broken, dented knob. The ceiling, cobwebs in the corners. Peeling yellow wallpaper, so maybe once upon a time, this had been a bedroom. Mouse droppings. That was nice. And…five…five—there, on the floor in the corner, an old high-heeled shoe.

Four things she could feel. That was easy—tingling in her fingers, the raw burn of her wrists, pain shooting down her arm. Her lips, cracked and dry, and…

Tears dripping into her ears.

"Quiet on the set!" Indigo's voice lifted in the hush of the set.

She closed her eyes. Three things to hear.

"Speed!"

She imagined the shout of ‘Action,' because popping sounded, the squibs exploding. Shouts outside, voices of extras protecting the house. More squibs.

A scream—probably Kathryn.

The thunder of her heartbeat swishing in her ears.

Smell. Two things to smell.

Well, she wasn't smelling too rosy after her day in the mine. Maybe she should have had that shower.

And then, dust. So much of it. Which meant the wood was old. It would ignite fast, like a burning bush.

Probably not the best thought, because now she'd have to start over with the five.

She swallowed. No. She refused to believe she was alone.

She closed her eyes. And there she was, back in Missouri, at a house. Her house. Her mother was in the den, just getting off the phone, and her father—her adopted father Jim Micah held her in his arms. "Daddy, take me riding?"

"Have you ever been on a horse before?"

"No. Don't let me fall, okay?"

He laughed, his blue eyes shiny. "I won't honey. Daddy won't let you fall, I promise."

She opened her eyes. Maybe that's what it means to be well—to know you're safe, even when you feel like you're falling.

Because Daddy wouldn't let her fall.

And then, as she lay there, she felt as if two hands came over her shoulders. Gripped.

Held her.

Her breath caught.

The presence of Jesus. Maybe that's what makes your soul well.

Yes.

As the squibs exploded, she tasted it, the sweetness of something she couldn't explain.

Hope.

What—?

But hope swept over her, through her, her entire body filled with it.

"Fire in the hole!"

Oh, God, catch me!

* * *

Focus.

Spenser walked back to the craft services table, grabbed a bottle of water while Swen set up the shot for the final explosion.

The morning sun spread out over the far mountains like gold, pouring into the valleys—turning the pines a deep, lush green. The scent of smoke lingered in the air from yesterday, and a cloud of black lifted from behind the hill where the house sat.

So, the fire must still be burning.

Maybe Emily was fighting it, because she wasn't at home. Not last night after he'd left the Hotline, sick to his stomach after turning his back on her.

What. A. Jerk.

Even now, as he took a swig of water, he felt the punch, saw the look on her face. But he'd been angry, felt betrayed.

And it didn't help that Kathryn seemed to stir his feelings to a boil. She'd been sitting at the bar, and the minute he walked in and sat down, she cozied up. Asked him why he looked so upset.

The story came spilling out.

She then told her own story of a crazy fan, and he'd tried to laugh, but really?—

Emily was just a fan. Not crazy.

And so what if she loved Quillen? Like she said, one of three billion.

But her comment kept rounding back to him.

I would rather sit here with the real Quillen Cleveland and finish off this pizza.

The real Quillen Cleveland.

And that was it, wasn't it? He'd fought the stereotype for so many years.

But he was the prototype. He created the character out of his own personality. Just because he'd grown up into Quillen on the show didn't mean he couldn't embrace Quillen in reality.

So maybe he was the real Quillen Cleveland.

Maybe in a way, Quillen's quest to find his dad was your own quest to say goodbye to yours.

Yes, and more. Without his dad, he'd had no one but Quillen, and the scriptwriters—and yes, Chanel and his grandfather—but really, just he and Quillen to navigate the way. So maybe Quillen had also helped him grow up.

And that's what he'd wanted to tell her when he drove by her dark house an hour later. But it was late, and they'd had a doozy of a day.

Still, he'd hoped…

But when he'd arrived at the set, no Emily. He'd spent two hours in makeup and blocking, and by the time the sun rose and they took their magic hour shoot, he'd realized the truth.

He'd really screwed up.

On set, Swen and his crew were checking the big cannons hidden on the porch. They'd explode as soon as Blossom and Dusty cleared the house in a cinematic shot where they were rescued by—oh no.

And that's when he heard Cosmos.

"Okay, Winchester, ready for your big scene?"

Winchester stood in costume near Indigo.

He'd forgotten to ask about the script change.

Clearly too late. Or— "Cosmos, can I have a second?" Spenser set his water down and walked over. "What would you say about Deacon getting the girl?"

Cosmos ran a finger and thumb through his eyes. "Not you too?"

"What?"

"Trace said the same thing on his first day on set. He said that Hawk should die—he didn't deserve a happy ending." He looked at him. "Why? And you couldn't have said something during our table read?"

"Trace said Hawk should die?"

"Yes. But I just thought it was, you know, jealousy because you got his role."

Spenser stared at him. "He was cast for Hawk?"

"Originally, yes." Cosmos glanced at Win. "Actually, your agent sent a tape of a scene you did in Trek that Trace was in. I'm not sure if he did it to compare, but he was a guest star, and in that scene, you killed him. So maybe it was payback." Cosmos laughed.

Spenser didn't. "He was also in Say You Love Me."

Cosmos frowns.

"The movie I did after Trek. He had a role. But of course, it was never finished, so…"

Win was frowning at him. "Are you saying that Trace has a beef with you?"

"I don't know. But Kathryn said something to me last night that keeps sticking in my brain—she was in some sort of music video that Oaken Fox did earlier this week. And that Trace was in it, too."

"Yeah, he was," Win said. "I saw him a couple days ago with Kathryn. I think they have—or had—a little something going on. I spotted them fighting behind the costume tent the night she caught fire. Maybe he came back to mend fences."

"He was here with the insurance guys—he was one of the investors," Cosmos said slowly. "If he insured his investment, he'd get his money back if it went south."

"Why would he sabotage his own movie?"

Silence. A beat and then, "Me," Spenser said. "His career tanked for a while after Say You Love Me."

"Do you think he saw Kathryn kiss you after the barn fire?"

"Maybe. But that was after the fight in the tent."

"Could be a guy who is jealous of Spenser Storm might try and kill him…and maybe even the woman who broke his heart. And then, when that didn't work, maybe sabotage the movie." Cosmos met Spenser's gaze. "Where is Kathryn?"

"In the costume trailer, getting retouched for the finale," Indigo said.

"Get her out here?—"

Boom!

Behind them the cannons fired. Plumes of gas and fire ignited, and black smoke billowed out. Indigo had ducked, along with Winchester, and a few of the cameramen ran back.

The flame spit out sparks onto the grass, igniting it, and a couple of the special effects guys ran up and stomped them out.

"Swen, shut it off!" Cosmos yelled. "Where's our hotshot?"

Aw, that was Spenser's fault. "She's?—"

"I saw her upstairs." Bucky stood near the craft services table, holding a donut. "She's all tied up."

Spenser turned, looked at him. Tiny flecks of powdered sugar spilled down his chin, onto his costume. "What did you say?"

"Emily. She's upstairs." He gestured to the house. "I saw her. I didn't think she was in the movie, but…" he raised a shoulder.

Spenser looked back at the house.

Wait.

The front porch was still burning, fire now spitting out of the canister.

"Swen! Turn off the fire!" Cosmos yelled.

Swen stood holding the radio. "I did. The fire is out."

"Clearly not!"

"Hoses!"

Except, Emily wasn't here—and now that did feel strange because she'd been fired twice and still had shown up.

Spenser turned back to Bucky. "Where in the house?"

Bucky pointed to the top of the house, the attic area. "The bad guys got her."

He looked at Cosmos, who seemed to be wrapping his brain around Bucky's words too. Then he took off for the house.

"Spenser!"

The porch was engulfed, sparks still igniting from the cannon. Someone must have filled it with tinder.

He ran around the back of the house. No door—what house only had a front door?

He peered into a first story window.

The fire had burned through the door, to the stairway.

"Call the fire department!"

He backed up. "Emily! Em!"

Nothing from the top floor.

But the house was a tinder box. By the time the Jude County Fire Department got here, it would be all over.

Smoke plumed into the sky, and in a moment, the first floor blazed.

He backed up, ran back to the grips. "I need a ladder! Or a dolly!"

"Nothing we have will reach the attic," said one of the grips.

Fire kicked out of the bottom window.

"Go up the pipe." Bucky had come up beside him. "Like Quillen did when he sneaked aboard the Star Finder. He went up the garbage chute."

Spenser looked at him. "You watch Trek?"

"Emily and I watched it on set, in my trailer. She has all the shows."

Yeah, she did.

"Tell Rocco to get the biggest Stunt Pit he can find."

"Spenser," Cosmos said, but Spenser ignored him.

The drain pipe. Not the flimsy metal of today, but a real metal pipe attached to the house, all the way to the roof.

He put his hands on it—not hot yet—and hoisted himself up, fixed his boots on either side of the pipe, then worked his way up—hands, then feet, then hands—past the flaming first floor, to the second, the ground falling away fast, his heartbeat propelling him up.

Hang on, Emily.

He reached the second floor and shoved open a window. Smoke billowed out. He pulled a breath then launched himself inside.

The flames hadn't yet reached the second floor, but they were climbing the stairs. His eyes burned as he spotted the stairs to the attic.

Please, Bucky, be right.

He thundered up the narrow stairs and grabbed the knob. It rattled in his grip, but the door opened.

His knees nearly buckled. Emily lay on her side, taped to a chair, struggling, tape over her mouth.

What—?

He scrambled over to her and carefully peeled the tape from her mouth.

She gulped in a breath, then another. Then, "Hi."

"What—how?—"

"Trace. He grabbed me last night—" Her eyes widened. "Shut the door!"

He turned, and smoke had followed him up, now sneaking through the door. He shut it, then came back, fighting with her tape.

"It's too much. You need a knife. Or—wait—by the floor. Get that shoe!"

He turned and spotted the shoe. A lone stiletto.

"Pull the heel guard off."

He fought with it for a second before it ripped free. Under it was a metal spike.

"Got it." He held the tape and began to rip at it with the spike. It frayed then separated, and in a moment, he'd ripped off the tape from one wrist, then the other.

Then, her ankles.

She scrambled free of the chair, got to her knees. Looked at him, her eyes reddened.

"You came for me."

He swallowed, nodded. "Of course I came for you. I love you, Emily."

Her eyes filled. "Oh—" Her hand pressed her mouth. "I'm so sorry, Spenser. I should have told you about… I'm a Stormie. I have the badge and the pins and the?—"

"Blanket."

"Yeah. I really like the blanket. It's soft, and it's got a nice face on it." She wrinkled her nose. "But I should have told you."

"I'm not sure what's so terrible about falling for a woman who's my biggest fan. I'm sorry, Emily. I shouldn't have?—"

She launched herself into his arms, hers tight around his neck, her body hard against his.

Oh.

But okay, this worked. His arms circled her. "Shh. We're going to be okay. It's okay. I'll get you out of here."

She leaned back then, her gaze in his, his face in her hands. "Of course you will."

And then she kissed him, her mouth hungry, her touch demanding, no fear, all possession.

Now this was a hostage situation he could get behind.

She let him go too quickly, but maybe, since the house was on fire— "More of that later," she said and pushed off him. "Let's get out of here."

Right.

He went to the window.

She went to the door. "The doorknob is hot."

"Rocco is outside with the pit."

Her eyes widened. "What?"

"The crash mat—it's called a stunt pit."

"You want us to jump?" She came over to the window, which he'd opened and now stuck her head out beside his.

Below them, the stunt team, along with a few grips, had moved a massive pad under the window.

"No. Uh-uh. Not happening." She pulled her head back in. Looked at him.

"Just pretend it's episode 201."

She stared at him. "Escape from planet Ninov? Quillen jumped from a tower into a pile of Lightweave."

"I jumped into the Lightweave. I was doing my own stunts by then. Listen. You'll jump, then in midair, turn and just fall on your back, arms out. Let the mat take your weight."

"You're kidding, right?" She looked out the window. "I'm not throwing my body out three stories."

"It's not that far."

"No."

He took her by the shoulders. "Listen. I want you to take all that fear and bottle it up and put it deep inside and let it fuel you. Let it make you strong, and brave, and remind you that you have everything you need inside you to do big things. Impossible things. Inspiring things. You were made to do these things, Kaylen. You just have to believe."

A beat. "Quillen's speech to his little brother, when he leaves him behind."

"Yeah. Except, I'm actually going to follow you out of the window. But it still works, right?"

She made a face. "A little."

"How about this—you're the bravest woman I know. So please jump out the window so we can live happily ever after."

"That's the one." She moved to the window, even as smoke seeped through the door. "Just jump."

"Land on your back. Arms out. I'll be right behind you."

She ducked her head and climbed out of the window. Shouts below as she stood on the sill.

"The adventure awaits!"

"Very funny!" But she pushed off.

Screamed.

Then she turned, midair, like he told her, and landed with a whoof onto the mat.

Fire now licked the floor, the edges of the door, smoke gusting in.

He put a leg out of the window, ducked under the sill.

Smoke from the lower windows poured out and behind him, the door cracked, gave way.

Fire leaped into the room, across the rafter.

Wow, he was tired of escaping burning buildings.

With a shout, he pushed off, into the air, flying. The adventure awaits!