Chapter 1

1

Dirt crunched under Tyler Storm as he was rolled onto his back.

The brute looming above him frowned, then said over his shoulder, “He ain’t dead yet.”

One of his buddies stepped next to him, then snorted. “He’s as good as.”

Bloodied and bruised, Storm cracked open his eyes. Around him stood half a dozen of Caleb Donovan’s men, all looking at Storm with disdain.

“Out of the way,” a familiar voice said.

The men parted and Donovan himself stepped forward and crouched beside Storm.

“Not your best day, is it?” Donovan said. “I did warn you this would happen.”

A smile crept across Storm’s face. “You did.”

Donovan narrowed his eyes. “I don’t think you fully grasp what’s about to happen to you.”

“You’re going to kill me.”

“Huh. How about that? You do understand.”

Storm’s grin widened.

“Are you smiling because you’re thinking I’ll do it fast and end your pain?” Donovan looked at him with pity. “Sorry, Storm, I have bad news for you.”

A wet laugh slipped past Storm’s lips.

“What’s so damn funny?”

“It doesn’t matter what you do to me,” Storm said. “You’re done.”

It was Donovan’s turn to laugh. He rose to his feet. “You got some balls. I’ll give you that. But you couldn’t be more wrong. I’m not even close to done. Soon everyone in this city will know who I—” He paused and looked around. “You guys hear that?”

The whomp-whomp-whomp of helicopter rotors began echoing off the abandoned buildings surrounding them, making it impossible to tell from which direction it came.

As Donovan twisted around looking for the source, the copter appeared above him, lighting him up with its spotlight. Dozens of police sirens could now be heard closing in.

The shot cut to Storm as his eyes fluttered closed, the smile still on his lips. The camera began to rise and the shot widened, first showing Storm surrounded by Donovan and his panicked men, then encompassing the police cars speeding in from all directions, and finally moving above the police helicopter hovering over the area.

The soundtrack hit a crescendo, and the screen went dark. After a beat, the credits began to roll.

When the film ended and the lights came on, everyone in the screening room applauded save Peter Barrington, the director of Storm’s Eye , who was scribbling notes on a pad of paper.

“Fantastic,” Ben Bacchetti said. He was head of Centurion Pictures, one of the film’s producers, and Peter’s best friend. “No question, you’ve done it again. People are going to love it.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Billy Barnett said. He was the other producer. “Peter, I think this is your best yet.”

“You’re just saying that because it stars Mark Weldon,” Ben said.

Billy placed a hand dramatically on his chest. “Why, Ben, are you calling me biased?”

“Me? Never.”

The others laughed.

Everyone in the room was a member of the very select club who knew that Billy Barnett’s true identity was that of Teddy Fay, formerly of the CIA, and someone who, as far as most of the world knew, had perished several years ago.

They also knew that Billy Barnett wasn’t Teddy’s only alternate persona. He was also Academy Award–winning actor Mark Weldon, aka Tyler Storm in Storm’s Eye .

Hattie Barrington, the film’s composer and Peter’s wife, eyed her husband, who was still writing in his notebook. “Why do I get the feeling you’re not happy?”

Peter glanced up. “Why do you think I’m not happy?”

“That worry line on your forehead, for one.”

“That obvious?”

“To me, yes.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say I’m not happy , but I could be happier,” he conceded.

“You say that about all your films,” Tessa Tweed, Ben’s wife, said. She was an Oscar-winning actress herself and had starred as Tyler Storm’s niece in the film.

“You do recall that you told us this would be the final cut, don’t you?” Ben said.

Peter grimaced. “Yeah, about that—”

Before he could continue, Ben said, “And that we’re already two weeks past when you were scheduled to have picture lock?”

“I do, but—”

“And, most importantly, the final film must be in the can before you leave for Europe in a few days.”

“It’s only one scene,” Peter said quickly.

“Which one?”

“The confession at the house.”

“I loved that part,” Tessa said. “I wouldn’t change a thing.”

Peter shook his head. “The pacing’s off.”

To Billy, Ben said, “Thoughts?”

Billy considered it for a moment, then said, “It’s a good scene, but if Peter thinks there’s room for improvement, then I trust him.”

“You’re supposed to be on my side,” Ben said.

“I’m on the movie’s side, always and forever. Besides, there’s still time for him to work his magic. And we are under budget.”

“For which I thank you,” Ben said.

“It’s what I do.”

“I promise I’ll be done before we get on the plane,” Peter said.

“The day before you get on the plane,” Ben said.

“You don’t trust me?”

“Oh, I trust you. But I also know that if the deadline is right before you board, you’ll find some way to keep tweaking it during the ride to the airport.”

Peter opened his mouth to argue the point, then shrugged. “You know me too well.”

On that coming Sunday, Peter, Billy, Tessa, and Hattie were departing on a European press tour to promote Storm’s Eye ’s upcoming release, finishing with the film’s world premiere at the inaugural World Thriller Film Festival in Berlin. Adriene Adele, one of the film’s other stars, would also be joining them.

“Question,” Hattie asked, raising a hand like she was in school. “What about Tom Norman’s new movie?”

Peter looked at her, confused.

“The premiere is in two nights,” she reminded him. “You’re taking me, remember?”

He winced. “Right. Um, sorry, sweetheart. Not sure I’ll be able to make it.”

She sighed. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

“I have an idea,” Billy said. “I was going solo, but if you wouldn’t mind the company of an old movie producer, I would be honored to be your date.”

“Billy, are you hitting on my wife?” Peter said.

“I wouldn’t dare.”

“I happily accept,” Hattie said.

Peter grinned. “Thanks, Billy. If I were to choose anyone to stand in for me, it would be you.”

“Excuse me, but your best friend is sitting right here,” Ben said, pointing at himself.

“You’d be on that list, too. Just a few slots farther down.”

“A few slots ?”

Peter shrugged and stood. “Now, if you’d all excuse me, I need to get back to work.”