Gated Prey (Eve Ronin #3)(35)

But when she pulled into the parking lot of the Hilton, she saw a golden Bentley parked near the lobby and almost turned around to avoid the man she knew was waiting inside for her.

That would be cowardly, and she liked to think of herself as someone who bravely confronted every conflict that she faced, so she parked and went inside.

Linwood Taggert sat on a couch in the lobby. Her agent was in his fifties, wearing a perfectly tailored Italian suit and a handmade shirt with his initials monogrammed on the cuffs. His tan rivaled George Hamilton’s and his straight white teeth were so bright, she was sure he could stand on a cliff during a storm as a beacon to guide ships at sea. He was one of the most powerful men in Hollywood, so it amused her to see him sitting on a cloth couch in a hotel for families and businesspeople traveling on a tight budget.

“You’ve been ignoring my calls,” he said.

Eve sat down in a chair across from him and set her Taco Bell bag on the coffee table. “You’re not a man who sits and waits for anyone. How did you know when I’d be here?”

“I called the station and they said you were gone for the day. Since your entire life is the job, I knew you’d be back here soon.”

“I could have gone shopping or to the movies, hung out with friends, or spent the night with a boyfriend.”

“A normal person could have. You? No. Your life is the job. So I was willing to give it an hour on my way home.” He lived in Hidden Hills, a gated community of 568 homes across the freeway that was so rich and exclusive, they got themselves granted cityhood. The LASD was the law there, too. “I saw the news the other night and I love your new look. You should stick with it.”

“That’s what you wanted to tell me? Now you know why I ignored your calls.” She started to get up, but Linwood dropped a thick manila envelope on the table.

“Actually, I came to give you this.”

She sat down again and looked at the envelope. “What is it?”

“The first-draft pilot script for Ronin.”

“Already?” It had only been a week since she’d spent a few hours being interviewed by Simone Harper, the Emmy Award–winning writer and producer who’d optioned the rights to her story.

“Simone was so inspired by you that she had to get your story out of her system. It was demanding to be told,” Linwood said. “That raw energy comes out in the scenes. I think the script is terrific. She really captures your character.”

“You don’t know my character. This is the third conversation we’ve ever had. Why did she show the script to you before me?”

“She wanted to make sure it was ready for prime time,” he said. “And it is.”

“Your opinion isn’t the one that matters. I’m the one with final approval.”

Linwood held up his hands in surrender. “I know, I know. But you have zero experience in television. You’re looking for authenticity but you can’t see the elements that make for a hit show. I can. My clients are the biggest showrunners in the business.”

“Good for you. I need to go, my dinner is getting cold.” Eve reached for the Taco Bell bag and the envelope.

“Here’s an idea. Toss that bag in the trash and let me take you to dinner at Mastro’s in Malibu. They make a great steak and a lemon-drop martini that will change your life.”

“No thanks.” She stood up.

He stood, too. “I’m on your side, Eve. Why do you treat me like the enemy?”

“Because I hate everything about this.” She shook the envelope at him. “I feel like I’ve been forced into it.”

She’d only accepted the deal because she knew that a series, or a movie, could be made with or without her because she was arguably a public figure. But by agreeing to participate, it gave her a measure of control over how she was portrayed and her story was dramatized. And, eventually, it would give her a nice paycheck. Even so, she wished it would all go away.

“Having a TV series? That’s the cross you have to bear?”

“Yes, it is.”

Linwood laughed. “There are thousands of people in this town who’ve spent their entire lives desperately struggling to get where you are right now and they’ve never come close.”

She knew that. Her mom and dad were two of those people, and they’d both managed to strong-arm their way into the deal. It was Vince who’d brought in Simone and then reached out to Jen to arrange a meeting with Eve. Vince wanted to direct the pilot and Jen wanted a regular speaking role. The possibility of getting some work off of Eve was enough for her mother to set aside her decades of justified bitterness toward Vince for being an absentee, deadbeat father . . . and enough for him to finally make an effort to be in their lives. It made her angry at both of them.

“The difference is, it’s their dream, not mine,” Eve said. “All I ever wanted was to be a good cop.”

“Dreams can change.”

Eve walked away.

Linwood called after her. “Read it tonight and call me.”

If her hands weren’t full, Eve would have given him the finger.



Eve ate her greasy, cold dinner and stared at the envelope the whole time like it contained a rattlesnake waiting to strike.

To distract herself, she turned on the TV and watched the Property Brothers renovate an entire house for what it cost her just to install a kitchen countertop. The show was about as realistic as an episode of Star Trek. She turned off the TV in disgust and her gaze landed on the envelope again.