Bungalow Nights(44)
“The nerve.”
“He’s whispering something in Layla’s ear.”
Shit. Vance pretended he was glued to his stool as he tried to hang on to his cool.
“Now they’re all getting up. It looks as if they’re going somewhere together, drinks in hand.” Baxter slid a sly look at Vance. “Do you think they’re going to have a ménage?”
Vance rolled his eyes. “You’re just needling me now, aren’t you?”
“Kind of. But they all look damn happy as they leave through the front exit. A first responder might not get all of them, but he could get one of them.”
And there was Layla, with her tattered heart. So lonely sometimes.
“Hell,” Vance said. He tried remembering there was Super Glue on the top surface of his stool. It wasn’t working. “I want her,” he told Baxter. “And I’m the one who’s going to get her.”
But before he could make a move, Addy was there, her green eyes anxious. “I thought I saw you guys here. You’d better come quick.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
UNDER THE BLAZING fluorescent lights in the Sunrise Pictures archives room, Layla fought to keep still. “Really, I’m fine,” she told Teague the firefighter, who was gingerly sifting through the hair at the side of her head. “No big—”
“What the hell?” Vance exploded into the room, fingers catching hold of the doorway to halt his headlong run. His gaze zeroed in on Layla, then flicked to the man tending her. At that same moment, Teague found the knot on her skin and she flinched.
In a blink, Vance had pushed his way between her and the firefighter. “Don’t touch her,” he spat over his shoulder, then took her chin between his fingers so he could gently turn her face to the side. He blew softly on her hair to part it, and she shivered. His thumb caressed her skin. “What happened?”
A cacophony of voices burst into the shocked silence brought on by Vance’s impromptu arrival. “Wait, wait.” It was Baxter speaking now. “Slow down. One at a time.”
Skye’s quiet voice started the story. “Addy wanted to show Teague and Layla the archives room. I tagged along. When Addy unlocked the door, it was dark inside. As we walked in, a dark-clothed figure burst out, pushing through us and taking off at a run.”
“I would have gone after him,” Teague said, sounding frustrated, “but I heard Layla cry out.”
“Sweetheart.” Vance blew on the sore spot again. “How’d you hit your head?”
“When the...intruder...or whatever, ran past, he knocked me into the doorjamb. It’s just a bump,” she said, though now that she’d had some time to process, she couldn’t suppress her shudder.
Vance made a sympathetic sound, low in his throat. “I’ll be careful,” he said, then probed around the spot, his fingers barely grazing the skin.
Still, Layla winced. “I’m such a wuss.”
“Nah.” He leaned close to brush a kiss on her temple. “You need an ice pack.”
“Maybe she needs a hospital,” Teague said.
Vance turned toward him, his earlier animosity dialed down a notch. He held out his hand. “I’m an army medic. Vance Smith. We’ll just head out now and I’ll take care of her.”
“Great,” the other man responded, returning a solid grip. “Some ice right away will help.”
“I’m good,” Layla protested. “We can’t leave Skye here.”
“It’s okay. I’ve called the police,” the woman in question said.
“We’ll wait with you.” Layla sensed Vance about to say something and shot him a look. “I haven’t had my tour yet.”
“We don’t want to touch anything,” Skye remarked. “Addy, I’m sorry, but it looks as if your work has been disturbed.”
Vance moved, and without his or Teague’s shoulders blocking her vision, Layla got her first clear view of the room. Oh, she said, in soundless dismay. Hung on the walls were colorful movie posters and black-and-white glossy stills. Their frames were askew now, as if someone had been searching for something behind the advertising pieces. Even more messy were the floors. Papers were strewn all about, presumably from the tumbled cartons that sat on a long table.
“What would someone be looking for?” Teague murmured. “Addy, what did you say you were researching again?”
From his place at her side, Baxter answered for her. “She wants to find out the truth of the relationship between the actress Edith Essex and her husband, the head of Sunrise Pictures.”
Addy glanced at him sharply. “That’s just a sidebar. I’m...I’m chronicling the rise and demise of the movie company.”
“You want to know if love survives,” Baxter murmured.
The blonde sucked in a breath, her green eyes widening.
Teague frowned. “How does that translate into something intruder-worthy? Maybe it was a vagrant looking for a warm place to spend the night. Or a burglar hoping for a way into the art studio next door. There’s a cash drawer there. Maybe a safe.”
Layla ignored the slight throbbing in her head. “Didn’t you say something about a famous jeweled piece, Addy?”
“Yeah, but it’s definitely not in here. I would have found it.” She gestured to the paper-covered floor. “And I’ve gone through all of this. Haven’t found a clue to its whereabouts, either. It was a famous piece, priceless—imagine one of Elizabeth Taylor’s incredible jewels—so you’d think there’d be a record if it was sold or turned up in someone else’s collection. But there’s been nothing.”
“Just rumors,” Skye said, “that have been around forever.”
“But the story gets new energy every so often. It popped up again a year ago. That’s when my interest was piqued,” Addy confessed.
Suddenly, Skye sat down heavily on a chair. Vance patted Layla’s shoulder, then crossed to the other woman. “Are you feeling all right?” he asked, his brow furrowed. “You’re pale.”
She waved him away. “Take Layla to No. 9 for ice. The police will arrive soon. I can handle it.”
Vance shot a look at Baxter. “Staying,” the other man said. “I’ll be here as long as I’m needed.”
With a nod, Vance strode back to Layla. “No argument now. Let’s go home.”
In this mood, he was impossible to dissuade. She walked from the room, Vance’s protective arm around her waist. With a little wave, she sketched a goodbye to the others. But when she crossed the threshold, Layla had to glance back. “Maybe I hit my head harder than I thought,” she told Vance.
He glanced down, gaze alert. “Why?”
“There might be something wrong with my vision.”
His concern showed itself in the tighter way he held her against him. “What makes you say that? What do you see?”
“Baxter. Looking rumpled.” She took another look over her shoulder. “And whiskered.”
Vance laughed. “Your eyesight’s just fine. He’s got woman problems.”
Back at No. 9, Layla decided she had problems, too. Since having sex with Vance—well, since the morning after—she’d been strict with herself. Though she’d understood his urgent wish to leave California had to do with his confrontation with Fitz, she couldn’t help but be a little hurt. Still, that sting had served a purpose. It had reminded her there was no point hoping for more, no point hoping for another night when the guy couldn’t wait to get away. Even a woman who didn’t count on forevers didn’t make that mistake.
But now Vance was holding her, touching her, assessing her with those electric-blue eyes. When he held a dish towel of crushed ice against the side of her head, she worried he might detect that her little quiver wasn’t a reaction to the cold, but to his nearness. They sat close on the living room couch, his thigh against hers.
“You’re cold,” he said, brows drawing together.
“A tad,” she lied. Their little ritual. He misconstrued her trembling, and she went right along with it.
He rose to his feet, making her regret the fib, and headed toward the fireplace. They’d not bothered with it before, although the air could be quite cool in the evenings. Wood was already stacked on the grate. A key built into the white-painted bricks lit the gas, which in turn lit the kindling and logs.
More quickly than she would have believed, the room warmed. Or maybe that was because Vance was sitting beside her again. “Are you okay holding the ice?” he asked. “Or would you rather I did?”
She squirmed, trying to get more comfortable. “Maybe I could trade places with you. Then I can prop the unbruised side of my head on a pillow and the pack will stay in place.”