Page 63 of Stuart Woods' Smolder

“I’ll just be a few minutes,” Monica said.

She headed into the back and soon returned with a small suitcase.

Donna walked them to the door. “Any idea when you’ll be back?”

“Sometime on Monday,” Stone said. He glanced at Monica. “If that works for you.”

“Works fine.”

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Donna said. “Something came for you.”

She went into the kitchen and came back with a legal-size envelope, which she handed to Monica. Handwritten on the front was Monica’s name.

“It arrived while we were at the exhibit the other night,” Donna told her, then grinned. “But you’ve been a little tied up since then.”

Monica thanked her, then she and Stone returned to their car. Once they were back on the road, she opened the envelope and pulled out a piece of paper.

She looked up, surprised. “It’s from Joshua Paskota.”

“How did he know where you were staying?”

“I have no idea.”

“Did he know when you were arriving?”

She nodded. “We hadn’t set up our meet yet, and I told him what flight I was on, so he could suggest a time and place. You don’t think…You don’t think he followed me, do you?”

“I would have if I were him, to make sure you were who you said you were. What’s the note say?”

Reading, she said, “ ‘I apologize for you coming all this way, but I’m not going to be able to meet with you. I think they’re suspicious of me. I’m leaving town, so don’t bother trying to find me. There is someone else who might help you. His name is Tristan Williams. He lives in L.A.’ ” She looked up. “That’s it except for a phone number that I guess is Tristan’s. Stone, I think maybe the crash wasn’t an accident.”

“I think you’re right. I’ll ask a friend to nudge the police into taking a closer look into it.”

“I’ll try Tristan.” She punched in his number, waited several seconds, then said, “Voicemail.” She waited for the beep. “Hi, Tristan. My name is Monica Reyes. Please call me at your earliest convenience.” She left her number, then hung up. “I guess all we can do now is wait.”

“Oh, I think we can figure out a few things to do to fill the time.”

Chapter 21

On Monday morning at the Centurion Pictures lot in Los Angeles, a preproduction meeting was just wrapping up for Peter Barrington’s next feature. In addition to Peter, the participants included Ben Bacchetti, head of Centurion and one of the film’s main producers; Billy Barnett, the film’s other main producer; the line producer; various department heads for such things as costumes, sets, lighting, locations, and transportation; and a handful of assistants.

Billy Barnett’s real name was Teddy Fay, but only a handful of trusted people knew that. As far as most of the world knew, Teddy—a former member of the CIA—had died in a plane crash several years ago. A master of disguise, he had created his Billy Barnett identity so that he could operate freely in Hollywood.

“When do you think you can have a revised schedule?” Billy asked the line producer.

She looked over her notes. “Lunchtime tomorrow okay?”

“Good by me. Ben?”

“Me, too,” Ben said. “Anyone else have something we need to discuss?”

There were head shakes all around.

“Great. We’ll meet again next week same time.”

As everyone stood and began gathering their things, Stacy Lange—Billy’s personal assistant—leaned toward him and whispered, “Party.”

“Right.” He raised his voice and said, “Those of you who are helping with the party on Saturday following the board of directors meeting, make sure you let Stacy know if you need anything. No last-minute hitches, please.” He glanced at Stacy. “That was it, right?”

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