Hollywood Secrets by Gemma Halliday Page A

hell is going on here?” I asked.
    Trace squared his jaw. I could see trust warring with common sense behind his eyes. Not that I blamed him. Despite the fact that I’d just cleaned his boo-boo I was still, after all, a member of the paparazzi.
    “ Nothing,” he said.
    “ Oh, don’t give me that crap. ‘Nothing’ doesn’t leave bullet wounds like this,” I said, gesturing to his arm.
    Trace shrugged. “It was just a misunderstanding. Nothing important.”
    “ Right. Important enough to shoot you.”
    “ It’s nothing,” he repeated.
    I narrowed my eyes at him. Then sprayed him with the Bactine again.
    He jumped. “Jesus! Okay, fine. I’ll talk. Just…lay off, all right?”
    I set the can down, trying not to smirk as I stuck a large Band-Aid on his cut. “So, what’s really going on?” I asked.
    Trace took a deep breath. I could still see the trust not quite taking hold behind his eyes, but he’d either decided to ignore it or he’d had the fight Bactined out of him, as he began to talk anyway.
    “ A couple of nights ago I attended the MTV movie awards. I was up for best onscreen kiss or something like that.”
    I remembered. It was a scene between him and Katie Briggs that had launched him onto the cover of People ’s 50 Most Beautiful People issue. I’ll admit, it had been a hell of a scene. The kind of kiss that made me suddenly aware of how long it had been since anyone had kissed me. I think my nephew had given me a peck on the cheek last Christmas when he’d opened the Xbox game I’d bought him. Did that count?
    “ Go on,” I prodded.
    “ My agent always hires a limo to arrive at these events. So I get in the car with Bert, and halfway there we run into traffic.”
    Typical L.A. Nothing noteworthy here yet. “And?”
    “ And I got antsy. I started fidgeting in my seat. I hate these award shows. They’re all rigged for max publicity, and the whole thing is just a big joke of a schmoozefest. Hollywood honoring Hollywood – aren’t we all great? And everyone’s always trying to get something out of you, ya know?”
    No. I didn’t. Usually I was the schmoozer not the schmoozee. But I nodded anyway.
    “ Well, like I said, I started kinda fidgeting, and that’s when I felt something between the seats.”
    “ What kind of something?”
    “ A flash drive.”
    I lifted an eyebrow. “Like one of those memory sticks that you plug into your computer?”
    “ Exactly. I didn’t think much of it. Just figured it must have fallen out of the pocket of the person who’d used the car service before me.”
    “ Logical,” I agreed.
    “ Anyway, I didn’t think anything of it at the time. Then, a couple days later, I’m at the Boom Boom Room, and these two guys shove me into the back of a van.”
    “ I saw,” I said, pointedly.
    “ Right. Well, they said if I didn’t give them their flash drive back, they were gonna kill me.”
    “ So why not just give it back?”
    “ Trust me, I would have. I didn’t have it. Bert took it from me before we got out of the limo. He’d said he’d contact the car company and turn it in.”
    “ But he didn’t?”
    “ I guess not, because the two guys were still looking for it. After they shoved me in the van, I told them about giving it to my agent. They asked me a bunch of questions about him, and then they pulled over and shoved me out of the truck. They said if I told anyone about this they’d hunt me down and kill me.” He paused, doing a self deprecating grin. “Not that they’d have to hunt far. It’s not like I can keep a real low profile, ya know?”
    I knew. “So what happened tonight?”
    Trace shrugged again. “I’m sitting at home, minding my own business, watching Survivor , and these guys come bursting through my living room door.”
    “ Past your security?”
    Trace shot me a look. “In case you haven’t noticed, my bodyguards aren’t the brightest bulbs. They let you in.”
    Good point. I made a mental note to give him