Reason To Believe by Roxanne St. Claire Page B

always left the sets late in the afternoon, and returned if they taped with a studio audience at night.
    “I just have one question,” Chase said as they wound through Hollywood Hills and turned onto one of the steepest and curviest sections of Laurel Canyon Boulevard. “When you were dating this guy, did his ex-fiancée make any appearances in your mind?”
    “No, she didn’t.”
    “Didn’t you think that was odd?”
    “Well, I didn’t always wear the ring with him. And sometimes people who have passed don’t communicate with loved ones left behind. If they do, it’s usually because there’s unfinished business.”
    “You don’t think there’s unfinished business when someone’s murdered, or even dies in a horrible car accident?”
    It was a fair question, and she couldn’t answer it. “I don’t know,” she said, watching for the high brick wall that surrounded Brian’s property. “I was always relieved she never had a message to get to him. It’s right around the next corner. There’s the gate. Oh…” Arianna leaned forward as they pulled up to the wrought-iron opening tucked between thick foliage and the wall. “The gate’s open.”
    Just as they pulled up, a huge SUV rumbled out of the driveway, so close that Arianna gasped as Chase swerved to avoid it.
    “Was that Brian?” Chase asked, looking in the rearview mirror.
    “I don’t think so,” Arianna said, turning to look. “Brian wouldn’t drive away without stopping.”
    Chase zipped into the driveway that rounded to the front of the house. “Would he leave the gate and front door open?”
    “Never.” Arianna was pulling at her door handle before he stopped. Chase parked and came around the car, meeting her at the steps, his gun drawn.
    “Wait.” He stepped into the two-story foyer, looking from side to side. “Brian?”
    Arianna entered in behind him, peering into the formal dining room on the right, and the living room across from it. And then she saw him. Sprawled on the floor, faceup. Covered in blood.
    “Brian! Oh, my God!”
    She dove toward him, but Chase grabbed her arm and held her back, bounding to the body in two steps to feel for a pulse. “He’s alive. Barely.”
    Shaking, she started to reach for her bag, but Chase already had his cell out and was dialing. She dropped to her knees by his head, smelling the blood oozing from his stomach. She’d seen only one other gunshot wound in her life—in the same place, on her mother.
    She automatically reached for him, but Chase stopped her, so she braced her hands on either side of Brian’s head, leaning closer. “Brian, it’s me, Ari.”
    His lids moved, almost opening, his eyes rolling back a little. “Go.” The word was little more than air.
    Go? He wanted her to leave?
    “Get.”
    She stroked his hair. “Shhh. We’re getting help.”
    “Your…ring.”
    She jerked at the words. Her ring?
    “Go,” he growled, using every ounce of life on the one syllable. “Must have it…for…the truth…”
    She pushed her hair back, looking up at Chase. “Chase, whoever just left shot Brian. You have to go find him.”
    “No.”
    Oh, God. Protection 101. He wouldn’t leave her. “Please!” she begged, her voice cracking. “He can’t have gotten far; there’s no turn for a mile. Please, go.” She half stood, “Chase, please. Otherwise we’ll never know who shot him.”
    He looked at her like she was crazy. “I’m not leaving you alone for a ring, Arianna.”
    “I don’t care about the ring, Chase,” she pleaded. “I want to get whoever shot him before they escape.”
    He spoke into the phone, giving an address. Then he gave the phone to Arianna. “Keep them on the line.”
    When he left, she transferred every ounce of concentration to Brian. “Who did this?” she asked softly, brushing his wavy hair off his forehead. “Who shot you?”
    His eyes opened again, unfocused under hooded lashes. “Katie.” The word was no more than a tortured