opening and closing compartments. Mitchell was like a kid on a sugar high. Damn. They could power LA for a year with this kid.
Derek glanced at Jill. Slouched in her seat, she stared out the window. For once, he wanted the quick-tongued Jill back. Anything but the deflated woman sitting next to him. She never gave up this easily. He knew that firsthand. Especially when faced with a challenge. She never backed down from a challenge. Well, that was until their rehearsal dinner.
Where was the fire in her eyes? Oh, right. He extinguished that, too. In less than six hours. Shit. He should never have come here.
“Mind if I watch TV?” Mitchell asked, holding up a portable TV. He was oblivious to the crackling tension in the car. “There’s supposed to be a serial-killer special on A&E.”
Did this kid do anything other than watch TV?
“Knock yourself out. But up there,” Derek said, pointing to the front seat. Derek didn’t know which was worse. Sitting in a car with Mitchell, or with Fred. It was a tight race.
Derek’s mouth quirked up in a half smile as the kid tried to climb through the window into the front seat. His too-big pants had him selling crack. Mitchell kicked the driver in the head.
Jill didn’t even wait until Mitchell was completely over before she started raising the glass divider. Either she wanted privacy as much as he did, or she was tired of Mitchell, too. Derek was hoping for the latter, ’cause right now, he didn’t think he could take any more of her tears.
Mitchell tapped on the glass divider, bouncing in the front seat. “Hey, guys! Look at this!” he shouted.
Jill sighed and rolled her eyes as she reluctantly lowered the glass.
A deep baritone voice filled the car as Mitchell cranked the volume.
“What would you risk to have the thrill of your life?”
Bloodied teens running—and mutilated bodies—flashed across the screen.
“Everyone wants to face their darkest nightmare and come out alive ...”
Paramedics push a man on a gurney out of the theater. As they pass a woman and two children crying, they pull a sheet over his head. The woman falls to the ground sobbing.
Jesus. Derek sat forward in his seat. That was straight out of the case file in Colorado.
“Pray you don't experience the horror behind the hype. Watch this year’s Widowmaker ! Terror in the Trees !”
Derek slashed his hand across his throat, signaling Mitchell to turn off the TV.
Derek spun on Jill. “How could you?”
“I had nothing to do with that ... that …” Jill stammered, her cheeks flushing. “Horrible ad!”
“You're their damn PR—”
“I was,” Jill reminded him. “And I never would have condoned such crap!”
“I've got to Tivo that one!” Mitchell said, turning in his seat and switching the TV back on.
Derek leaned over Jill and pressed the button to raise the glass, cutting off whatever else Mitchell wanted to gush about. His arm brushed her thigh as he leaned back in his seat. Jill flinched at Derek’s touch. Hurt warred with anger in her eyes. Her body was as taut as a bowstring. You know what? He should just keep his foot permanently in his mouth.
“Jill, I was out of line ...” Way out of line. Did he really want to stoop so low as to want to hurt her—like she had hurt him? “I know you’d never authorize an ad like that.”
Not the Jill who volunteered twenty hours per week fund-raising for the Children’s Hospital. Who would come home, eyes red and swollen, because one of the patients had died.
“Thanks. ...” Jill settled her attention out the window. She fidgeted with her skirt. Worrying her lip between her teeth.
She turned to him, her voice soft. “I’m surprised that you’re not in Washington.”
“Was. Humidity and I didn’t get along.” And the three slugs in my chest didn’t like me too much, either. Derek fought back the memory of lying on the floor, his blood mingling with the girls next to him. His hand holding her small, cold
Derek glanced at Jill. Slouched in her seat, she stared out the window. For once, he wanted the quick-tongued Jill back. Anything but the deflated woman sitting next to him. She never gave up this easily. He knew that firsthand. Especially when faced with a challenge. She never backed down from a challenge. Well, that was until their rehearsal dinner.
Where was the fire in her eyes? Oh, right. He extinguished that, too. In less than six hours. Shit. He should never have come here.
“Mind if I watch TV?” Mitchell asked, holding up a portable TV. He was oblivious to the crackling tension in the car. “There’s supposed to be a serial-killer special on A&E.”
Did this kid do anything other than watch TV?
“Knock yourself out. But up there,” Derek said, pointing to the front seat. Derek didn’t know which was worse. Sitting in a car with Mitchell, or with Fred. It was a tight race.
Derek’s mouth quirked up in a half smile as the kid tried to climb through the window into the front seat. His too-big pants had him selling crack. Mitchell kicked the driver in the head.
Jill didn’t even wait until Mitchell was completely over before she started raising the glass divider. Either she wanted privacy as much as he did, or she was tired of Mitchell, too. Derek was hoping for the latter, ’cause right now, he didn’t think he could take any more of her tears.
Mitchell tapped on the glass divider, bouncing in the front seat. “Hey, guys! Look at this!” he shouted.
Jill sighed and rolled her eyes as she reluctantly lowered the glass.
A deep baritone voice filled the car as Mitchell cranked the volume.
“What would you risk to have the thrill of your life?”
Bloodied teens running—and mutilated bodies—flashed across the screen.
“Everyone wants to face their darkest nightmare and come out alive ...”
Paramedics push a man on a gurney out of the theater. As they pass a woman and two children crying, they pull a sheet over his head. The woman falls to the ground sobbing.
Jesus. Derek sat forward in his seat. That was straight out of the case file in Colorado.
“Pray you don't experience the horror behind the hype. Watch this year’s Widowmaker ! Terror in the Trees !”
Derek slashed his hand across his throat, signaling Mitchell to turn off the TV.
Derek spun on Jill. “How could you?”
“I had nothing to do with that ... that …” Jill stammered, her cheeks flushing. “Horrible ad!”
“You're their damn PR—”
“I was,” Jill reminded him. “And I never would have condoned such crap!”
“I've got to Tivo that one!” Mitchell said, turning in his seat and switching the TV back on.
Derek leaned over Jill and pressed the button to raise the glass, cutting off whatever else Mitchell wanted to gush about. His arm brushed her thigh as he leaned back in his seat. Jill flinched at Derek’s touch. Hurt warred with anger in her eyes. Her body was as taut as a bowstring. You know what? He should just keep his foot permanently in his mouth.
“Jill, I was out of line ...” Way out of line. Did he really want to stoop so low as to want to hurt her—like she had hurt him? “I know you’d never authorize an ad like that.”
Not the Jill who volunteered twenty hours per week fund-raising for the Children’s Hospital. Who would come home, eyes red and swollen, because one of the patients had died.
“Thanks. ...” Jill settled her attention out the window. She fidgeted with her skirt. Worrying her lip between her teeth.
She turned to him, her voice soft. “I’m surprised that you’re not in Washington.”
“Was. Humidity and I didn’t get along.” And the three slugs in my chest didn’t like me too much, either. Derek fought back the memory of lying on the floor, his blood mingling with the girls next to him. His hand holding her small, cold
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