“Wait,” he said.
Stride retrieved the page and unfolded it, and he and Serena read the note inside together.
You’re wrong, Stride. This time you’re wrong. I’m sorry, but I can’t do nothing if it means other people get hurt.
He crumpled the note in his fist and swore under his breath. “Cat, what the hell are you doing?”
40
The atmosphere at the party was subdued, and Cat knew why. Aimee Bowe was still missing. The lights were low, giving the room a romantic glow and making the faces hard to see. The band played soft string music, and a few people did slow dances on the floor. One wall of the resort ballroom was nothing but floor-to-ceiling windows that acted like mirrors at night. Beyond the glass was the lakeshore and forest trails leading to individual waterfront cottages. The room was warm, but outside the snow kept burying the land.
Cat was a magnet for attention as soon she walked in. Every head turned. She was at a Hollywood-style party with the beautiful people, but she was beautiful, too. Tonight she wasn’t seventeen years old. Tonight she was someone else.
A waiter passed them with sparkling water in a champagne glass, and she took one. She wanted to keep her wits about her for what would come next. Curt already had a cocktail.
“Are any of your girls here?” she asked.
“Oh, yeah, I arranged for half a dozen to be on the bus. None of them is a stunner like you, though.”
“You know what you have to do, right? If you see Jungle Jack, keep him distracted. Make sure your girls are talking to him. He’s the only one who knows who I am. I don’t want him seeing me here.”
“Hey, I know the plan. Take Jack out of the play. You got it.” Curt leaned down and whispered in her ear. “Last chance to back out of this, kitty cat. We can turn around and leave right now.”
“No, I can’t do that.”
“Okay, you’re the boss.”
Curt drifted into the crowd, sliding an arm around one of the other girls as he looked for Jungle Jack. Cat ignored the queasy feeling in her stomach and let a brilliant smile spill across her face. She fluffed her chestnut hair. She was alone, but she knew it wouldn’t be for long. Men began to descend on her as she navigated the room. They dropped whoever they were with, and the women who were left behind shot Cat icy glares. She didn’t care.
She wasn’t seventeen. She was someone else.
With each man who approached her, she made small talk about Duluth, about the weather, about the movie. When a man’s eyes wandered, she gently nudged his chin with her finger and moved his gaze back to her eyes. She teased the men, but when they tried to move in closer, she moved on. No one got more than five minutes of her time, but it still took her nearly an hour to cross the room. She had only one target tonight, and she wanted him to realize that she was the most in-demand, most wanted, most available woman at the party.
Cat kept flirting, but she was aware of everyone around her. Her plan was simple. Avoid Jungle Jack. Hunt for Dean Casperson.
Finally, she spotted him.
He stood by the tall windows, framed by the darkness around him. Even among the Los Angeles crowd, the party people gave him space, because he was special. He was the star. Casperson swirled a drink in his hand, and his black tuxedo made him look like James Bond. His hair had been colored to its usual black luster. Three other men — probably rich and powerful, too — talked and laughed with him, but his eyes moved around the room, missing nothing. It was only a matter of time until he saw her.
Cat chatted with a young man who told her that he was a rigging gaffer. She didn’t know what that was and only half paid attention to what he was saying. Her eyes went back and forth between the gaffer and Dean Casperson, who was standing just a few feet away from her. She angled her body toward him. She laughed at something the gaffer said, but the laugh was for Casperson. She baited the hook, then cast the line.
The next time she looked Casperson’s way, he was staring back at her. She felt his eyes all the way inside her body. Her reaction was raw and physical, and she had to remind herself who he was and what he’d done and why she was there. His gaze didn’t let go of her. The gaffer felt it, and he melted away like a cub making way for a lion. Casperson came toward her, leaving the men to watch him go. People saw them nearing each other. She was aware of smirks and whispers around her. They all knew she was the chosen one. She knew it, too.
“I remember you,” he said with a slight question mark in his voice. He took her hand and cupped it in his. His palm was warm.
“Cat, as in meow,” she replied. She hoped he’d forgotten how immature and foolish she’d been at the earlier party, when she’d fallen all over him. She didn’t want him thinking about her as young. She wanted him to think of her as prey.
“Of course. I saw you the other night. I didn’t think it was possible for you to be more gorgeous than you were then, but you’ve done it.”
“Thank you.”
He didn’t ask for a compliment in return. Dean Casperson didn’t need to be reminded how attractive he was.
“I don’t believe you told me who you are and what you do,” he went on.
“I write for a local magazine in Duluth,” she lied.
“And how is it that you’re here at the party?”
“I met someone from the crew at a local bar. He called himself a best boy, whatever that is. Between you and me, he was really only a so-so boy, if you know what I mean.”
Casperson’s mouth formed a grin. “Well, that’s what distinguishes the men from the boys.”
“You are so right.”
“Would you like to dance, Cat?” Casperson asked. “I feel like dancing.”
She hesitated, wondering if her inexperience and high heels would betray her. “I’m not much of a dancer.”
“Not to worry. I’m good enough for both of us.”
He led her onto the small dance floor, where the others gave them room. More knowing glances and whispers passed through the crowd. Casperson shot a look at the guitarist in the band, and as if they’d used a secret code, the band switched songs. They played “What a Wonderful World.” The music had a sad, mournful quality, as if this were the last day on earth. Maybe that was the way Casperson wanted her to feel.
He was right about his dancing. He made it easy to follow him. Without knowing any steps, she found herself turning in his arms, going where he nudged her to go. Everyone was watching them. She hoped that Curt had kept Jungle Jack far away, where he wouldn’t see Cat and Casperson together.
“You move very well,” Casperson told her.
“That’s all you.”
He knew that was true, but he smiled anyway. She felt small and light in his arms, and he made her a little dizzy. She tried not to think about where she was and what she was doing. The only thing she knew was that his fingers were pressed firmly on the bare skin at the small of her back.
“So you write,” he said.
“Yes.”
“What do you write?”
“It’s not exciting. New restaurants, upcoming events, that kind of thing.”
“Have you thought about acting? You have the looks for it.”
“I don’t think I could ever do that,” Cat said. “I’m sure it’s way too hard.”
“I’ll let you in on a secret. It’s really not.”
“I’m sure it’s impossible to break in.”
“Not when you know the right people,” Casperson said.
They kept dancing. The slow song ended and blended without a pause into something with a salsa beat. Casperson switched his movements effortlessly, and Cat tried to keep up, but she felt awkward on the dance floor. Casperson seemed amused by her lack of grace. He let half the song go by, then took her hand and guided her away. Others in the crowd filled the space they’d left behind.