Chapter 2
SHAW
“This is not what I expected,” Shelly muttered.
I glanced over from the driver’s seat, gripping the steering wheel tighter. She’d been bitching about everything all damn day. “What’s the problem?”
“It’s so . . . flat. It’s nothing like the pictures.”
“What pictures?” If she’d googled Clifton Forge, Montana like I had a month ago, she’d know that the view through the windshield was identical to the photos from the search results.
“Are those the mountains?” She leaned forward, squinting through her purple-framed glasses. “They’re far away.”
I bit my tongue.
The mountains weren’t far away, maybe fifty miles at most. They cut across the horizon, standing proud and drawing a jagged line between heaven and earth.
Beneath them rolled an open plain of green fields interrupted only by straight sections of barbed-wire fence.
The breeze tickled the tops of the tall grasses growing along the road.
Overhead, the azure sky was clear except for wisps of white clouds.
Some people, like me, might call this paradise.
I shot Cameron a look through the rearview mirror. He was wearing his signature round sunglasses, but I caught his eye roll.
“Is that it?” Shelly pointed ahead at a cluster of buildings in the distance.
I double-checked the map on my phone, my heart rate speeding up with every racing mile. “Yeah. That’s it.”
Clifton Forge.
I could see it with my own eyes. No more Google searches.
This movie had been announced a month ago, and I’d been itching to visit since. Hectic schedules and working to clear my plate for the foreseeable future had delayed my arrival, but finally, we were here.
I hit the gas, speeding down the highway. Blood pumped through my veins faster than it did during my morning run. Excitement and anticipation buzzed through every nerve ending. Goddamn, I was ready to get this project underway.
I hadn’t been truly anxious to play a role for five years.
The films I’d been working on lately had all been variations of the same.
I’d played the good guy, because that’s what the world saw when they looked at my face.
In every movie, I won the girl at the end.
I saved the day. American Hero was my brand, and I’d been reveling in it from the start. So had my assistant, manager and agent.
Well, fuck the brand.
I was tired of playing the game, sticking to safe roles and delivering common lines.
Not even doing my own stunts had helped break up the monotony.
It was time for something different. It was time to see if I actually had talent, or if the only reason I was making millions was because I hit the gym religiously each morning and my face looked good on magazine covers.
“It’s small,” Shelly said as the edge of town neared. “That’s good. Maybe we can add some mountains into the background with CGI.”
I huffed. “I thought we were going for authentic.”
That was the reason we’d hired Cameron, wasn’t it? Because of his reputation for keeping things real and raw and honest. As a general rule, Hollywood lacked honesty. Cameron’s vision for this film was the reason I’d gone full tilt, why I’d thrown so much of my own money in to make it happen.
I didn’t want to shoot in front of a green screen. I didn’t want to be sequestered in studio sets. I wanted to walk down an actual street lit by the actual sun.
“No CGI.” Cameron’s tone left no room for debate.
“Right,” Shelly agreed. “Forget the CGI. I just expected . . . something else. But this will work. It’s, uh, rugged.”
I could use a little rugged. The phony polish of Hollywood was wearing thin.
But here in Clifton Forge, life was real. The town didn’t thrive on tourism or cater to rich guests like some other areas of the state—something else I’d learned from Google. This town was fueled by agriculture and people who carved their living out of the land.
I respected that. I admired it. There were times when I longed for the hard days working on the force, when life had been a hell of a lot simpler.
Businesses sprang up along the road as we neared the town’s limits, welcome signs on doors and sandwich boards on sidewalks.
It was the beginning of a parade, the early onlookers waving you down the road, inviting you into the fray.
Windows were decorated with red, white and blue for the Independence Day festivities taking place in a few days.
The GPS took me off the highway and straight down Central Avenue, a street packed with local shops and restaurants.
The wide Missouri River flowed along one side of the street.
A man stood at the helm of a fishing boat, casting his line into the rippled water.
I missed fishing. Maybe before shooting wrapped, I’d find some time to work in a day along the river.
“Motel first, Cam? Or do you want to drive around town?”
“Let’s get our bags dropped off and check in.”
I nodded and followed the directions to the Evergreen Motel, located two miles on the opposite end of town. Navigating two miles in downtown Los Angeles could take hours. Here, the miles went by too fast. My eyes struggled to stay on the road as I scanned storefronts and side streets.
Every cell in my body hummed. I itched to stop driving, get out and just walk. The schedule for this short trip was Cameron’s to dictate, but next time, I’d come alone. I’d spend time wandering and learn everything I could about this town and its people.
For once, I was going to enjoy being on location.
Most of the films I’d done had been made in LA.
Any trips out of California were always short and grueling.
I’d arrive at an airport after dark. I’d go immediately to the location, shoot for hours and hours on end—sometimes up to twenty per day—and the moment shooting wrapped, I was wheels up and headed home.
There’d always been something next, either another project or a premiere or a press stop.
My agent and manager had pushed for me to do the same here. Get in and get out of Montana, Shaw. But I’d put my foot down.
During shooting, I was not flying back and forth to California. I’d stay in Montana to make sure everything went smoothly. Shelly had the official role of producer, but I was staying active. And once this film was done, I was taking time off. Six months. Maybe a year.
It was time to take a break.
From work. From the media. From the city.
Ahead, the single-story motel came into view. The building was shaded by pine trees on three sides, and its name on the dated sign fit perfectly.
The Evergreen Motel.
Our soon-to-be headquarters.
The scene of our crime.
I parked beside the office, hopping out to stretch my legs.
Cameron, Shelly and I had flown in on my jet this morning, then rented the Escalade and gotten on the road.
The nearest airport of any size was in Bozeman, two hours away.
Next time, I might fly direct to Clifton Forge, but for this first trip, I hadn’t minded seeing more of the Montana countryside.
“This is great.” Shelly smiled, bouncing from foot to foot. “I hope they let me stay in her room.”
“Jesus, Shelly.” I cringed.
She shrugged and took off for the motel’s office.
The her Shelly referred to was Amina Daylee. Four years ago, Amina had been murdered right here at the Evergreen Motel. She’d been stabbed to death seven times by the former chief of police, Marcus Wagner.
The villain.
The man I’d be playing in Dark Paradise.
Cameron and I shared a look—we were equally annoyed with Shelly—then followed her into the office.
It was no more than a kiosk in the center of the motel.
I stayed back as Shelly took the lead, greeting the clerk, who identified himself as the owner.
Shelly rattled off our names for him to find our reservations.
I cringed again as she asked to be put in the room where Amina had been murdered.
So much for a low-key visit to blend in and learn the layout of the place.
The motel owner’s expression turned hard as he retrieved three keys, each hooked to a green oval disk stamped with our room numbers.
“Thanks,” I told him when Shelly forgot.
He nodded. “Just, uh . . . let me know if you need anything.”
“Appreciate it.” I waved, key in hand, and held the door for Shelly as she marched outside.
Now I understood why Cameron had insisted on coming here alone during his other visits. Blending in with Shelly was nearly impossible, and it had nothing to do with her magenta hair.
We huddled around the rear of the SUV, scanning the U-shaped motel for our rooms. Cameron and I had adjacent rooms. Shelly’s room was on the opposite end. Thank God. My temples were beginning to throb.
Shelly and I had worked together for years. At times, her personality grated on me, but she was hardworking and reliable. She’d get the job done and done well, so I could deal with a slight headache.
Cameron and I hadn’t known each other long, having only crossed paths occasionally before he’d agreed to come on as director.
As I’d gotten to know him, I’d learned his reputation lived up to reality.
He was a legend. He worked with dedication, precision and utmost sincerity.
If this project was my baby, it was his grandchild.
Most actors weren’t involved with the preproduction stage of a film’s making, but I wasn’t just the bankable star. I was a moneyman.
My production company was making this movie, and I’d made a significant personal investment. Funding a movie took millions of dollars, so we’d pulled in other investors. But if I could have, I would have funded this entire venture myself. That was how strongly I believed in this script.