Chapter 29
Trevor Hawkins didn’t speak French, which made the trip from the airport to the movie set some two hours outside Paris a royal pain in the ass.
He was tired from flying all night on the cramped airplane, stuck in the middle seat and barely able to sleep.
He would have crashed in the taxi, but the driver was determined to make conversation despite how hard it was to communicate, leaving Hawk to repeat, “I don’t want to talk anymore,” over and over again, which served only to make the driver laugh and talk faster.
The diamond ring in his pocket was heavy on his mind.
He and Olivia had been talking about marriage for a while now.
They even had a timeline—after she finished this movie—but he hadn’t gotten down on one knee and she wasn’t wearing his ring.
He’d wanted something special, something worthy of a Hollywood starlet, and that had taken him some time.
Now that the time was here, he couldn’t wait to put it on her finger.
And make love like rabbits.
Just the thought had his dick waking up. She’d been gone too long and he missed the fuck out of that woman.
“Savez-vous de quoi je parle?” asked the cabbie, who’d been chattering on while Trevor thought about a naked Olivia beckoning him into bed.
“I don’t want to talk anymore!”
The cabbie laughed hysterically.
It was past noon by the time they reached the set, hundreds of people milling about or running around, but no sign of Olivia. He groaned and pulled his English-French electronic translator from his pocket once more.
Brooke Barrons definitely got a reaction, but it took him a while to explain who he was and to actually get directions to her dressing room. Even as he was grateful, he shook his head at the ease with which he accomplished that task. No wonder she didn’t feel safe here.
He doubted there was anything to really be concerned about, but if she was worried, then he would be here for her, acting as her personal bodyguard for the duration of the film.
And I will like it.
He smiled all the way to her dressing room. Maybe she would have time right now and they could make love before she returned to the set. Her name was on the door, another no-no for someone who wanted to be left alone, and he shook his head. He knocked, the door opening a small crack.
“Olivia?” He pushed it open to reveal a space about fifteen feet square.
It was messy, which instantly struck him as odd, then his heart began to pick up speed as he looked more closely.
There was makeup scattered on the floor.
Jewelry, too. A handheld mirror was shattered, bits of glass shining up from the carpet.
Trevor moved into the bathroom, calling her name, though he already feared she wasn’t here, his mind going into overdrive as he imagined what might have happened. He tried to think of rational explanations. She’d been upset. Maybe she was throwing things.
Then he saw her cell phone and purse sitting on a side table, the hair on the back of his neck going up. She never would have left those here with the door open. Not on purpose, anyway.
A hulking fat man appeared in the doorway, a sandwich in his hand. “Qui es-tu?” demanded the man.
Hawk didn’t need a translator for that one but asked a question of his own. “Where is Brooke Barrons?”
The man looked around the room as if only now realizing she wasn’t there. “I don’t know,” he said in heavily accented English.
“Are you her security detail?”
The man looked at him blankly.
“Her bodyguard?” he clarified.
“Oui, bodyguard.”
Hawk crossed to him. “Then where is she?”
The man shrugged.
“Where the hell were you?”
He held up his sandwich. “Lunch.”