Chapter 7 Lana #2
Lana read it again, silently. Griffin lightly cupped her upper arms. It felt like all that was holding her up. “She sent it the day her phone first pinged from here. So, there was something going on.”
“So she deleted everything, sent that last text, and tossed the phone?”
“Or someone else tossed the phone.”
“If it was someone else, why would they leave one message on it?”
“Good point.” Lana looked at the horizon. The ocean had almost swallowed the sun. “That does make me feel better. There would have been just enough wi-fi signal up here to send a text.”
“Maybe this person gave her the money to disappear.”
“They’re not saved in her contacts. She also says someone’s after her, someone knows. Knows what? So that’s two people who might have…”
Griffin stroked Lana’s arms, his breath playing with her fringe.
“Let’s keep going. The wi-fi is stronger on the set, and we can do some breaking and entering.
” He released her and lightly touched the small of her back, prompting her to walk ahead.
“Her boyfriend told you she was obsessed with investigating something, right?”
“Yes, for at least a couple of months before they broke up, though she didn’t say a word to me.
” As they followed the path back, she filled him in on the details she’d glossed over earlier.
It was a useful focusing exercise for her own brain, which was firing in so many places it was its own festival of lights.
“Shall we start at the production trailer?” Griffin said as they entered base camp, walking between two shipping containers. “I can grab the spare key for my trailer and get changed—since you’re offended by my nudity.”
“I’m not offended!”
He grinned, his eyes lit with mischief.
She took a playful swipe in his direction. “But of course you already know that.”
She opened Vivien’s emails again. With stronger wi-fi, the inbox filled with unopened messages.
Several were from Lana, begging Vivien to call.
Otherwise, it was mostly marketing guff, overdue reminders, and increasingly grumpy emails from the production company asking about her absence. No sent messages.
“She can’t have accessed her email since the phone was dumped,” Lana said. “We’ll have to wait until we’re back in cell coverage before we can check if anyone’s texted or called her since, unless it’s through an app or—”
Griffin grabbed Lana’s waist and pulled her behind a shipping container, pressing her back against the cold, ridged metal. She went to speak but he touched a finger to her lips. He pointed in the direction they’d been walking. Footsteps crunched on gravel. “A guard,” he whispered.
The footsteps neared. They watched the narrow gap between the containers.
It was early enough that they could explain their presence as a logistical mix-up, but it would end her search for leads.
The guard stepped into view, twilight picking out silver reflective strips on her jacket.
She glanced their way. Griffin pressed into Lana as if trying to hide her, though her body didn’t grasp the nuances of his intention, instead deeply registering his warm, honed, near-naked form.
She could smell his cologne and a mix of other scents she couldn’t identify but that could probably be bottled and sold.
Heat flushed through her, the sensation intensified by the cold metal against her spine.
If ever she’d felt attracted to a guy in the past, it was nothing compared to this.
Without as much as a kiss, he was ruining her for other men.
The guard’s step didn’t waver, and she passed out of sight. Saved by the shadows cast by the dying light. The pressure of Griffin’s body released, and he laughed quietly. Lana hoped he’d excuse her panting as tension from the close escape.
“So wild, Lana,” he whispered. “So very wild.”
“Doesn’t seem like she’s looking for you—or me.”
“Literally doing the rounds. I’m not sure how many guards we have overnight. The set only usually empties between midnight and five.”
“Just three guards at the gate, taking turns to sleep.”
Griffin raised an eyebrow.
“I asked around. You don’t need to stay with me, Griffin. You could get a ride back with her.”
His head jerked backward. “I want to stay. I want to help.”
Her suggestion had evidently come as a surprise to him, but his own answer seemed even more so.
She felt a mix of relief and … something else.
Something that was beginning to feel dangerous.
If you could get intoxicated from watching Griffin from a distance, what about feeling the full length of his body against you?
A vehicle started and rumbled away. Lana followed Griffin through the mini trailer park, taking a circuitous route to avoid security cameras. They stopped at the production trailer, and he went to smash the lock with a rock. She lurched forward and pulled him back.
“Whoa there, Jesse James.” She stepped past him and punched in the access code. “Some of the PAs are lax with security.”
“Lucky my trailer doesn’t have a code.”
“Now why would I have memorized your code?” she teased. “But of course you would think this is all about you.”
He smiled broadly. “Things usually are all about me. Not being arrogant,” he added, laughing at her skeptical expression. “I’m enjoying that this is all about you.”
“Not me. Vivien.”
“Yeah.” He scratched the side of his scalp. “Sorry.”
She felt bad—it wasn’t him she was chastising, but herself. She went to open the trailer door, and stopped. “What if it sets off an alarm?”
“Then we tell security we set it off to alert them that we got left behind.”
“That works.” She stepped inside the dark space, and he followed, lowering the backpack to the floor.
She unzipped a pocket, pulled out a flashlight, and switched it on.
“We should avoid turning on the light in case the guards come back.” The blinds were down, but light would sluice out through the gaps.
“I only have one flashlight, sorry. Wasn’t expecting a sidekick. ”
“A sidekick?”
“Oh, sorry, do you identify as the hero?”
“Happy to be your sidekick. I’ve never been a sidekick—they get the best lines. I’ll grab my trailer key.” He opened a desk drawer. “Can you shine your beauteous light my way?”
She obliged, and he picked out a key attached to a cardboard label. “Well, that’s not secure—it has my name on it.”
“No wonder someone stole your toothbrush.”
“You heard about that?”
“So that one’s true?”
“I’m forever losing toothbrushes. I have to buy them in bulk—they’re pretty much single-use items when I’m on the road. You wouldn’t want to know the shit that disappears from my hotel rooms and ends up on eBay.” He bounded out. The trailer shook as he clanged down the steps.
She swept the flashlight beam around. Desks lined each long wall, with TV screens and whiteboards above.
Two computers hummed, alongside a printer, a box of walkie-talkies, neat piles of scripts, and trays filled with documents.
Tucked under the desk were filing cabinets and a cupboard marked with a first-aid cross.
At one end of the trailer was a bench seat, fridge and microwave, at the other, the welcome sight of a bathroom.
By the time Griffin returned, with two bottles of water and a shopping bag of snacks, Lana was flicking through incident report forms in a filing cabinet.
He wore a gray T-shirt and jeans, and she got a hit of attraction, hot and liquid.
She was a menace. She’d never seen him in his own clothes—he was already on set each morning when she arrived and still working when she left.
How was it that he looked even more handsome clothed?
It was as if, without the distraction of his perfect body, your eyes were directed to his beautiful face.
Quality over quantity. Plus, it made him seem like less of a demigod and more like a regular guy—and if he was a god among demigods, he was a supreme being among regular guys.
He dropped into an office chair and rolled up to a computer, his face illuminated by the monitor’s blue light. “It’s password-protected,” she said. “My snooping didn’t get that far, unfortunately.”
“Let me try something.” He typed, “Griffin-Hart-is-an-asshole,” replacing some letters with dollar signs and numbers. It worked. He grunted. “I had hoped that particular rumor wasn’t true.”
He began clicking around, trying Vivien’s name in various search boxes, while Lana continued flicking through the accident reports.
None mentioned Vivien, though she found one about Estelle Duman’s ankle.
She moved on to the other filing cabinets, and then tried the same password on the other computer.
It accessed the same system as the one Griffin was searching, but a lot of the programs and apps required passwords not saved in the keychain.
He yawned. She was tired too, and she hadn’t been fighting and kissing all day.
As night fell, they pooled their snacks and ate them—his consisted of trail mix, bananas, beef jerky, cheese, and dark chocolate, hers of granola, bars, chocolate, chips and candy.
A couple of fruitless hours in, they heard a vehicle.
Lana switched off her flashlight until it left.
“I don’t know what I expected to find,” she said, rolling her chair to his.
“But we’re not finding it.” He’d taken to randomly opening folders on the desktop.
“Wait,” she said, pulling in closer. “Open that one.” She pointed at a spreadsheet named “Carpooling groups.” It opened a table of names—and addresses.
“I once called Vivi on a Sunday night, and she was in a car with other crew, heading up here.”
Griffin searched for Vivien’s name. An address came up.
“That’s not where she lived with Julian,” Lana said. “Must be where she moved to next.”
“What do you know about him?”
“Seems like a nice guy. Grounded Vivi—for a while. He works in film, that’s how they met—camera operator.”