“Your dad gave Estelle a tranquilizer and she’s resting. Kit and Olivia are concentrating on the play. I don’t think they’ve really talked about the past.”
“What about Kit’s son?” She’d met Rowan yesterday and she’d immediately understood why Stacy had said he was “too serious.” That was an understatement. The young man was as businesslike as a machine. He quietly told everyone what they were to do—and they obeyed.
“I’d hate to play poker with that guy,” Tate said. “I can’t tell what he’s thinking, and he never tells us what he’s doing. He’s on the phone a lot, but—” Tate broke off because he could see that he was upsetting Casey more. He put his hand on her chin. “Haines will be here. He couldn’t possibly turn down an opportunity to show me up.”
“And when he arrives, he’ll be put in handcuffs.”
“No,” Tate said. “That’s not the deal.”
“But he kidnapped a fifteen-year-old child!”
Tate took her hands in his. “Rowan and I worked this out. If Haines appears, he’ll be allowed to perform. There are about twenty federal agents in the audience, some of them FBI and some retired friends of Kit. There’s no way Haines can escape. And besides, we don’t think he has any idea of the enormity of what he’s done.”
“The play must go on, that sort of thing?”
“It’s more that the charities must be helped. You’ve seen Josh as an actor. He can’t remember half his lines. If he plays Wickham, we worry that people will demand their money back. That won’t help your mother’s clinic.”
His joke didn’t make her smile. She was looking into his eyes. “This isn’t about money, is it? This is your doing. Did you ask Rowan to hold off on the arrests so Devlin can have one last performance before his life falls apart?”
For a second, Tate looked surprised, then he laughed. “Caught. How did you figure it out?”
“I’m beginning to know you. How difficult was it to persuade him?”
Tate stood up. “It was hell! Rowan Montgomery is made out of steel, unbreakable. He wanted to slap Haines into chains the second he appeared. But damn! I couldn’t do it. He’s Emmie’s father.”
“And a man who has made your life hell, who blames you for every bad thing he’s caused.”
“If I retaliate in kind, it makes me no better than he is.”
“And that belief of yours is one of the reasons why I love you,” Casey said, then gasped. “I mean…I should…”
Tate pulled her into his arms and held her tightly. “It’s okay. I’ve fallen hard for you too. I think I knew I loved you when you trusted me to hold you while you were hanging down the side of a roof. That you’d risk so much to help a child told me everything about you.”
He kissed her long and lingeringly.
The dressing-room door swung open and hit Tate in the back. “Ten minutes,” the stage manager yelled. She glanced around Tate to Casey. “Remember that you’re supposed to hate him.”
“I do,” Casey said. “I’m only interested in his body.”
“I can understand that!”
With a groan, Tate pushed the door closed. “You two make me feel like a piece of meat.”
“Now you’re trying to turn me on. Go! I have to repair my lipstick. If Devlin shows up, let me know.”
Tate kept kissing her while he backed up, talking between each one. “Does this mean you’ll go to L.A. with me? Live with me? Go with me to those publicity things I have to attend? Make pies for me?”
“Yes to everything.” She had her hand on his chest and was pushing him out the door. She paused. “Do you like me or my cooking better?”
Tate halted on the way to her lips. “I’ll have to think about that.” He went forward with another kiss, but Casey drew away.
“Get out of here! And don’t take your shirt off for anyone but me.”
He was backing down the hall. “What do you think Hollywood is going to say when I have a girlfriend who is a mere cook? The headline will be HE COULD HAVE DONE BETTER.”
Casey looked at him in horror.
“Maybe you could take night classes and become a lawyer. That’s what Clooney got.” He turned away and went down the hall to his own dressing room.