"Only if you tell me about Finnegan. I want to know everything."
Wilder put the Jeep in gear and drove north. "Finnegan was IRA-"
"Oh, hell." Lucy took a deep breath. "Sorry. Go on."
"Then he went freelance and now the CIA thinks he's laundering money through the film."
Lucy frowned. "So why don't they arrest him?"
"They don't have any proof, and they don't know where he is."
"Oh, just hell."
"They told me Finnegan wasn't even in the country. So either that's wrong or they lied to me, and right now I'm kind of evenly split on which it is." Wilder shook his head. "But there's something wrong with their theory because Finnegan needs fifty million, which he's not going to get from the movie."
"God, no. Nobody's going to get fifty million from this mess. What does he need it for?"
"He owes it to the Russian mob. Or at least part of it."
"The Russian mob?" Lucy said faintly.
"Finnegan stole fifty million dollars worth of Pre-Columbian jade phallic symbols for a Russian mob boss named Letsky who thinks they cure impotence. Then he lost them. And somehow what Finnegan's doing with this movie is going to help him make amends with Let-sky."
Lucy looked over at him, dumbfounded. "We're going through this hell because some Russian mob guy can't get it up?"
Wilder thought about it. "Yeah."
Lucy still seemed dazed. "Pre-Columbian what again?"
"Jade phallic symbols. Basically, jade penises."
"Oh." Lucy nodded. "This is probably not the time to ask this, but what the fuck is wrong with you map."
"Uh…"
"Nash is screwing everything that moves, Bryce is screwing everything that moves and asks for his autograph, LaFavre is screwing everything whether it moves or not, and now the Russian mob has hired Finnegan to make sure that-" She shook her head. "Even the Pre-Columbians had a dick fixation. What's next? Mother-of-pearl boobs?"
Damn good thing she doesn't know about Ginnie, Wilder thought.
"I just don't understand how you guys got control of the world," Lucy said. "Half the time there's no blood in your brains, and you're still in charge of most of the governments in the world, most of the companies, and all of the military." She blinked. "Which actually explains a lot, now that I think of it."
Wilder glanced over. She was staring through the windshield. He decided to go the opposite of the sledgehammer and remain silent.
They were passing the strip clubs that lined the road just before they hit the bridge and Georgia. The signs were old and worn, boasting totally nude entertainment, which was redundant to Wilder. He was sure LaFavre knew the interiors of all of them.
Probably not the time to mention that to Lucy.
Also, a good time to drop the CIA, Finnegan, and the Russians.
No discussions about foster care, either.
Nor anything about ex-wives.
Fuck, Wilder thought. This is not good.
They hit the ramp for the Talmadge and began climbing. To the left, coming upriver, was a cargo ship, the deck stacked with containers, a couple of tugs keeping it in the channel as it made its way to the port, to the right. That would be a good job. A simple job. Just keep a ship going in a straight line. No dealing with the CIA and Finnegan and whoever else was behind the scenes; he could do without all of them.
He glanced over at the passenger seat.
But not without Lucy.
It was a strange thought, the idea that he could see a future with her, maybe not as clearly as she could, but a definite possibility once they'd had some time together. That's what he should have said. Crap. He was just no good with women.
The two ex-wives were kind of a tip-off there, he supposed.
They crossed over the bridge in silence and pulled into the crew hotel parking lot before she spoke again.
"I think Stephanie took the rope."
"From Bryce's cable rig?"
Lucy nodded. "I think Nash sabotaged the rope and she took it to protect him or blackmail him or something. I sent her after the cable and when she brought it back the rope was gone, and I think she took it to use it to control him to save the movie. I think that's why he wrote her off. He wouldn't tolerate that." She shook her head. "We're not any brighter than you guys, when you get right down to it. Sex makes us all stupid. Love's even worse."
That sunk in. "I'm sorry."
"About what?"
He shifted in his seat. "Nash and Stephanie."
"That they were sleeping together?" She shook her head. "She could have him with my blessing. They deserve each other. But she didn't deserve this, and she didn't deserve to have him walk away from her like that." She looked over at Wilder. "I really want to bring him down. Him and Finnegan."
"I'm working on it." Wilder got out of the Jeep.
"How do you want to handle this?" Lucy asked.
"What?" Damn, he was sounding like Crawford now.
"Mary. What do we do?"
Wilder paused. His experience in interrogation had been in places where people shot at each other and the bad guys didn't wear uniforms. Probably not the best tactics to use on Mary. "Uh, Good Cop, Bad Cop?"
Lucy nodded. "Okay. Listen, I'm still really mad at you so I'll be the Bad Cop."
Wilder opened his mouth to say something, but Lucy was already heading for the door.
"Okay, then," he said and followed her in.
The first person Lucy saw in the lobby of the crew hotel was Bryce, trying to sneak out.
"I don't believe it," she told J.T. "I'm pretty sure he started the evening with Althea."
"Well, at least we know Mary Vanity is here," J.T. said.
"Bryce," Lucy called, and the actor jerked back so hard he almost levitated. Then he smiled weakly and waved at her. When she didn't wave back, he came over to join them.
"Lucy," he said, trying to fake delight.
"So how's Mary?" Lucy said, thinking, Is there any guy left in my life with blood in his brain?
"Aw, Lucy," Bryce said. "You know-"
"What I know," Lucy said severely, "is that Althea cares for you, that she's ready to settle down with somebody she loves, and that you're cheating on her. Now, what do you know?"
Bryce blinked. "Settle down?"
Lucy sighed. "Bryce, you could have the wedding America dreams about. Stop screwing around and think about Althea." When he still looked confused, she added, "Think about your career. Pick a magazine to do the exclusive on the wedding."
"Oh." Bryce looked thoughtful. "I hadn't thought about the PR. I was just thinking about the effect on the box office. Could be bad."
"So could discussion as to why you're thirty-seven and not married," Lucy said.
"Oh," Bryce said, looking even more thoughtful, which was obviously a strain.
"Stick with Althea," Lucy said.
Bryce nodded without so much as a backward glance in the direction of Mary Vanity's room. "Thanks, Lucy. I'll-"
"There's something else," Lucy said, and Bryce drew himself up, probably prepared to play the outraged star if she went too far. "Stephanie's been hurt," she said and watched him deflate. "She's in the hospital. She had an accident in Nash's van."
"My God," he said, but she could see the wheels turning even while he looked shocked, concerned, and saddened, all appropriate emotions he could project at the drop of a hat. He took her hand. "You know, Stephanie loves this movie. She would want us to keep filming."
Right, Lucy thought and took her hand back. "Do me a favor. Go back to the cast hotel and tell Althea and Rick when they wake up. You're the star, they'll want to hear it from you."
She watched him expand again.
"We're still shooting tonight, right?" he said. "I can tell them that?"
"Yes," J.T. said.
"I don't think so," Lucy said, ignoring him. "I'll know more later."
"Well," Bryce said. "We should keep shooting." He stopped, as if not sure what to say next, and
then collected himself and said, "I'm glad you're here, Lucy. You're doing a great job, handling everything for us like a real pro. We know we can depend on you. I think I can speak for the rest of the cast when I say we all appreciate what you've done for us, and we know you'll be there for us tonight."
"Uh huh," Lucy said, not particularly gratified to know she existed to serve. "Thank you very much." She nodded toward the door. "Best get back to the cast hotel before anybody wakes up."
"Right," Bryce said and then stopped. "How did I find out about Stephanie?"
"I called you," Lucy said. "Because-"
"-I'm the star!" Bryce said, nodding. "Thanks, Lucy."
"You bet," Lucy said and watched him go. She thought about what his face would have looked like if she'd started rattling off the nightmares that had their fingers in his movie. "The CIA is not SAG, Bryce," she could have said. "The Russian mob is not looking for a piece of the back end."
And the Teamsters had not taken out Stephanie.
Lucy took a deep breath.
"Now we go squeeze Mary Vanity," J.T. said.
"I'm pretty sure Bryce just did that," Lucy said and followed him across the lobby.
When Mary Vanity answered the door in her robe, she was beaming. Then she realized they weren't Bryce.
"Hi," Lucy said, feeling guilty about sending Bryce oft to Althea until she remembered who Mary had been talking to. The hell with her, the little mole. "We have a few questions."
Mary's face had fallen when she'd recognized them, but now it hit the floor. "I have a right to my private life," she said, chin down.
"Of course you do." Lucy pushed past her into the room, where the bed showed every sign of having been slept in by one person. No romping. Poor Mary. "It's your phone life we're objecting to," she said, turning in time to see J.T. look at her in warning. Yeah, yeah, okay, partnership, but I'm the Bad Cop. "Captain Wilder has some questions."
He looked startled and then recovered enough to smile at Mary. He looked about as comfortable smiling at Mary as Mary did having them in her room. "We know you've been talking to Mr. Finnegan, Mary."
Mary flushed and ducked her head lower. "Have not."
This should be good, Lucy thought, folding her arms. Rambo meets Jessica Simpson.
"I realize you thought it was harmless," J.T. went on, his voice gentle. "But Mr. Finnegan is not a movie backer, he's a terrorist."
Mary jerked her head up. "No. No, he's Irish."
This is going to take a while, Lucy thought and sat down.
J.T. nodded. "Yes, he was with the IRA and now he's with the Russian mob. They're laundering money through the movie."
Mary swallowed. "I don't even know what that means. I don't know anything about this."
J.T. nodded again. "What he's really doing is using the movie as a front for the Russian mob."
Mary blinked. "I don't know any Russians."
"You do now," Lucy said grimly. "And these aren't fun-loving, vodka-toasting Russians. These guys kill people." She leaned forward. "And you're helping them."
"No." Mary moved closer to J.T., shaking her head. "No, no. I didn't do anything."
J.T. smiled, which Lucy supposed was intended as reassurance. He really had to work on that.
"Mary, we know you called Finnegan when Stephanie took the van," he said, his voice full of understanding.
"And you told him when Captain Wilder came on the set." Lucy made her voice as sharp as possible. "Bryce told you he was here, didn't he? And you told Finnegan, and then the next day somebody pulled a knife on them in a bar." She saw Mary's eyes flicker. "You almost got Bryce killed, Mary."
"No," Mary moaned.
"And yesterday when Bryce fell off the helicopter…" Lucy shook her head. "I don't know how he's going to take it when he finds out you're responsible for him getting hurt twice."
"No, wait." Mary stood up. Her robe fell open and Lucy expected J.T. to look politely at the ceiling but instead he looked into her eyes.
"We know you'd never hurt Bryce," he said, and Mary nodded like a bobble-head, stepping closer to him as she pulled her robe together.
That robe falling open was no accident, Lucy thought, and then remembered she was the Bad Cop. "How do we know that?" she said to J.T. "It's because of her that Bryce's been hurt twice. I think it's our duty to tell him about her. She's with the mob. She could be setting up an ambush in her room." Although why the Russian mob would want to take nut Bryce is a mystery.
Lucy straightened, trying for indignation. "She could be part of a plot to ruin the movie by killing Bryce."
"No, no, no" Mary said, blinking her false eyelashes as she moved another step closer to J.T.
Does she sleep in those? Lucy thought and then decided she probably did, in case Bryce stopped by.
"I'm sure Mary meant no harm," J.T. said, going for noble understanding. He was going to have to work on that, too. "Right. Mary?"
"Mr. Finnegan gave me ten thousand to tell him what was happen-ing on the set," Mary said. "He didn't ask me to do anything except tell him what was going on, if anything new happened, what Nash was doing."
Hello, Lucy thought. Doesn't trust Nash. Smart Irishman.
"And I really needed the money," Mary was saying to J.T. "Bryce likes big boobs and I'm only a B cup, but he doesn't like the cheap ones so I needed enough money for the expensive ones."
J.T. blinked. "There are different kinds?"
Hey, Lucy thought. Off topic here.
"It's really the surgery," Mary Vanity said, confiding in him. "In the cheap ones, they just cut open your boob and put the implant in so you can see the scar."
"And the expensive ones?" Lucy asked, not wanting to ask but helpless not to.
"They go in, like, through your stomach," Mary said. "No scar. Much better."
Lucy put her hand on her stomach. "Right." She looked at J.T. "I am never getting implants."
He looked confused. "Why would you?"
"Well, she's only a C cup," Mary said. "I mean, right?''
"Right." Lucy crossed her arms over her chest.
"Bryce likes Ds," Mary said, helpfully.
"Uh huh." J.T. was clearly sorry about the turn the conversation had taken. "I don't think there's any need to tell Bryce any of this."
"Oh, thank you]" Mary Vanity said, clutching his arm.
"As long as you give us Finnegan's phone number," J.T. said.
"Sure." Mary pushed past him to grab her bag, a pink leather number with the initial in on it, the hot trend in purses from 2003. "Here it is." She shoved a piece of paper at J.T.
"It would be better if you didn't tell Mr. Finnegan we talked to you," J.T. said. "In fact, it would be better if you didn't call him again at all."
"Oh no," Mary said and swallowed. "Never again. Ever. You won't tell Bryce?"
"No," J.T. said.
"What about you?" Mary said to Lucy.
"My lips are sealed as long as yours are," Lucy said. "But if you call Finnegan again, Bryce gets the whole thing, storyboarded with sound effects."
"I won't, I won't." Mary's face crumpled. "Except I think he's going to marry Althea anyway. If I'd just gotten the money sooner, if I'd just had the boobs…"
"Maybe yours will be better," Lucy said. "Does she have the expensive ones?"
"Yes," Mary and J.T. said together.
Lucy looked at J.T. with what she sincerely hoped was contempt.
J.T. said, "We have to go now."
"We certainly do," Lucy said, glaring at him.
"Should I be on the set tonight?" Mary said, pitifully.
"No," Lucy said as J.T. said, "Yes," and Lucy glared at him again.
"We're probably not going to shoot tonight," Lucy said. "Stay by the phone and Gloom will call you if we need you."
"We're shooting," J.T. said.
"Stay by the phone," Lucy said and all but shoved J.T. out the door.
"I say we're not shooting," she told him when they were alone in the hall. "So
stop undermining me."
"Lucy, you're going to have to," J.T. said. "Call Finnegan and set up a meet."
"What?"
"The people I work for would like to know where Finnegan is," J.T. said patiently. "Set up a meet for this afternoon."
"I am also the people you work for," Lucy said.
"Tell him if he doesn't meet, you won't shoot tonight," J.T. said. "You'll like that."
Lucy leaned against the flocked wallpaper. "You really think we really have to film tonight?"
"Not if we nab Finnegan beforehand."
Lucy took out her cell phone and held out her hand for the paper with Finnegan's number. "I refuse to do anything that might mean somebody is going to get hurt."
"Nobody's going to get hurt," J.T. began.
"I thought you weren't going to lie to me anymore," Lucy said and punched in the numbers.
"I hope," J.T. finished.
"Yeah, me too," Lucy said, and then Finnegan answered and she went to work.
Wilder dropped Lucy off at the camper so she could call the hospital to check on Stephanie and take Daisy and Pepper back to the crew hotel. Then he went to the diner to meet Crawford. He took the seat across from the agent and said, "So which alphabet soup are you?"
"What?"
Some things never changed. "Your ID this morning was FBI. You told me you were CIA. Or is it NSA? DEA? NRA? ASPCA?"
"Oh, I'm CIA," Crawford said. "I pulled the FBI ID because I didn't know who I'd be talking to. I'd just come from the accident scene and needed cover. People tend to get nervous when they see CIA."
Especially since the CIA wasn't legally allowed to act inside the borders. And if Crawford was carrying FBI ID, he was a leg up on the usual CIA clown. It meant he had official cover for action. "Was it an accident?"
"Yes."
"You sound very sure."
"The police forensics people went over the car and the accident scene. She hit the side of the bridge. Must have dozed off."
A rope breaks. A skid snaps. A driver dozes off. Three accidents. Three strikes. And now Finnegan was looming, which he imagined was the CIA's plan all along. Wilder tried to relax his back, resisting the desire to look over his shoulder. "Finnegan is coming this afternoon."
Crawford's eyes widened and Wilder glanced to his rear. Nobody with guns barging in.