What he hadn't had a clue about was the real reason why she'd left that first job of hers. The married general manager had expected her to perform for a different, more private kind of camera, and when she'd told him no, he'd pink-slipped her after setting her up to fail on air.
Gregg had seen the tape of the reporting job where she'd butchered her words. After all, he did his homework, and though her audition for him had gone great, he always checked references.
Guess that was what had started him off with his assumptions about her: pretty face, great rack, nothing much else to offer.
But that wasn't the worst of his misconceptions. He'd never known she had a brother. Who was handicapped. Who she was supporting.
She'd shown him a picture of the two of them together.
And when Gregg had asked out loud how it was possible he hadn't known about the boy? She'd had the honesty to tell him the way it was: Because you'd laid out the lines and that was over the line.
Naturally, he'd had the normal male reaction to defend himself, but the fact was, she was right. He had drawn the boundaries pretty fucking clearly. Which meant no jealousy, no explanations, nothing permanent and nothing personal.
Not exactly the environment you wanted to make yourself vulnerable in.
That realization was what had had him pulling her up against his chest and putting his chin on her head and stroking her back. Right before she'd gone to dreamland, she'd mumbled something in a soft voice. Something like, it was the best night she'd ever had with him.
And this in spite of the monstrous orgasms he'd given her.
Well, given her when it suited him. There had been a lot of dates that he'd canceled at the last minute and phone messages that went unreturned and brush-offs both verbal and physical.
Man . . . what a shit he'd been.
When Gregg fianlly got up to go, he tucked Holly in, turned the motion-activated camera on, and slipped out into the hallway. Silence all around.
Padding down the corridor, he went back to the Exit sign and ducked into that rear stairwell. Up the steps, around the landing, another flight, and then he was at the door.
No banging this time around. He took out a thin screwdriver that was normally used on the camera equipment and got to work jimmying the lock. It was easier than he'd thought, actually. Just one poke and shift and the thing sprang loose.
The door did not squeak, which surprised him.
What was on the other side, however . . . shocked the ever loving hell out of him.
The third floor was a cavernous space with old- fashioned, rough-hewn floorboards and a ceiling that sloped at a steep angle on either side. Down at the far end, there was a table with an oil lamp on it and the glow turned the smooth walls into a golden yellow . . . as well as illuminated the black boots of whoever was sitting in a chair just outside the pool of light.
Big boots.
And suddenly, there was no question who the SOB was and what he'd done.
"I have you on tape," Gregg said to the figure.
The soft laugh that came back at him made Gregg's adrenal gland go into overdrive: Low and cold, it was the kind of sound killers made when they were about to get to work with a knife.
"Do you." That accent. What the fuck was it? Not French . . . not Hungarian . . .
Whatever. The idea Holly had been taken advantage of made him taller and stronger than he really was. "I know what you did. The night before last."
"I'd tell you to take a chair, but as you can see, I only have one."
"I'm not fucking around." Gregg took a step forward. "I know what happened with her. She didn't want you."
"She wanted the sex."
Motherfucking asshole. "She was asleep."
"Was she." The boot tip swung up and down. "Appearances, like psyches, can be deceiving."
"Who the hell do you think you are?"
"I own this fine house. That is who I am. I'm the one who gave you permission to play with all your cameras."
"Well, you can kiss that shit good-bye now. I'm not advertising this place."
"Oh, I think you will. It's in your nature."
"You don't know dick about me."
"I think it's the other way around. You don't know . . . dick, as you call it . . . about yourself. She said your name, by the way. When she came."
This made Gregg furious, to the point that he took another step forward.
"I would be careful there," the voice said. "You don't want to get hurt. And I'm considered to be insane."
"I'm calling the police."
"You have no cause. Consenting adults and all that."
"She was asleep!"
That boot shifted around and planted on the ground. "Watch your tone, boy."
Before there was time to get fired up about the insult, the man leaned forward in the chair . . . and Gregg lost his voice.