One Secret Night, One Secret Baby(28)

Dylan grabbed his script and took a seat again. He had to learn his lines or they’d all be here until after midnight. Sharpening his focus, he blocked out everything plaguing his mind and concentrated on the scene, reciting the words over and over and finally getting a grasp of them. He closed his eyes, as he always did, to get a mental picture of how the scene would play out—where his marks were and what movements he would make throughout.

The caustic scent of smoke wafted to his nostrils and he was instantly reminded of the day Roy died. The memory of the blast and the smoke that followed had now fully returned. It was so strong that every time he came upon a group of people smoking on their coffee breaks, he’d relive that moment.

He shook it off, determined to run through his lines one more time before rehearsal was called. But his throat began to burn and he coughed and coughed. That’s when he noticed a cloud of gray haze coming toward him from the back end of the trailer. Seconds later he saw flames darting up from his bedroom. Right before his eyes, the fire jumped to the bed and wardrobe racks. Within moments, his entire bedroom was engulfed in flames. He ran for the trailer door and turned the knob. The door moved half an inch, but something was blocking it from opening from the outside. He pushed against it with his full weight. It wouldn’t budge. Peering out the window, he looked around and shouted for help.

Flames lit the entire back end of the trailer, the heat sweltering, the smoke choking his lungs. Dylan darted quick glances around the trailer, looking for something sharp to break the small kitchen window. He grabbed his wardrobe chair and shoved the legs against the window above the sink with all his might. Once, twice and finally the window shattered. He broke out as much glass as possible with the chair and then dived headfirst, tucking and rolling his body the way Roy had taught him.

“Ow!” He met with gravel, landing hard, and instantly sucked fresh air into his lungs. The flames were blazing now and he struggled to his feet. He had to get away before the whole thing blew.

Members of the movie crew had now seen the fire and came running over. Two of them grabbed his arms and dragged him away from the trailer. In the distance, he heard sirens blasting.

“Are you okay?” one of the crew members asked.

“Dylan, talk to me.” He recognized the assistant director’s voice. “Say something.”

“I’m...okay.”

“Mr. McKay,” another voice said, “we’re getting you to safety. Hold on.”

Once they were fifty feet from the trailers, a blanket was tossed onto the ground and he was laid down. Blood oozed out from scrapes on his body and his clothes were torn from the leap out the window. The stench of smoke and ash permeated the area. Within seconds, the studio medic arrived and assessed him. An oxygen mask was put over his mouth and soon a fresh swell of air flowed into his throat and down his lungs.

“Take slow, normal breaths,” the medic said. “You got out in time. Looks like you’re going to be fine.”

Dylan tried to sit up but he was gently laid back down. “Not yet. You’re not burned, but you do have abrasions on your arms and legs. You banged up your face pretty good, too. An ambulance is on the way.”

He groaned. “Someone tried to kill me,” he said.

“We figured. Those honey wagons don’t just light themselves on fire. And we noticed how your door was blocked with a solid beam of wood from the Props Department. The police are on their way.”

* * *

“I can’t believe you didn’t call me last night,” Brooke was saying softly near his hospital bed. Concern over him was the only thing keeping her from unleashing her wrath.

Accompanied by a police escort, he’d been taken here for observation and to clean up his wounds last night after the fire, and decided not to call his sister until dawn. She didn’t need to worry about him and lose sleep over this, but he had to call her before the story hit the morning news.

“There’s a freaking police guard outside your room, Dylan. I had to practically strip down to my panties to get in here to see you.”

“I bet that was fun,” he said, winking the eye that wasn’t bruised.

“Ha-ha. Well, at least you haven’t lost your sense of humor. But this is serious, brother,” Brooke said, her eyes misting up. “You’re all bandaged and look like a train wreck. God, I don’t want to lose you.”

Brooke had a blunt way of putting things, but he knew what was in her heart. He took her hand and squeezed. “I don’t want to be lost. They’ll find whoever did this, Brooke. It has to be someone with access to the studio lot.”

Brooke frowned. “That narrows it down to about a thousand or so.”

“I’ll be fine, Brooke. I’m going home with a police escort this afternoon.”

Dylan flopped back against his pillow. A part of him was disappointed that Emma hadn’t shown up here. Had Brooke told her? He couldn’t ask, because then his well-meaning sister would give him another lecture. Emma would find out soon enough, if she looked at a newspaper, logged onto the internet or turned on a television set.

He’d already spoken to his manager, his agent and his publicist. They were taking care of business for him. He was set to be released from the hospital later today. Not that he wasn’t grateful to the staff, but if one more person told him how lucky he’d been last night, he would scream. Someone was out to kill him. A crazed fan? Some lunatic who wanted fifteen minutes of fame? Or was it someone he knew? A tremor passed through him at the thought. Who hated him enough to want him dead?

He’d been questioned extensively by the police last night and he’d told the detectives everything that had happened that day. They’d been thorough in their questioning, and unfortunately, Dylan was still at a loss as to who might want to murder him.

“I called Emma and told her what happened to you,” Brooke said, her chin tilted at a defiant angle. “She’s your wife, Dylan, and has a right to know. At least she won’t hear about it first on the morning news. She’s pretty messed up right now.”

“I didn’t mean to cause her pain, Brooke.” Yet that’s exactly what he’d done. She was pregnant and his wife, and even though the baby wasn’t his, he should’ve treated her better than he had. The fact that he wanted to see her, wanted her to come just so he could look into her pretty face and be comforted, made him question everything. “Please tell her that I’m all right and that she can talk to me anytime, but honestly, Brooke, until they figure out who’s doing this it’s best that you and Emma stay away from me.”

Brooke opened her mouth to protest just as the nurse walked in. God, he’d never been so happy to have a medical procedure in his life. “Time to get your vitals and check on your bandages, Mr. McKay,” the woman said. “If you don’t mind stepping out of the room, please?” she asked of Brooke.

“Of course. I’ll see you a little later, Dylan,” she said, blowing him a kiss. “Be safe.”

By five in the afternoon, Dylan was home. Both of his bodyguards were on the premises, keeping an eye out for anything unusual. His first order of business was to go through the past few months of fan mail. He’d had Rochelle skim the letters back when suspicions had first been raised about the cause of Roy’s accident, but now that he was certain someone was out to get him he sat behind his office desk and read through each one. His cell phone rang and he sighed when he saw the caller’s name pop up on the screen.

“Hello, Renee.”

“Dylan, thank God you’re all right. I heard about the fire at the studio.” Renee sounded breathless.

“I’m fine. I got out safely.”

“Oh, Dylan, I hope I’m wrong about this, but I think I know who’s out to get you.”

Dylan bolted upright in his seat. “Go on.”

“My ex-husband is a maniac. I mean, Craig’s gone off the deep end lately. He’s been trying to get custody of my kids for months now. A few weeks ago, he stormed into the house, screaming at me. He found out about the money you’ve been sending to help us. Money he thinks is keeping him from getting his hands on the kids. Dylan, I don’t know for sure he’s behind it. As you might know, he...he...has a background in film and stunt work. He might be working at the studio. And I know he hates you.”

“Why does he hate me? Aside from the money?”

“I guess he’s always been jealous of you. He knows about our history, Dylan. And, well, he got it in his head that I’m still in love with you. That I compared him to you and he always came up short. I don’t know... I guess I did. I’ve always regretted the way things ended between us. But I never thought he’d go to such extremes. Like I said, I’m not sure...but my gut is telling me it’s him.”

“Okay, Renee. Sit tight. I’ll call the police. They’ll want to question you. And, Renee, thanks.”

“Of course, Dylan. I couldn’t stand it if anything happened to you. Be careful.”

“I will.”

After hanging up with Renee, he called Detective Brice and relayed the information about Craig Lincoln. He gave him Renee’s address and phone number and Brice thought it was a good lead. If her ex was involved, he wouldn’t be hard to track down if he worked on the studio lot. Even if he’d used an alias, crews would recognize his face.