“You were supposed to kick him out,” I grumbled.
Dash scoffed. “You’re the one who had him sign the insurance waiver.”
“Which I thought you’d tear in half.”
“Well . . . I’ve been thinking about it.” Dash rubbed his jaw. “What better place to keep tabs on him than here? I don’t have to go anywhere. The asshole comes to me.”
My lip curled. “This is not how I’d imagined this going.”
“Hey, at least he’s not in the office, bothering you.”
“Yeah,” I muttered as Shaw crouched beside Isaiah.
Dash and I were standing at the other end of the shop, watching as Isaiah pointed out various parts on the bike’s engine and frame. Shaw nodded along, licking it up like he was actually committing it to memory, but the guy was an actor.
He was a professional faker.
It had been nearly a week since Shaw had come by the office wanting to watch. Monday had passed without a visit. I’d been on edge Tuesday and Wednesday, waiting for him to show. But this morning, I’d been relaxed as I’d unlocked the door, thinking we were home free. I’d foolishly gotten my hopes up that he’d been busy with the movie and had forgotten about the garage.
Not thirty minutes after I’d flipped on the neon OPEN sign, Shaw’s black Cadillac had rolled into the space beside my Jeep, and when he’d entered the office, he hadn’t balked at the insurance waiver.
The word around town was that Shaw was staying at the Evergreen Motel along with other members of the cast and crew. The KOA campground was filled with shiny white and silver trailers. The other two motels were rumored to have a zero-vacancy rate starting in two weeks when more of the crew and cast arrived.
Everyone was talking about the movie. The cashier at the grocery store. The girl at the coffee hut. My next-door neighbor and Mrs. Franklin across the street. The town was buzzing.
Last night, I’d gone to the salon for a quick trim and my hair stylist had talked about Shaw the entire time.
Have you seen him? He’s so hawt. I saw him jogging down Central yesterday morning and about died.
Shaw. Shaw. Shaw.
I was so sick of that damn name, except when he’d swaggered into the office and flashed me his killer grin, my traitorous heart had skipped.
Dash had been in his office reviewing the parts order, so I’d let him deal with Shaw. Meanwhile, I’d snubbed our guest like it was my superpower.
“We need to find out what the movie is about,” Dash said quietly. “I know you don’t like the guy. I don’t either. But let’s play along. See if he’ll tell us what it’s about. I don’t really give a fuck what they’re doing, but Genevieve does.”
My sweet friend was having a hard time with this movie. Genevieve was scared about how they’d portray her mother and father. She didn’t care at all that she’d be a character in the film too. She simply fretted over the memory of those she held most dear.
“You’re right.” I sighed. “I’ll be civil.”
“Thanks.” He squeezed my shoulder.
“I’m going back to work.” I left Dash in the shop, who continued watching Shaw, as I retreated to my desk.
So much for keeping Shaw at a firm distance, but Dash had a fair point. For Genevieve, I’d put my own feelings aside.
None of us knew exactly what the movie was about or what type of story they planned to tell. The script was a mystery and not even the mayor or Luke Rosen had a clue to the movie’s plot—Dash had called Luke on Monday.
We knew it was about Amina’s murder. Obviously, Marcus Wagner would be a focal point since he was her killer. But what about Draven? What about the garage? Would there be mention of the Tin Gypsies or the Arrowhead Warriors?
The old rivalry between clubs had flared up a few years ago during Draven’s trial, but it had ended peacefully, and the Warriors had stayed out of Clifton Forge ever since. As far as I knew, the only person who’d had contact with them since was me, and that was because Jeremiah had dragged me into their world.
If I’d wanted to see him, I’d had to drive to Ashton and stay in his room at the Warrior clubhouse.
It wasn’t until I’d walked through one of the wild Warrior parties that I’d understood why Draven had kept me far away from the Tin Gypsies when I’d been young.
The booze had flowed like a river, past shores of drugs and islands of scantily clad women. My first Warrior party was the first time I’d seen someone snort a line of cocaine.
About a year ago, I’d gone to visit Jeremiah like I had nearly every weekend. The two of us had been alone in his room, on his bed, watching a movie while a party raged beyond.
I’d tried the party scene, for Jeremiah, but after my tenth visit, I’d told him I was done. So he’d given them up too, choosing to stay with me in his room on Friday and Saturday nights instead of drinking with his brothers.
We’d been in the middle of the latest Jurassic Park movie when the door had burst open and a naked woman had stumbled inside. She’d gotten the rooms mixed up. In the middle of her slurred apology, she’d bent over and puked on the end of the bed and over my feet.
Had I been replaced with a skank who was drinking her daddy issues away? Jeremiah of all people knew I had daddy issues of my own. Maybe it had been a turn-off that I’d battled my demons, for the most part, alone. When Jeremiah had found me in Clifton Forge, I hadn’t needed him to rescue me.
Was he rescuing someone now?
The idea of him with another woman made me grimace. The week after the non-wedding, I’d gone to the clinic to be tested. I’d barely been able to make eye contact with the doctor. The results had come back clean, but I still wondered if Jeremiah had been faithful while we’d been together.
Had he loved me? Or had I just been easy sex on a Friday and Saturday night? It wasn’t like sex at the Warrior clubhouse didn’t come easily to any man wearing a cut. Jeremiah was easy on the eyes and hadn’t needed me to get off.
So why had he stayed with me only to leave me so brutally on our wedding day?
Damn it, I wanted an answer. I wanted the chance to yell and scream in his face, but I refused to reach out.
I would not seek him out. I would not waver.
I would not be my mother and accept whatever excuse he’d throw out.
The door between the shop and office opened and Shaw walked in. My mood, already sour, nose-dived, yet my heart rate spiked. This man had my insides twisted, pulling in opposite directions. I frowned as he took his normal chair across from my desk, but my breath hitched as he grinned.
“That was cool,” he said. “Worth your waiver to learn how they build the bikes. Do you spend much time in the shop?”
“No.”
“Have you worked in other garages?”
Wasn’t he here to watch his bike? This wasn’t get-to-know-Presley day. “No.”
“Did you grow up in Clifton Forge?”
My mouth flattened into a thin line. Seriously, the show was over. Why was he still here? “No.”
“Is this you making sure I’ve been told no enough times this week?”
I shot him a glare. If Shaw turned out to be funny, I was screwed.
“Isaiah seems like a nice guy. I appreciate that he took the time to humor me today.”
“He is a nice guy,” I said. “You do realize he’s connected to this movie you’re making, right? His wife’s mother was murdered.”
“Yes.” He nodded. “I know about the connection.”
“How much else do you know?”
“Enough to do the story justice.”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “Says a guy who wasn’t here and doesn’t know the actual story.”
Shaw picked up a pen from the edge of my desk and spun it around his fingers. “You don’t like that we’re making this movie.”
“Of course not. You’re glorifying a crime that stole my friend’s mother.”
“Trust me. We’re not glorifying anything. Certainly not Marcus Wagner.”
I arched an eyebrow. “You’re playing him, aren’t you?”
“I am.”
That was a different role for Shaw. Every movie I’d watched, he’d been the hero who saved the day. Marcus’s role didn’t fit his roster. He’d be better suited to playing Chief Rosen.
“What about the rest of the characters? Who’s playing them?” I pointed to the picture of Draven, Dash and Nick on the wall. “These are real people. Draven was a good man. Is that how you’ll show him? Or is this going to be a movie about a bad cop going after a bad guy? Is this more interesting than any other murder in the past decade because the person framed had ties to a motorcycle club?”
Shaw spun the pen again, then caught it and placed it back on the desk. “This story is interesting because of all the elements involved. People want to watch interesting movies. Don’t you?”
“This isn’t fiction. This is my family. Did you ever once ask yourself who was on the other side of the murder? Or have you been too busy worrying about Marcus? That man deserves to rot in prison. What happens after this movie? Does he start getting fan mail from other sickos in the world?”
Shaw frowned. “There’s no way he comes out of this movie looking like anything other than a villain.”
“So you say.” I shrugged. “Until then, I get to watch my friend worry about how her mother is going to be portrayed in a movie. How her father will be portrayed. I get to watch her husband come to work with circles under his eyes because she had a bad night and couldn’t sleep. You’re here, years after we’ve started putting the past behind us, and now we have to relive it over again.”
There was a flicker of remorse in his gaze as he shook his head. “That’s not our intention.”
“But it’s reality,” I fired back. My mouth was running away with itself. “How far are you going to go? Will you show Amina’s murder? What about Draven? Is the world going to know he was a good man?”
Shaw didn’t answer.
“That’s a no,” I muttered.
The world would see a glimpse into Draven’s life and be told he was a criminal. This movie would focus on his death, and everyone would think he was a coward for taking his own life when I thought—no, I knew he’d done it to save the rest of us from watching him wither away in prison.
“Presley, we’re not doing this to hurt people.”
“I actually believe you think that. But you will.”
Shaw was quiet for a few long moments. Over his shoulder, Dash approached the door but I gave him a slight headshake that turned him in the opposite direction.
“How does it go?” I asked. “The movie.”
“We aren’t telling anyone. The cast and crew have all signed NDAs.”
“Tell me anyway.”
He narrowed his gaze. “Why? So you can sell it to the press? Spoil it before it releases?”
“No.” I barked a dry laugh. I had no desire to bring any more attention to myself than necessary. “Because no matter what I say, you’re going to make that movie. You can at least tell us what to expect so we don’t have to walk into the movie theater and find out ourselves.”
He studied my face, then nodded. “Fair enough, but not today. What I can tell you now is that we’re trying to keep it as authentic as possible.”
“Authentic.” I rolled my eyes. “Authentic. What does that even mean?”
“It means we’re here, aren’t we?”
“You’re here shoving authentic horseshit in our authentic faces and expecting us to like how it smells because you’re tossing authentic money around like it grows on authentic trees.”
“I’m not the bad guy.”
“No. You’re just playing one on TV.”
Shaw flinched at my insult, the slash deep. Pain crossed his handsome face and his eyes pleaded with me to understand.
If I stared at him too long, maybe I would, so I turned my attention to my computer screen, dismissing him.
Guilt snaked its way through my veins, his stare hot on my profile. I’d been harsh, too harsh, and Dash would scold me later for not playing along.
My runaway tongue was Shaw’s fault. His presence unsettled me, and he made me say the first thing that came to mind instead of thinking it through.
Shaw finally stood, not saying a word as he walked to the door.
I braced, waiting for my Goodbye, Presley, but it didn’t come.
He was gone and I’d likely ruined our chance at finding out about this movie. I hadn’t been able to resist the opportunity to rain on his Clifton Forge parade.
Stupid, Pres. Damn it.
In my defense, Shaw was living in la-la land, and he had to know how hard it would be for Genevieve to see him on the street. He had to know how much Isaiah had probably hated entertaining him today.
I waited until his SUV crunched over the gravel on its way out of the parking lot before ungluing my eyes from the screen. Then I dropped my head into my hands and blew out the breath I’d been holding. The wounded look on Shaw’s face was burned into my brain.
“Shit.”
Why did I feel so guilty? Everything I’d said had been the truth, though I could have delivered it with more grace. Why did I care if Shaw’s feelings had been hurt?
Because I’d built this image of him in my head based on his movies. He was the good guy. Good guys didn’t deserve the kind of attitude I’d served him cold.
But what if he wasn’t so good? Would this softness I had for Shaw go away if I learned he was a massive prick and not the dream guy from his movies?
I sat up straight and clicked my mouse. So far, I’d avoided the tempting combination of Google and Shaw. He already steamrolled through most of my thoughts, so I hadn’t wanted to add oil to that engine. And looking him up felt . . . sneaky. Underhanded.
Though that was probably how Shaw had learned about us. I was sure he’d spent time reading through Bryce’s newspaper articles and looking at our social media profiles.
He was exploiting the sliver of information he’d found, and it wasn’t fair.
Yet here I was with my hypocritical fingers typing his name into the search bar.
The first thing to pop up was a row of pictures. In each, Shaw was at a movie premiere. His shined shoes gleamed atop the red carpet and the man wore a black tuxedo well.
The few times Shaw had come to the garage, he’d been in a button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up his tanned forearms, his jeans draped down his long legs. I had purposefully not let myself look at his ass because my imagination was running rampant on its own.
Shaw had been casual. Natural. And even without a hair and makeup team, he was billboard worthy. He really was just that good-looking.
Natural didn’t play into these photos. Every line of his suit jacket had been tailored to his strong body. His slacks tapered with precision down his muscular thighs. In most he had one hand in a pocket. In some, he was waving to a fan.
He was utterly gorgeous, and everything was for show, including his smile. It was a practiced version of the easy grin he’d been flashing me.
The cameras ate it up.
Beneath the photos, the first link was to Wikipedia. The next was a movie database. I clicked through it, making sure I’d hit all of the movies on Netflix that he’d filmed.
I had—twice.
On his Wikipedia page, the most recent movie listed was titled Dark Paradise. Was that this movie? Our movie?
According to the status, it was in preproduction, whatever that meant. Given the influx of Californians to Clifton Forge, I was guessing the page hadn’t been updated recently. There was nothing pre about what was happening in town.
I went back to the photos, expanding the results, and did a double take. Woman after woman. Model after model. If Shaw had a type, it was simply beautiful.
There was only one woman repeated in multiple photos. She was tall, much taller than my five two, though most women were. In one photo, she was holding Shaw’s arm as he escorted her down the sidewalk on a sunny day. Both were laughing. In another, the couple was dressed to the nines without smiles, standing on the steps of what looked like a museum.
Christ. Here I was lusting over a man who had supermodels as companions. For all I knew, this repeat woman was his girlfriend. The idea made me squirm. Why was I more jealous of the blonde in a photo than I was whatever Warrior club slut was hooking up with Jeremiah?
“And we’re done with the photos,” I muttered, going back to Wikipedia.
Shaw had been born and raised in Southern California. His mom was a retired drama teacher. His father had been a decorated police officer and Shaw had followed in his footsteps.
I snapped my fingers, remembering a story I’d heard ages ago on the news. I scrambled to type in a new search. Shaw Valance school bus.
How long had it been, seven or eight years? The details of the story came rushing back as I scanned the words of the first article I found. It was about a cop who’d gotten national media attention for saving a school bus full of children from an armed psycho who’d taken it hostage.
The hazy images from the past mixed with the details of the present. That cop was Shaw. Why hadn’t I put that together sooner? Maybe because I’d been too busy back then, at barely twenty years old, to think about much other than my own problems.
He’d been so popular, so heroic, after the school bus incident that his face had been splashed over every news outlet. Someone from Hollywood must have snatched him up after that and made him a star. Clearly his mom had taught him a thing or two about acting.
I kept reading and researching, and according to what I could piece together, Shaw had quit the police force a year or so after the school bus incident. In the last picture of him in uniform, he was wearing a pair of dark sunglasses over those brown eyes and holding a large, automatic rifle.
He looked like a cop, stoic and serious.
So why had he quit? He’d been such a hero. Was it because of the media attention? Was it for the money? Most actors didn’t make squat, though I was learning that Shaw didn’t exactly fit the mold.
I spent the rest of my morning hunched over my screen, ignoring the work I was being paid to do. I’d make it up to Dash by staying late.
By lunch, I was in a fog.
I’d opened Google, hoping it would make me hate Shaw Valance, except he came across so freaking nice and genuinely kind.
How was it the paparazzi hadn’t caught him on one off day? Hadn’t one of them ever managed to piss him off? Shaw’s smile never seemed to falter. Hell, in most of the photos, he was waving to whomever had the camera aimed his way.
So why was he playing the criminal in Dark Paradise? Why not play Draven?
I trusted Shaw as the good guy, to play Draven as a good guy. But as Marcus? It seemed like too much of a jump. Would Shaw, just by being Shaw, make Marcus some kind of hero?
The door to the shop opened and Dash walked inside, chugging a bottle of water. “So? Did you find out anything?”
“No.” I shook my head, then looked out to the parking lot. “But I will.”
If Shaw Valance returned, I’d lay off. I’d find out why he’d chosen to play Marcus in this movie, and I’d make sure he knew down to the bottom of his soul that Marcus Wagner had been a vile and evil human being.
Because while I hated the idea of this movie, while I hated that it was happening right here in my own town, Shaw was the only person wrapped up in this movie visiting the garage. He was the only one who might listen.
And trusting him with the truth might be the only way to set the record straight.