Max held up his leather bomber jacket and shook it in Riley’s face. The back was shredded as if someone had taken a meat hook to it. “He told us Portland ghosts were dangerous. Look at this. This can only be a warning from beyond.” His voice rang with the conviction of a Fox newscaster.

“Or else Wolverine woke up with a fashion hangover,” Logan muttered.

Riley shot him a quelling glance. “When did you find this, Max?” When Riley had straightened Max’s suite yesterday, he hadn’t made more than a cursory pass through the bedroom because it had appeared undisturbed.

“This evening. When I . . . Well, never mind. And that’s not all.” He shoved his hand into the pocket of the tattered jacket and pulled out a handful of fabric scraps. “This is what’s left of my hat.”

Riley checked Logan for signs of guilt or satisfaction, but he only wore the half-pained/half-pissed expression of a man with a hard-on still tangled in his underwear. He was back to his minimum safe arm’s-length distance though. Oh no, wouldn’t do for anyone to see him displaying any inconvenient affection.

“Did you have the hat and jacket this morning? Any time today?” Riley asked.

“I crashed all day.” Max’s gaze slid sideways. “Kinda didn’t wake up in my own room, if you know what I mean. Julie . . .” His gaze slid the other direction, and he coughed. “Julie brought me a clean set of clothes. She booked me a session with my personal trainer and then sent me to hang with Scott before dinner.” He clutched the felt confetti to his chest. “Do you know how long it took me to find this hat?”

“Didn’t Charmaine find it for you?” Riley poked through the remains of the jacket for any telltale clue. If Logan didn’t do it, then who the hell did? Could HttM have picked up a demented fan? Well, more demented than their usual viewer.

“Yeah, but it took her forever. I’ve been asking for it since our first episode.”

Julie had told him about that—she called it the Great Hatscapade. The producers had stalled in an attempt to prevent Max from indulging in his Indiana Jones fetish. She said they’d finally given up, citing Chinese water torture.

“Check out her whereabouts last night,” Logan murmured. “She’s the one with the motive.”

Riley shot a glance at Max, who was mooning over the remains of his hat. Thank God for self-centered Hollywood tunnel vision. “You’re not helping, Logan.” He lowered his voice to a furious whisper. “And if you’re not part of the solution, you’re part of the pain in my ass.”

“Your ass is on my radar, but pain is not part of the plan.” Logan grinned and leaned against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. “Unless you want it to be.”

A thrill shivered down Riley’s spine. “Um . . . oversharing? We’re not exactly alone here.” Sure, Logan was talking about sex, not love, and this was Max, not the entire population of Portland, but a semipublic declaration was more than he’d ever gotten before.

“Him?” Logan scoffed. “He doesn’t count. If it’s not about Max Stone, he can’t see it.”

Riley sighed. He should have known he didn’t have all the nuances of the Rules of Engagement According to Logan figured out yet. Luckily, Logan was right about Max, who was still obsessing over his costume misfortunes.

“This is— It’s sacrilege.” Max tossed the ex-hat onto the floor and shook the jacket. “A little judicious promo is one thing, Wiley, but—”

“Why do you call him that?” Logan’s grin morphed into a scowl. He pushed himself off the wall and took a menacing step toward Max. “Does he do that all the time?”

“Pretty much,” Riley said. “It’s not a big deal.”

“It wouldn’t be a big deal if he was doing it out of affection, but for this guy, it’s about power and perspective. He makes you feel small so he’ll look bigger.”

Riley stepped between the two other men. “Logan, now is not the time to go alpha-hole on me, okay?”

“He should treat you with more respect.”

“You could try the same for him. He’s standing right there.”

“I know,” Logan muttered. “Damned cockblocker.”

Ooookay. He turned to Max, who was gawking at Logan as if he’d just discovered the Ark of the Covenant. “I’m sorry about the hat and the jacket. I’ll talk to—”

“That,” Max breathed, “is totally awesome. That attitude. That’s what I’m talking about. Hey, have you got a few? We’ll grab a couple of brewskis and you can tell me how you pump up your mojo.”

Logan’s eyebrows rose. “‘Brewskis’? Seriously?” He shot a sideways glance at Riley. “Where’d you get this guy? A touring production of Footloose?”

Riley shooed Logan into the corner by the desk. “Logan.” He kept his voice low, although given how Max was staring worshipfully at Logan’s face, he probably wouldn’t notice if Riley did a fan dance on the desk with a boa constrictor. “Remember the part about my ass? You’re not getting anywhere near it if you screw up my job.”

“But he makes it so easy.”

“Don’t think easy. Think hard.” Riley angled his body away from Max and pressed his hipbone into Logan’s groin. “Get it?”

Logan clenched his teeth around a moan. “Got it.”

“Good.” That’s right. Who’s laughing now, big boy? “Max, I’ll—”

The door, still ajar from Max’s entrance, burst open, and Scott strode in, Julie and Zack at his heels. “Max. There you are. I’ve been texting you for the last twenty minutes.”

Behind Scott’s shoulder, Julie’s eyes widened, gaze darting between Riley and Logan, who’d retreated to his spot against the wall, safely out of touching distance.

“If this keeps up,” Logan said, “you’re gonna need a bigger room.”

Max flapped the shredded jacket in Scott’s face. “Do you see this?” He pointed at the hat litter scattered across the carpet. “And that? I’ve been violated.”

Scott’s bearded face split into a beatific grin. He looked like Zach Galifianakis on crack. “Outstanding.”

“Outstanding?” Max’s voice quivered in outrage. “You think this is—”

“I think it’s perfect. Where’d you find it? Put it back. Julie, we need footage of this ASAP. Zack, you’re on it.”

“But . . .” Without his usual support from Scott, Max deflated. “My jacket. My hat.”

“Exactly.” Scott tapped a cigarette out of the pack in his shirt pocket. He patted his pants as if searching for matches, but Julie snagged the cigarette and tossed it in the trash.

“You’re quitting, remember?”

“Damn.” Scott’s laser gaze lit on Riley. “You. Get me some Red Vines.”

Riley sighed and retrieved his jacket from the floor where he’d flung it when he and Logan had arrived.

Logan grabbed his arm. “Why you?” he whispered. “Aren’t you the research guy?”

“This episode is supposed to prove they actually need a full-time research guy. Until then, I’m a gofer with one hell of a browser history. Excuse me.” He held Logan’s gaze. “Don’t go anywhere. Okay?”

Logan eyed the group—which now included the best boy, two grips, and the second cameraman—crammed into the vestibule like sardines. “Couldn’t break through without a battering ram anyway.”

Riley took that as agreement. As he threaded his way through the crowd, Charmaine and Grace squeezed in and edged between Riley’s bed and the wall. Jeez. Hope Logan’s not claustrophobic.

Halfway to the elevators, Julie caught up to him, her eyes sparkling, breath catching.

“Rile, can you believe it?”

He shot her a sour look. “Believe that I’m the drug mule for Scott’s nicotine withdrawal aids? Why is that unusual?”

“No, doofus. The coverage.”

“What coverage?”

“Scott found out about Max’s room.”

“I thought you were keeping that on the down-low. Why else did I spend all that time cleaning the shit up?”

“I was, but Scott was there when PDX Production Resources delivered the replacement cameras.” She buffeted his shoulder with her fist. “Good work on that, by the way.”

Riley’s heart made a determined effort to climb up his throat. “He knows about the equipment?” Had any other evidence been planted? Would Logan be implicated?

“Yeah. Then Max found his jacket and . . .” She flung her hands in the air and hopped in a circle in a crazy victory dance. “The rest will make HttM history.”

He caught her shoulders before she could continue her impression of a whirling dervish. “Focus, Jules. Do we have to give a statement to the police? Will there be an investigation?”

She laughed and hugged him. “Are you kidding? Scott’s not about to let the police interfere with his shooting schedule. He told the hotel staff it was an internal issue and they’re so pissed at Max that they’d probably refuse him a fire extinguisher if he burst into flames in the lobby.”

Riley’s shoulders relaxed a fraction. “Thank God.”

“Scott is totally pumped about this. Apparently, some bartender filled the crew full of stories about vengeful spirits, and Scott’s spinning it as a ‘cursed’ episode. He’s got national coverage lined up.”

“You mean—”

“Yeah.” She wrinkled her nose. “The show is now important to his career trajectory. An asset instead of a liability. He actually put his agent on hold for twenty minutes this afternoon.”

“Shit, Jules. I’m sorry.” Since Riley had a pretty good idea the bartender in question was Logan, if he’d derailed her career plans, Julie now had another reason to resent him. Definitely not mentioning that little detail.

“Can’t have everything in this business. I’ll find a way to work with it. We can totally come up with a plan to prove we’re brilliant and indispensable.”

“I’ll get right on that.” He punched the elevator button with extreme prejudice. “As soon as I fetch the freaking Red Vines.”