Alias. Amy J. FetzerЧитать онлайн книгу.
went out on a limb and tried to access the personal accounts she’d shared with Maurice.
Maurice had changed the pass code, but after a few tries, she found that it was only by two digits. Idiot. She hit the key and the screen blinked to life. Pages and pages of account history scrolled past.
“Well, well, look at that money trail, Maury.”
Darcy smiled, typing in the dates to narrow the field. She kept bringing the search down tighter and tighter, and her eyes blurred from reading so many numbers.
Maurice had been a wealthy man when she married him, and she’d had unlimited funds and all the perks that went with them. Now, Maurice could afford three wives and she wondered when enough was enough. Twenty million? Thirty? Of his last three movies before Dead Game, Maurice had coproduced only the last two. Apparently the studios had lost enough confidence that he’d had to go to Fairchild for the third, Dead Game. Maurice would have had to convince her to finance the film.
Darcy’s eyebrows knitted and she sat back, remembering he’d been having trouble getting funds because, while the script was good, the star, Ben Collier, hadn’t had much success. Thirty-five million in production was a lot to ride on maybe.
She glanced at her freezer. Megan had given the bags to her last night and Darcy was so tired and busy with Charlie that she’d just thrown them in there. She knew she needed more than burned clothes to back up her theory. She had to be extremely careful. Her life and her son’s depended on it.
Darcy saved the file and printed the documents, then left her small home office to wake Charlie. She couldn’t do much else from Nevada. Though she didn’t want to be in the same state as Maurice, she had to do some firsthand snooping. She needed some special equipment, she thought, kissing her son awake.
And she knew just who to call.
Darcy threw open the door and smiled. Jack blinked as if stunned.
“What?”
“Been a while since I’ve seen you smile like that, I guess. It looks good on you.”
His gaze flowed over her body. In jeans and a strapless red top, she must look pretty silly, considering it was cold outside.
“Thanks for coming, Jack.” She pushed open the screen door. “Come in.”
Removing his hat, he stepped inside. “You going to tell me what you need all this camera equipment for?” He offered her a black duffel bag.
“No, not really. Does it matter?” Darcy really didn’t know if she was going to need it, but she wanted to be prepared.
“Just don’t implicate me in anything illegal.”
She rolled her eyes, taking the bag. “And here I thought you were the adventurous type.” She walked down the hall to the kitchen, inclining her head for him to follow. She could feel his gaze on her, as if it were rubbing over her skin. It made her insides tighten and she busied herself with getting him some coffee.
He readily accepted, groaning as he sipped.
“Tough night gathering the bad guys?” She sipped her own.
“Paperwork.” He glanced around the kitchen. “What’s all this?” He motioned to the bucket on the kitchen table, then peered into it. “Plaster?”
“I’m making faces, masks.” Her kitchen looked like a lab and she wondered at the wisdom of having him here right now.
“Mind if I hang around and watch?”
She hesitated for a second. “No, of course not. Actually I’d love a little help keeping an eye on Charlie since I’m alone.”
“No problem. Where is he?”
“Living room. Cartoons and grape juice.”
Jack set his cup down and gave her a look that said, can I see him? She smiled and nodded, following Jack into the room.
They found Charlie in his pj’s, tucked in a corner of the sofa like a bunny burrowed in for the winter. His face was smeared with jelly, a half-eaten piece of toast in his hand. Darcy didn’t think Jack would get a rise out of her son, he wasn’t interested in anything but the cartoons. She was wrong.
“Hey, pal.”
Charlie looked up, grinning widely. “Jack!” He shot off the couch and plowed into Jack’s knees.
Jack lifted him and her son looked so tiny in his arms. “So what’s with this?” He pointed to his chest, and when Charlie looked down, Jack nudged his nose up.
Charlie giggled and something inside her fell a little harder for Jack. He was so good to Charlie.
“You wanna watch Transformers with me?”
“Maybe later, I’m going to help your mom for a bit. If that’s okay.”
Her son looked disappointed for a second till the cartoon came back on. Jack set him down, then followed Darcy back to the kitchen.
She added more plaster powder to the water, stirring.
“So explain this.”
“I’ve got to make a fresh cast of my face in relief before I can build a mask. My old form is getting mushy.” She gestured to the plaster head and shoulders sitting on a stand that secured it to the edge of the table.
“I make a relief of my own face, then make a cast from that and put it on the head form. It’s hard and solid. Then with soft latex and foam, I build a new face on top of that. That way it fits over mine without any wrinkles or gaps.”
“Can you put that stuff on anyone?” From a plastic box, he picked up a fake nose, a chin and half a lip.
“Yeah, in a crunch, but you have to fill in the space between the skin and the latex with a fast-drying foam and it leaves it hard, so the facial features don’t move with the wearer. It has to be thin where it contacts with the major muscles of the face, so it moves with expressions. If it doesn’t fit, it sort of defeats the purpose. Too noticeable.”
He took up his coffee, his gaze moving over her equipment. “I’ve seen you in these masks a lot, but you never said where you learned all this.”
She stopped stirring for a second, then continued. “I wanted to work on movies and took a course.”
It was a bald-faced lie, Darcy thought, but she couldn’t say more. Nor could she look at Jack and say it. It was hard to lie to him, even if it was to protect herself and Charlie.
“Over the years, I’ve just gotten better at it, studied, tried different approaches.” The truth was Darcy had worked on movies for a few years before she married Maurice, then a couple after. She’d studied acting in college, and had gotten a couple of good minor roles in films, but she preferred the hair, makeup, and mostly, special-effects facial mechanics.
“Is this human hair?”
She glanced up, struggling with the mix as the plaster thickened. He held a sample from her selection of bound locks of hair. “Yeah, I have to put each hair in individually to make the hairline look authentic. Then put on a wig and blend the hair so there’s no line.”
Jack sipped his coffee, picking up the facial mask she’d used the other night, then riffling through the box of wigs and hairpieces. Darcy even had stuff to make her look like a man.
“You really think all this will protect you?”
“It has so far.” He was more interested in watching her than the process, she thought.
“I think that roundhouse kick and your wicked knife do more.”
“I do this to avoid being recognized. No one can trace me.”
“Stopping altogether would help.”
“You walk into danger every time you hunt a bounty, so just because I’m