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“What is it?” Kenny asked.

  Kenneth “Kenny” Mittack was a permanent member of Chris’ crew. Others came and went, but not Kenny. He often worked one-on-one with Jillian.

  “The straps are a bit tight,” Jillian said.

  Kenny adjusted the harness and made sure every pointed object was perfectly padded. When everything was to his satisfaction, he squeezed Jillian’s shoulder and stepped back.

  Jillian ignored the goggles on the passenger seat and looked around the car. All the safety precautions had been taken care of, and nothing could possibly go wrong. They’d fitted the car with a miniature gas tank, so there was minimal danger of explosion during the roll over. A cage had also been fitted inside the car to reinforce the body against collapsing.

  Chris braced himself on the open door and studied her. She gave him an innocent smile and received a scowl. “What?” she asked with a touch of attitude.

  “Are you ready for this?” he asked.

  “Yep.” Jillian gave him a thumbs-up. He hesitated, continuing to study her. She should have known she couldn’t hide anything from him. “Chris, I need to finish this, so I can go relax in the trailer and watch TV or something. Oh, I saw a tub of mint chocolate chip ice cream in the freezer. Yummy.”

  “The mint is mine, so keep your paws off it. Pay close attention to the speed,” he reminded her. “If you can’t maintain it, skip the last ramp and we’ll redo the scene.”

  And add a couple of hours to the production? No way. She nodded anyway and waited for him to step away from the Jeep. He was a worrywart, but he had reasons to be. A stunt company was held accountable when a stuntman or woman got injured, not the production company.

  Jillian put on the goggles and looked through the sugar-glass window at the street lined with cars. The pyrotechnic team had taped explosives under each car’s chassis, and would detonate them as her Jeep shot past, giving the illusion of a collision. The last car was parked behind a pipe ramp set at an angle so that when the right side of the Jeep ran over it, that side would be catapulted upward. At just the right speed, the Jeep should roll over several times, land on its hood, skid for a few seconds and come to a stop. It wasn’t just a theory. They had done dry runs of the scene and timed everything to the last second.

  Jillian understood why Chris had reminded her to check the speed. The rollover was tricky. The angle of the ramp and the speed of the car determined how many times the car flipped, and whether it landed on its hood, the side, or back on its wheels, which were also reinforced for sudden impact.

  Michaels gave the signal, and Jillian started the engine. As they’d done in the rehearsals, she accelerated after three seconds. The mixture of anticipation and nervousness translated into euphoria. She loved this. Loved the thrill and adrenaline rush that came with it, but it was not better than sex. It could never be better than sex with Lex.

  Sweat broke out on her brow as her heart pounded faster, but her eyes stayed focused on the other cars. Gripping the steering wheel a little harder, she took a deep breath just as she approached the first car.

  The pyrotechnician in charge punched the detonation button at the right moment, and the car was flung away from Jillian’s. The rest of the sequence went just as smoothly, until the last car.

  The explosion was louder, her windows rattling. Her Jeep flipped into the air, rolled over three times, and landed on its hood, the glass exploding around her. Shards bounced off the plastic goggles and Jillian squinted, but she didn’t close her eyes despite the instinct to do so. The Jeep skidded for a while before it came to a stop by the spectators.

  She was upside down and could see feet shuffling forward. Some people squatted for a better angle and continued to take pictures and videotape her. The huge lenses said paparazzi were around.

  Security tried to push them back. One even told them to stop recording. Wasn’t going to happen. Jillian ignored them as the crew converged on her car, tipped it upright, and helped her out. The rapid clicking of cameras mingled with gasps when she removed the helmet and goggles, and the onlookers realized she was a woman.

  Neanderthals. Sometimes it amazed her how sexist people were. Who did they think did stunts for their favorite action actresses? Men in drag?

  “That was perfect,” Kenny said.

  “Thanks to you guys,” Jillian said. Every stunt was a team effort. They perfected it, and she followed their instructions to the letter. One miscalculation on either side and everything went kaboom.

  “Over here, Ms. Finnegan,” someone yelled from the crowd, and Jillian turned. A woman with a mic asked, “Is it true you are the last Zakarian princess?”

  Jillian froze, her mind going blank.

  “Did your grandmother come all the way from Armenia to find you?” another reporter yelled.

  “Did the circus family who raised you know who you were, or were they surprised by the news?” the first one added.

  “Are you going to inherit the Petrosian fortune?”

  Silence followed as everyone waited for her response. Jillian couldn’t respond. Instead, panic rose like a tsunami and threatened to drown her. This could not be happening. Not now and not here. No one was supposed to know about her Armenian side of the family. She glanced at the crowd pressing against the barricade. Their interest in her had doubled.

  Screw freedom of the press. She hated reporters with a passion. Hated their intrusiveness and inability to take no for an answer. But mixed with the hatred was fear that went back years.

  As though time reversed, she was sixteen again, cornered by overzealous reporters eager to further their careers at her expense. She’d just lost her mother, but they hadn’t cared. Instead, they’d hurled questions and planted ugly thoughts in her head.

  Did she blame the circus for her mother’s death? Did she blame her father? How was she coping? Will she ever perform again? Was she there when it happened? One had stalked her for days. Totally creeped her out until her brothers took care of him.

  Jillian blew out air. She wasn’t a teenager anymore. And neither was she a princess. She opened her mouth to tell them exactly that, but that annoying, paralyzing, irrational fear had stolen her voice. All she could mutter under her breath was, “Fuck… Fuck…”

  “Can you repeat that, Princess Jillian?” a reporter yelled.

  “Let’s go,” Chris said, appearing at her elbow.

  “Come on, Ms. Finnegan, give us something,” a man yelled as Chris led her away. More questions followed, and Jillian ground her teeth.

  “Are you going to continue doing stunts now that you know you are an heiress?”

  What heiress? Whatever her family in Armenia owned had nothing to do with her.

  “What was it like being raised a circus rat?”

  A circus rat? She turned and lifted her hand to give the speaker the finger, but Chris grabbed her wrist.

  “Don’t even think about it,” Chris warned. He knew her too well.

  “They’re being assholes.”

  He sighed. “Doesn’t mean you have to be one, too.”

  “When are you going back to your country?” someone yelled.

  Jillian turned and yelled, “America is my country, you—”

  Chris covered her mouth before she finished the sentence, and she swallowed the rest of her words. More questions were hurled at her, but she already regretted her outburst. Damn vultures. Jillian hopped on a golf cart, anger chasing the fear away.

  Her grandmother, Alin Petrosian, had done this. Since their first meeting, Jillian had visited her at Montage, Beverly Hills, and learned a lot about her people in Armenia and about her biological father. Her grandmother had also told her that a crime family in New York had murdered her father and Jillian had witnessed it. She’d only been seven at the time and couldn’t remember a damn thing, but that wouldn’t mean jack to anyone who wanted the truth buried. Lex had convinced her grandmother to keep their relationship quiet in case some overzealous thug connected the dots and realized Jillian was tha
t same little girl. There was no statute of limitations on murder. But her grandmother was impatient for Jillian to embrace her heritage. Jillian already did. Everything about her father and his people fascinated her. She just didn’t want the media circus that would follow if they did things her grandmother’s way. The woman didn’t understand the meaning of baby steps.

  “What was my grandmother think—?”

  Jillian bit her tongue when the security guy driving the cart cocked his head. She knew how word spread fast in show business. All it took was one careless word around someone people usually overlooked.

  “This was your last stunt of the day, so head back to the hotel and lay low,” Chris said when the cart stopped where the director and the others were waiting.

  Jillian shook her head. “No, I’m okay. I’ll stay in the trailer and drive back with you guys.”

  The crew stared at her, some glancing at their phones and tablets. The ones who’d been near the barricade whispered to the others. Probably filling them in on the latest Jillian gossip. First was the imagined feud between her and Margo, which seemed to have died down since it was one-sided and senseless. Then there were pictures of her and Lex in the tabloids. Racy pictures. Now this.

  Except for Chris’ regular stunt crew, she didn’t have a close relationship with the personnel or the stars on the set and hadn’t told them about her grandmother or her upcoming wedding.

  “What happened back there?” Barbs asked, hurrying toward them. Her husband wasn’t far behind. When Jillian glanced back, security was pushing back the people who’d stormed the barricade.

  “The fans are acting crazy,” Chris said, but Jillian knew they couldn’t hide the truth from the director and the producer for long. Besides, Barbs was friends with Lex’s mother.

  “Were you hurt?” Barbs asked.

  “No, I’m fine,” Jillian said. Her eyes locked with Barbs. “Someone leaked information to the media without talking to me first, and they got it wrong.” She was no heiress or a princess. The nobles in Armenia had no power to brag about, just their lineage. She also had no interest in her grandmother’s money even though the family owned a lucrative textile company and a thriving vineyard. She glanced at Chris, who was studying her with a frown. She gave him a brief smile. “I’ll be in the trailer if you need me.”

  “Do we need to call Sorenson?” Barbs asked.

  Phil Sorenson was the PR guy for Barbs and her husband’s production company. Jillian didn’t hear Chris’ response. As she walked past the crew, whispers followed her. A few mentioned popular news channels that focused mainly on the movie industry. To cause those kinds of waves, her grandmother must have called someone higher up at some network to make the announcement. But then again, Alin Petrosian never did things quietly. That she didn’t bother to call and give her a heads-up royally pissed off Jillian.

  Troy fell in step with her, but Jillian didn’t say anything. She wanted to get inside the trailer, lock the door, and shut out the world. She didn’t deal well with stress.

  Lucky for her, no one was inside the trailer. She threw the gloves on the couch with more force than necessary and started unbuttoning her suit, her movements jerky. She didn’t realize she was cursing up a storm until her eyes fell on Troy. He was staring at her with wide eyes.

  “Yeah, I fucking curse,” she snapped. “Deal with it.”

  He grinned. “So do I. Uh, Mr. Fitzgerald called several times,” Troy said tentatively. “He wants you to call him back.”

  She was too pissed to talk to Lex. She might say something she’d regret. “Not now,” she murmured.

  “Your grandmother—”

  “Can go to hell on a damn camel. She’s trying to manipulate me with this stunt.”

  “Mrs. Vivian Fitzgerald also called again.”

  Jillian growled. How she wished she hadn’t given that woman her cell phone number. Three days of listening to her was enough to contemplate murdering her. Jillian had even agreed to a prenup just to shut her up. But if she continued to insinuate that Jillian wasn’t good enough for her precious nephew, being Lex’s aunt wasn’t going to mean diddly-squat. She would let her have it.

  “Delete her number,” Jillian said.

  Troy didn’t bat an eyelid. “Your father called several times. Your brothers, too. They’re worried and want to know if you are okay. Your brothers said they’ll beat up any no-good, bottom-dwelling piece of shit reporter who bothers you,” Troy added. “I’m supposed to take pictures so they can ID them later.”

  Jillian shuddered at the thought. Her family might be loud and a bit crazy, but they didn’t play when it came to her. Her brothers and cousins had beaten up a reporter who’d stalked her and ambushed her twelve years ago. She still didn’t know how they’d escaped being charged. They wouldn’t get lucky the second time around.

  Then there was her father. He had worried about the Petrosian enemies finding Jillian. He’d even quit partnering with the Bay Area Circus in case these people tracked her to him, yet the circus had been his life. He must have been going nuts.

  She took the phone and speed-dialed her father’s number. Troy walked past her to Chris’ room—as they now called the bedroom inside the trailer—grabbed a robe, and held it out to her. Only then did Jillian realize she’d stripped to her panties and bra. Heat crept up her face.

  “Sorry. I’m not thinking straight right now,” Jillian mumbled, shrugging the robe on and wrapping it around her.

  Troy smiled. “Don’t worry. I don’t mind.”

  She did. It didn’t matter that he was gay. “Thanks.” She disappeared into Chris’ room, where she’d left her regular clothes, just as her father picked up.

  “Jilly? Are you okay?”

  Tears rushed to her eyes at the love and concern in his voice. She was once again the little lost girl who’d needed reassurance and stability after months of moving from place to place with her mother. Daniel Finnegan had shortened her name even before he married her mother, and the nickname had stuck. It evoked all sorts of warm, fuzzy feelings.

  “Yes, Daddy. I’m fine.”

  “Some idiot videotaped you doing a car stunt and made it seem like you were in an accident,” her dad said. “The studio retracted their original statement, but the damage was already done. Mrs. Petrosian almost had a heart attack,” he added with glee.

  Jillian sighed. Her father and her grandmother couldn’t stand each other. Her father was a salt of the earth type, who believed respectability came from hard work and doing right by your family. Mrs. Petrosian came from a royal bloodline, and even though she’d fallen in love with a regular Joe and married him, she still acted like bloodline and breeding set her apart from everyone. She also didn’t approve of the way Jillian was raised. Motorbikes, stunts, and the circus were not appropriate pastimes for a Zakarian, she’d muttered several times in Jillian’s presence. She’d been tempted to tell her they were not pastimes. It was how she earned her living.

  “You were with my grandmother?” Jillian asked.

  “Yes, and because of that stuck-up Fitzgerald woman, news of your connection to the Petrosians is all over the TV. Where do they find these wackos? What do they mean you were a circus rat?”

  Jillian had gone into selective listening as soon as he’d mentioned the stuck-up Fitzgerald woman. “You talked to Lex’s aunt?”

  “Is that who she is?” her dad asked and shuddered audibly. “I always say meet the family first and make sure they are normal before marrying into it. There’s something not right with that woman. She had the nerve to insinuate that I can’t afford to pay for your wedding. You’re my only daughter. Of course, I can pay for your wedding. I wed your mother in a beautiful ceremony, and your brothers’ weddings were talked about for months afterward.”

  By circus clowns and trapeze artists. Jillian groaned and sat on the bed. Her father was talking about a civil union. She wanted a real wedding. It might sound childish, but a walk down the aisle, stepping on flower petals, an
d taking dainty steps with her father by her side until she reached Lex was her fantasy, damn it.

  “Dad,” she said weakly.

  “The woman even dared to lecture me about the way I raised you, Jilly,” her father continued. “Who tells a father that? A pompous, know-it-all windbag, that’s who.”

  “What exactly happened between you and Mrs. Fitzgerald?”

  Silence followed, and then he grunted. “She pushed my buttons, and I told her to shut her big mouth. No one talks to me like that.”

  Jillian tried hard not to laugh. She would have liked to see that. “How could you, Dad?” she asked in mock outrage.

  “The woman’s attitude annoyed me. By the time I was done, she wasn’t looking down her nose at me anymore. She left to call your grandmother to confirm everything I’d told her. I’m a man of my word, but she just had to confirm it. Next thing I knew, she was talking to the reporters.”

  Why was she not surprised he was the instigator of all this mess? Yes, Vivian Fitzgerald rubbed people the wrong way, not just her father. Lex had warned her and so had his sister and cousins. But her father could be a total pain, too.

  He was still talking, so Jillian plopped on the bed and went into selective listening. She sipped her water and listened to him rant while studying the ceiling of the trailer. Usually, she was the only one who could interrupt him when he got on his soapbox. Today, she didn’t feel like it. Besides, it was nice to know she wasn’t alone in her dislike of Vivian Fitzgerald.

  Jillian studied the trailer. One couldn’t tell by looking at the inside that it wasn’t new. The wood paneling gleamed, and the carpet looked new. It had everything the stunt crew needed while at a location—big-screen TV, couches that pulled out to double beds, a kitchenette, a nice circular couch, a semi-circular table, two bathrooms, a bedroom, and bunk beds.

  “I wanted to punch her on the nose, but we Finnegans don’t hit women.” Her father’s voice pulled Jillian back to their conversation. “Lex Fitzgerald is lucky to have you in his life, and his entire family should know that.”

  Yeah, he’d offered her money to be his fake wife and she’d accepted it. Not exactly something to share with a father. She’d always be perfect in his eyes, even though she was far from it.