Joy was his niece, but she was more like his younger sister. They were much closer in age than most uncles and nieces. For years, they’d been the only family each other had. Joy had married superstar Everett Hughes almost a year ago. Seth had never made it a secret that he thought it wise to avoid actors in the romantic arena, especially ones of Everett Hughes’s caliber. He hadn’t hesitated to warn Joy of the potential pitfalls. Movie stars were a different breed from everyday humanity, in his considerable experience. Fortunately, Everett was one in a million—a megastar with his feet planted firmly on the ground and a family-and-friends structure that had insulated him from the pitfalls of narcissism and sycophantic followers. It had been an unlikely match, and one that Seth hadn’t approved of initially. He couldn’t complain at the end result though. Joy was euphorically happy with Everett, and if Joy was happy, Seth was. Still, he’d been personally offended at even the slightest chance of the shadow of the New Temple darkening Joy’s world.
Not that it had ever been a remote possibility, Everett had reminded him repeatedly with exacerbated, pointed irony.
Still, neither Joy nor Everett suspected the subtly dangerous threat a cult like the New Temple represented. Not like Seth did.
Gia Harris wasn’t family. She was a far cry from it. Seth barely knew her, aside from being inexplicably powerfully attracted to her one night years ago. He didn’t want to be concerned for Gia like he had been for Joy.
But he was.
“Everett didn’t realize he was dealing with a New Temple higher-up, until he was offered instant exclusive entry into the inner secrets of the Golden Realm . . . that fantasyland every initiate is brainwashed into craving like it’s crack,” Seth added derisively.
“Hughes would be the perfect recruitment idol. Scary to consider it ever happening, actually. Good thing Hughes has a head on his shoulders and recognized what was going on.”
“The DA is right to worry about your witness. And not just because of the overlap of the God complex and star complex. McClarin might be subtler than having her fitted for cement shoes, but he’d likely find some way to influence either her or the public. Bribes. Blackmail. A setup for bad publicity. Most celebrities aren’t as impervious as my nephew-in-law. Trust me on that.”
“So you’ll help us?” Charles asked quietly.
Seth hesitated. “Like before . . . on the Mianaco case?” Mianaco was easily recognized from the press surrounding his trial, but he was no Gia Harris. It would be a challenge to disguise one of the most recognizable faces in the country.
It was a face he’d certainly never forget.
“You’re getting the gist of it,” Charles said with a grin.
Seth had not only helped out Charles and Madeline in the past but also consulted and assisted the FBI. Many of his friends and coworkers in Army intelligence had gone into legal, criminal investigation and intelligence-related work after leaving the Army. Surgical alteration and disguise were being used more and more in sticky proceedings, given the pervasiveness of camera phones, social media and surveillance equipment on almost every corner. It was becoming increasingly difficult for a marked man or woman to merely disappear from one location and reappear unnoticed in another.
Seth was no longer a government employee, but given his unique skill set and background in intelligence, people h
e knew who worked in investigative and legal capacities sometimes asked for his expert help. Usually a consultation and conference with the organization’s disguise expert was all that was required, but on a few notable occasions, Seth had been more deeply involved.
“Things are getting way too hot for Gia to stay in L.A. and go on her merry way,” Charles said. “The trial won’t begin for several weeks, at the earliest. Until then, we want her to fall off the map. In order to make Gia Harris disappear, though, we need you.”
“What about the movie she’s doing?”
Charles grunted softly and shifted in his chair. “Luckily, Madeline has a far reach in the show business community. She was a sorority sister with Joshua Cabot’s wife, and they still socialize on occasion. She’s been in conference with Cabot, who has opened talks with United Studio. They’ve agreed to put off production of Interlude until Gia has gotten through the bulk of her testimony.”
Seth whistled softly under his breath. “That took some major power-brokering.”
“They agreed to put it off, but only for a short period of time. Certainly not much longer than it takes to shoot the scenes Gia isn’t in.”
Still, Seth was too familiar with the movie industry not to realize what a sacrifice even a “short period of time” was. If anything, it indicated how irreplaceable they thought Gia was for the leading role.
That part didn’t surprise him. He clearly saw her face in his mind’s eye—her light. She’d fascinated him from the start. Apparently, millions of people agreed with him. They couldn’t get enough of her face on the big screen.
And Gia couldn’t get enough of the high of giving it to them. She’d been working almost nonstop ever since she came to Hollywood two years ago.
“Well? Will you help us, Seth?” Charles asked.
Seth frowned, unwilling to commit to something so . . .
Big.
“I thought it was par for the course that Hollywood highfliers suddenly had a problem with their memory when it came to testifying about anything they saw in a case that could compromise their career . . . or their life. Why’s Gia doing this?”
“She is very ambitious, so I can’t really say for sure. She personally knew McClarin’s victim, so she likely relates. The victim’s mother is her hairdresser, and Gia would go to their private residence to have her hair done. That’s when she witnessed the rape. Gia’s a relative newcomer, especially given her current status on the Hollywood A-list. She’s only twenty-four years old. Maybe she hasn’t absorbed some of the nastier habits of Hollywood yet. Truth be told, I’d be sorry to see the day that happens . . . if it does ever occur,” Charles mused.
A flash of familiar anger went through Seth, but he quickly repressed it. He’d thought Gia was twenty-five two years ago, that night they slept together. He’d thought that because Gia had made him think that. The day after she’d flown back to New York, he’d learned the truth. Liza, his intern, had innocently revealed that Gia had misled him. Apparently, Gia was somewhat of a prodigy. She’d skipped several grades in elementary and high school. Yes, she’d graduated from college at the same time as Liza, but she was nearly three years younger. She’d been twenty-two, not twenty-five, on that night he’d let his guard down and made love to her like a man possessed.
Did two or three years really make all that much difference?