Lucy Monroe
ISBN 0-7582-1180-5
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Alan Hyatt could do his job in his sleep, and when the Goddard Project sends him to investigate a case of high-tech espionage in the Vancouver film industry, he finds a perfect reason to work in bed. But sizzling actress Jillian Carlyle also happens to be his landlady, and she’s got a hard-and-fast (so to speak) rule that keeps her from dating her renters. While Alan’s cover as a reporter gets him close to all the suspects on the set of Jillian’s sci-fi show, playing a background actor at her suggestion to get his story? Well, that’s something else—but he’s not about to turn down a red-hot redhead, even if she keeps throwing him curves…

Jillian just can’t understand it. Sure, Alan is six-feet-something of chiseled ruggedness with gray eyes and an irresistible growl in his voice. But hello? She doesn’t do relationships—even of the casual kind—with men who impact more than her senses. No one is getting a chance at her heart. Especially not one of her renters. Still, there’s nothing wrong with enjoying Alan from afar—but not too far, or she wouldn’t be able to fully appreciate his rock-hard abs when he’s working out in the home gym. If only he didn’t make her feel safe and oh so right when they touched…

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Prologue

The elderly security guard for Frost Productions drove toward home, his thoughts in a whirl. What had that grip and the producer been doing in the studio so late together? The grip hadn’t been signed in on the security log and when the guard had asked the producer about it, the man had gotten quite hostile.

What should he do about the discrepancy, if anything? He was months away from retirement and he didn’t want to do anything to mess it up. He was looking forward to fulfilling his dream to travel Canada in a motor home with his wife of forty years. Making waves only weeks from his last day on the job was the last thing he needed to do.

Martha would have said the same thing.

He nodded to himself. Yes. He would simply let sleeping dogs lie. No sense in stirring up trouble when it was more likely to get him reprimanded than not. Especially considering who was involved with the breach of security protocol.

He turned on his signal to take the next off ramp and pressed the brake to slow his car. But the car didn’t slow, and his thoughts shattered as his attempts remained futile and the car began to pick up momentum on the slight downgrade.

The next morning a small mention was made in the paper of a fatal automobile accident. The driver’s name was not mentioned, but his job at Frost Productions as a security guard was.

Nothing was said about a break-in that happened the same night because it was not reported to the local police. One of the hard drives that stored film footage had been erased completely and the executives were furious. The discovery that only one scene would have to be reshot did not improve anyone’s mood.

Two men, however, were pleased. A piece of information that should never have been transferred to the hard drive had been, and in an effort to make sure no remnant of the file remained, the entire hard drive had been wiped.

It was a pity the old man had to meet with an accident on his way home, but neither of the other men wanted to risk his relaying the fact that the grip had been on the lot the night before . . . or the producer, for that matter.

Snipping his brake line had been even easier than it looked in the movies. Fortunately, both men had enough experience with show biz to do the job right, and the one who had done the cutting had even taken the time to make it look as close to a frayed line as he could.

When no one questioned the “accidental nature” of the man’s death at the wheel of his car, they knew they’d done the job right.