Dead By Dusk by Heather Graham Page A

the outside door opened.
    There was a man there. For a moment, he seemed to block out the sun. Despite herself, Stephanie felt a sense of unease streak down her spine. It was as if he were there, a presence that all but swept away daylight. Then, he might have been a shadow, a trick of the light.
    She blinked, and he was walking through the aisle of tables to reach them.
    He was, beyond a doubt, a striking individual. Tall—six-three, maybe—a shade shorter than Drew. His hair was very dark, and, as he drew closer, she saw that he had very unusual eyes—maybe brown, or hazel, but a strange shade of such colors, seeming both yellow and red. His features were strong and classical. He definitely had a continental look, smooth and sleek, and wore jeans and a polo shirt as if he were in a tux. He smiled as he reached the table, swinging a leather backpack around and setting it on the table, ready to reach in for his copy of the “bible” and notes. “I’m really sorry. Transportation takes some doing these days. I’m Clay Barton.”
    They all just stared at him.
    His smiled deepened. “Clay Barton. I’m expected. I was bounced off a plane yesterday. I’m really sorry—I can see that you’ve been working.”
    Lena looked across the table at Stephanie. “Type-casting, or what?”
    â€œI hope not,” Clay said, grinning ever more deeply as he pulled up a chair. “My character is supposed to be something of a braggart and a jerk.”
    Stephanie reached out a hand to him at last. The touch of his fingers caused a jerk in her own. She tried to hide the feeling. “Stephanie Cahill, and hi, I’m your director. The rest of the cast . . . Drew Cunningham, our very tall redhead, Doug Wharton is there . . .”
    Clay leaned forward, shaking hands around the table.
    â€œDoug Wharton, not a redhead, and not quite so tall,” Doug introduced himself with a grin.
    â€œSuzette Croix,” Suzette said, still staring.
    â€œAnd this is Lena Miro,” Stephanie finished out.
    â€œHi to all of you, and it’s a pleasure, and once again, I’m sorry,” Clay said.
    â€œIt’s all right—we’ve been settling in, playing with ideas, and apparently, you had no choice,” Stephanie said. “But we start on Friday night. We were working our last outline, so we’ll go forward, and you can hop in when we work with the room and blocking once we’ve finished with the read-throughs.”
    â€œGreat,” he said, but then frowned. “Thought it was a cast of six.”
    â€œIt is. We have a missing member,” Doug explained.
    â€œYou are perfect!” Lena breathed, speaking at last.
    â€œA perfect jerk?” he inquired, eyes sparkling. “I’ll try not to be.” He turned to Stephanie. “What do you mean, missing?”
    â€œI mean, she hasn’t shown up. I haven’t met her, so I’m not sure whether to worry or not,” Stephanie told him.
    Doug snorted. “Worry about whether she’s broken her contract or not. Seriously, while it’s still early in the game, we ought to get Arturo to check out her place. See if she’s gone—hook, line, and sinker.”
    Lena flashed a grimace at Stephanie. “Well, I don’t like to say it, but . . . she wasn’t impressed once she arrived.”
    â€œWe can all take a walk over to meet her,” Clay suggested.
    â€œWe’ll finish the last outline,” Stephanie said, looking quickly at her clipboard. Strange, as soon as he spoke, she’d felt oddly compelled to do whatever he said, no matter how simple. She was the director. She might have lost a cast member, but she wasn’t losing control so quickly.
    â€œThis is good—we have Clay now, and I just have to fill in for Gema. Let’s give it a go.”
    An hour later, they’d read through the outlines, and in just the afternoon, it seemed,