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that back room and—”
    Jed reached for the week-old copy of
TV Guide
that was out on the table among the other magazines. One of the networks had run
Kill Zone
last week—was it Tuesday or Wednesday? He leafed through, finding the full-page ad for the movie—a beefcake shot of him, muscles gleaming for his role as a Navy SEAL—assault weapon held loosely in his arms. He tore it out and handed it to the mouse. “Maybe that’ll do.”
    He knew he was being a smart-ass, but he was tired of this. After his agent had sent him the script for
The Promise
, after Jed had read it, and loved it, and realized that Virgil Laramie was the role of a lifetime, the movie’s producer, Mary Kate O’Laughlin, had canceled their meeting.
    Ron had pressed, and she’d told him flat out that she didn’t want to waste Jericho’s or her own time. In plain English, she couldn’t risk taking a chance with him. She and Vic Strauss were looking for up-and-coming talent, not someone who’d peaked over five years ago. The production was already a high financial risk—their backers might get spooked at the thought of sinking all that cashinto a project with an A-list “has been” in the lead role. Beaumont wasn’t even C-list these days. He was barely on any list at all.
    It was frustrating as hell, especially since Jed knew he could play Laramie better than anyone in the world. It was as if the part had been written with him in mind. It was as if the character had been modeled on his very soul.
    Ron called again and again, but O’Laughlin was adamant. She wouldn’t even give him a chance.
    Over the past three months, Jed had found himself again at the absolute bottom of his personal barrel as he’d fought a bad case of the flu,
and
dealt with the fact that despite being cast in
Mean Time
, Ron’s phone wasn’t ringing off the hook. Jed had started going to parties, started schmoozing shamelessly in hopes that
some
one would take a chance and cast him in their movie.
    But days turned into weeks, weeks into months, and the only call Ron received was from the producers of some bad TV sitcom. Apparently Jed didn’t even rate a guest spot on
Loveboat.
    There was only one thing Jed had left to lose by coming to this audition in New York. And he wanted the role of Virgil Laramie more than he wanted to hang onto the remaining worthless shards of his pride.
    The mouse’s eyes widened as she matched the name on the sign-in sheet with the picture from
TV Guide
, and she looked up at him and swallowed loudly enough for him to hear.
    “Oh,” she said.
    Jed gave her his best smile—the two thousand watt, five billion dollar, movie star version. “What’s your name?”
    “Annie.”
    “Do me a favor, Annie, and don’t tell Mary Kate and Vic that I’m out here. I want to surprise ’em.”
    Annie stood staring at him, frozen in place.
    “Is that okay?” he asked.
    She snapped to. “Kate left about an hour ago. You’ll only be reading for Victor Strauss today.”
    “Really?” Jed turned up his smile even brighter. “In that case, please feel free to let Vic know I’m here.”
    Ding, dong the witch was dead—or at least safely out of the room. He actually stood a chance.
    Jed took a deep breath, careful not to let his hope get out of control. If he let himself get too elated, he’d have much farther to fall if he failed. It was better to feel nothing at all. It was true he’d never soar into the heights, but he’d also never sink into complete despair.
    He took a deep breath, firing up the movie star smile again as Annie came out of the back room.
    “Mr. Strauss will see you now, Mr. Beaumont.”

TWO

    “I found our location.” Kate sat on the bed in her Columbia, South Carolina hotel room, tucking the phone under her chin so she could reach down to unlace her boots. “A little town called Grady Falls. It’s perfect, Victor. It’s in the middle of nowhere. There’s this little antebellum plantation museum, preserved by