Private: #1 Suspect by James Patterson Maxine Paetro Page B

saw his first film, Badger. Played the kid with the wild dogs? I knew he was going to take off.”
    Justine flashed him a smile, slowed for a speed bump, took a left at the second intersection, and headed down a street lined by soundstages and two- and three-story white stucco buildings once used as studio homes for writers and actors, now mainly production and administration offices.
    Her mind ranged as she drove, thinking about Jack, about Jack with Colleen, about how she was sure he’d lied about what had happened at lunch with Colleen. Justine also thought about the job she’d been offered, which wouldn’t be as good as the one she had now—except for one important detail. She wouldn’t be seeing Jack five days a week.
    Scotty was looking at her. She recalled what he’d said. Excited about working with Danny Whitman.
    “We don’t have a check yet, Scotty. But if we take the job, bet you ten bucks you’ll be happy when it’s over.”
    She lifted the visor, downshifted, and said to Scotty, “He’s just starting this new film. Action-adventure, of course. The question is, will he get to finish it?”
    “Shades of Green,” said Scotty. “I read about it. Spies and counterspies in the twenty-first century.”
    “Okay, I’m impressed,” Justine said. “You do your homework.”
    Justine’s mind flicked over this assignment. She wished she hadn’t told Jack she would do it. It could drag on. And the one thing you could absolutely count on with movie stars, it was going to get messy.
    Please, God. Let this one be the exception to the rule. Let this one be easy.
    “Sorry?” she said to Scotty. He was speaking again.
    “So you missed the meeting. Jack was talking about Colleen Molloy. People seemed to like her.”
    “She was adorable,” Justine said. “What number is that?” Scanning the nearly identical white buildings.
    “ Adorable. Interesting word choice.”
    “Genuine. Funny. Unaffected.”
    “And you dated Jack too?”
    “Boy, you’re quite the background checker,” Justine said. “There it is. On the corner. Now listen, Scotty, I don’t even know if we’re going to get this job, so just watch and listen.”
    “I can do that.” He grinned. “But you didn’t answer my question.”
    Justine braked the car at the curb, turned off the engine, and looked at the new guy on the team. He was young, regular features. Probably a little German, a little Brit, a little American Indian. Nice looking and kind of full of himself, but he was also curious and dogged. Good-natured too. He was going to be a fine addition to Private. As long as he stayed optimistic.
    “Jack breaks hearts,” Justine said. “That’s what he does. I don’t even know if it’s his fault. Women want to fix Jack, and they think they can. I thought I could too.”
    She reached into the backseat for her shiny leather handbag, opened it, and found a makeup kit in there. She took out her lipstick and a mirror, put fresh color on.
    Scotty said, “So it is as Jack says. He was framed.”
    “Jack is a lot of things, but he’s not a killer.”
    Justine snapped her handbag closed and opened the car door. Scotty was saying, “But wasn’t he in the war? Wasn’t he a marine?”

CHAPTER 40

    SCOTTY STOOD BESIDE Justine as the door to the building marked 231 opened and a barefoot Johnny Depp look-alike introduced himself as Larry Schuster, Danny Whitman’s manager.
    Justine shook Schuster’s hand and introduced Scotty. They stepped inside, the air smelling of pot, burned toast, and air-conditioner coolant.
    Scotty looked around the spiffy modern office, hardwood floors, round chairs in bright colors, desktops off to one side of the room littered with fruit baskets, stacks of scripts, half-eaten breakfasts on trays, and opened gift bags with watches and other loot spilling out, cornucopias of excess.
    On the walls were framed posters of Whitman’s four previous action films, every one of them a blockbuster.
    A man of about forty