Free Reason To Believe by Roxanne St. Claire Page B

anything, but shook her head, like she was thinking or unable to speak.
    “What is it?” he asked again, putting a hand on her shoulder.
    She pointed to the door. “Close that. Quick.”
    He did, noticing that her complexion had turned pale and she’d started to shake. “Arianna, what’s the matter?”
    “I don’t know.” Her voice was tight and breathy as she turned in a slow circle, her gaze darting around the room, over a wide flat-screen TV that took up most of one wall, a scarred and ancient oak desk, a round conference table with two mismatched chairs, one tucked in tight, the other turned to face the TV. “But there’s something in this room. Something I never felt before. There’s a very weird aura in here.”
    Despite himself, the hair on the back of Chase’s neck rose. She wasn’t faking this, whatever it was.
    “Is it the vision? The one you had in the studio?”
    She shook her head. “No.”
    “Is it…what was going on in here a few minutes ago?”
    “No.”
    He waited while she closed her eyes, and, trancelike, touched her ring and swayed slightly left to right.
    The door popped open with a bang loud enough for Chase to spin and reach for his weapon.
    “What the hell are you doing in here?”
    He recognized the venom-mouthed production assistant from the set the day before, so he kept his gun in the holster.
    Arianna opened her eyes slowly, like a woman being pulled out of a deep sleep. “Looking for Brian,” she said. “Why is that a problem?”
    “It’s not,” Carla said quickly, throwing a glance at Chase. “It’s just that nobody expected you here today.”
    “I was called in for pickups,” Arianna said, shoving a fistful of curls off her face. “Do you know who called me?”
    Carla screwed up her face. “Pickups? Nobody would call you for those. The show’s in the can. We were finished last night.”
    “I need to see the raw footage,” Arianna said. “I need to get a good look at everyone in the audience.”
    “I can get you the log, and all the releases. Why?”
    “No, I want to see the tapes. I’m looking for someone who was on the log, but not in the studio.”
    Carla’s dark eyes flickered, and again she threw a curious look at Chase. “I don’t think we’ve met,” she said, sticking her hand out toward him. “I’m Carla Lynch. And you are?”
    “Chase Ryker.” He purposely didn’t identify himself, even though she obviously waited.
    After an awkward beat, she looked at Arianna. “There is no more raw footage, hon. Just the show, which you are welcome to see, of course. Everything else has been destroyed.”
    There was a hint of arrogance and challenge in that accented voice, as if she had an overblown sense of superiority, but that might just be posturing.
    “Destroyed?” Arianna asked. “Why?”
    She shrugged. “Boss’s orders. So, are you leaving now?” She held the door open in an obvious invitation.
    “No,” Arianna said, shooting back with just as much authority and superiority. There was definitely some posturing going on between these two. “And we need some privacy,” she said, pointing to the door. “If you don’t mind.”
    Carla looked piqued at the dismissal, but she backed out. “Whatever.”
    “Something’s not right in here,” Arianna said softly the second the door latched.
    “What is it?”
    She rubbed her arms, and fiddled with her ring again. “I don’t know. It’s not like anything I’ve ever felt.”
    “What do you feel?” He couldn’t believe he was even asking, but nothing in her demeanor said she was pretending.
    Again, she turned around, stopping this time at the TV. “I know what we heard, or think we heard. But the energy in here is full of…hate. That’s the only way I can describe it.” She picked up an oversized remote and glanced at it. “What was he watching?” she asked, half to herself, as she clicked it on.
    The screen lit with a familiar, beautiful face. She gasped softly at her own image.