Free Infamous by Suzanne Brockmann

other Hollywood stars who could’ve played Silas Quinn with just as much conviction.
    Skippy—which was a stupid name for a bodyguard—had told her to stay where she was. But even if she stepped out of her trailer, she’d still be where she was, wouldn’t she? Or close enough …
    Alison looked out all of the windows on both sides of her trailer. No one was out there—most of the cast and crew were up in the mountains today, out by the entrance to one of the mines, setting up what was going to be a sunrise shot, which they’d all wake up hours and
hours
before dawn to capture.
    But then she saw the security team arrive via electric golf cart—a pair of overweight rent-a-cops in uncomfortable-lookinguniforms. They didn’t get out of their cart, they just slowed as they went past, maneuvering to get back behind her trailer.
    She watched from the window, intending to go out and join them, when Skip Smith jogged over. So she kept watching.
    He spoke to them and he was far more animated than she’d ever seen him. He glanced over at her trailer and although he didn’t wave, it was clear that he saw her at the window. He spoke to the security guards at some length, and they all laughed at something he said. Then he stepped back, gesturing for the cart to proceed, which it did, driving away as if nothing had happened. And Skip, again turning to look directly at her, came toward her trailer.
    Alison met him outside. He was a heavy smoker and she didn’t want him exhaling or even just bringing his ashtray-smelling clothes into her personal work space.
    “Whoever they were—and Marcus made up some bullshit,” Skip told her, no ceremony, no greeting, “they must’ve realized you were watching, because they let him go and ran.”
    “Is he okay?” Alison asked.
    The man shrugged, his expression hard to read behind those mirrored sunglasses. “Seems a little shaken. He says he was rehearsing a scene.”
    “If he was,” Alison told Skip, “it wasn’t from this movie.”
    “You … overheard him?”
    She nodded. “He said,
Don’t,”
she reported. “Like,
Don’t hurt me
. And something about money. That he’d have it next week.”
    Skip nodded. “Great. The man is a retard. I let him out of my sight for two goddamn minutes …” He reached for a cigarette, lighting it up without even asking if she minded.
    “Skip,” Alison chose her words carefully as she took a step back. “I know Trace has had substance abuse issues in the past, and I also know you’ve been with him for a long time, and because of that, you must feel a certain amount of loyalty—”
    He made a raspberry sound. “Screw loyalty,” he said. “Right now Hank Logan pays my salary. My job is to make sure Marcus shows up on time with his freaking lines learned—which is a pain in the balls, because like I said, he’s a retard. I’m also in charge of making sure that he tests negative whenever they spring a drug test on him. It’s been a year since he’s popped a positive, FYI. But he’s heavily in debt. Has been for years. It sounds like that’s maybe catching up with him.”
    “That’s good,” Alison said. “About the drug tests, I mean. Not so good about the debt.” She paused. “I think it’s important that Henry Logan knows about this latest incident.”
    “Oh, believe me,” Skip told her, “it’ll be in my daily report. I’ll make sure he knows.”
    “Good,” she said. “That’s … I hate to bother Henry, but … I’m really sorry you have to deal with this. It’s been a heckuva day, with Eleanor’s visit this morning.”
    “Yeah,” he said. “Right. Jesus, was that this morning? It’s been a
fucking
heck of a day.”
    “Thanks for getting here so quickly,” Alison told him with a nod that was meant to be a conversation ender.
    But he had another question for her. “Miss Carter. The men that you saw with Marcus … Do you think you’d be able to give, you know, an accurate description?”
    She