Title: Phoenix
Author: Barry Creyton
Publisher: NineStar Press
Release Date: 05/02/2023
Heat Level: 2 – Fade to Black Sex
Pairing: Male/Male
Length: 69900
Genre: Contemporary, contemporary, actor, suspense, murder, mystery, blackmail, revenge, identity scam, horse farm, family drama
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Description
Jack McCauley is at a dead end. He’s run out of money, luck, and love. There’d be no one to mourn him if he died tomorrow. Out of the blue, he’s given the chance to begin anew—another identity, another life, another chance at love. Should he take it? Should he start over?
Jack is young, good-looking, and desperate for his next acting gig. His boyfriend is history, his rent is unpaid, and his agent isn’t returning his calls. He’s offered one chance at redemption—a small part in a western being shot in Arizona—if only he can make his way there from LA by noon the following day.
Hitching a ride with Martin Brenner seems just the ticket. Martin is on his way to a new life in Phoenix and seems pleased to pick up an extra passenger.
Little does Jack know that a simple pickup will lead to the acting job he least expected—the role of a lifetime. But nothing in Phoenix is what it seems on the surface. Can Jack act his way out of an intricate jigsaw of lies, blackmail, and murder?
Phoenix
Barry Creyton © 2023
All Rights Reserved
Adams parked abruptly, skidding on the gravel, then got out of the car and gave it an affectionate pat before tossing the keys to Jack.
A gunshot startled both men.
“Loretta’s idea of a warm welcome,” Adams said.
They climbed three wide brick steps to the porch and crossed to the front door. Adams reached for the knocker and raised it, but the door opened suddenly, wrenching it from his hand. A short, round woman in her sixties stood in the doorway. Her black hair was pulled back into a tight knot. Though she stood in silhouette, Jack could tell she wore a simple black dress. Oversized felt polishing gloves covered her hands. Her small, dark eyes were fixed on him as she spoke.
“Miss Loretta, she—”
“I know where to find her, Consuela,” Adams interrupted. “You remember Martin?”
Consuela’s eyes hadn’t moved from Jack. “I remember.”
“Hi,” Jack said.
Consuela responded by glancing conspicuously at the doormat. Both men wiped their feet thoroughly, and she stepped back to allow them to proceed into the lobby. Jack thought he could see a hint of his reflection in the high polish of the dark, wood-tiled floor, but it was probably imagination in overdrive. Ahead of him, an elaborately carved oak staircase ascended grandly to the floor above. They moved through a long hall, passing a library, a spacious living room, a dining room, and several closed doors before they came to a door which Adams opened.
Another gunshot. Jack flinched.
Adams laughed. “Come on. She’s not gonna shoot you.”
He led Jack through a glassed morning room, out onto the back terrace. Lawn stretched away from the house and eventually turned to red earth on which stood an imposing stable, bright white in the fading daylight. Beyond sat bunkhouses bordered by a white fence, and on the other side of them, rolling fields stretched off into low hills and the twilight shadows as far as Jack could see.
“Pull!”
Loretta stood at the far border of the lawn, a rifle to her shoulder. A powerful-looking Latino man in chaps ejected a clay pigeon that barely made it out of the catapult before it was shattered. The echo of the shot returned several times from distant hills, diminishing with each repetition. The daylight was almost gone, and Jack wondered at the woman’s eyesight.
“Well done!” Adams shouted.
Loretta turned slowly and looked at the two of them for some time before ejecting the shell from the rifle. The big man hurried to pick it up. Loretta shouldered the rifle and walked casually across the lawn.
She looked to be in her early forties, a strikingly handsome woman with high cheekbones and sleek blonde hair pulled into a ponytail. She wore jeans, riding boots, and a neat checked shirt tucked in at a trim waist. Loretta regarded Jack with ice-blue eyes. “I expected you earlier.”
Jack considered an excuse, but Adams made it for him.
“Traffic,” he said, shaking his head sorrowfully.
Loretta’s eyes remained on Jack. A hint of a smile lifted the corners of her mouth. “You’ve grown.”
Jack’s adrenaline was at a level he might’ve experienced on an opening night. He met her gaze and tried to match the temperature of her smile.
Adams glanced from one to the other. “Nice to see you two reunited,” he said a little too jovially.
Loretta’s attention didn’t stray from Jack. “We missed you at the funeral.”
Jack struggled to think of an excuse, but Loretta seemed not to expect one.
Adams piped up anyway. “We didn’t quite know where to find—”
Loretta half turned to the terrace and yelled, “Consuela!”
Consuela stood solidly at the back door and yelled back a hearty, “Whaaat!”
“Did you get Mr. Martin’s things from the car?”
“What I gotta get?” Consuela asked belligerently.
“There’s just one case,” Jack said.
Consuela marched across the lawn and held her hand out. Jack realized he’d had the keys clutched tight in his hand ever since Adams had thrown them to him. His palm bore white pressure marks from the keys. Consuela swiped them from his hand. “I get. If it ain’t too heavy.” She walked slowly back to the house.
“Y más rápidamente,” Loretta called, but Consuela’s pace didn’t accelerate at all. Loretta turned her smile to Adams and linked her arm through his. “How about a cocktail?”
“Good idea,” Adams said with immense gratitude.
Loretta tossed the rifle to Jack who caught it clumsily and turned it over in his hands as they started for the terrace.
“This is a Winchester,” he said, admiring its pristine condition.
She glanced briefly at Jack over her shoulder. “Still know your guns.”
Jack felt as if he’d passed a test. In fact, he’d admired a replica of the Winchester on the HBO episode in which he’d merely stood beside the featured player who carried it.
They crossed the terrace to the row of sliding glass doors and went into the morning room, a mid-century addition to the old house. Loretta led them to a bar flanked with several armchairs.
“A toast,” Adams said when they had their drinks. “Long life, happiness—and family.” He raised his glass.
Jack hesitated for a split second, then lifted his glass.
As if this was her cue, Loretta raised hers to Jack and said, “Family.”
Adams drained his glass and refilled it. Jack went to the windows and gazed out as the light went from the fields. He watched the man pack up the clay pigeon equipment and marveled at his muscularity. The man obviously worked out. He glanced back at the house and caught Jack watching him. His face was more than merely handsome—Jack tried to think of the right word to describe it. High cheekbones and a square jaw suggested some Native American blood. His hair was black, sleek, and pulled back into a short ponytail.
Noble. That was it. There was nobility in the man’s beauty. He remained still, expressionless, but seemed to be appraising Jack, who flushed under the scrutiny. Jack turned back to the room.
Loretta perched on a barstool, watching him. “Diego does most of the work here these days.”
Jack nodded, faintly embarrassed to have been caught examining the man.
“Place has changed a bit since you saw it last,” she continued. “Most of the stock has gone. Two mares, that’s all that’s left. And a couple of wranglers who don’t know horse sense from horse shit.”
Adams laughed, and when Loretta didn’t, he switched swiftly to earnestness. “Well, now Martin’s back, maybe he can help pull things together again.”
Loretta swirled the ice in her drink slowly. “Last I heard, you wanted to sell up.”
“I—haven’t really thought about it,” Jack said.
The tinkle of ice in Loretta’s glass was the only sound in the room. Adams glanced from one to the other and was saved from bridging the silence by Consuela’s appearance in the doorway.
“Miss Maggie outside. In a hurry. Date with Brad Pitt.”
“Ah!” Adams said, relieved to be offered an exit strategy. He dragged the muffler out of his pocket and wound it around his neck, then shook Jack’s hand. “You need anything, just call me.” Adams gave Loretta a wave or a salute, Jack wasn’t sure which. “See you at the memorial.” And he fled.
The faint click of Adams’s footsteps on the wood tiles of the hallway was followed by the distant sound of the front door closing, and there was silence.
“Memorial?” Jack asked casually.
“Tomorrow morning. We postponed until we knew you’d be able to make it.” Loretta swiveled her stool to the bar and put a little more ice into her glass. “I knew you’d want to pay your respects. Considering how close you were to Amy when you were a child.” She turned back to Jack. “And considering Amy’s generosity.”
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Barry Creyton has worked extensively in British and Australian theatre and television as actor, playwright and director. His plays are produced in more than twenty languages. Awards include the prestigious Kessell Award for his outstanding contributions to Australian theatre, the L.A. Ovation Award, and the Noel Coward International Writing Award. He resides in the United States. Find out more on his Website.
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