Escape Magic (9 page)

Damn it.
Andre turned grimly, feeling
like a caged animal. The loss of the money didn’t hurt half as much
as the loss of the one person he’d always thought he could rely on.
He’d trusted Tony. Goddamn him. From the day they’d left their
mother’s tiny home in Bath, N.C., Tony had busted his ass to get
Andre through the days of busking on the streets of New York and
table-hopping at little cafes. He’d gotten Andre’s first real gig
at a tiny theater in New York and from there the theaters had
gotten bigger, the audiences more enthusiastic. And it all had led
to this engagement in Las Vegas. Tony should be here.

He shook off the lingering regret. He had
Bobby to take care of the day-to-day stuff and the show revenue
would soon be enough to tide them over if they kept selling out.
The one thing he didn’t have was a public relations person. Neither
Bobby nor Mattie had the expertise to handle press, and he was
beginning to feel the need for one urgently. He needed to take his
time, find somebody he could trust, but he knew it was only a
matter of time now before the vultures of journalism smelled decay
and swooped in on him to get at the bones of the story about his
brother.

As if on cue, a sharp rap sounded on the
door. A second later, a woman dressed in a figure-hugging black
sheath dress with a bleached-blonde mane of hair falling around her
shoulders entered the room without waiting to be admitted. Andre
was used to women barging into his dressing room, but this woman
left him speechless. She might have been one of the million young
women looking to cut loose for a Vegas vacation except for the
sharp intelligence in her hazel eyes. His brain screamed for
caution, but he ignored it, stepping forward to take her hand.
“Good evening. I’m Andre Hawke. How can I help you?”

He has no idea who I am.
Good. That
meant he wasn’t being flooded by journalists. If she could be the
first to gain his trust, maybe she could get an exclusive about the
dismissed agent… Stacey smiled her sweetest and tried not to be too
thrilled that
Andre Hawke
was holding her hand. “Mr. Hawke.”
She wished she could have freshened up a little more. She’d stopped
at the airport bathroom, taken off her wrinkled blazer, changed her
jewelry and washed up a little. She tilted her head with as much
confidence as she could muster, glad her last dye job had turned
out so spectacularly her hair sparkled even in dim light, let alone
the bright lights of the dressing room. “So good to meet you.”

He tucked the sunglasses he held in one hand
into the inside pocket of his leather jacket. “My pleasure.” His
eyes scanned her up and down and back again.

Her heart gave an odd thump, but she was
prepared for that, too. She’d watched countless videos of his stage
performances on YouTube, and she knew his reputation for
womanizing. The Great Andre—on stage
and
in the sack,
evidently. She summoned her best flirtatious smile, but his next
words caught her off guard enough so she faltered. “Who exactly are
you and how the hell did you get back here?”

She’d paid off a security guard but he
didn’t have to know that. “I snuck in. I wanted to catch you before
the show.” She fluttered her eyelashes and lowered her gaze, on cue
as usual.

“Are you here to see the show, then?” He
didn’t release her hand, his eyes intense on hers when she looked
back.

“Of course I am.” She shot him a smile. “I
can’t wait, actually. I’ve been a fan ever since I saw you at the
Clemson Theater in New York a few years ago.”

“I remember that show.” His smile widened,
revealing perfect teeth for a moment before softening again into a
sensual curve, and his gaze flickered to her mouth.

“It’s obviously taken you to bigger and
better things.” Her chest felt tight and she found it hard to
breathe. Was he going to kiss her? Dear God, she felt paralyzed.
Was this really just desire or did he actually know enough magic to
hold her immobile while he considered whether or not to kiss her?
Or did she want his kiss so bad she was willing to sacrifice what
was left of her career to get it?

She cleared her throat and fought her way
out of whatever spell he’d cast. “I, um, do have another reason—”
She reached into her purse.

“Save it.” He dropped her hand. “I don’t
talk to the press before shows.”

She couldn’t disguise her astonishment. “How
do you know I’m a reporter?”

“Fresh off the plane. I recognize the smell
of the soap. Congratulations, you’re the first. This evening,
anyway.” He glanced at his watch. “I’m not expecting any more for
at least a couple hours.” His glare was sharp. “They probably won’t
catch me until
after
the show.”

“All the more reason to listen to me now.”
She wasn’t about to give up after flying halfway across the United
States just to make her pitch. “We’ve got at least fifteen minutes
before you’re on stage.”

“We’ve barely got two before my assistant
barges through that door with a dozen questions.”

“Plenty of time to schedule a meeting.”

He laughed. “You’re not going to give up,
are you?”

“Not on your life.” She took a step toward
him. “I wasn’t lying about being a fan. I’ve seen every one of your
shows in one form or another. DVD, YouTube, videocassette. I know
you’re from Bath, North Carolina, and you started your career
playing banjo for square dances. I know you did magic tricks on the
side, and you went to college to please your mother, but your heart
has always been in show business. I know you’ve got a genius IQ and
an engineering degree, and I honestly can’t believe I’m standing
here in front of you right now.” She stopped, feeling a hot blush
spread over her face, but she could tell she’d gotten his
attention. She dropped her gaze. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to say
that.”

He snorted. “And you’re twice the salesman I
am.” He started to turn away. “I almost bought it, too. A warning
to my ego.”

Shit.
He was walking away. If he left
without agreeing to see her again, she’d never get an interview,
let alone an exclusive. It wasn’t his ego talking when he said he’d
have a flood of reporters after him soon, although maybe not
right
after this show. Andre Hawke would soon be the hottest
thing going.
Nobody
could figure out how he did his tricks.
His Las Vegas show was a springboard, guaranteed to propel him to
bigger and better things. His agent had been an absolute fool to
let himself get caught with his hand in the till at this point. His
agent, who was also his brother. Stacey grasped at the last straw
she still carried.

“I know about your brother.”

He froze, and when he turned, his gaze was
cold enough to freeze her in her tracks. His dark blue eyes were
depthless, his expression stony. Her heart seized up in her chest,
her breath caught in her throat. She opened her mouth to say more,
but she couldn’t get the words out.

“What exactly is it you think you know?” His
voice held no teasing laughter now.

“About why you fired him.” She stuck her
chin out and carried on, as brave as could be under the
circumstances. “And don’t give me that shit about he was called
home to deal with a family matter. He was drinking and gambling and
he’s probably got a problem with one or both.” She paused, making
her voice soothing. “I know you don’t want to go public with it,
but you’re going to have to sooner or later. I can help you, but
only if you give me an exclusive.”

His eyes narrowed and he took a step
forward. “My brother is taking a leave of absence from his work. He
went home to take care of some family business. Which is none of
yours, by the way.”

She opened her mouth to tell him that cover
story wouldn’t hold water for long, but the door opened behind him,
startling her. Andre didn’t move, his eyes still locked on hers, as
a young man with a faux-hawk and a clipboard rushed in. “Andre,
you’re due on in ten minutes and we still don’t know where you want
us to put the box for…” His voice drifted off. “Oh. I didn’t know
you had company.”

“I wouldn’t call
her
company.” Andre
finally dragged his gaze away from Stacey’s and she found she could
breathe again. “Reporter. Get her information.” He stalked out of
the dressing room.

The kid raised his eyebrows but took
Stacey’s card without further comment and showed her out the door
to the auditorium. When an usher approached, she reached for her
ticket for the seat located somewhere up in the balcony, but the
kid shook his head and motioned the usher away with authority. “He
wants you to sit up front.”

“What?” Stacey still felt breathless,
hungover, she realized, from the sheer intensity of Andre’s
presence. Had she missed something or was “get her information”
code for more than “let her leave her card”?

Bobby grinned, his voice ringing with pride
in his employer. “Still can’t believe it, huh? That’s what he does
to people. That’s why he can pull anyone he wants onstage. All he
has to do is look at them and they sort of melt. Doesn’t matter if
it’s a man, woman or kid. He knows how to throw them off.”

“Is that his secret?” She gave him a dubious
look.

“One of ‘em.” He pulled out a chair at the
bottom of the stage. “He’s got a few. But then you know that, don’t
you?” When she frowned, he saluted jauntily. “Be seein’ you.”

She shrugged and seated herself, trying to
shake off the lingering effects of Andre’s presence. The whole
thing was starting to annoy her. Admittedly, the seat was better
than the one she’d paid for, but she remembered the icy look he’d
given her too well to want to be this close to him again so soon.
And what was he up to, putting her in the front row? Was it the old
adage about keeping your enemies closer than your friends? She
doubted it was just that she knew the truth about his brother.
She’d actually threatened his carefully guarded family’s quiet
existence, so she must be dealt with. She lifted her chin
defiantly.
Bring it on, Andre Hawke.

To the rest of the world—or at least those
who knew about Andre Hawke—his father John Hawkins had been a
loving father, supportive of his son, hard-working and devoted to
his job in the paper mill, and he’d died in a horrible accident on
the job. Andre had fostered this myth carefully. The truth was that
his father wasn’t dead and he’d never worked at a paper mill. He’d
left his family when Andre and his twin brother were six years old.
Rumor was he lived off the grid somewhere in Montana. He hadn’t
emerged to claim his successful son as his own, and as far as
Stacey knew, Andre had never sought him out. Maybe he preferred the
fictional father to the real thing.

But that wasn’t going to work this time.
Tony Hawkins wasn’t the hard-working saint Andre would like
everyone to believe, and his downfall had happened much more
publicly than that of his father. She hoped Andre really had
listened to her, because she’d meant what she’d said. He wouldn’t
be able to rewrite history again, but if he’d let her, she could
make sure it wouldn’t ruin him.

Unlike other magicians—in fact, most live
performers—Andre didn’t make a spectacular entrance onto the stage.
He simply walked out, bowed, and performed a magic trick. It was
never the same trick. That was what made him so amazing. His
repertoire far exceeded those of illusionists with twice his
experience. He must constantly be developing new tricks, working
them in with favorites and rearranging the show’s order so every
one seemed new. Stacey shifted uncomfortably in her front row seat,
aware that she shouldn’t be so admiring of the man whose story
could revive her faltering career. She tried to renew the
irritation she’d felt a few minutes before, more comfortable with
that than her growing sympathy with the man.

When the music started, she glanced
expectantly at the stage. Tonight he didn’t appear immediately,
striding onto the stage with his hands in the pockets of his
leather jacket. Instead, she heard a murmur from the audience and
turned to find him standing at her elbow. He gave her a jaunty
grin, grasped her hand and pulled her to her feet.

“What the hell are you doing?” The gasp was
wrenched from her lips.
Oh my God.
Of course he’d given her
a good seat. He intended to make her part of the act.
Shit.
She tried to hold back, but he gave her hand a pull.

“Look at this, ladies and gentlemen, she’s
shy. Give her a little encouragement.” He flashed his gleaming
smile at the audience and they broke into applause. Leaning toward
her as if he were bowing, he murmured in her ear, “You’ll have to
work for that seat.”

“Am I even going to get a chance to sit in
it?” She shot back. He gave her a blandly innocent look and bounded
up the stairs to the stage, pulling her along in his wake.

The spotlight centered on them and she
blinked in the brightness. His pupils contracted, but otherwise he
seemed undisturbed. Used to the spotlight. He faced her. “Do you
believe in magic?”

“No.” She glared at him. “There’s always a
trick.”

“Ah. A nonbeliever.” His grin grew wider,
and she heard a murmur of amusement and anticipation from the
crowd. If anyone could make a believer out of her, it would be
Andre Hawke. He was playing them with all the skill of a born
entertainer, and she couldn’t suppress her admiration. God, he was
absolutely magnificent and if playing along with a magic trick
could get her the interview, she better be game. She tilted her
chin and his eyes narrowed. With a practiced flourish, he drew a
blindfold from his pocket. “So, you’re going to play?”

The words surprised her until she realized
they were directed only at her and not at the audience. He must
have a way of turning his mic off when he didn’t want them to hear.
She shrugged, pretending nonchalance. “Whatever.” In spite of her
response, however, the blindfold did disturb her a little. She
didn’t like not knowing what was happening to her. She lived her
life by maintaining control at all times. Relinquishing it, even
for a moment, was not something she wanted to do.