Jackson says nothing, but he puts his palm over the photo, as if doing that can keep his daughter safe from all this.

For a moment, no one says anything. Then Damien stands, circles the table, and leans back against it beside Jackson. “It’s going to come out.” His voice is firm, but gentle. “And when it does, everyone will see the connection between your daughter and the movie—and it will be crystal clear why you didn’t want the movie to go forward. Get on top of it, and we can soften the impact. Wait, and it’s going to be brutal.”

“I’m not throwing my daughter to the wolves.” He is tense, as if one wrong word from anyone in this room will cause him to bolt. “Not until it’s absolutely necessary.”

“Jackson—”

But Evelyn cuts off Damien’s protest. “No, we can make this work.” She glances at Harriet, who nods almost imperceptibly, then turns her focus back to Jackson. “But you keep your eyes on the prize, okay? And that’s staying out of jail. That’s being around to watch that little girl grow up.”

Jackson says nothing, but he’s watching Evelyn with interest.

“We’ll play it your way for now, but that might change. I need to take the media’s temperature. See if they warm to you, or if that ice in your eyes spills over. Too icy, Mr. Steele, and we may need to attach a sweet little girl to your image. Do you understand that?”

His jaw clenches, and one hand grips tight to the edge of the table. But all he says is, “Yes.”

Evelyn nods, satisfied.

“What is going to happen tomorrow?” I blurt out the question, as much because I want to know as because I want to change the subject. “Are they going to arrest him? Can Jackson post bail?” I can hear the panic in my voice, and I’m touched when Jackson takes his hand off his daughter’s photo so that he can grasp mine.

“They might arrest,” Harriet says, as if she’s commenting on the possibility of rain. “Normally in a high profile case like this I’d assume not, but in this case Jackson did assault both the screenwriter and Reed, though we don’t know if the police are aware of the first incident. And he did visit Reed the day of the murder. The prosecution may not know that. But maybe they do. Maybe they’re going to disclose it tomorrow. And maybe they’re going to parlay that into an arrest.”

Jackson nods, looking a little bit shell-shocked.

My mouth is completely dry, and though I’m holding tight to Jackson’s hand, I can’t feel his fingers. It takes me a couple of tries, but finally I can form words. “You said normally you’d think not? Why not?”

“As a rule, the police don’t want to act prematurely because once they arrest, the clock starts ticking. And especially in a high profile case, they like to have time to get their ducks in order.”

“But don’t they want to order those ducks here, too?”

Harriet looks straight at me, and though I hate the way she doesn’t pull punches, I can’t deny that I respect it. “My fear is that the ducks are already all lined up.”

“Wouldn’t we already know? I thought the police have to disclose evidence.” I can’t seem to be quiet. I have to wrap my head around it. “Or is that just the way it plays out on television?”

This time, Harriet does smile, at least a little. “They do, yes. But not yet. Certainly not before there’s an arrest.”

“Oh.” I finally get it. She fears that tomorrow Jackson will be subjected to a full song and dance presentation of the evidence, and the grand finale of the show will be putting him in cuffs and carting him off to a cell.

Oh god.

“If the worst happens, we’ll move for bail, of course,” Charles says. “Until then, we’re going to hope it doesn’t happen.”

The meeting continues for almost two more hours, covering so many details and plans that it feels like all the information is going to spill out of my ears. Even I’ve been given marching orders. Like Jackson, I need to be polite and charming to the press. But I have the added benefit of being able to say that he was with me at a party the night of the murder. Of course, that Halloween party was just over the hill in Studio City, and any reporter worth his salt will know that Jackson could have easily gone from Reed’s to the party.

That part, I won’t be saying.

As for my calls to the investors, I can reassure them that Jackson was with me, then segue neatly into Jackson’s talent—not to mention the fact that a little bit of drama attached to the resort probably won’t hurt the opening week receipts.

Jackson is told to stop doing his community service. Charles is going to square that with the court. “But we don’t want to draw attention to the fact that you got such a light sentence after the assault. No appearance of perks. No suggestion of special privileges. It will come out, of course,” he adds cynically, “but why shine a spotlight?”

Harriet had taken a seat, but now she stands. “I think that covers everything but motive. As it stands, the prosecution can come at this from either the movie angle or the assault angle—and the movie angle gets stronger once the media finds out about Ronnie. But,” she adds quickly, “I’m willing to wait to address that, so long as you’re aware of the potential downside.”

“I’ve already said that I am,” Jackson says.

I’m frowning at something else she’s said. “They’ll really think Jackson killed Reed to keep him from filing a civil assault suit? Is anyone else seeing the irony?”

“Trust me,” Harriet says. “People kill for the stupidest of reasons. The police know that, and they’ll push. And who knows what they’ll uncover if they investigate multiple angles.” She looks hard at Jackson. “So if there’s any other possible motive out there, I need to know about it now. Something pops out later and surprises me, it can destroy your entire case. I want you to be very clear about that.”

I sit perfectly still, but I’m terrified that the room can hear my heart, because it’s about to pound out of my chest. I don’t look at Jackson, but I’m certain he’s thinking the same thing. The photos of me. Reed threatened to expose them if I didn’t get Jackson to agree to the movie.

And, yeah, that’s definitely motive.

But all Jackson says is, “That’s it. Nothing else.”

I release a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. He’s still protecting me. Even though this secret could land him behind bars, he’s still protecting me.

Am I really such a coward that I will let him do that?

“All right,” Harriet says. “Let’s move on to—”

“There’s more.” My whisper is so soft that the words are barely audible. I keep my eyes on the table, not on Jackson.

“I’m sorry, Sylvia?” I look up to see Charles peering at me. “I couldn’t hear you.”

I draw in a deep breath and squeeze my hands into fists.

“Sylvia.” Jackson’s voice is hard. Demanding.

I look at him, hoping he can see the apology in my eyes. Then I turn my attention back to Harriet and Charles.

“He was blackmailing me.” I’m no longer whispering. I’m saying it flat out. “Reed. He had photos. I used to model for him and—well—some of them were explicit. I—I wouldn’t want them coming out. I—” I swallow. “I’m not sure I could handle that at all.”

Very slowly, Harriet puts her notes on the table. “I see.”

I turn just enough to see Jackson. To see the tiny shake of his head and the pain in his eyes. But I continue. “He said he’d release them if I didn’t convince Jackson to quit trying to block the movie.”

Charles and Harriet exchange glances.

“Well,” Harriet says. “You’re right. That definitely goes to motive.”

I swallow. I know that she is right.

“Do you have these photos?” Charles asks.

“She doesn’t.” Jackson’s voice rings firm. “We burned the ones he sent to her.” That’s a lie, but since I don’t think it matters—and since I really don’t want them to see the photos—I don’t challenge him.