Melodic and smooth, the caller’s voice resonated with her like a tuning fork. She sat up straighter, immediately searching her memories for a match as she looked out the window. “Are you watching Hennessee House remotely?” she asked after spotting three of themanyexterior cameras Xander promised.
“No?”
“Then how did you know I was here?”
He paused. “I didn’t.”
“So, you just happened to call me at the exact moment I pulled up?” Give or take ten panicked minutes. “Sure.”
“You’re there? Right now?”
“I am.” She glanced at Hennessee House’s front door, thoroughly committed to ignoring the resulting chill that ran through her. “Xander told me to expect a call from production with this area code. He’s an extremely surly man. Must be lovely to work with.”
“Haven’t had any issues so far.” He laughed. “I mostly work with Stephen.”
“Huh. This might sound odd, but why do I know your laugh? You soundsofamiliar. Who is this?”
He laughed again and she swore she felt something in her chest flutter.
“Well, my name’s Maverick.”
Lucky gasped softly, then whispered, “Phillips?”
He whispered back, “Yes.”
The phone slid clean out of her hand, bouncing off the seat and onto the floor. “Shit.” She leaned down, face smooshed against the wheel, still hush-swearing. Her fingertips brushed the sides and the stupid thing flipped over. She sat up quickly, pushing the seat back and picking the phone up just as Maverick said, “Hello? Are you still there?”
“Yes! Hi! Hello! Sorry! I—um— Sorry!” She squeezed her eyes shut.Stop apologizing!
She thought she’d meet Maverick Phillipssomedaybecause they shared a production company now. But she didn’t think, not in a million haunted years, that he’d be the one to call.
He asked, “Is everything okay?”
Her heart hammered against her rib cage, temples pulsing with the start of an adrenaline headache. She squeezed her free hand into a fist until her knuckles hurt to get her splintered focusunder control. If she could survive the hell week after listening to a “cursed” audio recording, talking to Maverick Phillips paled in comparison.
“Yes! Um.” She cleared her throat to get her pitch back from distressed territory. “I’m fine. Everything’s fine.”
“I have no choice other than to believe you, but you can tell me if it isn’t.”
“Walking and talking is truly an advanced skill for my clumsy ass. I tripped and dropped my phone. That’s all,” she lied, smooth as butter. If they were watching, he’d know she was lying and then she’d know he lied. “So, Maverick Phillips. Hi, I’ve seen your show. Which you obviously guessed by now. I don’t know why I told you that.”
She’d been following his career for years. His showBeyond a Reasonable Doubtwas No Qualms Productions’ flagship project—a paranormal investigative series focused on interviews rather than spectacle. Its popularity had been what encouraged NQP to branch out and createThe Caretakerin the first place.
He laughed again, this time soft and breathy. “I’m calling to introduce myself anyway and confirm you received the email with our production schedule.”
Our?!Lucky’s entire being froze from shock. The hell did he meanour?!Washepart of the crew assigned toThe Caretaker? Yes, using Maverick to ensure some audience crossover made perfect sense, but they could’ve given her a heads-up about it. Rude.
He continued, “We didn’t get a reply.”
“I did get it. Yes, sorry. I’m the worst. I’ll read something and think I responded, but really, it’s been sitting there unsent the whole time—wow, you really didn’t need to know all that.”
What is wrong with me?!She wanted to rip her hair out. Could she stop making insipid comments for five seconds?
“Context is always helpful,” he said kindly. “Have you gone inside yet?”
“Not yet, no.”
He paused. “Are you all right?”
