Page 127 of The Body in the Backyard
Her nose twitched, and she gripped his forearm.
“What have you got?” he asked under his breath.
Her brown eyes took on a glassy sheen as she stared straight ahead. Nick held on to her while he scanned the room again for threats. No one appeared to be making any suspicious moves. There were no menacing gunmen in the windows. The lawyer was holding up a frowny face sign. The producer was inhaling more Tums. One of the camera people was covertly flipping Griffin the bird.
Riley came back in a gasp. “The light!”
It was all she said before launching forward, knocking the producer out of his chair and into one of the camera operators. Nick was on her heels as she lunged onto set. He saw it then as if it were happening in slow motion.
The support wire on the overhead studio light snapped.
Riley dove for the couch and its occupants. Nick reactivated his high school football muscle memory and threw himself after her.
“Keep rolling!” the producer screeched from the floor.
They were both airborne; then the couch was tipping backward as they made contact. Nick heard the surprised cries and felt the whistle of air as the heavy light smashed to the floor, just missing his arm. His body landed on two soft female forms just as glass shattered in an explosive arc, peppering the exposed bottom of the couch with shrapnel.
“Are they dead?” one of the crew asked.
“You guys are supposed to stayoffcamera,” Griffin whined from under Riley. “This is my moment to shine. Remember?”
“Are you okay?” Nick demanded.
“No! I think you smeared my makeup,” Griffin complained.
“Not you, you idiot. Riley, are you okay?” Nick repeated into the pile of limbs.
“Crushing. Me,” she wheezed.
“Me. Too,” Bella said in a voice even breathier than usual.
Nick managed to climb off them and helped Riley to her feet. She had a cut on her forehead and a long orange smear of Griffin’s makeup down her arm.
“I’m good. I’m fine,” she insisted, pulling Bella to her feet.
“Someone tell me we’re still rolling,” the producer shrieked.
“Still rolling,” one of the camera people confirmed, sounding much more excited about the broadcast.
Tyrell was standing on top of his chair, looking like he didn’t know whether he should tackle something or run.
Nick and Riley hauled Griffin off the floor. “My suit is all wrinkled, and look what you did to my couch.”
“Riley just saved your life, you diminutive fuck,” Nick snarled, scanning the room. There were multiple someone’s missing, including one of the teleprompter ladies and Griffin’s assistant.
“Bleep that in the delay,” the producer shouted.
“Bleeping!” someone answered.
Griffin and Bella gaped at the studio light that lay where they’d been seated only seconds before.
Bella let out a low keening wail and started flapping her hands.
“Donotstart that again,” Nick ordered, snatching a box of tissues off the end table that had miraculously remained upright. He pressed a wad of them to Riley’s forehead.
The weather girl obligingly clamped one hand over her mouth and continued to flap the other hand like a baby bird learning to fly.
“You saved my life,” Griffin said, looking wide-eyed at Riley. He grabbed her and turned her to face the camera. “Don’t worry, America! I’m okay thanks to Riley Thorn and this other guy. They’re my bodyguards, and they just saved my life!”
