The Notorious Pagan Jones. Nina Berry

Devin’s low voice was a warning.

      Jerry shut his mouth, lips tight. He stubbed out the second cigarette next to the first one like he was smashing a cockroach.

      Pagan looked back and forth between the two men. Jerry was one of the most powerful men in Hollywood. Nobody talked to him that way, yet Devin Black had just gotten away with it.

      Pagan cocked her head toward Devin. “Who is this character, Jerry? His suit’s nicer than yours, so he can’t be your new assistant.”

      Jerry cast a sideways look at Devin and felt for his cigarette case again. “He works for the studio.”

      “Nobody from any studio would interrupt Jerry Allenberg like that and still have a job five minutes later.” When Devin shrugged and didn’t reply, she asked, “What have you got on him?”

      Devin shoved himself away from the wall, picked up Jerry’s cigarette case off the desk, took out a cigarette, and offered it to Pagan. “What I have on Jerry, Miss Jones, is a deal for you that’s going to make you both a lot of money. He wants you back as a client, because the studio needs you to star in Bennie Wexler’s new comedy.”

      Astonishment bloomed through Pagan, followed by relief. Her fears of someone coming to put her in prison weren’t going to happen. At least not yet. This was some Hollywood scam. But why torment her with an impossible scenario?

      She ignored the offered cigarette. “Bennie Wexler hates me. Before that he hated my mother. He kicked her off the set of Anne of Green Gables. The man won a statue for Best Director, but you’re saying he’s going to direct his next movie—” she spread her hands wide, taking in all the beige-walled, barred-windowed dreariness around her “—here? Because, in case you forgot, this is my vacation home for the next year and a half.”

      “The movie shoots in West Berlin.” Jerry rested one blunt-fingered hand on a pile of paper in front of him. “The judge has agreed to let you out of here, if you sign this contract to do the film and agree to a court-appointed guardian.”

      Pagan lowered her lashes to mask her anger. “Jerry, Jerry. It isn’t nice to tease.”

      “It’s no joke.” Jerry exhaled noisily, blowing the smoke upward. “The studio really wants you on this project.” He glanced at Devin Black, who nodded, as if in approval. “You’re still under contract to them. I don’t know who pulled the strings, but if you agree to do the movie under the conditions spelled out here, Judge Tennison will grant your parole. It’s a supporting role, but it’s good. It’s funny, and it suits you. Bennie starts rehearsal in Berlin in three days, so be a good girl and say yes now.”

      Nothing he was saying allayed her suspicions, and she hadn’t been a good girl for years. “Three days? What happened—did the original actress get killed or something?”

      “Worse. Pregnant.” Jerry reached under the contract to pull out about a hundred pages held together with brass fasteners. “You’ll like the script. Bennie’s usual mixture of farce and heart. You’ll play the teenage daughter of an American businessman living in West Berlin who falls in love with a Communist from East Berlin.”

      He laid the script in front of her. The cover read Neither Here Nor There. Written by Benjamin Wexler & I. S. Kopelson. Universal Pictures.

      Pagan stared at the familiar logo, not blinking. This was actually happening. It made no sense. But it was real.

      Jerry coughed, and she realized a long silence had elapsed. She pursed her lips in cool consideration, even though her blood was beating hard through her veins. “So, you’re saying that after the movie is over, I won’t have to come back to Lighthouse?”

      Jerry’s chest rattled with another cough. “After the shoot you’ll have to report weekly to a parole officer until you turn eighteen. But you’ll be free.”

      Pagan erupted out of her chair with such force that Jerry flinched back and Devin Black straightened from where he was slouching against the wall. She paced to the door and back and halted, then grabbed on to her chair. She didn’t like that she needed something to steady herself, but after so long in confinement, after worrying about Mercedes, and thinking they were going to put her in a real prison, the prospect of imminent freedom was the most terrifying thing of all.

      The last time she’d truly been a part of the real world had been the worst time of her life. It made solitary seem like a cozy nest.

      “Judge Tennison called me a menace to society in front of every reporter in town.” Her voice was hoarse. She cleared her throat. “He said Hollywood was a festering pit of sin, and he cast me as lead sinner. Why would he give a damn what the studio wants and let me out?”

      Jerry shrugged, casting another sideways look at Devin. “Everyone has a price, even a judge. Or maybe he saw the light. We’ll never know for sure.”

      “Beyond that,” she went on, “the whole world knows I’m a disgrace. Tabloids make up lurid stories of my exploits behind bars. Why would a studio risk giving a decent role in an award-winning director’s next big movie to me?”

      Jerry shook his head. “A young lady accepts that the men in her life know what’s best for her. I’m the closest thing you have to a father—”

      He didn’t get to finish because Devin Black cut in, his voice casual. “Haven’t you heard? Bad publicity sells even more movie tickets than good publicity. People are curious. With you in the movie, it’s a guaranteed blockbuster.”

      He wasn’t wrong, but she knew better than to trust him. Pagan gave him a cold smile. “And why is it, I ask myself, that Jerry Allenberg is taking orders from a kid in a Savile Row suit who’s young enough to be in college, maybe even high school? I’m sorry, Mister Black. But I’m not signing anything until my lawyer looks it over.”

      Devin Black’s eyes danced over her in a way that made her conscious of the uneven neckline of her uniform, of her sagging stockings and scuffed sneakers. “I hear you’re in solitary confinement for two weeks because you and your roommate nearly escaped.”

      At the mention of Mercedes all her assumed coolness fell away. “Do you know how she is?” Her voice shook. “Did she make it?”

      “Make it?” Devin asked, his voice sharpening into a crisp, almost-British tone. “You mean they didn’t tell you?” He shot a blazing look at the door, behind which, no doubt, Miss Edwards still waited, then placed a warm hand on Pagan’s upper arm. “Miss Duran is doing well and is out of the hospital. They brought her back to the infirmary here this morning.”

      Relief washed over Pagan, so acute, so powerful that she had to blindly find the chair and sit again. “Thank God, thank God,” she said under her breath. It wasn’t really a prayer. Or maybe it was.

      “There’s no need to worry about your roommate any longer,” Devin said, stepping closer to her. Was he trying to reassure her some more? Or was he moving in for the kill? The contradictory signals were dizzying. “So, if you take this job, not only will you get out of here forever, but we’ll make sure your friend gets the best of care, spends no time in solitary, and no extra time will be added to her sentence. You can give this to her.” He picked up Jerry’s gold cigarette case and handed it over. Jerry didn’t protest, and it sat heavy in her hand. “If you say no, you’ll go back to solitary and what happens to Miss Duran is anyone’s guess.”

      Pagan regarded him steadily. He wanted her dizzy—to keep her off balance, and to get what he wanted. She took his long-fingered hand and pressed the cigarette holder back into his palm. “In that case, my answer is definitely no.”

      Devin looked down at the shiny metal, lips curling ruefully. “Definitely no?”

      Pagan nodded. “Definitely.” It hurt to refuse. But if he was trying to extort her into cooperating, the whole situation had to be too good to be true. She had a funny feeling she’d be safer getting beaten by Miss Edwards here at Lighthouse. She’d learned