Lost Light
Chapter One
The last thing I expected was for Alexander Taylor to answer his own door. It
belied everything I knew about Hollywood. A man with a billion-dollar box-office
record answered the door for nobody. Instead, he would have a uniformed man
posted full-time at his front door. And this doorman would only allow me
entrance after carefully checking my identification and appointment. He would
then hand me off to a butler or the first-floor maid, who would walk me the rest
of the way in, footsteps falling as silent as snow as we went.
But there was none of that at the mansion on Bel-Air Crest Road. The driveway
gate had been left open. And after I parked in the front turnaround circle and
knocked on the door, it was the box-office champion himself who opened it and
beckoned me into a home whose dimensions could have been copied directly from
the international terminal at LAX.
Taylor was a large man. Over six feet and 250 pounds. He carried it well,
though, with a full head of curly brown hair and contrasting blue eyes. The hair
on his chin added the highbrow look of an artist to this image, though art had
very ... read full excerpt from: Lost Light ebook
