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“I’m getting a little stir-crazy. How about I ride down to meet you at the elevator. You won’t have to leave your post, and I’ll pretend I just went on some lavish shopping spree.”
Adam laughed. “Yes, ma’am. That would be great. I’ll be there when the doors open.”
“On my way,” Sahara said.
“Pages already?” Lucy said.
“I think so. Tom certainly didn’t waste any time. I’ll be right back and I’ll let myself in.”
“Okay,” Lucy said, and continued assembling lunch as Sahara grabbed her keys and left the penthouse.
Just getting out into the hall between her apartment and the elevator felt like she was escaping. It angered her that she’d let some faceless coward run her to ground, hiding like a criminal. She punched in the code on the keypad. The doors opened. She walked in and rode down. Adam was waiting with the envelope as promised.
“Thank you, kind sir,” she said.
“My pleasure, Miss Travis. How’s your foot?”
“Slowly healing, and thank you again for being my knight in shining armor and getting a doctor to make a house call.”
He beamed. “Yes, ma’am. My pleasure. Have a nice day.”
“You, too,” Sahara said, and rode back up and let herself in.
She laid her keys on the table by the door and headed for the kitchen, opening the envelope as she went. Sure enough, it contained pages of the script with all of the dialogue and costume changes marked.
“We’re back in business, I guess,” Sahara said, as she laid the pages near her place setting and slid back onto the bar stool.
She scanned the memo on top and then leaned back with a sigh.
“It’s an early call tomorrow, and they’re sending a car for me, so you can just meet me on set.”
Lucy carried the food to the island.
“Sure thing,” she said. “I’ll stop by that little French pastry shop that you like and pick up some croissants, and I’ll also pick up your lunch. No need taking a chance on someone getting to your food again. It’s going from my hands to yours.”
“I appreciate that,” Sahara said.
“And I am happy to do it,” Lucy said. “So, what’s going on in the new scenes that required wardrobe changes?”
“I don’t know. Let me see,” Sahara said, and she plucked a cold peeled shrimp from the bowl and dredged it in the spicy cocktail sauce before popping it in her mouth.
* * *
After waiting to see if Sahara Travis would ever come back out of that penthouse, Bubba was getting antsy. Right after he learned that the wrong woman died eating the poisoned food, he’d begun preparing the next wave of attack. His plan? Bomb the elevator. It had to work because it was the only way she could leave her apartment.
He got the name of the company The Magnolia used for mechanical repairs and set the next step in motion. That meant finding someone to build and place the bomb. Once that happened, there was nothing he could do but wait.
It was midafternoon a few days later when he learned Sahara would be leaving the penthouse the next day. He contacted the bomber he’d arranged for with one text message.
Go fix the elevator. It needs to be in place this evening. She’ll be leaving the penthouse by 5:00 a.m.
The bomber reacted calmly. Everything was ready. He put on the disguise, slipped the bomb into a big yellow toolbox and then carefully covered it with tools and headed to The Magnolia. He circled the building several times before he saw a service vehicle pull around to the back. He waited until the vehicle left, then parked, grabbed his toolbox and headed inside.
There was a small hallway that led to a check-in window. He walked up, quickly eyeing the security camera in the far corner of the room behind the receptionist’s desk. He tapped on the counter to get her attention.
She looked up, recognized the uniform, saw a company ID tag from where she was sitting and smiled.
“How can I help you?” she asked.
“Got a call to check brakes and cables on the penthouse elevator.”
Her brow furrowed. “I don’t know anything about that.”
“I go where they send me,” he said with a shrug.
The receptionist was hesitant. It was Magnolia policy to never bother the residents. Their job was to make life as private and luxurious as possible, so calling to confirm a repairman who wasn’t going anywhere near the penthouse itself could mean a black mark against her work record.
“Well, I guess it’s all right. Sign in on the clipboard and sign back out when you leave.”
He signed in, then tapped the counter once more.
“Which way from here?”
“Down the stairwell to the basement. The residential elevators are on the west wall. The single one on the south is the penthouse.”
The bomber nodded, picked up his toolbox and shuffled off.
Once in the basement, he went straight to work. Someone had obviously come down in the elevator earlier, because the car was on the first floor, and it didn’t take long for him to get to the controls to bring it one floor farther down. At least he didn’t have to climb up the ladder inside the shaft to get to the car, although he’d been prepared to do so, if needed.
After a quick glance around, he climbed up on top of the car to set the bomb, fastening it right against the cables, then set a small camera on top of the emergency exit in the ceiling, aiming it down into the car so that when the Travis woman got in, he could see her and detonate. If she didn’t die in the blast, she certainly would when the car crashed into the basement.
Once he was done, he gathered up his tools and headed for the stairwell. Now that this was done, he needed to disappear. His only witness was the woman in the office, which concerned him some. However, when he got back to the office to check out, there was a sign on the window.
Back in Fifteen Minutes.
He signed out and left. A simple trip to the bathroom had saved the woman’s life.
Four (#u3b9f11f1-f3b3-5b55-bda9-e314f1e15baa)
By the time Sahara went to bed that night, she was comfortable with the new lines and mentally immersing herself back into the role. She was a little sad, a little bit afraid and definitely uncertain what tomorrow would bring, but it felt good to be resuming normal activities.
When her alarm went off the next morning at four o’clock, she had just enough time to shower and dress for the day before the car would arrive to take her to the set.
While she was getting ready to leave, the bomber was in the parking lot of The Magnolia watching the video feed inside the elevator car from a remote control camera, waiting to hit a button and blow her to kingdom come.
Oblivious to the impending danger, Sahara moved through the penthouse with comparative ease, opting to wear some loose terry-cloth slippers to work. Adam had just called to let her know her car arrived, so she headed out the door wearing gym clothes and a lightweight zip-front hoodie. She was carrying a small purse barely big enough for credit cards, her phone in one hand and her coffee in the other as she punched in the code to send for the elevator.
And up it went.
When the bomber saw the doors open and his target step onto the elevator, he grinned. He didn’t waste any time. He took a quick breath and detonated the bomb.
But Sahara had realized she’d forgotten the pages with all of her notes and comments for the day’s shoot and had jumped out of the elevator with her key card in hand before the doors had closed. She was already running back across the hall to get them.
She was three steps from her door when the bomb went off. It blew the elevator doors into the hall only feet from where she was standing, immediately filling the hall with flying debris and a cloud of white billowing dust.
The impact knocked her to her knees and sent the key card sailing out of her hand. She was down on all fours screaming and crying for help when she heard the elevator car fall. It slid down the shaft in a horrible screech of metal against metal, and the faster it fell, the louder the screech until it was a constant, unending scream.
Sahara had lost her sense of direction in the thick, billowing dust and smoke, and all she could hear was that shriek as she frantically crawled from one side of the hall to the other, screaming for help, trying to orient herself with where she was. When she finally felt the ornate carving on her front door, she scrambled to her feet.
The light in the hall was off, leaving her in solid darkness. When she finally felt the keypad, she sobbed with relief as she began trying to key in her code. But the feeling was short-lived, because the floor began shaking beneath her feet. The car had become its own missile, rocketing down the shaft until it passed the ground floor and smashed into the basement in a second explosive blast, filling the shaft with even more smoke and debris.
Out in the parking lot, the bomber drove away convinced he had succeeded, and while most of the other tenants thought it was an earthquake, Sahara feared it was no accident. She was ninety-nine percent sure that a second attempt had just been made on her life.
When she finally made it back into the penthouse, she locked herself inside and then sank to her knees, sobbing. Too weak to stand, she fumbled for her phone, then groaned when she realized it was somewhere in the hall, and she wasn’t going back into that choking smoke.
Slowly, she struggled back to her feet and then stumbled to the nearest bathroom, desperate to get the grit and dust from her face and eyes. Once she could see, she ran through the rooms to get to her bedroom suite, locked the door and then ran for the house phone at the end of the wet bar.
Her heart was hammering so loud she could barely think, and her hands were shaking as she called the lobby, waiting for the dear and familiar sound of Adam’s voice.
* * *
The lobby downstairs was in chaos.
Certain Sahara had gone down with that elevator car, Adam was already in tears as he dialed 911.
The driver who’d been waiting for her heard the commotion and ran inside, only to find out the woman he was supposed to pick up was inside the elevator that had crashed. In a panic, he called his boss, who immediately called Harold Warner.
* * *
Harold had business to tend to all over the city this morning and had hired a car so he could work as he traveled from appointment to appointment.
He was making a notation of a dinner meeting the day after tomorrow when his cell phone rang. He hit Save to his Notes and answered the call.
“Harold Warner.”
“Mr. Warner, this is Lou from Hollywood Limo.”
“Yeah, hello, Lou. What’s up? No problem picking up Miss Travis, I presume?”
“I’m sorry, sir, but my driver just called and said that while he was waiting for Miss Travis to come down, there was an explosion inside The Magnolia, and that the penthouse elevator came down and...crashed with her in it. I knew you needed to know. I’m so sorry to be the bearer of such news.”
Harold froze. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
“No! Oh my God, no!” he cried, then hung up on the limo service and called the phone in the lobby of Sahara’s building. It rang and rang, but no one answered. He hit the intercom and buzzed the driver.
“Get me to The Magnolia as fast as you can.”
“Yes, sir,” the driver said, and immediately turned them around and headed in the direction of the well-known building.
Harold was in shock. For a few moments, he couldn’t think what to do or who to call and then realized he needed to let the director know his star wasn’t going to make it to the set this morning—or any morning.
* * *
Adam had Fire and Rescue coming in the front door and the Hollywood PD outside directing traffic, plus he was fielding calls from all of the other residents of the building while trying not to break down completely at the loss of one of his favorite residents. He was a grown man who wore a weapon to work every day. He had been hired to do a job—keeping the residents of The Magnolia safe and seeing that their privacy stayed intact. But he’d known Sahara Travis for years and liked her as a person. Knowing that she’d died on his watch was tearing him up. He’d just watched a team of firefighters heading up the stairs floor by floor to escort any reluctant residents down while another crew was making its way down to the basement.
Behind him, the phone began to ring again. He sighed, blinking back tears as he reached to answer, then froze.
Seeing her name on the caller ID was like a message from the grave. His hands were shaking as he lifted the receiver.
“Hello?”
“Adam, it’s me.”
Adam let out a shriek. “Lord have mercy! Oh sweet Jesus! Sweet Jesus! You are alive!”
She started crying all over again. “Yes, but by the grace of God. I forgot something and went back to get it. The elevator is empty. Tell rescue I’m alive but stranded up here. And please call the LAPD and ask for Detective Shaw. Tell him someone just tried to kill me again. I need to find a way to get out of here. I can smell smoke, and I don’t want to survive all this to end up dying in a fire.”
* * *
Harold Warner’s driver pulled up a full block away from The Magnolia.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Warner, but police have the streets blocked off down there. I can’t get you any closer.”
Harold’s heart was pounding. He was about to walk into a truth he didn’t want to face.
“Yes, okay. Just pull into this parking lot and wait. I have to get down there.”
“Yes, sir,” the driver said, and turned into the parking lot and killed the engine.
Harold got out, mopping the sweat from his face as he started down the street at a swift pace. He’d been thinking about Sahara ever since he’d gotten the call, remembering the first time he’d seen her. She’d come into his office, a little-known actress with two indie movies to her credit and seeking a manager. Before the meeting was over, he’d not only taken her on but felt like he’d been the one applying for representation. She’d grilled him about his education and even asked to see his résumé—she’d wanted to know what he could do for her that she couldn’t do for herself. He’d initially laughed at her audacity and then realized she was serious and he needed to be. Twelve years later, their story and the success of their working relationship was an industry fairy tale.
A police car came rolling up on the street beside him and honked at him to move over, yanking him back to reality. He turned and glared at the cop who was driving, then kept on moving. He was already walking on the sidewalk. The cop could keep his ass and the cruiser in the street.
Harold swiped his handkerchief across his cheeks to dry the tears that were streaming down his face. His chest hurt. He couldn’t believe she was gone.
Police were everywhere, rescue and fire trucks maneuvered their way closer to the building as residents were slowly being ushered out. The crowd was already gathering, most curious gossip-seekers uncertain about what was happening, but wanting to be in on whatever bloody details they could see.
He got stopped at one checkpoint, identified himself to the cops as Sahara Travis’s manager and was allowed to pass. Once he got closer, another cop escorted him into the lobby.
He choked up again when he saw Adam, and then all of a sudden the ex-linebacker picked him up in his arms, laughing.
“She’s alive, man! She’s alive!”
Harold gasped. “What are you saying?” he asked, as Adam put him back down.
“She just called down here! She was in the elevator, then realized she forgot something and jumped out at the last minute to go get it. The elevator fell without her in it! She’s trapped in the penthouse, though. Police are organizing a rooftop rescue right now.”
“Oh my God! Oh my God,” Harold muttered. “You talked to her? This is for sure?”
