“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?”
“Yes, I said—she just called! What’s happening right now?”
“Detective Shaw is outside somewhere. You’ll have to talk to him. That’s all I know.”
Harold couldn’t believe what was happening. He’d already buried her in his mind, but, just like in the movies, she was alive again.
* * *
Sahara stayed on the landline inside the penthouse until Fire and Rescue had given her instructions on how her removal from the scene would go, and all the while her apartment continued to fill with smoke. She didn’t know if the fire was spreading or contained for now within the elevator shaft, but she wasn’t waiting around to find out. Following the orders she’d been given, she ran through the penthouse and took the stairs leading up to the roof.
The sun was a blast of white heat as she pushed the door open. It was like running out into a natural spotlight she could have done without. The streets below were gridlocked from the crowd and the rescue vehicles. The wind whipped her hair into her face and tugged at her clothing as she ran toward the helipad at the far end of the roof.
Seen from the crowd below, her rescue was like a scene from one of her movies, and the crowd was riveted by the sight of the famous actress running through the billowing smoke coming through the roof vents toward a landing helicopter.
The second the skids touched down, a man leaned out, grabbed her outstretched arms and swooped her up into the chopper. A cheer went up from the crowd as the helicopter lifted off and quickly flew away.
Sahara looked back once and then covered her face with her hands, her body trembling uncontrollably. One man threw a blanket around her shoulders while another handed her a bottle of water. She took a big drink and then used part of it on her face. The heat and smoke were still burning her eyes.
An EMT was taking her blood pressure and pulse while the other EMT, who happened to be a female, reached out and took Sahara’s hands and just held them.
It took Sahara a few minutes to get past the noise inside the open cabin to realize the danger was over, but when she took a breath, she choked from emotion and relief. Someone squeezed her fingers. Sahara looked up into the darkest, kindest eyes she’d ever seen and took comfort in the woman’s calm, steady gaze. Slowly, slowly, the shaking stopped. She began to realize she had these people to thank for her life, and did so, one by one.
They smiled as they gave her a thumbs-up, then one of them pulled the blanket tighter around her chin and scooted her up against his chest for more stability. It was like being buckled into a car seat, and the security she felt in the EMT’s arms lulled her into a sense of safety that abruptly ended when the chopper landed and he released his hold on her.
Once more, she was transferred to another set of strangers. And again, she had to trust they had her best interests at heart.
* * *
Bubba was furious, then frustrated, then in disbelief when he learned Sahara Travis was still alive. But he knew something she didn’t know. She was going to be on her way to New Orleans soon, which would complicate everything. So he paced the room, cursing his failures until he’d given himself a headache, then sat down and made himself focus. He wanted to take her out before she left LA, but how could he make that happen?
And then it hit him. Her plane. The private jet. It would mean one more bomb to build, but this time they’d be in the air before it went off and she’d have nowhere to go to escape.
He called the bomber, relayed his displeasure with the failure and then gave him further instructions.
“And don’t fucking fail me this time! Do you hear?”
“I hear you, but I didn’t fail. She got on that elevator, and I pushed the button. Who the hell could have predicted that she’d
