The doors opened. He stepped in and then turned around to wave at her, but she’d already gone inside and closed her door.
“Damn hardheaded woman,” he muttered, and rode the elevator down.
* * *
Four hours later Lucy arrived at Sahara’s apartment with Sahara’s clothes, purse and a six-inch Italian meatball sub from the drive-thru of a deli she’d stopped at on the way over. It was just past four o’clock when she rang the doorbell.
Sahara opened the door to her personal assistant and was surprised to see that Lucy had her purse.
“My bag! How did you get that? I didn’t think we could remove stuff from the crime scene,” she said.
Lucy shrugged. “That’s why you pay me the big bucks, right?” She smiled. “I took it with me when I left the trailer and put it in my car. The sandwich, on the other hand, is fresh. Have you eaten anything?” she asked.
Sahara shook her head. “No, I can’t get anything down.”
“Well, yes, you can and will,” Lucy said. “I bought it on the way home, so we know it’s safe. It’s a meatball sub—your favorite.”
Sahara eyed the short, dark-haired woman and sighed.
“My Achilles’ heel. Thank you, Lucy. You know me too well.”
Lucy eyed Sahara closely, the worry obvious on her face. “You took a shower. That’s a plus. Now, why don’t you sit down, and I’ll bring you something cold to drink to go with your food.”
Sahara’s heart hurt. She kept picturing Moira’s body on a slab in the morgue and wondered if her parents had been notified. If only this day would be over.
She followed Lucy to the kitchen and slid onto a bar stool at the end of the counter, thinking, as she watched her assistant work, that Lucy knew the kitchen better than she did even though Sahara had lived here for more than three years.
She put her head in her hands and closed her eyes, wishing she was anywhere but here, wishing she hadn’t even accepted this role. The character of Alicia Lewis was like nothing she’d ever done, and now it felt tainted—the whole shoot felt tainted—as if it wasn’t supposed to happen. If it hadn’t, Moira would still be alive and working on some other project for another director, maybe sneaking bites of someone else’s food.
“Here you go,” Lucy said, as she set a plate in front of Sahara with the sandwich cut into thirds, a handful of chips on the side and a tall glass of sweet iced tea.
“Thank you so much,” Sahara said. “Have you eaten?”
“No, but—”
Sahara pointed at the bar stool beside her. “Sit. I can’t eat all of this anyway. We’ll share.”
Lucy blinked, unsure of how to respond. It wasn’t that Sahara didn’t treat her well, but she’d never done anything so...friendly.
“You want me to eat from your plate?”
Sahara looked startled. “I’m not sick. You won’t be catching anything, but if you don’t want to, it’s—”
Lucy shook her head. “No, no, that’s not it. I was just surprised, I guess.”
“I won’t share my tea, though. You’ll have to get your own,” she said, and grinned.
Lucy laughed, a little embarrassed. This was the first time since she’d started working for Sahara that she’d been this open.
“Yes, I’ll get my own drink,” she said, and poured another glass of sweet tea before she sat down.
Sahara pushed the plate between them, then reached for one of the pieces and took a bite. The thick red sauce permeated the meatball in spicy perfection while the toasted bun provided a crunch of texture.
“It’s so good,” Sahara said, and picked up a chip to chase the bite. “Thank you for thinking of me.”
“You’re welcome,” Lucy said, and took a piece for herself. She wouldn’t let herself think of how weird this felt, and hoped her boss didn’t regret the familiarity tomorrow.
Sahara walked the floor after Lucy left. Every sound startled her. Every siren outside made her feel hunted. By the time sundown came, she was exhausted, but she couldn’t sleep. She tossed and turned for almost an hour, then gave up and turned on the lights. There were only two things that helped her relax. One of them was sex with a willing man, but since she was missing a partner, she opted for the other option and headed for the kitchen.
She opened the freezer and then leaned forward, welcoming the blast of cold air against her heated skin as she scanned the choices.
Butter Pecan, Rocky Road or straight Vanilla Bean.
“It’s been a rocky day. I think this fills the bill,” she said, reaching for the pint of Rocky Road ice cream. She closed the door with her elbow as she reached for a spoon and crawled back up on the bar stool to take off the lid.
The first bite was sweet salvation...chocolate, marshmallow and walnut bits.
Sex on a spoon, Sahara thought, and sighed as the cold treat slowly melted on her tongue.
She flashed on Moira again, but this time remembering what a sweet, funny girl she’d been and how she did love to eat. Her eyes welled with tears as she scooped up a bite and lifted it in a toast.
“To you, sweet Moira,” she said aloud in the empty kitchen. “May you have ice cream forever wherever you are.”
* * *
The killer was walking the floor and pissed beyond measure. This should have been an easy kill, and yet it had gone horribly wrong. Who the hell could have known that anyone would have the gall—the daring—to eat food off Sahara Travis’s personally prepared plate?
He finally headed for the bathroom to get ready for bed and paused at the mirror, eyeing his reflection. He was a long way from the years when his mother called him Bubba, but every time he looked in a mirror, that was who he saw.
Whatever. The plan had failed, but he wouldn’t let himself be discouraged. This didn’t mean anything except that there would be a next time.
* * *
Sleep was as frightening as the day had been. Sahara was up before daylight, exhausted and heartbroken. She stayed in a hot shower until her skin felt raw, trying to wash away yesterday’s horror, then dressed in old gym shorts and a T-shirt and went barefoot to the kitchen. She disliked the one-cup coffee makers and quickly started a full pot to brew, then toasted an English muffin while she waited and ate it with strawberry jam.
Soon, the scent of freshly brewed coffee was permeating the room, and it was just the wake-up she needed. After pouring herself a cup, she opened the sliding door leading out to her balcony, intending to take her first sip along with a breath of fresh air.
