Lethally Blonde

by Nancy Bartholomew

  “Who, honey—Jeremy?”

  Emma’s struggles are growing weaker and she sinks back against the gurney.

  “Emma, I’m coming with you. You’ll be fine.” We reach the ambulance and when I attempt to follow the EMTs inside stop me.

  “You’ll have to follow us,” she says. “We can’t take you.” This alarms Emma, who again begins to struggle.

  “No, no! He’s coming! I saw him!”

  I look into my best friend’s terrified face, willing her to stay with me. “Who’s coming, Emma? Who?”

  “Ray…” She doesn’t finish. Instead she sinks back against the stretcher with a soft moan and falls silent as another medic closes the back doors to the ambulance, leaving me to watch the departing vehicle.

  I feel crazy inside. Every nerve cell, every fiber of my body screams with frustration and worry. I need to be with Emma. I turn back toward Jeremy, Sam and the others and stop, remembering that I do have help available, maybe. I pull my cell phone out of my purse and punch in Renee’s number. When she answers I am momentarily overcome, but something inside me takes over, sealing off the panic I feel and transforming it into a removed and analytical reporter of fact and supposition.

  “Emma’s been hurt.” I scan the area behind me. The police are widening the cordoned-off area as a huge gray van with the words “LAPD Bomb Squad” on the side is slowly making its way forward. “We were at CeCe Goldberg’s function at the Beverly Wilshire when there was an explosion outside. I see the shell of a burnt-out car and I’m pretty sure it’s our limousine. The last three numbers on the tag are all I can read and they’re the same as the limo that picked us up this evening.”

  I say a mental thank you to my photographic memory, take a deep breath and continue.

  “Jeremy’s okay, but Emma’s just left in an ambulance for the Century City Hospital, at least that’s what the patch read on the EMTs uniform. She’s fading in and out of consciousness and her right arm was bleeding heavily.”

  I hear Renee’s breath quicken and the scratch of a pen as she writes.

  “Century City, you say?” she asks. “Okay, now don’t worry. I’ll have protection in place within the next thirty minutes.”

  Renee must realize Emma is in danger, but she doesn’t offer any information about this. Instead she asks more questions.

  “Was she able to say anything to you? Did she see anything?”

  “She said, ‘He’s here. Did you see him?’ and I could tell she was very frightened. When I asked who she saw, she started to say Ray something but the morphine kicked in and she passed out.”

  “Good girl,” Renee says. “What about the limo driver, was he killed?”

  I look over at the burnt-out shell of a car and shudder. Where was the driver? Shouldn’t he have been with the car?

  “I don’t know. I’ll find out.”

  I hear the muffled sound of Renee’s voice, instructing someone in the background and then she turns her attention back to me. “Is Jeremy safe?”

  I look for him and see him standing with Sam, still surrounded by police and security guards. The anger that suddenly surges up inside me surprises me until I realize that he could possibly have been the intended victim and, therefore, the reason Emma is now lying in a hospital.

  “He’s fine. That’s the thing about Jeremy Reins—he always lands on his feet.”

  “Porsche, are you thinking this explosion was aimed at him or at Emma?”

  I look at the remains of our limo and try to think logically. “I would think it was aimed at Jeremy, because his limo is the one that blew. In order to plant a bomb under or inside the limo, someone would have needed to get close enough to do it. That requires forethought and planning. I would assume maybe someone who had access to the vehicle would have been a key element if not a perpetrator. Emma hasn’t been in L.A. that long. The thing that keeps me from being sure this attack was aimed at Jeremy is that Emma was obviously scared when she arrived.”

  Renee sighs softly. “I see. All right, here’s what I need you to do. I want you to stick with Mr. Reins…”

  “But, Emma…”

  “Porsche.” Renee’s voice hardens. “You must trust me and do as I say on this one. Emma will be fine. She will be watched and her safety insured. In all likelihood this attack was aimed at the man you and Emma are to protect. I will send you backup as soon as possible, but it may take a little longer to put in place. Emma’s safety involves a matter of national security. Jeremy’s does not, therefore I can’t utilize the same resources that I will use to cover Emma. That means, Porsche, that you have to do the best you can until I can find and send you help. I know you haven’t been trained for this and what little training you have had won’t be enough if his situation turns any uglier, so don’t place yourself in imminent danger. Call the police, rely on Jeremy’s security guards, and try to be the first alert to danger and not the first responder.”

  “So you want me to baby-sit Jeremy Reins while my best friend is actually in danger and in the hospital?” The entire Gotham Rose deal is starting to lose its appeal as I realize loyalty doesn’t rank higher than duty to one’s job. It doesn’t make sense. Let Jeremy find his own babysitter!

  Renee sounds as if she’s fighting for patience when she answers me. “Porsche, I know you don’t understand and I am not at liberty to tell you anything further but perhaps this will help. If you follow Emma, you could very well be signing her death certificate. If this was an attack on Jeremy and you cause further publicity by visiting your friend in the hospital, then the people interested in finding her will have a neon sign leading them right to their target. We don’t want that, now do we?”

  I shake my head, realize she can’t see through the phone, and say, “No.”

  “Good! Remember this, too, Porsche—Jeremy Reins is in grave danger. He needs you. You are not his moral judge and jury. You are his lifeline.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I answer and hang up, feeling numb and cold inside. What in the world have I gotten myself into? The reality of the Gotham Rose assignment seems to permeate my entire being in a way that it hasn’t before. I look at Jeremy and Sam standing a few yards away and remember Renee’s instructions. Jeremy Reins needs me.

  How many people can I say that of in my little corner of the world? I have no children, no siblings, no spouse and, other than Emma, no one who really needs me. Now that someone does, how can I walk away? Okay, fine. It’s Porsche Rothschild to the rescue.

  I am experiencing displaced aggression, I remind myself. The source of my anger, the attacker, is unknown and unavailable to me, so I irrationally take it out on Jeremy. I must be more objective. What sort of shrink will I be if I can’t maintain a professional stance with my patients?

  Oh, bite me! the voice inside my head rails. You’re not a shrink yet, anyway.

  I walk up to join Sam and Jeremy. Mark and Andrea are now with them but Zoe, Diane and the rest of their cadre are nowhere in sight. I scan the crowd, looking for other recognizable faces and see CeCe Goldberg standing right in front of the hotel’s main doorway, microphone in hand, speaking earnestly to a camera that follows her as she steps out into the entryway of the hotel and gestures toward the limo. Good old CeCe, ever the intrepid reporter, is on the job. Never mind that the Miller’s Children’s Home event is a failure, by all means, CeCe, cover the news!

  Sam moves to my side, draws me away from the others and speaks gently. “Is Emma all right? As soon as we’re cleared to leave, I’ll see Jeremy off and we can go to the hospital to see about her.”

  I stare at him, dumbfounded, and struggle for an answer. “Thanks,” I manage finally, “but I need to make some calls first, you know, to her family.”

  Sam looks at me, frowning, confused by my hastily made-up answer. He’s probably thinking that if Emma were his best friend, he’d be by her side.

  “I was thinking we’d probably be in a hurry to leave town anyway. I mean, won’t Jeremy be safer at Paradise than he is i
n town? I can always hire a driver and return in the morning. The EMTs think she’ll be taken into surgery right away so I’ll have a little time.”

  Now Sam is really thinking I’ve lost it because his frown deepens. Andrea saves me. She steps in between us and stares up at Sam with a concerned look on her face.

  “I think Porsche’s right,” she says. “Jeremy needs to get away from here and I wouldn’t let anyone stay at the penthouse tonight. It’s too risky. I mean, it’s not as secure as the ranch is, is it? Mark and I will come along as well and I’ll drive Porsche back in to see Emma in the morning.”

  Scott has been in earnest consultation with a uniformed police officer, but joins us just as Andrea offers her opinion. He nods his approval and gestures toward the burnt out limo, his expression grim.

  “He’s upping the ante,” he says. “I need to get Mr. Reins back to the estate as quick as possible. I’ve ordered an armored stretch Hummer for the ride, as well as a new driver. The police want to talk to Reggie—the limo driver. I have it waiting around the corner. As soon as they can get some of these emergency vehicles out of the way, we’ll get moving.”

  “Marlena!” I cry, suddenly remembering my baby. “Can we stop and pick her up?”

  Scott gawks at me like I’ve suddenly taken leave of my senses.

  “We can’t take any chances,” he says. “We’ve got to go straight to the ranch. I’ll send someone after your…pet…later.”

  “He’s right,” Sam adds. “It’s too dangerous.” But the look on his face says he’s having serious doubts about me. I’m sure he’s thinking I care more about Marlena than I do Emma or Jeremy, and I can’t correct him.

  “I’ll go to the condo and pick up Porsche’s rat,” Mark says, responding to a fierce jab Andrea’s just delivered to his rib cage. “But Andrea, I want you to ride with the others. I don’t want either of you coming to the penthouse. Scott’s right, it’s too risky.”

  Mark straightens his shoulders and stops slouching for the first time since his debacle with Diane. He is putting on a valiant show for Andrea and when she starts to protest, he is even firmer with her.

  “Andrea, this isn’t something I wish to debate. I’m going. I’ll be fine and I’ll join you at the estate.”

  Sam shakes his head, just enough for me to notice, and turns away to rejoin Jeremy. He thinks I’m spoiled, endangering Mark to protect Marlena. My heart sinks hopelessly, knowing I’ve lost any possibility of…Well, of what, a relationship? I stare after him, hardening myself and letting go of any illusions that his kisses might have brought. He is not like me. There was never any future to be had with him anyway. I have a job to do and the feelings I had about Sam are now luxuries I can’t afford.

  Scott nods to the officer he’d spoken to earlier and calls to Sam.

  “We’re clear. Let’s go.”

  Jeremy lets Scott lead him down the drive toward the waiting Hummer. I realize, watching him walk, that he is unsteady on his feet and somewhat dazed. Andrea notices as well.

  “I overheard the police briefing the bomb squad captain. Jeremy and Emma were out in the courtyard when the car exploded,” she explains. “Apparently they had come out for some fresh air and then decided to take the limo and return to the penthouse. God knows why! But Emma was slightly in front of Jeremy when the car exploded. That’s why her injuries were more extensive than his.”

  I wonder if somehow Emma knew, or became alarmed and had moved to shield Jeremy. I wonder why she’d suddenly convinced Jeremy to take the limo, abandoning the rest of us and just disappear like that. It doesn’t sound like something Emma would do but then, lately, Emma did a lot of unexpected things. I mean, sure, she’s a schemer, but she’s never been one to abandon a friend, even for an enticing moment with a movie star. No, Emma must’ve been alarmed about something.

  When we are all safely ensconced in the back of the stretch Hummer limousine, I listen as Jeremy talks to Scott. His words come fast, spilling out in a rapid-fire recounting of his moments before the explosion and the chaos that ensued afterward. Scott listens patiently, but with the patient air of having heard this from Jeremy already.

  “I saw the driver leave the limo,” he tells Scott. “He must’ve gone inside to use the john or something. Then, a second later, the fucking thing explodes! It must’ve been a remote control detonation, don’t you think?”

  Before Scott can answer, Jeremy turns to Sam, wild-eyed. “How is she? Have you called the hospital?” He looks at me, his eyes suddenly sparkling with what appear to be unshed tears. “I’m sorry, Porsche, I’m sorry! I didn’t know…Emma was…”

  He breaks off, overcome, and I almost jump across the short distance between the two of us to demand, “What? She was what?”

  Jeremy looks at me and shakes his head. “She was…” He frowns, perplexed. “I don’t know. What was I saying?”

  “You said Emma was something—what was it? Was she frightened?”

  Jeremy frowns. “Frightened? Maybe that’s it. I think so.” He frowns, puzzled, and seems to stare off into space.

  “Jeremy, did Emma see someone? Did she say anything to you?”

  But Jeremy seems not to hear me. He just sits, staring at a spot on the carpet, and refuses to answer me. I force myself to lean back against the stiff leather seat of the Hummer and close my eyes. I have to organize my thoughts. I have to assume Jeremy was the target and develop a plan for finding Jeremy’s attacker before more innocent people become victims. The key will be to discover which of the key players in Jeremy’s life were nearby and able to have been a part of each act of sabotage.

  “Zoe!” Jeremy cries suddenly. “What happened to Zoe?”

  Scott’s deep voice rumbles. “She wasn’t hurt. Her security people got her group away from the hotel before the police even arrived. The only people hurt were the ones hit by flying glass and debris in the lobby, Ms. Bosworth and you.”

  I open my eyes and study Scott. Where had he been when the bomb went off? Wasn’t it his job to insure Jeremy’s safety?

  Sam is apparently thinking the same thing and when he asks the question, his tone is sharp, almost accusatory.

  “I gave them directions to give us a little space,” Jeremy answers for him. “They were outside, but they were maintaining a discrete distance. Come on, Sam, that’s how we always do it!”

  But Scott is giving Sam a cold glare, which Sam returns with equal, though heated, venom. I close my eyes again and refocus my thoughts on narrowing the list of possible suspects within Jeremy’s inner circle. Everyone close to Jeremy has had the opportunity to hurt him, but who among them has the motive?

  Andrea’s cell phone rings and I hear her answer it. “What? Are the police there? Oh, my God!” I open my eyes as Andrea covers the phone with one hand. “Mark’s at the penthouse. Someone’s been there and torn the place apart! He says the police and hotel security are both there, as well as a crime scene unit. They’ve interviewed the staff and apparently have no idea when or how the break-in occurred.” She turns to me and says, “Marlena wasn’t harmed apparently. Mark says her crate door was open and he found her under your bed, hiding.”

  Andrea hands the phone to Scott and for the rest of the trip to Paradise, he stays on with Mark to get updates from the police and hotel security.

  I underscore Scott on my list of suspects. I don’t know why he’d want to hurt Jeremy, but if there were continual risks to his safety, Scott’s job security would certainly be assured. I see the look of hero worship in Jeremy’s eyes and realize that he thinks Scott is keeping him safe. Perhaps this is Scott’s plan; to become indispensable to Jeremy, to stick around long enough to make Jeremy fall in love or at least believe he needs Scott’s protection to survive.

  I am thinking about this when we arrive back at Paradise Ranch and quickly have my suspicions aroused further. There is now a uniformed guard manning the wrought-iron gate leading into the estate, and when Scott lowers his window to speak to him, the guard practica
lly lunges through the window in his haste to report in.

  “Sir,” he says to Scott, “there was a breech of vector twelve at zero-twenty-one-thirty-eight. We responded with unit two and made visual contact with a suspect who then eluded our attempts to capture him.”

  Scott’s face hardens and he nods briskly.

  “Were you able to get him on the surveillance cameras?”

  The guard shakes his head. “It was too dark to obtain a clear image, sir, but they were able to give us a description.”

  There is not a sound from the back seat of our limo. We are all completely riveted to the guard’s recounting of the evening’s activities, but when the man describes the intruder, Andrea gasps softly.

  “That sounds like Dave, doesn’t it?” she whispers to me.

  I nod as the man’s radio squawks loudly. “Unit One, respond!” a disembodied voice says.

  Scott reaches out the window and takes the walkie-talkie from the guard’s hand.

  “Unit Two, this is Hawk. Go ahead.”

  “Sir, we’ve found something. I think you need to see this. We were patrolling the area where the intruder was last spotted and we’ve come upon what appear to be a series of weight-triggered incendiary devices on the putting green behind the guest house. I think you need to see this, sir. It’s pretty incredible.” The man’s voice rings with barely contained excitement and I know I’ll have to find a way to view the discovery without arousing too much curiosity.

  The Hummer stops in the courtyard and when we all move to exit the vehicle, Scott stops us.

  “I need everyone to wait here until we’ve cleared the area,” he says.

  Sam ignores this advice, saying, “I’m coming with you. I want to see for myself. The rest of you stay here and wait for the police to get here.”

  I know I need to go with them. I might miss out on valuable clues if I stay behind, but how will I get them to take me?

  “I think we should all go,” I say, but Jeremy cuts me off.

  “Sam’s right, lovey,” Jeremy says. “No need to put ourselves in harm’s way.”