by Cate Beauman
Lily gave a nod, and they pulled the cover back, revealing mannequins, sewing machines, laptops, sketching paper, scissors, and the dozens of other items similar to the ones Abby had scattered about her bedroom and the dining room.
A gasp went up from the students and crowd.
“Lily Brand is happy to share these items with South Central’s fashion classroom,” Lily said.
The kids jumped up, laughing and screaming, running forward to hug Lily and Abby.
Abby embraced each student, kissing cheeks before she would let them step away. Several minutes passed before the room quieted again.
“All right, guys. Park your butts so we can keep this session on track.” Lily pointed to the stage floor.
“But, Lily, don’t you have something else?” Abby asked.
“You know what? I do. Go ahead and tell them.”
Grinning, Abby clasped her hands, all but vibrating with the anticipation of sharing good news. "Lily Brand not only has sewing suites for the classroom; she also has one for each of you to take home.”
Stunned silence filled the room, and Jerrod braced himself, ready for the next round of excitement as the auditorium erupted with screams. Latisha’s mother grabbed him up in a death grip hug as she jumped about. He laughed, hugging her back, unable to remain unmoved by Lily’s amazing gesture and what it meant to these struggling families. He caught Abby’s eye as she smiled at him, and he winked.
“We’ll also include a ten-thousand-dollar fabric allowance for the classroom,” Lily hollered, “and you’ll each be given a one-thousand-dollar stipend to use as well.”
“Oh, Lord, I think I’m going to pass out,” Latisha’s mother sobbed.
Jerrod guided her to her seat, patting her shoulder, crouching next to her, afraid she would fall to the floor. “Take some deep breaths.”
"I'm trying." She breathed deep, fanning her hands in front of her face.
"That's it. Just like that." He stood.
“Practice makes perfect,” Lily continued. “You’re all good, but when we meet again this spring, I want great. Everyone is welcome to come over for a closer look at your new stuff. We’ll gather in the faculty lounge in twenty minutes for lunch.”
Everyone moved passed Abby as she descended the four stairs to the main floor, stopping next to Jerrod’s side. “I—”
“Can you believe our luck?” Tamara rushed up to Abby, giving her another huge hug.
Abby eased back, taking Tamara’s hands. “Lily sees a lot of potential. So do I. You guys keep this up and maybe we’ll see you on the Lily Brand team in a few years.”
Tamara nodded and stepped away, smiling up at Jerrod from under her long lashes. “Hi, Mr. Jerrod.”
He smiled. She was always so friendly. “Hey, Tamara.”
“Did you like the shirt I made?”
He had no idea who made what other than Jeremiah and Latisha, and that was only because Abby was still wearing their clothes. “Yeah. It was great,” he said anyway.
She smiled again. “Great. Okay. Thanks. See ya.”
“Bye.” He watched Tamara run off and faced Abby as she grinned at him. “What?”
“She’s got a crush on you, big guy.”
He frowned as he looked at Latisha’s mother on stage. “Who?”
She rolled her eyes. “Why are men so dense?”
He opened his mouth to respond as Jeremiah stopped next to Abby this time.
“Ms. Abby, can I interview you for the school paper?”
“Yes, of course. Just let me change first. I’m freezing.”
“Thanks. I’ll get my notebook.”
“Give me five minutes, and I’ll meet you back here.”
“Awesome.” Jeremiah hurried off, and Abby turned to leave.
Jerrod grabbed her arm before she could walk off. “Abby, what are you doing?”
“I’m getting changed.”
He shook his head. “No, the article. You’re taking too many risks.”
She pulled free of his grip as any remnants of the peaceful moment they shared vanished. “I’m just trying to do my job, Jerrod, and today that’s helping these kids stay on the right path.”
It annoyed him that she kept painting him as the bad guy. “I get the purpose of the program, Abby. If the situation wasn’t what it is, I’d be all for your interviews and guest appearances.”
“This is for a high school in the projects. I doubt Dimitri or Victor obtained a teaching license in the past six months, and I’m pretty sure Jeremiah’s story won’t be picked up by the AP wire anytime soon.”
He clenched his jaw as his irritation grew with her haughty tone. “You’re making it really damn hard for me to do what I have to for your protection.”
She sighed as she closed her eyes. “I know.” She placed her hand on his arm. “I’m sorry. I’ll keep it short and vague. They’re counting on me.”
“Abby," he trailed off as the woman wearing a black cap in back of the auditorium caught his attention. He searched for her red tag in the crappy lighting, but she turned, heading toward the double doors, before he had a chance to spot it. “Do you know who that is?”
She studied their mystery guest. “No, I don’t think so.”
He was going to find out. “Don’t leave the auditorium,” he called behind him as he started up the aisle. “Excuse me, ma’am.”
The stranger looked over her shoulder and moved faster.
There was something familiar about her. Frowning, Jerrod picked up his pace. “Hey.”
She pushed through the double doors, and the bright sunlight washed over her pale blond hair and sun-kissed skin.
Toni Torrell. “Damn it.” He broke into a run, following her to the hall as she sprinted for the elevator door, sliding closed behind the group that just exited. She made it inside, jamming on the buttons, disappearing behind the shiny metal.
"Fuck." He could do nothing but wait for the panel above the doors to display her destination. A bright red eight filled the small screen, and he rushed to the stairwell, hustling up the four stories, well aware that the likelihood of finding her was slim. The building was huge, and there were too many exits. Keeping Abby close was more important than a fruitless chase.
Turning, he started back down and stopped by the grouping of windows as he caught sight of the pain-in-the-ass reporter running to her car with something in her hand—a camera no doubt. "Fuck," he said again as he yanked his phone from the holder and dialed Ethan.
“Cooke.”
“It’s Quinn,” he said, still catching his breath as he continued on his way. “We have a potential breech. Toni Torrell was in the auditorium. I don’t know if she got pictures of Lily or Abby or both.”
“Damn. Hunter and I are in the area—on our way back from the meeting with Imagine Entertainment. We can be there in ten.”
“We’ll meet you outside the west entrance. Goddamn. I knew this was going to happen.” He hung up and yanked open the door, moving quickly but calmly toward Abby as she finished her interview.
"Thanks, Ms. Abby," Jeremiah said.
"I'm happy to help. Now, let’s eat lunch.” She looked at Jerrod as he continued her way. "Go ahead, Jeremiah. I'll be right there."
"Okay."
Jerrod waited for Jeremiah to follow the rest of the group to the faculty lounge. “We need to leave.”
She shook her head. “No. We haven’t—”
“We have to go, Abigail.” He grabbed her favorite black cashmere jacket from the chair, struggling to keep the frustration out of his voice. This entire situation could have been avoided if everyone had followed the team’s original plan.
Fear replaced the mutiny in her eyes. “What’s wrong? What—”
“That woman I chased—it was Toni Torrell. I think she had a camera.”
“She wanted pictures of Lily and the kids.”
“I hope you're right.” He held out her jacket.
“No one knows who I am." Fear flooded her voice
as she put it on. "She doesn’t know who I am."
“Let’s hope not.” He gave Lily a quick wave across the room and walked with Abby down the hall and into the elevator, wondering if their luck had finally run out.
~~~~
Abby slid Jerrod a glance, noting his calm eyes and rigid posture as the elevator doors closed them in for the four-story descent. She looked his way again, clasping her hands tight, waiting for his powerful shoulders to relax, but they didn't. Jerrod was always watchful; he constantly planned for the worst; that was part of his job, but this was the first time she'd ever detected a ruffle in his unshakeable composure. Was he angry with her, or worried? Or both?
He'd warned her this could happen, and she'd taken the risks anyway. She and Jerrod had been careful to avoid cameras over the last six months. For the most part she'd lived her life as if she’d ceased to exist, until Saturday when she'd wined and dined with fashion's best and brightest. For one night she'd indulged herself with a bit of normalcy. San Francisco had been for her, she could admit that, but not today; today had been for the kids. How would Toni's possible pictures change the bubble she and Jerrod had built? "What are we going to do?"
"Get out of here and lay low until we've figured out what we're dealing with."
"She's not interested in me," she reassured herself as much as Jerrod. "She wants the next Lily story, just like the rest of the reporters in this town."
"Abby, you are the next story." He shoved his hands in his pockets with more force than usual.
She shook her head. "I'm not. Not yet. Not until Fashion Week."
He eyed her as the doors opened, and they headed down the hall.
"I know you're mad at me—"
"I'm not mad at you, Abigail."
"You're definitely not happy."
"No, I'm not. This scenario right here is exactly what I've been trying to avoid. Your situation is complicated enough without adding Toni Torrell to the picture. "
"I wish I could make you understand how important this was."
"I do."
"No, you don't. I had to do this. I had to do it for the kids."
"Abby—"
"I was these kids, Jerrod." She pulled on his arm, stopping him, desperate to make him understand. "Lex had the ambitions and responsibilities while I floated down the road to nowhere. Ms. Beesley helped me make my prom dress. She helped me find my spark. My whole life changed after that. I can do that for them. Did you see Latisha's eyes, and Jeremiah's? They're hungry to learn, and they have potential. They can make it in this industry. They just need guidance and the advantages Lily can offer."
He sighed. "I get it."
She stared into his eyes, realizing he did truly get it, and took his hand, squeezing. "Thank you."
He squeezed back. "You're welcome. We have to go." He pulled her closer to him as they walked from the side entrance, and Hunter and Ethan pulled up in one of Ethan Cooke Security's black Suburbans.
"Why are they here? I thought you were going to call a cab."
"They were in the area."
Ethan got out of the passenger’s side in slacks and a polo shirt and opened the back door.
Abby slid in the backseat, pushing over as Jerrod got in next to her. Within moments they were through the parking lot and back among the flow of traffic. She waited for the conversation to start or for Hunter to tell one of his jokes, but no one spoke as one mile turned into two, then three.
She stared through the windshield, bopping her leg up and down, absorbing the tension choking the silent car. Restless, she glanced from Hunter to Ethan to Jerrod, then out the window into the thick city traffic, trying desperately to keep her shoulders relaxed as her unease grew. She and Jerrod had never been picked up like this before. Typically they did their own thing. Austin had accompanied them on their trip to San Francisco, but this was different. Everything was suddenly different, and she realized her world was about to shrink again.
She'd attended Lily's dinner party and the event today. Tomorrow she would do her shoot with Trendy, then she would more or less be confined to the condo unless plans were cleared through Jerrod first. Her friends would stop coming over; her every move would be watched as closely as it had been in the stash house.
She squirmed at the idea of being imprisoned in her own home, much like she had been in the hot, tiny closet. You like the closet, yes? Maybe you will stay in here forever. Dimitri's laugh and the door closing, locking her back in the airless space, echoed through her head. Abby swallowed as her throat constricted and cold sweat beaded along her forehead. She pressed a hand to her chest as her heart began to race. The Suburban didn’t have enough air. “I need—I need to roll down the window. It’s too hot in here.”
“We’re almost there," Jerrod said.
She yanked at the buttons on her coat and ripped it off, certain she was on the verge of passing out. “I can’t breathe,” she gasped, too overcome with fear to be embarrassed when Ethan looked back at her. “I have to get out right now.” She scooted toward the door, reaching for the handle, even as Hunter continued driving.
Jerrod snagged her arm in a firm grip and pulled her back to his side. “Abigail. We’re almost home,” he repeated firmly.
"No." She clawed at his hand holding her in place. "I'm going to faint. I can't catch my breath."
He held her chin between his fingers. "Abby, deep breaths—in for two, out for four." He rolled his window down, and cool, smoggy air blew against her cheeks, carrying the scent of Jerrod’s soap with it.
She squeezed his hand like a lifeline and breathed deep, wiping at her face with her forearm as the clutches of terror released her and a rush of humiliation took its place. Dropping her head, she closed her eyes, perilously close to tears. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I just lost it.”
“Panic attacks are a bitch," Hunter piped up. "I have them from time to time. Fucking PTSD."
She sent him a small smile in the rearview mirror, grateful for his understanding. “They really suck.”
“You’re not kidding. They’re pretty tough on a guy’s ego.”
“I bet.”
They both grinned.
“You good?” Jerrod asked as they approached South Grand Avenue.
She was still shaky, but it would pass. “Yeah. Thanks.”
He let go of her hand as Hunter took the turn, heading into the parking garage. Hunter pulled up to the lobby entrance, and Ethan got out. He came around and opened her door, shielding her exit as Jerrod hugged his arm around her waist, stepping out just after she did. “I’ll call you later,” Jerrod said to Ethan.
“We’ll keep our eyes on the headlines and see where this thing goes.”
Jerrod nodded as Abby slid her card in the slot and they went inside.
“Afternoon, Mrs. T, Mr. T,” Moses said as he pressed the “up” button on the elevator.
“Good afternoon, Moses," she and Jerrod said at the same time as they stepped in.
"Enjoy your day."
"You too," Abby replied as the doors slid closed and she glanced from their side-by-side reflection to Jerrod.
He turned his head, meeting her stare. "You okay?"
"Yeah. No. I don't know." She shrugged, shaking her head. "I don't know what I am."
The elevator dinged, sliding open. Jerrod stepped out first. “We’re good.”
She followed as he unlocked the door, stepping in before him, happy to be home as she sagged against the wall and pulled off her boots. “How bad is this, Jerrod?”
“I don’t know yet. We’ll have to keep our eyes on the papers and see what Toni's up to.”
She walked to the living room and plunked herself on the couch, pulling the elastic from her hair, massaging her scalp, trying to banish the tension.
Jerrod poured a glass of water and settled himself on the opposite cushion.
She stared out the window as she continued kneading at the ache along the base of her skull. “Tomorrow’s it. After tomorrow I’m finish
ed. No more unnecessary risks.”
“You need to be.”
She looked at him. “What if it's too late?”
“We'll monitor the situation and go from there."
"What's the worst-case scenario?"
"Worst-case scenario is always evacuation, but let's take this in steps."
She nodded, hating the idea of picking up and leaving everything behind. “I’m sorry again for freaking out.”
He shrugged. “It’s no big deal.”
“Yes, it is. Every panic attack is a step in the wrong direction. Have you ever had one?”
“No.” He set his glass on a coaster on the coffee table.
“I never did either until all of this happened." She stood, overwhelmed by the day, by her entire life. "Not all that long ago I was any other normal woman making her way in the world." And she wanted that back, desperately.
"You still are."
She laughed, refusing to give in to the bitterness of her reality. Her mother let anger and misery eat her whole until eventually she'd given up—a path she never wanted to go down. "No. Not even close." She shook her head. "I'm going to get to work." Right now her sketchpad and fabric felt like the only ‘normal’ she had.
Chapter Eight
Abby wore her soft white robe and sat in the makeup chair, closing her eyes as Jackie lined her lids and Marco curled the ends of her hair. She savored the familiar sensations of brushes gliding along her skin and gentle fingers moving through her black locks in lulling strokes. It had been months since she'd taken her place in front of the blinding bulbs of the vanity mirrors. She missed playing dress up; she yearned to strut down the runway as she'd done hundreds of times before.
“So, what's Escape all about?” Connie Withers, Trendy's Fashion Editor, asked as she sat in the next chair over, typing away on her laptop.
“Escape is a high-quality fashion line that not only looks great but has a purpose. Our goal at Lily Brand is to give every endangered woman caught in a bad situation the opportunity to get away and start over. Everyone deserves a chance to begin again.”
“Open your eyes, Abby,” Jackie murmured.
She did, just as Jackie came at her with a thick mascara wand.
