by Sharon Sala
Lucy grinned. “I guess you’re right.”
Sahara had first noticed that, too, but no longer thought about it. Brendan was himself and like no one else she’d ever known.
“Does anyone want dessert?” Billie asked.
“Not me. Not tonight,” Sahara said.
“I’m good,” Brendan said.
“No, thank you,” Lucy said.
“Then I’ll just make some coffee while I clean up. It will be done soon, and if anyone wants a cup, you’ll know where it is.”
A clock in the library began striking the hour. Ten chimes. Ten o’clock.
Sahara was too wired to watch television, but when she began to help clean up, Billie ran them all out of the kitchen.
“This is my world. Out you go…all of you.”
Lucy sighed. “Sahara, if you won’t be needing me anymore, I think I’ll go to bed. I’m exhausted.”
Sahara turned and hugged her.
“What’s that for?” Lucy asked.
“For saving me from the blue-haired bitch today.”
“Oh, right,” Lucy said, and grinned.
“Sleep well,” Sahara said.
“Thanks,” Lucy said, then pulled out her phone and began checking her messages as she walked away.
Sahara glanced at Brendan, suddenly wishing for a change of scenery. If only they were both at a cocktail party where they could flirt all night and wind up together in bed. Maybe it wasn’t a bad idea…
“So, Mr. McQueen,” she began with a smile, “I know where the music is playing on Beale Street.”
“Maybe another time,” Brendan said.
She shrugged, knowing it was impossible—knowing she’d said it in jest.
“Then I’m going to head upstairs and take myself a long hot bubble bath, and I’m not coming out until the ends of my fingers are all puckered up and my bones have melted away.”
He saw the flash in her eyes and the way she’d arched her back just a little as she turned toward the stairs. That was a blow-to-the-gut come-on, and she’d done it on purpose. She just wanted to play, but sex wasn’t a game to him.
He followed her up, making sure to keep his distance, but keep her in sight. Right now, she felt caged up and restless, and he didn’t trust her any farther than he could throw her.
Sahara wanted him, but she already knew he wasn’t the messing-around kind. She rolled her eyes at what she’d just said, chiding herself for teasing him. She wasn’t like that and she didn’t want him thinking it, either. She hit the door with the flat of her hand and disappeared inside.
Brendan walked in a few minutes behind her to give her some privacy, but he still caught a glimpse of one bare butt cheek and a long bare leg as she disappeared into the bathroom. Every stitch of clothes she’d had on was on the floor by the bed.
He took a deep breath and shoved a hand through his hair.
“Son of a bitch,” he muttered, and stretched out on his bed, turned on the TV and turned up the volume.
He didn’t want to hear the water running. He didn’t want to hear the silence. He didn’t want to think about that long sleek body slick with bubbles and growing more and more mellow from the heat, so he got up and ran downstairs to let Billie know he was setting the security alarm.
As instructed, Will Sherman and his crew had installed a security panel in the foyer and one in the hall upstairs. Brendan ran back upstairs and set it from the hall, adding one more way to keep her safe.
*
Sahara fell asleep on her belly with one arm hanging off the side of the bed. Her voluptuous mouth was puckered slightly, as if waiting for a kiss.
Brendan could have watched her like that all night, but instead he locked their bedroom door, then took his gun to the bathroom with him while he showered. Normally, he slept in the nude, but when on the job, he always slept in a pair of gym shorts.
He left the door open as he showered and shaved so he could hear any movement in the adjoining room, and left the night-light on in the bathroom when he came out. The last thing he did was put his gun beside his pillow before he turned out the lights.
Sahara was on her side now, rolled up as tight as she could be, with the covers pulled up beneath her chin.
He frowned. That was too reminiscent of the way a frightened child slept. He’d seen it too many times, in too many war-torn countries. He couldn’t help but wonder if being back here had resurrected old ghosts. He couldn’t do anything about unsettled spirits, but he could make sure no living, breathing people messed with her again.
Eight
The next morning Brendan was dressed and watching the traffic passing by outside the bedroom windows when Sahara woke. The first thing she saw was his silhouette against the window, and she lay there quietly, wondering what it would be like to have a man like him to love.
Then he turned around and caught her staring.
“Good morning,” he said.
“Good morning to you, too,” she said. “What’s the weather look like today?”
“It’s supposed to rain.”
She threw back the covers, and the moment she got up, he pulled the shades.
“I’m going to dress, and then we can go down to breakfast,” she said.
“Good. I’m hungry, but I’ll wait out in the hall,” he said. “Just stay away from the windows.”
“I will,” she said, and headed for the bathroom as he stepped outside.
She hurried, knowing he was waiting for her.
Lucy was already in the kitchen with Billie and carrying butter and syrup to the table as they walked into the room.
“Waffles! She’s making waffles,” Lucy crowed, as she set the condiments on the kitchen table and went back for silverware.
“Good morning, Mama,” Sahara said, as she walked up behind Billie and kissed her on the cheek.
Billie beamed. “Good morning, my darling. I made your favorite breakfast.”
“I see that,” Sahara said. “I don’t suppose there are strawberries on the premises.”
“I made strawberry compote with some frozen ones. You will like it.”
Sahara did a little twirl and then hugged her.
Brendan grinned. He was trying not to be enchanted by this woman, but it was becoming more and more difficult. Who danced with delight at strawberry compote?
“Go sit,” Billie said. “I have enough in the warming oven to start with.”
“What about you?”
“No. Not this morning. I am the waffle maker today. They aren’t good cold and you know it, so please begin. I want you to enjoy.”
Brendan was filling coffee cups when Sahara sat down at the table.
“Thank you! You’re as handy as a pocket on a shirt,” she said.
He grinned. “That’s what my grandpa used to tell me.”
She was intrigued that she and his grandfather shared something so random.
“Really?”
“Really,” he said.
Billie brought the warming tray stacked with hot, crispy waffles, then came back with a small bowl of strawberry compote and a ladle for dipping.
While Brendan and Lucy opted for butter and syrup, Sahara ladled hot strawberry compote onto hers. The first bite brought back a flood of memories from her childhood. This was always her birthday breakfast.
The silence that fell around the table was a testament to the good food, and when the last waffle came off the waffle iron, Billie put it on her plate and slipped into the chair beside her girl.
Sahara scooted the butter and syrup toward Billie and then got up and refilled coffee cups for everyone.
“I should have done that. I’m sorry,” Lucy said.
“Ridiculous! You’re not a waitress, and for what it’s worth, this is my home, which makes you my guest.”
Brendan’s phone rang as he was carrying his dirty dishes to the sink.
“Hello…Yes, she’s right here. Just a second.” He handed his phone to Sahara. “It’s Harold
, for you.”
“Good morning, Harold. What’s up?”
“Just checking in,” he said. “I got you out of the contract with no problems. In fact, the investors were grateful for your consideration of the time schedule and the safety of the others and intend to mention you in the credits in some way.”
“That’s nice,” Sahara said. “Especially nice that they aren’t angry. It’s never good to aggravate investors.”
“Absolutely,” Harold said. “Also…just wanted you to know that the repairs have begun on the elevator to the penthouse and Adam said to tell you hello, and he misses your smile.”
Sahara smiled as she leaned against the counter.
“That’s so sweet of him.”
Brendan wondered who was sweet and what he’d done to put a smile on her face like that.
“Oh, Harold…one other thing. As soon as the elevator has been repaired, would you please get my cleaning service into the apartment and have them clean it thoroughly? Last time I saw it, there was a gray cloud of dust and smoke in every room.”
“I’ll get right on that,” Harold said. “Anything else? How are things going there? Any news on what happened to your mother?”
“No updates here. What about the police in LA? Do they have any leads on who was after me?”
“All I know is what Detective Shaw told me. They have security footage from The Magnolia of the so-called repairman who likely placed the bomb and have cleared the woman who let him sign in. They have footage of the same man at the airport dumping a body in a Dumpster, then carrying a package into the jet and coming out without it.”
“Do they know who it is?”
“No. It’s the same man, but the fingerprints they recovered aren’t in the system, so that doesn’t help.”
She relayed this information to Brendan, who reached out to take the phone from her. “Harold, it’s Brendan. Ask the police to send copies of the security footage to my email. Got a pen?”
“Yes, go ahead,” Harold said, and wrote it down. “I’ll call them as soon as we’re done. Ask Sahara if there’s anything else she needs me to do.”
“Harold wants to know if there’s anything else you want him to do.”
She nodded, so he handed back the phone.
“Harold, there is one more thing. I want to sell the penthouse. There’s no way I could live there now.”
“I thought you might say that. Not to worry. I’ll get a Realtor on it as soon as everything has been cleaned and repaired. Do you know what you want for it?”
“Get it appraised, see what the Realtor thinks, and then I’ll make a decision.”
“Can do. Listen. I’m so sorry for all that’s happening. If there’s anything else I can do for you, just let me know.”
“Oh, my phone! It was in the hall outside my apartment. I’m going to assume when it and my purse are found, they’ll put them in the penthouse, so if you can find them and FedEx them to me, I would so appreciate that.”
“You could just buy a new phone, you know,” Harold said.
“That one has all my contacts. I don’t want to start over unless I have to.”
“Okay. I’ll see what I can do. Let’s hope that dust didn’t screw it up.”
“Don’t say that,” Sahara said.
“Stay safe. I’ll be in touch,” Harold said.
“Thanks,” she said, and disconnected, then gave Brendan the phone.
“Everything okay?” he asked.
She nodded.
He didn’t want to freak her out, but this was her life and she had to know everything he did.
“There’s one thing I haven’t heard mentioned, although I’m sure the police in both locations have already considered it.”
“What’s that?” Sahara asked.
“Based on the evidence, there’s either more than one perp, or he’s hiring out his hits.”
Sahara frowned. “Why do you think that?”
“Because Katarina was murdered before sunrise on the same day that your elevator fell. And…she was likely killed about the same time you got on the elevator. So that’s one body in New Orleans. Almost one in Los Angeles. At the same time.”
“Well, shit,” Sahara said, and sat down with a thump.
Brendan empathized. “Indeed,” he said.
Lucy was obviously horrified. The shock on her face said it all.
“This makes no sense, and, to my embarrassment, I have just discovered I have syrup on my blouse. I must have been wolfing that wonderful waffle down. I’m going to go change. I’ll be right back.”
“No hurry,” Sahara said. “We have all day to figure out what to do about Katarina’s memorial service.”
Lucy left the kitchen just as the phone rang.
“That’s the landline,” Billie said. “I’ll get it.”
She took the call on the phone in the kitchen. “Travis residence…Yes, it’s all right. See you soon.”
She disconnected. “And so it begins,” she said.
“What?” Sahara asked.
“Floral deliveries. The florist asked if it was too early to deliver, and that he had multiple arrangements.”
“I never even thought of flowers,” Sahara said. “Why will they be bringing all of them here?”
“Because Katarina’s body is in the morgue, so there’s no funeral home handling the body, and no viewing room to hold the flowers.”
“Oh. Then where should we put them?” Sahara asked.
“We’ll take off the cards, and then I guess just put the arrangements wherever there’s a place for them to be.”
“Okay,” Sahara said. “I’ll get a tea cart and put it in the foyer. We’ll move them that way,” she said.
“Show me where the carts are. I’ll move them for you,” Brendan said.
“Sahara knows where they are,” Billie said. “Get to it. They’ll be here before we know it. And I need to unlock the front gate so I can buzz them in and out.”
“Why don’t you just leave it open?” Sahara asked.
Billie and Brendan both looked at her as if she’d just lost her mind.
“Because the famous actress Sahara Travis is in this house, and there are any number of fans who would happily trot up to this door and ring the bell on the off chance you might answer it. Even the killer,” Brendan said.
Her expression blanked. “I can’t believe I forgot. Coming back here has clearly rattled me,” she said softly. “Follow me, Brendan. We’ll get this set up before I have to go hide.”
A few minutes later the tea carts were ready and a guest book had been placed on the hall table just as Sahara heard the buzzer signaling a car at the gates.
“Billie’s got this,” she said. “Time for me to disappear.”
“Where do you want to go?” Brendan asked.
She shrugged and walked away as Billie came down the hall toward the front door.
Billie saw the dejected expression on her daughter’s face, but there was nothing to be done about it.
Brendan followed her into the library. He was a little surprised when she headed for the wet bar, but then relaxed when he saw her go for a cold soda from the mini-fridge.
“There’s Coke, Pepsi and ginger ale. Want one?”
“Not right now, but thank you.”
She unscrewed the cap on her ginger ale, added some ice to a glass and poured in the soda, then wrinkled her nose as she took her first sip.
“I like the fizz. It always tickles my nose,” she said, took a second sip and then carried the glass and the rest of the ginger ale to a chair.
“Talk to me, Brendan. Tell me about Wyoming. I met John. Tell me about your other brothers… Carson and Michael, right?”
“Well, I don’t remember the details when John was born, because there’s only three years’ difference in our ages, but I was five when Mom brought Carson home from the hospital. I was a little worried that he would grow up and mess with my stuff like John was beginning to do, and I was eight whe
n she came home with Michael. That’s when I locked my bedroom door and wouldn’t come out.”
Sahara laughed.
Brendan moved toward the windows, checking to make sure there was no one on the grounds who didn’t belong, but Sahara was intrigued by his happy family. She wanted to know more.
“Are you the only one who was in the military?”
He nodded.
“Why did you go?” she asked.
“It seemed like a good idea at the time,” he said.
She sat there a minute watching his smile fade and suddenly jumped to her feet.
“It was a girl, wasn’t it? What did she do, break your heart?”
He shrugged, willing to spill his guts if it helped her pass some time.
“We had a fight. She slept with my best friend to get back at me. I realized my choice in girlfriends and best friends left a lot to be desired, so I decided they deserved each other and joined the army. Best thing I ever did.”
Sahara immediately regretted what she’d said.
“I’m sorry, Brendan. That was an appalling thing to happen to anyone, and I apologize for making a joke about it.”
Her hand was cold against his skin from holding the glass. Her eyes were shimmering in sympathy.
“Hey, no harm, no foul. That was years and years ago. Truth is, they both did me a favor or I might never have left Wyoming.”
“You ran away from home and so did I. How about that? Something we actually have in common,” she said, and flopped back down in her chair.
“Hard to believe,” he said, his eyes narrowing as he watched a van coming through the gates.
“What do you see?” she asked.
“A florist’s van.”
She toed the carpet beneath the chair while condensation ran from the glass onto the coaster.
“What’s the name on the side?”
“Beloit Blooms. Marcus Beloit, owner-designer.”
She jumped up.
“Marcus? I went to school with a Marcus Beloit. I want to go see if it’s him.”
“I doubt the owner will be doing delivery,” Brendan argued.
“I still want to see. We were friends. I just want to check.”
“Then lead the way,” he said.
Sahara lengthened her stride as she headed for the foyer, anxious to get there before the deliveries were finished.
