Life Of Lies. Sharon Sala
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glared. “I already have too much money, and none of it is worth a life, so I’m going to pretend I did not hear you say that.”
Harold flushed. “You’re right. I’m sorry. It was the businessman in me. I’ll tend to it immediately. But what are you going to do? Where do you intend to go?”
She pointed at the bodyguard. “Ask him where a safe place would be. I’m open to anything.”
Brendan frowned. “Let’s backtrack. Who’s Lucy?”
“My personal assistant,” Sahara said.
“Where is she? Why isn’t she here?” he asked.
As if on cue, Lucy came flying into the exam room, her hair in tangles, a coffee stain on the front of her blouse, a bloodstain on her elbow, another on the knee of her pants, and her purse clutched beneath her chin.
“Oh my God,” she wailed, heading straight for Sahara’s bedside when someone grabbed her by the back of her pants and stopped her in place. “Let me go!” she screamed.
“Who are you?” Brendan demanded.
“That’s Lucy! Turn her loose,” Sahara said.
Lucy lunged to Sahara’s side and began apologizing as she put her belongings onto the chair beside the bed.
“I was on set when word came that you were dead. All hell broke loose. Look at me. I look like I was run over by a pack of wolves. People were running amok, heading for their phones, turning on televisions, watching the director losing his mind. I ran to your trailer to get my stuff. I just couldn’t believe it was true and was going to go to The Magnolia to see for myself when someone knocked me down as he came running out of the trailer carrying one of your silk nightgowns. It’s probably for sale on eBay right now.”
Harold couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
“Why was there so much chaos?” Sahara asked.
Lucy shrugged. “Oh, you know. Everyone figured they’d try to sell their story about working with you on your last movie to the media. I heard some idiot on the phone with TMZ, another was calling Entertainment Tonight...someone was calling the National Enquirer. Those money-hungry bastards.”
Sahara hid her shock and was glad she’d already made the decision to quit the movie. She wouldn’t be able to go back without wondering who had tried to profit from news of her death.
“Are you okay?” Sahara asked. “Your elbow is bleeding a little and so is your knee. Sit down and I’ll call a nurse. You need some first aid.”
“I’m all right. I just can’t get over all this. First the poisoned food and now this! It’s for sure God’s will that you are still alive,” Lucy said.
Harold belatedly introduced Lucy and Brendan.
“Lucy, this is Brendan McQueen. He’s Sahara’s new bodyguard. Brendan, Lucy Benton, Sahara’s personal assistant.”
“We’ve met,” Lucy snapped.
Brendan didn’t respond.
Sahara rang for a nurse, who soon had Lucy’s scrapes cleaned just minutes before Sahara’s discharge papers arrived.
“So you really can’t get back into the penthouse?” Lucy asked.
Sahara shook her head and turned away, not wanting any of them to see her tears. But Brendan saw them and filed away the knowledge that she wasn’t nearly as tough as she pretended to be.
“You’ll need clothes,” Lucy said. “Give me an address, and I’ll go get the essentials and have them to you before dinner.”
“I don’t have an address,” Sahara said.
Brendan handed Lucy his card. “You go shop and text me when you’re finished. I’ll send you an address, which I trust you will not share.”
Lucy took the card and turned her back to him. She didn’t like him—she was used to being the person who took care of Sahara, whom she relied on, and this guy had jumped in and taken her place. She put a hand on Sahara’s shoulder.
“Do you want me to stay with you?” Lucy asked.
“There’s no need,” Brendan said.
“Yes, I’d like that,” Sahara said, ignoring her new bodyguard. “If I keep you close, then I’ll know you aren’t being targeted in an effort to get to me.”
“I’ll bring a suitcase when I come,” Lucy said.
“You’ll have to buy new luggage for me, too. Everything I own is in that death trap,” Sahara muttered.
“I’ll take care of it. And I’m going to assume you want comfort and low-key in your wardrobe?”
“You know me.”
“Then I’m out of here, and thank you for the first aid.” Impulsively, she leaned down and kissed Sahara’s forehead. “I’m so grateful you are alive.” The affection surprised both of them, but it wasn’t unwelcome.
She gathered up her purse and left, limping as she went.
Brendan gave Sahara a wary look but stepped aside as a nurse came in with discharge papers. Twenty minutes later Sahara was buckled up in the front seat of his black Hummer, waving goodbye to Harold as they drove away from the ER entrance.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“A hotel for tonight. I have access to a remote cabin up in the mountains. Easy to see if anyone comes or goes, and it’s teched out with radar and satellite security systems. It has an indoor pool, a full gym in the basement and a screening room for movies should the urge occur. We’ll go there tomorrow.”
Sahara sighed. One place was as good as another until the police figured out who was doing this. She leaned back against the seat and closed her eyes.
Brendan navigated traffic smoothly while keeping an eye on his passenger, who seemed to have fallen asleep. So when she suddenly spoke, it startled him.
“This is so awful,” she said quietly.
He heard so much in her voice, but most of all regret.
“Have you ever been stalked before?” he asked.
“Sort of. But no one was ever hurt like this. I can’t quit thinking about Moira.”
“Was she the woman who died on set?”
Sahara nodded. “In my trailer. She was twenty-four years old—worked in wardrobe and had a crush on one of the grips. He didn’t even know it.”
He glanced at her again as he braked for a red light. She was crying—a quiet grief he would not have expected from someone with a diva reputation. He was beginning to wonder if that reputation was all hype.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” he said.
“Do you have any tissues?” she asked.
He pointed to the glove box.
She found some individual tissue packs, pulled one from the packet to wipe her eyes and then blow her nose. A few minutes later he moved into an exit lane and turned off the street and up the drive into a chain motel.
“A Motel 6? Are you serious?” she asked.
“It is not Motel 6, but it is the last place anyone would expect a star like you to be in, and it’s only for one night. Sit tight and don’t move. No one can see inside, so they won’t know you’re here.”
“Don’t forget to get an adjoining room for Lucy,” she said.
“I forget nothing,” he said. “I’ll be locking you in, so don’t fiddle with anything or you’ll set off the security alarm.”
He got out