Two

      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.

      But the moment she stepped out on the balcony, a roar erupted from the crowd of people that had gathered below, startling her to the point that she splashed hot coffee on her bare foot and then cried out in pain.

      She hobbled back inside to get ice on the burn and then called downstairs to the lobby to ask Adam what the hell was happening.

      “Good morning, Miss Travis,” Adam said.

      “Good morning, Adam. What’s going on outside?”

      “Seems to be a gathering of fans and the media, I think.”

      “Because of me?”

      “Yes, ma’am. News broke about what happened on your set yesterday.”

      “The vultures are already descending,” she muttered.

      “Yes, ma’am.”

      “That’s great, just great. So much for a trip to the ER. What do you have on hand that’s good for burns?”

      “Oh no—are you okay?”

      “Not the end of the world. Just hot coffee on the top of a bare foot, but looks like it’s going to blister and hurts like hell.”

      “Keep ice on it, and I’ll have a doctor here shortly.”

      Sahara winced at the pain shooting up her leg.

      “Thank you, Adam. Sorry to be a bother.”

      “No, ma’am. This is no bother. This won’t be the first time we’ve had to call a doctor to this building. It shouldn’t be long. I’ll call right now,” he said, and disconnected.

      Sahara hung up the house phone and then hobbled into the kitchen for more ice just as her cell phone signaled a text.

      It was Lucy, asking if she needed anything and saying that she was on her way over.

      She responded with a text to bring some bananas, a box of cook-and-serve vanilla pudding mix, milk, a box of vanilla wafers and anything else that looked good. Might as well stock up if she was going to be stuck here for a while.

      She got a thumbs-up and a laugh emoji from Lucy, then disconnected and put some more ice on her burn.

      * * *

      Lucy came out of the supermarket with a whole extra sack of groceries above what Sahara had asked for. She already knew about the media chaos. She’d seen it on the early-morning news, which meant it was time to prepare for a lockdown. No way could Sahara go anywhere without bodyguards today, and Harold Warner was in charge of all that.

      Lucy blew a lock of hair from one eye as she put the bags inside her car. It wasn’t quite 9:00 a.m., and it was already hot. If only her boss had a place up in the hills, one with a big pool and an even bigger wall around it, work would be so much better. She didn’t understand why an actress as famous and rich as Sahara Travis insisted on living in the middle of such a huge city, even if it was at The Magnolia, and even though she owned the penthouse. Sure, this place had a pool, but it was on the roof opposite the helipad at the other end, and it was even hotter up there—closer to the sun. Technically, the other residents of The Magnolia were on the same social level as Sahara, but it just didn’t fit Lucy’s idea of Hollywood glamour.

      She upped the air-conditioning to frigid as she drove and breathed a sigh of relief as her car finally began to cool. She knew the media was already on-site, but upon arrival, it suddenly felt as if she was driving into a riot.

      “Oh good Lord,” she mumbled, then honked loud and long to move a group of paparazzi as she took a quick turn into the adjacent parking garage.

      She got out, unfolded a portable cart she kept in the trunk and transferred the two sacks of groceries into it before heading into the building.

      Adam saw her coming. “Do you need any help, Miss Lucy?”

      “No, I’ve got this, but thank you,” she said.

      “All right, then. You tell Miss Travis that the doctor is on his way.”

      Lucy frowned. “Doctor? What doctor? Is she hurt?”

      “She burned the top of her foot with hot coffee.”

      “Oh no,” Lucy said, and began hurrying toward the elevator.

      “I’ll ring her and tell her you’re coming up,” Adam said.

      Lucy waved to indicate she’d heard him and kept on going.

      * * *

      Sahara was in misery when she got word that Lucy was on the way up. The burn was worse than she’d thought. Nothing was alleviating the pain, not even the ice. She stumbled to the door and opened it just as Lucy came off the elevator at a fast clip, dragging the grocery cart behind her.

      “Adam said you burned your foot.”

      Sahara pointed down at the top of her left foot as Lucy raced in with the groceries.