Five
Lucy was properly horrified at the bodyguard’s choice when she reached the motel, but said nothing. She brought in all the purchases she’d made, and after Sahara’s bath and shampoo, they spent the next hour in Lucy’s room trying on everything, removing the tags and then packing the suitcases.
The door was ajar, and they were still folding clothes into the new luggage when Brendan knocked once, then walked in with his phone in his hand. He made no apology that he’d walked in on her while she was dressed only in a bra and a pair of shorts, her still wet hair already tangling into curls, but his conscience pinged when she reached for a blouse and held it in front of her.
“Your manager is on the phone. He needs to talk to you,” he said.
Sahara was reaching for the phone when she caught a look of pity on his face. It scared her.
“You already know what he means to tell me, don’t you?”
He laid the phone in her hand.
Her fingers were shaking as she put the phone to her ear.
“Hello? Harold?”
“Sahara! Sweetheart...” He hesitated. “I don’t know how to tell you this.”
“Tell me what, Harold? My God! Spit it out. You’re scaring me.”
“The New Orleans Police Department has been trying to locate you all day. Your mother... Sahara, I’m so sorry. She’s dead. They found her in the garden of your parents’ home this morning. She’s been murdered and your father is missing.”
The phone dropped from her grasp as Sahara fainted into Brendan’s outstretched arms.
Lucy gasped. “What’s wrong? What’s happened?” She lunged at the phone Sahara had dropped. “Harold, what the hell! She fainted! What did you tell her?”
“The truth. Her mother has been murdered and her father is missing. I think your next stop is going to be New Orleans.”
* * *
The shock of the news took the edge off spending the night in a low-brow motel with a bodyguard sleeping in a sleeping bag at the foot of her bed, but the morning had barely begun when the first argument between Brendan and Sahara erupted.
She was standing in front of the single bathroom mirror in scraps of nylon passing for underwear and an oversize T-shirt elongating her already long, slender legs. She was brushing her teeth as she argued with him, and Brendan was having a serious problem remaining objective.
He’d never had a client like her before. He was used to demanding divas in silk and satin, or male actors with massive entourages and even bigger ego problems. And then there was Sahara Travis in a basic T-shirt, slinging toothpaste and icy glares without caution and managing to look damn sexy while she was at it.
She spit, rinsed her mouth and then pointed the bubbly bristles of her toothbrush at him.
“I don’t want to fly commercial. Harold has already notified my pilot. I have my private jet fueled and ready. It’s the one I always use.”
“How many people know you have a private jet?” he asked.
She shrugged. “It’s probably common knowledge.”
“Then you’re flying commercial, which is what no one would expect.”
“Surely you don’t think—”
He waited for her to finish the sentence, then saw the moment it clicked. If someone would go to the lengths required to bomb her private elevator, why wouldn’t they also try to destroy her jet? She stopped talking, rinsed out her mouth and toothbrush, and put the toothbrush away.
“We don’t have tickets,” Lucy said.
“Yes, we do,” Brendan said. “All three in first class.”
“This is going to be a nightmare,” Lucy muttered from the bedroom, having overheard their new plans.
“It’s already a nightmare,” Sahara said, now fully on board with Brendan’s plan. “Don’t argue. Brendan, I’m going to get dressed, so look away.”
“What time is the flight?” Lucy asked.
“It boards in a couple of hours. We have time. Trust me,” he said, and then stood in the doorway between the two rooms with his back to theirs while Sahara dressed.
When she was finished, he loaded them and the bags into the Hummer before sliding into the driver’s seat to buckle up. Sahara looked years younger than her thirty-three years. Her hair was dry, and she’d piled a fierce tangle of dark curls on her head. The expression on her face was somewhere between anger and despair. He hated to see the usual fire in her tamped down so early in the morning.
“Hey.”
Sahara looked up, thinking not for the first time that her bodyguard looked like a giant-size version of Channing Tatum. Then she realized he was asking her a question and tuned back in to what he was saying.
“Breakfast will be compliments of a McDonald’s drive-thru. What’s your poison? Biscuits and gravy, or breakfast burritos?”
“She doesn’t eat that greasy fast food,” Lucy snapped.
“Yes, I do,” Sahara said. “My trainer doesn’t like it, but yes, I do. I’ll take a sausage-and-egg burrito with hot sauce and a Diet Dr Pepper.”
Brendan stifled a smile. Dr Pepper for breakfast was not something he’d imagined a woman like Sahara would order.
“How about you, Miss Lucy?”
Lucy sighed. “A bacon-and-egg biscuit and orange juice.”
“Harold sent me new ID and credit cards. Use mine to pay,” Sahara said, as she dug them out of her new purse.
“No, ma’am. Too easy to find you that way,” Brendan said.
Sahara blinked. “Oh. I didn’t think...” she mumbled, and dropped them back into the purse.
“Don’t worry. It’s all covered and often part of the job,” he said.
Sahara glanced at his profile and the size of his hands on the steering wheel and wondered if everything about him was supersize, then looked away and closed her eyes and chided herself for thinking it. No one knew the toll it was taking for her to go home. The only plus side to any of this was that her mother was no longer able to hurt her. Maybe she should feel guilty for thinking that, but she didn’t. It was the truth.
Brendan parked his Hummer in airport parking, which meant they were now carrying their own bags into the terminal to check-in. Sahara was pulling her carry-on and often running a couple of steps to keep up with his pace.
When they reached check-in and then the security checkpoint, she was recognized almost instantly, and they were forced to rush through the process to beat the chaos that followed.
Once they were headed for their gate, Brendan took her carry-on as well as Lucy’s. People began calling out Sahara’s name and taking pictures at random, even trying to stop her for autographs. It was all business as usual for Sahara, but this was why she preferred to take her private jet when she traveled.
Word spread to the usual paparazzi, who were always present at Los Angeles International, that Sahara Travis was in the building and on the move. But it didn’t stop Lucy’s intent when she held up progress long enough to get water and magazines before they were off again.
Brendan saw them first, but when Sahara noticed the paparazzi coming toward her like rats escaping the sewers to feed, she moved closer to him. He glanced at her face and saw panic.
“Sahara, you just keep moving. I’ve got this. Lucy! Flank her and don’t stop walking.”
“Okay,” Lucy said, and moved even closer to her boss as they headed for their gate.
The first photographer made the mistake of getting too close and then wouldn’t give way. Brendan’s hands were full of carry-on luggage when he bumped into him, knocking him to the floor.
“He pushed me!” the photographer yelled, and in that moment, Sahara lost her cool.
She spun on the lot of them, shouting.
“His hands are full, so just get out of the way. He never touched you. You all know someone is after me, everyone’s heard. Is it one of you? Is it you?” she cried, looking down at the photographer who’d gotten dumped onto his ass. “You didn’t have to get that close to take a picture. What were you trying to do? Someone call the police! I want him arrested. He might be the man trying to kill me.”
A look of horror spread across the man’s face. This wasn’t going as he’d planned.
“No, no, it’s not me. Hey, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I just wanted a good shot—”
But it was too little, too late. Airport security arrived and took him into custody as the other photographers quickly scattered.
Sahara grabbed her own carry-on and glanced up at Brendan.
“Okay to go now?”
He arched an eyebrow and grinned. “I believe so, and...thanks. I feel so much safer now.”
Sahara grimaced. “I’m tired, I’m scared, I really don’t want to set foot back in New Orleans, and I don’t have time for lawsuits, so I lost it, okay?”
He was shocked by her admission. He couldn’t hug her, so he took back her carry-on with his last two free fingers and curled them tight.
“Follow me, boss. We’re almost there,” he said.
Sahara followed, willing herself not to cry.
Lucy saw the flush of emotion on Sahara’s face and knew enough to stay silent.
They finally reached the gate, and when the people at check-in recognized her again, they hustled her little entourage through the line and boarded them early.
“Thank you,” Sahara said, as the flight attendant seated them.
“You’re welcome, Miss Travis. As soon as we get the passengers loaded, I’ll be back to take your drink orders.” Then she glanced at McQueen. “Sir, can I help you stow your luggage?”
“I’ve got it, but thanks,” Brendan said.
A calm settled over Sahara as she took the window seat and buckled herself up. Lucy was in the seat directly in front of her and Brendan was in the aisle seat beside her. For the first time in days, she felt safe.
Lucy got up on her knees and looked over the seat at Sahara, still intent on doing her job to keep her comfortable.
“I brought magazines. Do you want something to read?” she asked.
“Not right now,” Sahara said.
“Did you take your Dramamine? You know you have a tendency to get a little airsick.”
“Damn. I forgot,” Sahara said.
“I have some. Just a second,” Lucy said, and dug through her carry-on to find the little tube of pills. She shook one out in her hand and handed it to Sahara, then pulled a small bottle of water out of the same bag, opened it and handed it over the seat.
Sahara downed the pill, then put the lid on the water and set it in her drink holder.
“Thank you for taking such good care of me, Lucy.”
“You’re welcome,” Lucy said, then handed her a neck pillow.
Sahara put the pillow around her neck, thought of where they were going and closed her eyes. She’d promised herself she would never go back there again.
Broken promises. Broken dreams.
Her life was full of both.
She could hear tiny little clicks in her right ear and guessed Brendan was sending someone a text. First class was being seated now, and it didn’t take but seconds for Sahara to be recognized.
A well-dressed fortysomething woman had the seat beside Lucy, and when she paused to put her bag in the overhead bin and recognized Sahara Travis, Brendan saw the look of the hunt in her eyes. She was going to be pushy enough to try to introduce herself, he knew, so as her gaze went to Sahara’s face and her lips were parting, Brendan shook his head.
“No, ma’am,” he said quietly.
The woman blinked, then quickly sat, intimidated by his size and the deep rumble of his voice.
More people were filing past them now, but Sahara kept her eyes closed. She wanted this day to be over, and they still hadn’t left the ground.
Her name was on everyone’s lips. She could hear the whispers and excited undertones of people thrilled to be on the same flight as a star like Sahara Travis.
The rumble of voices grew like the wild kudzu vines from home, choking out everything in its path and taking all the air and energy out of the cabin. She wanted to hide, but damn it all to hell she was stuck on this commercial flight just to stay alive.
She was under no misapprehension that her mother’s murder and the attacks on her life weren’t connected. She thought there was surely a law of coincidence in the universe, and this hell she was living in no way came from serendipity.
Thankfully, by the time the passengers were seated and the flight attendants were stowing last-minute luggage and urging people to buckle up, the Dramamine tablet had put her to sleep.
Brendan glanced at her. She was buckled in and safe. So far, so good. The plane began to taxi. As it did, Sahara’s head rolled toward his arm, coming to rest just below his shoulder. He could smell the motel shampoo in her hair. When the plane finally left the runway, he was holding her hand.
* * *
When Bubba saw a news flash about a movie star on her way to New Orleans because her mother had been murdered, accompanied by a brief video clip of her, her assistant and one great big man he took to be a bodyguard moving through the airport, his heart skipped a beat. It was also apparent that Sahara had flown commercial. Once again, through no fault of his own, his plans had failed. But it was just as well. She was coming to him. He’d get her on his own turf.
* * *
Sahara woke up hours into the flight and took the cold soda she was offered, sipping it slowly while ever conscious of the looming presence of the man beside her. He was remarkably quiet. The only time he spoke was to dissuade passengers from stopping to talk or to ask for autographs. Another hour passed before Sahara finally tapped his arm.
“I need to use the restroom,” she whispered.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, and stepped into the aisle to let her pass, then followed her to the front of the plane.
He looked inside the cramped bathroom cubicle before he let her in, then turned around to face the people in the plane with an emotionless expression. Within a few minutes he felt a hand on his back. He glanced over his shoulder to nod at her and then led the way back to their seats.
“Everything okay?” Brendan asked once they were seated.
She saw the genuine concern on his face and nodded, grateful that Harold had the foresight to choose a man like this.
Another hour passed, and the closer they got to New Orleans, the more anxious Sahara became. By the time they began preparing for landing, she was so tense it felt like she was vibrating from the inside out.
Fifteen years.
She hadn’t been here in fifteen years and had never planned to come to this city again. Now she would have to play the role of her life by pretending to be the grieving daughter. It wasn’t going to be easy. How did you grieve for someone who’d never loved you—never wanted you in her life? And the fact that her father was missing made her extra anxious. If he showed up and she was forced to face him down again, she didn’t know if she would survive it.
Brendan knew she was bothered—she was radiating tension. He suspected there was some history that she was going to have to deal with in coming here, but mistakenly thought most of it right now had to do with having lost her mother. When the plane finally touched down and began taxiing toward the airport, Sahara grabbed his hand.
“I’ve got this,” he said. “Just trust me.” He reached for his phone to check messages. “Well, hell,” he muttered, as he read one particular text.
“What’s wrong?” Sahara asked.
He wouldn’t say it aloud but leaned over and let her read the message on his phone. He saw her eyes widen and the shock spread. Her voice was shaking when she dropped the phone back into his hand.
“Well, damn, McQueen. I owe you one. You were right about the plane. It wouldn’t have cleared the runway, would it?”
“No.”
“Do the police think the bomber killed the mechanic they found in the Dumpster?”
“Probably,” he said.
Her shoulders slumped. The bodies on her conscience kept piling up.
“So how do we navigate the awaiting madhouse?”
“I’ve got a car waiting, and help will be at the gate to get us through luggage pickup and out of here.”
“What kind of help?” Sahara asked.
“One of my buddies. His name is Will Sherman. He’s ex‒Army Ranger, too.”
Within minutes they were at the gate. A tall, lanky man in blue jeans and a New Orleans Saints T-shirt stepped out of the crowd and took part of the luggage Brendan was carrying. He nodded at Sahara.
“Will Sherman at your service, ma’am,” he said, and then fell into step behind both women.
They made their way to luggage pickup amid stares, double takes and the constant clicking of people snapping pictures on their phones. She stayed as close to Brendan as she could get and let Lucy and Will retrieve the bags.
The media she’d been expecting was outside the terminal, and there was no way around their presence. But Brendan was adept at keeping them at bay, and Will Sherman sent the stragglers behind them scurrying with a sharp “get the hell away from her” command.
“Hey, Will, where’s the SUV?” Brendan asked, as they reached airport parking.
“Follow me,” he said, and led the way through the parking garage.
When Brendan saw the man standing beside a big red SUV, he dropped the luggage and hugged him.
“John! Long time no see, brother!”
“Good to see you, Brendan.”
“You, too. Help me load all this up ASAP. Time is critical here,” he said, and then cupped Sahara’s elbow and guided her toward the front seat.
“Sahara, this is my younger brother John. He rented the vehicle for us under his name, and it’s been in his sight ever since he picked it up, so it’s safe. John, this is Sahara Travis.”
“Very nice to meet you, John McQueen, and thank you for helping,” she said.
John nodded as he clasped her hand.
“Please accept my sympathies on the loss of your mother, and I hope they soon find the person behind all of this. Allow me to help you into the vehicle while Brendan loads up the luggage. He’s picky about stuff like that.”
Sahara was quickly seated inside the SUV. The engine was running, the air conditioner on high. John gave her a thumbs-up and then shut her inside while Lucy climbed into the back seat.
“Oh my God, it’s hot in this city,” she said.
“Summer in New Orleans.”
Lucy eyed the pallor of Sahara’s expression.
“Are you feeling okay? Is there anything you need?”
“There’s nothing that will fix this,” Sahara said.
Lucy sighed. “I’m really sorry about your mother. I assume we’re going straight to your home?”
“Yes, that’s where we’re going.”
Lucy leaned back and shut up. It seemed the wisest thing to do.
Moments later, Brendan got in. “Will is following us from his vehicle. Unless there’s a security system already in place at your parents’ house, he’s going to set one up for me once we get there. It’s what he does for a living. The housekeeper knows we’re on the way. I called. Her name is Billie. Do you know her?”
Sahara stifled a gasp and then clasped her hands against her heart.
“Billie is still there?”
“Yes. I take it you know her?”
Sahara’s eyes welled. “I know her.”
“Okay, then, we’re off,” he said.
Stunned by this news, Sahara sat back without comment, blind to the city as they passed through it. This place was already dead to her. She just had to bury what was left before she could escape it a second time.
She didn’t question how Brendan knew where he was going, but he was taking all of the right streets to get to the family home. She glanced at the side-view mirror and assumed the gray SUV behind them was Will Sherman’s.
When they paused at a Stop sign to let a delivery van pass, she recognized the business logo. Devereaux’s Pralines. Her mouth watered, thinking of the sweet, buttery, brown sugar candy.
Some things never changed.
Within twenty minutes of leaving the airport, Brendan turned into a driveway and paused at the iron gates. He lowered the window, punched in a code and then waited for the gates to open.
“How did you know what to key in?” Sahara asked.
“Billie told me.”
“Oh yes, Billie,” she said, and made herself look at the two-story redbrick house as they drove around to the gatehouse and parked.