Certain Sahara had gone down with that elevator car, Adam was already in tears as he dialed 911.
The driver who’d been waiting for her heard the commotion and ran inside, only to find out the woman he was supposed to pick up was inside the elevator that had crashed. In a panic, he called his boss, who immediately called Harold Warner.
* * *
Harold had business to tend to all over the city this morning and had hired a car so he could work as he traveled from appointment to appointment.
He was making a notation of a dinner meeting the day after tomorrow when his cell phone rang. He hit Save to his Notes and answered the call.
“Harold Warner.”
“Mr. Warner, this is Lou from Hollywood Limo.”
“Yeah, hello, Lou. What’s up? No problem picking up Miss Travis, I presume?”
“I’m sorry, sir, but my driver just called and said that while he was waiting for Miss Travis to come down, there was an explosion inside The Magnolia, and that the penthouse elevator came down and...crashed with her in it. I knew you needed to know. I’m so sorry to be the bearer of such news.”
Harold froze. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
“No! Oh my God, no!” he cried, then hung up on the limo service and called the phone in the lobby of Sahara’s building. It rang and rang, but no one answered. He hit the intercom and buzzed the driver.
“Get me to The Magnolia as fast as you can.”
“Yes, sir,” the driver said, and immediately turned them around and headed in the direction of the well-known building.
Harold was in shock. For a few moments, he couldn’t think what to do or who to call and then realized he needed to let the director know his star wasn’t going to make it to the set this morning—or any morning.
* * *
Adam had Fire and Rescue coming in the front door and the Hollywood PD outside directing traffic, plus he was fielding calls from all of the other residents of the building while trying not to break down completely at the loss of one of his favorite residents. He was a grown man who wore a weapon to work every day. He had been hired to do a job—keeping the residents of The Magnolia safe and seeing that their privacy stayed intact. But he’d known Sahara Travis for years and liked her as a person. Knowing that she’d died on his watch was tearing him up. He’d just watched a team of firefighters heading up the stairs floor by floor to escort any reluctant residents down while another crew was making its way down to the basement.
Behind him, the phone began to ring again. He sighed, blinking back tears as he reached to answer, then froze.
Seeing her name on the caller ID was like a message from the grave. His hands were shaking as he lifted the receiver.
“Hello?”
“Adam, it’s me.”
Adam let out a shriek. “Lord have mercy! Oh sweet Jesus! Sweet Jesus! You are alive!”
She started crying all over again. “Yes, but by the grace of God. I forgot something and went back to get it. The elevator is empty. Tell rescue I’m alive but stranded up here. And please call the LAPD and ask for Detective Shaw. Tell him someone just tried to kill me again. I need to find a way to get out of here. I can smell smoke, and I don’t want to survive all this to end up dying in a fire.”
* * *
Harold Warner’s driver pulled up a full block away from The Magnolia.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Warner, but police have the streets blocked off down there. I can’t get you any closer.”
Harold’s heart was pounding. He was about to walk into a truth he didn’t want to face.
“Yes, okay. Just pull into this parking lot and wait. I have to get down there.”
“Yes, sir,” the driver said, and turned into the parking lot and killed the engine.
Harold got out, mopping the sweat from his face as he started down the street at a swift pace. He’d been thinking about Sahara ever since he’d gotten the call, remembering the first time he’d seen her. She’d come into his office, a little-known actress with two indie movies to her credit and seeking a manager. Before the meeting was over, he’d not only taken her on but felt like he’d been the one applying for representation. She’d grilled him about his education and even asked to see his résumé—she’d wanted to know what he could do for her that she couldn’t do for herself. He’d initially laughed at her audacity and then realized she was serious and he needed to be. Twelve years later, their story and the success of their working relationship was an industry fairy tale.
A police car came rolling up on the street beside him and honked at him to move over, yanking him back to reality. He turned and glared at the cop who was driving, then kept on moving. He was already walking on the sidewalk. The cop could keep his ass and the cruiser in the street.
Harold swiped his handkerchief across his cheeks to dry the tears that were streaming down his face. His chest hurt. He couldn’t believe she was gone.
Police were everywhere, rescue and fire trucks maneuvered their way closer to the building as residents were slowly being ushered out. The crowd was already gathering, most curious gossip-seekers uncertain about what was happening, but wanting to be in on whatever bloody details they could see.
He got stopped at one checkpoint, identified himself to the cops as Sahara Travis’s manager and was allowed to pass. Once he got closer, another cop escorted him into the lobby.
He choked up again when he saw Adam, and then all of a sudden the ex-linebacker picked him up in his arms, laughing.
“She’s alive, man! She’s alive!”
Harold gasped. “What are you saying?” he asked, as Adam put him back down.
“She just called down here! She was in the elevator, then realized she forgot something and jumped out at the last minute to go get it. The elevator fell without her in it! She’s trapped in the penthouse, though. Police are organizing a rooftop rescue right now.”
“Oh my God! Oh my God,” Harold muttered. “You talked to her? This is for sure?”
“Yes, I said—she just called! What’s happening right now?”
“Detective Shaw is outside somewhere. You’ll have to talk to him. That’s all I know.”
Harold couldn’t believe what was happening. He’d already buried her in his mind, but, just like in the movies, she was alive again.
* * *
Sahara stayed on the landline inside the penthouse until Fire and Rescue had given her instructions on how her removal from the scene would go, and all the while her apartment continued to fill with smoke. She didn’t know if the fire was spreading or contained for now within the elevator shaft, but she wasn’t waiting around to find out. Following the orders she’d been given, she ran through the penthouse and took the stairs leading up to the roof.
The sun was a blast of white heat as she pushed the door open. It was like running out into a natural spotlight she could have done without. The streets below were gridlocked from the crowd and the rescue vehicles. The wind whipped her hair into her face and tugged at her clothing as she ran toward the helipad at the far end of the roof.
Seen from the crowd below, her rescue was like a scene from one of her movies, and the crowd was riveted by the sight of the famous actress running through the billowing smoke coming through the roof vents toward a landing helicopter.
The second the skids touched down, a man leaned out, grabbed her outstretched arms and swooped her up into the chopper. A cheer went up from the crowd as the helicopter lifted off and quickly flew away.
Sahara