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