Life Of Lies

“Sahara, this is Brendan McQueen. He will be your bodyguard until the person responsible for trying to kill you is caught. Brendan, meet Sahara Travis. I’m depending on you to keep her safe.”

As Brendan moved to the side of her bed, Sahara felt his gaze take note of everything about her within two or three seconds, including her filthy hair, the hospital gown and the bandaged foot, before he shifted it straight to her face.

“Sorry to meet you under these circumstances, Miss Travis. Know that from this moment until I am released from duty, I will be standing between you and trouble. I am pledging my life to keep you safe, so I ask only a few small things from you in return.”

“And those are?” she asked.

“That you never lie to me about anything and never leave my sight.”

She frowned. “You’re not coming into a bathroom with me, buddy.”

“I don’t have buddies, but you can call me Brendan. If you don’t want me in a bathroom with you, then I’ll make sure you’re the only one in it, because if you go into a public bathroom with multiple stalls, rest assured I will be standing inside that room until you are ready to exit.”

Her eyes narrowed, but she knew this was for her own good.

“Deal. Do we sleep together, too?”

His face remained stoic, ignoring her attitude.

“No, Miss Travis. I’m good with the floor.”

“You can call me Sahara,” she said, and then shifted her focus to her manager. “Harold, we need to talk.”

“What about?”

“The movie. I need you to get me out of the role. There’s no way to keep other people safe while someone’s after me, and I don’t want another Moira on my conscience. If I hadn’t told Lucy to meet me on set this morning, she would have made sure I had my pages when she picked me up, and we would have been in the elevator together—and on adjoining tables in the morgue by now.”

Harold flinched. “You’re going to lose a lot of money.”

Sahara 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?”