“Ray, I need those two armed bodyguards waiting for me at the sound stage by the time I leave today. Tomorrow is too late.”
“Did something happen? Do I need to call the police right now?”
“No, nothing has happened yet, but I don’t want to wait and leave anything to chance. Text me back with their names and pictures so I know who they are when I see them.”
“Of course, of course. Consider it done, my love. Hey, aren’t you due on the set in about twenty minutes?”
“Yes, I’m pulling into the lot right now. Don’t worry, I have the best hair and makeup artists in the world to make sure I’m camera-ready on time.”
“You’re a natural beauty. You don’t need makeup like everyone else does,” Ray schmoozed. “Now, I’m off to ensure you feel safe and sound at all times. You’ll hear back from me soon.”
The busy schedule and moving to the various sets kept her busy throughout the day and well into the night. After the director yelled the final “Cut,” she was exhausted and could no longer hide it.
“Vince, I need a break. I’ve been going nonstop since I got here this morning.”
“I know, Elle. We’re behind, and the studio can’t extend our time with the sound stage. We’ll call it a wrap for the night and start back tomorrow morning,” Vince replied.
“Miss Sinclair? I have this message for you.” A short, young girl smiled shyly as she passed the handwritten note to Elle.
“Thank you.” Elle smiled warmly, despite her irritation with her situation. The young girl’s smile brightened. She was clearly content with just being acknowledged by one of the main stars. Watching the girl walk away with an added spring in her step reminded Elle why she’d always been cognizant of how she treated the crew. Her positive thoughts changed immediately when she read the message. “You son of a bitch!”
“What’s wrong, sailor?” Beth asked with a smirk.
“Listen to this.‘Elle, darling, your bodyguards will be on the set first thing in the morning, as you requested. –Ray’They were supposed to be heretonightto escort us home. I need to find a better agent.”
“Go change and let’s go home. Your clothes are in your trailer. We’ll deal with firing Ray and finding a competent agent in the morning. I’ll meet you at the car and be your bodyguard for the night.”
“I feel safer already,” Elle replied with a sardonic chuckle. “I’ll be right there.”
When she stepped out of the sound stage door, she was surprised to see how busy the lot was so late. Crew members darted from one place to the other, various teams hustling to finish their work for the night. Once inside her trailer, she checked her phone for messages, chatted with her mother via text, then changed into her regular clothes. When she opened the door of her trailer and stepped out, the unnatural silence that met her frightened her.
Her skin prickled with cold chills in the warm Southern California air. The feeling of being watched hadn’t left her for several days, but the shudders flowing over her in waves were stronger than they’d ever been. Someone was out there, watching and waiting. She knew it beyond a shadow of a doubt.
She rushed toward the car lot where they’d parked, wielding her apartment key like a weapon, ready to stab someone in the eye if necessary. Her thumb slid up the side of the key, holding it firmly in her grasp. The car was mere steps away—the safety and security of the interior were her homing beacon, and her feet instinctively carried her to it. A fleeting thought of having words with Vince about keeping security on the lot until everyone had cleared out crossed her mind as she reached the car. She extended her arm and grasped the handle, relief flooding her because she’d made it safely.
“Miss Sinclair.”
Startled, she jumped and whirled around at the sound of a man behind her. Before her brain could register what her eyes witnessed, everything around her went completely black.
* * *
Strange noises rousedElle from her deep slumber. She fought against her own muscles to force her eyes to open. Sleep felt so good to her overexhausted mind and body, and she hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep in so long. But if Beth already had company over, then she’d apparently slept later than she realized. She rolled over in the bed and fought the grogginess that had overtaken her, covering her like a heavy blanket. After sitting up, she rubbed her eyes and realized when she felt the thick, stiff mascara still caked on her eyelashes she didn’t wash her makeup off the night before.
That was her first red flag. As a model and actress, she never went to bed without completing her nighttime beauty regimen, no matter how late she’d returned home. The second red flag immediately followed the first when she realized how hard she’d slept. Running on fumes and a few hours of sleep every night had become her normal. She peeled her eyelids open, and a full-blown panic attack ensued. Her eyes traveled around the room, taking in the décor and furnishings. Reality and facts clashed with denial and self-preservation.
She wasn’t in her bed.
She wasn’t in her room.
She wasn’t in her apartment.
She had no idea where she was.
The plush bedroom was as large as the entire apartment she shared with Beth. The furniture was all one-of-a-kind pieces from exclusive, appointment-only boutiques in Beverly Hills. The paintings adorning the walls were multimillion-dollar originals, not available for purchase to the average citizen. Vases of fresh flowers filled the room with their sweet fragrance. Floor-to-ceiling windows made up an entire wall, with what was sure to be a spectacular view when it wasn’t still pitch-black outside.
She slid out of bed and panic nearly incapacitated her when she realized she wore a strange gown rather than her own clothes, but she had no memory of how she got in it. Determined to figure out where she was and why she was there, she began opening drawers to search for any clues. Every drawer only served to increase her anxiety, yielding nothing except more plain cotton nightgowns like the one she wore, mingled with various feminine toiletry items.
She rushed through the room, checking the expansive closets and the bathroom but finding nothing of use. Nothing that revealed any information and nothing that gave a single hint of where she was being held. Her chest heaved with heavy breaths, and her mind raced as she tried to recall what last happened to her and how she got there.
