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Clover wrings her hand free. Wraps her arms around herself. “It’s not fine. I’m claustrophobic. The idea of being stuck in this tiny space with a stranger is my worst nightmare.”
I clasp her shoulder. Stare into her frightened aqua eyes. “Clover, you are fine. I’ll buzz for help, don’t worry. Let me help you sit down so you can take some deep breaths. I promise I’m not a serial killer.”
She shivers but allows me to guide her to a seated position. When I get her situated in the corner of the elevator cab, I turn to examine the panel. Find the intercom button and press. It buzzes but no one answers. I try three more times to no avail.
“Omigod. We’re going to die in here,” Clover cries softly. She’s balled up in the corner, arms wrapped around her knees.
I crouch beside her. “We’re not going to die. It’s all fine. I’ll call for help.”
Except, when I reach into my back pocket for my phone, it’s not there. Standing rapidly, I slap my front pockets, back pockets, and then dig through the tool caddy. Nothing. Godddammit. I know exactly where it is.
On my desk upstairs.
Fuck.
She watches me through watery eyes. Whimpers when she realizes that I don’t have my phone.
“Clover, listen to me.” I kneel, point at her tote. “Do you have your mobile with you?”
After a beat what I’m asking sinks in. She nods. Tilts the bag. Rustles through and pulls out her phone, which is encased in a pink, glittery cover that you’d expect a twelve-year-old girl to have. She clicks the side button to turn it on, then her face crumples. Her clicking grows frantic until she throws it down on the ground. “It’s dead. It’s fucking dead. We are going to die here.”
Ignoring her panic for a moment, I grab the phone and press the button. Try a hard reset. Nothing.
Fuck.
I flop down to sit beside her. “Well, unless one of us has a smart watch, it looks like we might be stuck here for a while. I stand by my promise we won’t die, though.”
She holds up her bare wrist wistfully. My own watch—a Cartier—is in the hotel safe. Not that it would have helped in this situation. “Ah, well.” I lean back against the wall. “Try not to worry, we’re okay. Someone will find us.”
“When?” She buries her face in her hands, then peeks up at me.
I’m a tactical guy, so I consider the reality of our situation. The buzzer doesn’t work. We don’t have a way to call someone. Security won’t need the elevator unless they catch something on their cameras, so it’s unlikely they’ll find us tonight. “Let’s not worry about it. How about we pretend we’re at The Cactus Club having dinner and chat for a while?”
Despite the circumstances, I can’t look a gift horse in the mouth. I couldn’t have planned this better—Clover Callahan is my captive audience for eight to ten hours, give or take. No need to actually spend my money to wine and dine this beautiful thief. In her emotionally vulnerable state, she’ll be an open book to whatever I ask.
“It’s going to be okay.” I take her hand and clasp it between mine to reassure her. “Tell me something about yourself.”
She’s still trembling, her voice comes out wobbly. “What do you want to know?”
“Well.” I fix my eyes on hers. “Did you always want to be an actress?”
Clover keeps eye contact with me. “I’ve never told anyone this before, but no. It was my mom’s idea. She’s the one who wanted me to be on television.”
Huh. Interesting. Not what I expected.
“Why?” I lean into her, just a slight touch.
“I don’t know.” She puffs out a breath of air. “It’s all I remember. Throughout my childhood, she took me to auditions. Commercials. Music Videos. Movies. You name it.”
“How unconventional. It sounds kind of cool,” I encourage, hoping to elicit some insight into her motivation to marry Harrison.
She shakes her head. “Mostly not. I didn’t like acting at first. I wanted a more traditional childhood. It didn’t happen, though. When I was thirteen, I landed a huge part and ended up moving on my own to Hawaii.” She sees me tilt my head quizzically and almost telepathically answers my unspoken question. “The show was Hawaiian High. That’s where I met Ronni Miller.”
“I remember that show.” I know a lot about her back history, including this, though my team did not uncover the she’d been shipped off on her own at such a young age. With Kircher, no less. I resist a shudder. “I was a little older than the demographic for that show, so I can’t say I watched it.”
Clover shifts away to face me. “How old are you?”
“Forty-seven,” I say without hesitation.
