The producers had rented the entire seventh floor of rooms for key guests attending the celebration, so the hallway was crowded with activity as Marshall and Lacey exited the elevators and made their way to Lacey’s room. Once inside, she kicked off her heels and started stuffing things into a roller bag.
“The makeup team will be knocking at my trailer door at four a.m.”
He knew all the reasons she liked to sleep in her trailer the night before an early shoot, but he wasn’t about to let her get away that easily, especially as hot as she looked tonight. He slipped off his shoes and socks and then removed his jacket, bow tie, and shirt and threw them across a chair.
She was grabbing underwear from the dresser drawer when he moved behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. “Do you have to go right away?” he whispered, his lips finding her neck.
Her reaction was instantaneous. They’d played this game before; it was one of her favorites. The linen slipped from her hand as she reached over her left shoulder and slid her fingers into the folds of his hair. She melted into him and they both felt his body respond. His breathing quickened and he turned her to face him, lowering his hands to her butt and lifting her onto his hips. Her lips caressed his neck, legs clinging to him as he walked to the adjoining room and lowered her onto the bed. He unzipped her dress and slid it over her head. Her eyes were hungry.
“The makeup people will be knocking at my trailer door at four a.m.,” she repeated breathlessly, unbuckling his pants.
“That’s almost six hours from now.”
“Yesss,” she moaned as his mouth found her breasts.
The doorbell rang, followed by raps on the door. They both heard it but their bodies demanded that they ignore it. The knocks came again, louder.
Lacey’s body stiffened.
“Go away!” Marshall shouted.
Lacey placed a finger across his lips.
“I-I’m so sorry, Lacey,” a young woman’s voice said from the other side of the door.
“Crap,” Marshall muttered, recognizing Penny’s voice. The twenty-two-year-old was Lacey’s assistant and constant companion during filming. They’d become the closest of friends over the past few years. His shoulders sagged as he got out of bed, yanked on his pants, and opened the door.
Penny cringed when she saw him standing there bare chested and disheveled. Words rushed out of her. “Oh, God. It’s not my fault. The director called an emergency meeting and he wants her there.” She had a pained expression on her freckled cherubic face, as if waiting for him to forgive her for the embarrassing intrusion.
“It’s okay,” he said with a sigh. “Come on in.”
She hustled past him and beelined toward Lacey, who had already slipped on a pair of jeans, a sweatshirt, and sneakers.
“We’re supposed to be downstairs in two minutes,” Penny said, zipping up Lacey’s bag. She extended the handle and rolled it toward the door.
Lacey threw her arms around her husband and kissed him hard on the mouth. When they broke free, she whispered, “To be continued.”
Then she and Penny whisked past him and hurried down the hall, and the sight of her leaving made his heart ache. She offered him a pouty lip and a wave before disappearing into the elevator with several others. The bustle of activity outside the rooms hadn’t waned, as others grabbed their belongings and headed out. He recognized most of them from the party, including the champagne-serving waiter—now dressed in street clothes—who appeared to be having a heated conversation with two other men as they hovered near the stairwell exit. Marshall shook his head in resignation and moved back into the room, finding little solace in the fact that he wasn’t the only one whose plans went awry tonight.
Thirty minutes later, the noise in the hallway had finally dissipated, but the noise in his head hadn’t. He was amped up, and his attempt to get some sleep had been in vain. So he got up and opened the closet safe to retrieve his iPhone. That’s when he discovered that Lacey’s was there, too. In her hurry to leave she’d forgotten it. It wasn’t uncommon since, unlike him, she hated the concept of being at the beck and call of anybody who wanted to ping her. However, with the current crisis she’d probably need it. He pulled out both phones and powered them up, figuring he’d check her messages to see if he needed to forward any to Penny. He lay back on the bed to wait for them to boot up.
The doorbell rang again.
“Who is it?”
“Room service, Mr. Erickson.”
Marshall grinned. It was probably a surprise from Lace, a consolation gift she must have asked Penny to order from the kitchen. Maybe his favorite desert—lemon meringue pie.
Make that my second favorite desert, he thought, recalling how sexy she’d looked earlier.
“Coming,” he said, rolling to his feet. He’d taken one step when both phones rang with the “Danger Zone” ringtone.
The doorbell rang again, only this time it sounded like an alarm in his head.
“Give me a minute,” he shouted, grabbing her phone and running in a crouch toward the door. “I’m getting dressed.”
“Yes, sir.”
He took a quick glance through the peephole and saw the champagne waiter, and any doubt of the danger he was in evaporated faster than data from a demagnetized hard drive. He pulled up the message screen and confirmed the worst. His heart rate tripled but his fingers didn’t hesitate as they pulled up Penny’s number from Lacey’s Favorites list and hit the call button.
After four interminably long rings, an automated message informed him her voice mail was full.
You gotta be friggin’ kidding me.
“Mr. Erickson?” the waiter called.
“Yeah, I’m tied up. Just leave it at the door.” He quietly swung the door chain into place.
“But I need a signature.”
Marshall ignored him, his eyes spotting another name on Lacey’s Favorites list.
The electronic door lock suddenly disengaged and the door opened two inches to the stop.
“It’s chained,” said a new voice.
“Out of my way,” growled a third man.
Marshall’s thumbs were a blur as he backed into the room, scribing the message he prayed would save Lacey’s life. He hit the send button just as the door crashed open and the three men rushed toward him.
Chapter 13
Rome
3:00 a.m.
LACEY WOKE TO AN incessant pounding on the door of her trailer. A squint at the clock told her it was 3:00 a.m.—an hour before she’d planned to wake up.
“Who the hell is it?”
“It’s Pete. We’ve got to talk.”
“This’d better be important,” she grumbled to herself, rolling out of bed and slipping on her robe. “Come on in.”
The crusty, mid-forties Irishman edged through the door, his broad frame dominating the space. He wore his usual multipocketed vest over a wrinkled shirt and cargo pants. His thick red hair was swept back over a weathered face with a trim beard that showed the first hints of gray around the chin. His normal jovial expression was replaced by a look of concern that set her immediately on edge.
“What’s wrong?”
“I amn’t sure yet,” he said in a thick brogue, the I sounding more like oi. “But I’ll not be leavin’ your side ’til ye tell me about it.” He handed his smartphone to her. “I woke three minutes ago to find this.”
The text message from Marshall was brief:
Life or death, tell Lace: NOW!
She staggered backward, and suddenly Pete’s strong hands were on her shoulders, guiding her onto the couch.
“What’s it mean, lass?”
My husband is in danger.
She made a move toward the door, but Pete stepped forward and blocked her path. “Hold on now.”
“Out of my way!”
He crossed his arms. “It’s three in morning, deary, and yer not even dressed. Now settle down and tell me what the hell is going on before you make a hash of things an
d get yerself hurt.”
She glanced down, and the sight of her bare feet and robe brought on a flush of confusion that she shoved away with an angry grunt. Using a technique she’d learned as a child from her sensei father, she closed her eyes, inhaled through her nose, and blew a long steady breath through pursed lips. Her body responded to the long-practiced skill, channeling her energy and clearing her mind. She opened her eyes to find Pete nodding admiringly. He knew about her martial arts experience.
She returned the nod, holding her emotions in check as she read the message again. It had been sent at 11:15 p.m. and there were no other messages afterward. That was nearly four hours ago, which meant Marshall had either followed protocol or—
No, she would not think about the alternative, which was more likely than she wanted to admit. Otherwise he would have raced to her side long ago. She cursed herself for having forgotten her phone at the hotel. She would have received the broadcast message at the same time he had and—with any luck—they’d be together right now. Either way, she knew what had to be done. Her grab bag was still at the hotel, but even that possibility had been considered during their drills. She pulled some clothes from her closet. Pete turned his back while she dressed.
“I care about you, Pete. That’s why I’m going to give you one chance to leave the trailer and forget all about that message.”
“That amn’t going to happen.”
“Yeah, I figured,” she said, tucking her shirt into her jeans. “But this is as serious as it gets. And mark my words, you’re going to regret it if you get involved. The life or death reference was real.”
“Nuff said. Now spill it.”
She studied the big lug and considered barging past him for his own sake. But he’d simply follow and then there’d be a scene, which was the last thing she needed right now. Besides, she was frightened to the core. And all alone.
The bravado leaked from her shoulders and she slumped into a chair at the dinette table. “Thank you,” she said softly.
Pete settled onto the chair opposite hers, cradling her hands. His calloused palms reminded her of her father. Pete’s caring expression was like a warm blanket.
“It’s a long story,” she said, sliding her hands free and powering up her tablet. “Marshall and I and a few friends have a—let’s call it a dangerous history. One that appears to have suddenly caught up to us.”
Pete listened intently as she continued.
“It wasn’t illegal or anything, at least not for the most part. In fact, our actions saved a lot of lives. But in the process we pissed off a lot of the wrong kind of people.” She pointed at his phone on the table. “That message means one or more of them are coming after us. And since my location here isn’t much of a secret, I have to assume that the only reason I’m still kicking is because of the tight security we’ve got around the trailers.”
Pete’s brow furrowed as he picked up his phone and made a call. “Wake the crew,” he said into the phone. “We got us some work to do. First off…”
She appreciated how he’d embraced the situation. They’d developed a strong bond over the years, having worked on several movies together. Ignoring his conversation with his second in command, Lacey considered her next move. The protocol was straightforward: Once the emergency message was sent she was supposed to ditch her cell phone, get her grab bag, and stay off grid as she made her way to one of the meeting points. That meant disguising her appearance, not using credit or ATM cards, and staying away from people she knew. That’s terrific, she thought, if only I had my damn phone and bag with me like I was supposed to. She took a sidelong glance at the trailer door and shivered as she wondered if someone was monitoring it through a high-powered scope.
When Jake and the rest of them had come up with a game plan against possible retribution, it had seemed like a good idea. But in the months that had followed, she’d allowed herself to accept the illusion of normalcy of her life with Marshall. The Order was gone and the world was focused on rebuilding after the chaos unleashed by the alien pyramids. They were safe.
Or so she’d thought.
The tablet booted up and she typed in the Web address for the encrypted chat room that Marshall had created as the team’s secure medium for communication. By now everyone else should have checked in and a meeting place would’ve been designated. She held her breath as she entered her login password, praying that Marshall was part of the conversation string.
A window opened with a message:
You are the second person in the room.
Her heart froze.
There were thirteen people on the emergency list. Each of them should have logged in hours ago. Instead, the only messages were from Jake. The first two were pleas for people to check in. The third read:
Francesca, the kids, and Timmy taken, can’t reach anyone else. I’m en route to Amsterdam. Will check back in when I land.
Amsterdam? He wouldn’t be going there unless that’s where he thought his family had been taken. And nobody else had checked in? Did that mean they’d been kidnapped as well? Or worse? But Jake’s words meant she wasn’t alone and it gave her a kernel of hope. She typed:
I’m in Rome. Marshall’s missing, likely taken, too. I’m working on a plan to get off grid. Will contact you here as soon as I’m free.
She was about to hit the Enter key when her intuition stopped her.
What if the site’s been compromised? If everyone else has been taken, isn’t it likely they’ve been interrogated? Including the children? Is someone monitoring the chat room right now, waiting to pounce on any reply to Jake’s message?
She ground her teeth in frustration as she backspaced through the message one letter at a time, each click of the keyboard feeling like another nail in her coffin. She couldn’t reach out to Jake or anyone else, at least not until she was off grid and mobile. But Marshall was alive, she insisted to herself. He has to be. And one way or another, she’d find him. But first, she damn sure had to evade the net that was surely awaiting her.
Pete hung up the phone. “I’ve got the ball rolling,” he said. “Skylar and the rest of them will be here shortly.”
“Good,” she said as a plan started to come together in her mind. “Because I’ve got a few changes I’d like to go over regarding our scene tomorrow.”
She set aside her fears and filled him in. By the time the rest of the crew arrived, Pete’s astonished reaction to her wild scheme had transitioned to an approving nod.
“It just might work,” he said.
It’d better, she thought, discounting all the things that could go wrong and focusing on one of the many lessons her father had taught her:
A single warrior fighting for his home and family is deadlier than a hundred fighting for a warlord.
Besides, if there was one thing she’d learned over the past several years, it was that with Jake Bronson in the mix, anything was possible.
Chapter 14
Rome
6:45 a.m.
THE WOMAN WHO stared back at Lacey in the mirror looked like she’d been through hell. Her face was bruised, her hair soiled, and her running outfit was dirty and torn. The film’s previous action segments had set the stage for today’s car crash a block from the Pantheon. Her character—a disavowed CIA operative whose cover had just been blown—had barely escaped with her life when the terrorist group she’d infiltrated had attacked her on a running trail in Villa Borghese park. The car chase that followed ended on the twisting narrow side street just outside Lacey’s trailer.
Life imitates art.
The makeup and wardrobe were masks, but the desperate expression on her face was real. She had gone over and over the plan and knew exactly what needed to be done. But she was scared. Sure, Pete and his crew would make sure things didn’t go south, and the two guys he’d posted outside her trailer made her feel better, but she still felt all alone. There’d been no further word from Jake or anyone else on the website, and when she’d broken protocol
and borrowed Pete’s phone to call Tony and Sarafina, whose numbers she knew by heart, neither had answered.
There was a rap on the door. “We’re ready for you, Miss Hunter.”
That’s Ms. Hunter-Erickson, thank you very much, she thought proudly. Fans and film hands alike had gotten to know her as Lacey Hunter before her marriage to Marshall a year and a half ago, and getting them to switch to her new name was next to impossible. She straightened her shoulders and commanded her features to relax. She was an actress, and it was time to go to work.
Once outside, she maintained the ruse that it was business as usual, offering casual greetings to support personnel as she made her way across the cobbled square toward the set. The two men from Pete’s crew ambled behind her.
“I got it,” Penny said, jogging toward her from the parking area, holding up a leather shoulder bag. “It was on the top shelf in the closet,” she said breathlessly. “There was no sign of Marshall.”
Lacey forced a smile, hiding a surge of anxiety at the mention of her husband. “I’m not surprised,” she said. “He’s probably getting an early morning workout.” Lacey had asked her assistant to retrieve the grab bag from her hotel room, but had kept Penny out of the loop to protect her. Fortunately, Penny was less about questions and more about getting things done.
“In the trailer?” Penny asked, holding up the bag.
“Sure. And thanks.”
“Of course,” Penny said, turning toward the trailer. “Break a leg!”
Hope not, Lacey thought, as she exchanged a knowing look with one of the men behind her. He tipped his head and followed Penny toward the trailer. He’d make sure to get the bag to Lacey when the time was right.
She continued toward the cameras, noting the pair of uniformed EMTs standing beside the ambulance that was always on station for action scenes. She silently prayed she wouldn’t need their help. The morning air was fresh and cool, but a sheen of perspiration was forming on her brow. She avoided glancing at the crowds of onlookers standing behind the barricades. Pete’s crew had photographed several suspicious targets earlier, and she’d immediately recognized one of them as the waiter who’d served the champagne flutes last night. Her anger at the sight of him probably tasted fouler than whatever drug he’d slipped into the champagne. The waiter had obviously been involved in taking Marshall—or worse—and she was champing for her chance to have a one on one with the bastard. But their plan wouldn’t allow it, at least not today. According to Pete, the waiter and two others had met with an officious-looking fourth man who’d appeared to be issuing instructions. The guy in charge had left the scene and the trio had split up to take different positions around the piazza.
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