I widened my shot again, taking in the surrounding area and hunkered down to wait for our bad guys.
For the first few minutes I resisted the urge to check my cell readout for the time every second. But ten minutes into it, the urge won out. 11:38. 11:41. 11:47. At 11:54 the butterflies in my stomach started to ramp into a full fledged frenzy, and I regretted the two gallons of caffeine that I’d consumed over the last two days.
At 11:58 my fingertips started tapping nervously on the lens.
12:00 my left foot started tapping on the pavement.
12:03 I was going into full body convulsions.
12:05 I almost wet my pants when a Dumpster lid slammed shut on the other side of the parking lot.
But at 12:11, I froze.
A large, black SUV pulled up three spaces down from Trace. And parked.
I held my breath, popping off a rapid series of shots as the driver’s side door opened and our crew cut friend got out. His buddy stepped out of the passenger side, and in the moonlight I could see the unmistakable glint of a black gun in his hand.
I shifted my vision to Trace. His jaw clenched. He’d seen the weapon, too.
“Be careful, handsome,” I whispered.
I watched as Trace drew himself up to his full height, throwing his shoulders back, pulling bravado out from where, I didn’t know. Quite likely he was drawing on every acting class he’d ever taken to pull this one off. It was the role of a lifetime. And if he didn’t nail it, it could well be his last.
I gulped down that thought, instead focusing on my part in this, popping off more shots of the pair of kidnappers as they approached Trace.
The ferrety guy held the gun straight on him as the crew cut guy said something.
Trace shook his head, pointing at the SUV. Crew Cut answered. Trace shook his head again.
Crew Cut had his back to me, so I had no chance to read his lips, but I could well imagine how the exchange was playing out. We’d agreed ahead of time that Trace didn’t show them the flash drive until we knew Jamie Lee was with them. If they realized the drive was empty before handing over the girl, we knew she was toast.
Reluctantly, Crew Cut finally nodded in Trace’s direction. He steered Trace around the SUV to the back, then opened the back door.
Trace lurched forward, his entire body shifting, the expression on his face betraying the fact that his beloved was, indeed, in the car, despite my view of nothing from this vantage point.
Again, I felt a pang of jealousy, but swallowed it down. No time for silly indulgences now.
Instead I watched as the doors closed and Ferret held out his hand. Clearly he wanted the drive now.
Trace made a gesture at the back of the SUV.
Ferret shook his head.
I saw Trace’s mouth form the word, “Fine.” Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out something small and black. The fake drive. I mentally crossed my fingers the bad guys were dumb enough to fall for this.
Luckily bad guys are almost always dumb… otherwise they’d have been able to make it as good guys.
Ferret grabbed the drive, turned it over in his hands once, then smiled, seemingly satisfied. He shoved it in his pocket.
“Excuse me?”
I yelped like a terrier and jumped a foot in the air, spinning around to find a parking cop standing next to the VW.
“Jesus, don’t do that to me!” I said, laying a hand on my heart. It was beating so hard I’d swear it was visible under my shirt.
“This your vehicle, ma’am?” he asked.
“Uh… ” This felt like a loaded question. “Kinda?”
“May I see your driver’s license, please?” he asked.
I pursed my lips together, my gaze pinging back to Trace and the SUV. “Now?”
The cop narrowed his eyes. And nodded. “Yeah. Now would be good.”
“Uh… sure. Is there a problem, officer?” I asked.
He put his hands on his hips. “You’re parked in a red zone.”
I looked down at the curb. Yep. Bright red.
Shit.
“Uh… okay… sure.” With a fleeting glance at Trace, I quickly fumbled in my bag for my ID, quickly handing it over to the guy before putting the camera lens to my eyes again. I could see Trace talking with the Crew Cut guy, pointing at the back of the truck. Clearly he was angling for them to release Jamie Lee.
“I’m going to have to call this in,” Parking Cop said, rounding to his white golf cart.
“Sure. You do that,” I said, only half listening as I watched the scene through the lens unfolding.
Trace gestured to the back of the SUV. He’d kept his side of the bargain, now it was time to let Jaime Lee go.
I had my hand hovering over the phone to call our cohorts. As soon as Jamie Lee was safe in Trace’s arms, I’d hit send and Allie and Mrs. Rosenblatt would have the place crawling with security.
Only, I realized as Ferret stepped forward, still training the gun on Trace, that we’d been naïve to think it was ever going to be that easy.
Ferret shook his head, his big white teeth gleaming in the moonlight. Nope. He had no intention of handing over his hostage yet.
Trace took a step forward.
The gun moved into his ribs.
Trace froze.
I froze.
“Ma’am, do you realize you have seven outstanding parking tickets?”
“Uh, huh. Great. Thanks,” I said automatically, my entire being focused on the scene playing out fifty yards from me.
“I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to impound your vehicle and bring you in on an outstanding ticket warrant.”
“Wait – what? Now!?’” I watched as Crew Cut then opened the back of the SUV, but instead of producing one obscenely famous brunette, he shoved Trace into the van and shut the door after him.
I had a sick sense of déjà vu as I watched Ferret step around the car and get back into the driver’s side, the lights turning on as the engine roared to life.
No, no, no, no no!
I pulled up Allie’s number on my cell and hit send. I listened to it ring.
“Ma’am, did you hear me? You’re going to have to come with me.”
Only Allie didn’t pick up.
And the SUV started pulling away.
Shit, shit, shit!
I looked at the cop, his pen hovering over his ticket pad.
I looked at my phone.
I looked at the truck pulling away,
And I made a split decision.
“Sorry, I’ll pay them, I swear!” I said. Then jumped into the VW and revved the engine.
“Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to exit the vehicle,” the parking cop yelled. “Ma’am!”
But I ignored him, instead pulling out of the parking lot as he hopped into his golf cart, radio at his ear, no doubt calling in an APB on the VW, and gave chase. At about twenty miles per hour.
Me? I was flying out of the parking lot, sailing down the ramp, one eye on the road in front of me and one on the taillights of the SUV as they whisked Trace away for the second time in as many days.
I flew onto the parking ramp, narrowly missing a limo carrying an entire bridal party sticking out of its sunroof, and just managed to catch sight of the tail end of the delivery van flying out onto LV boulevard as it pulled into traffic. Thankfully they were stopped a block ahead of me at the pedestrian crossing in front of the Excalibur, but their light turned before mine, making me do a little dance in my seat and chant, “Come on, come on, come on.”
Finally my light turned, and my tires made a screeching sound on the asphalt as I surged forward, cutting over two lanes, trying not to lose Trace.
Again.
I watched as the SUV got on the freeway, pulling onto the 15 and heading west. I followed suit and two minutes later again caught up to them as I furiously surged forward, then fell back so as not to be noticed.
We played this cat-and-mouse game for a full five minutes before the tr
uck exited the freeway, pulling off onto Jackson Street.
I did the same, searching the road ahead of me for my quarry. They turned right at the light ahead, and so did I, trying to stay a respectable two car lengths behind. Not that it mattered much. We were in an industrial part of town, one largely deserted at this time of night and without streetlights. My headlights in their rearview screamed out, whether I was five feet behind or fifty. Invisibility wasn’t an option. The best I could hope for was that I didn’t lose sight of the van.
Finally the black SUV pulled off the road, into the drive of one of the many warehouses lining the dark street. I drove past, noting the sign: Pacific Chocolates. What did you want to bet this was Buckner Boogeheim’s failed chocolate venture? I didn’t know how he figured with the flash drive, but it was clear that this was no coincidence.
I drove to the next block and flipped a U-turn, then cut my lights and doubled back to the warehouse.
I passed it again, pulling into the parking lot of the building across the street and tucked the VW behind a deserted guardhouse.
I got out and grabbed my camera, quickly jogging across the street in the dark. I rounded the front of the massive metal Pacific Chocolate’s warehouse, keeping to the shadows. I spied the SUV parked in the back. The lights were off and I could see the diver’s seats were unoccupied. My eyes cut to the building. A door led into the back, light shining through a crack underneath. Beside it was a small window. I crouched low and crab walked along the perimeter of the building, making my way to the window. I stood on tiptoe, gingerly peeking over the sill.
Inside I could see what had once been some sort of office. Now it was an abandoned desk and pair of chairs that looked like rats had been gnawing on them.
And sitting in said chairs were Trace and Jamie Lee.
Jamie Lee’s mascara was streaked down her face like she’d been crying. Trace’s back was to me so I couldn’t see his face. Ferret stood over them both, a gun in his hand as he spoke to Trace. I wished I could hear what he was saying, but it was just a faint murmur from here.
I grabbed my cell from my pocket and dialed Allie’s number again. I hit send and listened to it ring once on the other end before Allie’s voice came on.
“Cam? Is that you?”
But just as I was about to answer her, I heard a sound behind me.
Uh oh.
I spun around…
Too late.
Pain exploded behind my right ear, and I was suddenly staring at the ground.
The last thing I heard before everything went black was Allie’s far away voice shouting, “Cam? Speak up, Cam, I can’t hear you!”
Chapter Twenty
I have no idea how much time passed, but when I finally opened my eyes, I felt as if I’d been asleep for days, my eyes heavy, my limbs stiff, and my head throbbing like a salsa band was practicing in there.
Slowly, I pried one eye open, then the other, making a quick assessment of the rest of me. Arms, intact. Legs, working. Mouth… felt a little like a lint trap, but all the teeth were there. Other than the goose egg I could feel blooming on my forehead, I felt pretty much okay. Though, as I tried to wiggle my fingers and toes, it became alarmingly apparent that my hands and feet were bound. Never a good sign.
I blinked back pain and disorientation, trying to get a handle on my surroundings. It was dark, but I could tell I was inside the warehouse now. Cavernous metal walls surrounded me, small windows near the ceiling affording minimal light to filter into the large room. Squinting through the dark, I saw crates piled to the left and right of me, and the floor was a cold concrete beneath the butt of my jeans. I could make out the mingling scents of must, mold, and chocolate lingering in the air.
I wiggled on the ground, testing the bonds at my hands and came up against sticky plastic. If I had to guess, I’d say I’d been duct taped.
As I wriggled, I heard a sound to my right and strained through the darkness to identify it. A large form moved in the shadows to my left. I prayed to God it wasn’t a rat.
“Hello?” I tentatively called out.
“Cam?” came the reply.
I could have cried with relief.
“Trace! Are you okay?”
“Fine. Mostly. You?”
“The same,” I said, ignoring the dull ache still throbbing in my head. “My hands and feet are bound.”
“Mine too. Hang on. I’m coming over to you,” Trace said.
I heard rustling, and a minute later the large form took the shape of Trace’s body, inch-worming along the concrete toward me on his butt. As I’d guessed, lengths of gray duct tape had been used to secure his feet together, his hands behind his back.
“Ouch,” he said as he approached, his eyes going to my forehead. “You sure you’re okay?”
I nodded.
“Liar.”
“It’s that bad, huh?”
He didn’t answer. Which didn’t do a whole lot to reassure me.
“Is Jamie Lee with you?” I asked, my eyes sweeping the area behind him as they began to adjust to the darkness.
He shook his head. “She was in the car with me, but they separated us when we got here.”
“They have the flash drive?” I asked.
He nodded solemnly.
What were the chances they weren’t checking its contents right now?
“They’re not going to be happy when they find out there’s nothing it,” I said.
“Which is why we need to find Jamie Lee and get the hell out of here before that happens.”
I nodded. “Turn around. Maybe I can get the tape off of you.”
He complied, the two of us sitting back to back, our fingers fumbling at the other’s wrists. After what felt like an eternity of grunting and twisting, I finally managed to slip my fingers under a corner of the tape at his wrists and pulled, a ripping sound causing me to do a silent “woohoo!” Five minutes later his hands were completely free, and he was undoing my bonds. We made short work of the tape at out feet, then stood, stamping feeling back into our limbs.
“Any idea where they took Jamie Lee?” I asked.
Trace looked down the rows of empty crates piled to our right and left. “I don’t know. They knocked me out. She was gone when I came to.”
I did a mental eenie-meenie-minie-mo. “Let’s go left,” I decided.
Trace nodded, leading the way through one row after another, slowly scanning the shadows for either of our gun-toting friends as we slunk around the empty crates.
I cringed as my stomach involuntarily groaned at the scent of chocolate lingering in the air.
“Shhh,” Trace said.
“Sorry,” I whispered back. I would have pointed out that it wasn’t like I could control my stomach’s response to chocolate, but I could tell Trace was too on edge to care. His posture was tense, his jaw clenched shut, his eyes unreadable black, his mind clearly with Jaime Lee. Trying not to wonder what the guys with guns had in store for her. Hoping we got to her before they could follow through.
As we rounded the last row to the left, the empty crates gave way to a series of offices along the far wall. Four doors stood open. One was closed. And light filtered out under the door.
Trace gave me a silent knowing look in the dark, then, keeping to the shadows, approached the closed door.
I followed a quick step behind, my heart beating double time.
To the right of the office door was a window, dirty horizontal blinds closing off our view. Trace and I crouched down and duck-walked underneath it. He peeked up, narrowing his eyes as he tried to see between the bottom of the blinds and the top of the sill.
“Can you see anything?” I whispered.
He nodded. “She’s here.” His voice was flat, void of all emotion. Or maybe so heavy with it that I couldn’t read one from the other, I wasn’t sure.
I moved in closer, gingerly lifting my eyes over the sill. If I closed one eye and tilted my head all the way to the left, I could just see through t
he slats of the blinds.
The abandoned office only held a few items of furniture – a small metal desk with a rusty stapler and empty pen cup on top, a couple of crates in the corner, and a straight-backed wooden chair – holding our starlet. Jamie Lee was no longer bound, but the fact that Ferret and Crew Cut were standing over her with a gun pretty much assured that she wasn’t going anywhere without force.
“What are we going to do?” I whispered in the dark.
But I quickly realized I was talking to myself.
Trace had already left the window and was at the door to the office.
“Wait! Don’t you think we should make a plan or-“
Too late.
Trace used his I-do-my-own-stunts skills once again, and before I could stop him he had his cowboy-boot-clad foot cocked back and was slamming it forward into the door. The wood around the lock splintered and the flimsy door flew inward in one swift movement.
I took half a second to be duly impressed, then jumped up and ran after him.
I hit the doorway just in time to see Trace lunge for Ferret, surprising the guy enough that he knocked the gun from his hand, the weapon sliding across the floor until it came to a rest under a metal desk.
“What the-“ Ferret went down with a hard crunch as Trace tackled him to the ground. Trace cocked Ferret square in the jaw, knocking his head back so fast I feared he’d have whiplash. He was momentarily stunned, but quickly regained his composure, sending a punch to Trace’s gut that made the air whoosh out of him in a sickening sound.
“Ohmigod, ohmigod, Trace! Do something!” Jamie Lee shouted, waving her hands in front of her in a flapping motion.
Which didn’t help Trace any, but served to spur Crew Cut into action, the hulk of a guy jumping to his pal’s aid. He grabbed Trace by the arm. Trace shook him off, but it gave Ferret just enough respite to clock Trace in the nose, rocking his head backward. I cringed. Trace was good, but two on one was hardly a fair fight.
“Ohmigod, ohmigod! Trace!” Jamie Lee screeched.
“Get her out of here!” Trace shouted to me as Crew Cut pinned the actor’s arms.
Frantically I grabbed the first thing I could lay hands on – a wooden crate of stale chocolate bars - and swung it in Crew Cut’s direction. The corner of it hit him in the back of the head with a thud hard enough to shatter the wood, sending a rain of candy bars down on the struggling trio. While it wasn’t exactly a death blow, fortunately it stunned him long enough for his grip to loosen on Trace and for me to grab Jamie Lee and haul her toward the door.
Hollywood Secrets Page 21