by Kes Trester
The driver butted in. “Where to ladies?”
Much to my relief, Hayden said, “Four Seasons.”
I slumped back on the seat. “God, I’m starving.”
Hayden perked up. “Me too.” She hit a few digits on her phone. “This is Hayden Frasier. I’d like to order room service.”
Steve’s eyes darted to the rear view mirror, but he wasn’t checking us out. He did it again, and then again, his brow furrowing deeper each time.
I leaned forward. “What is it?” I asked quietly in Arabic so as not to alert Hayden.
His eyes widened. “I’ve made three turns in the last eight blocks, and a black SUV has stayed with us,” he said, answering me in the same language. “Maybe it’s just paparazzi, but they were parked outside the club, too.”
Every tabloid editor in town knew where we were staying, so it probably didn’t matter, but my training insisted otherwise.
“Can you lose them?”
His eyes crinkled in amusement. “Buckle up.”
I did as instructed and gestured for Hayden to do the same, mouthing “paparazzi” at her. She nodded absently as she continued her phone call and reached for her seatbelt.
I’d downloaded a traffic app before we’d left Harrington and pulled it up now. “7th Avenue is jammed at 34th,” I informed Steve, nervous about being boxed in even if it was just by overzealous photographers.
He took a screeching left through a yellow light and found a parallel route, but two minutes later the SUV was back. Steve muttered a word I’d only heard once during an argument over a parking spot in Karachi, and though I didn’t know the translation, its meaning was clear.
“Sorry,” he apologized, catching my eye.
“No problem.” I consulted my phone again. “Turn right! Turn right!” The street directly ahead was stalled with bumper-to-bumper traffic. He hit the gas and veered into the right lane, cutting off a taxi as we made the turn. The yellow cab laid on the horn and slammed on its brakes, forcing the SUV behind it to do the same.
“Great driving!” I exclaimed, feeling sure we’d be safely delivered to the hotel long before they could catch up.
“What language is that?” Hayden had finished her phone call and regarded me with bemusement.
“The holy language of Islam,” Steve cheerfully volunteered from the front seat. “Your friend speaks it quite well.”
Hayden stared at me another moment. “Aren’t you full of surprises?”
Twenty minutes later we were back in the suite, sitting barefoot around a giant tablecloth spread on the carpet in front of a picture window. I probably should have alerted Karen and Major Taylor about the suspicious SUV, but a very accommodating waiter had laid out what appeared to be everything on the hotel menu, and now Hayden and I were happily passing plates back and forth. This was my idea of dinner.
“You handled yourself really well tonight. My friends can be a total pain in the ass,” Hayden said, grabbing a toasted wedge of grilled gruyere cheese with bacon and tomatoes before passing it over. “You’ve got to have one of these.”
I took the plate, confused by her compliment. “I don’t get it. Why did we hang out with people like that douchebag Overstreet if you don’t like them?” There was something about sitting cross-legged on the floor and picking at food with your fingers that invited honesty.
“You wouldn’t understand.” It was the same evasive answer she gave when I’d asked why she allowed Quinn to use her as a stepladder.
“Maybe if you talk slowly and use short words, I can keep up.”
She took another bite of her sandwich and eyed me like I was one of those sleeping vipers you find in the more exotic marketplaces of Pakistan. Mostly they were sluggish and slow to attack, but that didn’t mean they weren’t dangerous.
“You remind me a lot of Rose,” she said. “That’s a compliment, by the way.”
“I’m sorry I’ll never get the chance to meet her.” I suddenly realized that with all the other drama going on, the phone stashed under my mattress had completely fallen through the cracks. I resolved to dig it out as soon as we returned.
Hayden reached for the fries. “Rose was the first person I’d met in a long time who didn’t treat friendship like a transaction.”
“That’s kind of gross,” I blurted.
She scowled. “I told you, you wouldn’t understand.”
“Actually, I think I do.” My dad had dated several eligible women in the years since my mother’s death, but like Benson, he always ended it before it got too serious. He joked the romances didn’t last because he could never find a girl as special as me, but as I grew up it was more likely he was afraid to open himself up again. Benson once told me my father was a different man after the death of my mom.
“I get why people want to be your friend,” I said, swiping the fries before she could eat them all. “I also understand why you’d keep your distance from people like that. What I don’t get is why you’d hang out with people like Overstreet to begin with.”
“You mean why don’t I stay home and read a book or watch a movie?” She described my usual Saturday night with derision.
“Well, yeah.” I took a bite of lobster ravioli and practically swooned. “Oh, my God, you have to try this.”
We’d polished off the pasta when she said, “There are certain expectations that come with being the daughter of people like my parents.”
Starting to fill up, I dropped my fork and reached for the covered tray we’d been saving for last. I lifted the lid to reveal a tasting assortment of artfully arranged desserts.
“You’re right,” I said with mock severity. “From now on, I will expect you to always order enough desserts to put us both into diabetic comas.”
She snorted with laughter. “I’m serious. If I’m not seen in the right places with the right people, I’ll become Tory Palmer’s loser daughter or Stephen Frasier’s socially inept child. That stuff can follow you around for life.”
“Okay, so you want to polish your public image, I get that.” I dragged a spoon through the most amazing brownie sundae known to mankind. “But why Quinn?”
Hayden attacked a caramel cheesecake with single-minded determination, and I wondered if I’d pushed too far. After a few bites she said, “After Rose… it was easier not to fight it, you know?” She glanced up, and I could read the sadness on her face.
I didn’t know, but there were a lot of things in Hayden’s life I hoped I’d never have to experience.
I gazed out the window at the carpet of lights Manhattan became when viewed from fifty stories up. It was seductive, as was the wealth and power making our every wish a reality from the moment we’d arrived, but I wouldn’t want to trade places with her. All the money in the world could never make up for parents who left their kids to navigate such a treacherous world all on their own.
“Maybe you should give yourself time to figure out what you want, not what other people want or need you to be. You might actually like staying in and watching a movie on a Friday night.” I shrugged with a self-deprecating smile. “I do.”
She groaned. “Wouldn’t you know I get the only roommate at Harrington whose idea of a hot date is a remote control.” She followed her words with a warm smile. I had a feeling I might have more company on the sofa next Friday.
I scooped up a bite of pumpkin crème brulee topped with whipped cream and chocolate shavings. “Oh, my God….” I moaned in ecstasy.
She grinned. “I know, right?” She started in on the other end. “My dad and I order this every time we’re here.”
“It can’t be that often,” I said, pointedly gazing at her perfect figure.
“It’ll be a lot more soon, at least for my dad. His assistant said we couldn’t use the suite for the next few weeks because he’ll be in town. Apparently his new software program has been fast-tracked.”
The spoon froze halfway to my mouth. Had the announced deadline been a ruse to throw off competitors, or had the
delivery date truly been moved up? What, if anything, did Karen know about this? My mind raced at the implications.
“C’mon,” she urged, oblivious to my sudden shift in mood. “Don’t make me eat this all by myself.”
I’d instantly lost interest in dessert but took another bite to be social. “Has your dad told you what he’s working on?” Hopefully he’d shared some of his project details with her.
“Yeah,” she said, growing thoughtful. “It’s supposed to be the ultimate code-breaking software, but I don’t know if that’s a good idea. He’s says if everyone knows each other’s secrets, it’ll end wars before they can even start. The thing is, though, I think it might be dangerous.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Our house in Silicon Valley is guarded like a prison these days with, like, triple the usual number of security. I wish he’d either stop the project or give it away to everyone.” She was smart and observant. Surely she’d seen the possibility of being used as a pawn in the high-stakes game her father waged.
“Have you ever thought you might be in danger, too?” I asked.
She tossed her head, glossing over any fears. “It’s not like I have anything to do with it.”
Now I knew she hadn’t been drinking vodka all night as she’d appeared. My dad called alcohol the great truth serum, and if ever there was an occasion to admit there might be trouble ahead, it was now.
leeping until noon was a rare luxury unless I was sick, or more recently, nursing a hangover. Both Dad and Benson rose with the chickens, and they insisted everyone else did the same. When I stumbled into the suite’s dining room at midday, Hayden was drinking coffee and watching some reality show about buying wedding dresses. I poured a cup and sat down in front of the big screen.
When a Southern bride-to-be burst into tears because her mom called her choice of dress tasteless and tacky, Hayden asked, “Brunch and shopping before we drive back?”
“Game on,” I replied. “Let me grab a shower.”
Going shopping, I texted Karen from the bathroom.
Again??? Karen must have seen the charges already.
SF may have moved up the timeline for delivery. That should take her mind off my spending.
She fired back, Is HF the source?
Yes. BTW, we got followed by a black SUV last night. Probably nothing… I texted just as my battery died. I’d forgotten to pack my charger, but maybe Hayden had one in the car.
I turned on the shower and slipped out of my PJs. Stepping into the hot water, the anticipation of hitting up Barney’s shoe department for the second time in a month filled me with excitement. If Karen texted me again, I didn’t know or care.
It was late afternoon when we finally revved up the Mercedes and drove out of the city. It had been one of the best weekends of my life, a fantasy made all the better for knowing it had an expiration date. Admittedly, there had been a moment at Barney’s that was pretty cool.
We were strolling through the store on the way to the shoe department when one of the salesgirls who’d helped outfit me weeks earlier crossed my path. “Good to see you again, Miss Collins.” She smiled as she passed, not even noticing the celebutante beside me. The stunned look on Hayden’s face was priceless.
We’d left New York behind and were sailing along the multi-lane highway cutting through Connecticut. I envied Hayden her confidence behind the wheel. I hadn’t gotten my license yet because driving in Karachi was practically a death sentence. Between non-existent lanes, craters laughingly called potholes, and no discernable speed limit, it was easier to get in a taxi and close your eyes. Odds were you would get where you were going in one piece.
The music blasted, and while my phone charged, I idly admired the passing scenery as it became more rural. I hadn’t yet tired of the concept of trees. At some point I became aware Hayden had sped up and began changing lanes abruptly.
I straightened up and looked around. “What’s going on?”
“Damn paparazzi have been following us for miles,” she complained. “I’ve tried to put some distance between us, but they’re getting closer.”
I checked out the side mirror. My body went cold when I saw the black SUV. If Stephen Frasier had fast-tracked Rosetta, maybe threats against his family had been fast-tracked, too. Hayden had given the local photographers so many photo ops, she was bound to be on the cover of every magazine next week. There was no reason for them to follow us out of state.
I picked up my phone, the only weapon I had. “I’m calling 911.” I’d been smart enough to bring my Prada tote, but foolish enough to toss it in the trunk.
“I can lose these fools,” she said. “My mom sent me to stunt driving school for exactly this reason.” She stepped on the gas, and the Mercedes shot forward.
The SUV did the same, cutting off another car in a dangerous maneuver. I had a very bad feeling about this.
“9-1-1, what is your emergency?” The operator’s calm voice was in complete opposition to my growing fear. While Hayden whipped the car around drivers who honked at us in irritation, I quickly explained our situation.
“Paparazzi are following you?” Her tone held a faint note of dismissal.
“Would you please send help?” I was sure by now the people behind us weren’t photographers, but I also didn’t want to blow my cover.
The SUV gained on us. Hayden drove like she spent weekends competing in NASCAR races, but our pursuers were taking huge risks. Several other drivers had been forced to slam on their brakes, and the SUV only narrowly avoided a major collision. It was a miracle nobody had been killed yet. What would they do if they caught up to us? Surely they didn’t want to run us off the road. A live Hayden was much more valuable than a dead one, or at least I hoped.
The operator’s voice cut into my racing thoughts. “We have units in the area. They are converging on your location.”
Our pursuers pulled up along the driver’s side, and I fumbled the phone. Two very familiar men were in the black SUV: the driver wore a distinctive mustache in place of an upper lip, and his passenger peered at us through horn-rimmed glasses. They hadn’t been checking out the drug dealing DJ at the nightclub last night after all.
“Watch out!” I yelled, as the driver yanked the wheel in our direction. Despite my ambiguous warning, Hayden smartly jerked the wheel and sent the car flying into the far right lane.
“They’re trying to kill us!” Hayden sounded more affronted than frightened, as if she still believed the assailants were crazed fans.
“Get off, get off!” An exit was fast approaching and with any luck, the SUV wouldn’t be able to whip over in time. We shot down the curving off-ramp at a speed that might have doomed the larger vehicle if they’d been able to negotiate the last second maneuver. The Mercedes barely held onto the ramp as it was, the tires squealing in protest as we ricocheted onto the road below. I unconsciously braced for impact.
Hayden sped through a stop sign without pause. “Now what?”
“Just go! They will probably get off at the next exit and backtrack, so put as much distance as you can between us and the highway!”
Taking a perpendicular tact away from the highway, we whipped through a small town’s commercial district—thankfully quiet at this time on a Sunday—before zipping through a tree-lined neighborhood of pretty little homes. Several anxious glimpses behind us revealed we were alone, but Hayden wasn’t slowing down, which was fine by me. We had just ripped down the area’s main street at a high rate of speed when the sirens sounded. Thank God.
I picked up the phone from where it had been sliding across the floor. “Are you still there?”
“Yes, ma’am,” answered the operator. “Did you lose your paparazzi?”
“Yes,” I said, letting out a sigh of relief, “and the police are here.”
Hayden pulled over, with the squad car tucking in right behind.
“Not state police if you’re off the Interstate,” she warned. “The units I sent are st
ill searching the ninety-one.”
An insistent tap on my window alerted me there was a rather displeased police officer demanding my attention. He was most likely a local of whatever small town we’d just blown through, unaware of our brush with two predators whose agenda was still unclear to me. I rolled down the window and smiled.
“Hello, Officer.”
“Turn off the car, and hang up the phone,” he promptly ordered. Every button on his uniform sparkled, the creases on his pants sharp enough to cut, and he wore his hair at regulation length and not a centimeter more. This guy meant business.
I held up the phone. “But…”
He plucked it from my hand, punched “end”, and set it on the dash. I shot a look of trepidation at Hayden, who immediately shut off the ignition and unleashed her famous smile. “I’m so glad to see you, Officer. The most dreadful thing just happened…”
Her words dried up at his unrelenting stare. “License and registration.”
While she was digging through her cluttered Birkin bag, another officer appeared at her window. It must be a slow day. She thrust the requested items at the new arrival, an older and less polished version of his partner.
He looked them over a moment before asking incredulously, “This is your car?”
Hayden’s mouth tightened in indignation. We were both shaken by what just happened, but losing it with these guys wouldn’t help.
Don’t do it, don’t do it… I silently chanted. Law enforcement officers, from military MPs to the armed henchman who stood loyally by the side of the village chieftain, were all generally cast from the same mold. They were expected to be invisible until beckoned, mete out justice with the wisdom of Solomon, and check their egos at the door. The only thing they asked for in return was respect. I had a horrible feeling Hayden hadn’t learned this particular life lesson.
“Of course it’s my car,” she snapped. “Who else would it belong to? Don’t you even want to know why we were running for our lives?”