“I’m confused. How does everyone else in the office know her? And why don’t you want one of the other new transfers to work this with me? And what does it matter that I’m not a woman?”
Elias chuckled at the last question. “It matters that you’re not a woman because Kendra has a protective grandfather, but I’m going to trust that you won’t give him reason to worry. And Kendra has been into this office dozens of times over the past few years with her grandfather. She even performed a benefit concert for us to help raise money when Ray Underwood’s little girl was fighting cancer. She hasn’t just seen the other agents. She’s talked to them and knows most of them by name,” Elias explained. He lifted one hand and gestured vaguely toward the door. “As for giving you backup, the other three agents are heavily involved in cases I can’t pull them off of right now. With where you’ll be staying, we won’t have to worry about anyone tracking Kendra down.”
Elias went on to explain that the assignment was actually in Pinewood, a sleepy summer town twenty miles south of Flagstaff, and then relayed William’s plans for Charlie’s living arrangements.
Charlie listened intently and then finally asked, “Do you really think Kendra will even let me talk to her? She has to be freaked out about what happened at her concert.”
“William mentioned to her that a lawyer friend of his would be staying in one of his cabins. She’s only a couple of years younger than you, and with your family background, I’m sure you can find some common ground.”
The muscle in Charlie’s jaw jumped. “Excuse me?”
Hit a sore spot, Elias thought to himself, even as he appreciated how quickly Charlie controlled his emotions. “You were raised in the fishbowl of Washington politics. Kendra grew up in the limelight of Hollywood. That should give you some common ground.”
“Forgive me, sir, but how did you know about my family? I didn’t think background checks were included in personnel files.”
“Normally they aren’t, but because of the sensitivity of this assignment, I asked headquarters to fax yours to me.”
Charlie nodded, his lips drawing together in a thin line. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d appreciate it if that information could stay between us.”
“Don’t worry, Charlie. You won’t get any special treatment here.” Elias stood up and glanced at his watch. “I’m going to have Ray Underwood coordinate with the LAPD about the bombing at Kendra’s concert. I want you to hand off all your active cases to him so he can reassign them for now. Then go home and pack. I want you settled into that cabin by this afternoon.”
Charlie stood as well and nodded.
“And, Charlie?”
“Yeah?”
“Remember, this is a sensitive situation. I expect you to keep the details to yourself and report directly to me.”
“Yes, sir.”
Chapter 6
Snowflakes danced in the wind as they drifted downward. Kendra switched her windshield wipers to high. The roads were becoming more treacherous by the minute. When her grandfather had checked the weather reports two hours ago, the forecaster had insisted that this winter storm would hit well north of Flagstaff and miss Pinewood completely. Obviously, someone had miscalculated.
Her fingers gripped the steering wheel tightly as she took her exit, slowly steering the car down the ramp that led into town. The roads were already covered with several inches of snow, and only a single set of tire tracks disturbed the pristine white.
She shook her head as she considered her current situation. She couldn’t fathom who would want to hurt her, and the events of last night seemed more like a bad dream than reality. She’d heard of obsessed fans—people who developed an unhealthy fixation on public figures—but she didn’t have any of those. Or did she?
She let out a sigh and forced the tension from her shoulders. She had to be safe now. She still felt bad that she had left her manager to deal with her family and the police, but at least her concert tour was basically over. Only tonight’s concert would have to be canceled.
Kendra wasn’t sure what story her manager would fabricate about why she had dropped out of sight, but she was relatively certain that whatever was printed in the newspapers was likely to be a work of fiction. He wouldn’t want to tell the American public that she had gone into hiding because she’d had a panic attack—even if it had been justified.
Perhaps that’s what scared her the most: the fact that both the police and her grandfather believed that she was the target of the bomb at her concert. She understood why her grandfather wanted her to let the FBI handle everything, but she also knew she couldn’t live like that again. She couldn’t live under the microscope they would put her under. If he thought she would be safe hiding out in Pinewood, certainly she would be.
Her grandfather had insisted on taking several precautions, beginning with having her drive her classic Mustang from LA to Phoenix instead of the new car she’d bought the year before. He’d explained that her new car had a GPS tracking system, as did her cell phone, which was why she now had a disposable cell phone in her purse. Her regular one was turned off and tucked in one of her dresser drawers at home. She had also started using cash so no one would be able to track her credit card activity.
Already, her appearance was quite different from her public image. Her long blonde hair was pulled up in a ponytail that fed through the back of her baseball cap, and her face was clear of makeup. Even the most devoted fans would have to look twice before seeing any resemblance between the woman she was at the moment and the successful singer she had built herself into.
She checked her rearview mirror to make sure, once again, that no one was following her. Relieved that there weren’t any cars in sight, she focused once more on the town ahead. The little town wasn’t much more than a few businesses on the main road and a lot of vacation homes.
Parking lots were empty and snow covered, except for a pickup truck in front of the only diner in town. If memory served, the owner was one of the few people who lived in Pinewood year round. Sure enough, smoke curled from the chimney of the little cabin right behind the diner.
Kendra smiled to herself as she considered that she was finally about to find out what real privacy was all about. She tried to remember the last time she had been alone, really alone, and couldn’t come up with a single memory. Someone was always tagging along behind her to keep her on schedule or to make sure no one got too close to her.
She came to a stop sign, her car skidding a bit as she turned onto the dirt road that led farther up the mountain. Part of her hoped the snow would continue until she wouldn’t have a choice but to stay for a while. She knew the weather was unpredictable here, especially during the month of February.
Her car struggled upward, the snow getting deeper as she climbed higher up the mountain. Realizing that her car wasn’t likely to make it up the steep hill in front of her, she turned a block early, intending to circle around and come in the back way. She edged down the road parallel to her family’s cabin, pleased that the car was now able to make steady progress. She turned at the next crossroad, and the vehicle immediately slid toward the center of the road. Kendra tried to compensate, but she angled too sharply, and the car came to a rumbling stop at the side of the road.
“Great,” Kendra muttered to herself. She tried to ease the car forward but to no avail. Then she shifted into reverse. The car rocked back a few inches, but when she tried to move forward again, the wheels simply spun in the deepening snow.
She leaned her head against the wheel, exhaustion and frustration pushing her emotions to the edge. Tears threatened but were quickly conquered. Only another quarter mile and she would be safe and warm. That thought kept her going, giving her the strength to push the car door open and step out into the snow. Immediately, she looked down at her sandals and the snow that seeped between her toes. Then she studied the car tires. One look was all it took to realize that her car wasn’t going anywhere.
She popped open t
he trunk so she could change into her tennis shoes. She stared at the contents as reality hit her. Her gym bag with her tennis shoes was indeed in the trunk of her car. Her other car. She was going to have to carry her things more than a quarter of a mile in the snow, wearing sandals. Remembering her grandfather’s insistence that she check in as soon as she got to Pinewood, she got back into the car to call him, deliberately omitting the fact that her car was stuck in the snow and that her only decent pair of shoes was still in California.
With her cell phone still in hand, she circled to the back of the car once more. Realizing that she wasn’t going to want to make a second trip anytime soon, she set her phone down and consolidated the groceries she’d brought with her and the most essential clothing and overnight items into one suitcase. Then she slipped her purse over her shoulder, lifted her suitcase with one hand, and grabbed her guitar case with the other.
* * *
“How can you not know where she is?” Sterling Blake demanded. He hadn’t slept except in snatches on the long flight across the country. Then he had gotten off the plane only to find a message on his voice mail from Bruce Parsons telling him that Kendra had left her house before Bruce and Alan had arrived. He stood in the living room of his Malibu home and glared at the two men now. “You were sent to protect her.”
“We talked to her manager,” Bruce said, his voice tense. “Apparently, after she spoke with you, she left him a note saying that she needed a few weeks to herself, and she left the house.”
“You’ve got to have some way to track her.”
“We’re trying,” Alan said hesitantly. He was a younger version of his father, with dark hair and serious eyes. “We know she withdrew several hundred dollars from an ATM machine near her house, and there was a charge on one of her credit cards outside of Riverside.”
“Which car is she driving?”
“The ’69 Mustang,” Bruce answered. “It doesn’t have GPS capability, and she left her phone at the house.”
“She’s probably heading for the house in Palm Springs or her condo in Phoenix.” Sterling shook his head, mystified about why his daughter would run away like this. “Send someone to both places in case she shows up. I don’t want her unprotected.”
Both men nodded and then quickly left the room.
* * *
Kendra’s feet were frozen, her back and shoulders aching as she trudged forward. The snow was still falling steadily and would have been beautiful to watch . . . had she been sitting inside, watching it through a window. Instead, she could feel the flakes accumulating on her head and shoulders, melting through her baseball cap and into her hair. Her body shivered, her teeth chattered, and she tried not to think about the pain shooting through her bare toes.
The cabin was in view now, and Kendra smiled, or she would have smiled if she’d been able to feel her face. One painful step after another, she edged closer to the wooden structure. It was modest, she supposed, by her parents’ standards, a mere six bedrooms, instead of the ten that her father had originally planned. Her grandparents had convinced him to scale back on the size and the luxuries, opting instead to build a second, smaller cabin across the street for when all of the extended family visited at the same time.
She could vaguely remember when the construction had begun on the big cabin the summer of her fourth birthday. The summer of her father’s first Oscar-winning performance.
The security had started then—the constant presence of household staff and bodyguards. The big Hollywood star couldn’t take any chances with his family’s safety. Looking back now, she realized those early days hadn’t been all that bad. The security during her childhood hadn’t been anything compared to what had come in her teenage years.
Kendra pushed aside the thoughts of her childhood home and how smothered she had felt there. Had it not been for her father’s demanding acting career and the stifling atmosphere of her home in Malibu, she doubted she would have spent so much time with her grandparents growing up. Without them, she might never have discovered the gospel and the joy it could bring her.
Sometimes it was hard to believe that her father had been raised Mormon, but even though he had abandoned most of the practices long before she was born, one thing was certain: family still came first for him.
A twinge of guilt shot through her as she considered how worried he would be. She thought of how she must look right now, snow-covered and frozen, and was suddenly glad he couldn’t see her. For now, she would have to trust her grandfather to somehow assure her dad that she was okay without revealing her location. He mentioned this morning that he was going to tell her father that she had called him to let him know what had happened. Where the conversation would go from there, she couldn’t be sure.
Kendra crossed the yard to the cabin and carefully climbed the steps to the front porch. She set the suitcase down in the snow and then struggled to fish her key out of her purse, despite the numbness in her fingers. Her hand trembled as she finally managed to grasp hold of the key and slide it into the lock.
She pushed the door open, barely remembering to grab her suitcase off the porch as she hurried inside. The furniture in the expansive living area had been replaced since she’d been here last. Several oversized chairs were clustered near the fireplace, and two loveseats were angled in the other corner of the room, facing the armoire that housed the television and DVD player. A few logs and some newspapers were stacked beside the fireplace. Kendra immediately reached for the thermostat beside the door and turned on the heat. Then she dropped her things on a loveseat and crossed the room to start a fire.
Her fingers were cold and red, and it took her a few minutes to accomplish what would normally have been a simple task. As soon as she was confident about the leaping flames, she closed the screen and plopped into the closest chair. She kicked off her soaking wet sandals and then realized that she would feel infinitely better if she were wearing dry clothes.
She shrugged out of her coat, pulled some dry clothes from her suitcase, and changed right there in the living room. She didn’t worry about the mess she made in the process. All she could think about was getting warm.
Reaching for her grandmother’s afghan off one of the loveseats, she curled up in a chair by the fire and pulled it over her legs. The smell of burning wood lingered in the air, and the warmth of the fire seeped into the room. Slowly, the shivering stopped, and her chattering teeth quieted. As the feeling began to return to her hands and feet, she settled back into the chair and let herself drift off to sleep.
Chapter 7
Charlie navigated the unfamiliar roads through the steadily falling snow. He hadn’t thought to check the weather reports before starting out. This was Arizona. He had never really considered that only two hours north of the Phoenix desert, he would find a full-blown winter snow storm, and now he found himself wondering exactly how much accumulation was expected here in the mountains.
He glanced down at the handmade map Elias had provided for him after he’d realized Google Maps and MapQuest couldn’t find the place. Now he could understand why. Street signs were in short supply and, rather than addresses, the properties were referred to by lot number. Without knowing where the cabin was, it was unlikely anyone was going to find it without help from someone who had been there before.
Charlie flipped on the radio and searched for a local station, hoping for a clue as to how much snow Pinewood was supposed to get. A foot of snow had already accumulated on the ground, and Charlie was immediately grateful that he was still driving the beat up four-wheel-drive he’d bought after returning home from his mission.
He made his final turn, the rear wheels sliding as he did so. Then he looked down the narrow road and wondered if he was lost. The snow on the road was pristine, and there weren’t any vehicles parked outside the cabins that his map identified as belonging to the Blake family.
He edged his vehicle down the narrow road and parked near the cabin that he hoped was his temporary quarters. H
e climbed out of his SUV, trudged through the snow to the front door, and tried the key Elias had given him. The key turned smoothly, and Charlie narrowed his eyes.
If he was in the right place, then where was Kendra? He breathed in the smell of burning wood and turned to look at the cabin across the road. Then he saw it: the smoke coming from the chimney.
* * *
Kendra heard the knocking but didn’t bother to open her eyes. Dustin or her butler would answer the door. When the knocking continued, she forced her eyes open and looked around. It took her a few seconds to get her bearings, to remember where she was and why she was there.
Her heartbeat immediately quickened as questions raced through her mind. Had she been followed? Had that bomb backstage really been meant for her? And who would want to hurt her?
Fear pulsed through her, irrational and strong. She pushed herself out of the chair, her grandmother’s afghan pooling at her feet as she slipped on her shoes. She didn’t consider the snow on the ground or her lack of transportation as she started for the back door, already planning her escape.
Then she heard a man’s voice penetrate the closed door. “Kendra, are you in there? It’s Charlie Whitmore. I’m a friend of your grandfather’s.”
Kendra stopped and turned to look at the front door as though staring at it would explain everything. Then the rest of Charlie’s words sank in. Her grandfather had mentioned that a friend of his was staying in the little cabin.
Obviously, if Charlie had been in Phoenix yesterday getting the keys from her grandfather, he couldn’t have been involved in the incident at her concert. Not to mention, her grandfather must trust this guy or he never would have suggested Kendra come up here by herself, knowing that he was around.
Still cautious, she drew in a deep breath and slowly crossed the room. Pulling the curtains back, she peeked out the window beside the door. The man standing in the falling snow was younger than she’d expected, probably only a couple years older than she was. His hands were tucked into his ski jacket; his Georgetown University sweatshirt visible beneath it. He pulled a hand free of his pocket and brushed at the snow accumulating in his short blond hair.
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