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CHAPTER ELEVEN

LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA

FRIDAY, MARCH 17, 2023

9:00 P.M.

By the time the guy walked past, Cami had the phone to her mouth and was apparently studying the screen. In reality, she was using her camera app to capture a video of the new arrival’s image as reflected in the overhead mirrors while he moved past. She immediately replayed the video and was gratified to see that, as he walked behind her, he had turned in her direction. Fortunately, he hadn’t looked up and caught her examining him in the mirror at the same time. But that frame was the one Cami needed. When it came to doing a facial rec search, it would work perfectly.

She immediately forwarded the video to Frigg, using the bright red script that identified the message as a howler, one that required the AI’s immediate attention. Grace, seemingly realizing that Cami was now preoccupied with her phone, had finally quit talking. That allowed Cami to insert her ear buds.

“Good evening, Cami,” Frigg said in greeting. “I hope you had a pleasant day. How can I be of service?”

“ Konbanwa ,” Cami said, returning the greeting in Japanese and using her brightest and most cheerful tone of voice.

The seamless switch over to Japanese was a calculated risk on Cami’s part. She was reasonably sure that neither of the people present in the room would be able to understand her. Since Frigg had helped tutor Cami in Japanese, she was bound to understand, but for the briefest of moments, even the AI seemed baffled.

“Is there a reason you are now speaking Japanese?” she asked.

“I need help,” Cami said urgently again in Japanese. “I need facial rec on the guy in the video I just sent you.”

“On it,” Frigg said.

Cami ended the call and removed her ear buds. “Who was that?” Grace asked.

“My boss,” Cami answered.

“What language were you speaking?”

“Japanese.”

“Your boss is Japanese?”

Cami nodded. “He lives in Tokyo.”

“Boy,” Grace said with a laugh, “back when I was working, I would have loved having a boss who lived on a different continent or even on a different planet.” With that, she stopped walking, switched off her treadmill, and held up her phone in triumph. The green numbers on the phone read 10,002. “I’m done,” she announced. “I’ve got today’s ten.”

There was no way Cami intended to be left alone in the fitness center with the gun-packing guy who was now diligently lifting weights and apparently not paying the least bit of attention to them. This was Cami’s chance to get the hell out of there, and she intended to take it.

“I’m beat, too,” she said to Grace. “If you’re signing off for the night, so am I.”

Moments later, the two women exited the room one after another and headed toward the elevator that was next door to the fitness center. The Lancaster was laid out as a long L. The fitness center was located next to the elevator, which was at the near end of the long part of the L. Next door, on the short part of the corridor, was a supply room and a laundry facility. Beyond that was the stairwell.

Cami hurried into the elevator and pressed the button for her floor, number ten. “What floor?” she asked.

“I’m on five,” Grace returned.

Then, just as the door was about to close Cami reversed course and exited the elevator. “I almost forgot,” she said over her shoulder. “I need to stop by the front desk. You go on up. I’ll catch the next one.”

With that she darted off the elevator, around the corner, past the supply room and laundry, and into the stairwell. Holding her breath and hoping her pursuer hadn’t caught sight of her, Cami raced down a flight of concrete stairs. She had just reached the landing on the ground floor when an overhead door slammed open, followed by heavy steps pounding in the stairwell. Much to Cami’s relief, the steps were headed up instead of down.

Holding her breath, Cami silently let herself out on the ground floor, easing the heavy door shut behind her. Then, rather than heading for the lobby, she made straight for what she knew to be the service entrance in and out of the kitchen. Slipping soundlessly into the noisy mayhem, Cami went looking for Chef Robert. As soon as she caught his eye, he hurried over to her, obviously registering her concern.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

“Someone’s after me,” she told him tersely. “I need a place to hide.”

“Really?” he asked in astonishment.

“Really.”

Gesturing for his second-in-command to take over, Chef Robert grabbed Cami’s hand and led her into the tiny cubicle that served as his private office.

“What’s wrong?” he demanded, slamming the door shut behind them. “Are you in danger?”

She nodded.

“Do you want me to call 911?”

“Oh, no,” she told him. “Please don’t do that.”

“What do you want me to do, then?”

“Just let me sit here and think for a minute,” she said. “Go back out there before anyone realizes something is wrong. I have your number. I’ll call you once I figure it out.”

In actual fact, Cami already had something in mind. Years earlier, on a business trip to London, there had been good reason to believe that both Ali and Cami might be in some kind of danger. To counteract that, B. had called on one of his longtime associates, Sonja Bjornson, whose company, Wonder Woman Security, provided bodyguards and security details for any number of high-profile female clients. Naturally the company headquarters was in L.A., where WWS operatives oversaw the comings and goings of many of Hollywood’s female A-listers. Once Cami had headed out on the road on her own, B. had given her WWS’s contact information and directed her to connect with them directly if she ever felt she was in any kind of jeopardy.

I’m in jeopardy now , Cami thought.

With surprisingly unsteady fingers, she fumbled her phone out of her pocket, located Sonja’s number in her contacts list, and dialed.

“This is the WWS answering service. To whom am I speaking?”

Great , Cami thought. The last thing I need is to be stuck talking to an answering machine. Nonetheless, she continued. “My name is Camille Lee, Cami for short.”

She heard the rapid clatter of fingers on a computer keyboard. Obviously this was a person as opposed to an answering machine.

“Would you be the Camille Lee who’s employed by High Noon Enterprises?” the voice on the other end of the line inquired.

The efficiency of that took Cami by surprise. “Yes, I am,” she answered.

“Are you currently in danger?”

“I believe so, yes,” Cami said. “I’m at a hotel in L.A. Someone wearing a firearm appears to be following me. The first time I saw him was tonight at dinner when he turned up in the dining room. Then, a little while ago when I was in the fitness room, he showed up there, too. When I left, I’m pretty sure he tried to follow me.”

“Tried?”

“I was spooked when I left the fitness center, so I used the stairs instead of the elevator. I heard someone enter the stairwell on the floor above me. Luckily, he ran up instead of down. Otherwise he would have caught me.”

“Where are you now?”

“In the hotel kitchen. The head chef stowed me in his office.”

“Which hotel?”

“The Lancaster.”

“One moment.”

Cami waited, trying not to hold her breath. Seconds later the operator came back on the line. “I have the Lancaster’s layout right here in front of me. There’s a loading dock at the back of the building that opens onto an alley. I can have a car and driver at your location within the next ten to fifteen minutes. Is that acceptable?”

Help was coming far sooner than Cami dreamed possible. “Absolutely.”

“One moment, please.” Once again the line went silent.

“I have a male driver named Jake on duty right now,” the operator said once she returned. “Once he arrives on scene, he’ll wait near the stairs at the far end of the loading dock. After he arrives, he’ll text you on this number. His text will say, ‘Jake’s here. Jake, from State Farm.’ Stay where you are until you know he’s there. When you come out onto the loading dock, he’ll blink his lights twice. If the text is wrong or if the lights don’t blink twice, don’t get in the vehicle. Do you understand?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Cami said. “Jake from State Farm and two blinks.”

“Once you’re safely in the vehicle and out of harm’s way, we’ll determine what to do next.”

With that, the call ended so abruptly Cami wasn’t even able to say thank you. In the interim that followed, she could have called any number of people—Mateo, Ali and B., or even her parents. Instead she called no one at all. She simply sat there taking deep, steadying breaths and trying to get her frayed nerves under control.

A minute or so later, Chef Robert popped into the room. “Are you okay?” he asked.

Cami nodded. “Someone’s coming to pick me up. The driver will text me from the loading dock.”

“All right, then,” he said, “but I still think I should call the cops.”

“Please don’t,” she said. “The less fuss the better. The driver will let me know when he’s outside.”

“Okay,” Chef Robert replied, “but I don’t like it.”

The “Jake from State Farm” text arrived five minutes later. When Cami opened the door to the office, Chef Robert left the line and personally escorted her out to the loading dock. As soon as they stepped outside, headlights flashed twice.

The vehicle turned out to be a hulking black Escalade. Chef Robert handed Cami up into the back passenger seat.

“You take care now,” he told her.

“Thank you,” she said. “I will. You’ve been a huge help.”

“Not enough,” Chef Robert replied. “Not nearly enough.”

A relieved Cami settled into her seat and closed her eyes as the Escalade began to move. A few blocks later, she noticed that “Jake” was using the same evasive techniques she had used during the week in order to make sure they weren’t being followed.

“Where are we going?” she asked finally.

“My orders are to take you straight to headquarters,” he said.

WWS headquarters happened to be in a splashy mansion located somewhere in the Hollywood Hills. “Jake” handed her out of the Escalade inside an empty bay of a six-car garage and led her over to a lovely, silver-haired woman who stood waiting nearby. She stepped forward and gathered Cami into her arms.

“I’m Sonja,” she said. “You’re safe now, and I’m so glad to meet you. Are you all right?”

Cami nodded. “Tired but fine, thanks to you,” she said. “All I need is a new rental so I can drive myself home to Arizona.”

“Nonsense,” Sonja Bjornson replied. “You’ll do nothing of the kind. What you really need is a stiff drink and a good night’s sleep. I’ve been in touch with B. He’s arranging for a private jet to pick you up tomorrow at ten a.m. from Lindbergh Field in San Diego. He already sent me the tail number. Leaving by way of San Diego should keep you away from any unwelcome scrutiny in L.A. I’ve made arrangements for someone to stop by the Lancaster to clear out your room and pack up your things. Your luggage will be waiting for you at the airport. They’ll also make sure your rental car is returned. Now come inside. What will you have to drink?”

Thanks to Mateo, Cami had a whole new beverage of choice, but she wasn’t sure that was on the menu. “Could I have a margarita?” she asked.

“Of course,” Sonja said. “Coming right up.” Then later, as Cami was sipping her drink, Sonja asked, “Do you have any idea who the attacker was?”

Cami shook her head. “None at all, but I got his photo.” She opened her phone and located the video of the man walking behind her into the fitness center. Then with his image frozen on the screen, she handed the phone to Sonja.

Sonja studied the screen for some time before handing the device back. “Send that to me, please,” she said. “I’ll run it through our facial rec.”

Cami nodded. “The more the merrier,” she said.