If this map was correct and these fluxes were any indication, he would be able to pinpoint her location—and the location she would soon be traveling to—with enough accuracy to trap her once and for all.
“Get the major on the phone. I want to speak with him privately.”
“Yes, sir.”
Kevin’s eyes narrowed on the screen as if he were gazing at Eleanore Granger and not an electronic map. “You can run, little Ellie. But you can’t hide.” He smiled then, shaking his head. “Not for long, anyway.”
Eleanore kept looking over her shoulder. The aisle was always either empty or occupied by a browsing customer—no wealthy media mogul motorcycle hunks. No Hollywood movie stars. Just her and the clientele. So why was she so nervous?
Because I’ve stepped into the
Twilight Zone
, that’s why
.
She closed her eyes for a moment and rested her forehead against the philosophy books she’d been reorganizing. She had a headache, but trying to heal herself of a headache would make her even more tired than she already was, and she knew from experience that it was best to save her energy in case something much more important arose. Like broken bones or heart attacks or little girls throwing up in the restroom.
So she’d taken some ibuprofen and, because she’d had no appetite, she’d taken them on an empty stomach. And now she had a fairly annoying case of acid indigestion to boot.
She sighed and tried to think of something positive to take her mind off the discomfort. She didn’t have to wait long for a distraction.
Once more, over the hearth in the café, the giant plasma screen was powered to life. Janet Gomez, the woman who worked behind the counter, had the remote control in her hands and was glaring at it with what appeared to be frustration.
“This thing isn’t working. The screen won’t shut off,” she muttered to herself.
Eleanore smiled, picked up another stack of books, and turned back toward the philosophy aisle. As she did, Janet apparently gave up and began flipping through the channels. Eleanore stopped to watch as faces and sounds whizzed past on the screen, until a very familiar face appeared and Janet instantly paused in her channel surfing.
“. . . Mr. Daniels, you’re returning to the Southwest after the show to finish a bit of shooting for the sequel to
Comeuppance
, if I’m not mistaken.”
Christopher Daniels, looking sexy as ever in a black T-shirt and jeans that did nothing to hide the tall, strong body beneath them, nodded.
“
Yes, that’s right.”
“And you’ll be attending the Red Carpet Gala in Dallas on Thursday, I presume.” It was Monday and Jacqueline Rain, the highly popular daytime talk show host was leaning forward in her chair.
Again, Daniels nodded, adding a brilliant smile.
“Have you got a date?” Rain asked, grinning suggestively. “It’s only three days away.”
Eleanore nearly dropped the books she was holding.
Daniels hesitated before answering, and the live audience, unseen to the cameras, very loudly encouraged his reply. He laughed and shook his head. “I can’t say just yet.”
Rain turned to the audience and shrugged helplessly. “What can I do, ladies? He’s not talking!”
The audience laughed and the women cheered.
When they’d settled down a bit, Rain turned back to Daniels. “Well, I’m so sorry to say that we’re coming to the end of our time here with you—”
Rain was interrupted by a tremendous uproar of boos and disappointed moans from her live audience. She turned a sympathetic smile upon them and laughed at the camera. Daniels had the amazing grace to blush.
The noise died down and Eleanore put down the books and began moving down the main aisle, her eyes unaccountably glued to the screen. The other employees and customers in the near vicinity had stopped what they were doing and found themselves watching as well. Daniels was a very charismatic man.
“I thought you didn’t like him?” Janet sidled up next to Eleanore and nudged her with her elbow.
Eleanore felt heat creep up her neck. She shot Janet a begrudging look and shrugged what she hoped translated to nonchalance. “I never said I
do
like him.”
“Yeah right.” Janet rolled her eyes, a small smile tugging at her lips. “You’re all talk.”
On the screen, Jacqueline Rain turned back to Daniels and repeated what she had been saying before the outburst. “As I said, Christopher, I’m afraid we’re just about done. But you mentioned earlier that there was something you needed to do before the show was over?”
“Yes.” Christopher nodded, his green eyes glittering beneath the lights.
“
There is. Thank you.”
Jacqueline sat back in her large leather chair and gestured for him to proceed.
Eleanore watched, in strange fascination, as Christopher turned directly toward the camera and gazed into it. The camera man zoomed in and the actor’s beautiful features filled the screen, his eyes uncannily stark and intense.
She honestly felt, in that moment, that he was watching her, personally. It was ridiculous, wasn’t it? But she could have sworn that he could see through the camera and across the miles—and that he was pinning her to the spot with that gaze.
“I’d like to ask a favor of one Eleanore Granger, the lovely bookstore angel who likes Valley of Shadow and Edgar Allan Poe.”
What?
There was a beat of silence that must have been felt around the world.
And then Eleanore blinked. That wasn’t right. There was no way he’d just said her name on national television. She seriously had him on the brain if that was what she thought she’d heard.
The audience suddenly “ooohed” and Jacqueline Rain chuckled, grinning broadly. “Eleanore Granger?” she repeated.
“Yes.”
“Holy mother-flipping Jesus,” Janet whispered beside her. “Is he talking about you? Did he just call you out in front of millions of people?”
Eleanore felt the blood rush from her face, a cold-and-hot mix of emotions washing over her. She experienced something like staggering shock, outright disbelief, a slightly numbing fear, and even unabashed gratification as the other employees began to gawk at her. The few customers around them took this as a cue and realized who she was. Then they too began to stare.
“Eleanore—Ellie.” He said her name softly, enticingly, and very personally. “Will you do me the honor of accompanying me to the Red Carpet Gala on Thursday night?”
Again, the audience in Rain’s studio cheered, and this time there was a definite nervous energy about them. Jacqueline Rain appeared delighted beyond imagination at the turn of events; it meant more publicity, of course, and that was always a good thing.
“Oh my God . . .” Janet whispered.
Eleanore shook her head. Her jaw was slack, her eyes wide.
“Girl, how many bookstore angels can there be by the name of Ellie Granger?” Janet turned toward her, grabbed her by the upper arms, and looked her in the eyes. “You must have made some kind of impression when he was here Saturday,” she said, her expression stunned and her head shaking in disbelief.
Eleanore still couldn’t talk. She just barely managed a shrug, and because Janet was holding her arms, it wasn’t much of a shrug, at that.
“You have to go with him!” said Cynthia Washington, who had joined them in the café. Cynthia was a self-proclaimed “Brakes Flake.” To her, Christopher Daniels was perfection—a god. There was no denying a god. “You absolutely have to accept the invitation,” she reiterated breathlessly.
The café broke into a murmur of agreement, the customers and other employees wholeheartedly encouraging her to accept.
Eleanore looked from them back to the screen. The camera had left Daniels and was panning out over the audience, some of whom had very hastily created makeshift signs of loose-leaf paper and bolded text on cell phone screens. They all read, “Ellie, say yes!”
“Mom, calm down. It’s no big deal—”
Eleanore fingered her right temple and squeezed her eyes shut. She’d never been more tempted to heal a simple headache before. It was fast becoming something more than a simple headache. Her mother and father were on the other end of the line, each with their own phones and both speaking at the same time.
“Honey, this is too much publicity. How did this fellow even meet you?” her father asked her.
“Walter, it was bound to happen eventually. I mean, think about it! It’s not like our daughter is unattractive! Anyway, it doesn’t matter how it happened; we have to deal with it now.”
“Katherine, let her answer my question without interrupting for once—”
“I wouldn’t have to interrupt if you’d stop drilling her with questions.”
“Mom, Dad, seriously. You need to breathe. I’m okay, all right? Nothing has happened to me.”
“Not yet, sweetheart. But before long, someone is going to snap a photo of you on their cell phone and your picture will go very, very public.” Her mother sighed. “They found us once before, Ellie. . . .”
Eleanore’s stomach knotted, her headache instantly thrumming to full throttle. “I know, Mom.” She wasn’t going to forget. Not ever.
They fell into a temporary silence then, each of them trapped in memory.
Finally, her mother spoke up again. “I think you should contact Christopher Daniels’s agent and tell him right off the bat that you want nothing to do with him. Then come up here for a month or two and let things calm down. We’re secluded here,” Katherine Granger reminded her. “A cabin in the woods, far from prying eyes.”
“I hate to admit it, sweetheart, but your mother might be right about this. I know what a damper it’s going to put on your social life.” Her father sounded sad, and older than his fifty years. “But, though we both want you to have friends, this is just too public. This is too big. We need to phase you out.”
Phase me out?
Eleanore’s brain was buzzing. It was spinning and sliding and dancing and nothing made sense anymore. She had run from who she was her entire life. It was harder than it would seem to have to keep a very, very low profile. It was incredibly difficult never being able to go to an actual university, never going into veterinary medicine as she’d wanted to—never dating or making lasting friendships in any one place because she was constantly afraid she might slip up.
Now, despite everything she’d endured and every precaution she’d taken, the world had found her and spotlighted her. And she had to run again.
“I have to go, guys. I’ll call you later tonight.”
“Honey, wait—”
Eleanore hung up and powered down the phone. Then she turned and threw the cell phone across her living room with all the strength she could muster. It hit the far wall, put a dent in the plaster, and then tumbled to the carpet.
She straightened and peered at the remarkably tough electronic device and then turned to gaze into the fireplace. The flames crackled and spoke to her in a hissed, ancient language. She tried to calm down; a crackling fire usually did the trick. But it was harder this time.
Images of that experience ten years ago coasted through her mind’s eye. There was the danger, the needle, the noise and chaos, and overriding it all, the fear of separation from her parents and everything solid and real in her life.
Her parents were right, and that was the worst of it.
Eleanore was admittedly frightened, but she was also very angry. How
dare
Christopher bring that kind of attention upon her? How could she have trusted him? Let him into her apartment?
Kissed
him?
Oh, she was definitely mad. And, then again, there was another emotion riding her frayed nerves at that moment, sending her dancing dangerously close to emotional overload. She was upset and scared, but she also kept seeing those jade-colored eyes. And that tall, rock-hard body. She thought of the way he’d pinned her and bruised her lips with his kiss as if he were a man gripped by desperation. She’d felt as if only she could save him.
Despite her fury, her body responded to the thought. Every time she imagined any part of him or heard his name or saw his picture on a poster, she grew flushed. Anxious.
Wet.
“Oh, crap,” she muttered, running her hands over her face as she slid down the wall to sit on the carpet.
I’m in so much trouble.
She wondered, suddenly, how long it would be before some gossip magazine or newspaper or even news-channel reporter made it to her front door. It wouldn’t take long to find out where she lived now that they knew her name and where she worked. That was what the Internet was for. And the media was relentless.
Media . . .
Eleanore frowned as a thought occurred to her. Samuel Lambent was a media mogul. Hell, he probably owned every stupid paper and magazine and news channel that might decide to come and question her over the next few days.
I could go to him
, she thought hesitantly.
I could ask him for a favor. After all, I saved his life.