Los Angeles, California
“WHAT BRINGS YOU here so early, Penelope?” Lance Martel held the back door to the restaurant open for her.
“Just stepped off a plane at LAX. It’s good to see you.” Penelope gave him a hug. Lance was wearing his white chef’s jacket and smelled of a delicious mixture of spices—rosemary, garlic, and oregano—which reminded her that she hadn’t eaten since New York.
“My best girlfriend and Scarlett are at a table in the back. Go on through. I’m making breakfast for you all now.”
“You’re a sweetheart, thanks.” Penelope walked into the dining room of Bow-Tie, a popular bistro in Beverly Hills that her friends Lance and Johnny had started. She wore a gray scarf over her hair and dark sunglasses. Her face was scrubbed clean of last night’s makeup, but she still wore Stefan’s white shirt belted as a dress, though she had managed to trade her Manolo Blahniks for a pair of Nikes at an airport shop. Her jeweled shoes were nestled in a black canvas tote bag she’d bought, along with makeup remover, moisturizer, and lip gloss. All the essentials in less than ten minutes to boarding time.
Two blond women in yoga gear motioned for her to join them at their table.
“Verena, Scarlett, I’m so glad you could meet me.” Penelope hugged her friends and slid into a chair with her back to the room. Penelope used to have facials at a skincare salon Verena had owned, and she’d appeared in infomercials for Verena’s new skincare line as a favor to help her new venture, which had since proven quite successful.
“We heard all about it on the news,” Verena said, her voice ringing with compassion. Her hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail, revealing her flawless complexion. “How awful that must’ve been. We’re so relieved you weren’t hurt. Did you know the photographer?”
“Never saw him before.” Penelope quickly filled them in. “After I returned to my hotel, I lay on the bed thinking about what I’m doing with my life. Why am I working at such a frenetic pace? I could have been killed yesterday.”
“Surely they’ll find the guy,” Scarlett said, her tone serious. Scarlett Sandoval was Penelope’s licensing attorney and had drafted the High Gloss Cosmetics agreement for her.
“Hope so.” Penelope slid off her sunglasses. “It gets worse. Last night I couldn’t sleep, so I went down to the bar for a glass a wine, and was chatting with the bartender when a photographer started snapping away just outside the window.”
“Someone at the hotel tipped them off.”
“I don’t think so. I’ve stayed there for years and the staff is very discreet. Someone on the street might have recognized me.” She grimaced. “So I went outside to confront him, and when I did, another guy grabbed me.”
“What happened?” Verena asked, frowning with concern.
“I got away.” Penelope held up a bruised hand. “That guy’s probably icing his nose somewhere.”
“I’m so sorry. We’ll get some ice for you, too.” Verena signaled a busboy who was placing flowers on the tables.
Penelope went on. “I thought to myself, what am I doing here, brawling on the streets in New York? And that lousy photographer was snapping away. By morning, I knew the press would be camped outside, so I dashed out through the employee entrance, caught a cab, and went straight to the airport to catch an overnight flight home.”
Scarlett touched her arm. “What do you need from us?”
“Can you take me back to my house?” After two incidents in one day, she was nervous now. “I don’t know what I’ll find there.”
Verena and Scarlett traded looks of concern. “If you want to wait until after lunch, maybe Lance or Johnny could come with you,” Scarlett said. “Or we can come with you right now.”
“The sooner the better. I have to push back a photo shoot for High Gloss and make some calls.”
“What about Fashion Week?” Scarlett asked. “Aren’t you walking in some shows?”
Penelope pulled out her phone and tapped on a message. The busboy delivered a plastic bag of ice, and she rested her injured hand against it while Verena and Scarlett read the note from her agent.
“Your gigs were canceled?” Scarlett frowned as she read the message.
“Seems so.” Penelope sighed. “Saw this when I got back to my hotel, so I called her. Designers started canceling my contracts soon after the shot was fired. None of them want trouble at their shows, so they cut me.” And she hadn’t even told them about Stefan.
Verena looked incredulous. “They can do that?”
Scarlett shrugged. “I’m sure there’s a clause in the contract that addresses things like that. Designers spend a fortune on their shows. They can’t risk a disruption.”
“Until that guy is caught, I’m off the runway.” A split second was all it took to derail the career she’d nurtured so carefully. One shot that splintered a podium, and she was verboten, banned, taboo. Who was he and why had he singled her out? On the flight from New York, she’d tried to recall if she’d ever seen the man who’d tried to kill her, but she couldn’t think of anything.
“Hope you’re hungry.” Lance placed a skillet with a vegetable frittata in front of them, while Johnny followed with a pot of coffee and a basket of croissants and rolls.
“Thanks, babe,” Verena said, giving Lance a kiss.
Penelope watched them, happy that they were getting along so well. Scarlett was also dating Johnny, Lance’s partner in Bow-Tie, who handled everything but the kitchen. His thick, dark hair was swept back and he wore a polka-dotted bow-tie, his trademark look he’d adopted while he was working as a maître d’ at the Polo Lounge, and the inspiration for the restaurant name.
Johnny gave Penelope a hug. “Sorry to hear about that mess in New York.” He shifted from one foot to the other. “I don’t mean to alarm you, but have you checked out social media lately?”
“Not since last night, why?”
Johnny pulled out his phone. “It seems you’ve been kidnapped from your hotel and police are searching for you.”
“What?” Penelope tapped his phone. “These are the photos from last night in front of the hotel.”
“Look at this one.” Lance peered over her shoulder. “Good hit, Penelope. Right into the nose, ouch. Where’d you learn that move?”
“I do Krav Maga training on the west side.” She stretched out her aching palm.
Johnny looked impressed. “That’s the Israeli work-out, isn’t it?”
Penelope nodded. “It’s derived from the Israeli Defense Force training. And evidently, it’s pretty effective.”
“I’ll say.” Scarlett leaned in, squinting. “It says you were abducted in that van.” She enlarged the photo. “Look, there’s no license plate on the back. That was staged.”
“Who’s doing this to me?” Penelope passed a weary hand across her face.
Scarlett folded her arms in disgust. “And why?”
“Listen to this.” In between bites of the frittata, Verena flipped through her phone. She began reading the headlines. “Monica Blackburn to Strut in Kidnapped Supermodel’s Shoes at Fashion Week. And, Prime Minister Shattered over Supermodel’s Disappearance.”
“That last one’s a lie.” Penelope leaned back, stunned. What had Stefan said about Monica going ballistic over a job she’d lost to her? Even for Monica, this seemed extreme. “No way is Monica smart enough to pull off a stunt like this.”
Scarlett tore a croissant and nibbled it, thinking. “Who else stands to gain?” When everyone stopped to look at her, she added, “Someone has gone to a lot of trouble. Why?”
Johnny jerked his head toward the front door. “Don’t look now, but we’ve got paparazzi at the door. Little early for them. We don’t open for lunch for a couple of hours yet.”
“I can guess why they’re here,” Penelope said. “I just want to go home.” It felt like the world was closing in on her.
Scarlett touched Verena’s hand. “Let’s get her out of here now.”
“Then this order is to go.” Lance scooped up the croissants and rolls in a linen napkin and handed it to Verena. “Take her out the back.”
Scarlett stood. “I’ve also got to call the police to let them know you’re okay.”
Verena put a hand to her mouth. “That’s all we need is to be arrested for kidnapping you.”
“You ladies better make tracks,” Johnny said. “Follow me.”
The three women darted through the busy kitchen to the back door. Johnny pushed open the door and held it for them.
Lance pressed the car remote and tossed his keys to Verena. “Take my SUV. The windows are darkened.”
Penelope swung past him. “Really? Do this often?”
“It’s for catering jobs. Protects food from the sunlight.” Lance held the car doors for them.
Verena slid into the driver’s seat, and Scarlett climbed into the passenger side, while Penelope stretched out in the backseat. They buckled their seatbelts and turned into the alley.
“It’s blocked,” Verena said, spotting a van at the end of the alley. She checked the review mirror. “That side, too.” Turning around in her seat, she motioned to Penelope. “You’d better get down.”
They passed the media van at the end of the alley and drove on through the busy streets of Los Angeles, while Penelope tried to reach her agent. Verena drove north on Fairfax into the Hollywood Hills, but when she turned onto Penelope’s street, she slowed to a halt. Media vans lined the narrow lane.
“Oh, no.” Penelope peered through the windshield along high hedges and walls other neighbors had built for privacy and protection.
Scarlett glanced back at Penelope. “Looks like you have company.”
“I just want to have a swim and sleep in my own bed.”
“You can cross off swimming. I’m sure they have cameras dangling over your wall. Now what?”
Penelope felt overwhelmed. She just needed a place to rest and shower. She’d left New York so fast she hadn’t even packed. The hotel staff was kind enough to send her luggage back for her. “How about your place?”
Verena shifted the SUV into reverse and eased out of the narrow street.
“Why not?” Scarlett replied with a grin. “The neighbors will love this.”
Feeling grateful, Penelope closed her eyes. She wondered if the media would follow her to Scarlett’s. Though she appreciated the gesture, she couldn’t subject Scarlett to a media circus, either. This was L.A.; it might be only a matter of time before someone tipped off the press.
If she couldn’t go home, then where could she go to rest and avoid the media attention? She thought back to her childhood, to carefree days of fishing with her father or skiing with her parents. At the time, she hadn’t thought to appreciate the tranquility and anonymity she’d enjoyed in Denmark. If she had to, what were the chances she could recapture some of that and take a breather there?
As Scarlett whipped down Fairfax and turned onto Beverly, Penelope peered out the window behind them. Her heart sank as she recognized a van that had been parked on her street tailing them.