In the chaos that followed Anya’s fall, Joe and I sprang onto the stage and ran down to her, leaning over her crumpled body with concern. “Anya?” I cried.
“Anya! Are you okay?”
Slowly, very slowly, Anya pulled herself out of the fetal position and rubbed her elbows. “I . . . think so?”
“Can you stand up?” asked Joe.
Cautiously, she pulled herself to stand. “I think so,” she said. “My ankle feels a little funny, but . . .”
As she said this, a nurse who worked for the Big Apple Awards ran over, instructing Anya to move her wrists, elbows, and ankles. In short order, she pronounced Anya to have “a slight sprain.” She said she’d probably be fine the next day, but they should take her to the hospital to be sure.
Anya nodded obediently. “My feet—it was just like they went flying on their own. I couldn’t even . . .”
Working on a hunch, I leaned over and grabbed her foot.
“Give me your shoe,” I instructed.
Looking a little confused, Anya lifted her foot and obeyed.
I ran my hand over the shoe’s sole. Just as I thought.
It was coated with a slick, oily substance. “Someone greased your shoes,” I told Anya quickly. “They wanted you to fall.”
Anya’s face fell immediately, as she seemed to grasp that she was still in danger—even if she did what Zolo’s threats instructed. The fall was more embarrassing than anything else—leaving Anya able to attend the awards and take part in whatever Zolo had planned. And it seemed that humiliating her was just the beginning. Suddenly panic flashed in her eyes. “Vance!” she cried. “If Zolo is here— if Zolo got in—he could be doing something to Vance! Remember how crazy he was on the subway tracks. . . .”
I jumped up, looking at Joe. “I’ll find him,” I said shortly. “Joe will stay here and guard you.”
Joe nodded, giving me a meaningful look—Be careful—and I took off to find Vance.
First I checked all the restrooms, since that was where Vance had said he was going. Lots of big stars—but no Vance. I looked around backstage but couldn’t find him.
At this point, I was starting to worry. Security wasn’t as intense as it would be at the actual awards, but with the number of celebrities inside the theater, it was still pretty tight. Had Zolo really gotten through? And if so—had he finished what he’d started by pushing Vance onto the tracks during their last scene?
I reminded myself that the most recent text had said he’d hurt Vance only if Anya didn’t attend the awards, but that was cold comfort. Let’s face it—anyone texting creepy threats, putting acid on necklaces, and greasing shoes isn’t playing by the rules. “But you said . . .” doesn’t hold a lot of weight with criminals.
I searched the lobby, the orchestra, and even the mezzanine and balcony levels. No sign of Vance— or anyone who could claim to have seen him. Now I was really freaking out. Who knew how far Zolo’s beating would have gone if Joe and I hadn’t stopped it? Clearly, he had no problem with causing harm to Vance Bainbridge.
Sighing, I stood in the lobby and glanced out the main doors. Could he be outside? Maybe he’d needed some fresh air? Maybe he needed to call his agent and couldn’t get service inside the theater?
I darted outside, then circled the theater. On a side street, I spotted the limo that had brought the cast from the hotel to Radio City Music Hall. Maybe he had forgotten something in the limo? Maybe Zolo had cornered him out here, outside the heavy security of the awards?
I approached slowly, and was soon rewarded with the sound of voices coming from inside the limo. Vance!
He seemed to be sitting in the backseat. “I need to rehearse presenting my award . . . I should go!” He sounded tense, like he was trying to convince someone to let him out. I tried to peer through the tinted windows but couldn’t make anything out. Without waiting a beat, I pounded on the door. “Whoever’s inside there, open this door right now!”
There was silence for a few seconds—and then the door opened . . .
. . . revealing a sheepish-looking Vance, covered in red lipstick and canoodling on the bench with one Amy Alvaro!
I stared at them in amazement. Hadn’t Vance just been smooching all over Anya inside the theater? “What the . . . ?” I stammered.
Beneath the red lipstick, Vance was turning even redder. “Oh, Frank. I’m so embarrassed.”
I glared at him. “Wait a minute—what’s going on here? Are you two-timing on Anya with your ex?”
Vance put his head in his hands, sighing dramatically. “Not exactly,” he said. “I mean not . . . like you think.”
Amy uncurled herself from his lap, giving me a challenging look.
I was officially really confused.
“I’m so sorry, Frank,” Vance said. “Especially since I know you and Anya had a thing.”
Clearly Vance had forgotten that we had explained just days ago that Joe and I were actually secret agents, and I had never been Anya’s boyfriend. I decided to let that go. I still had to figure this whole thing out.
“What do you mean, not like I think?” I demanded.
Vance looked from me to Amy. She nodded at him, as if to say, Tell him. He sighed and looked me in the eye.
“My romance with Anya is fake.”
Fake? My mind whirred. I remembered our conversation with Dalton: It seems like a career move to me, he’d said.
“You mean . . . you don’t have feelings for her?” I asked. “It was all for show?”
Vance cleared his throat and nodded, staring into his lap.
It made sense, in a way. Vance’s love-struck behavior around Anya had always seemed a little—well—over the top. Which would make sense if he were acting. His acting style was not exactly subtle.
“Why did you do it, then? For your career?” I demanded. Then a horrible thought occurred to me. “Does she know it’s fake?” My stomach dropped at the thought of Anya keeping yet another secret from Joe and me. How could we possibly keep her safe if she wouldn’t tell us the whole truth?
But Vance was shaking his head. “No,” he said. “I wanted to tell her the truth, but Stan didn’t think she would go for it.”
Stan? “What does Stan have to do with this?”
Vance sighed again. “About a week ago, Stan came to me and said we needed something positive to put in the press to counteract all the negative things that kept happening,” he explained. “He thought it would be a great idea for Anya and me to start dating—in the press, anyway.”
I frowned. “So you went to her and professed your love?” I asked, feeling a little disgusted. I might never have been Anya’s real boyfriend, but still—the things this girl had gone through on this set!
Vance nodded. “More or less,” he agreed. “Then I took her out to a lounge where Stan had planted a bunch of paparazzi. A bunch of PDA later, we were on the cover of every tabloid in town.” Even though Vance seemed sincerely sorry, I still detected a note of satisfaction in his voice when he said that last part.
I shook my head. Hollywood! “I can’t believe you let her think that you were really into her, when all you wanted was to get some press for the movie,” I muttered. Then, figuring I had nothing to lose, I added, “I can’t believe she was really into you.”
Surprisingly, Vance didn’t seem offended. He shrugged, seeming to accept that he and Anya weren’t exactly a match made in heaven. “Honestly, I don’t know if she’s really that into me,” he admitted. “This has been a scary time for her. I think she just likes knowing that someone is one hundred percent on her side.”
I looked at Vance. That was by far the wisest thing I’d ever heard him say, after “Craft services is great!” “I hope you’re right,” I said bluntly. Then I slammed the door on him and went back inside the theater to tell Anya the truth.
“You lied to me,” Anya said, her voice surprisingly calm given all she’d been through.
We were all—me, Joe, Jaan, Stan, and Anya— sitting in Anya’s suite later that night. After all the revelations of the day, I’d expected Anya to be exhausted. But instead, she’d insisted on confronting Stan this evening.
Jaan held up his hands. “I want to make this clear, my brave leading lady. I tell you this because you need to trust me to work with me effectively— I wasn’t aware of any of this.”
Anya looked at Jaan and smiled briefly. “I believe you, Jaan,” she said, shooting an icy look at Stan. “I know you wouldn’t do something so manipulative.”
“Look, sweetheart, I’m really sorry,” Stan said, looking sincerely guilty. “The truth is, I didn’t think it would go this far. I thought it would be one date, smoochie-smoochie for the cameras, you’d get in all the magazines, and then it would be over. I never thought . . .” He paused, seeming to choose his words. “I never thought Vance was your type!”
Anya smiled a little ruefully. “He’s not, really,” she admitted, folding her hands in her lap. “I guess . . . I guess I just liked having someone. He told me I was amazing and he would take care of me.” She looked up at all of us. “It was something I needed to hear, with everything going on.”
“Anya,” Stan said, holding up his hand as if taking an oath, “I promise you: I will do everything I can to keep you safe from now on.”
Anya looked at him. “I wish I believed you,” she said, “but Zolo has gotten onto the set at least once, and he got into the theater today. I’m beginning to wonder if you really can keep me safe.”
I looked at Joe, frowning. As much as I hated to admit it, Anya was right. Despite our best efforts, we hadn’t prevented Zolo from getting to her.
“I’m not going to quit the movie,” Anya continued, “because I don’t think quitting would satisfy him anymore. Besides, I want to finish this movie. And I deserve it, after all I’ve been through.”
Jaan nodded. “That’s certainly true, Anya.”
Anya looked at Stan. “But I’m not going to the Big Apple Awards tomorrow,” she said challengingly. “It’s too much of a risk. And I realized today that whether I go or don’t go, it won’t keep me— or anyone else—safe.”
Stan struggled to hide it, but I could still see that he was disappointed. Still, he nodded. “Whatever feels right to you . . .”
Anya nodded. “That’s what feels right to me,” she said, getting to her feet. “That’s all.”
Jaan and Stan looked at each other awkwardly, then stood and nodded at Anya.
“Okay.”
“Good night, Anya.”
Anya just nodded again, and the two men walked over to the doorway and let themselves out. When the door closed behind them, Anya sighed.
“Do you want us to leave too?” I asked gently.
Anya looked up at me, smiled, and shook her head. “That’s okay,” she said. “That might have sounded harsh, guys. But I know you both have been trying really hard to protect me. And I know you didn’t know about the whole Vance thing.” Her mouth twisted distastefully.
Joe nodded. “We want to keep you safe, Anya.”
Anya smiled again. “I know,” she said. “And I appreciate it. If you guys weren’t here, there’s no way I’d feel safe finishing this movie!”
I glanced at Joe. “Are you sure—you want to finish it?” I asked. Joe and I had talked about it earlier, and while it killed us both to admit it, things just kept getting more dangerous for Anya. We both felt like we were failing in our assignment here. We’d lost Zolo, and he seemed hell-bent on hurting the girl he said he loved. Maybe if Anya quit the movie, she would be safer!
Anya looked me in the eye. “I’m totally sure,” she replied. “Look, people have been trying to manipulate me the whole time I’ve been on set. Some with stupid intentions”—she gestured toward where Stan had been sitting—“and some with really, really bad intentions. I’m not letting anyone manipulate me anymore. I’m finishing the movie because I want to.”
Joe smiled. “You know, Anya—you seem a lot stronger than you were when we first met you.”
Anya looked at him and grinned. “Thanks,” she said. “Now you guys can go. Get some sleep.”
We said good night and were heading toward the door when Anya’s room phone started ringing. We paused, and Anya looked at us quizzically.
“That’s odd,” she said. “No one calls me on the hotel phone. . . .”
Joe and I exchanged glances. Uh-oh. “Let us hear it,” he instructed as we all walked over to the phone.
Looking at us with fear in her eyes, Anya slowly picked up the receiver.
“Hello?”
“Anya.” The voice on the other end of the line was seriously freaky—robotic, but deep and threatening. “You’d better attend those awards tomorrow night. If you don’t, you might survive. But you’ll never be able to live with yourself. Because the whole theater will be blown sky-high!”