Conar looked over the sarcophagus and the lid, checking for the catch. “I got it. Where’s the door thing that closes over?”
“It’s automatic. When the hinges move in, they hit that button, and the button triggers the inner lid.
“We’ll run the scene once. You don’t have to shut Serena in for that—we’ll just go with the lines until you get furious and start to throw her in. All right? Let’s run the rehearsal.”
The rehearsal went beautifully. She and Conar ranted and raved. It was convincing, and Jim applauded.
“One take, Serena, one take, and we’re done, ahead of schedule.”
“One take, Serena!” she protested, laughing.
“Excuse me. We don’t want to be politically incorrect here,” Jim said with a sigh. “One take, Conar and Serena. Okay?”
“Gotcha,” Conar said.
She went to work in her “cottage,” her private little domain with all her Egyptian treasures. Conar burst in, furious. They yelled at each other. She reminded him that he hadn’t had these problems with her in the vineyard. He told her she was always a problem, and that he loved her sister, Maria Valentine, and that she had to stay out of their lives. She told him he didn’t love Maria, couldn’t love Maria, if he could pursue her the way he did. Furious, he told her that she couldn’t keep her hands off a man—any man, so it appeared. She told him that he was a low-down wine-robbing bastard with a failing vineyard, that he was desperate for help from the Valentines, and that he wasn’t going to use her sister to get it; she was going straight to her father. He said no, she wasn’t. She started to scream for help. He clamped a hand over her mouth and dragged her to the sarcophagus, telling her that he’d have her and her treasure moved to a real vineyard, and they’d talk there.
She tried to scream as she saw the spikes that David DeVille didn’t seem to notice. She broke free, shrieking, fighting, as he pressed her into the stage piece.
Then the lid began to close.
It seemed as if it would all work just the way that Jim had said it would. She could see the inner shield beginning to slide over the spikes.
Then it jammed.
And the lid, on an automatic hinge, kept closing.
At first Conar didn’t realize that she was screaming for real.
Then he saw.
He swore, diving for the sarcophagus, grabbing the lid.
The spikes kept coming, no matter how hard Conar strained to stop it. “Find something, anything, find a way to stop this!” he shouted.
Someone swore. The cops started to move. Andy cried out.
She never saw Liam. Not until he reached her, thrusting his own length into the upright coffin with the swinging door, pressing her back and using his own bulk to force the hinge to break. Emilio came up with a fire axe and started hacking at the piece.
Then, between Liam’s bulk and the blows of the axe, the wood shattered, and the whole piece broke in two. The front of the sarcophagus fell forward.
The rear crashed to the floor behind Serena and Liam. He was standing in front of her, almost on top of her, sweat beaded on his brow.
She inhaled with a gasp.
“Jesus!” he breathed. She thought it was spoken as a prayer.
She hadn’t started shaking yet. It had all happened so fast.
“God bless it! We’re never buying anything from a magician again!” Jim swore.
Andy sank down to the edge of the set, shaking. “God!” he said.
“Are you all right?” Liam asked Serena, his black eyes searching her face.
She nodded. “Where’s Jeff when you need him?” she tried to joke.
His eyes narrowed. “Jeff fixed this set piece?”
“Jeff wasn’t here today,” she said.
He took her hand, turning to lead her off the set.
“My Lord!” Jim exclaimed then, looking over the cameraman’s shoulder. “This tape is terrific. You can’t see Liam’s face. He and Conar are both wearing dark jackets … they could be one and the same.”
Liam walked past the camera and suddenly sent a fist smashing out. The camera went over.
“Hey!” Jim protested. “Look at this—”
“Fuck this,” Liam said, leading Serena away.
“Liam, wait,” Serena pleaded. “This really was an accident.”
“Oh, yeah, sure. Don’t you think that there are too many accidents on this set?”
“But they need that tape—”
“Tape is hardy. It will survive what I did.”
“Liam—”
“What? What? You want me to go apologize to your director? You were nearly killed!”
“No, I don’t want you to apologize. I—I wanted to thank you. You saved my life.”
He exhaled. He looked back across the studio. Serena did the same. Bill Hutchens and his uniformed man were up on the Egyptian set, looking over the destroyed sarcophagus. Conar was with them, angry. Even Jim had realized that this was one incident too many. Jay Braden was there, too, swearing that something had to be done. Someone else was going to die.
Liam looked at Serena. “You know what? This has gone too far. We’re going to leave now. Really leave. Take a vacation. Let this settle down. Do you understand?”
She nodded. “All right. I think they got enough tape.”
“All right? Really?”
She nodded.
“Get your stuff. We’re going. I’ll call Hutchens and explain, and we’ll call Andy or Joe too. You’re gone for a week. A solid week, no matter what they want. Give them a little time to find out something, you understand? You’re like a damned sitting duck here!”
She stared at him, biting her lip. She refrained from telling him that they were actually ahead on taping. The day had gone so well—until the sarcophagus scene.
“Let’s get your things. We’re leaving.”
“All right.”
It wasn’t quite so simple. Hutchens came over just then to talk to Serena, as did Jim, and Conar joined them, and others came rushing over to make sure that Serena was all right.
Then they all wound up in Serena’s dressing room. Joe Penny and Andy came in, grave, worried, and eager to smooth things over.
Once again Liam insisted they were leaving. Right then.
“I’m taking her out of here,” he said firmly.
“You’re taking her out of here?” Andy said, annoyed. “You know, Liam, on this one you’re just the hired help.”
“Shut up, Andy,” Joe warned.
Andy cleared his throat. “Sorry. It’s just that … hell, you’re right. Joe said she needed to get away for a while.”
Serena put a hand on his arm. “If they can use this tape, I won’t have to worry about scheduling until … I’ll be able to take a week with no problem, right?”
“It’ll give you some clear time right up until the seventh. That’s when we’re filming the show for the fourteenth. That’s really tight; but we’re doing it that way on purpose.”
“Use the damned tape, then,” Liam said. “But I’m taking her out of here, now.”
Liam started to walk out.
He had her hand; Serena pulled free from him, giving Kelly a kiss on the cheek, touching Jay’s hand, and telling Conar thank you as well. She didn’t take Liam’s hand again. She was grateful, but she refused to look like a child being dragged out of school by an irate parent.
When they reached the car, he stared at her. “You’ve got a problem with this? Or with me?”
“Yes—and no,” she told him curtly, sliding into the front seat of the car.
He joined her, slamming the door.
“Yes—and no?” he repeated, looking her way as he gunned the motor.
“No, I have no problem with leaving. And I’m grateful to you—of course. But you didn’t have to be so rude.”
“Excuse me? You were almost killed again, but I should worry about being rude?”
“Yes.”
He let the motor die and leaned hi
s head against the steering wheel.
“The show means everything to a lot of people.”
“The show is going to cost you your life.”
She sighed deeply. “Liam, they’re all as baffled as we are.”
“Not all of them. One of those people I shouldn’t be rude to is a killer.”
She kept silent, staring ahead.
“Isn’t anything ever more important than the show?” he queried.
“Yes.”
He didn’t say any more. He gunned the car, and they roared out of the garage.
“Where are we going?” she demanded.
“Hawaii.”
“Hawaii?” she said, stunned. Then she argued, “You can’t go to Hawaii just like that. We need tickets, arrangements—”
“I have a friend who’s a pilot.”
“But … just like that? It’s so far—”
“Yeah. I’m hoping that by putting a large piece of the Pacific Ocean between you and Valentine Valley I can buy a few days of peace.”
“I have to call my sister before we go—” she began thoughtfully.
“No.”
“I have to—”
“No. I’ll call Olsen or Rigger when we get there, and Conar. No one else is to know.”
She wanted to argue. She was leaving, as advised. But her sister should know where she was going, and someone on the show should know.
Maybe not. She had to admit …
She was scared, and no matter how Liam behaved, she needed him.
“Fine,” she told him coolly.
He looked her way. “Okay, fine. Go ahead, be all pissed off at me. We can go to war again—but away from here. From your family, your friends, and your whole soap society. Your life and your pretense. I wonder sometimes if you know the difference.”
Chapter 20
THEY DID GO TO HAWAII—just like that.
Serena watched skeptically as Martin Tyler conducted a maintenance check of his small plane in preparation for leaving. Liam had gone to make some last-minute purchases, and Martin talked freely. He had met Liam years ago, when they’d both been starting out in the LAPD. Martin had gone on to work for one of the major airlines for a number of years before starting his own charter service. He had remained friends with Liam, he said, because he owed Liam.
“Don’t tell me. He saved your life?” Serena asked.
Martin, a tall, slim man with soulful eyes and thinning hair, told her, “Did me one better than that. My daughter got mixed up with the wrong crowd, and one real bad guy. He tried to take her down to Mexico. God knows where it would have gone from there. Liam got her back for me. Shook up, scared as the devil, and I never really knew what all else. It didn’t matter; he got her back alive.” He brought a finger to his lips. Liam was coming back with a plastic bag of purchases. They were heading for Hawaii with nothing but the clothes they were wearing, his quick purchases, and the meager contents of her purse.
“Everything all right?”
“We’re ready to roll. The flight plan is filed, she’s gassed and ready to go.” He patted his plane fondly.
The journey was loud, and long. Liam sat up front with Martin. At first Serena thought she wasn’t going to have to worry about the situation at Valentine Valley anymore—she was sure she was going to die when Martin’s small plane went down in the Pacific. But then the droning of the plane’s engines began to create a lulling effect, and she dozed, and then slept well, and when she woke up, Liam was shaking her because they were on the ground.
They were staying right on the island of Hawaii itself. Since she had feared they would be sleeping on a stretch of black sand beach somewhere, she was pleasantly surprised when the taxi Liam hailed drove up to a resort she knew. In fact, she had stayed there two years earlier when they had done some location shooting for the show. She decided not to mention that to Liam.
She wasn’t surprised when they checked in as Mr. and Mrs. Lawrence Rydell of San Francisco. Or that Liam had identification to go with the name.
When they at long last reached their room—an elegant suite right on the ocean with doors that opened to the beach—she was still exhausted, despite the sleep she’d had on the plane. She fell onto the bed. She wanted a shower. She wanted room service. It was late, but earlier than it would have been in L.A. There must surely still be room service.
She fell asleep, fully clothed, that thought on her mind.
When she awoke, she was surprised to discover that she was alone. She stretched, remembering where she was and why. She was cramped and rumpled, and she wanted a shower. And coffee.
The second arrived just as she was beginning to think that her longing for the hot brew had made her imagine the scent of it. Liam came through the doors to the beach, carrying a cup.
“You’ve risen.”
“Kind of. Is that for me?”
He handed her the coffee. She noted that he had bought swim trunks and that he had been in the water.
“You left me alone long enough to get wet?” she inquired.
“I could see the bungalow all the while,” he assured her.
She just bet that he could. “Nice place,” she told him.
“I’m glad you approve.”
“I thought we’d be tenting.”
“It might have been a better idea.”
“Do you really think that whoever is doing all this can stretch out an arm to Hawaii and find us—when we came on a private plane and have registered under an alias?”
“No, it’s unlikely. But not impossible.”
“Liam, you know, the sarcophagus might have been … faulty equipment”
“Yes, it might have been.” He obviously didn’t believe that for a second.
She sighed and set the cup down. “I need a shower,” she told him, heading for the bathroom. She paused. “Did you buy me a toothbrush yesterday?”
“It’s in there.”
“Soap, shampoo?”
“All in there.”
“Thanks. You’re efficient as well as courageous,” she murmured, closing the bathroom door behind her. Then she popped her head back out. “I know you didn’t purchase a full wardrobe for me and bring it to the plane in that plastic bag.”
“I bought you a bathing suit and something that goes over it,” he said. “There’s a little island shop in the center of the hotel. We can get whatever else we need there.”
“Ah, and you’re going to let me use my credit card— a piece of plastic in my own name—to make purchases?”
“No. I have cash.”
“A rich and famous actress like me allowing a poor ex-cop, now a struggling P.I., to buy my clothing? I don’t think so,” she told him.
“I’m not struggling,” he replied.
“Still—”
“I’ll put the receipts with my expense bill when I turn it over to the producers.”
“Great,” she said, and closed the door.
A few minutes later she was standing under the hot water spray, feeling the steam work into her body. She closed her eyes, wondering if he would follow her into the shower.
He didn’t.
She emerged in twenty minutes, wrapped in two towels. He was reading the paper. He didn’t look up. He knew she was out, of course.
“You should be well rested and ready to hit the beach now.”
“Hit the beach?”
“Why not? We’re in Hawaii.”
“You mean … we’re not going to stay locked in here together for the days of my break?”
“God, no. One of us would kill the other by then.”
“Great. Where’s your little bag with all my earthly possessions for the duration?”
He pointed across the room. Take your time. I’ll be just outside.”
She changed from the towel to the bathing suit and wraparound. She wondered how he had managed to make such a great purchase in a matter of minutes at an airport. The suit was a blue-green sea pattern, the perfect size, nicely cut. Th
e wraparound was beautiful, an enhancement of the sea colors.
She dug her sunglasses out of her purse. Barefoot—the only shoes she had were the pumps she’d been wearing—she walked out the beach-side doors. He was waiting.
“There are chairs down by the water,” he told her.
“Lovely. Let’s go and watch the surf.”
They didn’t just watch the surf. When he felt they had sat long enough, he suggested a swim. When she refused, he picked her up and started walking toward the water. When she shrieked and an older woman gave him a warning glare, he smiled at the woman charmingly. “Forgive us, we’re honeymooners.”
The woman beamed.
Then he threw Serena into the water. She rose, sputtering, ready to hit him. He backed away. She spun into the water again.
“You do swim?” he inquired skeptically.
“Yes, I can swim!” she told him, ready to strike out again.
This time he caught her arms, pinned them, and swung her around so that she was tightly bound to him, her back against his chest, her arms crossed over her own.
“Wait, wait!” he said, voice level, the warmth of his breath touching her nape and her earlobe.
“Wait, what?”
“I’m proposing a truce.”
“Oh, a truce?”
“Yes, for the duration of our stay.”
“You’re in a better mood today, so I’m supposed to forget the way you yell at me, the client you’re supposed to be protecting? I’m supposed to say, Oh, wonderful! Here we are in Hawaii. Let’s just forget everything else, and play all day?”
“Yes, that’s more or less it.”
“You’re crazy,” she informed him.
“Probably.”
“I don’t know. You may feel free to buy me something islandy and fruity to drink, and then I’ll tell you.”
“Think we ought to have something to eat first?” he asked.
“Why bother? We’re in Hawaii.”