Free City of Mirrors by Melodie Johnson-Howe Page B

this way. Run!”
    Cursing my choice of high heels, we ran for the limo as vehicles speeding on the highway came dangerously close. The asphalt was uneven and slippery with sand and gravel. The photographers and reporters chased after us.
    â€œDiana! Diana!”
    I stumbled as we reached the glistening black car. The driver caught me, grabbing my purse as it slipped from my shoulder. Quickly he opened the rear door and pushed me in. I fell flat on my face onto the black leather seat as he slammed the door shut.
    Breathless and unnerved, I righted myself, flipped my hair out of my eyes, and saw the back of a man sitting in the front passenger seat. There was something familiar about him. The driver slipped in behind the wheel and threw my purse into the man’s lap. The locks on the doors slid down just as one of the paparazzi reached my side of the car, angrily striking at the darkened window with the palm of his hand. Tires screeched and I sank back into the seat as we sped off.
    The passenger turned his head. Leo Heath’s solemn dark brown eyes stared at me from his lean rugged face. I stiffened.
    â€œWhat are you doing here?”
    â€œSecurity. Zaitlin wanted me to keep an eye on you. Put your seat belt on.” He faced forward.
    â€œSorry about shoving you so hard,” the chauffeur offered as he rapidly cut in and out of the traffic. “Hope I didn’t hurt you.”
    â€œI’m fine.” But I wasn’t. I was rattled by the run through the gauntlet of the fame suckers. And the presence of Heath wasn’t helping.
    â€œMay I have my purse?” I asked.
    â€œWhen you’re finished, I’ll give it back to you.” Heath didn’t bother to turn around.
    â€œI beg your pardon? I’d like my purse. Now.”
    He put it on the floor.
    â€œWhat do you think you’re doing?” I demanded.
    Both men acted as if I hadn’t spoken. Jesus, what was going on? I looked more closely at the car. The burl wood on the side panels and the dashboard was rich and expensive, the leather soft as a baby’s ass. I peered out the front window at the shiny Mercedes Benz emblem on the hood. Zaitlin was careful with his money. He never would have sent such an expensive car to pick me up. This was no rented town car or SUV, it belonged to someone. And it wasn’t Zaitlin.
    I peered at the heavy chrome molding lining the doors and listened to the silence. There was no road noise—other cars, the wind. I could feel the heavy smooth grip of the tires on the pavement, but not hear them. This was the kind of car presidents used: soundproof, bulletproof, maybe even missileproof. Except that Heath with his bashed nose and the chauffeur with his dyed hair were no secret service.
    I reached over and pulled at the door lock. It didn’t move. Then I tried my window. I couldn’t open it
    I took a deep breath, calming myself. “I need some air. Unlock my window so I can control it.”
    Heath turned up the air conditioner. “Let me know it if it gets too cold.” He was as accommodating as a maitre d’ with a hundred-dollar tip in his pocket. The air ruffled his hair.
    So they weren’t going to give me my purse and they weren’t going to let me operate the window. I pressed my lips together as I fought back the fear that was crawling through me. When I stumbled, had my bag really slipped from my shoulder, or had the driver purposely taken it? There was nothing in it except my lipstick, hairbrush, wallet, and cell phone. My cell. My contact to the outside world.
    The driver swerved left onto Malibu Canyon Road. We were going in the wrong direction for Zaitlin’s house. My fear was no longer crawling, it was at full gallop.
    â€œThis isn’t the way to Zaitlin’s!” I leaned forward, gripping the top of the driver’s seat.
    â€œThe meeting’s been canceled,” Heath said.
    â€œBy whom?” I