Page 34 of Every Step She Takes
I step from the stairwell with as much dignity as I can muster. There’s no one in sight. I walk into the crowded lobby and take a seat in a plush chair.
With a tissue, I surreptitiously remove Isabella’s phone and tuck it under the seat cushion. I’ll come back for it later. Then I head onto the elevator and hit the button for the penthouse level.
It is only as the elevator doors open again that my brain screams a flaw in my plan. That final text I sent – the one saying Isabella’s door was unlocked and I was coming in. It proves I didn’t arrive just now.
I reach to stop the doors from opening, but of course, they still do. And there’s a security guard standing right there, blocking the way to Isabella’s room.
I could retreat. Pretend I have the wrong floor and…
He turns and sees me.
I step off the elevator. The door to the penthouse is open, and inside, people are talking, voices coming fast and urgent.
I look toward it. Before I can say a word, the guard says, “If you’re here to see Ms. Morales, there’s been an incident. You’ll have to come back later.”
Retreat.
Just retreat.
No, I need to be honest. Or as honest as I can be under the circumstances.
I cast a worried look toward the penthouse and then back to the guard. He’s maybe forty, bald, with a beard that tries for trendy and fails.
“I was just up here,” I say. “I was meeting Isabella for breakfast, and the door was ajar. She wasn’t answering. I texted to say I was coming inside, but that felt weird, so I went downstairs and waited for her to call.”
“You were up here earlier?” the guard asks.
I nod. “Maybe twenty-five minutes ago?” I check my phone. “Twenty-eight, apparently. The door was ajar. I figured that was accidental, and I shut it. She never did answer my text, so I came back up. Is she okay?”
He says nothing. Just studies me. A slow once-over – a little too slow for comfort – and then he eases back.
“What was your business with Ms. Morales?” he asks.
“Breakfast.”Like I said.“We were supposed to have lunch, but she texted this morning to ask if she could switch to breakfast.”
His eyes narrow. He checks his watch. “Awfully early, isn’t it?”
“Her plans changed. I said I was up, and she asked if I could come over right away.”
His lips purse behind the sparse beard. His gaze slides over me again, still slow, as if using the excuse.
“Were you the redhead in thoseJurassicmovies?”
I laugh softly. If the guy thinks I look like Bryce Dallas Howard, he’s clearly seen too many “celebrities without makeup” tabloid spreads. He must know Isabella is in showbiz, and Ms. Howard is probably the only red-haired actress he can think of.
The question does make me relax, though, and I say, “No, but thank you. That’s very flattering. I’m just an old acquaintance of Isabella’s.” I cast an anxious gaze at her room. “Isshe all right?”
The elevator opens. A gurney comes off, and I gasp, while mentally reminding myself not to oversell this.
“Did something happen?” I say.
The guard tugs me aside to make way for the paramedics, though I’ve already moved. He uses the excuse to hold me there, his thumb rubbing my bare forearm.
“I’m in the way,” I say. “I should go.”
“Better give me your contact information first,” he says. “In case they need it.”
I glance toward the room. “She is all right, isn’t she?”
