Chapter 20
Ismeralda
While Gabe rests, I ponder our last stop. It was such a relief that nobody recognized me. What a hoot to play along as if Gabe is a celebrity. Why can’t I be out of the limelight all the time? Fame sure isn’t what it’s cracked up to be.
The drive is stunning once we enter Colorado, the wide-open farmland and prairie replaced with craggy mountains and rock formations. The landscape is rugged yet has a natural beauty all its own. It would be fun to stop and explore some of this area, but duty calls.
This will be my first book signing at a big chain bookstore. Uncle Barnaby’s stores are very nice, but much smaller scale than the one I’m going to this evening. I know Gabe has security lined up, but a niggle of fear lodges itself in my gut. There’s been no communication from the stalker lately, so what does that mean?
Anxiety mounts along with the traffic as we get nearer to Denver. My palms sweat as I grip the steering wheel. Big rigs, pickups, jeeps, and huge RVs all jockey for position on the four-lane interstate as the road weaves around the mountains. Taking these curves at this speed makes me nervous.
“Gabriel, can you take over driving?” I ask, spotting a rest area coming up a mile down the road.
He bolts upright in his seat, then scrubs his hand along the stubble on his cheeks. With his rumpled hair he looks even more like Glen Powell and my heart flips.
“Where are we?” he asks.
“Somewhere along I-70 in the mountains. We just passed a ski resort,” I say.
“I’ll take over. Thanks for letting me sleep.” His voice is still raspy from his nap, and the sexy sound makes goosebumps form on my arms.
I pull off at the rest area and we both take a restroom break. The cooler mountain air instantly makes me feel more alert, so surely it will also help wake Gabe up. Even though there’s a few ladies in the restroom, none of them approach me and I’m glad.
“Wish I had a cup of coffee,” Gabe says once we’re both back in the vehicle. We buckle our seatbelts and take off.
“I’ll watch for a place we can stop,” I say.
Gabe snorts. “Let’s stick to a McDonalds or a place we’ve heard of this time.”
Laughing, I say, “But Gabriel, where is your sense of adventure?”
“I think we’ve had plenty of that. How about a drive-thru where they don’t recognize you and where the coffee is hot and fresh.”
“Okay.”
He glances over at me. “Honestly Izzie, I think we dodged a bullet at the last place. They never would have passed a restaurant health inspection.”
“True. How’s your stomach feeling? Any ill effects?” Maybe he had a bathroom incident at the rest area?
“Not so far, but the day is young.”
His comment makes me worry that those ill effects might hit me right at the time I’m supposed to sign books. Wouldn’t that be awkward? I usually have an ironclad stomach, so I assure myself that everything will be fine.
“Can you key in the address of the hotel in the GPS?” Gabe asks several miles later.
I do so, and a lady with a soothing British accent directs us to our hotel. When we hit the outskirts of Denver, we sit in stop-and-go traffic and I’m so thankful Gabe is driving.
“I thought California traffic was bad, but this isn’t any better,” I say.
“I’m not a native Californian, so when I moved there, it was quite an adjustment,” Gabe says.
A pang of guilt hits because I’ve been riding with this man for over a thousand miles and have never asked him about his past. The only information I received when Father hired him was that he’s a retired Marine.
I shift in the passenger seat to face him. “Where did you grow up?”
“I was raised on a farm in Iowa. I got a football scholarship to the University of Iowa but found out pretty quickly that being a star at a Podunk high school doesn’t translate into being a starter at a big university.”
“Really? You played football? What position?” I shouldn’t be so surprised due to his size and all those glorious muscles.
“Tight end. I sat on the bench for two years, then quit school, left my fiancée behind, and joined the Marines.”
My eyes widen. There’s a lot to unpack in that sentence. “You were engaged?” I squeak.
He nods. “She was a farm girl through and through. Never wanted to even set foot outside of Iowa. Dad wanted me to major in agriculture, but I knew my heart wasn’t in being a farmer. So I left all that behind. Becoming a Marine was the best decision of my life,” he says, his voice rising with pride.
“I flamed out of Standford my freshman year,” I say with chagrin.
His eyes go wide. “No kidding? You seem to excel at everything.”
“All those fancy tutors didn’t prepare me very well for college life. I dropped out and started my YouTube channel. The finishing school side of my education translated nicely to giving makeup and skin care tips. But a part of me still wonders if I should have tried to complete my degree.”
“What was your major going to be?” he asks, genuine interest in his eyes.
“I love art and history and was going to major in one of them. Work at a museum or an art gallery.” I sigh, thinking about how I could have lived an anonymous life with either of those careers. “If you’d read my book, I talk a lot about your face being your canvas. Makeup is really an art form. Assuming you do it well,” I add.
Gabe laughs. “Mindy sure could have used some of your tips.”
She grins. “I gave her a copy of my book before we left.”
When the British voice declares that our destination is a quarter mile on the right, Gabe concentrates on finding the hotel and parking in the Denver Grand Hotel’s guests-only garage.
After check-in, I’m going to catch up on email, eat some snacks, and prepare for the signing event. Gabe accompanies me to my suite, drops off my bag, and heads towards his own room.
“I’ll be at your door around five,” he says. “Call me if you need to leave your suite prior to that,” he adds before disappearing into his room.
~*~
Forty-five minutes before Gabe is to arrive at my door, I groan after assessing the contents of the snack bar. My craving for a Snickers bar simply won’t go away, and the previous guests obviously depleted the supply.
Isn’t the maid service supposed to replenish?
The choice between some pricy granola bars that probably taste like sawdust or a pack of sugary sweet Skittles simply isn’t going to cut it. I need chocolate, and I need it now! If I hurry, I can run down to the lobby, buy some chocolate, eat it, and get dressed before Gabe arrives. The poor man was so tired, I’d like to let him rest as long as possible.
My confidence has been boosted because my inbox contains no new missive from the stalker. Without Bernie and Bernice continuously feeding them my location, maybe they’ve given up? I’m feeling secure that I can slip down to the gift shop undetected and purchase a stash of Snickers bars without Gabe being the wiser. I have to admit that my need for chocolate is a bit embarrassing and it would be a nice bonus to keep up the ruse with Gabe that I didn’t succumb to junk food this time.
Still in my casual travel outfit, I slip on my Louboutins (unpacked and ready to wear tonight). They’ll add a little flair to my outfit if anyone recognizes me. Tiptoeing to the door, I sneak out and close it as quietly as possible. Listening outside my door, I detect no sound coming from Gabe’s adjoining suite. He’d be out here in an instant if he heard the sound of my door. Slipping off down the hall, I take the stairs so he doesn’t hear the elevator ding.
When I arrive on the ground floor, the stairs put me in a deserted hallway. This is rather unfortunate, because I was counting on having other people around, just as a safety precaution. Walking briskly down the long hall towards the gift shop and reception area, I pass by behind-the-scenes services such as the laundry room and an area where the housekeepers park their carts.
I breathe a sigh of relief when I get to a more populated area of the hotel. The gift shop is off to the right of the reception desk, so I quickly stride inside and find the candy section. Grabbing five Snickers bars, I rush to the counter where a friendly younger woman rings me up.
“I love these things!” she comments. “But I can’t eat them because chocolate makes me break out.”
Unable to resist, I reply, “You can prevent acne flare-ups by exercising after you consume chocolate.”
She pauses checking out my purchase and says, “No kidding?”
I nod. “No kidding. Also drink plenty of water during the day and maintain your skin care routine.”
“Wow! How do you know all this stuff?” she asks.
Do I reveal who I am? Just a few days ago, I would have gladly talked about my YouTube channel and my book to anyone who showed interest, but the fame and celebrity have become tiresome, frustrating, and exhausting. I don’t need or want another fan.
“Ever since I was a teenager, I’ve kept to a disciplined skin care routine,” I say, giving a vague response.
Her eyes roam over my face. “Well, you have beautiful skin. Maybe you should share some of those secrets!” she says with a laugh.
I smile and nod, then pay and leave with my candy bars tucked into my pockets just in case I run into an admirer. Always conscious of my image, I don’t want to be caught carrying sweets.
A large group of tourists apparently just arrived at the hotel, and they’re all hovered around the elevator just to the left of the reception desk. Their boisterous conversations give me pause, and I decide to take the stairs again on the off chance someone in that group recognizes me. I sneak off down the back hallway where I came from and past the laundry. I’m feeling good about the fact that no one has recognized me so far.
Thinking about the delicious snacks in my pocket as well as how ugly this carpet is—a swirly green and puke brown design—I pass the area where the housekeepers store their carts. About ten steps beyond the storage area, someone comes up behind me.
Everything happens so quickly as they push me, making me stumble. “Gah!” I yell, taken by surprise. Now that I’m off balance, rough hands shove me into a room I didn’t notice on my original trek down the hallway. They slam the door, and I’m plunged into darkness, then I hear a key turn in the lock.
“No!” I shout. My hand finds the handle and I rattle it, but the door won’t open from the inside. Cleaning fluid odors attack my nose, and I feel around like a blind person, trying to find the light switch. I bump into a vacuum and knock a roll of paper towels off a shelf in my quest for the switch. As I shuffle around the room, I realize that I’m missing a shoe, belatedly noticing my off-balance gait.
What just happened? After taking a few calming breaths, I mentally assess the situation. I think my attacker is female based on the whiff of perfume I got when she shoved me from behind. An olfactory memory reminds me that I’ve smelled this perfume before. But where?
I’m stuck in what is either the janitor’s or the maid’s closet. It’s locked from the outside—probably to avoid any guests entering the closet and stealing something. Although when I’m on vacation, the last thing I’d want to do is steal cleaning solutions.
There must be a light switch! I start to resume my search, until another thought occurs to me. Maybe they use the light from the hall as the light source for the closet?
What about my cell? It has a light! Frantically patting my pockets, I discover that my cell phone is back in my suite. Dang!
Yanking a Snickers from my pocket, I unwrap it and take a huge bite. Chewing furiously, frustrated at my situation, I polish off the bar in three more bites. It’s small consolation, but I won’t starve to death.
Think, Izzie! Think!
What if I yell for help? I raise my fist and pound on the door. “Help! Help! Help!” I repeat this until my hand is sore and my voice scratchy.
I listen intently, but there’s no response. My shoulders slump when I remember that the room is in a deserted hallway. Can my feeble yells even be heard over the sound of the laundry machines? The laundry room is next door, and I hear the racket the washers and dryers are making.
Maybe someone will spot my shoe? It will depend on my abductor and whether she was alert enough to notice the shoe and take it with her or not. But who’s going to stumble across a lone Louboutin lying in a deserted laundry hallway?
My legs are suddenly too weak to hold me. Sliding down the wall, I sit on the floor, trying to ignore the dust and grime. I guess darkness is good for something . When my hand encounters a sticky substance, I cringe. The situation slowly crystallizes in my mind and my gut fills with dread. I’m probably stuck here until one of the maids or the janitor finds me, possibly as late as tomorrow morning.
Even if Gabe searches for me, he won’t have any idea where I went. For all he knows, I was abducted from my room. I kick myself for not following his instructions and bringing him with me on the candy bar run. Whoever shoved me into this room would have been hard pressed to shove a guy the size of Gabe in here as well.
Ugh! Unless a miracle happens, I’m going to miss my book signing this evening. How will my fans react?