Chapter 37
CHAPTER
THIRTY-SEVEN
The police arrived in a blur of lights and clipped voices, their cruisers angled carefully along the narrow shoulder.
Andi stood a few steps back from the bus, wrapped in a borrowed blanket she hadn’t realized she needed until someone draped it over her shoulders.
The air smelled sharp—hot metal, ocean salt, burnt rubber.
She turned away from the activity and looked out at the landscape instead.
Mountains rose behind them, layered and quiet, their ridgelines softened by haze. Below, the Pacific stretched out in a vast, restless sprawl, waves breaking against rock as if nothing extraordinary had happened at all.
The beauty and ugliness of everything pressed against her chest, heavy and sad in a way she couldn’t quite explain.
They’d come so close to dying, she thought. And the world just kept being beautiful.
Behind her, Rupert’s voice sliced through the calm.
“I don’t care if it’s premium, platinum, or blessed by the pope himself,” he barked into his phone. “We need a replacement bus. Immediately. Do you have any idea what our liability exposure is right now?”
She didn’t turn. She didn’t need to see his face to picture it.
Near the front of the bus, Duke stood with Ranger and Jack, answering questions from a CHP officer. Duke’s posture was steady, controlled. But Andi knew him well enough to recognize the tension threaded through every movement.
Ranger spoke occasionally, precise and economical. Jack gestured toward the undercarriage, shaking his head as he explained—again—how he’d checked everything himself that morning.
Andi believed him.
She felt Mariella’s presence before she heard her voice. “You okay?”
“I think so.” Andi’s hands were still trembling, but the shaking had slowed. “That was too close.”
Leaving Anastasia with Karen for a moment, Simmy stepped in beside them, her gaze flicking once toward the bus, then to the police. “This wasn’t an accident, was it?”
Andi met Mariella’s eyes. Saw her own conclusion reflected there.
“No,” Andi said. “It wasn’t.”
Mariella exhaled slowly. “Someone wanted to scare us.”
Or worse, Andi thought. But she didn’t say the words out loud.
“I should have never suggested this highway,” Mariella continued. “I just thought some of you might enjoy it. I mean, I know Alaska is breathtaking, but California is gorgeous also. I wanted to show off my state.”
Had someone known about their plan to take this highway? Was that why they’d rigged the brakes? If this had happened on the interstate, it would have still been dangerous. But not like on this road.
Who had they told?
Then Andi remembered. Mariella had mentioned taking this route at one of their events.
That means thousands of people knew.
She fought a frown.
Rupert finally lowered his phone and turned toward the group, his face pale, his composure hanging by a thread.
“Okay.” He clapped his hands once with forced energy. “Good news and bad news.”
No one spoke, only listened.
“The bad news is there is not a single tour bus within a hundred-mile radius that can take us anywhere today. Not one. I’ve called everyone.”
A knot tightened in Andi’s stomach.
“The good news,” Rupert continued, as if sheer optimism might carry them through, “is that I’ve arranged alternative transportation.”
Duke’s head snapped up. “Define alternative.”
Rupert smiled thinly. “Vans. Three of them. They’ll be here in thirty minutes.”
“And the bus?” Mariella asked.
Rupert gestured helplessly toward the wounded vehicle. “We unload everything. All of it. Gear, bags, cases. We travel light, reorganize, and pray this doesn’t turn into a logistical nightmare.” He looked around at them. “It’s all hands on deck.”
Andi stared once more at the mountains and the ocean beyond, the stillness at odds with everything churning inside her.
They’d survived.
But nothing was going to be easy from here on out.
And whoever had sent that message was still out there—watching, waiting, patient enough to try again.
She pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders and turned back toward the group.
“Okay,” she said. “Let’s do it.”
Los Angeles announced itself long before Andi and the rest of the gang stepped out of their van.
The air was warm and dry, tinged with exhaust and sunscreen, the sky an uninterrupted blue that felt almost artificial.
Traffic crawled past in glossy lines of cars, horns punctuating the constant hum of the city.
Somewhere nearby, music thumped—bass-heavy and insistent—layered with snippets of conversation, laughter, and the distant wail of sirens.
It was almost like the city itself performed, just like so many of its residents.
Mariella practically glowed as she swept her arm toward the hotel entrance. “This is going to be so much fun! I love it here!”
Andi managed a smile. “Of course, you do.”
Mariella was Ms. Hollywood—all glam and attention-loving and beautiful.
At least this was a nice distraction from their earlier near-death experience.
The hotel lobby opened up around them in a wash of glass and light—sleek lines, polished stone floors, and towering windows that let the sun pour in.
Everything smelled faintly of citrus and expensive perfume.
People moved with purpose, phones pressed to ears, sunglasses still perched on heads as if they might be needed again at any moment.
Check-in went smoothly—Rupert hovering nearby, miraculously calm, murmuring approval at the efficiency of the front desk staff and the prominence of the venue.
They were handed key cards, schedules, and glossy folders stamped with logos and times that made Andi’s head spin if she looked at them too long.
They had two events while they were here, in addition to media spots and obligations. In between, that left them a little time to continue looking for Gina from hundreds of miles away. But Andi would find a way.
They split up to drop bags in their rooms, Duke walking with her.
Andi had just reached her room when her phone buzzed.
Her friend was calling, the one she was supposed to meet.
She held up a finger, silently asking Duke to excuse her for a moment.
“Hey,” Andi answered.
“You made it.” Her friend’s voice sounded warm.
“I did. This city hasn’t changed.” She’d been here one other time for one of those law conferences.
“So, breakfast tomorrow?”
Andi glanced at the schedule in her hand. “I can do early. Before things get crazy.”
“Perfect because I have an appointment at nine. Does seven work?”
“Seven it is.”