As we rode to the studio, dawn brightened the sky. Funny, but the weather in California was seasonless-paradise by anyone’s measure-but I found it annoying. The last winter at Dahlia House had been lonely and on some mornings bitterly cold. The summers were often unbearable. But weather marked the passage of time in a rhythm that was familiar.
We were almost to the studio when King began to talk. “I have some information on the situation,” he said. “I’ve got men at the studio, and I just talked with one of my captains. We believe Jovan is holed up on a sound stage with hostages.”
“Hostages? Plural?” My voice broke.
He cast me a quick glance. “Two or more. We can’t be sure. We’ve got surveillance equipment trained on the building, but the visibility isn’t great.”
“Are the hostages alive?”
He rubbed his chin. “As far as we can tell. But I’m not going to kid you, this is a bad situation.”
“Has anyone tried to talk to her?” Tinkie asked.
“A hostage negotiator called and she said if we called again, she’d kill the people she’s holding. And I believe she will. She’s coming unraveled fast.”
As I watched the sun come up on one of the most beautiful places I’d ever been, I was paralyzed by dread. The car seemed to crawl forward, and while Tinkie asked questions, I couldn’t make out any of the words.
I felt her hand on my shoulder, and I squeezed her fingers to let her know I appreciated all she was doing. Graf was okay. I had to believe that. Somehow he’d gotten caught up in this mess, but there was no reason for Jovan to kill him.
Except that she’d killed Suzy Dutton and almost killed Estelle, not to mention taking a swipe at me and Tinkie. Homicidal maniacs didn’t need a reason.
As we turned into the studio lot, I saw the patrol cars, a line of eight, waiting for the sheriff. Snipers with high-powered rifles stood talking beside the cars. This was serious business, and while Grady King was calm, he was prepared for anything.
“Graf is okay, Sarah Booth.” Tinkie spoke with the confidence of a friend. “Feel it? He’s fine. Don’t worry.”
“Sure,” I said, though I felt only the sensation of dropping into a void.
King stopped and we got out. He talked with several of the SWAT team members, then came back to us.
“It’s like this. We can see one man we believe to be Marquez tied in a chair. There’s no sign of the second man. We can see Jovan pacing back and forth, talking to the man in the chair. We’ve used the bullhorn to alert her that we’re law enforcement and that she should surrender. She’s not inclined to listen.”
“What’s your plan?” I asked.
“We can’t get a clear shot on her. We need someone to try to talk to her. She won’t answer her cell phone.”
“I’ll go talk to her,” I said. I had to get to Graf and make sure he was alive.
King assessed me. “You’d risk your life?”
“Yes.” I didn’t want to. I had a pretty good life. If something happened to me without producing the Delaney heir that Jitty kept hounding me about, I’d never hear the end of it. Jitty would haunt me in the afterlife just as she did now.
“No!” Tinkie stepped forward. “Let me do it. She has reason to hate Sarah Booth because of the movie. I’m not involved with any of it. She may listen to me.”
“She whacked you on the head and kicked Chablis,” I reminded her. “You’re as vulnerable as I am. And you look like a raccoon. She won’t talk to you.”
The bruises from the wreck had already begun to settle around Tinkie’s eyes. She did look remarkably like the masked bandit of the animal world.
“She’ll be a lot more receptive to me,” Tinkie insisted.
“Ladies.” King held up a hand. “I’ve never seen two civilians argue for the chance to get shot.”
“You’ve never met a true Mississippi gal,” Tinkie said.
“And hope never to again,” King said under his breath. He looked at me and then Tinkie. “She’s going in.” He pointed at Tinkie. “Get her a vest and as much protection as we can,” he said to one of the men, who led Tinkie away to make a Kevlar selection.
“You can’t let her risk herself,” I told him. “She has a husband and friends who love her.”
He only arched an eyebrow. “All we need is for her to get the door open. She’s short and if we have to, we can take the shot right over her head.”
The idea was awful. But I could see from King’s and Tinkie’s faces that they were going full ahead. “I’ve got to find a toilet,” I said. “I’m going to be sick.”
“That way,” a young deputy pointed.
Vomit was such an effective threat. They were only too glad that I was ambulatory and could clean myself up. I slipped away without anyone giving me a second thought.
The sound stage looked to me like a huge warehouse with metal doors that slid on runners. Inside, there were different sets and climate-controlled conditions. I had no idea which set Jovan might be occupying with her prisoners, but I would find out.
As I passed a patrol car, I saw a canister of pepper spray on the seat. I reached in and took it. Then I was running, heading behind the building, hoping that there might be a way for me to slip inside before Tinkie could risk her life.
I heard Sheriff King cursing a blue streak, but I was too far away for him to stop me, unless he shot me, and I was reasonably sure he wouldn’t do that. Not yet.
When I made it to a corner of the building, I pressed myself against it and took some deep breaths. To my horror, I saw that Tinkie was proceeding toward the building, too. She was going straight to the doors.
I pushed off the wall and began circling behind. Although I couldn’t see them, I knew snipers surrounded the building. Moving quickly, I ran along the back looking for a window or door or some opening where I could push myself inside. I had to hurry. Tinkie and Graf both were in danger.
I was on the north side when I found a window with a cracked pane. If I did this wrong, tragedy could result. Using my elbow, I cracked the glass more and began to pull it out piece by piece. When I could get my hand and arm inside, I unlocked the window and gently raised it.
In another three minutes, I was inside, completely disoriented but able to hear the sound of someone knocking.
“Go away or I’ll kill Milieu,” Jovan yelled.
I followed her voice, tracking silently through the huge building.
“It’s Tinkie Richmond,” I heard my partner say. “Will you please talk to me? Jovan, your mother is worried sick about you.”
“Yeah, right. She was so worried she gave me away at birth.”
The last and final piece clicked. Tinkie had been right. The parents on Jovan’s Web site had adopted her. Her mother, the lovely Ivana, had not wanted to raise the daughter that was a product of… her marriage or an affair? Was Federico Marquez her father?
I moved steadily closer to the sound of Tinkie pounding on the door. “I can help you, Jovan. You have a career and fans and Federico cares for you. You don’t want to hurt him.”
Don’t go there, Tinkie, I wanted to shout at her. Federico might be her father. And her lover. Shades of Chinatown. Don’t go there. But it was too late.
I saw a flood of daylight as the door opened and Jovan reached out and snatched Tinkie inside just as several slugs whammed into the side of the building.
“You were trying to set me up to be shot.”
I crept forward. Jovan gripped Tinkie’s shirt.
“It’s not too late for you to give up,” Tinkie said. “I’ll try to help you.”
Jovan pushed her back so hard that Tinkie fell. She stayed on the floor.
“You can help me,” Jovan said. “You can watch as I gut the man who destroyed my family and my life.” She stepped around Tinkie and went to a set designed as a bedroom. Federico was sitting in a chair, tied so tightly that he couldn’t move.