“I’ll be in contact,” he said, raising a finger to his ear to indicate the nearly invisible speaker and mic combo that rested in it.
Playing the part, he got out, opened the back door, and held it as Harrison and Annika stepped out. Thankfully, Edward Marlot was not allowing the general press onto the grounds. The invitation stated professional photographers would be on hand and that some pictures might be released to the press, but it would be after the fact, once all involved approved.
That was just fine with Annika. The less evidence of her being here, the better.
A red carpet extended all the way from the ultra-modern, sleek glass-and-steel building before them.
“It’s as ugly as sin,” Harrison said from the side of his mouth.
“Yeah. He wants everything to seem futuristic. It’s definitely an aesthetic choice,” Annika responded.
“Well, he should rethink it. It looks like the lair of a James Bond villain.” He shook his head as they kept walking towardthe front doors, never breaking stride as they spoke. “I suppose it doesn’t matter. He just needs to focus on decorating his prison cell.”
Annika hoped Harrison was right.
Before they entered, the door opened and six large men wearing suits emerged. They all looked like former military, despite their stylish manner of dress. Their earpieces were obvious, with curling wires extending from them.
The one in the lead—a bull of a man with a perfectly bald head—stopped and smiled. “Good evening, Mr. Trent. So glad you could join us.”
Annika froze in terror. She didn’t recognize him or any of the guys with him, but that didn’t mean they weren’t on the lookout for her. Is that why they’d rushed outside upon her arrival?
But that didn’t make sense, she reassured herself. They had no reason to expect she’d show up there or even that she had the means to if she’d wanted that.
Just stay calm. Don’t do anything to draw attention to yourself. Stick to the plan. You’ll be fine.
“Thank you,” Harrison said. “I must apologize, but I can’t seem to place your name.”
The security guard smiled. “No reason to apologize, Sir. We haven’t met. I just recognize you from the movies.”
“Oh. That makes sense. Well, it’s nice meeting you, Mr.—”
“My name is Richard. No mister required. Nice meeting you, too, sir.”
Harrison made a show of looking around. “Is everything okay? You boys came out of there kind of fast.”
Annika tried not to hold her breath, wanting to see as natural as possible. But she was dying to hear the man’s answer.
She relaxed when it came. “Just fine. Some protesters are at the front gate.”
“Oh yeah. We saw them as we drove in. What are they even protesting?”
“They claim Mr. Marlot’s auto company causes too much pollution.” The guard rolled his eyes. “Guess it’s really none of my concern. We were just hired as extra security. As long as those protesters don’t step out of line, we won’t have a problem. And don’t worry, sir. You’re safe in here.”
Harrison thanked them and then escorted Annika away. Once they were nearing the door, he whispered, “It’s working. The gang outside is drawing security’s attention from inside.”
Annika smiled as she remembered the sight she’d seen only moments earlier—Eli, Nancy, Katie, Bradley, Dax, Leah, Flint, Iris, Lana, and Cami all with protest signs as they marched in a circle and yelled at approaching vehicles. They all had makeup on—thanks to Lana’s special effects work—to hide enough of their features so that they’d never be identified unless they were actually arrested and looked at more closely.
If all went according to plan, that would never happen…
The next hour passed slowly, and Annika felt as if she were about to crawl out of her skin.
They couldn’t rush this though.
During that time, she’d noticed more security guards coming in and out. Apparently, the protesters outside were really giving them fits.
It nearly made Annika giggle. But she managed to play it cool and appear as classy and at home at a high-dollar gala as she could.
Harrison ran into several people he knew from the entertainment industry. They’d all seemed curious as to why hewas with someone other than his wife—although in L.A. people didn’t ask a lot of questions about such.
