“We’re good out here, too,” a second voice replied. “Everything’s calm.”
“Let’s hope it stays that way,” Harlow replied. He kept his eyes on the stage. “Remember to stay on your toes.”
“You got it.”
There was a movement in the crowd—an abrupt, out-of-place flash in the corner of Harlow’s eye—that tore his attention away. By the time he looked, the source of the flash was gone, but he scanned the audience regardless. The demographic leaned toward men in their late twenties or early thirties, white, and of similar socio-economic status. In general, the crowd appeared to be at ease, but there were a few sullen faces that set off early alarm bells in Harlow’s mind. Not every dour individual was dangerous, but Harlow would rather play it safe and keep an eye on them than risk a possible assault.
Harlow leaned back in his chair. “Row sixteen, stage left, red shirt. Anyone have eyes?”
“Locked.”
“Row twenty, corner seat.”
“Black shirt, white screen-printing. Yep. Locked.”
Hearing that his team had the room under control was reassuring, and so Harlow let the flash go. He glanced back at the stage, where the panel’s MC was opening up moderated questions. Evie smiled, but her eyes had lost their shine. Justin leaned over and whispered something in her ear that made one corner of her lips twitch, but not even what he had to say could reignite the luster of her expression. Tonight, when they’d retired to their room, Harlow would see if he couldn’t talk her into canceling one of her appearances. If the road was running her ragged, there was a solution—stop traveling. Even if she only took a week or two to herself, it’d do her good. For the last six years, she’d lived and breathedHeaven, Locked, and with a three-year contract signed and sent to her agent just last week, it’d be another three years of nonstop work.
Maybe they could travel together—scope out Fiji. As far as Harlow knew, xVerity wasn’t planning on getting married immediately, but getting a feel for the country before he arrived as a wedding guest would give Harlow a leg up. He’d done the same in Aurora for Gwynning’s wedding, after all—asked his independently contracted tech specialist, Simon, to hack into the live feeds in and around the reception venue so he could keep an eye on the place while his friends were in attendance.
And Harlow bet Evie would love the sun.
Minutes ticked by. The panel went as expected. From city to city, the same questions were always brought up, and the cast delivered the expected responses, sometimes riffing off each other to liven the mood. There was laughter—Evie, even when depleted, loved to keep things lighthearted—and banter, and slowly, the uneasy feeling Harlow had been housing since he’d noticed that something was wrong with Evie began to fade. Maybehewas the one who needed a break. Working around the clock as his daughter’s bodyguard was physically and emotionally draining. Apart from Gwynning’s wedding, when was the last time he’d gone on vacation?
An attendant in the wings gave the five-minute warning to the panelists. Harlow saw it only because he knew what to expect.
“Five minutes,” he told his team in a low voice. “Lounge team, have you scoped the area? We’ll be heading there once the panel is over.”
“Lounge is clear and secured.”
“Excellent.” Harlow set his elbows on his knees and leaned forward, letting himself watch Evie for the last few minutes not only as a bodyguard, but as a father. She’d grown up so fast. The preteen who’d informed him that one day she’d be a star had become a whole universe—a collection of talent, dreams, ideas, and successes that Harlow could spend his whole life appreciating without ever doubling back on the same topic. But even if Evie hadn’t made it—even if she’d told him that it was her dream to sell painted seashells on the boardwalk or push papers for the rest of her life—he would have thought the same. In Evie, he saw the good in the past they’d both left behind. The love, the laughter, and the hope.
“This is a question for Ms. Warwick,” came the last question. “It’s safe to say that you’ve grown up with Leah, and both of you are discovering yourselves while making your mark on the world. We’ve spent pretty much all panel talking about where the show’s been, and I know you guys can’t really talk about what’s coming in terms of the next season, but I wanted to ask you personally… what are your next steps? What direction would you like to see your career take?”
Evie pursed her lips. She folded her arms on the table and leaned toward the microphone, taking a moment to compose her response. There was an emotion in her eyes that Harlow had never seen before, and it sent a chill racing down his spine. The look wasn’t fear—not exactly. It bore the same uncertain trepidation, but it was colored by something that made it vibrant and—somehow—hopeful.
“That’s a really interesting question,” Evie said. She smiled, but it lacked soul. “And, actually… you asking that now is really great timing, because I’ve come to a decision, and I wanted to share it with everyone so no one is confused.”
A murmur ran through the crowd. Harlow narrowed his eyes, trying to figure out what she was talking about. Evie’s professional life was inextricably linked to his—every decision she’d made about her career, she’d taken to him first.
“Right now, I’m between contracts,” she said. That wasn’t true—Evie had sent her signed contract renewal to her agent last week. She’d told him so. “When I startedHeaven, Locked, I was brand-new to the industry, and I never would have imagined that you guys would love the show so much. It’s been a crazy, wonderful experience. I’ve had the chance to meet so many fantastic people and make a living, and it’s… it’s really humbling that you’d all let me into your homes and your hearts like you have.”
Harlow glanced away from Evie to look across the crowd. The murmur hadn’t died down—it rose into a dull roar that promised trouble. Nervous energy wove its way through the room, tightening the tension, like Harlow had been transported into a classroom of antsy students a minute away from the last bell of the day.
“But I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately… about myself, and about what makes me happy. Just like Leah is exploring her world and trying to find a place she belongs… so am I.”
It was like someone was feeding a script into Evie’s ear. She’d never come to him with any of this—never mentioned that she’d made a decision, or that she’d been spending serious time introspecting. What was going on?
“I want to thank everyone for all the kind and encouraging things you’ve said to me, and for all the growing you’ve helped me do… but I’m not coming back for the next season ofHeaven, Locked.”
The roar reached a fevered pitch. Harlow’s attention locked so closely on Evie that he barely noticed. This had to be an act—some viral marketing campaign her publicist had cooked up to amp up anticipation for the next season. It didn’t make sense otherwise. Evie had always been so happy.
“In fact,” Evie said with a small, sad smile, “I’m not coming back to Hollywood at all. Thank you to everyone. It’s been one hell of a great ride, but this is where I’m getting off.”
Then, as though heaven itself condoned what she had to say, every light inside the windowless panel room went out at once. The illuminated EXIT signs over the doors blinked out. Darkness gripped the space as tightly as it gripped Harlow’s heart.
A woman screamed—the shrill pitch of it rattled Harlow’s eardrums, but he didn’t have time to wince. He was already on his feet, sprinting through the dark on memory alone, trusting his mental snapshot of the room was close enough to reality to get him to where he needed to go.
In the darkness, he smacked into a sturdy, flat surface that rose close to chest height—the side of the stage. The air was forced from Harlow’s lungs, but he didn’t let it stop him. He reached through the darkness to plant his palms on the stage floor and vault up, but before he could, the lights flickered back on. Harlow glanced up at the table, heart in his throat, hoping that he’d see army green and bird’s-nest chic, but the stage wasn’t as it had been before the lights had been cut.
