*
He put the bottle of lager to his mouth and took a large mouthful. He was tired. It had been a long flight, and the jetlag was kicking in, but he needed to stay alert. He was mad. Mad with himself for not realizing that the first attempt to snatch Autumn had been nothing but a PA and boyfriend making the most of a shit situation. It had been so slack, so unprofessional, he should have seen it. As-Wana was a tight unit. They left nothing to chance. They weren’t the drawing-up-in-a-van-in-public sort of organization. They were slick and careful. The fracas outside the Ricardo Hotel had been anything but slick, and it had caused the death of an innocent. He blamed himself for that, and he regretted not being able to do anything about it, especially when he saw Autumn’s expression drop every time her record producer’s name was mentioned.
He picked up the remote for the television and began flicking through the channels. He couldn’t concentrate and really needed to sleep, but his mind was working overtime, wondering what was going to happen next and how this was all going to pan out.
And then he stopped on a channel as a familiar face came into focus on the screen. It was Autumn, her music video for her biggest hit ‘Walking Away,’ the song she was to perform at the International Music Awards.
He sat on the edge of the bed, his eyes fixed on the television, watching her flirt with the camera and the male dancers, her costume changes, the dance routines. It barely resembled her. This person on screen was thinner, sharper, confident and assured. The person in the room next door was a shadow of that, but not necessarily worse for it. The Autumn he’d grown to know was vulnerable, yes, but lately, she had shown an inner strength, strong values, a fierce loyalty, and a desire to do the right thing. She was a good person who had been blighted by her life in the spotlight, but underneath the outer shell of Miss Showbiz was a beautiful woman—a beautiful, intelligent, brave, and perceptive woman.
There was a knock on his door. He got up and approached it, looked through the peephole then unfastened the lock.
*
‘May I come in?’ Autumn asked.
He moved the door open a little farther and let her enter.
‘Tawanda’s asleep, and I didn’t want to be on my own,’ she stated, putting a bottle of champagne and two glass flutes down on the dressing table.
Nathan eyed the alcohol. ‘Where did you get that?’ he asked.
‘Room service,’ she said as she kicked off her shoes. ‘It’s the cheaper stuff. The best bottle they have is over five hundred pounds, and… well, it seemed extravagant.’ She sat on the bed and tucked her legs underneath her. She looked at the television, saw herself on screen, did a double take, then looked to Nathan. ‘You’re watching me,’ she commented.
‘I couldn’t find anything. I was channel hopping and it came on.’
‘Turn it off,’ she said with a sigh.
He picked up the remote and switched it off.
‘Shall I open this?’ he asked, indicating the bottle.
She nodded.
He tore the foil from the neck of the champagne. ‘I heard you playing earlier, the keyboard,’ he remarked.
‘Tawanda wanted me to,’ Autumn admitted. ‘She made me. I’d been sitting at it not knowing what to do for twenty minutes, until she came out of the bathroom and demanded a song.’
‘Things are unsettled, but they’ll get back to normal when all this is over,’ Nathan said.
She locked eyes with him. ‘Will they?’ she asked. ‘Because that sounded like a line you’ve trotted out to potential kidnap victims over a number of years.’
‘I don’t know what to say,’ he admitted, grabbing hold of the cork and ripping it out of the bottle. It popped, and he quickly aimed it into one of the glasses.
Autumn looked into the mid-distance. ‘It’s Blu-Daddy’s memorial service tomorrow.’
‘You want to go?’
‘Yes, of course I’m going. I need to be there, for him and for his family. I have to tell his wife how sorry I am.’ Her voice came out firm and determined. She held her hand out for a glass just as Nathan finished pouring.
‘Then we’ll go,’ he told her, passing it along.
‘That’s okay?’ Autumn queried.
‘We agreed, things go back to normal, and we wait for whatever’s going to happen.’
She nodded and took a sip of the champagne. It fizzed on her tongue, slipped down her throat, and left her with a warm feeling all over.
‘You never talk about yourself. I don’t know anything about you,’ she said. The alcohol gave her the confidence to ask.
‘You want to talk? We could run through a few do’s and don’ts about being safe in public for tomorrow,’ he suggested, avoiding the question.
‘I want to talk, but not about kidnap plots or politics or pop music. I want to know about you.’
‘Come on, Autumn, that isn’t how it works,’ he said and downed his glass of champagne then picked his beer bottle back up.
‘It isn’t how what works? Conversation?’ she asked. ‘It is. You said I was bad at it. Well, Mr Regan, you’re worse.’
‘I’m not allowed to tell you anything about anything.’
‘About missions and secrets and hit lists and terrorist activities, no, maybe not. But I don’t want to know any of that. I want to know something about you.’ She pulled in her stomach, held a breath. ‘Tell me about Marie.’
At the mention of her name, Nathan’s expression froze, and he stood still, like a sentry on guard. It was as if the mention of the name had sent him into some sort of quantum leap. Then, after the moment had passed, he moved. He put down the beer bottle and re-filled
