and the furnishings were obviously expensive. Almost immediately, she realized there was no phone.
She looked down and panic replaced her fear. She was wearing a pink satin nightgown. Quickly scanning the room, she didn't see the clothes she'd been wearing the night before.
Vaulting from the bed, she kicked a pair of pink marabou-trimmed slippers. She tried to slide her feet into the softness of the footwear, but her coordination was way off. Unsteady on her feet, she tottered to the window, where she pulled open maroon velveteen draperies hanging in front of white sheers. Yanking the filmy white fabric aside, she was dismayed to see she was at some sort of a compound. A tall white stucco fence appeared to separate the development from endless sagebrush and yucca plants.
A light knock at the door had her scurrying, as best she could, back into the bed and pulling the sheets up to her neck.
"Come in," she said softly. Her heart beat so hard, she feared it would burst from her chest.
A young woman poked her head around the door. "Good, you're up," she said.
Coming into the room, the visitor's toned and provocative curves were displayed in navy yoga pants and a lime green sports bra. She looked to be about eighteen. "I'm Ginger," the woman said, pointing to her strawberry blonde hair. "The name suits me, don't you think?"
Relieved the intruder was a female, Tiffany asked, "Where am I and how did I get here?"
A look of surprise crossed Ginger's face. "Dre didn't fill you in?"
It took a moment for Tiffany to associate the name, Dre, with the good-looking man named Drejohn she'd met at the party last night. She shook her head.
Ginger made a face. "Gee, I'm not sure how much I'm supposed to tell you. Why don't you get dressed, and I'll take you down to the kitchen for breakfast."
Tiffany needed to get home. Her father was probably having a fit. "I don't mean to be rude, but I really don't have time for breakfast. My father will be going nuts. I've got to get home."
The woman's face took on a hard edge. "I'd think you'd at least like to thank your host for his hospitality."
Embarrassed and scared at being chastised, Tiffany felt her cheeks blossom with heat.
"Of course! I didn't mean to be rude. I just need to give my Dad a quick call," she said hopefully. "That way he won't call out the National Guard or something," she said, forcing a giggle.
"You don't have time. Get dressed. There are clothes in the dresser and the closet. Wear whatever you want and whatever fits. I'll be back in a few minutes." The woman exited the door, and Tiffany heard the metallic click of a deadbolt lock being slid into place.
Tiffany ran to the door and tried to open it. Her worst fears were confirmed. The door was locked from the outside.
"Wait! You can't lock me in here! That's kidnapping!" She began pounding on the door and yelling for help.
Suddenly someone punched the door from the other side with so much force that Tiffany heard the wood crack.
"Shut up, bitch!" hollered a deep male voice. "Nobody's gonna hear ya, and nobody's gonna help ya!"
PRESTON – 18
Preston paced the family room of his Bel Air home while Martin Bain continued to personally telephone the more important people the governor was supposed to meet within the next two days. On the flight down to L.A. they'd agree to delete everything from Preston's calendar for forty-eight hours, then go from there. The girls in the office were handling notifications to the less important constituents.
Members of Preston's L.A. office were at the massive dining room table making arrangements for the governor to be briefed by law enforcement as to what was known about Tiffany's disappearance and what they were doing to find her.
Bain hung up the phone and ran his hand through his hair. "Well, they weren't happy."
Preston stopped pacing. "Who?"
"The head of E.F.F.O.R.T."
"What the hell does that stand for?" Preston said frowning.
"Employment For Friends and Others Requiring Tolerance." Bain grabbed a croissant from an array of food that was set up along the wooden bar that stretched along one of the walls. "Some name, huh? They find jobs for dopers and derelicts."
"I can't believe anyone supports that crap. Studies have shown most of them are jobless because they can't conform to what's required in a job." said Preston. "But as long as someone makes a buck off the idea, they'll solicit funding. I'm surprised you'd set me up with something like that."
"Well, sir, there's been some buzz in the news throughout the state about your lack of focus on the homeless and unemployment problem. This is a group the President has been endorsing for the past several months. I thought meeting with them would highlight that you were in touch, informed, and responsive to the problem."
Preston also stepped up to the bar and took a banana and some coffee. "Well, it won't hurt my feelings at all if we don't reschedule that meeting. We can find another way for me to reach out to drug addicts and bums. Last night, Pilar and I were talking to that guy from Everyone Get Along. We talked about funding an office for them in L.A. I think combating gangs would be more advantageous for me. Maybe I can meet with the E.F.F.O.R.T. group if there is a good photo op, but I don't plan to give them any money."
"Got it," said Bain, scribbling on a legal tablet.
One of the L.A. team members approached. "Excuse me, Governor. Chief Fryer from LAPD and some of his detectives are on their way, as well as the head of the L.A. Field Office for the FBI."
"It's about time. I called Fryer two hours ago and told him I wanted LAPD and the FBI here in Bel Air. What's their ETA?"
"My understanding is about twenty to thirty minutes."
"Christ, I came from Sacramento and got here faster!" Preston turned to Bain, who had just popped the top of a soda. "While we wait, I want you to work with the L.A. staff and figure out how we're going to spin my lack of availability to the media."
"I'm on it."
"Good. I'll be upstairs. Come get me when everyone is here."
Alone in the bedroom he'd shared with his wife, Monica, Preston couldn't help but acknowledge how scared he was. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he held his hands over his face and silently sobbed. A week after he'd announced he was running for governor, Monica had come to him in one of those rare moments when they were alone and placed his hand on her breast.
"Feel anything?" she'd asked.
"One of the most astonishing finds in Los Angeles…a natural 'C' cup?" he'd joked. Monica had favored him with the smile that made her eyes smile too. He loved that smile.
Then she'd ruined it. She'd adjusted his hand so the weight of her breast rested on his fingers. A thread of fear had slithered up his spine.
"Press in a little," she'd said.
He hadn't moved. She'd placed her hands over his and coerced his fingers into her soft flesh. He'd known before he'd felt the lump.
"I didn't want you to worry," she'd said. "You've been so busy preparing your campaign." She'd released his hand and turned away. "It's cancer. I've…I've had it awhile. It's spread."
An uncontrolled shiver had run through him. "What does that mean?" he whispered.
His wife, the love of his life, had looked him dead in the eye and said, "There's no need to tell anyone. We can't have the voters thinking you're distracted. I should last until you're elected."
And she had. By two months. During that time, she'd used the fact she thought her husband was going to be the governor to get everything in order. She'd spent as much time on the campaign trail as she could while still keeping Tiffany's life as normal as possible.
Time and time again, he'd wanted to back out of the race, but Monica was adamant. "I'm a lost cause. You've got to do what is best for Tiffany. If you become the governor, she will have more opportunities than we ever imagined. You must go forward."
And he had, but his win was bittersweet. Monica was so sick the night he was elected, she could barely stand next to him at the various victory parties.
; He'd promised his wife he'd take care of their daughter, and now their little girl was missing. What if he lost Tiffany too? It would be too much to bear. He couldn't go through another loss.
Rising from the bed, he opened the heavy oak door to his walk-in closet. Flipping on the light, his gaze searched along the top shelf. There it was. The black plastic box that held his forty-caliber Glock.
Tiffany, he thought, if I lose you, I'm going to go with you. Then we can all be together as a family again. With that plan in place, Preston immediately felt better.
TRAVIS – 19
Travis couldn't feel worse. He'd decided to have a real breakfast at the diner in town and save the pizza for later. While eating, he'd called Maddie three times and the phone just rang and rang. Why didn't she try calling him? He knew she was at work and handling a big case, but damn it, their lives were falling apart.
"Can I get you anything else? Anything at all," the waitress said with a smile, and in a tone letting him know loud and clear if he was interested she'd be willing.
At least this woman felt he had something to offer. "Darlin', anything else I'd be wantin' would only get me in a heap of trouble. And I've got enough trouble to last a lifetime," he said, favoring her with a wink.
The thin brunette pursed her lips. "Oh, too bad. I've got a way of making men forget their worries. Maybe another time," she said with a wide smile. Picking up his dirty plate, she sashayed behind the counter, then back into the kitchen.
Travis chuckled to himself and tossed a wad of