Ginny Aiken - Priced to Move

“Sure. He thinks he’s the best thing that’s ever happened to American television broadcasting.” But me? I’m thinking I might just be allergic to the guy, I feel so bad.

Max’s eyes give off sparks. “I do not. I just know how to present myself to an audience. Better than you. You might want to learn.”

When I don’t dignify him with a response, Miss Mona says, “Andie?”

I don’t like her thoughtful expression, but I can’t refuse to respond. I’m not that rude. “Yes?”

“You might have a point,” she says, “but not the one you tried to make. Max may or may not think he’s the best thing that ever happened to American TV, but he is the best thing that’s happened to you, your show, and our network. When he baits you, he brings on the entertainment. Then you can bring the information. It’s brilliant. And it works.”

Max blushes—a true rarity.

Aunt Weeby nods. “You might just want to give this some thought, sugarplum.”

A sense of betrayal simmers up in my gut—my roiling gut, mind you—but before I can say anything, Miss Mona jumps in.

“Just don’t go overboard with all the peace and love. I need you two to keep on arguing on the show. It’s the formula that works.”

Feeling cornered, I back up toward the office door, my head throbbing. I rub my temples. “I’m confused. You want me to cooperate with Max, but you also want me to argue with him.”

Miss Mona claps and beams at me. “That’s exactly it!”

My head’s spinning, and I can’t think past the pounding in my temples. I look at Max, and the thoughtfulness on his face makes me even more jumpy. When I look at Aunt Weeby, I know for sure I’m in real trouble. There’s a whole lot of matchmaking going on.

I square my shoulders and press a hand to my woozy middle. “Maybe I ought to make Danni happy and just quit.”

“No!” Aunt Weeby yelps.

Max steps toward me, stops inches away. “Please, don’t.” “The network needs you!” Miss Mona wails.

I’ve just learned a new medical truth: being ganged up on makes a woman lightheaded. “This is too bogus.” I rub my forehead. “You guys don’t play fair. It’s three against one, three nuts against the only sane one.”

“It’s not a battle, Andie,” Max says. “We all want what’s best for the show. You just happen to take yourself too seriously.”

Eeuw! Who wants that? “Okay. Fine. Ya’ll think I’m the problem here. And maybe I do need to think about what you’ve said, but it’s so not fair. I can’t think while you’re all ganging up on me.”

“Go home,” Miss Mona says, her voice gentle. “Think about the shows you’ve done. Think about what we’ve said. Think about what you really want—for the show and yourself, and pray. Then come back and we can talk it all through.”

Do they think I can think about anything else? “You got it. It probably is for the best if I go. My head’s spinning and it’s all made me queasy—”

“Out!” a man calls from the hall. “Gas company here. There’s a leak in the building. I need everybody out. And don’t go crazy on me and panic now.”

I, of course, freeze.

Aunt Weeby clump-clumps past me. “C’mon, sugarplum. Let’s get to getting.”

Miss Mona hugs her small office safe to her chest, and hurries out.

Max says, “Move, Andie.”

But I can’t move. A gas leak. How can that be? Gas leaks don’t happen out of the blue.

Then big hands clasp my shoulders. “Andie?” Max says. “Are you okay? Did you hear we have to leave?”

I nod in slow motion, but still can’t make my feet work.

So Max takes action.

He scoops me up in his arms and heads out the door.

I let out a weak excuse for a shriek. Worse, I can’t bring myself to fight him. Instead, I give up to the dizziness, lean my head against his shoulder, and let his strength work for both of us.

You know I’m scared. More scared than even when bullets came flying at us in Myanmar. And let me tell you, that was scary.

Even when we get out into the fresh air, I can’t shake the certainty that this is no accident. This gas leak is part of something bigger, part of everything that’s gone really wrong.

It’s part of the murder.

And the rubies sit front and center of it all.

Not just any rubies either. It’s all about that missing parcel of multimillion-dollar Burmese rubies.

No one’s had to tell me.

It all adds up.

16 00

When I open my eyes, all I see is putrid green walls. Something sharp and detergenty irritates my nostrils. And I feel so bad, I figure I must’ve lost a close encounter of the steamroller kind.

Last thing I remember is fleeing from Miss Mona’s office in Max’s arms. Just the thought of it tears me in two. I mean, most girls dream of a knight in a shining business suit who swoops them into his arms and whisks them off into the sunset.

On the other hand, it was Max who did the swooping.

Not exactly the stuff of my dreams. No, really. He’s gorgeous, but . . . oh, I don’t know. Something about him makes me throw up an incoming missile defense shield. Know what I mean?

I open my eyes again, wider this time. When they focus, I see I’m in a hospital. And then the memory of the gas leak thwaps me between the brows.

That would explain why I’d felt lightheaded and queasy in Miss Mona’s office. I’d blamed it on the snarling fight on screen with Max followed by the gang-up-on-Andie moment, but now I know that wasn’t the cause. I’ve always been sensitive to smells and fumes. Nothing’s worse than gas fumes. They don’t just stink; they can kill.

“Oh no!” Is everyone else okay? Did anyone succumb to the fumes?

My heart begins to pound. I fight the sheet over my body. I realize I’m tethered to an IV fluids pump, which makes my efforts nearly futile. I wriggle. I twist. I find the nurses’ call button and give it a healthy push.

I have to make sure everyone else at the studio got out okay.

A middle-aged woman with dark hair in a ponytail walks in. “Well, hello there! I’m Wilma, your day nurse. It’s good to see you awake.”

“Is—” My dry throat catches my question on its way out, but I push through the discomfort and make myself try again. “Are the others okay?”

“Everyone’s fine.” She pushes a button on the side rail of the bed.

My head goes up. The world takes a whirl. “Wow!”

“You still woozy?”

No joke. “How long will it last?”

“Not much longer. The doctor gave you a mild sedative so you would rest. You had a little trouble breathing, but after you got some oxygen that was fine. You, on the other hand, weren’t taking this all too well.”

Uh-oh. “What does that mean?”

She chuckles. “Let’s just say you’re not the easiest of patients.”

I blush. Half of me wants to know the ugly truth, while the other half wants to hide under the covers. The braver half wins. “What did I do?”

“Oh, you just fought like a wildcat when we tried to start your IV, you didn’t want to have your pulse taken, you didn’t much care for the nasal cannulas the doctor put in your nostrils for that oxygen you needed, and you kept calling everyone a dunce.”

Groan. “You were right. I really didn’t want to hear all that.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Max says from the door.

I groan again.

He laughs. “It was all in character. You behaved just like you always do. You were stubborn, snippy, cranky, and you called everyone names.”

I slink down in the bed but keep my eyes just above the edge of the crisp white sheet. “You’re never going to let me live this down, are you?”