I was wild about this woman. Obviously I hadn't said anything to her—after all, we had only known each other for two days—but there was something about her that just captivated me. And it wasn’t only her beauty. She was smart, she had a good sense of humor, and she was humble. In short, she was perfect. But being perfect wasn't so good for me. After all, it was obvious: like Gomer Pyle meeting a princess. I could tell that she liked me and felt comfortable around me, but would it go any further than that? I could only dream.

The plane was on time and by 9:00 we were in the air. Sabrina asked me what it felt like to be shot at. She might have been subconsciously compiling information for future books, but I also knew that her questions were coming from a genuine place. It was hard to answer her. I didn't really feel anything when the shots came. Maybe I wasn't really sure what was going on. I just knew that I felt compelled to duck. The emotional reaction didn't come until later, long after I had gotten into bed. I started shaking and began to think about how close those bullets came. Another few inches and any one of the three could have killed me. I was lucky. Very lucky.

About an hour into the flight, a fan—who probably had been working up the courage to approach Sabrina since we boarded—finally got up and hesitatingly came over and asked for an autograph. Sabrina was in the window seat, so the fan had to lean over me to talk to her. She had on so much perfume, it was going to take hours for my nostrils to clear. I could tell that the odor affected Sabrina as well, but she was gracious and talked to her for a minute. Well, that started a steady stream of autograph seekers. The funny thing was, I don't think most of them knew whose autograph they were getting, but if there was someone famous on the plane, it's best to get the autograph and then try to figure out who she was later. It got a bit much after the seventh one, so the flight attendant offered to keep people away—for the price of an autograph, of course. Sabrina was visibly uncomfortable throughout the whole ordeal, and was almost shaking by the end of it. She kept apologizing to me, saying that it was actually rare for people to notice her.

We had decided to rent a car in Chicago and drive down to Fairfield after we checked out Izzy's hotel. Where we went from there would hinge on what—if anything—we found in Fairfield. The Residence Inn was out in the suburbs, but we found it without too much trouble. When we got up to the check-in desk, Sabrina asked to see the manager, who was prepared for her visit. The manager explained that everything was all set and that no one had been to the room after the police, including housekeeping.