by Kathy Harris
“Okay. As long as you understand I’m not responsible if something happens.”
“Of course not.” He stood, walked around the table, and took her arm. “I trust you with my life, baby. You know that.”
Caleb Samuels watched from the shadows as the couple left the high-class restaurant. He could only imagine the price of a meal in that place. He was certain he wouldn’t be dining there anytime soon. Not on his salary.
The blond man’s arm encircled the dark-haired woman’s slender waist, and he clutched a leather briefcase in his other hand as they walked to the valet stand, exchanged pleasantries, and then stepped aside to wait for their car. A few minutes later, a white Mercedes sedan arrived. The valet jumped out, ran around the car, and held open the passenger door. After helping seat the woman, the blond man handed her the briefcase.
Was it Caleb’s imagination, or did she hesitate before she took it? Something didn’t seem right. Or maybe he was just making excuses. The dark-haired woman was starting to get to him. He reminded himself that he had a job to do. But what could she see in Robert Evans?
Oh, yeah, the money. It was always the money.
CHAPTER 3
After midnight – March 17
Robert Evans paced the dimly lit parking lot as he waited for the arrival of his tour bus. He checked his Rolex and grimaced. Almost half past midnight. Hank should have been here by now. Had something gone wrong with the drop off?
Rob mentally recalculated the events of the last twenty-four hours. He had parted ways with his driver Hank, and the bus, in Oklahoma a little more than a day ago and taken a flight into Nashville. After leaving Rob at the Oklahoma City airport, Hank had deadheaded to Atlanta to exchange cargo for payment. Even if he had stopped for a nap, he should have had time to get back into town.
Despite the chill in the air, a bead of sweat formed on Rob’s forehead. He brushed it away and continued to pace. After a few more circuits around the lot, he pulled his phone from his overcoat and redialed the driver’s number.
Voicemail again.
He pocketed the phone and thought about everything that could have gone wrong, from a breakdown on the road to a breakdown in communication with the connection in Atlanta. Anything else was unthinkable. If Hank didn’t show up soon, Rob would be forced to call Ramirez and sound the alert that something had gone wrong. Maybe dead wrong.
It was then he heard a diesel engine in the distance, and in less than a minute the sleek, black Prevost crawled to a stop in front of him. The air brakes released with an earsplitting hiss, and Hank threw open the doors.
The driver jumped out, arms flailing in a defensive mode. “I’m sorry, Mr. Evans.”
Rob keyed the electronic release for the trunk of his Mercedes sedan. “What happened?”
The driver snatched two suitcases from the car. “I hit traffic.”
“At this time of night?” Rob slung his leather carryon bag over his shoulder and studied the driver’s face for any sign of deception. Seeing none, he decided the man was too stupid to make up a believable lie. And smart enough to know better than to try.
“Must have been a concert at the—”
“Never mind.” Rob waved him off. “Did everything go okay with the drop off?”
“Yes, sir.”
“That’s all I need to know.” Rob turned his back to the sweaty giant of a man and stepped into the familiar warmth of the bus. “When you’ve finished loading the rest of the bags, let’s get out of here.”
“Yes, sir.”
Inside the front lounge of the coach, Rob shrugged out of his overcoat, folded it neatly, and laid it across the arm of the cream-colored leather sofa running lengthwise along the wall that led to a small galley kitchen. He opened the electronic sliding door beyond the kitchen and walked past the guest bath, Hank’s bunk, a long row of closets, and finally into his master suite at the rear of the bus. Tossing the shoulder bag on his king-sized bed, he settled into a chair and waited for Hank to stow his remaining suitcases and hanging clothes.
A private tour coach had a number of amenities, but the best was just that. Privacy. Rob preferred traveling separately from his artists. It made his work more relaxing, yet he could stay on top of his game and in the middle of the action by working away from home.
Actually, this was his home. Much more so than his condo.
As soon as Hank pulled out of the parking lot, Rob would go to bed and sleep until they arrived at their destination in the morning. It was a luxury ride, an expensive way to travel. But just like all good things in life, they could be bought if you had enough money. That included women and a lifestyle that brought satisfaction.
The road gave Rob the freedom he craved. No one called the shots for him day by day. Each artist’s tour manager took care of the minute details. Hank would often caravan with the other entertainer buses and trucks so Rob could still maintain control without dealing with the petty stuff.
He ran a well-oiled machine. Life on tour was almost perfect. Second only to the eventual possibility of lounging in a deck chair on a yacht in the Caribbean. Or relaxing in the sun on an exotic island. Those were future goals, and he was on track to realize them soon enough. Danielle Kemp had a bright future ahead, if she would only give him time.
Unlike his peers in the entertainment industry, Rob had diversified. His artist management business made him a good living. But he had another, much more lucrative means of securing his financial future.
And it had nothing to do with music.
Insomnia had become a habit. Danni switched on her bedside light, illuminating the corner of the room in a soft white glow. Sophie groaned, jumped off the bed, and padded silently across the thick Kashmir rug and into the adjoining master bath. Seconds later, Danni heard the dog drop with a thud onto the Italian marble tile. She smiled as she pictured the big Newfie stretched out in one of her favorite spots next to the cool porcelain of the Jacuzzi bathtub. At least one of them might get some sleep tonight.
Danni reached across the nightstand for a book. If she couldn’t sleep, she might as well work. She had yet to crack open the restaurant management guide she had borrowed from the library last week.
Twenty more minutes passed and, after rereading the first page three times, she laid the book aside. It was impossible to focus on anything but the wedding.
The wedding. A shiver of excitement—or was it a cold chill—scuttled up her spine. This was what she wanted, right?
In less than nine months she would become Mrs. Robert Evans. And to think only five hours ago she had been ready to end the relationship. How did you decide to marry someone the same day you had planned to breakup with him?
Because Rob had expressed his love to her, that’s why.
Despite the lack of a ring, he had insisted they set a date, maybe even fly to Las Vegas to elope. But marriage was a lifetime commitment, something you did only once, so you had to do it right. Even if she hadn’t attended church in the past few years, she wanted to exchange vows in the traditional way.
Rob had agreed, and together they had settled on the second Saturday of the coming New Year, pending his brother Jack returning from the Middle East so he could serve as best man.
Danni would, of course, also clear the date with her family. But it shouldn’t be a problem. Her dad and Chloe would drop everything for her wedding. Their support in her life had always been a given, even if they didn’t see each other but once or twice a year now.
She grabbed her phone and began taking notes. She had a dress to buy, a church to reserve, and invitations to send out. The list was overwhelming.
Flowers. Catering. Hotel reservations for out-of-town guests. Rob had left it all to her. And she thought she had been busy before. Planning a wedding would soon become the icing on that proverbial cake—oh, don’t forget the cake! Hers would be caramel mocha in seven layers and decorated with a bride and groom on top.
She made a note to call Grandma Kemp for the recipe that had been
passed down for generations in their family. She would give it to the bakery that Amoré often used for special occasions, because Jaycee would be too busy catering the wedding to worry about a cake.
Jaycee! What would her friend say when she heard about the wedding?
Danni clutched the pendant Rob had given her a few hours before and imagined her friend’s reaction to the news. It wouldn’t be good. Not at first. Jaycee would wag a finger in her face and lecture her on Rob’s shortcomings. But she would eventually come around.
On the other hand, Danni’s sister would be excited to hear about her plans. Even though she was several years younger, Chloe was much further along in life. She’d married her childhood sweetheart right out of high school. Now in her mid-twenties, Chloe and her husband had two children. Brian was not only the youngest mayor to be elected in their small hometown of Fountaine, Iowa, he was the youth minister at their church. And, of course, Chloe was the perfect mother. Somehow she had managed to figure that out despite their lack of a role model.
Chloe and Brian were a hard act to follow. Her younger sister had everything Danni wanted and was afraid she would never have. But this milestone, marrying Rob, who was a real catch in anyone’s eyes, would finally be evidence that she could have it all. A career, a husband and, one day, a family.
Rob Evans awoke to the gut-wrenching squeal of brakes and the sensation of being propelled, feet first, toward the front of the bus. Clutching the side of his bed, he spat out a curse word as he braced for the impact that was surely coming.
Instead, the speeding vehicle swerved to the right. Rob snatched at the bed sheets that had only minutes before cradled him in a dreamless repose. He managed to hold on, and within seconds he heard the engine housed beneath his king-sized bedroom suite grinding down. The bus rolled to a halt with a final squeal of the brakes.
Glancing at the clock on his nightstand—3:07 a.m.—he pressed the talk button on the intercom that had been secured to the back wall of the coach.
“Hank, what the—”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Evans.” His driver’s husky voice boomed back, another disconcerting wakeup call at such an early hour.
Rob winced and sat up. “Do you even know how to drive a bus?”
“I’m really sorry, sir. The lead driver in our convoy sent word of a police roadblock a half mile up the highway.” Hank’s voice quivered. “I had to take this exit if we were going to avoid it.” He mumbled something unintelligible and then added, “I’m sorry. I had to stand on the brakes to get us stopped in time.”
Rob scrubbed his fingers down his face. His driver might be an overgrown pigpen of a man, but he understood the business they were in. Maybe he was smarter than he looked.
“Good job.”
“Thank you, sir. Thank you. I apologize in advance for the bumpy ride ahead. The side road won’t be very smooth, but we’ll get back on the interstate in about ten miles. We’ll make our appointment without any problem.”
“I’ll leave that up to you.” Rob stood, planting his bare feet firmly into the thick carpeting beside his bed. “Call me if you need me.”
He headed toward the bathroom, picking his way carefully now the bus was moving again.
That had been a close one.
In times like this Hank was worth the small fortune he was paid. Not just for the lengthy overdrives required to maintain their schedule but also for keeping his mouth shut and watching out for trouble. They couldn’t be too careful. After all, they worked in a dangerous business.
CHAPTER 4
You set a date?” The color drained from Jaycee’s face.
“January 24.”
“Oh, Danni.” Amoré’s petite chef braced against the doorjamb separating Danni’s office from the kitchen corridor. “You’ve had so many doubts about Rob. Is he really the person you want to spend the rest of your life with?”
Danni straightened a stack of papers on her desk and avoided her friend’s eyes. “You’re the one who’s had the doubts. I was just—” She looked up to see that the color in Jaycee’s face had more than returned. Her cheeks now matched her fiery red hair.
The chef knotted her fists. “That’s not true, and you know it.”
“Okay.” Danni leaned back in her chair, increasing the distance between herself and her concerned friend. “Look . . . I admit it. I had doubts. But it’s different now that I know he loves me.”
Jaycee stared at her.
“It’s his lifestyle I don’t like, Jay. But that will change with time.”
“And how do you know that?” Jaycee shook her head. “How often does that happen? I mean, seriously, that’s the biggest mistake in the book, thinking you’re going to change someone.”
“Rob says he cares about me.” Danni straightened in her chair. “Isn’t it worth the risk?”
“Risk?” The chef closed the office door and stepped toward the desk. “I guess I’m old-fashioned, but I see marriage as forever. Are you sure you can make that promise to Rob?”
“I think so.” Danni shrugged. Her conviction appeared to be waning, but she wouldn’t let Jaycee, or her fear, win.
Jaycee dropped into a chair in front of the desk. “You’re concerned too, aren’t you?”
“Concerned about what?” Danni shot back. “That I can’t have a happy marriage because my parents didn’t? Or, maybe . . .” she stammered, “that I don’t deserve one?”
“Danni . . . please.” Jaycee’s expression softened. “I know how much you deserve one. And you will be a great wife to . . . someone someday. The truth is that Rob doesn’t deserve you.”
“It’ll be okay, Jay. The two of us have been together for almost three years now. At least there won’t be any surprises, right?” Danni forced a smile. “I know he’s attached to his job, but as long as he’s committed to me for the long haul, I’m okay with that.”
“I hope you know what you’re getting into. I don’t think Rob even understands the concept of commitment.” Jaycee let out a long breath. “Is he a believer?”
“He agreed to be married in a church.”
Jaycee’s eyebrow arched. “So where did he want to get married?”
“Vegas. He said it would be romantic.”
Jaycee rolled her eyes. “He’s just—”
“Would you stop, please? All you can think about are the negatives. I know I’ve shared a lot of my frustrations about Rob, but there are good things about our relationship too.”
“Name three.”
Danni glanced away, and then looked back to her friend. “He always comes home to me. He buys nice things for me. And . . . he trusts me.”
“Is that all you’ve got?” Jaycee fired back. “How about I name three? He’s selfish, detached, and probably not a believer.”
“You’ll never accept Rob. That’s not fair.”
Jaycee studied her momentarily then shrugged. “Okay, you’re right. It’s your decision.” She leaned forward, reaching for Danni’s left hand. “So let me see your ring.”
Danni jerked her hand away and pulled the star pendant from beneath her sweater. “I don’t have it yet. He gave me this pre-engagement gift. It’s a—”
“Oh, my . . .” Jaycee recoiled in mock distress. “That’s not exactly your style.”
“You’re so dramatic.” Danni chuckled then glanced at the cluster of diamonds. “It is a bit much, isn’t it?”
“Un-huh.” The chef nodded, the corners of her mouth turning slightly upwards.
“Well, the good news is that we’re going together to pick out rings when he returns to town next month.”
“Good idea.” Jaycee winked as she stood and turned toward the hall.
“Hey . . . wait.”
“Yes?” The chef pivoted.
“Since you’re okay with the wedding now.” Danni stood and hurried around her desk. “Would you be my maid of honor?”
“Of course, you’re my best friend.” Jaycee gave Danni a hug and then took a step backwards. “B
ut you don’t get off that easy.” She wagged her finger. “I’ll be hoping you change your mind in the next nine months. In fact,” she said as she spun back around. “I’ll be praying for it.”
Although traffic had been brisk in and out of the Rutherford earlier, it had finally begun to dwindle. Caleb checked his watch. The Timex strapped to his wrist with a frayed canvas band kept perfect time, probably just as good as the Rolex Robert Evans wore. And it came with a lot less guilt. Not that Caleb cared to compare himself to Evans. Nor was he envious. Peace of mind couldn’t be bought. Especially with dirty money.
The Timex, and everything he was wearing, had come from the used clothing store on Charlotte Avenue. One perk of an undercover gig, he hadn’t spent much on clothing—or razor blades—in the past few weeks since being assigned to stake out the Rutherford. But what he had saved on clothes he had spent on hot water trying to wash away the street grime that clung to both his body and his mind.
He ran his hand through the coarse stubble on his face and counted the number of hours remaining until he could go home and take one of those hot showers. Although the thought invigorated him, he still had to worry about staying awake.
This time of the night was always quiet. By two or three in the morning most of the party crowd had gone home. Or crashed wherever they were. Caleb lowered himself onto the nearest Metro transit bench to sit out the rest of the shift, which had been unusually uneventful. Only a few rowdy kids and a couple drunks had roused his suspicion.
Quiet wasn’t necessarily a good thing. If something didn’t happen soon with this case, his supervisors would shut it down, and that would be a shame. His gut told him he was close to breaking it wide open. That same hunch reminded him that lives were on the line.
What he needed was a significant lead. And a little more time.
He glanced around the Nashville cityscape and whispered a silent prayer. Lord, please bless the work I’m doing here. You know how important it is and how many lives will be saved. He paused. And You know what this means to me.
