“Great, it’s like I have my own version of the Deadheads.”
Dez flashed a smile. “I suppose you could look at it like that. He had a history of being obsessed with people he liked. One woman he’d worked with at an insurance agency filed a restraining order against him. There was no record of him actually being violent, only obsessive. But we both know what that can lead to.”
“Yes, we do.” Bree frowned. “But are there any leads as to who killed him? And who was behind the gunfire at the concert yesterday?”
“I know everyone is working on it, but, as far as I know, there aren’t any leads. They have asked anybody who was at the concert yesterday to turn over any video footage so authorities can look at it. I know the North Carolina State Bureau of Investigation arrived last night, and they’re helping with the investigation. The FBI is also on standby.”
Bree rubbed her throat. “I suppose this latest info is all over the news.”
Dez nodded, an almost apologetic look in his eyes. “It is.”
“Good to know.”
Just then, her phone rang. Bree looked at the screen and saw that it was Emerson. Dread pooled in her stomach.
“Excuse me a second.” Bree stood and paced into the hallway for privacy.
“Bree, good morning. How are you feeling today?”
“About as well as can be expected.”
“That’s what I figured. Look, I’ll cut right to the chase. I think you need to do a press conference.”
She leaned with her hip against the wall. “Why do you think that?”
“You need to get ahead of this. I’m not sure how all of this will play out, but you need to let people know how hard this has been for you. I’m thinking we should set up a fund in your name to help out any of the victims with either their medical needs or counseling after the event.”
“That’s not a bad idea. I want to do anything I can to help.”
“Plus, it will be good press.”
Bree frowned. “That wasn’t really the reason I was thinking about doing this.”
“I know. That’s why you have me. I think about things like this.”
“When you say press conference, what are you thinking?” Bree held her breath, anxious to hear if they were on the same page.
“I’m thinking we go down to the police station and set a time and you give your side of the story.”
Her side of the story? She didn’t even know what that was yet. “There’s not much else I can say except how deeply sorry I am for what happened.”
“I think we can spin this. We can make this all about how you’re against violence—”
“Wait. I don’t want to spin this. It is what it is.”
“If we handle this right, your popularity can soar.”
“Emerson . . .”
“You should let me do what I do best here. I can arrange a conference at noon.”
“Let me think about this first. I do have security issues to consider.”
“Don’t think too long.”
“I’m not promising anything . . .”
She ended the call and glanced at Dez. Doing a press conference was the last thing Bree wanted to do, especially if her manager expected her to spin this to fit some sort of agenda.
She really did need to think this through. Because she was tired of making bad choices.
Chapter Thirteen
Bree’s bandmates stopped by that morning. Bobby Dee was her drummer, Stan was her bass player, and Marlin played lead guitar. As they chatted together in the living room, Dez pulled out his phone and did a quick internet search for the Savages.
He’d like to believe they were out of his life for good. But, for the sake of his country, he couldn’t bury his head in the sand.
No results came up.
He frowned. Why was the government keeping their threats quiet? It didn’t make sense. Sure, mass panic would do no one any good. But the Savages weren’t even on the average American’s radar.
Everything had been so surreal lately that Dez felt on edge.
It was probably nothing.
That’s what he hoped, at least.
But in his life, things were rarely that easy.
An hour later, Bree’s band left her place. They had been a nice distraction from everything else going on. It had been good to be around people who shared her pain, who understood. They were all in shock right now. They would be for a while.
Stretching her legs, Bree went to grab her computer from an office area that had been set up off the main room. When she stepped into it, she saw Griff sitting there.
He held something in his hands, but it was the frown on his face that she noticed the most. What exactly was he looking at?
“I didn’t mean to interrupt.” She took a step back.
He straightened, as if she’d caught him off guard. The next instant, he slipped the paper—it almost looked like a photo—into his pocket and his melancholy expression disappeared.
“You’re not interrupting.” He started to rise. “I can get out of your way.”
“No need to do that. Let me just grab my computer.” Bree pointed to the laptop on the desk there.
He nodded and moved out of the way as she grabbed the device. A moment later, Bree escaped back into the living room, sat on the couch, and opened her laptop.
She wasn’t sure exactly what she was doing or what she was looking for. Maybe she just needed to pass the time until she could figure out what decision to make about Emerson’s proposal.
Bree was about to drink the poison, she supposed.
That’s what she called it when she watched the bad press. When she read the bad reviews. When she chose to let those voices get inside her head.
As she pulled up the search bar, Bree’s fingers lingered on the keys. She knew she shouldn’t do it. But, despite that, she typed her own name there. The next instant, pages and pages of results appeared. Most of the recent ones were about the concert.
Bree clicked on the first video she came to. It had been taken by someone in the audience and showed Bree onstage, singing to the cheering crowd.
She had to admit that she was pretty good at faking it. To watch this video, nobody would know about her doubts and misgivings.
Then, all of a sudden, the camera shifted. Shots rang out. People ran. Screams erupted.
Bree closed her eyes, those terrible moments replaying in her head. Every time she heard the gun going off, she flinched, feeling like she was right there again.
A shadow appeared beside her and pushed down the screen on her laptop until it closed. “You don’t need to watch that.”
She looked up and saw Dez standing there. He frowned as he stared at her, yet compassion stretched through his gaze.
She crossed her arms, knowing his words were true. “Yesterday still seems surreal.”
“I know. But watching it isn’t going to do anything for you.” He sat down beside her.
She glanced over at him, studying his expression. “What do you think? Should I have a press conference?”
Dez shrugged and let out a long breath. “I think you should do what you want to do.”
“I don’t want my manager to control the narrative.” Bree didn’t trust Emerson enough to let him do that—not in this situation, at least. He knew entertainment. But could he truly navigate tragedy?
“Then don’t let him,” Dez said.
“But I feel like I need to do something.” Bree sat up straighter. “What if I released a video on my VideoStream channel?”
Dez shrugged before nodding. “That would certainly be one way to control the narrative. Plus, I have to admit that I’m not 100 percent comfortable putting you in front of people right now. Not while this gunman is still out there.”
“That’s what I think I will do then. I will make a video announcement myself. Plus, it will give me something to do today.” Satisfaction zinged through her. She finally had a solution she could live with.
Bree
opened her computer again. As she did, a notification popped up.
There were pictures there. Lots of pictures.
She sucked in her breath when she saw the details. There were photos of her. With Dez. Here in Lantern Beach.
In one, they ran from the clinic to a waiting car. In another, he shielded her as they walked into her rental house. In the third, Dez escorted her from the stage at the shooting.
Her stalker was still on this island. He was patiently waiting to finish the task that he had started.
Was Dez a target now also?
The thought caused her head to swirl until she felt like she might pass out.
Chapter Fourteen
“Now that you have had time to sleep on it, is there anybody at all you can think of who might be behind this?” Chief Chambers held a pen and paper in her hands as she waited for Bree’s answer. She’d also brought an extra-large cup of coffee with her.
She’d obviously had a long, sleepless night.
The police chief had come to Bree’s house—again—and now sat across from her at the dining room table. Dez lingered close, listening to the conversation. He wanted the answer to that question just as much as anybody. Though he was being paid to protect and not investigate, he still wanted to figure out who was behind all this.
Bree shook her head, her oversized sweatshirt pulled down over her hands and one knee pulled to her chest. “That’s all I’ve been thinking about as well. I just don’t know who.”
“There’s no one who has had some kind of beef with you?” Cassidy reframed the question.
Bree rubbed the side of her face and drew in a long breath, almost appearing like the question burdened her. “There are always people who have a beef with me. I get plenty of hate mail. I don’t even know how to narrow it down.”
“Has there been any one person in particular who’s been consistent?”
Bree frowned. “I suppose there have been a couple people who’ve been particularly pushy. But you’re going to need to talk to my manager about them. I finally started filtering everything through him and my assistant. I couldn’t handle reading some of the emails anymore. They were too harsh.”
“But you got some threats through your email, correct? That’s what you mentioned yesterday.” Chief Chambers tapped her pen against the paper and waited.
“Correct. They went to my personal account. Local police tried to check the sender’s address but they had no luck.”
“How did someone get your email address?” Dez shifted, her answer grabbing his attention.
Bree shrugged. “That’s a great question. I’ve been too busy to figure that out.”
“Anybody else?” the chief asked. “Any fellow musicians?”
“No, there’s no one—” Bree stopped midsentence.
“What is it?” Dez straightened. “You remembered someone, didn’t you?”
“This is probably nothing.” Bree shook her head, as if trying to talk herself out of it.
“Let us be the judge of that,” Cassidy said. “Tell us what you’re thinking.”
Bree sighed and rubbed the side of her face again. “About three months ago, when my latest single released, another singer accused the man who wrote my song of stealing it from her. I wasn’t directly involved in the conflict, but, since I sang the song, I kind of was.”
“What was this songwriter’s name?” Cassidy raised her pen.
“His name is Hans Jennings. He’s based out of LA, I believe.”
“And who was the one who accused him of stealing the song?”
“Trixie Dare.”
The chief stared at her. “You do know that Trixie Dare sang the day before you, right?”
Bree nodded. “I suppose I may have heard she was here or seen it on one of the brochures. I didn’t really think anything of it. Should I have? I mean, I didn’t get here until the morning the day of my concert. I figured the other bands were already gone. Either way, I didn’t really have time to be sociable.”
“I’m just gathering information.” Cassidy took a long sip of her coffee. “What else happened with the situation?”
Bree hugged her leg to her chest. “It was mostly between Hans and Trixie. I tried not to get involved.”
“Did Trixie ever talk to you about it?” Dez wanted to know more information so he could get to the bottom of this. He realized that Bree didn’t want to throw anyone under the bus—and he could appreciate that—but Bree’s life was on the line. This was no time to be polite.
“She did have a couple of conversations with me about it. She told me I should renounce Hans and not use any more of his songs until this was resolved. She told me I was putting myself in a bad position.”
“And what did you tell her?” Chief Chambers took another long sip of coffee.
“I let Emerson handle it. I suppose I let him handle a lot of those messy things in my life. I told her I didn’t have anything to do with it, and that while Hans’ song and hers did have a few similarities, it didn’t sound alike enough to justify plagiarism to me.”
Emerson sure did have his hand in much of Bree’s life. Too much, if you asked Dez.
“Did it go to court?” Dez asked.
“Trixie talked about filing a lawsuit, but I never heard anything of it.” Bree shrugged. “I figured it had passed.”
“She is not a very big act,” Cassidy said. “In fact, she opened for somebody else at this festival, if I remember correctly.”
“Her career hasn’t taken off like mine, but she did just sign with a small label,” Bree said. “I’ve seen it enough in my own life. People are so desperate to make it, to become famous, that they’ll do anything to get that attention.”
Attention . . . ? Was the desire for fame the root cause of all these problems? There was a lot to be said for just being happy with where you were and what you had. Leah breaking up with him was a blessing. He could have never made her happy, though he couldn’t see it at the time.
“Do you think she came up with all this just to get attention?” Dez asked.
“I wouldn’t go as far as to say that.” Bree shrugged, almost looking guilty as she nibbled on her bottom lip. “But the thought did cross my mind.”
“I think I’m going to need to pay this Trixie Dare a visit.” The chief stood. “I wonder if she’s still on the island. I’ll talk to the festival coordinator and see what I can find out.”
Bree shifted again, as if uncomfortable. She’d had another thought, Dez realized. But she was hesitant to share it.
“There is one other thing,” Bree finally started. “In no way am I trying to point fingers. But I do know that Trixie has three older brothers, and they’re all avid outdoorsmen. They would definitely know how to use a gun.”
Cassidy and Dez exchanged a look.
Maybe they had their first real lead.
That conversation with Chief Chambers had left Bree feeling drained. And guilt-ridden. She had tried to be fair in everything she said. She didn’t want to blame anybody. Yet, whoever was behind this couldn’t get away with it either.
She hoped Trixie understood why her name had come up.
As Chief Chambers turned to leave, the police chief paused near Dez. “I don’t suppose you’ll be able to make Austin and Skye’s party tonight.”
“No, sorry. Duty calls. But please give Austin and Skye my apologies.”
“Don’t miss it because of me,” Bree said.
Surprise flashed through Dez’s eyes before he waved her off. “I don’t mind staying here.”
“I can go with you.” Bree didn’t know where the words had come from. Yes, she was craving normalcy. Was she so desperate for it that she was trying to insert herself into Dez’s social calendar?
“I’m not sure that would be a good idea.” Dez shook his head.
“I’m not trying to invite myself. I’m really not. But I also don’t want to sit here all day. I might as well be in prison if I have to do that.”
Dez and Ch
ief Chambers glanced at each other.
“It will be a small group of people,” Chief Chambers said. “It should be safe.”
Dez turn back to her and shrugged. “If you really want to go, I’m sure we can make that happen.”
“Only if I’m not imposing.”
“I’m sure they would love to have you,” the chief said. “In fact, I happen to know that Skye is a big fan.”
“Then I look forward to meeting her.”
After the police chief left, Bree turned to Dez. “I’m going to post my video now. Afterward, I would like to go see Lloyd at the clinic. Can you make that happen?”
“I’m sure I can.”
She nodded. “Great. Give me thirty minutes, and I’ll be ready.”
But would she ever truly be ready to go out in public again? Because staying inside the walls felt safe. But, if she did that, then whoever was sending her these threats would win.
And she couldn’t let that happen.
Chapter Fifteen
Lloyd looked better today. Bree was glad to see it. It was a little bit of good news in a sea of bad news. He had even joked with her some about ways they could make Emerson mad. One of Lloyd’s favorite things to do was to aggravate the man.
Bree had been here at the clinic for the past hour. Lloyd was with the doctor when she’d arrived, so she’d taken some time to visit the other patients. They’d seemed appreciative—and all of them were doing well and were slated to be released later today.
After visiting with Lloyd for about twenty minutes, Bree decided to broach the question that had lingered in her mind. “Lloyd, before I left yesterday, you said something about keeping an eye on the people closest to me. What did you mean?”
His eyebrows knit together. “I said that? I must have been delusional. I don’t know.”
“You really don’t remember?”
He shook his head. “I don’t.”
“And it doesn’t ring any bells?”
“I’m sorry, Bree. I was probably out of it because of all the drugs they gave me. Sorry to freak you out for no reason.”
Safe Harbor Page 7
