Bree wanted to press harder, but she didn’t want to stress him out—not in his current state. Instead, she nodded and turned to go.
Maybe she would ask him again later.
Just as Bree looked over her shoulder to say goodbye, she nearly collided with Lloyd’s girlfriend, Jill. The woman had ashy blonde hair that fell below her shoulders, tanned skin, and was painfully thin. Early wrinkles around her lips made it clear she was a smoker, as did her raspy voice.
Bree started to greet the woman. Before she could, Jill smacked her across the face.
Bree held her cheek, pain spreading across her skin and surprise reverberating in her head.
“Jill!” Lloyd said.
“This is all your fault.” Jill didn’t seem to hear him. Instead, she nearly growled as she scowled at Bree. “I told him he shouldn’t go on tour with you.”
“How is this her fault, Jill?” Lloyd asked, sounding a bit helpless in his hospital bed with various tubes and monitors hooked up to him.
Bree saw Dez hovering in the doorway. He was ready to act if the woman tried to strike again. She motioned for him to stand down. She could handle this.
“Controversy follows her wherever she goes.” Jill threw another accusing look at Bree. “She should have looked after her band members more.”
“You know I love my band.” Bree wasn’t sure what Jill was talking about. She’d never acted like she was above the other people on her team.
Anger flashed in Jill’s hazel eyes. “Then why don’t you pay them what they are worth?”
“Pay them what they’re worth . . . ? What do you mean?” This was the first time Bree had ever heard anything about it. Did Jill even know what she was talking about?
“You’re raking in the big bucks, and you’re paying your band barely enough to live on. I’m better off getting my alimony check than I am getting married to Lloyd—you should be ashamed of yourself.”
“Jill . . .” Lloyd warned again.
“I don’t have anything to do with how much they’re paid. I had no idea they were underpaid.” Bree glanced at Lloyd. “Is that true?”
He didn’t say anything for a moment before sighing. “I was promised we’d get paid more when we did the second leg of your tour. Emerson negotiated the fee. He just didn’t tell us about the hidden costs and expenses that would be deducted from it.”
Bree lowered her head. “Why didn’t you say anything to me about it? I would have fought to give you guys more money.”
“I didn’t say anything about it because I don’t think Emerson is paying you what you deserve either.”
Bree froze. “What do you mean?”
“There are rumors about the way he treats his artists and the way the contracts are drawn up. He’s a one-man show. He manages you. Helps produce you. He owns the record label. I have a sneaking suspicion that he’s bringing in the majority of money for himself.”
Bree’s heart pounded in her ears. “Do you think he would do that?”
“You and I both know him well enough to know that he’s not a Boy Scout.”
“I can’t argue with that. But I didn’t know he would sink this low.”
“Listen, you have enough on your mind right now,” Lloyd said. “We can deal with the pay thing later. Jill, you need to apologize.”
Jill crossed her arms and shook her head. “You almost got killed for this woman. I am not apologizing.”
“You know I would never purposely do anything to put them in danger,” Bree said.
Jill said nothing. There was nothing that Bree could say to her right now that would make this situation better. But she hated the thought that Jill blamed her.
With a final wave to Lloyd, Bree stepped from the room. The last thing she had wanted to do was to bring more drama into Lloyd’s life . . . it was time to get out of here.
Dez’s muscles were poised to act. The situation that had just played out in Lloyd’s room made him uncomfortable, to say the least. That woman should have never touched Bree. But it was more than that. It sounded like Emerson had some shady practices going on and that Bree was in the middle of them.
As she stepped into the hallway, Dez leaned closer. “Are you okay?”
She touched her cheek again, still looking flushed. “I’ll be fine. Just taken by surprise.”
He wanted to ask her more questions, and he probably would. But not here. There were too many people around.
“Maybe we should get you out of here.”
“That sounds like a good idea,” Bree said.
But just as she said the words, a figure flew around the corner. Dez braced himself . . . until he saw it was Emerson. The man’s face was red and his nostrils flared. He was obviously upset about something.
“You posted a video?” He stopped in front of Bree. “Without even telling me?”
“I thought it would be a good way to express myself and to say how sorry I feel about everything that happened. It seemed more personal than a press conference.”
“You should’ve run it by me first.”
“I just wanted to make a video, to let people see who I really was and how I was really feeling. I didn’t want anything rehearsed.”
“Well, that was a big mistake. These things need to be perfectly executed.”
“It sounds to me like you’re a control freak,” Dez said.
Emerson looked up at him, his nostrils still flaring. “I don’t think we are paying you to be a part of this conversation.”
“I want him to stay.” She touched Dez’s arm, letting him know that he was wanted here.
“I think you’re getting a little too big for your britches.”
She tilted her head, her voice still gentle as she said, “Because I’m making my own choices? I should’ve been making choices for far longer than I obviously have.”
“What does that mean?”
“What’s this I hear about the band being underpaid? And you not telling the Lantern Beach police about my stalker? They would’ve had more security at the concert if they had known.”
His eyes widened before his gaze hardened again. “It’s easy to think that you have all the answers, but until you’re in my shoes you can’t possibly know what I do. I am doing what I think is best for your career. I guess I’ve done pretty well so far, haven’t I? You were on six magazine covers this year, had twenty-one TV appearances, fifty-two concerts, and two number one hits. Do you think you did that all by yourself?”
“I’m not saying that you haven’t helped me.” Bree softened her voice. “Everyone knows that’s not true. But when this is over, we need to have a long talk.”
“Do you think you would be anything without me?” Emerson’s voice came out with a tremble as he stared at her with accusation in his eyes.
Before Bree could respond, Dez’s phone buzzed, and he looked at the screen.
“It looks like we have more problems than this to talk about right now,” Dez said. “People are responding to your video. They are really responding to it. Most of it is good. But look at this.”
He showed Bree the screen. Someone had posted a comment beneath it. Bree’s face had been photoshopped onto a dead body—one with a bullet hole through the skull.
It looked real. All too real.
And the message was clear: someone wanted Bree to die.
Chapter Sixteen
Cassidy knocked at the door to a small cottage two blocks down the beach from Bree’s place. A moment later, Trixie Dare answered. The woman was in her mid-twenties with stark black hair, pale skin, and a cold gaze.
She stared at Cassidy, tilting her head and narrowing her eyes as if she resented being disturbed.
“Can I help you? Did someone lose a cat or something?” Her voice came out with a bite.
Cassidy stuffed down her irritation. “I’m Police Chief Cassidy Chambers. I came because I have a few questions about the incident yesterday here on the island.”
“I wasn’t at that concert. I don
’t know what you could possibly want to talk to me about.”
Cassidy raised her hand before the woman could close the door on her. “If you could just give me a few minutes.”
The woman stared at her another moment before finally nodding and opening the door wider. “Fine. Come in. But I’m in the middle of writing a song, and you’re messing with my mojo.”
Cassidy stepped into the house but remained close to the door. She didn’t want to take up any more time than necessary. But she did want some answers.
“Now, what’s this about?” Trixie crossed her arms.
“It’s about a song that you claim Hans Jennings stole from you.”
The woman’s eyes narrowed even more. “That’s because he did steal it from me. I played it at a songwriting competition, and he was one of the judges. A year later, it comes out and he’s claiming it as his own. Sure, he changed a few things. Enough to make it virtually his own. But most of that song was mine.”
“Did you blame Bree Jordan for that?”
“Did I blame Bree? No. Why would I?”
“So you didn’t confront her about it?”
“Is that what she told you?” Trixie’s hip jutted out as outrage stretched through her voice.
“That’s not important. Please check the attitude and just answer the question.” Why couldn’t anything be simple?
Trixie sighed. “I told her that she shouldn’t be associated with someone who was a thief. If you want to call that a confrontation then so be it. I was trying to help her out, though.”
Cassidy definitely felt some animosity in the air. “Are you jealous of Bree? I understand that you both started in the music business around the same time, and her career took off while yours did not.”
“Of course I’m not jealous of her.” Trixie scoffed. “I want to do my own songs. Not stuff that these other people have written. She is so mass-produced that I don’t even know how she lives with herself.”
This was a woman who had opinions and wasn’t afraid to share them. Sometimes Cassidy found that to be admirable and other times annoying. This was one of the annoying times.
“Despite that mass production, as you call it, she is doing well for herself,” Cassidy said.
“If I do well for myself, I want it to be on my own terms.” Trixie raised her chin.
“Where were you yesterday during Bree’s concert?”
Trixie’s eyes widened. “I was sleeping. Why? Is that a crime?”
“I’m just gathering information,” Cassidy said. “Is there anyone here with you?”
“My band left right after I played.”
“Anyone else?”
Trixie frowned, as if she didn’t want to answer the question. Finally, she said, “Two of my brothers are here.”
“Where are they now?”
“Fishing again. It’s kind of their thing . . .” Trixie pulled her arms tighter across her chest, as if she didn’t like where this was going.
“And where were your brothers yesterday during the concert?”
“They were out fishing. That’s what they like to do. It’s how I convinced them to come.”
“Deep-sea fishing or out on the sound?”
“Deep-sea.” Trixie’s lips barely moved as she said the words.
“Did they charter a boat, by chance?”
“No, they rented one. You can’t possibly believe that they were the ones behind the shooting?”
Cassidy chose not to answer that question. “What I’m wondering is whether you feel so much vengeance toward Bree Jordan that you wanted to take her out.”
Trixie’s arms fell to her side, and all of the tension in her face dissolved with slack—and maybe a touch of fear. “My brothers would never do that. I might be angry, but I am not that angry.”
Cassidy wasn’t so sure about that. “We need you to stick around, just in case we have any more questions for you.”
“Do you want to go back to the house?” Dez asked as they climbed into the car he’d borrowed after leaving the clinic.
He sensed that Bree was still reeling from the conversations she’d just had—as well as seeing that manipulated photo showing her dead body with a bullet hole through the forehead.
His stomach churned with unease at the thought of it.
“I’d love to grab a bite to eat,” she said. “Maybe to-go.”
“I know just what we can do. I’ll call my favorite place with a to-go order, and I’ll get the waitress to run the food out to us so we never have to leave the car.”
“That sounds perfect. I’m not quite ready to go out in public and face anybody else. So far today, me going out in public hasn’t been a very good idea.” She frowned and tucked herself against the seat.
Sympathy pressed on him as he put the car in Drive. “I am sorry for what happened back there. I know that had to be uncomfortable for you.”
“To say the least. I thought I was doing the right thing by letting Emerson handle the business side of things. I tried not to worry myself over those details. But I can see now that was a mistake.”
He started down the road, trying to find the right words to comfort her. “You’re new to the business. I know you’re still learning the ropes. I’m sure this is all normal.”
“Maybe my family was right when they said that this whole business would make me into a different person.”
He glanced at her, sensing a surprising brokenness. “I would say you’ve stayed true to yourself pretty well.”
She glanced at him, something close to gratitude in her gaze. “You really think so?”
“I know you have to be an entertainer when you’re onstage. But when you’re offstage, you’re very real. Very relatable and down-to-earth. I think that’s something to be proud of. A lot of people would have let fame get to their heads by now.”
A smile feathered across her face. “Well, thank you for the vote of confidence. If only everyone felt that way.”
“I think the video you did today was a good start. It lets people see who you really are. It was from the heart and a much better idea than the press conference that Emerson wanted to schedule.”
She rubbed her arms and glanced at him. “Do you think that the killer sent those pictures? And posted that photo of me in response to my video?”
“It’s a definite possibility. Someone is trying very hard to send you a message. He’s doing an outstanding job.”
Bree let out an airy, cynical laugh. “Yes, he is.”
They pulled up to a restaurant called The Crazy Chefette. The place looked cheerful with its pink and yellow exterior, and it was a local favorite.
Dez had called about their food. As they waited, he glanced around. Two news vans were in the lot.
Calling in the order to-go had definitely been a good idea. He couldn’t afford to let down his guard.
A few minutes later, a waitress brought out two bags and two drinks. The smell of toasted bread and homemade potato chips filled the vehicle. He handed Bree a sack, along with the lemonade she’d ordered.
“This is what the restaurant is famous for,” Dez explained. “It’s a grilled cheese and peach sandwich. Try it. You might like it.”
“I’m a closet foodie, so this actually sounds really good.” She opened the paper wrapper and picked up the sandwich, examining it for a moment. “Listen, instead of driving back to the house, would you mind driving me around the island? Do you think it would be safe?”
Dez glanced around. “I don’t see a ton of people out and about today, so we could probably arrange that. Where do you want to go?”
“I just want to see more of this place. Usually, when I go to all of these new towns, I’m in and out. I don’t really get to see local sites or experience anything. And seeing and experiencing new places is one of my favorite things ever.”
“I’d be happy to give you a tour. I’ve only been here a few months, but I think I know enough to show you around.”
She took a bite of her s
andwich as they pulled away. “Where are you from?”
“My mom is from Cuba, and my dad is from Miami. They both still live down in southern Florida.”
“You seem like somebody who might be from down that way. It’s a great city. I really enjoyed my concert there.”
“It is a pretty great place. A lot of cultures there.”
She held her sandwich in front of her, as if displaying it as a point of interest. “And this sandwich is fantastic.”
“See? I told you. I’ve got great taste.”
“A man who knows his strengths. I can’t argue about that.” She guided the conversation back to the more personal. “So, do you talk to your parents a lot?”
“I talk to my mama every Saturday morning. I call her at nine o’clock sharp so we can catch up.”
She smiled and took another bite. “So you’re a mama’s boy?”
“No shame in that.”
Bree let out another laugh. “No shame at all.”
Dez pointed out several places to her, including the lighthouse and the Pamlico Sound. He shared some trivia about each place. They ended their drive at the harbor area.
“It’s not much to look at, but it’s beautiful in its own way,” Dez said. “In fact, ships found port here during the Civil War.”
“I had no idea this place had that kind of history,” she said.
He nodded. “I’m a bit of a history buff, especially when it comes to the military.”
“I suppose that can come in handy when you’re a Navy SEAL. After all, those who forget history are doomed to repeat it.”
“Very good. George Santayana, Spanish poet and philosopher.”
“I didn’t actually know who said it, only that the words were true.”
He pointed to the harbor. “Most people don’t realize the significance of a harbor, especially a deep water one like this. It offers anchorage and safety to ships in need. Especially in times of war, that’s important. The crew needs fuel and food and a place to rest. It’s vital to have that safe place to refresh before heading back out into the storms.”
“We all need that, don’t we?” Bree’s gaze fluttered toward Dez, and a smile brushed her lips.
Safe Harbor Page 8
