by Anne Calhoun
Eve walked out the back door, crossing the brick-paved patio and rattling the big jar crammed full of cash, checks, and change. “Cady, Dad’s going to be so thrilled. Thank you so much!”
“My pleasure,” Cady said.
Eve’s forehead wrinkled. “The sound system could use some work. You sounded amazing, as always. You had a richer, deeper tone,” she said. “I like it. Also, your sister left a message with Cesar. She’ll meet you at your house. She tried to get into the bar, but we’ve got a no-exceptions policy for minors. She left. I think she’s kind of upset.”
“I forgot about her,” Cady said. “She’s spending the night tonight. Thanks for everything, Eve. I’ll call you later.”
“Why are you thanking me?” Eve said from the stage.
“This way,” Conn said. He held open the gate leading to the sidewalk. Across the street, lights illuminated Mobile Media’s construction site. The sidewalk hugged Eye Candy’s back wall, ending where the parking lot began. He clicked open the locks on the car, parked close to the building’s corner, and hustled her inside. Feeling like an idiot, she pulled her hood up over her hair and let Conn pull into traffic without incident.
Once inside the Audi she sank into the post-concert lassitude. The only way she felt whole was in the act of singing. A long time ago, when she first started writing her own material and before other people started “helping,” her songs told the truth of how she saw the world. The material she’d just spent eight months singing and promoting felt hard and flat, like a granite countertop, impenetrable and flecked with fool’s gold. Pretty, but giving nothing back.
Was she writing music a generation would remember? Would they look back at important times in their lives and connect with a song they heard on the oldies station? She wanted to write the songs that snuck into their mental chatter, not an earworm but songs that changed them, that gave them something every time they heard it, not just nostalgia.
Or maybe that was just her, wanting to sing songs that changed as she changed.
Except she couldn’t change. Her entire career was resting on this next album, a logical if somewhat careful transition from aspiring pop star to pop star. People’s livelihoods depended on her success, backup singers and road crew, tour manager and designer, everyone at the label. More and more, financial success depended on a few huge megastars, and the up-and-comers came with their own base of support in social media followers, all primed to buy albums and concert tickets and memorabilia and tie-in materials. More and more, the music was about sounding just enough like another popular song, to entice people to buy it.
More and more, all she wanted was to go back to writing her own songs. But she was as much of an airhead as most people thought pop stars were if she believed the label would discard a complete album custom tailored for her voice, the moment, just waiting to drop and launch her to the next level.
What if she made the wrong choice? She’d come so far. A slip now, so close to the top, could lead to irrecoverable fall.
“You okay?” Conn asked.
She clutched her cup a little closer, sipped the hot, sweet water. “I’m great,” she said. “Everything’s just great.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
He might not be the most experienced guy with relationships, but even he knew when a woman was faking a reaction. Cady was no more “great” than he was.
That said, Conn knew exactly what his strengths and weaknesses were. His strength was his body, not his brains. He’d been a mediocre student all the way through school, less interested in the theory behind anything than in the reality of life. He’d always traded the intellectual for the physical, book learning for street smarts. He was capable of quick reads on people, easily discerning when someone offered harm or danger. It made him great at patrol and the first stage of undercover work, simple buy-and-busts, because his radar went off before a situation went to shit.
This was always his weakness, too.
He knew as well as anyone, even before Hawthorn pointed it out, that he missed nuances right, left, and center. That was fine by him. He’d never wanted to be anything more than muscle. The big shots could have the months of planning, the strategizing over a large-scale operation, the press conferences and citations when it was over. Bring him in for the takedown and he was happy.
Working Cady’s security used his strengths, yes, but also called his weaknesses front and center. He needed to focus on her immediate security, but also keep in mind the internet threats, the eerie woods at the back of her house, the disappearing tail lights. Being a body man challenged him unlike any other role he’d played as a cop.
Until Cady kissed him in the privacy of Eye Candy’s office, the beat of whatever was playing on the house system thumping up through the soles of his boots had set his body vibrating.
Kissing her was an impulse move, based on motives he shied away from exploring. Her kissing him back was Cady to the core. Unpredictable and irresistible. He was still vibrating with all that focused energy as the Audi purred from streetlight to streetlight.
“The concert was really good,” he said, playing it cool.
She looked at him and smiled. “You liked it?”
“Yeah,” he said. “I’ve never been to a show like that before. You had a different connection with the audience than you did at the Field Energy Center.”
“Hearing fifteen thousand people sing the refrain to one of my songs is pretty cool. But being five feet from a longtime fan, looking into her eyes, knowing what I created affected her is the best thing ever,” she said. “That’s the high I keep chasing.”
“Natalie made you more hot water with honey,” Conn said.
She picked up the hot cup and sipped, then gave a little sigh with pleasure as she cradled the cup between her palms. Only her slender fingers protruded from the cuffs of her puffy jacket. He glanced at them, remembering the way they shifted on the guitar’s neck as she sang. The calluses on her fingertips made sense now, the slight edge and rough texture lighting up his nerves when she touched him.
He liked her hands a little rough, because her touch registered more than smooth manicured fingers did. All his life he’d reveled in the soft hands of a woman. Until now. Until Cady, fierce and tender at the same time, grabbed him and kissed him back, like she needed what he’d wanted to give her.
He shifted in the seat as his cock hardened. The car’s interior crackled with tension humming between them, like a taut wire struck and vibrating, like a guitar string. She’d tightened them between songs, plucking at them until she got the sound she wanted, carrying on a conversation with the audience the whole while.
“You okay?”
She was slouched down in her seat a little, the hood and scarf hiding her eyes, but he knew exactly what she meant. He had only the vaguest idea who Harry Linton was, but a quick Google search revealed he’d been profiled in People, US Weekly, and the New York Times, which meant he was Someone. And so was Cady. She stood in a bright spotlight, one that relentlessly picked out the details of her life: her hair, her clothes, her relationships, the meanings behind her songs. Conn was just LPD. Nothing more, nothing less. As her security, no one would care who he was, what he’d come from. But as her lover?
Good thing you don’t have to worry about that. This is temporary, and we both know it.
But Cady wasn’t angry or upset or pouting. She just sounded curious, and in that calmer response he found the space to tell her the truth. “I’m fine.”
Those full, pink lips pursed thoughtfully, making him wish he could see her eyes rather than the fur trim on the hood caressing her cheek. “So we’re both fine. Or we’re both pretending.”
“You want me to tell you you’re special?” he asked roughly, uncomfortable and turned on at the same time. Like she didn’t already know it. He’d seen red-carpet pictures too, Cady in some sexy, slinky gown, turned to face the cameras.
She turned to face him, giving him the full blast of those wide hazel eyes.
“People tell me I’m special all day, every day. I want you to tell me the truth. That’s all.”
The truth was he’d never felt this way before with a woman. But he wasn’t about to tell her that. “It’s good between us,” he conceded. “Chemistry.”
“Oh, yes,” she said. A little smile quirked the corners of her mouth. “I believe in chemistry. Only the most successful collaborations have good chemistry. You can create a technical masterpiece of an album, but something raw and heartfelt, created between a singer and her producer, or members of a band, will always catch a bigger wave than virtuosity.”
He braked for the turn to Cady’s gated community, and used the pause while the gates opened to look at her again. “How’s your chemistry with Chris?” he asked, remembering the phone call in Eve’s office.
She shrugged. “I trusted him with my career. Deer.”
He followed her gaze and caught the glint of eyes, standing off to the side of the big gates. Two of them, stock-still at the edge of the tree line, then a flash of white tails and rumps, and they were gone.
“Deer,” he repeated. He let up on the brake and the car rolled through the gates and down the hill. Something was niggling at his brain, something about the car. It was the instinct that served him well on those dangerous middle-of-the-night calls. Something about Chris set off his radar, not at full whoop-whoop blare, but he couldn’t ignore the tingle at the back of his neck. “What motivates him?”
“Money. Fame. Respect in the music business. Pretty standard stuff.”
“Is that what motivates you?”
She waited a long moment. “I’m not sure anymore. Right now I’m thinking about something more basic.”
Then her hand was in his lap, cupping his cock through his jeans. He inhaled sharply, then lifted his hips to grind against the heel of her hand. She made a soft little humming noise as they turned the corner to climb the driveway.
“Cady. There’s someone on your front porch.”
Just a glimpse of yellow in the burning porch light, and he’d never gone from turned on to alert so fast in his life. Adrenaline and sex made for a sizzling cocktail in his veins. Cady sat upright in her seat, so by the time they were visible it looked like nothing was going on. No conversation, no flirting, no heavy petting.
“It’s Emily,” she said. “I thought she’d be waiting for us at Eye Candy. She’s spending the night.”
Emily ran to the wooden railing and leaned over to wave at them as Conn pulled into the garage and parked the Audi. He looked at Cady, she looked at him. “Probably for the best,” he said over the heavy thumps of Emily’s boots down the front steps. His voice sounded normal, totally at odds with his hard-on straining against his zipper.
“You have a very odd definition of ‘best,’” Cady said.
With a high-pitched squeal, Emily flew into Cady’s arms. “I’m so excited! I have to work tomorrow night but I can stay until three or so. I brought fabric and sketches and movies. Oh! And we can make cookies. I bought the ingredients for chocolate chip cookies, because we’ll make Christmas cookies with Mom, right? You’re planning on that. Hi, Conn.”
The rhythmic bumping sounds weren’t Emily’s boots but rather a suitcase the size of a recliner that had fallen to the garage floor in Emily’s wake. Conn grabbed Cady’s guitar from the backseat.
“I’ll take that,” Cady said.
“It’s no trouble,” Conn replied.
“She doesn’t like anyone else handling her guitars,” Emily said, chin lifted, arm firmly tucked through Cady’s.
Conn handed over Cady’s guitar without comment. For a brief moment their eyes met, hers filled with rueful amusement. Later, she mouthed.
He hesitated for only a second. Why not? Why not be her holiday fling? What did he have to lose?
Everything, a small voice at the back of his brain whispered. You could lose everything.
He gave her a small nod, then hoisted Emily’s suitcase and followed the sisters up the stairs. Emily was still chattering away. “Can you believe Eve wouldn’t let me in?”
“Yes,” Cady said bluntly. “It’s illegal for minors to be in a bar, and you’re not even eighteen yet.”
“I’m your sister, and it was just the patio. It was embarrassing.”
“Because you put yourself in that position,” Cady said as she unzipped her jacket. “Being my sister doesn’t change the law.”
Conn watched this byplay without seeming to watch it. “Where should I put this?”
“In my bedroom,” Cady said. She’d toed out of her boots and now stood in the kitchen in her stocking feet, running water into the steamer. “You’re in the spare room and I don’t have any furniture in the spare spare room.”
“He’s sleeping here?”
The whisper reached Conn’s ears in Cady’s bedroom, where he set the enormous suitcase on the floor nearest the window.
“He’s sleeping here,” Cady said, in a normal tone of voice. “He’s no different than Evan.”
“Evan didn’t sleep in your room!”
“No, he had the room next to mine, just like Conn does.”
“It’s different,” Emily said, still in that stage whisper. “It’s your house. It’s, like, intimate.”
Cady’s next reply was muffled, probably by the towel over her head as she breathed in steam, but Conn got the gist of it, the same calm, rational tone.
“Whatever,” Emily said. “Let’s order pizza!… Fine, I’ll ask him, but who doesn’t like pizza?”
Emily appeared in the doorway. She’d taken off her bright yellow wool coat and was dressed in jeans, ankle boots, and a hoodie that slipped off one shoulder. She had the long legs and slender bone structure of a model, but lacked her sister’s poise. She was a kid, trying on different brands of adult for size. “Is it all right with you if we order a pizza?”
“Sure. I’ll order it,” Conn said. That way he could keep Cady’s name off the order.
Emily didn’t seem interested in logistics of Cady’s privacy or safety, just bounded back into the main living area. She opened her laptop, then said, “Hey, Cady, is your website down for maintenance?”
“Maybe,” Cady said. “It would make sense for Bryan to take it down now but he usually tells me when he does it. I’ll call him and see.”
She pulled up the phone, then set it on the counter on speakerphone. It rang once. “I know. I’m on it.”
Apparently Bryan’s people skills weren’t all that great. “On what?” Cady asked. Emily was in the living room, surfing through social media faster than Conn could track.
“Your website’s been hacked,” Bryan said. Conn could just imagine him, beard stretching to his plaid shirt, jeans sagging on his narrow hips, surrounded by wrappers and bottles from the new age energy bars and high-octane drinks. “At first I thought the server was down, but the firewall state table has locked up. It’s a DDoS attack—.”
“A what?”
“Distributed denial of service. It’s when someone floods the site with requests, more than the server can handle, and it crashes. Give me a couple of hours and I’ll have it back up.”
“Em, can you bring me my laptop?”
Em hurried over, her open laptop in one hand and Cady’s MacBook Air in the other. For good measure Conn went into his room and grabbed his own laptop. A minute later they stood around the island, Cady’s cell on speakerphone in a cluster of laptops. Conn typed in Cady’s website. The screen came up with a white screen and a 404 error. Reading it was the extent of his ability to handle cyber crime. “You fucking motherfucker,” Bryan said. “You think you’re anonymous?”
“We’ve got backups, right?” Cady said. “You can restore it?”
“This doesn’t affect the site or the data. It’s just a way of taking your online presence offline.”
“Just great,” Cady said, scrolling over to her social media apps. “I’ll post something so fans know what’s going on. When will it be back up?”
“When it’s back up,” Bryan said, obviously distracted. Conn could hear keyboard clicks in the background.
“How did this happen?” Cady asked. Worry pinched the corners of her eyes.
“I don’t know, but I will,” Bryan said, grim. “I’m going to crawl so far up this guy’s ass I’ll be able to inspect his brain stem and figure out exactly where he and his deviant relatives branched off the tree.”
Emily’s eyes widened.
“How soon?” Cady asked.
“I’m on my way to the colo.” Conn heard the sound of a coat being pulled on, then a door slamming and feet on the stairs. “Once I’m there I can bridge a hub in-line and analyze the traffic. I’ve got a ticket escalating with the ISP, and I’ve switched to a secondary ISP and set up a quick page to let your fans know the site is down. That should be up in a couple of minutes.”
“What’s a colo?” Conn asked.
She gave him a bewildered shrug. “Bryan, you know I don’t understand a word you’re saying.”
“I’m on it. That’s all you need to know, until I find the little fuckers who did this,” Bryan said. The call disappeared from Cady’s phone. Cady looked at Emily, then at Conn. It was the first time he’d seen her looking even a little lost.
“Sounds like he’s got that under control,” Emily said brightly. “Don’t worry about the website. Bryan will fix it. I’m going to put on comfy clothes. We can still watch the movie, then I’ll show you my designs. Okay, Cady?”
“Okay,” Cady said. Her smile was forced, something Emily didn’t seem to notice. She trotted into the bedroom and closed the door.
First the drunk guy, then the car, and now this. “I don’t like the timing,” Conn said.
Cady scrubbed her fingers through her hair. “Me, either. It’s the main hub for my connection with my fans. The database stores all their email addresses for newsletters, their birthdays, all the boards where people talk about concerts and songs and the things I’m doing. I’ve got other social media accounts, of course, but they all feed back to the website…”
