Going Deep

by Anne Calhoun

  She trailed off, and he put two and two together. “If you drop the record they want you to drop, they don’t need it. But if you go out on your own…”

  “I need it. It’s my only consistent connection to my fans. I set up my first website before I left home.”

  He folded his arms across his chest and tried to think about the big picture. “How likely is it they won’t drop this album?”

  “Extremely unlikely, unless I write new material to convince them to hold it, something to show that if we go in a different direction, it’s going to pay off.”

  “You don’t get any say in this?”

  “You have to be huge before you get much control over your career,” she said. “You’ve got control when you’re nobody, or when you’re Beyoncé or Taylor Swift. Or totally independent, like Amanda Palmer.”

  “Where do you fall in that scale?

  She huffed out a laugh. “I’m somebody, with a small s. If the album drops and goes big, I could be somebody with a capital S.”

  “Mostly what I’m worried about is you. This feels like a purposeful effort at sabotage.”

  “It’s probably kids messing around, seeing what they can do.” Her eyes went blank for a moment. “Wait, do you think the drunk guy from the concert is behind this? Because you arrested him?”

  “I’ve been at this less than forty-eight hours,” he said. “My gut reaction is no. This is different than beer-fueled courage. I’m wondering if it’s one of the psychopaths from the file.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s a logical next step from anonymous threats in the comments section,” he said. He stepped closer, the better to keep this away from Emily’s listening ears. “The drunk guy was a crime of opportunity. This is a calculated psychological attack. It’s a direct hit on your business, and on you.”

  He wasn’t sure how it happened, if she decided to do it or if he did, or if they both did, but her hand turned in his, then his fingers slid along hers, then they wove together. Looking deep into her eyes, he squeezed gently, hyperaware of her slender bones, her wide hazel eyes.

  “I didn’t think about it that way,” she said quietly.

  “That’s my job. I’ve got this. You think about your new music.” He covered her fidgeting fingers with his own, debating whether to tell her about the mysterious car. In the end, he decided not to worry her further.

  The bedroom door opened. Cady picked up her phone and tapped in her lock code. A moment later a new text appeared on his phone with Bryan’s contact card attached. “I’ll let him know to keep you up to date. Let’s get this party started, Em,” she said.

  There was a lot of bouncing and squealing to this sleepover thing, Conn reflected as they sat down in the living area. He hauled in a couple of armloads of wood from the pile and built a fire while Emily popped popcorn and opened bags of snacks. The wood popped and crackled in the background as the opening credits for Love and Basketball flashed on the screen.

  “Do you have sisters?” she asked Conn when Emily got up to make hot cocoa.

  “No,” he said. “No brothers or sisters. A good friend has sisters, though. I get the basics of a sleepover.”

  Her face cleared. The microwave timer dinged. Emily brought in two mugs of cocoa and set them on the coffee table, then squirmed under the covers like Shane’s mutt did when he got invited up on the sofa during a marathon video game session. Emily and Cady claimed the sofa, leaning against piled pillows at either end, sharing a big blanket between them.

  The movie was pretty good, actually, enough sports to keep his interest. The pizza delivery guy arrived twenty-five minutes in. Conn paid the guy, who showed absolutely no interest in the house, the property, or the address, then closed and locked the door.

  “How much?” Cady said as she set three plates on the granite-topped island.

  “Fifty-five with tip.”

  She nodded, handed him two beers and a bottle opener, then returned with the cash. He traded her the open beers for the money, which he shoved in his back pocket, then helped himself to breadsticks and two big slices of pizza. Emily was still on the sofa, using her knees as a table, ostentatiously ignoring him.

  Conn relaxed back into the armchair, which let him see into the backyard, although with the reflection from the TV, the fire, and the lights in the kitchen, he couldn’t see much, and tuned out the movie. He still hadn’t heard back from Kenny, or Hawthorn, for that matter. Watching Cady sing was a pretty good distraction, but sitting around watching a movie while she and her sister munched their way through a bowl of popcorn mixed with M&Ms was about to drive him crazy.

  “I’m going to step out for a second,” he said.

  Even though they were snuggled under a blanket, watching the movie, Cady’s energy danced at him, as subtle and playful as one of the songs she sang tonight. Emily’s was like coal smoke, thick, dark, toxic as she obviously didn’t look at him. He gave a mental shrug. As long as Cady was happy, Emily could resent his presence in her special girls’ weekend to her heart’s content.

  The December wind hit him like a slap, cold, sharp enough to freeze his breath in his lungs. He peered into the woods beside the house, wary of the possum or deer or crazy internet stalkers who might jump out of the deep shadows stretching up the hill behind Cady’s house. Shivering, he shoved his hands into his jacket pocket and jogged to the woodpile. Might as well get a few more logs, in case movie night turned into a double feature. He grabbed an armful of thick, rough-split logs and carried them up the steps to the deck, then rapped a knuckle against the glass.

  The slats parted with a click. Cady peered out at him. “Let me in. I’m freezing.”

  She opened the door. “Thanks,” she said. Her voice was low, her smile as promising as her singing.

  “If you had security cameras and motion detectors I wouldn’t even need to go outside.”

  “You look pretty tough to me,” she said, soft and low.

  That was still a no to the cameras. He added logs to the fire, settled back into his chair, and accepted a bowl of popcorn from Cady. Emily still wouldn’t look at him, appearing to be transfixed by the ending of the movie. When it was over, Cady gave a jaw-cracking yawn.

  “Sorry,” she said through the end of it. “Between the fire and the blanket and all the heat you give off”—she nudged her sister under the blanket—“my day caught up with me. Turn on the lights and get your designs out.”

  “No,” Emily said. “I’d rather talk about it when you’re fresh. Tomorrow morning?”

  “Don’t you want to sleep in?”

  “It’s fine,” Emily said in the tone of voice that meant it obviously wasn’t fine. She got up and wandered over to the floor-to-vaulted-ceiling built-ins, and started examining the objects on them. As she passed, Conn got a big whiff of pissed off teenager. “No big deal.”

  “I’m sorry, honey,” Cady said. “Tomorrow. I promise. What time do you work?”

  “Not until three.”

  “Great. I’ll make brunch, and take a look at everything then.” She yawned again. “I’m going to take a steam shower, then go to bed.”

  Conn resolutely did not think about Cady’s body slowly turning pink in the heat, steam drifting against the glass, her hair dark and wet against her cheeks and shoulders.

  “I’ll come with you. I brought my laptop. I can check out the chatter about the website, see if anyone’s taking credit for it,” Emily said.

  “So it’s a home day tomorrow?” He almost dreaded the answer. Doing nothing was going to drive him insane.

  Cady smiled ruefully and nodded. “Good night.”

  “I’ll shut everything down,” he said, adding a look and a wave that meant he’d take one last look around inside, too. Cady smiled her thanks, but her eyes held a hint of regret.

  Emily followed her sister into the master bedroom. The door closed, then a few seconds of low-voiced girl murmurs, then the water started running through the pipes. Conn checked every window l
atch, every door lock. He checked that the garage doors were closed. He turned off all the lights but the one over the stove. Then he looked around the dimly lit space. It seemed warm, homey, secure. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that the threat Cady dismissed so easily was real, and close by.

  CHAPTER NINE

  The next morning Cady woke up alone in her bed.

  Blinking against the bright sunshine streaming through the wood slats of the blinds like the world’s worst wakeup call, she looked over at the other side of the bed, where Emily had fallen asleep last night. She’d washed her face while Cady leaned against the tiled wall and tried hard not to resent her sister’s presence. Emily was such an important part of her life, and time with her was too limited. Once Emily started college it would be even more limited. They were close, but Cady didn’t harbor any illusions that she could compete with New York City and the fashion career waiting for Emily there.

  She leaned over and patted the fluffy down comforter, just in case Emily was facedown and dead to the world. No Emily. But she smelled coffee, so odds were good Em was in the kitchen, ready to talk fashion. She scooted to the edge of the bed and jammed her feet into her slippers. Hopefully Conn was a late sleeper. Odds were equally good he’d be bored into a stupor by the time Em finished. So far she’d seen him in the same off-duty uniform: no-nonsense running shoes, jeans, river driver shirt with the sleeves pushed to the elbows, and his denim jacket. His only concession to the cold was to flip up the collar.

  Keeping his hands in his pockets was about something else. She felt sure of it.

  Her fleece robe was hanging on the back of the bathroom door. She pulled it on over her pajamas and belted it tightly at her waist. Her hair, she discovered, was somewhere between Medusa and electrocuted. Oh well.

  She opened the bedroom door and shuffled into the hall, heading for the kitchen. “Whoever made coffee is my new favorite—”

  The remaining part of that sentence was cut off when she saw Conn and Em together in the kitchen. Conn was standing on the opposite side of the island, a steaming cup of coffee on the granite surface, his attention firmly fixed on the phone in his hand. Em was leaning against the stove, wearing a pair of footed pajamas covered with bright red kisses. She held a cup of coffee between her hands and was studiously ignoring Conn.

  “Good morning,” Cady said.

  “Morning,” Conn said. He looked at her, gaze skimming from hair to monkey-slippered feet, then back at his phone.

  “Hi,” Emily said. “Sleep well?”

  “Yes,” Cady said, acting as if nothing were amiss. “Full strength?”

  “I made it just the way you like it,” Em said. “Half bold, half hazelnut, all decaf.”

  “How’s the weather?”

  “Warmer,” Conn said. He looked right at her, his gaze never once flicking toward her sister. “A front came through last night. Highs in the forties today.”

  “Great. I’m going to sit outside and drink this,” she said as she opened the fridge. Inside was a carton of her chocolate almond milk. She poured in a healthy dollop. “Care to join me, Em? I saw deer yesterday.”

  “Sure,” her sister said.

  “You mind if I make pancakes?” Conn asked.

  “I would love it if you made pancakes,” Cady said.

  “None for me,” Emily threw over her shoulder. “Thanks.”

  Whether the outdoors was warmer than the house’s interior was debatable. Cady kept her mouth shut and unlocked the door leading to the deck. Sunshine pooled on the oversized wicker furniture, the dark red cushion covers trapping the heat. She tucked her feet underneath her robe, leaned her head against the chair’s high back, and mentally rehearsed her approach to this.

  The door opened and Emily came out, clutching the fleece throw from the sofa and a cup of coffee.

  “Em,” Cady started.

  “What?” Emily replied, all innocence. Making Cady say it.

  “You’re being rude to Conn. Knock it off.”

  “Why? He’s just a bodyguard.”

  “Exactly. He’s my employee. I treat him with the respect and consideration due a professional doing his job.”

  Em settled into a petulant pout and examined her nails. Uncertain, impatient, and lacking the heavy layer of makeup she’d worn last night, Emily suddenly looked exactly her age. The footies weren’t helping, reminding Cady of all the times she’d bathed Em and put her to bed when their mother was working late. “What’s wrong?” she asked gently.

  “I’m tired of waiting around for my brand to take off,” Emily said finally. “It’s been, like, forever.”

  Cady stifled a smile. “Be patient, sweetie. Good things are coming. They’re all coming. They’ll come a lot faster if you relax and enjoy what you have now.”

  “Ha,” Emily said. “I remember what you were like when you were my age. You and Mom fought all the time. You couldn’t wait to get out of the house and start performing. You barely finished high school! Why do I even have to go to college?”

  Cady felt a stab of sympathy for their mother. “Because everyone needs a backup plan.”

  “You don’t have a backup plan. You don’t think I’ll be successful enough to not end up as a lawyer, like Dad.”

  “I do not!” Her voice was a little sharper than she intended. “Think about what that will mean if my career nose dives. I bet you can name me a dozen one-hit wonders, or one-album wonders, right off the top of your head. You’re only as good as your latest release. Someone hacking my website won’t help. I need to work over the next few weeks. Write some songs. Work on the ones I’ve written.”

  “You’ll be fine,” Emily said. “You’ve got a label. A plan. You’re going to be a superstar when that album drops.”

  “It’s not just about being a superstar,” Cady said.

  “That’s easy for you to say when you’ve got that option. Try being a nobody.”

  “Em. I was a nobody. When I was your age, I was busking in SoMa for maybe ten bucks a night. And that was a good night! Just be patient, and do the work. The rest will come.”

  “You don’t know that!”

  “I don’t,” Cady said. “But I do know that something will come from doing the work. It may not be what you think it will be, but there’s always a payoff.”

  “I don’t want some vague new age crap about the work being the reward. I want the runway shows. I want New York Fashion Week. Milan. Paris. I want a million followers and people wearing my designs all over the world. Girls my age have that. I want it too!”

  She’d forgotten what it was like to be sixteen, now remembering her epic fights with her mother and, less frequently, her father. “Do the work, Em. Do the work and don’t get distracted by your emotions. That’s the best advice I can give you.”

  Emily’s eyes widened. “Deer,” she whispered, pointing into the woods.

  Through the trees Cady caught a glimpse of a doe trailed by leggy twin fawns, their spots only a memory. They watched the spindle-legged animals pick their way through the underbrush, then bound up the hill. Emily suddenly switched seats, snuggling next to Cady to lay her head on her shoulder. Cady smiled at her and flipped the end of the blanket over her legs.

  Coffee finished, Cady said, “Okay, show me what you’re working on.”

  Moving not all that differently from the deer, Em dashed for the bedroom and slammed the door. Cady strolled into the kitchen, set her cup in the dishwasher, ran water into her steamer for her morning treatment, then poured Emily another cup of coffee.

  “No more coffee for you?” Conn said. He stood at the stove, four small pancakes bubbling in the cast iron pan.

  “Smells delicious. I treat myself to one cup a day,” she said. She walked around the island, as if taking advantage of the need to speak privately to get close to Conn again. Well, she liked being close to Conn, and she wasn’t sixteen. Not by a long shot. “I’m sorry about her behavior. I talked to her. It won’t happen again.”

 
Conn looked toward the closed bedroom door, a little surprise showing on his face, then expertly flipped the four pancakes to show four golden brown sides. “That? That’s nothing compared to what I get every day on the job.”

  “I know how she feels,” she admitted. “We’re sisters, down to the bone. She wants, you know? She wants out of Lancaster, she wants fame, respect, recognition. Love. She feels trapped, like if she doesn’t take matters into her own hands, right now, nothing good will ever happen to her.”

  Conn peeked under the pancakes, then collected them in a stack and slid them onto a plate. “What did you do?”

  “I took matters into my own hands. Moved out, started singing wherever I could. Taught myself how to stand out wherever I sang, built a fan base.”

  He poured four more circles of batter onto the pan, then glanced toward the shower in Cady’s master bedroom suite. The water was still running. His gaze searched hers. He bent his head and brushed his mouth over hers.

  “Are you listening to me?”

  “Not anymore,” he said.

  She felt his lips quirk into a brief smile against hers. She smiled in response, then gently bit his lower lip, felt a growl rumble behind the planes of muscle in his chest. That was the thing about Conn. She had to be close enough to feel his emotions. Distance meant she got glimmers, flickers, a light in the distance. Up close, his emotions seeped from his skin to hers, big waves of energy transmitted by glancing touches, shared breath.

  The shower shut off. “Later?” she murmured.

  “Probably not a good idea,” he said.

  “Let’s do it anyway.” This time his tongue touched hers, slick, electric heat lighting her up.

  “Almost ready!” Em called.

  Conn straightened, muttered a curse, and flipped the four pancakes. Cady snatched up the towel, and had her face in the steam before Emily opened the door. She was no actress, but at least the heat would explain the flush on her face. “Wow,” she said.

  “Really?” Em spun in a circle, then strutted toward the island in a convincing runway walk before she snagged a heel, stumbled, and collapsed against the island in a fit of giggles.