by Tania Joyce
“It’s possible.” Jones dipped his head from side to side. “Sam talked to the owner of the studio and debriefed me. Unfortunately, the building has no daytime surveillance, the cameras are only active outside of business hours. We’ll review the CCTV footage in the area, but it’s going to take time. If we find something or someone acting unusual, we’ll let you know as soon as possible. Bec is helping us; she has posted a teaser to your social media accounts to see if anyone will confirm they were outside the studio. We’ll start with them.”
“Wait.” Gemma sat ramrod straight. “What about Taylah? The girl who runs our Ringers fan club. She was there. She’s obsessed with us, and she might know the names of some other people who were there too.”
“Excellent.” Jones penned notes on his pad. “We’ll track her down.”
Gemma’s mind rattled. Could it be Taylah who’d sent the letters? She was one of their first truly dedicated fans. She’d supported their rise to fame, created a social media frenzy, and voted a gazillion times to help them win the YouTube contest that landed them a record deal and shot them to the top. Had she grown obsessed with Kyle over the past eight years?
Bitch.
Clutching her stomach, Gemma turned to Kyle. His espresso eyes, dark and glassy, caused her heart to ache. It would kill him if something ever happened to her, and vice versa. “Should we postpone the wedding? Until this blows over?”
He sucked in a sharp breath. A muscle in his jaw ticked and he slowly shook his head. “No. Don’t even think about it. Only our team here know our plans, and I trust them with my life. No one else knows when or where we’re going. And I swear that’s not going to change.”
“That’s because you’re a control freak.” Hunter smirked, strumming his fingers on the table.
Kyle flipped him the bird, expression void from his face.
“And feeling totally unloved over here about the no invite rule.” A thin smile drew across Bec’s lips; no glint of humor touched her eyes.
Gemma placed her hand over her heart. “Bec, I promise we’ll celebrate at my bachelorette party in Vegas. You know we don’t want a big wedding.”
Kyle nudged her side and leaned down to whisper in her ear, “You don’t want a big wedding.”
She smiled at the jest in his soft tone.
He held his index and thumb an inch apart toward her. “I’d like it to be a bit bigger.”
Was that what he wanted to talk about tonight? More guests? Shit. This threat on her life was exactly why it shouldn’t be an extravagant event. Gemma narrowed her eyes and waggled her finger at him. “Don’t start. We’ve got enough to deal with.”
He grabbed her hand, kissed the back of it, and held it in his underneath the table.
Jones cleared his throat. “Kyle, I want you to think about people you know, friends or colleagues. Is there an ex-girlfriend upset by your relationship with Gemma?”
“Pfft,” escaped Gemma’s lips. She knew every one of Kyle’s past girlfriends. She’d take the bitch down, if it was one of them.
Kyle ruffled his hand through his slicked back dark blond hair, rubbed his undercut. “This is insane. Gem and I have been together for two years.”
“Clearly, someone isn’t happy since you got engaged.” Jones arched one thick eyebrow, poised his pen to write.
Kyle sighed, leaned forward to rest on his elbows, and stared at the pile of letters. “Are we talking actual girlfriends? I’ve had a couple since the start of high school. But if it’s someone I’ve slept with”—his eyes flashed toward Bec—“shit, there could be hundreds.”
Gemma bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from laughing. She’d forgotten Kyle had banged Bec for about a week when they’d first hired her as their personal assistant. Bec had also nailed Hunter, their backup band, and half their technicians, sound engineers and road crew. But she was with Matty now. There was no way the letters had come from her. Gemma wouldn’t believe it. Not for one second.
Hunter chuckled, his azure eyes glinting. “Bud, aren’t you being a little conservative? Only hundreds of girls? Wouldn’t you be in the thousands?”
Kyle grinned, shaking his head. “I wasn’t as much of a man-whore as you.”
Closing her eyes, thousands of memories strobed through Gemma’s mind like a slideshow on high speed. The three of them had enjoyed many wild times since making it big. They’d had more than their fair share of drugs, alcohol-fueled parties and hook-ups. Ah . . . the good old days. But after too many incidents on their first world tour, they gave up the drugs. The sleeping around eased during tour three and stopped all together once she hooked up with Kyle, or even before that, if she included her short and very temporary stint with Hunter. That felt like a lifetime ago. Alcohol, however, was still and would remain a constant friend. Gemma was sure her blood type was JD-positive.
Jones’s face tensed as if his tolerance had thinned as much as his sidekick’s receding hairline. Morris at least smiled at their jokes. Jones could do with a good hit of happy gas.
Jones’s focus remained set on Kyle. “I’d like the contact details of any of your girlfriends before Gemma. Anyone that gives you a thread of suspicion.”
The names of Kyle’s exes swirled through Gemma’s head. Laura, Trina, Vicki, Claire and Debbie. They kept in touch with half of them.
“Gemma.” Jones grabbed her attention. “Is there anyone who is upset or has acted suspiciously since your engagement? Anything that may help?”
“No.” She shook her head. “Could this be a hoax?”
“It could be.” Jones interlaced his fingers and rested his hands on the table. “But in my experience, I don’t think so. It’s our job to take every threat seriously. Especially considering . . . you are celebrities.”
Did she detect acid in his tone? Great. She didn’t want or expect special treatment, but she did want this threat to go away.
Hunter pointed to Jones’s phone. “You want to find the crazy, watch YouTube. There have been hundreds, if not thousands, of fanatical videos. We’ve watched a few for entertainment. Sorry . . . some of them are funny. But none stood out as threatening.”
Jones nodded. “We’ll have our cyber expert, Detective Marshall, back at the precinct, scan your social media accounts. Morris and I will follow up on any CCTV footage we can get our hands on, and work on your leads. Inform a select few of your trusted family and friends of the situation. And please, let me know if you think of anything that might help.” He handed everyone a business card. “Be assured we will do our best to find who’s responsible. We’ll keep in touch.” After shaking everyone’s hand, Sam led Jones and Morris out of the studio.
Gemma slumped in her seat. “Thank God that is over.”
The moment Sam returned and before he had the chance to put his butt back in the chair, Kyle raked his fingers through his hair and blurted. “We need to up security. We need to ensure Gem’s safety.”
“What?” Gemma groaned. “We don’t need more security.” Wasn’t twenty-four/seven enough?
Sam leveled his gaze at Gemma. “Kyle’s right. A few extra precautionary measures won’t hurt. We’ll check and install extra cameras at your apartment buildings. We can already track you via your cell phones, in case of the unlikely event you are kidnapped, injured or taken hostage.”
The breath shot from Gemma’s lungs. Her pulse pounded in her ears. “Oh, for fuck’s sake. Surely it’s not going to come to that. It’s just a couple of stupid letters.”
But the steely looks on their faces stalled her false sense of security. Their bodyguards had never had to be used for anything beyond crowd control, protecting her and the guys from being swamped by fans. She prayed they never had to go into full-on save-their-life mode, hoped they never got hurt, stabbed, hit, or even worse, shot in the line of duty.
Kyle eased his arm around her shoulders and jutted his chin toward Mick. “I think Mick should give us, especially you, Gem, a refresher on self-defense.”
She dug
her fingers into Kyle’s thighs. “I don’t need a refresher.”
“Ow!” He grasped her hand; his mouth formed an OMG gap, his eyes glinted with humor and shock. “You’re evil, woman.”
Mick, with his buzzcut, slender build, zero body fat, and five-feet-eight-inch height, didn’t look that strong, but he could break every bone in someone’s body. With a black belt in just about every code of martial art, the man was as lethal as a gun.
“Sorry, Gem.” Mick splayed his hands. “I agree with Kyle.”
Gemma rolled her eyes. More workouts. As if fitness training for tour and shows wasn’t enough, Mick’s defense classes were like military bootcamp. She’d have to whisper in Mick’s ear to give Kyle an extra hard workout for putting them up to this. Payback would be hers.
But the threats flashed behind her eyelids—a wild fan lunging at her with a knife, a crazed loon pulling out a gun, a mad maniac beating her with a bat—it gave her a punch to the guts. What if someone really wanted to hurt her beyond words on a piece of paper? She hated that Kyle might be right. It wouldn’t hurt her to take a few precautionary steps. Anything to keep him happy and off her back.
Sam rubbed at the stubble on his chin. “I don’t want you guys to worry. We’ll be working with your management team to ensure your safety at events and shows, and we’ll coordinate our efforts with event organizers. Every aspect of security will be under control.”
Kyle gave her arm a gentle squeeze. “And Gem, I don’t think you should leave home without having someone with you—me, Hunt, one of your girlfriends or security.”
“Are you kidding me?”
Sam, Chester and Mick frowned and shook their heads.
Fuck.
Gemma slumped in her chair, her back hitting the leather with a thud. This is ridiculous. The tension at Gemma’s temples twisted tighter. “I don’t think we need to get that extreme, do we? Surely I can go across the street to the drug store without a bodyguard?”
Sam sighed. “It’s for the best, Gemma. If someone is stalking you, we need to stay close.”
Damn it. Her limited freedom was gone. What they suggested was overkill. She didn’t want to be babysat everywhere she went. She couldn’t deny the letters had tweaked a nerve. Seeing the worried looks on everyone’s faces didn’t help. But she had a life to live.
Hopefully the letters were nothing. A sick joke. Someone playing games. Or was it a cry for help? A mental health issue?
Ergh!
She had enough problems of her own without worrying about someone else’s. Living in the spotlight for eight years had ground a solid amount of paranoia into her system. It had held fast ever since her mother and her ex, Ben, sold her out to the paparazzi and naked pictures of her went viral. Being a celebrity, risk was her daily reality. But she was strong. Careful. Street-smart. She wasn’t about to do anything stupid.
Digging deep, she cemented determination into her veins. She wasn’t going to have her life interrupted.
Kyle gaze darted to security before he gave her a reassuring smile. “We’ve got this. If someone wants you, they’ll have to get through me first. And that isn’t going to happen.”
Leaning into her, he kissed her on the cheek. She didn’t need him playing superhero. But until the culprit was found he wouldn’t let this go. First he wanted to make changes to their wedding, now he wanted to add running her everyday life to the list. That didn’t sit well with her. Not at all. She didn’t like being told what to do.
A niggle lodged into the base of her neck and it wouldn’t subside. Kyle and security could put whatever measures in place, but it didn’t mean she’d comply. She’d worked too damn hard to get where she was and knew how to live within the constraints of fame. “I’m not going to stop going out because of some crazed fan. If I do that, the person behind the letters wins. And I won’t let that happen. Not ever.”
I’ve got this. I’m always careful.
No one will hurt me. Or Kyle.
Everything’s under control. Everything will be fine.
No one fucks with this bitch.
Chapter 4
Searching for Gemma, Kyle’s heart pounded as he ran up the stairwell and flung open the door to the rooftop common area of their apartment building. It hit the wall with a bang. Gem, where are you? The night’s warm breeze hit him, hauling him to a halt. There she stood on the far side, wearing his old Nirvana T-shirt she wore to bed, leaning against the wall, looking out over the city skyline. She’s here. Thank goodness. After the long afternoon at rehearsal and evening with the detectives, security and their management team, Kyle’s mind swirled, unable to erase the vision of the threatening letters. Panic had gripped his every muscle when he got out of the shower and Gemma wasn’t in their apartment.
The threats did his head in. Was he going to worry about Gemma every second of the day? Probably.
Yep. Most definitely.
“Hey.” He jogged over to her and wrapped his arms around her from behind. He nuzzled into her neck, inhaled the smell of her rosy shampoo. “I was looking for you.”
She turned in his arms, the wind catching her hair. The city lights shimmered in her emerald eyes. “I just needed some timeout.”
Rubbing her arms, he kissed the top of her head. Just touching her and holding her close helped soothe his mind, sent warmth snaking across his skin. “Can you please not leave our apartment without telling me where you’re going? You left your cell phone on the counter. I checked the pool area and the courtyard before coming here looking for you.”
“Fine.” She groaned and rolled her eyes.
But she had to take the threats seriously. Be careful wherever she went.
“Do you want to talk about the letters?”
“Nope. I’m good.”
He didn’t expect anything less. He admired her strength for putting up a brave front, but he saw through her façade. This had got to her. When things got tough or upset her, she put her guard up, over-analyzed everything, and took her pent-up frustrations out by playing guitar or writing some killer lyrics. It was just the way she handled things. Now they were getting married, he wished she’d do away with the protective shield around her heart. But it hadn’t happened. Maybe some scars ran too deep. It didn’t matter; he loved her regardless. Knew he’d always be here for her.
He widened his stance and dipped his head to meet her eye to eye. “Well, I’m worried. Are you sure you’re okay?”
She slid her hand underneath his T-shirt, brushed it up and down his stomach, taking too long to respond. His abs tensed, tolerating the tickles. Even after being together for years, he was still ticklish as hell. She smiled as his body flinched beneath her touch. Her hands on his skin was a pleasurable torture. “Yeah. Now I’m over the shock, it’s up to the detectives and security to do their job. I won’t live in a bubble because of some nutjob.”
He placed his hands over hers. No more tickling. “I won’t let anything happen to you. Ever. Whoever’s behind this is sick. We have to trust the detectives to find them.” But he held reservations about Jones. Jones reminded him of his dad. Another cop that preached the law, thought themselves above the rules, and pissed off people in the process. He hoped Jones proved him wrong.
Sensing Gemma’s need to be close, he wrapped his arms around her. She rested her head against his chest. “It wasn’t fun dredging up the names of your ex-girlfriends.”
The list of his past relationships flickered through his mind, but no one stood out as a threat. It frustrated him that no one seemed suspect. Was Gemma right? Was this just a sick joke?
But the detectives didn’t think so. Management and security didn’t think so. Tightening his hold on her, determination gripped his heart. He’d do whatever it took to find who was behind the letters. Do whatever it took to stop them. Anything to protect Gemma. Before Gemma, he hadn’t had a girlfriend for years. Most of them he’d like to forget. “You even remembered some girlfriends I’d forgotten.”
“For every
breakup, I was your shoulder to cry on.”
“I didn’t cry.” Okay, maybe. One or two times.
“There were definitely tears and a lot of moping for days.”
He grunted, soft and low. He didn’t do heartbreak well. Solace was often found in the bottom of a bottle, thrashing out his pain on his bass, guitar or drums, or spilling his guts to Gemma. “I’m glad I never have to go through a breakup again. I have you for the rest of my days.” Content, happy, totally satisfied. That was how he wanted his forever. With Gemma.
She toyed with the bottom of his pajama T-shirt. “Do you think the letters could be one of them? Someone we know?”
It terrified him to think it could be one of their past or present friends. “Geez, I hope not. I was never with anyone long enough to warrant a state of obsession.”
“I don’t know.” She twisted and tugged at the fabric. “Now you’re mine, I don’t want anyone else to have you. So maybe I’ve gone a bit Ava Max.”
“You’re all sweet but psycho? I like that. Because I feel the same way about you.”
A smile quivered across her lips, but then seriousness washed over her face. “Umm . . . can we change the subject? I’m not tired. I know it’s almost midnight, but do you want to talk about the . . . the wedding? With some psycho out to get us, why don’t we just go to the clerk’s office and sign the paperwork?”
His chest ached like he’d been listening to the blues. Getting hitched at the Marriage Bureau would be an easy solution. Less hassle. Less fuss. But he wanted a proper wedding.
Taking her face in his hands, he kissed her and hovered his mouth near her lips. “No. You’re not getting out of this. I want to marry you. Have a ceremony. See you in a beautiful dress. Declare my love to you in front of our friends.”
“I know you love me.” She gripped onto his forearms. “I don’t need anything else.”
He met her gaze, held it firm. “But I do. I want our day to be special. Memorable. About us. Not some quick fix.”
She looked up at him from underneath her long lashes and a smile danced across her rosy colored lips. “Most guys would jump at the chance to get out of a wedding.”
