by Tania Joyce
Chester grabbed her arm, inspected her skin, and nodded at him.
Kyle let out the breath he’d been holding. He fell back into his chair, his eyes focused on Taylah’s forearm. The Everhide logo tattooed her flesh. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen their logo emblazoned on someone’s skin, but it was the first time it creeped him out.
Taylah twisted and turned her wrist. “I got this done last year.” Pride boomed in her voice as she showed him.
He blinked, jerking his head back. “That’s . . . dedication.”
Gemma curled her arm behind his back and clutched onto his jacket. Hunter had his hands on the table as if he was ready to launch himself across it and take the bitch down if she put a hair out of place.
Taylah changed arms and pulled up her other sleeve. “And this one . . . “
Oh. My. God!
The hairs on the back of Kyle’s neck stood on end. His pulse ticked in his ears. “You got my face inked on your arm?” You’re sick. “Wow. That’s wicked.” He kept his tone light-hearted, but his insides cinched.
What the fuck? His face? On her arm? That was extreme.
Gemma’s hand stilled on his back as she stared at the tattoo.
Taylah gloated. “Shows how much I love you, Kyle. Now, I can look at you all day long.”
Kyle gawked at the outlined caricature. “That . . . is . . . full-on.”
Taylah straightened her shirtsleeves over her wrists. “You guys mean the world to me.”
To the point of obsession? Not cool. Kyle’s jaw locked, lost for words.
Chester shuffled half a step toward Taylah. “Come on, miss. Time’s up.”
“Wait.” Taylah held up her hand. “Has this extra security got something to do with your rehearsal in Brooklyn?” Taylah’s eyes set on Kyle. “I’ve been away. I’ve got to meet with some detective dude tomorrow. Is everything okay?”
Kyle’s lips twitched, bordering on a sneer. “It will be.”
Taylah nodded, seemingly oblivious to the acid in his tone. “Cool. I’ll do anything to help.”
Gemma cut in, her face pale. “Taylah. I’m sorry. We have to move.”
“Oh.” Taylah straightened. “Okay. I’ll go.” Chester steered Taylah toward the door. She called back over her shoulder, waved and blew Kyle a kiss. “Love you, Kyle. Bye. See you in Vegas.”
The three of them slouched in their chairs and breathed.
“Fuck me,” Hunter groaned, and rubbed his palms against his eyes. “She’s one crazy fruit loop.”
“That’s an understatement.” Kyle rolled his shoulders, releasing the tension in his spine.
Gemma slapped both their legs. “Guys, let’s get out of here. I’m done.”
Kyle stood and held out his hand to help Gemma. Her clammy fingers trembled in his. Drawing her into his arms, he hugged her. “I got you, Gem. Always.”
Kate came up to the table, her eyes wide. “That was one of the more eventful signings, wasn’t it? Chester has escorted Taylah from the venue. Once he gets back, security will take you to your trailer so you can grab your things and head home.”
But Kyle couldn’t relax. Was every function going to be like this until the perpetrator was caught? He didn’t want to live in fear. He’d done that, living under the same roof as his father. Back then, he didn’t have the physical strength or skills to defend himself. Now, he did. Would that be enough to deter someone who was sick and out to hurt Gemma, even with security and technology at his fingertips? He’d never live with himself, wouldn’t want to live, if something happened to Gemma.
Chester returned, ambling over to them. “You do have some overzealous fans. We hope that’s all she is. Until the detectives interview her, there’s nothing more we can do.”
“Thanks, man.” Kyle slapped Chester on the back. “Having you guys around takes a load off.”
Kyle hooked his arm around Gemma’s shoulder and walked with her ahead of Hunter and security toward their trailer behind the SummerStage. Making their way through the darkened park lit by the odd streetlamp, he watched the shadows, strained his eyes between the buildings and constantly glanced over his shoulder. Everyone else did the same.
Approaching their trailer at the far end of the stage, Kyle’s steps jarred. His heart hammered, hard and fast. He held his hand up for everyone to halt. “Guys. Wait.” His arm around Gemma tensed.
“What is it?” She stopped in her tracks.
“Look.” He pointed to the trailer and turned to Sam. “The trailer door. It’s open. Someone’s broken in.”
Chapter 6
Kyle gripped Gemma’s shaking hand and took cautious steps toward the trailer. The door creaked in the warm breeze and slapped against the frame. The metal handle hung at an awkward angle, snapped, jimmied open with something. Who did this? He glanced into the darkness, beyond the edges of the park lights, searching for any sign of movement. Was the intruder still around?
Sam grumbled behind him. “Did one of you forget to lock up?” He pulled Kyle out of the way. He froze when he saw the handle.
“No,” Hunter said over Kyle’s shoulder. “I was the last to leave. I locked it.” He jiggled the keys in his blazer. Kyle remembered Hunter tussling with Bec over the keys. Hunter had won. Fat lot of good the keys were now.
Hunter stepped in beside Kyle and caught sight of the door. “Oh shit!”
“Stay here with Mick.” Sam pointed at the ground, ordering them to obey. “We’ll check it out.” He turned and led Chester into the trailer.
Seconds later, the door flung open. Sam was on his cell phone as he came down the stairs. “Jones. Better get to SummerStage. We’ve had another incident.”
Kyle’s heart barreled up to his throat. “What is it?”
Sam blocked the entrance with his arm. “You sure you want to see this?”
“Yes. I do.” Gemma’s voice shook with fear, anxiety and a morbid curiosity.
She released her hold on his hand, but he caught her on the arm. Terrified, not knowing what to expect, he yanked her away from the steps. “Gem. Wait.”
Flames flared in her eyes but she gave him no time to argue. She jerked her arm free and dashed as quick as a fox up the two steps into their trailer. He followed her, sticking close. Hunter and Mick came behind them.
Stepping inside, he scanned the black leather bench seat and kitchenette; nothing looked out of place. But when he reached the middle of the trailer, he froze. His mouth ran dry. “What the hell?”
There. On the floor in front of him.
Gemma’s duffel bag was slashed to pieces. Her clothes. Her journal. Everything was torn to shreds. The jeans and toiletries from his backpack were flung across the sofa. Hunter’s bag and their guitars lay stacked on the table . . . untouched.
“No. No. No. No. NO.” Gemma fell to her knees and swept up the torn pages. “Not my journal. God. Damn. Motherfuckers.”
Kyle rushed forward, kneeled beside her and rubbed his hand over her back. “Oh shit, Gem.”
Sam took a few steps toward them, holding out his hand. “Gemma, don’t touch anything! Jones is on his way.”
“It’s my journal. You don’t understand. These are all my lyrics, my work, notes, melodies.” She scratched and scraped the shreds together.
Kyle placed his hand over hers and pulled her to her feet. He wrapped his arms around her and held her to his chest. “Shh. It’s okay. We’ll piece them back together like a puzzle later.”
Seeing her journal destroyed crushed his heart. He wasn’t sure if what he saw could be salvaged. That was the least of their worries. A million horrible images flashed through Kyle’s mind—blood and cuts, over Gemma’s body. Similar to his parents’ bodies after their accident. Did the person who destroyed Gemma’s stuff want to hurt her? Slash her with a knife?
He couldn’t lose her. No matter what the cost. The death threats were no longer about an obsessed fan; this was a psychopath who had to be stopped. He wouldn’t rest until whoever did this was c
aught.
“Wait.” Gemma pointed underneath her bag. “There’s an envelope.”
Oh, crap. Kyle dashed forward. Short, sharp breaths ripped his lungs as he picked it up and tore it open. He read out loud, his voice scraping his dry throat.
I saw you tonight, bitch.
what is it going to take for you to listen?
i’ve warned you.
i will kill you.
kyle is mine. Mine. Mine!
call off the wedding now.
or your days are numbered.
Gemma slipped into his arms and buried her face into his chest. He dropped the letter onto the table and held her tight, praying he could make this all disappear.
Hunter stepped in and hugged her too. “Fuck, guys. This is shit.”
Huddled together they didn’t move. Just held each other like frozen statues.
“What are we going to do?” Gemma whispered, clutching onto Kyle harder, her fingers digging into his hip.
He hated seeing her so scared. No one should’ve gotten this close to their trailer. Security should’ve been tighter. “I’m going to make sure we get to the bottom of this.” Hunter withdrew from the hug and they all met the daunted yet determined looks on their security team’s faces.
Chester took a step toward Gemma, his eyes dark and resolute. “I won’t let this bitch get to you. You hear me?”
Good to see Chester was as hell-bent as he was on keeping Gemma safe.
She nodded, her gaze falling to her gear on the ground. “And I loved those shirts. Damn it.”
That brought a sad smile to Kyle’s face. She latched onto odd items of clothes and wore them to death, just like his old T-shirts—her favorite things to wear to bed. He stroked his hand over her hair, stopping when he caught sight of their cell phones smashed on the floor beside her bag. An ache in his chest flared. The selfie of them, cheek to cheek, lying on their couch at home, was frozen on the cracked screens.
Taking a lung-filling breath, he pulled Gemma against his chest and rested his chin on top of her head. He closed his eyes. Who the hell did this?
Sam put his cell phone to his ear. “Jones? We have another letter . . . Yep . . . Aha . . . Do you need them to stay? . . . Okay . . . See you soon.” Sam hung up and waved his hand at them. “You need to stay while they examine the place and ask you some questions. Better make yourselves comfortable; it’s going to be a long night. Let’s go wait outside.”
Gemma nodded and slipped out of Kyle’s embrace. She wrapped her arms around herself. The spark in her emerald-green eyes had faded. It cut him to the bone to see her feisty spirit take such a harrowing blow. She held out her hand toward Hunter. “Can I borrow your phone, please?” Her voice had lost its usual vibrancy and sassiness; it had been replaced with tired weariness. “Bec and Sophie should’ve finished at the function by now. I’ll call them. Get them to bring us coffees.”
“Babe, I’ll do it.” He grabbed his backpack off the table and dug his cell phone out of the front pocket. They all followed him out of the trailer.
So much for heading home. There was no chance of that happening anytime soon.
Everyone stood around with shock blanching their faces. Adrenaline, spiked with fear and fatigue, coiled through Kyle’s veins. Clutching Gemma to his chest, he searched the corners of his mind for who could’ve done this. Who hated Gem? What other measures did he need in place to ensure their safety? Not sure. Had he left any loopholes? God only knows. Every unanswered question gnawed away at his insides like a rat chewing an electric cord. How long until it went zap?
Jones arrived with his team. The man and woman, bright and fresh in their sharp uniforms, must have been on nightshift. Kyle’s dad used to do a lot of night shift. They were the good nights, when he wasn’t home to drink.
Jones, on the other hand, looked like he could use one. His hair was unkempt, his face unshaven and his clothes crumpled. Excusable, since Sam had dragged him out of bed.
Bec and Sophie rushed down the roadway, balancing cardboard trays loaded with steaming takeaway coffees in their hands. After handing them out, their faces paled as Sam relayed what had happened.
“Holy shit.” Bec drew Gemma into a hug, stepped back and clutched her hand. “As scary as this is, thank God it’s only your gear, not you.”
A shiver ran up Kyle’s spine and he clutched his coffee cup tighter. He couldn’t block out his horrific images from before.
Sophie gave him a reassuring squeeze on the arm. “You’re all safe. That’s what matters.”
Sipping his hot drink, Kyle watched the detective and his team, Gavin and Serena, get to work. After blocking off the area with crime-scene tape, Serena donned blue rubber gloves and dusted the trailer door for fingerprints. Jones had gone inside the trailer with Gavin carrying a large camera and work bag. Flashes lit the small windows.
Every muscle in Kyle’s jaw ticked and tensed. He hoped that the detective would find something, anything to nail who did this, that security footage would identify the culprit. It could’ve been anyone. Someone at their concert? The benefit? A thug? But he couldn’t dislodge the niggle at the base of his neck. Tonight’s move seemed calculated and timed. They touched only Gemma’s gear and his. They knew their movements, their whereabouts. Who? Who could it be? Was it Taylah?
At two a.m, when tiredness took its toll, and yawns and stretches ran around the group like a Mexican wave, Jones emerged from the trailer. “Okay.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “In here please.”
Kyle followed Gemma inside and took a seat beside her on the bench by the door. Hunter sat on the other side of her. Security, Sophie and Bec shuffled past and sat at the booth-style table.
“Shit,” Jones, standing by the counter, mumbled. “I didn’t need all of you; only Kyle and Gemma.”
“Too bad.” Bec wriggled in her seat next to Sophie and placed her folded hands on the table. “You want them, you get all of us. That’s the deal.”
Kyle swiped his hand across his mouth to hide his grin. With eight people mushed into this end of the trailer, and with Jones and Gavin at the other, it was rather cozy.
“Aren’t I lucky!” Jones folded his arms and leaned against the counter. “Right.” He pointed at Gemma’s gear on the floor. Little yellow markers with numbers stood beside her bag, their cell phones, her shirts. God, it looked like a murder scene on CSI. “Gemma and Kyle, before we wrap this up and take a few things for evidence, can you see if anything is missing please?”
Gemma went first. She knelt on the floor, sifted through the rags, and peered inside her duffel bag—well, the shreds of what was left of it. Tears swelled in her eyes as she flipped through her torn journal. Kyle winced, trying to hide his distress. After rummaging around in her purse, she shook her head. “No. Nothing’s missing. Even my wallet is here.” She opened it up and scanned her credit cards and cash. “They took nothing.”
Jones gave a curt nod. “What about your house keys? Car keys? Medication?”
“Damn.” Gemma flopped her hands into her lap. “I took all my drugs before I went onstage.”
Kyle flashed her a stern look. He loved her quick comebacks, but now wasn’t the time.
She caught his gaze, sighed deeply and turned to Jones. “I am joking.”
Jones’s eyes narrowed into thin slits. “This is no laughing matter, Ms. Lonsdale.”
Yep, Jones’s sense of humor was as dry as summer heat. Best not to piss him off further.
“I know it’s not.” She wiped a stray tear from her cheek, straightened and put her strong front back in place. “But I have to make light of this or it will send me crazy.”
“I understand.” Jones tone softened with the first sign of compassion since they’d met him. “The offender may be a drug addict looking for cash or their next hit. Or they may have gotten your home address off your ID, taken your keys and be heading in that direction. We’ll get security to thoroughly check your home.”
Nausea pooled in Kyle
’s gut. Was their home no longer safe? He’d get Sam to change their security access tokens and locks first thing tomorrow.
Gemma dug in her purse again and held out her keys. “They’re here.” She dropped them back in her purse along with her wallet and looked toward the floor. “Can my journal be saved? Can I get the torn pages back?”
Jones dipped his chin. “Yes. After we’ve finished, you can have them.”
Kyle let out a slow, steady breath. Not all was lost.
In a daze, Gemma slid back to the bench.
Kyle leaned in and kissed her temple. “You okay?”
She nodded, but he could tell she wasn’t. She nudged his arm. “Your turn.”
He lurched from the seat and headed for his backpack. Searching through it, his blood ran cold. Shards of ice lodged in his lungs. “My T-shirt is missing. The one I wore onstage.” He hated the idea of someone smelling it or sleeping with it under their pillow or worse . . . getting off on it.
“You think Psycho Fan took it?” Gemma questioned, then a twisted smile drew across her mouth. “Detective, you may find out who’s done this sooner than you think. If someone turns up mysteriously dead, Kyle’s sweaty T-shirt might be the cause. It will reek. Death by body odor is highly possible.”
“Hey.” Kyle sniffed his arm pit. He’d showered and changed after their show. “I smell great.”
“Most of the time.” She winked at him.
Kyle suppressed his grin by throwing her a behave-yourself glare.
Jones scratched his dark stubble. “Gemma, I wish it were that easy. Kyle, anything else?”
“Nope.” He rifled through his bag again. “The rest of my clothes are here. And my cell phone is broken, like Gemma’s.”
That was a bitch. He’d just gotten used to that Samsung. But it wasn’t his first broken, lost or damaged cell phone. Gemma held the highest tally for that. She was notorious for leaving her cell phone in hotel rooms, dropping them or sitting on them.
“If that’s everything, that’s all then,” said Jones, running a finger over his thick eyebrows. “We’ve got a lot of work to do.”
