by Tania Joyce
When Gemma was a kid, she’d been nothing but an inconvenience to her mother. She was often dumped at the neighbor’s house or told to stay in her room until her mom had finished entertaining her men. This letter said she was nothing but a problem for her father too. The hope that held back the void around her father’s absence in her heart shattered. Loss spread—ate her insides like rust corroding metal.
Kyle’s brow furrowed as he reread the letter.
Gemma stared at the pages, her eyes unfocused. “You know what’s the worst? Not once, in this entire piece of crap, did he say he loved me. Not once. He didn’t want to protect me, only himself. My mother always said I was a mistake. This proves it. My parents never wanted me. They’re selfish shitheads. Left me alone to fend for myself, to deal with everything on my own. I was a child, for God’s sake.”
Some people on this planet should never have children. Like her parents. Her chest tightened, the hollowness in her heart threatened to consume her. She’d expected her dad to have a grand reason why he’d disappeared, but this just made her feel worthless. Unloved. Unwanted. Her dad truly did abandon her all those years ago with no intention of ever returning.
Her parents who were supposed to love her didn’t. When things got tough, they took off. Only looked after themselves, no one else.
What was the point of family?
Unconditional love didn’t exist.
The only thing this letter gave her was closure. It was as if the curtain had drawn on the final act. No more searching. No more worrying. It made her sick to think she’d wasted years of her life, wondering where he was. To hell with him. She’d never give him another thought.
Hunter play punched her in the arm. “You’re tough, Gem. This doesn’t change anything. We have each other. That’s all that matters.”
She clutched their hands. The three of them had relied on each other since high school. Nothing would ever change that.
A disbelieving laugh escaped Gemma. “Karma got my father good.”
Creases framed Kyle’s eyes. “To some degree, it got mine too.”
Gemma winced. Kyle had gotten along with his parents, but their relationship deteriorated significantly as his dad’s violence escalated. Maybe karma did have a play in that truck running a red light.
Gemma slouched in her chair. Her two best friends had had shitty home lives. Hers had been non-existent. She had no family foundation at all.
Kyle grasped her hand. His eyes were dark and soulful. “Gem, you found your dad. It wasn’t the resolution you wanted, but it is one. You can move on. Like you always do. You’re a fighter. Our love is stronger than any bloodline. We’re family. Remember that. We have our future to look forward to.”
She wiped the tears from her cheek and wrapped her arms around Hunter and Kyle’s necks. She drew them into a tight embrace. “I love you guys so much.”
“Love you too,” Hunter said, resting his head against her shoulder.
“Love you more,” Kyle whispered, nuzzling against her neck. “We’ve got this.”
Gemma sniffled and wiped her nose with her hand. Kyle was right. She had her answers. Her dad drama had finally concluded. “What would I do without you guys?”
Hunter drew out of their embrace and ruffled the top of her head. “I never want to find out.”
Kyle straightened. His eyes glistened, warm and comforting. “Me either.”
The ache inside her chest still lingered. Maybe she needed time to grieve, to process the news and shock that the search for her father was finally over. She’d never been a priority in her father’s or mother’s life, but she was to these guys. And they knew exactly what to do to cheer her up. She slapped her hands on their thighs. “What’s the one thing we do when shit happens?”
An understanding smile slid across Kyle’s face. “Go jam and get wasted?”
“Abso-fucking-lutely.” Gemma nodded, imagining the whiskey sliding down her throat, the beat of the music hammering out the dents in her soul. “You know me so well. Let’s smash out our set for Vegas and do some damage to a bottle of JD.”
At last she could put an end to the search for her dad. Drown her sorrows. He was gone. For good. Maybe she’d finally find some peace. But the uncertain death threats and wedding plan stresses still crippled her mind. She wanted to put all this mess behind her. To feel normal again. She wanted to face her future, grab it by the balls and own it. Was it possible to start a married life with Kyle with a clean slate, and swear not to be anything like her parents?
Chapter 8
Gemma drowned the news of her dad’s death with copious quantities of Jack Daniels. The void in her heart reserved for her father had been replaced by anger. Anger at herself—for wasting time, effort, and money searching for someone who didn’t want her. Anger at Detective Jones—for not finding the suspect behind the death threats, for treating their case with no urgency.
It had been almost two weeks since she’d received the news about her father. It had been two days since the latest death threat.
KYLE AND I WILL BE TOGETHER
GET USED TO IT
or you’re dead
HE’S MINE. MINE. MINE!
SEE YOU IN VEGAS, BITCH!
The letters annoyed her, unnerved her, tainted everything she did. Was this person a coward? Were they waiting to make their move? The detectives had talked to Taylah, but no concrete evidence or solid intelligence convicted her of the crime. Gemma had to trust the authorities to do their job. But it chilled her bones knowing Taylah planned to be in Las Vegas. Until the stalker was found, Taylah would remain their top suspect.
Sam had briefed them before flying out. “Security will be at a maximum at the festival, your hotel and at your parties. There are no guarantees these days, but I can assure you we’ve done everything we can to ensure you and the guys are safe.”
“So there’s no reason to cancel?” Gemma had questioned. “No imminent danger?”
“No more than usual.” The care and sympathy in Sam’s response should’ve given her confidence, but it left her with lingering uncertainty.
The plane’s wheels hit the tarmac. Rubber screeched, and the cabin lurched on touchdown. The combination of a few JDs and nerves tossed in her stomach like a leaf caught in a jet stream. As they taxied toward the terminal, Gemma closed her eyes and tightened her hold on Kyle’s thigh. He placed his hand on top of hers and threaded their fingers together. She relaxed underneath his touch. Everything will be fine.
Bottling up her frustrations, fears and wedding frets, she turned them into a ball of hardened resilience. For the next five days in Vegas, she’d forget about her father, forget about the threats, and focus on having fun. Rehearsals, the iHeartRadio Music Festival, and a weekend celebrating her bachelorette and Kyle’s bachelor party would take her mind off her problems.
The plane jerked to a halt at the terminal gate. Kyle stood from the seat next to her and grabbed her purse from the overhead locker. He handed it to her and swooped in, kissing her on the lips. “Ready to go?”
She brushed her hand down his cheek, his stubble bristling against her fingertips. “Always.”
He took her hand and he followed her down the aisle. The warmth from his chest against her back, the smell of his cologne, his constant connection didn’t stop the tug-o-war inside her head. He’d been so supportive the past two weeks. He’d sat by her side when she went through the box of faded photos and trinkets from her dad. Nothing in it was of value, so she’d thrown the box in the back of the hall cupboard to be forgotten. Kyle had cooked her favorite meals—gnocchi being number one. He’d made her coffee, cleaned, smashed it out with her every day at rehearsals. But the moment she wanted to leave the house without him, catch up with the girls, go to her dress fittings or get her hair done, he’d turned into a protective overlord. He wouldn’t let her leave the apartment without him or security. As if she would with a psycho after her. He messaged her during her appointments. Sweet, but too often. Except
sexting . . . that was cool. He called her if she wasn’t home on time. Fifteen minutes was not late. For rehearsal, yes. Home, no. She could understand his concerns, loved that he cared and worried about her, but she didn’t want to be suffocated.
Stepping off the private plane, the dry desert wind blasted her face. Las Vegas in mid-September burned with a cruel heat. A heat that stung her skin. Cooked her inside and out. Security ushered her, along with Kyle, Kara and Hunter, through the terminal and into the waiting cars; their entourage and backup band followed close behind.
After checking into their suites in the Encore Tower at Wynn, it was off to dress rehearsals. After running through their five-song set for the iHeartRadio Music Festival and catching up with fellow artists they had an early night.
Friday hit. The electric vibe preparing for tonight’s festival set Gemma on a high. She loved performing. Adrenaline pumped through her veins like wattage in an amp. Everhide were about to go onstage, nail their half-hour slot of songs, and hit the after-party with a bang.
Backstage at the T-Mobile Arena, in the large dressing room they shared with two other artists, pre-performance jitters flitted across Gemma’s skin. Racks of clothes, mirrors and tables cluttered with makeup cordoned off a semi-private section for Everhide and their entourage. Their backup band lazed on black leather sofas, talking to other musicians in the common area. Interviewers, production crew and managers talked in groups around the room.
Gemma held up her hair as Kara zipped her into a shimmery sleeveless top. The guys were off to the side getting Carla to put the final touches to their styled hair.
Kara turned Gemma toward the full-length mirror. “You look amazing.”
Gemma’s long hair had been straightened. Heavy black eyeliner, mascara and dark red lipstick highlighted her emerald eyes. She ran her hands over her black leather pants. They fit like a glove and felt smooth and sexy against her skin. There’d be no costume malfunctions in this clothing. “You’ve outdone yourself, Kar. I love this outfit.”
She’d totally wear this out on the town, not just onstage.
“What can I say?” Kara’s eyes glinted. “I’ve found my calling as a rock star stylist.”
Gemma loved that Kara had left Conrad’s Fashion House as a designer to come and work for Everhide. Having her best friend around all the time had brought them closer together. Take out wedding gown shopping, she made dressing for events and choosing costumes for performances so much fun. Kara knew their style, their tastes, and had every fashion house begging her to get Everhide to wear their gear.
Gemma gave Kara a quick hug. “That you have. And I love you.”
“Be careful tonight.” Kara’s words stabbed Gemma’s lungs. The threats had everyone wary.
“Always.” She pulled out of their embrace and glanced over toward the guys who were now mucking around with their usual play-fighting, dueling with a pair of hairbrushes. Their eyes met hers and they grinned, ready to grab her to join in their tackles and jabs. She giggled and gave them a don’t-you-dare point of her finger.
Twenty minutes until their set.
Everything was normal.
Then Sam charged through the door, Chester and Mick behind him. The whites of Sam’s eyes were extra wide. If he had hair, Gemma was sure it would be ruffled.
Gemma dared her heart not to beat. “Sam? What’s up?”
Everyone huddled around him.
“Jones just called. He sent these images and video off CCTV footage from Brooklyn and Central Park.” Sam held out his cell phone for Gemma and the guys. Gemma swiped the screen, zooming in on the blurry images of someone dressed in a black hoodie, bulky jeans, broad hat, scarf and sunglasses. Sam leaned forward. “Do you recognize who it is?”
Gemma’s hand trembled as she scrolled through the photos again and replayed the granulated video. In the stills from Brooklyn, it was hard to get a clear view of the person in the crowd. The nighttime footage from Central Park was too pixelated. The person had worn the same disguise in both instances. She watched the hip-rolling, the walk, and tried to recall her friends, people she knew, but no one came to mind.
Think. Think. Think. Who could it be?
“Sorry, I don’t.” She handed the cell phone to Kyle and spoke to Sam. “Without a clear shot, I can’t tell. Is it Taylah? Dressed in disguise?”
“If in disguise, maybe. But I watched her closely at the meet and greet.” Sam drew his huge shoulders back. “I took note of her body language. Her walk. Her actions. They don’t relay to the person in the video.”
Gemma waved her finger toward the cell phone now in Hunter’s hands. “Yeah, but anyone can change their walk, or stoop and slink along when they’re trying to hide.” What lengths would someone desperate go to?
Sam stroked his chin. “I don’t know, Gem. Anything’s possible.”
Hunter flicked his long hair out of his eyes and handed the cell phone to Sam. “If it’s not her, who the hell is it?”
Her heart bled; she hated seeing him worried. He’d had enough trauma over the past year, losing his child. He didn’t need this as well.
Sam slipped the cell phone into his shiny black security-emblazoned jacket. “Trust me. We’re working on it.”
Kyle clasped the back of his neck. “Why show us this now when we’re about to go onstage? You trying to freak us out?”
Gemma wrapped her arms around herself. Too late for that. The images off Sam’s cell phone flashed through her mind. Was it Taylah? Was she that smart she had evaded being caught so far? But if it wasn’t her . . . shit . . . it could be anyone. It had been three weeks since they’d gotten the letter in Brooklyn and been made aware of the other threats. Still no culprit had been found.
Sam held up his palms. “No, I’m not trying to scare you. God no. I thought you might recognize who it is so we could see if they were in the audience.”
Gemma’s wobbly knees and soaring blood pressure had other ideas. “Is . . . is Taylah here?”
“Yes,” Sam said. “She’s in row eight, seat thirty-seven. On Hunter’s side of the stage. We’re watching her.”
Bec’s brows drew together and she fidgeted with the neckline of her blouse. “Isn’t speculation enough to haul her ass out of the crowd?”
“Not really.” Sam smoothed his hand over his bald head. “Jones has questioned her but is unable to link her to the letters or the trailer incident. If it is her, let’s hope she doesn’t do anything stupid.”
“Like what? Kill me?” Gemma’s mouth ran dry. Not good before singing.
Kyle stiffened beside her. “Please don’t make jokes like that.”
She gave him an I’m-sorry smile and hoped he’d buy it. Because he’d cancel the show if he knew she was scared and her nerves shook like a tambourine on crack.
“Gemma. Guys.” Sam fidgeted with the security wire and bug stuffed into his ear. “Every person here has gone through a security check. We’ve got the team watching her. We’ve got you covered.”
Sam’s reassurance didn’t erase Gemma’s dread or stop the fevered perspiration from breaking out on her temples. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
Sophie took a step forward toward her and the guys. “If you don’t want to go out there, just say the word. We’ll cancel. I don’t care that’s it’s five minutes to showtime.”
Cancel?
Gemma had been worried about Kyle canceling, not Sophie. Gemma’s gaze darted from Kyle to Hunter and back again. She read them like a book. Uncertainty played across their faces, tensed their jawlines and darkened their eyes. But cancel? Could she do that? Was there any more risk than normal?
Kyle snaked his arm around her waist and kissed her on the forehead. “Maybe we should, if you don’t feel safe.”
Hunter scuffed his boot and stared at the navy carpet. He’d hate not going onstage. And so would she.
“No.” Her voice came out firm and sure, but her insides flipped like pancakes on a Sunday morning. She knew Taylah would be
here; it hadn’t changed her mind before. Security was in place. She was a God damn professional. There were thousands of fans in the auditorium she didn’t want to disappoint. She hadn’t flown all this way to be a no show. “We’re not canceling.” She walked over to the drinks table. Closing her eyes for the quickest second, she drew a deep breath into the base of her lungs. I’m fine. After fumbling with the lid, she poured a shot of JD for her and the guys. She handed them a glass each. “Let’s rock the house.”
They chinked glasses and knocked back the whiskey. The JD burned and soothed her throat.
Yep. Ready.
She high-fived the guys, grabbed their transmitters and in-ear monitors, and followed Sophie out to the stage, Chester bringing up the rear. Waiting for Khalid to finish his set, the equipment changeover and their backup band to get into position, Gemma scanned the auditorium monitors. But they were set on the front-of-house control panel, camera stations and the host—not the crowd. Security monitors would be elsewhere. Shit. Was the stalker here? Would he or she try and hurt her?
“Hey?” Kyle tugged on her shirt. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
For the hundredth time. Yes . . . maybe . . . no.
But she would do this. No skank would take her down.
She mustered up a warm smile even though the fluttering butterflies in her stomach had turned into a swarm. She wiped her damp palm on her top. “Yes. It’s only five songs. Easy.”
Hunter flung his arms around their necks. “All right then. Time to par-tay!”
Sophie handed them their mics.
As they waited for their cue to run onstage, Ryan Seacrest, who was emceeing the night, revved up the crowd. The noise filtered through Gemma’s in-ears in a muffle. Her heart rate hit techno speed.
The mass shooting that had happened at Las Vegas’s Harvest Music Festival speared her brain. No. Don’t go there. Nothing like that could happen here. Could it? Everyone had been through security screening. The threat pinpointed her, no one else. They wanted her out of the way. To get to Kyle. Oh God. I’m going to be sick.
