by Cora Kenborn
The flight to Seattle had been uneventful. Zane slept the entire trip. I alternated staring out of the tiny window and studying the new platinum band occupying the third finger of my left hand.
I’m married.
The thought made me smile like a fucking idiot, as well as scared the shit out of me. I finally had what I wanted, then turned around and left it like a flashing spotlight—pointing the way for a madman to step in with my back turned.
Or three hours away.
Fuck. My. Life.
Scowling, I glared at Zane and turned my attention back to the deejay, who’d been watching our exchange with detached amusement.
“Jagger?” Stone raised an eyebrow with an unremorseful gleam in his eye. “I sense a story there.”
Zane and I spoke into our microphones at the same time.
“No,” I clipped.
“You got that right.” Zane grinned wickedly.
Groaning into my mic, I kicked Zane in his shin under the table. “No, there isn’t. Zane is just still drunk from the in-flight service…and he’s an asshole.”
I had no intention of explaining on satellite radio that the band nicknamed me Jagger because they claimed I used to get more pussy than Mick Jagger. The name became obsolete the day I met Phoebe, anyway. I hadn’t looked at another woman since she stumbled into my life, much less touched one.
Settling comfortably in front of my mic, I spoke with ease, ready to get the acoustic set over and head back to the airport. “Thank you for having us, Stone. This whole West Coast thing is new for us, but Seattle has been great. The fans here are amazing.” I quickly continued, refusing to give Stone an opportunity to ask questions. “Zane and I are proud to be representing Lords of Lyre. In case anyone out there hasn’t heard about us, we’re just a bunch of friends from New Jersey who got lucky. We get to do what we love, which is play metal and get paid for it.” I held my breath and prayed he didn’t bring up my fucked up stalker past.
Instead, he went for the jugular and zeroed in on my personal life.
“It’s no secret you had somewhat of a reputation as a ladies’ man, Julian.” He smirked as if he brought about some miraculous revelation.
“Aren’t most musicians?” I countered smugly.
“Point taken,” he said, nodding in acknowledgement. Then he dropped the hammer. “But most musicians don’t get their ghostwriters pregnant and move them cross-country. How is Miss Phoebe Ryan? And take your time answering because all our female listeners are busy supergluing their broken hearts back together.”
What a dick.
“I don’t know about all that, Stone.” I seriously wanted to throat punch him. “But, as far as Phoebe, she’s doing well, thanks for asking.”
Take the high road, Bale…
“That’s it?” he prodded.
“She’s healthy. The baby’s healthy, and we can’t wait for he or she to get here.”
“So, you don’t know the sex of the baby, or you’re not telling?”
“Are we gonna keep talking about Phoebe’s vagina or are we gonna jam?” Zane kicked his boots onto the table and curled his upper lip into a sneer. I flashed him a thankful glance across the table.
Stone folded his arms across his chest and tilted his chin. “And what about you?” he asked with renewed interest.
Zane shrugged. “What about me?”
“Any special woman in your life?”
“Hell no.” Zane laughed, giving me an eat shit look. “That’s Jag’s scene. He can play house all he wants. I’m too young for that shit.”
I lifted a brow at him. After the intense eye fucking he and Faith had given each other at the airport when she and Phoebe dropped us off, I felt like the world’s biggest creeper. That dickhead just lied his ass off on national syndicated radio. Something was going on with those two. Regardless of how much it intrigued me, it was a line of questioning I had no intention of encouraging.
“Cheap shot, fuck nuts.” Frowning, I shifted my stare and locked eyes with Stone. “Maybe shredding some strings will improve his sunny disposition.”
Mercifully, Stone threw a hand in the air and chuckled to himself. “Okay, you two. Enough with the ball busting. I see you’ve got your acoustic guitars ready. What are you playing?”
“This is our newest song,” I said, tuning my guitar. “We’d like to thank everyone for their support in pushing this one up the charts—it’s called Seventh Sin.”
The minute Zane’s tatted fingers hit the strings, it was like he’d been injected with a shot of adrenaline. He came to life and lifted an acoustic set to epic rage levels. My voice was rough and raspy from lack of sleep, but it gave the song an edgy quality that worked.
As I held the last note, Zane strummed a final chord. The room remained silent—even Stone made no move to speak. Zane and I exchanged curious glances, each of us not sure what to do next. Finally, Stone flipped a switch on his mic and pointed through the glass wall.
“Brilliant. Fucking brilliant, guys. That proved why everything Lords of Lyre touches turns platinum. Before you go, we thought we’d give everyone out there a chance to ask the burning questions on their minds.” He held up three fingers through the glass and the silver-haired man behind it nodded in acknowledgement. “Yes, we’ll take three questions. So, get on those phones, and the first three callers can ask Julian or Zane anything they want.”
My internal alarm shot to defcon one. From the moment he started talking about Phoebe, I inherently knew he’d try to steer the conversation here. A known shock jock, Stone had a reputation as an asshole, which was why I’d pleaded with Kristina to cancel the whole thing. I had a bad feeling about the trip, but she’d insisted, confident I could keep his probing line of questions on topic.
So much for that.
Stone held a hand over his headphones and squinted one eye. “What? Oh? Well, it looks like we have our first caller.” He pushed two buttons on a board in front of him and wrapped a chubby hand around his microphone. “Hello, Erica from St. Louis, you’re on the air. What’s your question?”
A high-pitched voice that giggled entirely too much broke through my headset and scared the shit out of me. “Oh my god, I’m on the air? Holy shit! Is this really Stone Acer?”
“The one and only, baby…speak.”
“All right, so, my question is for Julian. I’m so in love with you, and they say you never get anything unless you ask, so here goes.” She took an audible breath. “Will you go with me to my senior prom?”
A snicker to my right commanded my attention as Zane’s deep smoker’s voice filled my headset. “Sure he will. As long as he can bring his wi—”
“That’s extremely flattering, Erica,” I interrupted as fast as I could before Zane blew my cover. Since Phoebe had told Faith, I’d decided turnabout was fair play and told Zane we’d gotten married. After we’d landed in Seattle, I’d tucked my ring in my pocket, determined to not give Stone Acer an exclusive. “But since my girlfriend is about to give birth, I don’t think the timing would mesh.” I finished with a chuckle, then shot Zane a glare.
Stone all but danced in his seat as he picked up the second call. “Paul from Lincoln, Nebraska, you’re on the Stone Acer Morning Metal Show, speak.”
“Yeah, Stone. I wanted to ask Zane what kind of guitar he plays and is he loyal to it, or does he rotate them out during shows?”
For the first time since the acoustic set ended, Zane sat up like he gave a shit we were there. “S’up, Paul. Yeah, man, I play an ESP Eclipse loaded with Bareknuckle Aftermaths. She’s my baby so I’m pretty loyal to her. Very rarely do I switch up. When something kicks as much as an ESP, you don’t fuck that up, man. But if I did cheat on my girl, it’d be with a Gibson Les Paul Standard.”
The man behind the glass tapped his watch and held up one finger. I assumed that meant one minute remained in the broadcast. Thank god, because I was done with this shit five minutes ago.
Nodding his head, Stone grabbed his headse
t. “Lucky last call goes to Frank from Hollywood Hills, California. Bring it, Frank, and make it quick.”
“Congratulations on your impending fatherhood, Julian.” Something in Frank’s voice reached through my chest and wrapped a hand around my spine, forcing me to sit up straight.
“Thank you, Frank. We’re excited.” My body vibrated with warning. I wanted this call over.
“I’ve got a little advice for you. No matter how old your kids get, you’ve got to keep your eye on them.” His voice dropped to a slow cadence, with snarled amusement falling into each word. “Especially those princesses.”
Every hair on my neck stood up, and my hand gripped the table so hard I thought I’d snap it. “Who is this?”
“I’ve got one of those princesses myself. No matter where she runs, I’ve always got my eye on her.”
My stomach clenched. I pounded my fist on the desk and mouthed, “Record this,” to Stone. A deep line etched between Zane’s eyes as he watched my panic set in.
“Where the hell are you?” I roared. I had no clue how to find him, but I knew one thing.
Daniel Dalton just called me.
***
“Man, will you slow the hell down?” Zane grabbed our guitars and rushed to keep up with my erratic pace down the hallway of the station. “Who are you calling now?”
I ignored his incessant questioning and counted the rings until the brusque East Coast clipped voice picked up. “Jesus, Bale, I’m beginning to wonder if you have a crush on me.”
“He called.”
“What the fuck?”
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I let out the breath I’d been holding. The whole time I’d had armed guys watching over Phoebe, he’d been close enough to know the minute I’d left, and where I’d gone.
“Hough, I’m in Seattle, and the son of a bitch called the radio show.”
“Calm down, Julian. It’s a syndicated satellite show. We’re talking millions of callers. It could’ve been anyone. Did he call himself out? Did he say Daniel Dalton?”
Taking wide strides down a hallway lined with signed posters of multi-platinum artists, I pulled the phone away from my ear and yelled into the mouthpiece, “Goddamn it, Hough, stop asking me stupid questions. No, he didn’t use his real name. Do you think he’s avoided the police almost four years by being a fucking moron?” I angrily jerked the phone back to the side of my face.
“Then how can you be sure? Don’t send me on another wild goose chase, Bale.”
“He called himself Frank from Hollywood Hills. Start searching anyone with the name Frank. That asshole doesn’t do anything by accident.” I kicked the front door open and stalked toward the limo as it sat waiting in front of the building. Spotting us, the driver scrambled around the back of the car and opened the door. Zane crawled in behind me, dragging our guitars inside.
“But are you positive—”
“The deejay brought up Phoebe’s pregnancy, and he mentioned something about always keeping his eye on those princesses. He said he had one of his own, and he watched her as we spoke.”
“So?” Hough’s voice held slight trepidation.
“Only the people in my inner circle know I call Phoebe princess. He’s going after her, and he’s a ghost in the wind. I went through this shit with Tanna, Hough. I’m not waiting for him to make the first move. Take this asshole out.”
Hough sighed, and I imagined his worn hand scrubbing his face, mirroring my own actions. “I’ll see what I can do. Los Angeles isn’t my jurisdiction. I don’t know what I can do from New York.”
I knew what I wanted. I just hoped my royalty checks could buy a miracle. “Hough, I want you to hear me out before you say anything.”
“Shit.”
“I said listen, all right? I know you used to be a private investigator before you went blue. I can pay you. Take a vacation from the force and come to LA. I know you haven’t taken one in years. Take a leave of absence. Hell, I’ll pay your salary for the next six months. Just get here. I need someone I can trust. Don’t let me down, please.” Then I threw his own words in his face. It was a cheap shot, but I’d take all the Hail Marys I could pull out of my ass. “You said you considered Phoebe and me to be friends. I need you to prove that.” I held my breath and waited for him to respond.
“It’s not that easy. I have responsibilities. I have caseloads. Bale, I have a son. I can’t just pick up and move to LA on your whim.”
It sickened me to hear the panic in my own voice. But male pride had fallen to the bottom of my priority hierarchy. “Please, Hough. I’m losing my mind.”
He sighed. “Let me call my ex-wife. I’ll be in touch.” The call disconnected, and despite the panic squeezing my chest, a smile tugged at the corners of my mouth. I knew I’d be seeing Jaxon Hough sooner rather than later.
Dropping my phone in my lap, I stared straight ahead. As we headed to the airport, I cleared my throat. “You still have your friends on standby?”
Zane cracked the window of the limo and lit a cigarette, taking a few long drags. “Never left.”
“Are they still armed?”
He dropped a narrowed gaze at me. “What do you think?”
I dipped my chin and blew out a long breath for the first time since walking out of the studio. “Tell them to shoot to kill.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Phoebe
I held the yellow scarf in my hands as I heard Faith open the front door to greet people. A glance in the mirror assured me I was physically ready to face a houseful of well-wishers at my baby shower.
Minus one person.
Julian had broken his promise again. I’d left him at least twenty voice mails, all of which remained unanswered.
The scarf tightened in my hands. I found it tied to the mailbox underneath the yellow balloons adorning it and quickly ripped it off before anyone could see it. Faith hadn’t mentioned a word about it when I came back inside, so I assumed she knew nothing of its existence.
It was just as well.
She didn’t need to know that on my sixth birthday, my mom decorated the house with her yellow scarves. We didn’t have money for real decorations, but I didn’t know any different. I thought it was beautiful. My father arrived in a drunken rage, ripped down all the scarves, and choked her with them.
“Pheebs?” Faith called out from downstairs. “People are showing up. You coming?”
Shoving the dingy scarf in a drawer, I checked my reflection one last time. I’d spent my entire life pretending to hide my true emotions.
One more day would be nothing.
“Coming,” I called, descending the steps as the guest of honor at a party I already hated.
***
“Oh, how adorable!” Faith held up the mint green onesie, showing it to everyone. Kristina shrugged. It was nice of her to come and bring a gift, but I knew she felt awkward as hell. I had to give her props for even showing.
I wouldn’t have.
Ty, Ryker, and Kristina’s receptionist, Risa, sat around the room, drinking beer and staring at my gift opening as if they wanted to slit their wrists. I couldn’t blame them. It was the party from hell. As Faith handed me another present, the doorbell rang.
“I’ll get it.” Ryker and Ty jumped simultaneously and fought each other for the door. I wasn’t sure if they’d answer it or make a run for it. If I were them, I’d opt for Plan B.
I didn’t look up until the voice, melodic with cadence and inflection, carried in from the doorway. “I know it’s not a party without me, but fuck-cheezits, people! Do I need to pass out a bong to liven this bitch up?” With tears in my eyes, I ran and jumped into his arms. His throaty laugh vibrated against me as he stumbled inside. “Damn, woman, are you growing a baby or a litter? You weigh a fucking ton.”
I buried my face in the hollow of his neck. “I’ve missed you.”
His lips found my cheek. “And I you, baby doll.”
My mood lifted, and the rest of the shower passed with
me wound around every limb Gage Harlow had. He held me just as tightly. I hadn’t seen my best friend and New York City roommate in over three months, but it felt like years. I missed him. I missed our brother and sister vibe. I missed hearing him call me baby doll. He was my own security blanket.
Gage told us all about his flourishing acting career, and how he’d landed two made-for-TV movies and a feature role in an independent film. He explained that was how he was able come to the party. Faith had called him out of courtesy, but the shower happened to coincide with his shooting schedule in Lake Tahoe. Afterward, he was driving a rental car on location for a few months.
“A few months?” My forehead lifted in curiosity. “What about Parker?” When I’d left New York, Gage had moved in with his boyfriend. Ironically, they’d met the same night Julian and I did.
Gage shrugged. “Things happen, Pheebs. Some things are meant to be.” He motioned to my swollen stomach. “Some things aren’t. Our schedules don’t mesh right now.”
For some reason, the news upset me. It reminded me of the broken communication between Julian and me. “But you love him.”
“I always will,” he explained with a smile. “And maybe someday we’ll work out. But right now, we’re okay with where we are. If it’s meant to happen for us…it will.”
After dragging the party out waiting for Julian, it was obvious he wasn’t coming, and people left. We never cut the cake Faith baked, because she’d dyed the batter either pink or blue. Julian and I were supposed to cut into it together and announce to everyone, including ourselves, what we were having.
I didn’t have the heart to go near it.
At the door, Gage and I hugged for a long time before he dried my tears with his perfectly manicured thumb. “None of this now. Three months without me and you’ve turned into a damn Stepford wife.” He motioned a hand to my sundress. “What’s this, baby doll? What’s going on here?” Gage clucked his tongue and raised an eyebrow.
I grinned through the tears. “I don’t have you to dress me anymore.”
