Echoes in the Wind

by Debra Jupe

  “So this took place at your meeting? And Finn was also shot. Is he here too? Is anyone with him?”

  “Not exactly.” Eric hesitated. “He’s dead.”

  “As in murdered?” Darla gulped and paused. “This is the second person within the band that’s died within hours, and Mitchell Young was injured from an attack.” Her brow furrowed. “Your former manager is missing? Someone is targeting Raging Impulse’s members, aren’t they?”

  “Kind of seems so.” Eric sighed again. “Though we did get some good news. After the disaster at Finn’s, Blaine received a call saying Mitchell’s condition had improved.”

  “Was he able to tell them anything? Is this the same creep who pushed me last night?”

  “The word we got was he’d gone out to walk his toy poodles. The blast exploded from behind, like Drake’s. Though he was luckier. The bullet blew off his ear and a piece of his scalp, but didn’t lodge inside his skull. And no, he can’t identify the person who shot him.”

  “Aren’t you afraid?” Before she gave him an opportunity to answer, she rattled on, “Wait. Your drummer raises little dogs. Isn’t he the big buff guy with a shaved head? He has tattoos all over, right?”

  “That’s the guy.” A sudden wave of dizziness swept through him. He eased back, closed his eyes, and clutched the bed’s sides.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Yeah,” he mumbled “Why?”

  “You were already pale. But now the tiny amount of pigment that was left in your skin has disappeared.”

  “No worries, luv. Just need a quick nap.” Thankfully, the wooziness had subsided and fatigue replaced the vertigo as he drifted off to sleep.

  A loud rap jerked him awake. Eric slowly raised his head and blinked. Darla sat across from him, her fingers still wrapped around his smokes. She watched him with a concerned frown.

  “How long have I been out?”

  “Over an hour.”

  Blaine and Stephanie entered the room following the knock. Hands still connected, both wore sheepish grins. Blaine carried a small suitcase and set the bag down near the doorway.

  He walked to where Eric lay. “You’re looking a little better.” He turned to Darla. “You must have a positive effect on him.” He rotated back to Eric. “Has the doctor visited you yet?”

  “No, and he still won’t let me go find one,” Darla put in.

  Eric took a deep breath and expelled noisily.

  “One should be here soon.” Blaine cleared his throat and looked at Darla. “We were wondering if maybe you wouldn’t mind giving Eric a ride home after the doctor comes, if he’s released.”

  “Given the circumstances, Blaine and Eric are considering disappearing until the police catch this guy,” Stephanie explained. “We’d like to spend what little time together we can before they go.”

  Another tap came from the outside, followed by a doctor entering the room. A nurse was close behind. He glanced up from a clipboard that he held, and studied the group, then instructed everyone leave.

  Eric’s three guests disappeared. The physician checked his knot, the bullet hole, and his eyes and pretty much made the same inquiries as the paramedics did earlier, and again with the nurses, when he was transported into the hospital.

  The doctor confirmed he had a concussion. His gunshot appeared to be non-threatening and unless the circumstances changed, they’d leave the slug in his arm. He wrote a couple of prescriptions and suggested he stay the night, although the decision was up to Eric, then he left.

  Darla peeked around the doorway.

  “They talked you into it, huh?” Eric said.

  She fully stepped into the room. “Stephanie is my best friend and she likes Blaine.” She walked to the bed. “I’m glad you are thinking about leaving town.”

  “Seems a good idea, though I don’t know if it’s going to pan out. I hate the thought of running away from my problems.”

  “Of course you do, but in this situation I’m not sure you have a choice.” Darla perched on the arm of the only chair in the room. “We spoke with the doctor. He wouldn’t tell us much, although he did say he’d prefer you stay the night.”

  “Yeah, but it was only a suggestion.” He threw the covers off. “One I’m rejecting.”

  “You’re not in any condition to leave. Besides, someone tried to kill you. You’d be safer here than at your house.”

  “Don’t matter. I’m going home.”

  “You’re kidding. I don’t know you well, but you must enjoy a good fight.”

  He chuckled. “Glad you’re picking that up. It’ll make our future relationship easier.”

  Darla rose from the chair. “I’m too tired to spar with you anymore. Let’s go, if you insist on leaving.” She bent and picked up the suitcase. “But at least call in the police and get you some protection.”

  Eric gave a scornful laugh. “Right. I’m not an American citizen. Although I may be famous, I was in a teen band. And we’re not exactly appreciated by anyone over fifteen. I can’t imagine them going to great lengths to protect Blaine and me. It’s gonna be on us to take care of ourselves. Besides, Finn’s and my turbulent history is well documented. That alone could put me on top of the suspect list, despite my situation.”

  “I’m guessing the law failed you at some point too? Or do you have other reasons for such a cynical attitude toward the police? In fact, with everything?”

  “Everyone has failed me,” he said in a bitter tone. “Except Blaine.”

  “Still, you need to do whatever you can to take precautions to keep safe.”

  “Your concern is noted, but don’t worry about me. I’m aware of the consequences. Everything will come out when it’s supposed to.”

  Darla studied him for a long time. “You know who did it, don’t you? You know who shot you.”

  He opened his mouth to tell her no when a trace of memory zipped through his mind, a picture so rapid he couldn’t grasp it.

  Eric smiled at her. “I don’t know anything, luv.”

  Chapter 13

  Darla drove through the streets of the neighborhood, slowing at Eric’s house. He struggled to sit up higher for a better view. Media vehicles from around the state surrounded his property. Not that he was surprised. Those bloodsuckers loved famous homicides.

  “Shit,” he mumbled and fell back into the seat. “Good news travels fast, I see. Fuckin’ soul suckers.”

  “Death makes an interesting story.” Darla glanced at him as she carefully maneuvered the road. “I’m shocked you didn’t have any around after Drake’s murder.”

  “We had a few try to talk to us. But this…” He shook his head in disgust.

  “And you’re popular again too.”

  “How’s that?”

  “The killings seem to have increased Raging Impulse’s popularity. The radio’s played your old songs all day. Downloads are going through the roof.”

  “Sad way to regain exposure.”

  “True,” Darla agreed. “I doubt if that was the killer’s intent. Do you want to try and get past this mess or is there a plan B?” She didn’t wait for his answer, but continued to guide her SUV down the street bypassing the mob.

  “Plan B.”

  “Which is?”

  Eric had no clue to where she could take him. Perhaps a hotel? Not a bad idea, except he preferred not to spend any cash if he didn’t have to, being he had little to spare. Plus, it’d be nice to be close to someone in case he needed help.

  “Your place?”

  Her head jerked in his direction, her eyes grew bigger than saucers. “You want to stay with me?”

  Eric smiled.

  “Oh never mind.” She whipped the car into a nearby drive, flinging the gear into reverse, and backed onto the street. “But you’ll behave yourself.”

  He gestured toward the group of news people. “Keep driving like that and they’ll spot us. They’re good at watching for things out of the ordinary.”

  “Sorry.” She shi
fted into drive and gunned the gas. “It just occurred to me we may be in your shooter’s driveway, and I wanted to get away as soon as possible.”

  “My shooter’s drive? What are you talking about?”

  “The guy who shot you. The person who’s killing off your band lives in this neighborhood. Or so we believe. Stephanie thinks she saw the motorcycle rider the night he killed Drake when she and Blaine walked to the bar, although she didn’t realize who he was at the time. He disappeared into a garage near here as they walked by. The door was closing so she didn’t get a good look.”

  “Did she tell the police?”

  Darla nodded as she sped past the vultures parked around his place. “The problem is, she doesn’t remember in which part of the neighborhood she noticed him. She’s so gaga over Blaine, she wasn’t paying much attention to anything else. She’s not a lot of help, but at least they’re able to possibly centralize the guy’s location.”

  This information was interesting. And disturbing. His suggestion to Blaine that they disappear had been half-hearted, along with the influence of whatever pain meds they’d given him. Now the idea not only made sense, but seemed necessary unless he remembered what he’d seen before his world went black. He’d overlooked something. He knew it. If he could recall the missing link, then this nightmare would be over.

  Darla whipped her vehicle into her carport and turned off the ignition. “Stay put,” she commanded. She grabbed the keys and jumped out to hurry around to his side.

  She opened the door and waited for him as he inched to the edge of the seat. Although difficult, he tried to make his actions look easy. But even the smallest movement triggered a rush of pain to rip through his body, and it was too much to hide. Teeth planted firm into his bottom lip, Eric turned to place his feet on the concrete and grasp the car’s rim. Slowly, he rose. Dizziness and queasiness overcame him. He swayed and stumbled forward before he caught a pole inside the carport.

  Darla hurried to him and took his arm to drape it around her neck.

  “Go ahead and put your weight on me,” she said with a tiny tremble in her voice. “I’m stronger than I look.”

  That he had no doubt. He leaned into her, one arm dangling across her shoulders, her hand clasped round his wrist. Her other arm slipped around his waist, fusing their bodies together. He dropped his chin to meet her gaze. She shivered. Even in his debilitated state, a white-hot fire coursed within him. He held on to her tight, drawing her closer in.

  “Are you ready?” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

  He gave a small nod. Darla guided him through her house and to her sofa. She sat him down then disappeared and returned moments later with his baggage.

  “Would you like to get a shower? You can change into some clean clothes and maybe lay down. You’d be a lot more comfortable.”

  “That’d be great.” The idea of getting out of his sticky clothing and soaking away his soreness sounded fantastic. He wouldn’t mind going to bed, either. With her.

  She indicated an opening to one side. “My guestroom has a walk-in shower. It’s over here. Feel like you can go that far?”

  “Not without help. I can’t stand for a long time either. I’m fine while I’m still, but when I’m on my feet or if I move too much I get dizzy.”

  “And you were going to walk home.”

  He grinned at her. “Join me in the shower?”

  She rolled her eyes and shot him an unimpressed look. “The master bath has a sunken tub. Do you think you’ll be able to maneuver inside one of those?” Then without missing a beat, “By yourself?”

  “Can you help me get there?”

  “Of course. I’m a Texas girl. I can do lots of things.”

  “Yeah, well, we Scottish men are pretty tough too.”

  “You must be.” Darla picked up his bag. “I can’t believe you didn’t stay in the hospital for the night, although I’m not sure leaving was one of your better ideas.”

  Eric chuckled. “Obviously, you haven’t read much of my press. My critics claim I’ve ’ad lots of bad ideas.”

  “I prefer to form my own opinions.” She smiled. “I’ll get the tub ready first, then come back for you. Do you need anything else?”

  “I could use some pain relievers if you’ve got ’em. The crap they gave me has pretty well worn off, and I’m unable to get these prescriptions filled until tomorrow.”

  “If you’d stayed at the hospital, you’d gotten another dose of the good stuff.”

  “Maybe you’ll give me a dose of your good stuff.”

  She put a hand on her hip “You’re really going there? I can’t believe you’re even thinking in that direction after being shot. Not to mention the gigantic knot on your head.”

  “What can I say? I’m a guy.” He made a gesture toward his lap. “Head injuries and bullet wounds have no effect on the entity between a man’s legs.”

  “A mind of its own, I get it.” She giggled. “I have ibuprofen. Let me start the water, and then I’ll bring them to you.”

  She turned to leave.

  “Darla?”

  She skidded to a halt and looked over her shoulder.

  “Thank you.”

  “I’ll get things ready for you.” And she disappeared.

  He leaned back against the sofa cushions. He took the opportunity to inspect the room and get a better grip of what this woman was about. The home was smaller than his, but had an opened, airy atmosphere. Everything appeared spotless, each item in a proper place. The only indication of something amiss was a leather jacket folded neatly over the arm of the couch, near where he sat.

  Shane’s coat.

  He swallowed, doing his best to ignore the implication, hoping nothing had happened between Shane and Darla other than she’d borrowed his coat. He didn’t think so since his manager was the type to brag. Shane hadn’t mentioned anything. Still, the sight of the jacket made him fume. He pushed the thought away and continued his study. Huge windows situated across the back, left uncovered, displayed the clear night sky. The ceilings were high, and vaulted with natural wood beams. A decorative fireplace positioned in the front of the area was the counter focus. The walls were bright, painted in cheerful colors, while the furniture and fixtures projected an eclectic flavor. The place combined a mixture of class, fun, and, elegance. Like the owner.

  Darla reentered the room. “Tub is filling.”

  “This is a nice place.”

  She glided to him. “I only wish it were mine. I’m glad to be living by the sea though. I grew up on the Gulf of Mexico. I missed being close to the water.”

  She helped him get to his feet, slipping his arm over her shoulder. He inclined into her, using her as his personal crutch. He did his best to ignore the wooziness, throbbing, or the bleeding through the bandage of his bullet wound. It oozed down his forearm and dripped from his fingertips.

  “What, do you rent?”

  “No. Friends of my boss, the Sundays, own the place. I’m house sitting indefinitely while they travel the planet. I couldn’t afford this area any other way.”

  Together they took a step. She guided him through her bedroom and on into the bathroom. She released him as soon as they crossed the threshold. He leaned against the pedestal sink while she hurried to the bathtub to twist the streaming faucets off.

  Steam drifted above the water. Or at least he thought water was in the bath. He couldn’t be sure what was inside because a mass of bubbles hovered on the top, covering everything. Eric stared harder. Did they sparkle? Suds floated everywhere. Over the side, skimming onto the mat, soaking the floor.

  Darla beamed and gestured toward the tub. “Bath’s ready.”

  He bent forward to sniff. “What hell is in there and what’s that smell?” He gave his head a slight shake. “My hair may be long, I might wear an earring, but there’s nothing feminine about me. I don’t do pink crap or sudsy baths. Alone anyway.”

  “I did not put in any pink crap or bubbles.” Darla’s express
ion morphed into exasperation. “I sprinkled a little lavender aromatherapy to help you relax enough to sleep, which you’ll need to get well.”

  He frowned. “You and I obviously don’t have the same idea as to what a little is. It doesn’t matter how much stink you put in, I doubt it’s going to make me better.” He gave her a side glance, “but I appreciate the efforts.”

  “I can tell.”

  “I do. Although, if you’re serious about helping me, then come take off my shirt.”

  She stood across the room and studied him close as if to determine whether he was joking or sincere. He didn’t move, but waited until she finally understood he did indeed mean for her to help him undress. She hesitantly walked to him. They faced each other, standing toe to toe like rivals.

  With unsteady fingers, she grasped the hem of his shirt and gradually lifted it to his neck. The backs of her warm hands grazed his skin weaving tiny, electric jolts into each nerve ending. His mouth dried.

  Maybe her undressing him wasn’t such a good idea, but it was too late to stop the process. In more ways than one.

  She maneuvered the wounded arm, carefully peeling the fabric away from the dried blood. Once the material dislodged, she lifted the shirt over his head, then slid it down his good arm, allowing it to drop onto the floor.

  Careful as she was, the extra movements forced him to clutch onto her shoulder and keep a tight hold of the sink to stay upright. He continued to grip both after everything stopped spinning, but only long enough to kick off his shoes.

  Timidly, she stepped away after he released his grasp and rushed to the bathroom door. “I’ll get your medication.”

  “What about my pants?”

  She turned around and stared at him. He actually heard her gulp. He held in a laugh at her obvious effort not to gawk at his near nakedness on her way back to him. She returned to stand in front of him, silently gaping at the top button of his jeans.

  Licking her lips, she placed her trembling fingers on either side of his fly. The featherlike pressure of her barely there stroke produced a rippling stir deep in his gut. The sensations continued to grow.