Hawk looked at me intently.
Ross materialized out of his dressing room/office, obviously harried. “Okay. Shaley.”
A flash memory hit me hard — Ross’s previous dressing room, Tom on the floor …
“You’re set for the hotel.” Ross spoke rapidly. “Wendell and Bruce are going with you and checking into their own rooms.”
“You sure they —” The music abruptly stopped. Sound check was over. My voice lowered. “You sure they both need to come? There could be a lot of reporters after the show. Mom will need two bodyguards with her. I’m just going to be in my hotel room.”
“We’ll be fine here.” Ross pushed his long hair back, his huge diamond ring catching the light. “Bruce, call the limo. Soon as it comes you can get going.”
“Yes, sir.”
My shoulders sagged. “You mean a limo from the airport didn’t wait outside?”
“No, I didn’t know how long this would take. But one should be here soon after you call.”
If I lived that long.
Voices yelled to each other from the stage area. Multiple footsteps sounded. Techs and band members spilled into the hallway, headed for dressing rooms, bathrooms, whatever. Stan, Rick, Morrey, Marshall, and sound tech Ed Husker all filed by, heads turning as they heard snatches of our conversation.
“I can drive you all in the bus if you want, Shaley. No big deal for me to drop you off and come right back.” Jerry gestured to the box in his hands. “I just need to run this to the stage first.”
I looked at Ross. He shrugged. “Fine with me.”
Hawk’s beady eyes jumped from me to Jerry to Wendell. “Here, Jerry, I’ll take that.” He reached for the box. “You go ahead.”
“Thanks so much, Jerry.” Limp with relief, I turned back toward Mom’s dressing room before any of the men changed their minds. “I’ll get my suitcase.”
“No, I’ll get it.” Bruce shot me a smile as he turned away. He and Wendell were lucking out tonight, thanks to me. Much nicer to be in their own hotel rooms than hanging around backstage.
Good for them, better for me. Finally I was headed for a meal, some peace and quiet, and sleep.
42
They were going to the hotel.
His lips stretched in a slow, satisfied smile. Fate had intervened.
Still, it would be a challenge. He could leave no evidence pointing to himself. Quick work would be required.
He sucked air deep into his lungs. Flexed his fingers.
The fire in his gut burned.
Walking down the hall, he detailed logistics in his mind.
He stepped outside into the hot, hot Denver air, the anticipation of an imminent kill pumping through his veins.
43
Twenty minutes later, Jerry pulled our bus up to the hotel — an imposing black glass building in a pyramid shape. By that time I was totally wiped. As I lowered myself down the bus’s stairs, the lack of sleep hit me like a two-ton brick. I stumbled on the last step. Wendell caught me. “Whoa there.”
“Thanks.”
Bellmen hustled to take our bags. When they were done, I managed a wave at Jerry. “Thanks so much!”
“No problem.” He saluted and closed the bus door.
As we turned toward the entrance, he drove away.
I dragged into the nearly empty lobby, flanked by the two bodyguards, Bruce as tall and intimidating as Lurch, and Wendell as muscular as Atlas. Good grief, I thought. One look at these two guys and nobody would mess with me.
Wendell checked us in. The Rayne entourage would occupy the top floor, number sixteen. “Only your party will be on that level,” the desk clerk said. His eyes lingered on me as he handed over the slide-in cards — a look that pulsed with knowledge from news reports. “It’s quiet here tonight. We just had a big convention pull out of town this afternoon. Enjoy your stay.”
“Thank you.”
Quiet I could handle.
Bruce had been assigned a room right across the hall from my suite, and Wendell’s room was two doors down from mine. Later, when everyone else showed up, they’d both be getting roommates, but until then they could enjoy some rare privacy.
In the elevator I sagged against the wall, eyes closed.
When we reached my room — last one before turning the corner to the stairwell — Wendell checked it out, including the bathroom. The bellman glanced at Wendell curiously, then pulled my suitcases over to the bed. I tipped him, and he left.
“All right.” Bruce pointed his thick finger at me, his face in a stark, angular frown. “You’re not going anywhere, understand? Not without calling us.”
“Don’t worry. I’m not leaving this room. I just want something to eat and to go to bed. You two rent movies on TV and enjoy the evening.”
Wendell smiled, light catching the shiny surface of the scar on his chin. “I’m planning on it.”
Bruce stroked his goatee. “I might go down to the restaurant. So call my cell phone if you need me, not the room number.”
“Gotcha.”
They stepped into the hallway. Bruce looked back. “Bolt your door.”
“I know, Bruce. Now go away.”
For emphasis, I shut the door in their faces. Click went the bolt. There. Now maybe they’d be satisfied.
I staggered to the bed and fell on it, not even bothering to take off my flip-flops. In a jeans pocket, my cell phone dug into my back. I leaned to one side, slid it out, and laid it on the nightstand.
Across from me on a table I noticed the binder that would contain the room service menu. Sigh. It seemed so very far away. I’d get it … in a few … minutes.
My drooping eyes closed …
A heavy thud sounded from the hall.
My eyelids hinged open.
What was that?
I lifted my head from the pillow, listening.
Nothing.
Bruce? Wendell?
A groan.
My breath stopped. Had I really heard that?
“Sha-ley.” A low voice, thick, dragged out. Like someone calling for help.
Was I dreaming?
I sat up, pushed off the bed. My limbs and chest felt drugged, blood moving like sludge through my veins. Part of me wasn’t even sure what I was doing.
My feet stumbled across the carpet to the door. I pressed my ear against the wood, fingers splayed and tensed.
Another groan.
Bruce.
Heart leaping to my throat, I fumbled with the bolt, shoved it back. Cautiously, I opened the door.
He lay on his back in the middle of the floor near the corner. One leg drawn up, left hand to his huge chest.
Red seeped through his fingers, bubbled from his mouth.
“Bruce!” I blurted his name and ran to sink onto my knees beside him. “Wh-what happened?”
His face crumbled with pain, eyes squeezing shut. Jaw wide open, he dragged in air. It gurgled in his windpipe.
The world blurred. “Bruce, please. Don’t —”
I pushed the bloody hand off his chest, smearing my own fingers. A red and black bullet hole pierced his shirt near his heart.
No.
Dizziness swept over me. I swayed, catching myself with a fist against the floor.
Wendell. I needed to get him. He had to help.
I pushed up, trying to rise.
Bruce’s red-stained fingers clamped around my wrist.
Air backed up in my throat.
Bruce’s eyes opened. His head turned, bleary gaze searching for my face. “H-he …” Breath backfired in his chest. His back stiffened, arched off the floor, then back down. “He s-said …”
A sob spilled out of my mouth. “What, Bruce? Who?”
His hand fell from my arm. I saw his eyes flatten, life draining away like ocean water through sand. With all his might, he struggled to move his lips. They came halfway together, trying to form a name. His throat jerked in a swallow.
“Just hang on! I need to get my phone, cal
l 9 – 1 – 1.”
“Nn —” The sound vibrated from his throat. Blood bubbled out of his mouth.
I dug my fingers into the carpet, leaving an imprint of blood. Oh, no, Shaley, don’t faint. Get up, get your cell!
Bruce’s right arm rose from the floor. With a shaking hand he pointed down the hall. “W — “
He trembled violently, and his hand thumped back to the carpet. His face relaxed. His head flopped over, eyes looking straight at me. Glazed, seeing nothing.
“No, Bruce, no!” I wailed. I rocked his body. He didn’t stir.
Grief and panic descended, suffocating me. Bruce had been shot.
The killer’s here.
Somehow I pushed to my feet, staggered down the hall toward Wendell’s room. I could barely breathe, barely think.
Five feet from his door, it hit me. W — . Bruce had tried to say his name. Had pointed toward his room.
No. Not Wendell.
Yes, Wendell. Otherwise he’d be out here. I’d heard something; why hadn’t he?
Mind whirling, I lurched away on stiff legs. Refusing to look at Bruce’s body. Get to your room, lock the bolt. Call for help!
I rammed into my door, one hand fumbling with the handle. Blood smeared onto the gold metal.
Locked.
My shoulders sagged. Of course. It locked automatically. And my key was inside.
Bruce’s cell. It should be clipped to his waist.
My head turned, eyes taking in his body, the red on his chest and face and hand. I would have to touch him, move his heavy torso to get to the cell holder at his side.
A force beyond myself swiveled me toward him. As I reached him, I turned away from his face. Not for anything could I look into those flat, open eyes.
I bent over, held my breath. Reached sticky, trembling fingers toward his side.
A sudden sound nearby—a bolt sliding back.
I jerked around. Which room had it come from? Wendell’s?
No time to gamble. I shoved to my feet and ran.
44
I heaved myself around the corner and out of sight. No time to think, no time to plan. Just get out of here!
I reached the stairwell door and forced myself to stop. My hand reached for the knob and turned it soundlessly.
From around the corner, I heard the click of a door opening.
Praying the hinges wouldn’t creak, I pulled back the stairwell door. It was heavy. I slipped through the crack, feeling sweat bead on my forehead. I flattened my palm against the other side and slowly, carefully eased the door shut.
It closed with a light metallic sound.
Had Wendell heard?
Get out of here, Shaley!
My feet scurried to the stairs. I stopped, slipped off my flip-flops and clutched them in my left hand. Gripping the cold iron rail, I hurried down the steps as quietly as possible.
At the next landing, I stopped to listen.
I knew every noise would echo up the stairwell. I looked down and saw one dizzying flight after another. If Wendell opened that door one floor above me, I’d never outrun him.
Blood whooshed in my ears. Above me — silence.
Wendell was probably at Bruce’s body by now. Did he plan to move it somehow? Dispose of it? Then what—come looking for me?
He’d think I was in my room. Until I didn’t answer his knock —
The smear of blood of my door! Wendell would know I’d been out in the hall, seen Bruce’s body …
With a small cry, I flung myself down two more flights. Breathless, I skidded to a halt and cocked my head. Was he following now?
Above me, a door clacked.
I flattened myself against the wall next to the exit. Floor Twelve, the painted sign on the door read. Like many hotels, this one didn’t have a thirteenth floor.
“Shaley!” Wendell’s voice bounced around the stairwell.
I yanked open the exit and tore into the hall.
The door slammed shut behind me. No going back now. He’d know.
I sprinted around the corner, praying to see someone, but the hall was empty. Where should I go? What should I do? The only way out was the elevator on the other side. Even if I got there, would I have time to wait for it?
Blood pounded in my ears as I ran. Halfway down the long corridor, I saw another hallway opening up to the right. I knew it would lead only to other rooms. I passed it without slowing.
At the end of the hall, I tore around the next corner. Nothing there but the elevator. Frantically I pushed the down button. My head jerked up, eyes searching for the red digital numbers that told what floor the nearest car was on.
Sixteen.
Maybe I’d make it.
Air heaved from me in gasps, my heartbeats an earthquake in my chest. I flung terrorized glances toward the corner, expecting Wendell to materialize any minute.
Fifteen. The elevator hung there.
My legs shook. I smacked the down button again and again, praying for the elevator to move. Surely Wendell was coming down the stairwell. Would he check each level? How long before he found me?
Fourteen.
The elevator stopped once more.
“Come on, come on.” One more floor, just one more —
From the other end of the corridor, a metal door opened. Slammed shut. “Shaley? Shaley!
He couldn’t see me, not yet. But the way he ran, it would only take him a minute to sprint the length of the corridor.
My eyes glued to the floor number above the elevator. Please, please.
Twelve.
The door slid open. Jerry Brand was inside.
He jumped out and grabbed me, pulled me into the elevator. My flip-flops slipped from my hand.
“What?” Automatically I fought, shock stinging my nerves.
“Shhh!” He smacked a floor button and pushed me toward the back of the elevator. With a wild look over his shoulder, he searched the hallway. No sign of Wendell.
Jerry flattened himself against the side wall, body taut with tension.
The elevator door panels started to slide shut.
Wendell careened around the corner. Our eyes met.
“Shaley!”
He hurled himself toward me. His face was flushed, danger in his eyes. Both hands were bloody.
“No!”
I melted against the wall.
As he reached the door, the last few inches of space between us closed.
The elevator surged downward.
45
Jerry sagged with relief. My knees turned to water. I pushed my hands to my temples and slid down the wall into a crouch.
“It’s all right, Shaley. We made it.”
Head down, I stared at the floor between my bare feet, breath huffing. “What are you … doing here?”
“I drove away, then came back. Something just felt … off.”
Brittany. Jerry must have the same intuitive sense. And she’d been right. If she were with me right now, if there were two of us together, Wendell probably wouldn’t have tried this.
The elevator went down, down. It seemed like the longest ride I’d ever taken. “Did you hit the lobby button?”
“No, the lowest level.”
“Why?”
“He’ll expect us to stop at the lobby.”
“But we’ll find people there, someone to help —
“’He has a gun, Shaley. He can shoot distances.”
“You think he’ll do that in a crowd?”
Jerry’s voice dropped low. “Would you have thought he’d kill Tom and Bruce?”
I stared at the floor. No. I wouldn’t.
Bruce is dead. I envisioned the blood gurgling from his mouth, his struggles to warn me. He was dead because of me.
“Shaley.” Jerry put his hand beneath my arm. “You need to be ready to run as soon as the doors open.”
As he helped me up, I seared him with a look. “Why is Wendell doing this?”
“I don’t know.”
&nbs
p; The elevator stopped. Its doors parted to reveal a huge, empty hall carpeted in a design of blue and gold circles. No people.
“Come on.” Jerry clamped his fingers around my arm and pulled. We ran.
“Where … are we … going?” I puffed.
“Out a lower exit … and upstairs onto a back street. The bus … is there.”
We sped past an entrance to a large meeting room. In peripheral vision I glimpsed chairs set in rows, a podium up front. My heart wanted to split out of my chest. This level was so huge and long, and the exit so far away.
What about Wendell? If Jerry and I reached safety, Wendell might disappear before we could call the police. How could I step foot onto any street, knowing he might be out there waiting for me?
A series of smaller doors appeared on our right, more closely spaced.
Behind us in the distance — the ping of an elevator arriving.
“Go, go, go!” Jerry pulled me harder.
“You’re not going to get away from me!” Wendell yelled.
Jerry cursed. “In here.” He shoved me through the first door.
We tumbled into dimness.
I hit the floor, breath knocked out of my lungs. Jerry half tripped over me, regained his balance, and lunged up. He smacked on an overhead light and slammed the door closed, fingers fumbling with the latch. “There’s no lock.”
Breathing hard, he cast desperate looks around. We were in a supply room with a tile floor and no window. Two walls of shelves contained glasses and utensils and white cups, tall silver coffee urns, towels and cleaning solutions, a rolling table and projector. Against a third wall were a few chairs and a small sofa.
Jerry grabbed a chair and wedged it under the door handle. “Help me with the couch.”
We leapt to either side of it and shoved it across the room and up against the chair.
I cringed back from the door, a hand to my mouth. Nothing left to do, nowhere to run. We were trapped, and our makeshift barrier wouldn’t hold long.
My legs shook. “Do you have your cell phone?”
“No.” Jerry’s voice held quiet desperation.
“Then what are we supposed to do?”
Slowly, he turned to me. In his eyes burned a manic mix of accusation, hatred, and pain. “This is your fault.” I stared at him.
Always Watching Page 14
