“I would have saved you. Protected you. I did protect you. But you’ve shown not one ounce of gratitude.”
“What —”
Something heavy thudded against the door. I jumped.
“Move to the back wall, Shaley.” Jerry yanked up his T-shirt and slid a gun from the waistband of his pants. My eyes rounded. “You have a —”
“Move!”
Another thud. “Jerry!” Wendell’s muffled voice.
Jerry pushed me backward, his expression blackened, his lip curled. “First, I took care of that makeup artist.” He sneered. “Tom, with all those pictures of you on his wall. We were friends — until he told me about those pictures, how he loved you.”
The anger on Jerry’s face. He’d become a person I didn’t even know.
“And Bruce. I saw what he did. On TV, in front of everyone.”
“Wh-what?”
Jerry’s eyes narrowed. “In the mall. He threw his arm around you, pressed his body close.”
“He was protecting me.”
“Bodyguards have no right to touch you,” Jerry hissed. “I was your protector.” He jabbed a finger against his chest. “I put my life on the line to get rid of Tom. And all you did was cry and moan and go Shopping! I thought you were worthy of me. You’re noti!”
The truth spun through me, turning my blood to water. Wendell, calling my name, chasing me. To keep me safe when he saw Bruce had been shot? Wendell, with blood on his hands. From kneeling over Bruce’s body, checking to see if he was dead?
A hard kick hit the other side of the door. The chair rattled.
Jerry’s arm shot around my neck.
I pummeled him with my one free fist. “Let me go!”
“Shut up!” He pressed the gun against my temple.
I stilled. Terrible, long seconds passed.
“What do you want from me?” I whispered.
“What I wanted was some gratitude. Now it’s too late.”
Was this man insane?
“How could I have shown you I was grateful? I didn’t know it was you.”
“You should have known, Shaley. You should have understood.”
A second kick against the door. The chair and couch sputtered forward against the tile. The door wedged open an inch.
“Jerry!” Wendell’s voice sounded hoarse with adrenaline and fear.
“Wendell!” I screamed. “Help!”
Jerry’s arm tightened around me. “You come in here, I shoot her!”
My vision blurred. “Jerry, stop, please. I’ll do whatever you want.”
“I want you to care for me.”
“I do care. A lot.”
Keep talking, Shaley, just tell him what he wants to hear.
“I know you’ve tried to protect me. I didn’t like the way Bruce touched me either. And Tom — I didn’t even know how he felt about me.”
“Jerry.” Wendell’s voice spoke through the crack in the door, as if his mouth was right against it. “Let her go and open up. You won’t be hurt.”
“Shut up, Wendell! I’m not coming out!”
My fingers curled toward my palms. This man was going to kill me. “Please listen to him. I don’t want you hurt.”
“Nobody else is gonna hurt me. Ever again.”
I swallowed hard. “I’ll go with you somewhere. Is that what you want? I’ll tell him I want to go.”
“He’d never let you.”
“Jerry Brand.” Another man’s voice outside the door. Calm, collected. “This is Sergeant Stratton with the Denver Police Department. I’d like to talk to you. Just let Shaley come on out, and we’ll talk.”
Jerry yanked me two steps to the left. The gun dug into my head.
“No!” Tears bit my eyes.
“Get out of here!” Jerry yelled. “All of you. Or she’s dead.”
“J-Jerry, please.”
He put his lips close to my ear, breathing hard. “We won’t get out of this alive.”
“They’ll let us live. Just open the door.”
“Soon as I do, they shoot me.”
“No they won’t. And I’ll go with you — wherever you want.”
“You think I’m stupid, Shaley? Think I believe you after the way you’ve treated me?”
The gun twitched against my temple. Jerry was losing it. Any minute now he’d pull the trigger.
I squeezed my eyes shut and made my only choice. “Hey, out there! Promise you won’t hurt Jerry, and we’ll come out!”
“That’s fine.” The sergeant’s voice remained cool. “We’re standing back.”
My foot tried to move forward.
“Stop.” Jerry held on tight.
I reached deep inside me for every ounce of courage I could find. “We’re going or I start screaming. And if I do, they’ll break through that door in seconds.”
“No.”
Fine then.
My legs wobbled.
“Oh.” I staggered against him. “I’m … getting … dizzy.”
Abruptly, I went limp.
My sudden dead weight pulled him downward. He struggled to hold onto me as I sank toward the floor. The gun barrel slipped from my head.
Still I feigned unconsciousness. I sagged lower, Jerry’s one arm not possessing the strength to stop me.
He uttered a curse. I heard the gun hit the floor.
I slipped to the tile face down, wrenched over, and kicked the gun toward the door.
“Help!” I screamed. “Get in here!”
Jerry bounded up, headed for the weapon. I grabbed one of his ankles. He stumbled to his knees.
“Wendell! Help!”
Heavy thuds hit the door. The couch and chair legs screeched against tile as the opening widened.
Jerry shook off my grip and crab-walked toward the gun.
“No!” I crawled after him, grabbing for his foot.
More battering at the door. It shoved open, the couch surging forward and over the gun. Jerry dropped to his chest, fished under the sofa and yanked it out.
A policeman burst into the room, both hands clutching a gun. “Freeze!”
Jerry pushed to his knees and brought up his weapon. The policeman fired a deafening blast. Jerry listed over onto his side.
“Aaah!” I scrambled away and fell, hands over my ears.
“He’s down!” The policeman ran to Jerry and snatched up his gun.
Wendell barreled through the door. “Shaley!”
“H-here.” I struggled onto my knees.
Jerry groaned. The policeman turned him onto his back, his chest red. Like Bruce.
He wasn’t going to make it.
Something within me pushed me toward Jerry.
“Shaley, stay back.” Wendell reached down for my arm, but I waved him away.
“I have to … know …” I shuffled on my knees to the man who had been my friend, who’d told funny stories to make me laugh.
The policeman trained his gun on Jerry. Two more officers spilled through the door.
Jerry’s mouth twisted in pain, his eyelids flickering. Air wheezed in and out of his throat.
He looked at me through dazed eyes.
I stared back, wanting to speak, but only able to watch him fight a losing battle for his life. He’d killed Tom and Bruce, had threatened to kill me. Still, grief for him poured over me. It had all happened so fast, I couldn’t yet grasp it. What happened to this man?
“Jerry. Why?”
He blinked hard, trying to focus. “Come … close. Have to … tell you something.”
“No, Shaley,” Sergeant Stratton commanded.
I ignored him. What could Jerry do to me now? He was dying.
Holding my breath, I leaned down so he could whisper. Whatever he had to say, I wanted no one else to hear.
Jerry’s lips moved in the tiniest of smiles. His eyes cleared and warmed, turning him back into the man I had known. For that one second — the second that would change my life — he looked straight into my soul.
> “Your father sent me.”
46
Officers swarmed into the supply room. Voices and radio static filled my head. My mind and body were beyond numb.
Wendell helped me to my feet and out to the huge hallway.
I hugged him hard, feeling the rock solidness of his muscles. “I’m so sorry I ran from you. I thought …”
“I know.” He tried to smile. “I look like a bad guy. What can I say?”
So much commotion around me. I started to shake. The hotel manager ushered me and Wendell into his office, away from the noise. I sank down on a small couch and stared at my bare feet.
Wendell left and returned with my flip-flops.
A female officer, fearing I was near fainting, brought me a yogurt smoothie. I managed to drink half of it.
When my mind cleared enough to think a little, I asked if I could use the manager’s phone. I called Brittany and told her what happened. Except for one very important detail.
Someone phoned Mom, and she came racing over with Mick. Didn’t even wait for a limo, just demanded that some local stagehand drive them. By the time she arrived, it was six p.m. The concert was supposed to start at eight with the warm-up band. Rayne was taking the stage at nine.
Mom rushed into the manager’s office and swept me into her arms. “Shaley, Shaley!” She stroked my hair. “I’m so glad you’re all right. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
We held each other and cried until our tears ran out.
“You have to go and get ready,” I told her. “The concert …”
“I don’t care about the concert. I’m not leaving you.”
We sat in silence, fingers laced.
Your father sent me. Inside me the words thrashed and rolled.
I wiped tears from my face. My head throbbed. “I miss Bruce and Tom. I can’t believe they’re dead.”
I missed Jerry too. The Jerry I used to know.
Mom pulled in a deep breath. “I can’t believe any of this either.” She squeezed my leg. “But it’s over now. It’s all over.”
No, it wasn’t.
Your father sent me.
Twice I almost told her Jerry’s dying words. But I couldn’t.
Of course I should have. She should know, as well as the police. But the words burrowed too deep down inside me. I couldn’t bring them to my mouth, much less hear myself utter them. Shame, rage, confusion, grief … all those emotions kicked through my chest as I clung to my mother. Part of me wanted to shake her for her secrets. But I could feel her deep love for me, and the anger wouldn’t stick. Because, no matter what, I needed her so very much.
Besides, what if Jerry wasn’t even telling the truth? He’d obviously been thinking crazy things. In his warped way of “protecting” me, did he think the best last words he could say were to give me hope about my father?
But how did he even know I wanted that hope?
Anyway, why should Jerry think his words were good news? My father sent a killer into my life. Wonderful. Did the man hate me?
At 6:30 Mom’s cell phone rang. I could hear Ross’s voice as they talked. He was worried about me. She told him I was okay.
“Look, Rayne,” he said, “I have to make a decision by seven thirty whether we have a concert tonight.”
“Okay. Whatever.” Mom rubbed a hand across her forehead. “I just know I’m not leaving Shaley.”
A plainclothes detective came and questioned me. He was a small man, gray-haired and craggy-faced. Looked like he’d seen a lot of hard things in life. I told him everything I could remember — except for Jerry’s last words. Apparently Wendell or the police officer had reported that Jerry whispered something to me in his final moments.
“What did he say?” The detective asked.
Mom’s hand on my arm felt protective and warm. I looked into her eyes. They glistened with love for me.
Lowering my gaze, I shook my head. “Nothing important.”
Shortly after seven, the interview was over.
The detective stood. “Thank you, Shaley. You’re a very brave young lady.”
Brave? I almost laughed.
Mom put her arm around my shoulder. “Finally, you can go to your room and rest. I’ll stay with you. With Wendell and Mick posted outside the door.”
I shook my head. “You’ve got a concert tonight.”
“We’ll cancel it, Shaley. I’m not leaving you.”
“You won’t have to. I’ll be backstage, listening to every song.”
Her mouth opened, then closed. She pushed a strand of hair off my cheek. “I couldn’t sing tonight even if I wanted to. Not after almost losing you.”
My lips curved. “Of course you can. You’re Rayne O’Connor. And Rayne reigns.”
She managed a wan smile. “Thanks. But really —”
“Really, you will.” I took her hand. “Come on. Let’s get to the arena.”
47
Rayne, you reign! Rayne, you reign!”
At nine p.m. in Denver’s Pepsi Center, I sat backstage, too exhausted to be on my feet, chanting with the sold-out audience. Pride for my mom swelled in my chest.
She and the band members filed past me, ready to go onstage. I held up a palm. Mom and I high-fived.
“Go get ‘em!” I shouted.
She grinned. I could see the adrenaline rush in her cheeks, feel the energy pulsing from her body. Despite her own tiredness and grief, she would give her fans the show they’d come to see.
Carly stopped to hug me. “Love you, Shaley!”
“Love you too.”
She placed her hands on my cheeks. “Thank God you’re safe.”
I smiled. “He’s ‘always watching,’ right?”
Joy flicked over her face. “Yes, he is!”
Laser lights kicked on, whisking over the stadium in red, blue, and white. The crowd screamed.
The band and backup singers ran onstage. Mom’s glittery blue top shimmered in the spotlights.
He’s always watching.
Funny how the words resonated within me. I’d said them merely for Carly’s sake. But after all I’d just lived through, I wanted to believe them.
Are they true, God?
Stan strummed a hard minor chord on his lead guitar, and Mom’s voice filled the stadium.
I was made for you, and you for me,
To walk a path together, our life’s destiny.
But time shattered our road, pulled us apart.
You left me stranded with half of my heart…
I’d heard the lyrics hundreds of times, but suddenly they seared me. I brought laced fingers to my lips and stared at Mom.
Was this song about my dad?
Your father sent me.
I pictured Jerry’s paling face. Were the last words he’d spoken on earth lies?
If not, why had he been sent? Was my father such a terrible man that he’d want a killer close to me and Mom?
A burning desire surged through my veins, one that I knew would not, could not, leave me. The desire to know.
Tell me, tell me, where else to go?
Tell me, tell me, was it all for show?
Rayne O’Connor strode across the stage, thrust her hand in the air.
Mom. I would have to tell her what Jerry said. And she would have to tell me her secrets. Without that knowledge, I’d never understand any of this.
That would be a painful, hard conversation.
Can you help us, God?
I’m here, you’re gone, what’s left of my life?
Sadness, confusion. Memories. Strife.
Do you know? Do you care? Can you see me here?
Which turn to take? The path isn’t clear …
The song reached its final chorus. Mom held the last note long and clear as the guitars riffed, the drums thumping in my chest. With a crash of cymbals, the music ended. Thousands of fans clapped and whistled and cheered. I joined in.
Somehow amidst all the noise, Mom must have felt my applause. Fo
r at that moment she turned to me and smiled.
As another song blasted through the arena, I made a vow to myself. For me, for Mom.
I would seek the truth — until I knew it all.
Read chapter 1 of Last Breath,
Book 2 in The Rayne Tour.
1
Your father sent me.
The last words of a dying man, whispered in my ear. Were they true? What did they mean?
Guitars blasted the last chord of Rayne’s hit song, “Ever Alone,” as Mom’s voice echoed through the Pepsi Center in Denver. The heavy drumbeat thumped in my chest. With a final smash of cymbals, the rock song ended. Multicolored laser lights swept the stadium. Time for intermission.
Wild shrieks from thousands of fans rang in my ears.
I rose from my chair backstage. Tiredly, I smiled at the famous Rayne O’Connor as she strode toward me on high red heels. In the lights her sequined top shimmered and her blonde hair shone. She walked like a rock star — until she stepped from her fans’ sight. Then her posture slumped. Mom’s intense blue eyes usually gleamed with the excitement of performing, but now I saw only sadness and exhaustion. How she’d managed to perform tonight, I’d never know. Except that she’s strong. A real fighter.
Me? I had to keep fighting too, even if my legs still trembled and I’d probably have nightmares for weeks.
Your father sent me.
I had to find out what those words meant.
“You’re a very brave young lady,” a Denver detective had told me just a few hours ago. I didn’t feel brave then or now.
“You okay, Shaley?” Mom had to shout over the screams as she hugged me.
I nodded against her shoulder, hanging on tightly until she pulled back.
The crowd’s applause died down. Voices and footsteps filled the stadium as thousands of people headed for concessions and bathrooms during the break.
Kim, the band’s alto singer, laid a tanned hand on my head. A white-blonde strand of hair stuck to the gloss on her pink lips. She brushed it away. “How you doin’?
“Fine.”
Bodyguards Mick and Wendell walked over to escort Mom. Wendell’s eyes were clouded, and his short black hair stuck out all over. He hadn’t even bothered to fix it since the life-and-death chase in our hotel a few hours ago. He was usually so picky about his hair. Mick looked sad too. They both had been good friends with Bruce.
Always Watching Page 15
