Traitor

by Chris Bradford

“That’s rock ’n’ roll for you!” Ash laughed. “Besides, can’t you hear that?”

  His legion of fans stamped their feet and chanted, “ASH! ASH! ASH!”

  “The show must go on,” he said, grabbing a wireless mic.

  Charley thought Ash was a little high on adrenaline, but otherwise he seemed unharmed. It was nothing short of a miracle. Ash took hold of Charley’s hand and raised it to the sky.

  “Talk about the kiss of life,” he announced to loud wolf whistles and rapturous applause. “My guardian angel!”

  16

  Ash Wild must have the nine lives of a cat! How else could that sniveling, screeching pop prince defy death twice? It’s beyond belief. That boy deserves to die. Has to die. Must die.

  I should have shot him that first night. Why on earth didn’t I pull the trigger?

  I might have missed, that’s why . . . Don’t be stupid, you had him in your laser sight. The man at the gun store said it was just a matter of point and shoot . . . Wherever the red dot was, the bullet would go. So why didn’t I pull the trigger?

  Just admit it! You didn’t have the guts, did you?

  No.

  The gun was too personal, too hands-on. And too risky. The police would easily have traced the bullets and gun. Besides, that troublesome girl interfered. Ran Ash off the stage before I could change my mind and fire. It’s her fault.

  That’s why an accidental death is a far better idea. No one can foresee it. No one can stop it.

  The spotlight took a lot of planning, though—the exact positioning of the light, the removal of the safety chain, the sabotaging of the clamp, the precise timing of the fall—every detail had to be accounted for. Then the little ego-fueled superstar lands in the wrong bloody place!

  How unfair is that? Less than an inch or so between life and death.

  Ash certainly had a guardian angel watching over him then.

  At least the microphone was easier to tamper with. I don’t know why I didn’t think of that in the first place. The only tricky part was ensuring Ash would be the victim.

  But the plan worked—like a dream.

  Oh, the thrill! The sheer joy when Ash dropped dead!

  Then that wretched girl again, the Wildcat. She brought him back to life.

  It was her fault, his guardian angel. Yeah, all her fault!

  Next time . . . I’ll guarantee she can’t save her precious rock star.

  Next time . . . he won’t rise from the ashes. Nor will she.

  17

  Charley closed the door to her hotel room and collapsed on the bed. It was just past midnight and she was exhausted. But she had to report in to Guardian. They’d want an update on the situation.

  Her finger paused over the Dial button. She still hadn’t spoken with Blake. Since she was using the official Guardian line, though, he’d have to answer her call now. Both dreading and needing to talk to him, Charley took a deep breath and dialed.

  The phone rang three times before it was picked up and a voice answered. “Report in.”

  She hesitated. “W-where’s Blake?”

  “He’s been reassigned,” Jason explained. “I’m now your official contact.”

  “Oh . . .” said Charley, disappointed yet somewhat relieved that she wouldn’t have to speak to Blake.

  “Don’t sound so pleased to hear my voice,” said Jason. “I’m equally happy to be working with you. Now, are you going to update me on your Principal or not?”

  “Sorry,” Charley replied, a little thrown by the change in contact. She felt awkward talking with Jason when they didn’t exactly get along. “Well . . . according to the doctor, Ash is all okay. After finally being convinced to take a ten-minute break for a medical checkup, he finished the gig to a standing ovation.” She half smiled at the thought, still in awe of Ash’s dedication to his fans. “But he was extremely lucky to survive—that direct shock to the head could have fried his brain.”

  “I’ve seen some of the fan footage online,” said Jason. “Looks like he was shot by a stun gun. Any idea what went wrong?”

  “Faulty microphone,” Charley replied. “The sound technician says the wiring wasn’t grounded properly. Terry—the tour manager—is furious. He’s got the whole tech team retesting the electrical setup before the next concert. He says these things shouldn’t happen.”

  “Well, it did,” said Jason. “Kay just called the colonel to praise your fast response. She credits you with saving Ash’s life.”

  Charley felt a flush of pride.

  “Kay’s also reviewing all security measures with Big T,” Jason went on, “so don’t be surprised if there’s a bit of a shake-up in the ranks. She wasn’t happy with the rest of his team’s response to the situation, so she’s flying out to join the tour and keep a closer eye on things.”

  “Big T did mention Kay was concerned.”

  “Well, Ash does seem prone to accidents on this tour,” remarked Jason.

  “Accidents don’t just happen,” said Charley, repeating the sinister message that had popped up on Ash’s computer.

  “What? You think this was another attempt on Ash’s life?”

  “Yes.”

  “But isn’t using a microphone to kill someone rather hit-or-miss?” Jason wondered. “Anyone could have used that mic before Ash. A roadie during the sound check or one of the band in the show.”

  “True. But the night before the concert, Ash showed me his social media feed. There was a whole bunch of posts from haters, but one, apparently from a fan, read, ‘Hoping for an electrifying performance!’ That’s too much of a coincidence for me. Someone wants Ash dead, and they’re going to great lengths to make it look like an accident.”

  Jason went quiet for a moment. “Then the question is, who is this fan?”

  “Exactly. If we could trace the two online messages, and any others sent by the same accounts, then we might identify the user. I know Big T didn’t get anywhere with the first message, but perhaps Bugsy has access to higher-level resources?”

  “Bugsy’s away on an assignment for the colonel,” informed Jason, “but I’ll ask that newbie, Amir, if he can help. I hear he’s something of a whiz with computers.”

  “Thanks,” said Charley, surprised at how willing Jason was to help. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so hard to work with him after all. “I’ll e-mail you the links now.”

  She pulled up Ash’s social media page on her phone and searched for the two suspect messages. With a couple of taps, she forwarded them to Jason.

  “Got ’em,” said Jason. “Anything else before we sign off?”

  Charley hesitated. “Jason . . . is Blake there?”

  There was a long pause and muffled voices, one of which sounded like Blake’s. Jason came back on the line. “Sorry, he’s out on an errand.”

  Charley felt her eyes prickle with tears. It was obvious Blake was there. He just didn’t want to talk to her. Stifling a sob, she went into the bathroom and grabbed a tissue from the box next to the sink.

  “Hey,” said Jason, his voice lowered. “Forget about Blake, Charley. You’re better off without him. You need to focus on the mission. Besides, you’re the girlfriend of a famous rock star now!” He went on. “Not a bad swap for you. I mean, how much better could it get?”

  Dabbing at her eyes, Charley looked up from the basin and let out a small cry.

  “You all right?” he asked.

  “Yeah, everything’s fine,” replied Charley in a voice as calm as she could manage. She hadn’t cried out because of Blake. On the bathroom mirror, scrawled in her own red lipstick, were the words

  TO BE AN ANGEL

  U NEED 2 DIE FIRST!

  18

  “If you’re my girlfriend, you should really be holding my hand,” said Ash as the two of them arrived in a stretch limo outside the Bellagio Hotel in Las Vegas.


  Since Dallas, the tour had taken them to Kansas City, then through Minneapolis and Denver to the entertainment capital of the world. With a day off between gigs, his manager had acquired VIP invites for Ash to attend an exclusive star-studded fashion show before his concert the next night at the Mandalay Bay Events Center—and it would be Ash and Charley’s first official appearance as a couple.

  Ash offered his hand. He seemed totally at ease with the arrangement made by his manager and Colonel Black—in fact he looked proud to have her on his arm. Considering Ash could date almost any girl on the planet, Charley felt flattered by this. She took his hand, telling herself it was purely to keep up appearances. But after the messy breakup with Blake and the deluge of hate messages online, she couldn’t deny it was a much-needed boost to her battered self-esteem.

  He smiled, gave her hand a reassuring squeeze, then stepped out into a blaze of camera flashes.

  The press were out in full force. The fashion show was a focal point for all the celebrities in Las Vegas, and a long red carpet had been laid for their arrival. An event coordinator had requested that Ash stop halfway along the red carpet for his official photo op. Dressed in a black silk shirt, jacket and coal-black designer jeans, he looked the epitome of the teen rock star. Charley, in a sleek satin gown and high heels that Ash’s stylist had picked out for her, caught everyone’s eye, more than fulfilling her role as the chic, glamorous girlfriend. The cameras simply couldn’t get enough of the cool young couple.

  As they posed for photos, Charley kept her designer sunglasses on. She couldn’t risk getting dazzled by all the flashes. She may have become Ash’s “girlfriend,” but she was still his bodyguard. Her eyes scanned the huddle of photographers and, to her dismay, spotted Gonzo’s rat-face among the pack. How on earth had the lowlife gotten an official press pass?

  Still smiling for the cameras, Charley surveyed the crush of tourists and fans behind the metal barriers, checking for signs of a potential threat—those directed not only at Ash but also at herself.

  For she was now a target too.

  That had been made abundantly clear by the sinister threat left on her bathroom mirror. After taking a picture for evidence, she’d wiped away the lipstick-smeared message and hadn’t mentioned it to anyone for fear of being pulled off the assignment. If she couldn’t protect herself, then how could she be considered fit to protect Ash?

  As more celebrities spilled out of limos to make their way across the red carpet, Big T came up alongside and indicated they should enter the hotel. Accompanying them, he kept at a respectful but responsive distance, his massive bulk a high-profile deterrent to any troublemakers. They entered the famous Bellagio lobby, its ceiling adorned with two thousand handblown glass flowers, the display suspended over their heads like a glistening rainbow. Ushered through to the ballroom, Charley found herself among a menagerie of movie stars, musicians, TV personalities and supermodels—many of them drawn to Ash and eager to meet his new girlfriend.

  “Hey, Ash, how ya doing?” drawled an impossibly handsome and instantly recognizable figure.

  “Hi, Kyle, good to see you again,” said Ash, embracing the movie star like an old friend.

  “And this must be Charley, your guardian angel.” Kyle lifted the back of her hand to his lips. “Definitely an angel.”

  For a moment Charley was speechless. Luckily a bow-tied waiter approached and offered her a glass of sparkling water, giving her a chance to compose herself. “Thank you . . . I’m sure everyone says this, but I love your films. No one does action movies like you.”

  “Hey, I only act the hero,” he said humbly. “You’re the real action hero.” He did a couple of karate punches. “I saw those photos from Miami. You were like Bruce Lee with that palm strike! Ash, I’m surprised you even need Big T anymore,” he said, glancing at the bald-headed veteran behind them. “You should just hire Charley to be your bodyguard.”

  Ash laughed. “It had crossed my mind.”

  Charley gave a small smile, but Big T’s jaw clenched and he clearly didn’t appreciate the joke.

  They circulated among the other guests, Ash introducing Charley to more A-list celebrities than she had ever dreamed possible. The glamorous side of his superstar life was intoxicating, and she had to keep reminding herself that she wasn’t there for her own enjoyment but for Ash’s protection.

  At last the guests were called for the start of the show. With reserved seats in the front row, she and Ash were in prime position next to the catwalk. But no place was reserved for Big T, and he was relegated to the ballroom entrance. The house lights dimmed and a thumping dance track blasted out of the speakers. Spotlights lit up the runway stage, and a long-legged model glided out from the wings. Wearing a gorgeous dress that shimmered like moonlight, she was greeted by collective gasps of delight and wonder. Another model appeared and strutted down the catwalk in an equally breathtaking design, her off-the-shoulder kimono-inspired gown seeming to have been spun from spider silk.

  The ballroom was abuzz as ever more cutting-edge fashions were paraded in front of the celebrity audience. But Charley paid little attention to the clothes and the models. Her mind was too distracted. It kept returning to the ominous message on the mirror.

  TO BE AN ANGEL

  U NEED 2 DIE FIRST!

  The key question was: who had written it?

  A jealous fan? With a hurricane of abuse online for being Ash’s girlfriend, that was a strong possibility. She’d have to keep tabs on any repeat haters to see if there was a link. But how had the fan accessed her locked hotel room?

  This made her think it could be one of the band members. If it was, perhaps the death threat was just a tour prank? She’d witnessed the guys playing some pretty cruel jokes on one another. Everything from itching powder on the toilet seat to duct-taping their belongings to the hotel ceiling to swapping shampoo for pink hair dye.

  But this message didn’t feel like a joke, not with the threats made against Ash. Could the maniac trying to kill Ash now want her dead by association? That was a distinct possibility.

  Charley figured whoever had written the message wanted to frighten her. Why else give a warning first?

  “I don’t believe it,” said Ash, his jaw dropping open in shock.

  “What?” said Charley, suddenly on high alert.

  “It’s Hanna.”

  A gorgeous girl with dark brown locks who looked to be around Charley’s age was parading in a showstopping bejeweled silver dress. As she approached the end of the catwalk, she spied Ash. There was a momentary flare of recognition in her eyes, and then she pirouetted away and strode back down the stage.

  Ash spent the rest of the show squirming in his seat every time his ex-girlfriend appeared. The model seemed to be purposely strutting in front of him.

  After the show, the guests mingled and chatted, the stunning designs a focus of most conversations. As Ash and Charley did the rounds, Hanna made her appearance. She now wore hipster jeans and a cropped white bodice-top, and her glossy hair was pulled into a tight ponytail. With only the lightest touch of makeup, her natural beauty was stunningly apparent. Charley instantly felt out of her league.

  But Hanna’s attitude certainly didn’t match her looks. “So, you’re into blondes now? I thought it was redheads,” the model said cuttingly to her ex-boyfriend.

  Ash gave a pained look. “Hanna, I’ve said I’m sorry. Many times.”

  Hanna looked down her nose at Charley. “I’d be careful if I were you. You’re playing with fire.”

  Charley responded with a civil smile. “I’m used to getting my fingers burned,” she replied.

  “Well, as long as you’ve got your eyes wide open. He’s not to be trusted.”

  “Hey, I’m still here,” said Ash, mortified by her scathing comments.

  “More’s the pity,” said Hanna, turning on her heel and sashaying
away.

  Ash stared after her, a wounded look on his face.

  “She doesn’t like you very much, does she?” remarked Charley.

  He shook his head. “I don’t blame her. I made a stupid mistake. Let’s go. This party’s lost its appeal.”

  Charley followed Ash back into the lobby, Big T falling in behind. As they exited the hotel, the line of cameramen beckoned for a photo, but Ash wasn’t in the mood to play the gracious rock star. He headed straight for the limo.

  Then Gonzo taunted. “Hasn’t Hanna forgiven you?”

  Ash shot him a ferocious glare.

  “I’ve still got the picture I took of you and that redhead,” goaded Gonzo, snapping away at Ash’s scowl. “That was a real money shot.”

  Charley saw Ash flush with anger and turn on Gonzo. Before he could launch himself at the lowlife, Charley pulled Ash back and bundled him into the limo.

  19

  “What about this one?” asked Ash, pointing to a solid gold Rolex in the jewelry store’s display case.

  “Very nice,” said Charley. But she barely gave the watch a second glance. Her senses were on full alert. She was convinced someone was following them.

  They were browsing in the Grand Canal Shoppes mall inside the Palazzo Hotel. A mini indoor Venice, it boasted high-end designer shops, upscale boutiques and even water-filled canals complete with gondolas to take people around the mall.

  Pete had once again led the paparazzi on a wild goose chase, allowing Ash and Charley to slip away unseen. Ash had admitted he was feeling a little low, and Kay had recommended some retail therapy before his gig that evening. At first Charley had thought Ash was in a bad mood because he’d bumped into his ex-girlfriend, but then she recalled the day’s date from the operation folder. It was the anniversary of his mother’s death.

  As Ash continued to browse the rows of designer watches, Charley studied the reflection in the plate glass of the store window. Applying her anti-surveillance training, she was looking for multiple sightings and any sign of unnatural behavior among the passing shoppers: people peeping around corners, fidgeting or acting shifty, showing a vacant expression, talking to themselves or fixated on their target.