Elbowing her way through a knot of VIPs, she ran onto the main stage. The music was thunderous. The spotlights were blinding and she had to shield her eyes as she looked for Pete. Was he among the dancers? The band? The front row? Or already attacking Ash?
The dancers were moving at such a frenetic pace it was hard to keep track of everyone. Ash was strutting down the stage’s guitar neck, singing for all he was worth to the audience, lost in the zone. But Pete wasn’t anywhere to be seen. She rechecked the tracker app. The red dot definitely located him on the stage, less than fifty feet from where she stood. Maybe Amir’s app didn’t work after all.
“Get off the stage!” hissed a beer-bellied roadie, yanking Charley by the arm.
As she was dragged back into the wings, she happened to glance up and notice the lighting rig. Of course, the app only displayed a two-dimensional map. Pete could be right above her. Squinting, she searched the rig. It was difficult to make out much against the multiple banks of flashing lights, but she could see the spotlight operators in their suspended chairs, tracking Ash with their focus beams. If Pete was up there, they’d surely know about it and would have radioed security by now. All the wire-rope ladders had been hauled up before the start of the concert, so how would Pete have climbed there midshow?
The song “Every Day Like the Sun” came to an end, and the drummer began pounding out a distinctive backbeat. The crowd went into a frenzy as Ash launched into his “Indestructible” routine. Above the noise, Charley heard Big T’s furious voice in her earpiece.
“Charley! What’s going on? Where are you? Report in right now!”
Charley couldn’t think straight with all his shouting in her ear. She tugged out the wireless earpiece, pocketed it and studied the tracker app again. She racked her brains as to where Pete could be hiding. If he wasn’t on the stage . . . or above it . . . he had to be under it!
Bounding down the steps two at a time, she reached the bottom, then dashed around to the walkway that led beneath the stage to the toaster lift. The passage was poorly lit by a scant run of bulbs, the crisscross of scaffolding to either side looking like a steel forest in a horror movie. It wasn’t the sort of place to explore alone. Nevertheless she entered the passage and crept along, her eyes darting from side to side. From above, the muffled beat of “Indestructible” thumped away, sending vibrations down the steel struts.
Her face lit by the soft glow of her phone screen, she advanced deeper under the stage, watching her green dot slowly converge with the red one. Up ahead in the gloom, she spied someone moving. A figure was hunched over the hydraulic controls to the lift. He had a wrench and was uncoupling a pressure valve. Charley allowed herself a triumphant smile. She’d caught Pete in the act of sabotaging the toaster lift. She had all the proof she needed.
“Stop right now!” she warned, coming up behind him.
The figure spun around in shock and Charley was confronted by the roadie with the caveman-like beard. “You’re not Pete,” she gasped.
“No, I’m not,” grunted Joel. “What are you doing under here? It’s restricted access.”
“What are you doing?” she replied, eyeing the open hydraulic unit.
He held up the wrench. “Safety inspection of the lift. We have to triple-check everything now. It’s a flipping nightmare,” he grumbled.
“Sorry, I was looking for someone else,” she said, turning and heading back the way she’d come. Charley glanced again at her phone. On the screen her green dot sat almost right on top of the red. She peered into the dark recesses beneath the stage. Pete had to be hiding somewhere in the shadows.
Somehow she had to flush him out.
Bringing up Amir’s text, she selected the number linked to the IMEI and pressed Call. In the darkness, a phone buzzed and a screen lit up.
26
If Charley hadn’t turned toward the sound of the vibrating phone, her brains would have been splattered all over the floor. But she caught sight of the wrench a millisecond before it struck, and managed to dodge the fatal blow. The heavy metal tool glanced off her shoulder, sending a rivet of pain through her arm.
Crying out, she dropped her phone and staggered backward.
Joel swung the wrench again. Charley ducked and the tool clanged loudly against a metal strut. She tried to defend herself, but her arm was dead. The wrench came down and Charley dived between the scaffolding. She landed hard against a crossbeam, all the breath knocked out of her.
The roadie stepped through the gap as she tried to crawl away.
“Where you going, Wildcat?” he taunted. “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, so shall you be!”
Charley’s eyes widened in horror. The roadie had made the death threats! He was behind everything: the letter bomb, the spotlight, the mic, the fire . . .
The killer roadie raised the wrench above his head, a maniacal grin cutting through his thick bush of a beard like a sliver of bone. “Time for Ash’s guardian angel to become a real angel!”
Charley held up her hands in a vain attempt to protect herself as Joel brought down his wrench with the force of a sledgehammer. But an overhead strut stopped the tool dead. He glanced up in stunned annoyance. Seizing her chance, Charley kicked out hard and connected with the roadie’s kneecap. Joel bellowed in agony and crumpled to the floor.
Charley scrambled to her feet. As she tried to get away, he made a wild swing with the wrench and struck her across the shins. Screaming from the bone-numbing pain, she fell forward and caught her chin on a steel strut. Stars burst before her eyes. Through the ringing in her ears, Charley could still hear Ash singing, oblivious to her plight just a few feet beneath him, the music onstage drowning out the noise of their brutal fight below.
Joel began pulling himself upright. “For that I’m going to break every bone in your body, Wildcat. Ash won’t even recognize you when I’m finished!”
Dazed and hurting, Charley dragged herself through the maze of scaffolding. She needed help. Glancing around, she spotted her smartphone on the floor. The roadie limped after her. Charley scrambled forward and snatched up her phone. Flicking the volume button, she turned to face her attacker.
Joel laughed. “Too late to call for help,” he said, winding up to beat her senseless.
Before he could whip the wrench around, Charley darted forward and thrust the arcing stun phone into the roadie’s chest. Joel’s whole body convulsed, and he let out a guttural shriek. His muscles locked up, and the wrench clattered to the floor. Totally incapacitated, he toppled backward and would have fallen if not for the scaffolding behind him. Instead he hung like a limp rag doll from the bars.
“How’s that for a stunning performance?” said Charley, her head still reeling from chinning the steel strut.
She leaned against the toaster lift for support. Her shins were on fire, her ribs ached, her shoulder throbbed and she tasted blood in her mouth from a split lip. Yet she knew she was lucky to be alive.
She also knew she needed backup. Charley fumbled in her pocket for her wireless earpiece.
But the iStun hadn’t stayed in contact long enough to knock the roadie completely out. All of a sudden he lunged at her. Charley tried to stun him again, but he batted her arm aside and the phone went flying. Joel threw himself on top of her, and his heavy bulk sent them both crashing to the ground. In their struggle, his hands found her neck. Charley gasped for air as he began to squeeze mercilessly.
With only seconds on her side, Charley drove the tips of her fingers into the notch above his collarbone. Joel gagged and jerked away. Charley tried to kick him off, but he was too big and strong.
Fight smarter, not harder, Jody had said.
Charley now targeted a knife-hand strike at his neck. Though she couldn’t put her full force behind it, the single sharp blow to the man’s jugular vein caused an involuntary muscle spasm and a burst of intense pain. Eyes bulging, he rolled a
way in agonized shock.
Charley found her feet. But the roadie, recovering fast, had the wrench in his hand again. As he swung wildly at her, she tried to block his attack, but her arm was still dead and her reaction too slow. The wrench hit her in the stomach. She doubled over in agony. Taking full advantage of her weakened state, Joel shoved her against the toaster lift and forced the edge of the wrench against her throat. Charley choked as she felt her windpipe being crushed.
“Where’s your guardian angel when you need one, Wildcat?” he hissed, digging the wrench harder into her throat.
27
Charley couldn’t breathe. Her feet barely touched the ground as the roadie pinned her to the side of the lift. She clawed at his face in an attempt to blind him, but her efforts to stop him from killing her were becoming weaker with every second. Her eyes rolled in their sockets, and what little light there was below the stage began to fade from her vision. Her own frantic heartbeat pounded louder in her ears than the muffled thud of the bass drum above. In the swirl of sound and fury, she’d heard the roadie hiss, “Where’s your guardian angel when you need one, Wildcat?”
His savage face leered at her like a bearded devil, the bloodlust in his eyes horrifying. Then out of the darkness another face appeared, ghost-white and hairless.
“Right behind you,” said the angel, swinging a massive right hook into the man’s jaw that almost knocked his head clean off.
The pressure on her throat instantly ceased, and Charley dropped to the floor. Spluttering and gasping for air, she looked up into the wrinkled face of her guardian angel.
“The legend strikes again!” Big T grinned, flexing the enormous biceps of his right arm and enlarging the words DANGER: WEAPON OF MASS DESTRUCTION inside his cruise-missile tattoo. “You okay?” he asked.
Rubbing at her tender throat, Charley nodded. She found it painful to swallow; otherwise she was in one piece. She glanced at the roadie now lying out cold on the floor. “Is he dead?” she croaked.
“He deserves to be,” said Big T, kneeling down to check. “But he’s not. So what’s Joel’s grudge with you? I thought you were looking for Pete.”
“I was,” rasped Charley. “But Joel’s the one responsible for all the attacks on Ash.”
Big T raised a dubious eyebrow. “Are you certain this time?”
Charley nodded and pointed to the hydraulic unit. “I caught him sabotaging the toaster lift. Amir’s tracking app brought me to this exact location. If you look at the roadie’s phone, I guarantee you’ll find the IMEI number matches the phone used to post the accident messages. And I think the fact he tried to kill me confirms it all!”
“Good enough for me,” said Big T. “Vince! Rick! Pick up the garbage, will you?”
Big T helped Charley to her feet. “You look like you’ve gone ten rounds with Mike Tyson.”
“I feel it too,” Charley told him, limping over to retrieve her phone.
“You’re lucky Jessie spotted you going beneath the stage. I never would’ve found you otherwise,” said Big T as he picked up the roadie’s phone from the hydraulic unit. “Next time respond to my calls.”
“Sorry,” said Charley with a weak smile. “My earpiece fell out.”
Big T narrowed his eyes, but let the matter drop.
Above, the concert was still going on, the audience screaming in delight. Charley followed Big T out from under the stage, wincing at every step. The unconscious Joel was dragged to an empty dressing room by Vince and Rick, and dumped in a chair.
Big T chucked a glass of water in the man’s face. “Let’s see what this scumbag has to say for himself.”
Joel groaned. His eyes flickered open and darted nervously between the faces of the bodyguards. “Wha’sss . . . what’s going on?” he slurred, holding his fractured jaw.
Big T bent down to eye level with the roadie. “You’re being held under suspicion of attempted murder of both Ash Wild and Charley here.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I was just doing my job, and this wildcat jumped me.” He pointed an accusing finger at Charley.
Before Charley could protest, the door opened and Terry strode in. He stared at the broken-jawed roadie. “What happened to Joel?”
“He had a run-in with my fist,” explained Big T. “You see, Joel’s the maniac trying to kill Ash.”
“Joel?” exclaimed Terry. “But he’s been with the tour from the start. One of the hardest-working roadies—first to arrive and last to leave.”
“Charley caught him sabotaging the toaster lift,” Big T told him. “We suspect he was trying to rig another accident.”
“That’s not true!” Joel turned to Terry with pleading eyes. “I was following your instructions. You asked for everything to be triple-checked.”
Terry nodded. “That’s right, I did.”
Big T held up the roadie’s phone. “Charley has hard proof your phone was used to post the accident death threats against Ash.”
“That’s not my phone,” said Joel.
Charley gasped. “That phone was right next to him. He’s lying!”
Big T frowned and Charley saw his belief in her claims beginning to waver. “So why were you trying to kill Charley, then?” he demanded.
Joel put on a wounded look. “What? She attacked me! I was trying to restrain her.”
“That’s a lie too!” cried Charley. “He repeated the ‘ashes to ashes’ threat, then attacked me with a wrench! He’s a maniac. He wants to kill Ash and me. Big T, you saw him choking me!”
Terry held up a hand. “Enough! Big T, I told you to keep this girl on a leash. First it was the laser, then the backpack bomb and now this. Attacking one of my own road crew! She’s gone too far this time. I want her out and off this tour right now!”
“But—”
“No buts, Big T. You’re already on thin ice with Kay. Don’t give me an excuse to have you fired too!” Terry put his arm around Joel and helped him to his feet.
“Thank you, Terry,” slurred Joel. “If she goes, I might not press charges.”
“That’s more than they deserve,” said Terry, leading the injured man toward the door.
Charley watched, speechless, as the killer roadie walked free.
28
Charley knew if Joel stepped out of that door, they’d never see him again and Ash would forever be in danger.
So would she.
As the roadie limped past, the malice in his steel-blue eyes was terrifying. Compelled to act, Charley ran to block the doorway but stopped as Kay marched into the room.
“What’s this about Ash’s attacker being caught?” she demanded.
“Afraid not, Kay,” said Terry, still supporting Joel, who had his head bowed and a hand to his fractured jaw. “It’s yet another false alarm from your pet bodyguard.”
Kay glanced at Charley, raising an eyebrow at her split lip and bruised throat. She turned to Big T. “What’s going on here? And what happened to Charley?”
Big T glared at the roadie in Terry’s arms. “I just managed to stop that man strangling Charley with a wrench.”
“My God!” gasped Kay. “Why would he do that?”
“Charley didn’t realize he was carrying out a safety inspection of the toaster lift,” explained Big T. “It seems a case of mistaken identity. Things got out of hand and—”
“NO!” shouted Charley. “That man was sabotaging the lift to kill Ash. Why won’t anyone believe me?”
Big T laid a hand on her shoulder. “Charley, enough’s enough. You’ve already accused one innocent person today.”
“And you’re always crying wolf,” Terry added. “Kay, I can vouch for Joel’s innocence. In my opinion, Charley is the paranoid lunatic that should be locked up.”
“Well, I don’t trust any man who beats up a girl.” Kay’s eyes blazed. “Vince, radio
a technician to check the lift.”
Vince nodded, thumbed his mic and made the call.
“I was in the middle of fixing it,” protested Joel, his hand still pressed to his bearded jaw.
“He’s lying again!” cried Charley. “Look at him! He’s got guilt written all over his face.”
For the first time, Kay properly looked at the roadie’s face. Her eyes widened. “I know you! Your name’s not Joel!”
Dropping his hand from his face, the roadie snarled, “Screw you, Kay!”
Shrugging off Terry, he pounced on the music manager. His fingers dug into her throat as he slammed her against the wall. Big T and Rick were on him in seconds. But the roadie refused to let go. Charley stepped in and side-kicked his kneecap, targeting the same one as before. There was a sickening crunch, and the roadie shrieked as he dropped to the floor.
“Good kick, Charley,” grunted Big T as he and Rick pinned the man down.
Running a trembling hand through her red hair and flattening her creased blouse, Kay looked scornfully at the squirming roadie. “You can tell that to the police when they arrive . . . Brandon.”
“Brandon?” said Charley, staring hard at the roadie. Now that Kay had said his name, Charley vaguely recognized the man. She’d downloaded his picture into the operation folder. He’d been slimmer, blond-haired and with stubble, unlike the dark-haired bearded man now writhing on the floor at their feet. But his steel-blue eyes were unmistakable. This was Brandon Mills, the songwriter who’d accused Ash of copying the hit “Only Raining.”
Brandon squirmed in the bodyguards’ grip, spitting at Kay. “Ash stole my song! My life!”
Kay regarded him with contempt. “And you broke my heart, among other things.”
As she strode out of the room, her sharp stiletto just happened to stamp on his hand.
29
“I blame myself,” admitted Kay, standing with Charley and Big T at the side of the stage as Ash prepared for his encore at the Oakland Oracle Arena. They’d all been unnerved to discover Terry’s trusted roadie was Brandon Mills. However, since his arrest by the San Francisco police, it looked as if Ash would be safe from any further murder attempts. “If I’d joined the tour earlier, I might have recognized that psycho songwriter!”
Traitor Page 9
