Once more Charley felt her eyes well up with tears and her throat constrict.
“In times of trouble, I need a helping hand. I look for you, breathe for you, have a need for you . . .”
Ash looked in Charley’s direction. His eyes met hers as he sang the chorus.
“You lift me up, lift me up. Make all my troubles fade away . . .”
For Charley, the whole arena faded to nothing. It was as if Ash was singing only to her. And only she mattered.
“There stands my angel without wings. Who needs wings . . . to be an angel?”
37
“That’s a number-one hit!” declared Kay, hugging Ash as he joined them in the artists’ lounge for the after-show party. She was beside herself with excitement. “We must get you in the studio as soon as we’re back. It’s all about the moment—and you’ve captured it!”
Charley was equally overcome with emotion. Still reeling from being serenaded with her very own song, she walked alongside Ash as if floating on air. For the first time in years, her heart felt full—untroubled, complete, at peace.
But she wouldn’t get a moment alone with Ash to thank him for quite a while yet. Band members, road crew, invited guests and media were all lined up to congratulate and compliment him. Ash beamed and nodded his thanks, basking in the praise. After all the storms he’d weathered, Charley felt he deserved his time in the sun.
Stepping away from the throng of well-wishers, Charley spotted Jessie standing alone and apart from the others. The fan-club organizer had been quiet and withdrawn ever since Charley had accused her of trying to kill Ash. The two of them had not spoken a word to each other since. Realizing there’d never be a good time to apologize with the tour ending, this seemed like the best opportunity. Steeling herself, Charley went over to the buffet table, picked up a plate and pretended to browse the food on offer. Spring rolls, gourmet pizza slices, fancy sandwiches, chicken-satay skewers and other finger foods all surrounded a massive tiered cake decorated with candles and the word INDESTRUCTIBLE in icing.
“Hi, Jessie,” she said, as lightly as she could.
Jessie ignored her.
“Listen . . . I’m sorry for what I said.”
Jessie shot her a hostile stare. “Oh, you’re sorry, are you? A little late for that.”
“Please understand—”
“No, I understand all right,” Jessie snapped, rounding on her. “It’s not enough for you to steal Ash’s heart. You have to break mine too.”
“That wasn’t my intention.”
“Wasn’t it? You accused me, of all people, of trying to kill Ash!” she said, her mouth twisted into a furious snarl. “Ever since we met, you’ve wanted me off this tour. When Ash was upset, you pushed me away. You wanted him all to yourself.” Charley saw Jessie pick up a large knife from the buffet table. “You’re always following him around, never letting him out of your sight. Wherever he goes, you go! You’re like his shadow. The poor guy can’t even breathe without you at his back. I don’t know how he stands it.”
Charley took a step away. “I said, I’m sorry. I was just doing my job.”
“Job? Being Ash’s girlfriend isn’t a job!” exclaimed Jessie in outrage, waving the blade in Charley’s face. “And from what I’ve seen, you don’t have a clue what PR is either. What I do for Ash is a real publicity job. I’ve slaved on his fan website night and day, built up his following in this country from nothing. I’ve never asked for thanks. Never asked for anything. I do this because of the love I carry in my heart for him. But still he loves you more. He even writes a song for you!”
She thrust the tip of the knife accusingly at her. Charley didn’t like where this was going and reached for her phone.
“It doesn’t surprise me you’ve had death threats,” Jessie went on, still waving the gleaming blade around. “You deserve all the hate you get online. I just wish I’d written some of it. ’Cause that’s how I feel about you!”
As Jessie raised the knife, Charley thrust her iStun into the girl’s gut. Jessie’s whole body convulsed and jerked as three million volts of electricity coursed through her system. The shock was too much for her, and she passed out, dropping to the carpet in a heap.
People were quick to notice, and Ash came dashing over with everyone else. “What’s happened to Jessie?” he asked.
Not wanting to make any more of a scene, Charley quietly pocketed her phone and shrugged. “Jessie must have been . . . overcome by your performance. She just fainted.”
“Poor Jessie,” said Ash as Big T knelt down beside the unconscious girl and tried to revive her. “She was so looking forward to cutting the end-of-tour cake with me.”
38
“You stunned her for trying to cut a cake!” Jason exclaimed during her video call to Guardian HQ the next morning from her hotel room on Sunset Boulevard. He laughed. “I got away lightly with a dislocated finger, then.”
“You won’t ever forgive me for that, will you?” said Charley, her cheeks reddening with shame at her overreaction in using the iStun—the fangirl might have been angry with her, but not to the point of murder.
“Hey, I deserved that,” said Jason. Charley saw him glance around the briefing room, then lean closer to the webcam. In a lowered voice, he said, “Listen, I know we got off on the wrong foot, Charley, and we haven’t exactly been best of friends, but I think it’s time I gave you an apology.”
“For what?” asked Charley.
“For being a jerk!”
Charley was rendered speechless by his stark self-assessment.
“I was . . .” Jason seemed to struggle for the right words. “Wrong to assume just because you’re a girl you’d be no good as a bodyguard. After seeing you in action on this operation—palm-striking guys, resuscitating Principals and taking down not just one but two maniacs—it’s obvious you’re as capable as any of us boys, if not more so.” He smiled. “Can we start over?”
Charley realized how much Jason must have swallowed his pride to admit this. And, despite their history, she found it easy to forgive and forget. “Of course,” she said. “And I’m sorry for dislocating your finger.”
“No worries, they still all work.” Jason wiggled his fingers in front of the camera. “Besides, it was my fault. I shouldn’t have been so tough on you during training.”
“Yes, you should have,” Charley said, to his surprise. “It was your fight-or-fail attitude that pushed me to go beyond my limits. I have a lot to thank you for. The fact you didn’t make any allowances for me during training prepared me for the real world—a world that makes no allowances whatsoever.”
“Well, if I’d known that,” said Jason, grinning, “I’d have been an even bigger jerk!”
Charley laughed. “No, you’re big enough as it is.”
“Thanks! And you’re one kick-butt bodyguard,” he replied warmly. “I’m proud to be on your team. Well . . . until I get my own team!”
“Is that still happening?” she asked. Having bonded with Jason at long last, the thought of splitting up the original team saddened her.
Jason nodded. “As soon as you return from this assignment.” He glanced off camera, then back at her. “Hey, the colonel wants to speak to you.”
Jason left his seat, and Colonel Black’s craggy face appeared on her screen.
“Outstanding work, Charley. It seems your suspicions were right about Brandon and Gonzo,” he said. “The police have found evidence of coded text messages on the pap’s phone. They contain times and locations that match the accidents and attacks on Ash.”
“I knew it!” said Charley.
“It certainly explains how Gonzo popped up at every disaster on this tour,” Colonel Black continued. “And you’ve done well to keep Ash alive through it all. Operation Starstruck has been an unexpectedly tough assignment. But, as you’ve discovered, fame is a killer.”
<
br /> 39
Once known as the Riot House, the hotel on Sunset Boulevard was legendary among rock stars. In the 1960s and 1970s, it held the likes of The Doors, The Who and the Rolling Stones. Led Zeppelin would rent as many as six floors and stage motorcycle races in the hallways. The Who’s Keith Moon threw a TV out of the window, setting a trend that John Bonham, Keith Richards and countless other rock gods followed. Lemmy of Hawkwind wrote the classic track “Motorhead” in the middle of the night on one of the hotel balconies. Jim Morrison even hung from a window once by his fingertips, causing a traffic jam in the street below. The Riot House was the place to hang out and party.
Tonight it hosted the official Indestructible end-of-tour party. The rooftop was buzzing with celebrities, models, musicians and movie stars. Roadies wandered around wearing T-shirts saying I SURVIVED A WILD TOUR! And security was so tight that even the most famous faces had to produce ID and guest invitations.
Charley, in a strapless white top and black leather jeans, was standing with Ash by the pool when all of a sudden screams of laughter burst from the direction of the bar. Having removed his sunglasses, the bassist had two black rings around his eyes. Everyone stared and pointed at the musician’s bizarre appearance.
“What? WHAT?” he asked irritably.
“Looking good, Panda Eyes!” scoffed the drummer.
A young lady took a makeup mirror from her bag and showed the bassist his painted face. The bassist’s eyes widened into hoops of astonished horror. He checked his sunglasses, his fingers coming away with black ink on them.
“Who did this?” he demanded angrily, looking around like a crazed lemur and causing more ripples of laughter to spread among the guests. “WHO did this?!”
Ash turned to Charley. “It wasn’t me, but I wish I’d thought of that.”
Charley, fighting to keep her face straight, replied, “Looks like permanent ink to me. That’ll take a while to come off.”
Ash closely studied her poker-faced expression. “I think I’d better keep a close eye on you from now on.”
Charley laughed. It had been a long time coming, but she’d finally gotten her revenge for their prank on her at the start of the tour. She couldn’t bring herself to set up Ash, but the band members were still fair game.
The party soon lost interest in the bassist and his black-ringed eyes, conversation resumed and the DJ upped the music volume. A group of girls—superfans who’d won a competition to meet their idol—approached Ash.
“Can we have your autograph, please?” asked one of the girls, presenting their party invites for signing.
“Sure,” said Ash. “Do you have a pen?”
When the girl began searching in her bag, Charley produced her own pen from her back pocket—she’d come prepared this time. Ash autographed the invites with a flourish, then handed them back.
“Yours too, Charley,” insisted the girl, with a hopeful smile.
“Me?” questioned Charley, blinking in surprise.
The girl nodded. “You’re a real inspiration. We all want to be Wildcats like you!”
Taking the pen back from Ash, Charley signed her name next to his. Then the girls huddled close for a round of selfies with her.
“Looks like you’re becoming a star yourself,” Ash remarked as the girls trotted away, delighted with their collection of autographs and photos. “Before you become too famous, there’s something I need to say.”
Taking her hand, Ash led her to a gazebo in the far corner of the rooftop garden. With the guests clustered around the bar and pool, the gazebo was unoccupied, and the surrounding potted plants gave them some privacy. He stopped by the rail, where the sun was setting pink-orange over the haze of L.A.
“I see you’re still wearing the bracelet,” he said, the woven bands of white gold gleaming on her wrist in the dying light.
“Of course,” she replied, feeling his arms wrap around her.
Ash gazed intently into her eyes. Once more it seemed only she mattered.
“I wouldn’t have survived this tour without you,” he said. “And, while I wouldn’t want to go through that hell again, I really don’t want this tour to end.”
“Why?” she asked, a little breathless.
“Because it means you’ll no longer be with me. At my side.”
“Surely that’ll be a relief,” she said, trying to make light of their parting. “The fact that you don’t need constant protection anymore.”
Ash shook his head. “Charley, you’re my inspiration, my muse. I’ll be lost without you.”
He cupped the back of her neck in one hand and drew her close.
“I told you I’d break your arm if you ever tried to kiss me,” she warned, but her tone was gentle and inviting.
Ash smiled. “Worth the risk.”
Charley felt her resistance crumbling. “I’m not one of your groupies,” she said.
“No, you’re my guardian angel.”
He leaned in to kiss her, and Charley knew she was about to break the cardinal rule of bodyguarding. Never get involved with your Principal.
The battle with her conscience didn’t last long.
She gave into him, her heart ruling her head. Their lips were no more than a breath apart when she heard a whirring sound like an angry mosquito. She pulled back from the kiss. Hovering in the air, only a few feet from them, was a drone with a camera attached.
“For heaven’s sake!” exclaimed Ash, glaring at the flying intrusion. “I can’t even escape the paparazzi fourteen floors up!”
Charley calmly picked up a stone from one of the potted plants, judged the distance and flung it at the drone. The stone struck it dead center, cracking its casing, then rebounded and shattered one of its plastic propellers. The drone lurched sideways and plunged out of view.
Charley turned back to Ash. “Now where were we?”
“I think about here,” said Ash, pressing his lips against hers.
Closing her eyes, Charley lost herself in his exquisite kiss.
“Ash?” called Kay, her high heels clicking across the stone paving toward the gazebo. Charley quickly broke away from their embrace. “Ah, there you are! There’s someone I need you to meet.”
Ash squeezed Charley’s hand. “Wait here for me. I won’t be long,” he whispered, then went off with his manager.
Leaning against the rail, Charley gazed out over the West Hollywood skyline, the city lights twinkling like stars. Realizing she’d crossed a romantic line with Ash, she felt overwhelmed by a kaleidoscope of emotions. Was there a chance of a real relationship, or was that a farewell kiss? Could she remain his bodyguard and be his girlfriend too? Would she have to quit Guardian?
Whatever the answer, she had to face facts. Ash was a world-famous rock star with countless beautiful girls at his feet. She shouldn’t read too much into a single kiss, however intense.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out and glanced at the text—an Intruder alert.
40
The hotel corridor was deserted, with everyone on the roof for the party. Charley had spotted Ash and Kay talking with a famous film producer, so she decided not to disturb them. No one could access the penthouse floor without an authorized key card—so more than likely, a security guard or a hotel employee had entered Ash’s suite, despite instructions not to service the room without advance notice.
Charley stood outside Ash’s suite. The door was closed, and there were no signs of forced entry. The Intruder device was in place and undamaged. Taking out her spare key card, she slipped it into the lock and cautiously entered.
Subdued lighting illuminated the spacious lounge area with its deep leather sofa and private bar. The air conditioner hummed, and the distant thrum of passing traffic drifted up through the open patio doors leading to the balcony. Outside, dusk had settled, and L.A. glowed like the embers of
a dying fire.
On initial inspection, the suite appeared unoccupied.
Her steps muted by the thick carpet, Charley crossed the empty lounge toward the bedroom. She peered inside. Nothing seemed to be disturbed. Ash’s suitcases were on the rack, and his king-sized bed was untouched.
Then she noticed a light on in the bathroom—and a twitch of a shadow.
With ninja-like stealth, Charley approached the door and eased it open.
Big T stood with his back to her, a black marker in his hand.
On the mirror, scrawled in disturbingly familiar handwriting, were the words:
YOUR GUARDIAN ANGEL
WILL BE
YOUR ANGEL OF DEA
“What are you doing?” exclaimed Charley, shocked and confused by what she was witnessing.
Big T spun around, the black marker now clenched in his fist like a knife. On seeing Charley, he lowered his guard. “I . . . just discovered this death threat,” he explained.
“But I saw you writing it.”
Big T’s weathered face hardened to stone. Then he gave her a sorrowful look. “I wish you hadn’t.”
He made a step toward her. Charley instinctively backed away. That’s when she spotted a red block, with a cell phone taped and wired to it, perched on the basin’s vanity unit. She instantly recognized the putty-like block to be PBX.
“What the hell, Big T!” she cried, her eyes widening in alarm. “I thought you were Ash’s bodyguard!”
“And I always will be.”
“But that”—she indicated the bomb—“looks like you’re trying to kill him.”
Big T responded with a single shake of his head. “I’m not one to kill the golden goose, like Gonzo. My job is to protect Ash. In fact it’s the only job I know.”
As the veteran bodyguard moved steadily toward her, Charley retreated through the bedroom into the lounge. “Then why the mirror threat and bomb?”
Traitor Page 12
