“This is silly. You don’t really want me to sing, do you?”
“More than anything,” he says. “Mic is hot. It’s just you and me. Not that different from the car or your sister’s place. I’ve only had a taste up until now. Dazzle me, Kennedy.”
I want to shrink back into the shadows where I belong, but what he’s offering me, it’s more than most artists get. Roman’s a music producer. This is a personal audition with a major producer. I’d be crazy not to at least give it a shot.
No one’s here,” Roman says, as if it’ll change my mind.
“You’re here.”
I watch his mouth screw up tight.
“I don’t have music.” It’s a lame excuse. Lack of music has never stopped me in the past.
“You don’t need music, but I can play for you.” Without waiting for an answer, Roman stands and heads for the piano set to my far right. The stage is calling for me. A halo of light I’ve never been brave enough to step inside pulls like a magnet. One foot in front of the other I close the distance between me and that spotlight halo. He’s right. We’re alone. It’s not that different from all the other times he’s heard me. The piano bench creaks. Roman has his place and the first notes of music lilt through the air. My next step will land me in the spotlight. Hasn’t that been my secret wish all these years? Who cares if I never end up in lights or top billing? For one night, I can forget every obligation that’s held me back. For one night, I can be the star.
I take a breath.
I take a step.
✽✽✽
Roman
I’ve never been as grateful for those piano lessons my mother forced on me as a teenager as I am in this moment. My fingers glide over the keys, an old song I memorized years before, and one I’d love to hear her sing. Though soft at first, her voice is velvet and cream, curling and twisting. The song suits her voice to perfection. Her body comes alive, swaying, reaching for the invisible crowd, volume and tone increasing until she’s holding very little back.
Kennedy glances over her shoulder to catch my eye, singing a line or two and singing only to me. The lyrics talk about her unforgettable love, the one she’ll remember long after he’s gone. Her focus moves back to her adoring, invisible fans, but I’m left breathless, barely hanging on to playing the notes long ago memorized.
I’ve been mediocre since I can remember. Always the last kid on the block invited to play, a good kid but never the teacher’s favorite, and now everything with dad, I’m the forgettable son. It’s been one of my greatest strengths in the work I do, something the FBI covets—my ability to move without anyone remembering I was there in the first place.
But Kennedy, Kennedy not only remembers me, she’s memorized me. She won’t forget me, another quick look from her assures me it’s true. I don’t know whether to be grateful, or afraid of the consequences.
✽✽✽
Kennedy
Singing like this, it’s like wearing a tailor-made dress. I’ve never felt something fit as perfectly as this song, this microphone in my hand, let alone this flawless moment. I roll through the bridge of the song, having fun with the melody and timing while Roman plays without fault. This is nothing like singing in the old auditorium. This feels real. This is sublime. My eyes adjust to the darkness. I try to imagine every seat full, every person leaning forward and hanging off my notes.
What a dream this is, to be able to perform without fear because Roman believes in me. Because he does, for some reason unbeknownst to me, a big-time music producer actually believes in me. It’s enough to unshackle the chains holding me back, if only for a moment.
Unclipping the microphone, I stride the length of the stage, making eyes at people who don’t exist. I’m lost in a world of pretend, where dreams come true, where I’m more than a talent scout, more than a stand-in mother for my brother, more than Kennedy Cartwright, the middle child. For a second, when Roman’s eyes meet mine, I’m Kennedy Cartwright, the star.
The spotlight warms my skin. I close my eyes, stretching not only for the light as the music crescendos around me, but stretching my arms up toward the object of my innermost desires.
The spotlight.
The star.
The music.
The moment is drawing to a close. By my count I have maybe eight measures left to revel in this feeling. I open my eyes and stare into the darkness as I sing the last words.
Movement catches my eye near the doorway, two men hover in the doorway. I recognize Pedro. The other man mimes applause on my behalf. Pedro nods and says something to his companion. Roman rolls through the last of the notes. Pedro claps a hand to his companion’s shoulder and disappears into the outer hallway.
“That was beautiful.” Roman’s voice catches my attention. I whirl to face him. “Do you want to do another one?”
My concern is for the men intruding on our moment, and my fear of using the auditorium without permission. If Pedro’s companion is somehow in charge of the building, I don’t want Roman to get in trouble. But when I glance back, they’re gone. I strain to be sure, squinting into the darkness.
“Are you okay?” Roman rises from the bench. “Did you see someone?”
“I don’t know.” I’m not sure now. I swear they were there, but my mind could have been playing tricks on me. I saw Pedro in the ballroom before, it’s believable that I’d imagine him, I suppose.
Roman follows my stare into the darkness. The last thing I want is to go back to how he acted in the ballroom. I close the distance but keep the piano between us while I set a hand on his arm. It steals his focus entirely.
“It’s fine. I’m sure it was nothing.”
The air stills. His hand captures mine. The piano bench grates against the floor as he stands because he needs to be closer. Roman’s arm curves around my waist, as if we’re dancing again, but there’s no music, no reason to stand this close.
“Just when I thought you couldn’t get any more perfect, you exceed expectations.” Roman stares down at me as if trying to memorize this moment.
“I sincerely doubt that. I’m lucky to reach expectations.”
He’s not willing to let me brush it away, not this time.
“Why do you do that?” Roman takes another step until I feel his warmth against my bare arm. “You never let me compliment you.”
“You wanted this to be professional.”
“You’re doing it again.”
“I’m following your rules, Mr. Palmero.”
“I think we’re past my rules, Miss Cartwright.” As if pulled by magnets, he’s edging closer. “Answer me.”
His breathy whisper sends chills down my spine. I don’t want to answer him. There are a dozen things I’d rather do, and none of them have to do with talking. But he’s not going to give me what I want until I answer his question.
“I’m not the star,” I tell him. “I fade into the background. I’m the glue, but Hudson, Victoria, they’ve always shown brighter than I do. Compliments come when people notice me,” I laugh without mirth, “like they feel bad I was there all along, and now they need to make up for it with some gallant gesture. It makes me doubt the sincerity of it all.”
“You think I’m lying when I tell you you’re beautiful?”
“I think you’re a nice guy.” My wandering fingers curl around the back of his neck where his hair is cut short and prickly. His eyes fall closed for a second before they reawaken with desire. “Maybe you just feel bad for me, forgotten daughter, running the ranch, playing at mom, needing a compliment or two.”
“You’re wrong. I feel a lot for you, Kennedy, but none of it is bad.” His lips part, before he draws in a quick breath. With renewed conviction, he stares into my eyes. “Believe me, I’m not lying when I tell you how incredibly talented you are, but even that pales in comparison to your beauty.”
I look away, but his palm catches my chin to bring me back. A sneaky grin creeps up his cheeks.
“This is the part where yo
u say, ‘Thank you, Roman’.”
He has no idea how hard it is to repeat it, but hoping to appease him I say, “Thank you, Roman.”
“Good.” The playful smile sinks too fast, a hint that he’s likely going to put the brakes on everything again. “Kennedy, I need to tell you something about me.”
“What is it?”
I wonder if he’s struggling as hard as I am to keep from kissing. With only nine inches between us, I wager it’d take less than two seconds before I close the distance. His gaze drops to my lips, his shoulders slump, and he leans closer still.
A scream splits the air. Roman’s grip changes, whirling me back to stand behind him. Two shots cut through the building.
“Back here,” Roman urges me through the velvet curtains, “keep your head down. There’s a room on the right.”
More shots ring out. My head swims with adrenaline and questions.
“Straight ahead.” Roman pushes me again. I fumble with the knob. Screaming wails like sirens, more voices than I can count. More gunshots echo and respond.
“Is this a terrorist attack?”
Roman doesn’t grant me an answer. Not because he doesn’t have one, but because he isn’t there. He left me. I spin in the room, searching the empty space, hopeful that in my hysterics he’s hiding somewhere, or I’ve missed him. I start for the light of the auditorium, but the spotlight dies an instant later. Six rapid shots in the distance shatter my psyche. I reverse, slamming into the back wall of the room, sinking to my knees. Tears fall over my palms where I’ve smashed them against my face.
Pounding feet charge the halls, like cattle in a stampede. Voices shout and call to each other.
“You got him?”
“No! Clear this hall.”
With no way to know whether they’re friend or foe, I tuck my knees into my chest and cling to sanity. A cry of alarm catches my ears, closer this time. Someone is outside the room, and it’s not Roman.
✽✽✽
Roman
I took too long cutting the power to the spotlight. I’m kicking myself for keeping her in the building. Should have known the bust would go south. They probably went to apprehend Pedro and he fought back. I had to desert her in that room to cut the light. Leaving it on would have attracted attention like bugs to a candle.
Never should have brought her.
Let alone wrapped my arms around her.
Or considered telling her who I really am, or how desperately I need her.
The auditorium’s new darkness veils my movements. My hearing sharpens without my sight. I’m careful not to add to the silence with my own sounds. Four feet to my left, on the stage, I sense movement, too heavy to be Kennedy shuffling around. Breaking into a dead run, I plow into the second figure. Pain lights up my head as his gun cracks against my temple. I drive my fist into his gut, rewarded by the soft cushion of his exhale. I draw back an elbow and slam it against his jaw. A deep groan eases from his body.
My eyes adjust to the darkness, but I’m sure I’m not the only one. His fist is a shadowy blur, catching my cheek, knocking me back a step. I block a kick to my stomach and twist his leg until he falls. Sweat drips between my eyes, or maybe blood, I can’t be sure. I swipe at the annoyance and wait for the next attack. The drive to protect Kennedy at all costs awakens the agent within me.
A bar swings faster than I can block, catching me hard between the shoulder blades. I fall forward, but reach back, wrapping my arm around the length of the microphone stand. I jerk it free and swing the base like a bat, connecting with a sick crack. My attacker falls with a grunt, but he’s not getting up for a second round.
I stumble forward a step, clutching my knees to keep my head from spinning out of control. Metallic tang of blood in my mouth lights up my senses. It’s been a while since I had to fight like this. I steel my whirling stomach, trying to shake the pain from my hands at the same time.
Her whimper catches my ear like a plea for help. Regret yanks on my conscience for what I’ve exposed her to. It’s my fault she’s here, my faults she’s afraid and my fault she’s in danger. I catch my hand on the doorway for support. From the dark, her gasp cuts the silence in half.
“It’s me.” I try to regulate my voice to hide the pain I’m feeling because it’ll only frighten her more. “I turned off the light so no one would look for us here.”
“Roman, I’m scared,” she whispers.
Rick’s crazy to have ever suspected she could be involved in criminal activities. I doubt she likes saying the word criminal, for fear of what bad mojo she might call upon herself.
I pull the door shut until it clicks in place. Using the light of my phone, I scan the room. Balled up in the corner, arms locked around her legs, Kennedy cowers. I cut the light and slide in next to her, arms capturing her body against mine.
“Are you hurt?”
“No,” her breath brushes over my collarbone. “Frightened. What’s going on?”
“I don’t know,” I lie. “But I won’t let anyone hurt you. I promise.”
She tightens her grip on my shirt, tugging until we’re nearly melded into one. I doubt she can hear the gunshots like I can through the closed door. My trained ear knows the difference between government issue and otherwise. But it doesn’t matter. None of that tells me the score. It doesn’t change the fact that I’ve put her in danger with no way of knowing when it will end.
For five minutes, the air is still. No gunshots. No screaming. My phone buzzes from the floor. I snatch it up.
“Where are you? Did you make it out?”
“It’s Rick,” I tell her, hoping a familiar name might soothe her. “He’s making sure we’re okay.”
She twists to see the screen, but I keep it out of sight for her safety as I type. “Locked in a room off the auditorium. I left a body out there. Take care of it.”
“Is he okay?” Kennedy asks. “Is it over?”
“I think so, but let’s stay a little longer to be sure.”
I don’t have to ask her twice. She’s not made for this kind of living. Her heart races against my chest. I press my hand between her shoulder blades, pulling her closer, wishing I could take away the fear I’ve caused. Kennedy melts against me, accepting my comfort and taking what she needs. Her body conforms to mine, wrapping tight, her face tucked into the crook of my neck, lips against my skin.
Heat rises in my chest. I turn into her, unable to stop myself. I press my lips to her forehead, once, then once more. She peels back. The light from my phone catches the contours of her face. I don’t think I could have worse timing if I tried. But my self-control failed ten minutes ago, and every trap door to my good sense has latched shut.
My lips touch hers, exquisite beyond my imagination. Eager for more, I kiss her again, lifting her up to where I can chase her worries away with affection. My worst fear would be Kennedy pulling away, telling me no, or giving me a reason to stop, but she’s miles from that. She meets my kiss as if she’s been waiting on me, desperate like I am to explore what we’ve been denying. Her fingers wrap around the back of my neck once more, and I bow to her wishes.
✽✽✽
Kennedy
I could blame it on the thrill of our escape, or on the relief of surviving, but this is more than that. Maybe it’s one of those times people talk about, a brush with death forcing them to take inventory and do everything they might regret. I shift and steal his bottom lip between mine, knowing I’d regret dying without it. Maybe it’s enough, maybe a terrorist attack like this will help him see that age is a stupid reason to keep us apart. I might not get the record deal I want; conflict of interest has to be drawn when you’ve crossed these lines, but that’s not what I was looking for anyway.
This, this fire churning in my chest, exploding through my fingertips. This is better than singing, and I didn’t think that was possible. Roman pulls back, but only far enough for our lips to break. His chest rises and falls against me. I push my hands over his chest, relishing
the firm build and chiseled muscles. I mean to pull his jacket from his shoulders, but before I can explore the breadth of his chest, Roman’s hands catch mine to stop me.
“Kennedy, I’m sorry. I started this and you shouldn’t—”
“Shut up.” I press my lips to his, expecting resistance, but find only acceptance. “You can’t tell me what to do. I’m an adult.”
“Barely.” I feel his teasing smile against my cheek before he kisses me again. “Your dad hates this.”
“He’ll get over it.”
“You don’t know me. You don’t know what you’re taking on. I don’t want to make your life difficult.”
“Then stop arguing with me.”
I’m about to kiss him again but sounds outside our door still my breath. Voices, muffled words, but clear male voices, shout commands. Roman’s leg bends, taking the weight into his heel, as if he might stand. I curl my legs behind me. Roman pulls away from me, easing into a crouched position. My frame cowers in his shadow. The door rattles again. My heart thumps in my ears. Roman reaches beneath his jacket. The door rips open and light floods the small room.
“Stand down!” A familiar voice yells. “The area is secure. All clear.”
Roman rises to his feet, arms falling to his sides. The men pull him outside the room. I want to follow him, but my legs won’t respond. Voices fuzz in and out in my mind, hushed, secretive, and disconnected from their bodies.
“The target?”
“In the wind, and aware of our threat.”
“Did we gain anything?”
“Not a thing.”
I keep my head down, too shocked to fully register what’s happening. I have to be imagining things. The voices continue, but I brace my fingers against the floor to stop the spinning. What have I stepped into? Did I hear them right? I could be hallucinating.
The Unforgettable Queen of Diamonds Page 11
