by Nora Roberts
backstage lights. I’ll go see what’s going on.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“No.” She took a step toward the door. She could barely see the outline of it. Only a shadow in the dark. A rustling noise had her jolting. The baby was stirring, she told herself as her mouth went dry. There were no monsters, and she wasn’t afraid of the dark.
She found the knob, but instead of relief, she was struck by a wild, unreasonable fear. She could see herself opening it. Opening it and looking in. The baby was crying. Dizzy, she tried to understand if it was the baby behind her, or the one in her mind.
Instinctively she snatched her hand away. She wasn’t to open it. She didn’t want to see. Inside her head the echo of her heart pounded like a musical rhythm. An old song—one she couldn’t forget.
Not a dream, Emma reminded herself. She was wide awake. And she had waited most of her life to see what was behind the door.
With rigid fingers, she opened the door, in reality and in her mind. And she knew.
“Oh my God.”
“Emma.” Bev, soothing the baby on her shoulder, reached out. “What is it?”
“It was Pete.”
“What? Is Pete in the hall?”
“He was in Darren’s room.”
Bev’s fingers closed over Emma’s arm. “What are you saying?”
“He was in Darren’s room that night. When I opened the door, he turned and looked at me. Someone else was holding Darren, making him cry. I didn’t know him. Pete smiled at me, but he was angry. I ran away. The baby was crying.”
“It’s Samuel,” Bev murmured. “It’s not Darren, Emma. Come sit down.”
“It was Pete.” On a moan, she pressed her hands to her face. “I saw him.”
“I’d hoped you wouldn’t remember.”
When she lowered her hands she saw him standing in the doorway. He held a flashlight in. One hand. And in the other a gun.
Clutching the baby, Bev stared at the shadow of the man in the doorway. “I don’t understand this. What’s going on?”
“Emma’s overwrought.” Pete spoke quietly, his eyes on Emma’s. “You’d better come with me.”
Not again, Emma told herself. It wouldn’t happen again. Before she could think, she hurled herself at him. The flashlight popped out of his hand, sending the beam in crazy arches over the walls and ceiling.
“Run!” She screamed to Bev as she struggled to get up and away. “Take the baby and run. Get someone. He’ll kill him.” She shouted, kicking out as Pete grabbed for her. “Don’t let him kill another baby. Get Da.”
With the baby wailing, Bev fled toward the confusion onstage.
“It’s too late,” Emma said when Pete hauled her to her feet. “They’ll catch you. They’ll be here any second.”
Already spotlights were glowing onstage. Shouts and running feet closed in. Desperate, he dragged her onward. Emma stopped struggling when she felt the barrel of the gun under her jaw.
“They know it’s you.”
“She didn’t see me,” he muttered. “It was dark. She can’t be sure.” He had to believe that—had to. Or it was all over.
“She knows.” Emma winced when he dragged her up a flight of stairs. “Everyone knows now. They’re coming, Pete. It’s finished.”
No, it couldn’t be. He’d worked too hard, planned too carefully. “I say when it’s finished. I know what to do. I can fix it.”
They were above and behind the stage now. Far below she could see the lights and confusion. Taking her hair, he wrapped it tight around his wrist. “If you scream, I’ll shoot you.”
He needed to think. Confused, he continued to drag her along. She stumbled, and as he pulled her up, she yanked the pin from her jacket and let it drop. Seizing a chance, he shoved her into a freight elevator. It was time, time that he needed.
It was supposed to have been so easy. In the dark, while everyone was confused, he should have been able to get to her. He still had the pills in his pocket he had planned to force her to take. It would have been easy, smooth, quiet.
But nothing had gone easily.
Just like the first time.
“Why?” Sick with vertigo, Emma sunk to the floor. “Why did you do that to Darren?”
Sweat was running off him, drenching his crisp linen shirt. “He wasn’t supposed to be hurt. No one was. It was just a publicity stunt.”
She shook her head to clear it. “What?”
“Your mother gave me the idea.” He looked down at her. He doubted she’d give him much trouble. She was white as a sheet. She’d always had trouble on planes, elevators. With heights. He glanced at the buttons on the panel. Why hadn’t he thought of it before?
The opening act would be starting. The show must go on, he thought. Illusion was the first order of the day. While millions of people around the country were watching the record industry pat itself on the back, a few confused guards were looking for Emma backstage. Up here he had time to think. And to plan.
She felt the elevator shudder and bump to a halt. “What are you talking about?”
“Jane—she was always pressuring for more money, threatening to go to the press with this story, or that story. She worried me at first until I began to see that the publicity about you equaled a boom in record sales.” He pulled her up. She was limp with nausea and clammy with icy sweat. So much the better. With his arm around her neck, he dragged her up another flight of stairs.
She had to keep him talking. Emma bit back the sickness and the fear. Bev had gotten away, and the baby. Someone would come looking for her.
He didn’t worry about her screaming now. She could yell her lungs out and no one would hear. Shoving open a door, he pushed her out on the roof. The wind slapped across her face, tore at her hair. And cleared her head.
“We were talking about Darren.” She kept her eyes on his as she backed away. The sun was still bright. One part of her mind wondered how it could be day when she’d been in the dark for so long. “I need to know why—” She backed into the low wall, then swayed at the dizzying view below. Clenching her teeth, she looked back at him. ’Tell me why you were in Darren’s room.”
He could afford to indulge her. And himself. He’d nearly lost control for a moment, but he could feel himself leveling now. He’d find a way out. “Everything was fine for a while. Then it started to flatten out. We were having some internal troubles with the group, as well. They needed something to shake them up. Jane came to me with Blackpool. She wanted me to make him a star, a bigger star than Brian. And she wanted a cut. She got drunk.” He waved his hand. “In any case, she offered me a solution. We planned to kidnap Darren. The press would eat it up. A lot of sympathy, a lot of sales. The band would pull together. Blackpool and Jane could keep the money and everyone would be happy.”
She wasn’t worried about the height any longer, or about the gun. With the wind in her hair and the sun dropping lower at her back, she stared at him. “You’re telling me my brother was killed to sell records?”
“It was an accident. Blackpool was clumsy. You came in. It was a poor set of circumstances.”
“A poor set …” She did scream then, loud and long as she struck out at him.
Chapter Forty-Five
BACKSTAGE OF THE auditorium was in chaos when Michael rushed in. In the audience a cheer rose up as another winner was announced.
“Where is she?”
“He took her.” Bev was clinging to Brian’s arm. She was still out of breath from her race down the hall with the baby. “He had a gun. She held him off so I could get the baby away and find help. Pete,” she said, still dazed. “It was Pete.”
“It hasn’t been more than a couple minutes,” Brian told him. “Security’s already after him.”
“Get this building blocked off,” Michael shouted to McCarthy. “Call for more backup. We need a floor-by-floor search. Which way?”
Drawing his weapon, he headed down the corridor. He flashed his badge to a unifor
med guard.
“This floor secured. He didn’t come out onstage with or without her. We figure he took her up.”
“I want two men.” Back to the wall, Michael started up the stairs. He could hear the music pumping from behind him. As he climbed, it took on a hollow, echoing tone. His palms were wet. Making the first turn, he checked his grip, then swept the area with his weapon. At the clatter on the stairs, he whirled and swore when he saw the four men grouped together. “Get back downstairs.”
“She’s ours, too,” Brian said.
“I haven’t got time to argue.” Bending, Michael retrieved the phoenix pin, a swatch of silvery material caught in the clasp. “Is this Emma’s?”
“She was wearing it tonight,” Johnno told him. “I gave it to her.”
Michael stared at the elevator, then slipped the pin into his pocket. “She’s using her head,” he murmured. “Seal off this area,” he shouted to the security guards. “And keep up the floor-by-floor.” He punched the button on the elevator and watched the numbers light up above the door. “Tell McCarthy he took her all the way up.” Listening to the rumble of the elevator, he began to pray.
“We’re going with you,” Brian said.
“This is police business.”
“It’s personal,” Brian corrected. “It’s always been personal. If he hurts her, I’m going to kill him myself.”
Michael shot a grim look at the four men behind him. “You’ll have to get in line.”
PETE SHOVED EMMA back, sending her sprawling while he tried to catch his breath. “That’s not going to do any good. I don’t want to hurt you any more than I must, Emma.”
“He was a baby.” She pushed herself up. “You bought him a silver cup after he was born, with his name on it. For his first birthday you rented a pony for his party.”
“I was fond of him.”
“You murdered him.”
“I never laid a hand on him. Blackpool got too rough, panicked. I never wanted to hurt that boy.”
She dragged her wind-tossed hair out of her face. “You just wanted to use him, to use him and my father’s fear and pain for some bloody publicity. Oh, I can see it,” she added. ‘Brian McAvoy’s son stolen from his crib. Rock star pays a king’s ransom for safe return of beloved child.’ That’s what you had in mind, didn’t you? Lots of print, lots of film at eleven. Reporters crammed on the front yard waiting for a statement from the terrified parents. Then more of the same when the baby was returned to loving arms. But he was never returned, was he?”
“What happened was tragic—”
“Don’t talk to me about tragedy.” Too anguished to be afraid, she turned away. The gun was trained on her, she knew it. It didn’t seem to matter. After all these years, she remembered and it left her hollow. But worse, much worse, was to know it had. Been for nothing. “You were there at his funeral with the rest of us, your eyes down, your face solemn. All the while, you were getting just what you wanted. A boy had to die, unfortunately, but you got your press, didn’t you?” She turned back. “You sold your bloody records.”
“I’ve devoted nearly half my life to them.” Pete took a long, calming breath. “I shaped and I molded, I made deals, listened to their problems. Solved them. Who do you think made sure they got everything that was coming to them? Who made certain that the record company didn’t play any games with royalties? Who fought so that they would reach the top?”
She took a step toward him. There was enough of a need to survive to stop her when he motioned with the gun. “Do you think they needed you?” she spat out. “Do you really believe that you mattered?”
“I made them.”
“No. They made you.”
Saying nothing, he reached in his pocket. “Be that as it may, even what happens tonight will add to the legend. Brian and Johnno are odds-on favorites for Song of the Year. With a bit of luck, the group will pick up a couple more for Best Performance, Rock, and Best Album. I’d thought it a nice touch for you to hand out the award. Brian’s daughter, and the tragic widow of Drew Larimer. Tragedies sell,” he said with a shrug. “We’ll have one more tonight.” He held out two pills. “Take these. They’re very strong. It’ll make it easier.”
She looked down at them, then back into his face. “I won’t make it easier.”
“Very well.” He put them back in his pocket. “It’s a very long fall, Emma.” He grabbed her, holding her against him at the edge. “By the time you hit, I’ll be on my way down.” He had it worked out now, calm and precise. “I came to see if you were all right when the lights went out, but you went wild. I chased you up here, concerned. You were hysterical, and I was too late to save you. All these years, and you still blamed yourself for your brother’s death. You finally couldn’t live with it anymore.” He forced her around to race the fall. One of her combs came loose and spun off into empty space. “No one knows but you. And no one but you will ever know.”
She clawed at him, fighting her way back from the edge. Her strength threw him off balance, and for an instant, she was free. Then he clamped an arm around her waist and began to heave.
She lost her footing, teetered, then threw her weight back against him. Screaming, she saw the sky and ground revolve.
Michael broke through the door at a run. He shouted, but neither of the two locked in a life-and-death struggle heard. He saw Pete raise his gun, and fired his own.
The wall caught Emma at the waist, stealing her breath. Hands grabbed at her, dragged at her until half her body tilted over the edge. Dazed, she saw Pete’s face below her, his eyes wide and terrified. The fingers on her wrist slipped, and released. Then he was falling, falling. Momentum had her sliding toward him.
Hands were dragging her back, pulling her away from the wall. Her feet left the floor again, but there were arms around her, squeezing, holding her safe and close. Through the ringing in her ears, she heard her name repeated over and over.
“Michael.” She didn’t have to look, but let her head drop on his shoulder. “Michael, don’t let go.”
“I won’t.”
“I remembered.” She began to sob then. Through the tears, she saw her father standing beside her. “Da. I remembered.” She reached out for him.
EMMA WATCHED THE flames from the fire Stevie had built in the hearth. He stood beside it, hands in his pockets, saying nothing. They had all come home with her, her father, P.M. and his family, Johnno. Bev made endless pots of tea.
Though no one spoke, she sensed the shock was wearing off into bewilderment. There were questions that could never be answered, mistakes that could never be rectified. Regrets that would never completely disappear.
But they had survived, Emma thought. The odds had been against them, individually and as a group, but they had survived. Even triumphed.
Rising, she walked out to the terrace where Brian was alone, watching the sea. He would suffer, Emma thought. It was his nature to pull problems into his heart and mourn, whether they were his or the world’s. Then somehow, he would turn them into something to be played on guitar or keyboard, with flute and violin. Moving to him, she rested her head on his shoulder.
“He was one of us,” Brian said after a moment. “He’d been with us since the beginning.”
“I know.”
“When I saw him with his hands on you, I wanted to kill him myself. And now …” He watched the play of the early moon on the water. “I can hardly believe it all happened. Why?” He turned, taking her into his arms. “For God’s sake, why did he do it?”
She pressed hard against him, listening to the ebb and flow of the sea. How could she tell him? If he knew the reasons, he would never be able to make music again. “I don’t know. We could ask ourselves forever, but it wouldn’t change.” She drew back. “Da. We have to set it aside. Not forget, but set it aside.”
“A new beginning?”
“God no.” She smiled. “I wouldn’t want to begin again. Not for anything. Finally I know where I am and where I want to
go. I don’t have to be afraid anymore. I don’t have to wonder. And I can stop blaming myself, because I didn’t run this time.”
“You were never to blame, Emma.”
“None of us were. Come inside.” She drew him into the light and the warmth. In the silence, she walked to the television and switched it on. “I want to hear them say your name.”
As she watched the set, P.M. touched her arm. “Emma.” Unable to
