by Mel Gough
“What’s your name?” Carrie asked him.
“Willis, ma’am.”
“Willis, is there a chance this gentleman passed something on to his companion?”
“Negative, ma’am. We kept them well apart, and under scrutiny.” Carrie’s guess was that before Austin PD he’d been military.
She considered her options. She could follow her gut instinct and call in the local force. It didn’t matter; she’d already blown her cover.
On the other hand, what could the police accomplish that she hadn’t? She’d imagined the weapon, and the guy had stated that all he had intended was to get close to his celebrity crush. Hardly a crime, and without evidence also hard to disprove.
Something wasn’t adding up here. Likely it was a trap, or a diversion, but Carrie couldn’t put her finger on what was bugging her. Maybe it was best to treat this as if it didn’t matter.
She nodded to Willis. “Take down their full details. Photograph their IDs.” She pulled out her card. “Text the photos to me. Then make sure the gentlemen leave the premises. If they try to get into the concert, call the cops.”
She turned to leave, ignoring the dirty looks from the men. Outside in the hallway, she stopped. She should get back to the band, make sure they were all right. But she lingered, deep in thought. What had just happened wouldn’t leave her alone.
Where was that knife? She couldn’t have imagined it. Someone was playing a game and she didn’t know the rules.
She hated that feeling.
11
When Jay had calmed down somewhat—and drunk a couple of glasses of champagne to aid in the process—Phil and the guards set up the autograph tables. Jay stuck close to Lou, ready to call off the session—hell, call off the entire concert—or help in any way he could.
But for once, Lou shrugged off his solicitousness and ignored him as they took their places at the long table. Jay’s head was beginning to hurt. The champagne on an empty stomach had been a mistake.
He’d never been crazy about that meet-and-greet nonsense, but now he could barely summon up an expression that didn’t scare off the fans for good. He kept his eyes down and his responses to their inane chatter as brief as possible.
It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate the people who came to hear their music. But he’d never gotten the hang of the celebrity side of this gig. Why would anyone give a shit about shaking his hand, or having his scribble on a glossy scrap of paper? Few women had featured large enough in Jay’s life for him to want to bed them, never mind allow into his heart, and none had been groupies.
As he grunted his way through the experience, he half expected a kick or a nudge from Lou. Ordinarily, he always kept tabs on Jay and let him know when he was being a dick. But tonight, he had barely enough energy to keep his own act together. Every time Jay glanced over, Lou looked a little more wilted and pale, and it cost him all his willpower not to jump up and drag his lover from the room and back to the hotel.
Due to the delay caused by the attack, when the last fan finally had her autograph, there were only fifteen minutes left before the concert was supposed to start. The opening act was in full flow, their muffled beats making the catacombs shake and adding a new layer of agony to Jay’s headache.
The FBI, who had slipped back into the room during the autograph session, gave him one look and pulled a bottle of Tylenol from her coat pocket. “You’re looking mighty green.”
“Thanks.” He took two pills and washed them down with some leftover champagne. Her look of disapproval was almost worth the churning in his gut. “I don’t like this.” Lou and Corey were just waving off the last fan.
“Me neither.”
Phil bustled over. “All right, let’s do this. Jay, ten minutes.” He pulled some earplugs out of his pocket and handed them to the FBI. “Put those in.”
She glanced at the small packet, frowning. Jay leaned down. “Do it. You’ll thank him later.”
They hurried through the gloomy corridors, conversation impossible as the din grew from the stage. The techs were waiting with the mikes, and Jay leaned down to allow the guy to position his around the back of his head. He caught Lou’s eye. Lou gave a small, reluctant grin. Love you, he mouthed as the technician let him go, and started up the stairs. Corey followed Lou, giving the FBI a wink.
But it was Jay she turned to. “Break a leg.” He had to read it from her lips; the opening act had just entered the high point in their last song.
Against his will, he grinned. He bent down again and raised his voice over the din. Her hair brushed his cheek and he caught a whiff of her shampoo. “Not exactly theatre. But thanks.”
Up on stage, fueled by the buzz that always gripped him before a performance, Jay began to feel like himself for the first time that day. The noise from the crowd was deafening. Thousands of people who’d held their united breath for fifteen years were finally able to let their joy transport them, for the hours of the concert, at least.
Down below in that airless room, the fans had seemed like a threat. Up here, Jay relished the adulation, he craved it. To his left, Corey was settling down behind his kit, flashing his sticks. He threw Jay a kiss. Grinning, Jay sought out Lou, who was fingering the fretboard on his guitar, beaming. He didn’t look pale anymore.
For the first few songs, Ant was on bass, so Jay went up front and snatched up the microphone. This was the moment, that reward that made it all worth it.
“Midnight in NoHo” washed over him, one of their oldest and best-loved by their fans. It had been a number one hit for weeks shortly after they’d won the MTV Award. Danny had written this song, like so many of their early ones. The same thing happened as every time they played it. Danny was there on the stage, cheering and grinning like a lunatic.
Danny had been great with the guitar, great with just about any instrument he picked up. But he couldn’t sing to save his life. That’s why they’d looked for a fourth band member, and had found Lou. Baby Lou, only eighteen, who had joined the band mere months before Danny died, and who had been Jay’s rock in that darkness that wouldn’t end. Danny had been crazy about him, a pretty pet, with his soft curls and those huge gray-blue eyes. He’d written the lyrics with a young tenor in mind, for Lou, who’d sounded like a choirboy. His voice had matured since, but Danny’s genius had been to write songs that sounded perfect at every pitch.
They’d toyed with the idea of doing a new studio album before touring, but Barry had convinced them that their fans would come for the memories and the songs they’d fallen in love with. He’d been vindicated with near-sellouts in all ten cities. They’d filled this massive arena with a promotional campaign consisting of nostalgia and old music.
They had three new songs, though. Two had been completed before they went on the road, with lyrics by Jay and Lou, and one supplied almost entirely by Ant and Spider. That had been Corey’s idea. He would take them under contract at his Hollywood music label once the tour was over. Barry had loved the idea of giving back to their community that way.
Corey had also worked with them to adapt the riffs for the set list. They’d all played around with fitting the keyboard in. At first, Jay had been skeptical about a big change like that, but when Spider started on his first solo of the night, he was once again blown away by how well his sound fit in.
The guy might look like a twelve-year-old punk, but his mastery of the keyboard was phenomenal. He’d told them during his interview that his parents had made him practice on the piano from the moment he could reach the keys. His mother, a famous classical pianist, had cried when she’d found out he’d gotten the gig.
“Sorry to hear it,” Jay’d said.
“Oh no,” Spider had assured him. “She was so thrilled. As long as I make a living playing an instrument, she’s happy.”
Jay clapped and cheered along as Spider finished his bass solo, took a bow and went back to his place stage right. He checked in with the others, making sure everyone was doing well and they were rea
dy for the next song. Corey winked at him, giving his drums a few, fast licks to start them off. Jay grinned, tapping the rhythm on his bass.
As he turned back to the front, his eyes caught movement, a bright flash of color in the shadows stage right. It was Barry, wearing his stupid yellow rain slicker, the one he’d laughed himself silly over when he’d found it in a thrift store on their first day in Austin.
Jay’s heart missed a beat. Of course it wasn’t Barry. He blinked, and the figure disappeared.
Lou nudged him. Eyes on the ball, he mouthed. Jay looked around. The others were repeating the intro to the next song. Heat rose in his face. He blinked again and faced the front. His heart was beating fast. Lou, back to his usual empathic self, stepped close and leaned into him briefly. Jay gave him a grateful smile.
He focused on “Your Naked Heart”, and slowly, the eerie feeling eased. But for the rest of the concert, Jay kept looking over his shoulder, half expecting the hallucination to reappear.
When they went backstage for the break, Jay looked everywhere for a splash of yellow, something or someone that would give him a reasonable explanation for what he’d seen. Nothing stood out. He turned his attention back to the others. Only three people were toweling off near him, chucking back water and energy drinks.
“Where’s Lou?”
Corey, who was changing out of his T-shirt into the leather vest he’d wear for the second half, shrugged. “Headed straight for the john.”
Jay frowned, but was instantly distracted by Phil flapping toward them. “Jay, disaster,” he moaned. “I had a look at the back half and this set list is shit.”
The next ten minutes were spent arguing back and forth over the order of the songs. At some point, Lou reappeared. He had little to add to the discussion, sitting on the steps to the stage, sipping water and staring into space.
When it was time to go back out, he let Jay help him up, but shook his head when Jay raised an eyebrow. “Forget about it. I’m fine. Let’s do this!” He bounded up the stairs and was back in position before everybody else.
Jay couldn’t help it, he kept stealing looks at Lou all through the next couple of songs. A waif-like, moist-eyed quality emanated from him that never boded well.
But he played and sang his heart out, his voice strong and his slender fingers sure on the strings. They did two encores and spent several minutes soaking up the excitement from the crowd before heading off-stage. Jay spent a few minutes in the wings, checking in with the sound assistants who would be packing away the instruments. When he was sure they were on top of things, he headed for their dressing room.
Phil tried to waylay him again, waiting by the steps and quivering with excitement. “Great show, Jay, just awesome. Listen, I’ve got a few journalists champing at the bit. Can you get everyone together for a quick confab, show them some love?”
“Find Corey and the Insects, maybe they’ll do it.” Jay was already past the interim manager. “Lou’s not doing good, we got to get back to the hotel.”
Ignoring Phil’s wail of “But what about the party?’” he dodged the crew hurrying here and there with boxes and length of cable. Tom the tour manager straightened up as Jay rushed past, but if he’d planned to waylay him he backed off when he caught sight of Jay’s thunderous expression.
It was worse than he’d expected. Lou lay curled up on the sofa, his back to the room, face hidden in the cushions. His shoulders quivered.
Jay crouched down. “Vertigo?”
Lou made a miserable noise. Jay placed his hand on his neck. “You should’ve told me, baby.”
“I hate this.” With difficulty, Lou turned over.
“C’mere.” Jay motioned for Lou to let him sit, then he pulled him down so his head lay on his lap. Jay put his fingertips on either side of Lou’s temple and massaged his scalp in small, slow circles. Lou squirmed and sighed, but then he lay still.
“You taken the rescue meds?”
“Yeah.”
“We’ll give it twenty minutes, then I’m taking—”
A commotion rose up outside the door, several voices arguing. Without a knock, the door burst open.
The FBI shouted, “You can’t barge in there, detectives.” The first person through the door, however, was a tall, fat man Jay recognized from the police station. He couldn’t remember the guy’s name, but it was the asshole that Detective Lamar had snapped at. Jay fought the urge to jump to his feet. He couldn’t jolt Lou.
“What are you doing here?” he growled instead, annoyed with the lack of impact his words had. Ignoring his question, the detective strode into the room, followed by a buck-toothed man in a mustard-colored trench coat.
The FBI was right on their heels. “Detective Henke, I can’t allow—”
Henke ignored her, too. “Jay Davis, you’re under arrest for assault.”
Lou looked from Jay to the detective and back. He blinked, his eyes refusing to focus. “What’s going on?” He tried to push himself up.
Jay helped him sit. His icy fingers dug into Jay’s arm. Jay disentangled himself gently and stood. “What are you talking about?”
“I won’t allow it.” The FBI stepped between Henke and Jay, arms crossed, her chin up in a challenge. “You’re arresting the wrong man. It was that thug who attacked first, not Mr. Davis.”
A smirk appeared on Henke’s doughy face. “Then it’s Mr. Davis’s word against theirs. But they came to us to report the incident.” It couldn’t have been more obvious how much he was enjoying this.
He beckoned to Mustard Coat. “Cuff him.”
Jay retreated a step, and Lou shouted, “No!” He tried to struggle to his feet, but didn’t get very far.
Jay turned to him. “It’s all right. It’ll be fine.” Rough hands grabbed his wrists and yanked them behind his back. Lou’s eyes were huge with shock as the cold metal closed with a snap. Nausea rose in Jay. He couldn’t leave Lou like this.
“Where’s Detective Lamar?” the FBI demanded.
Ignoring her question, Henke said, “Agent McDonald, you’re skating on very thin ice. You’re already interfering with one investigation. Might I suggest you stay out of this one, if you want to avoid an official complaint?”
She looked daggers at the detective, but it was Jay who spoke first. “Carrie, take Lou back to the hotel. He’s not well. Take care of him, please?”
His use of her first name got her attention. She opened her mouth, glanced at Lou, then at Henke, and closed it again. Instead, she nodded. Her face was white, her green eyes wide with shock. It was easily the most emotion she’d showed so far.
“No, Jay, no,” Lou whispered. Carrie turned to him. She sat by his side, taking his hands in hers.
The second detective nudged Jay toward the door. “Let’s go.”
Jay resisted for a moment. He found Lou’s eyes. “I’ll see you real soon, baby. Stay with Carrie, all right?” Lou’s face was ghostly, but he bit his lip and nodded.
Mustard Coat gave him a hard push, and Jay let himself be led into the corridor. He kept his eyes on Henke’s beefy back, a murderous rage bubbling in his gut.
Those assholes would pay for this. All of them.
12
“What’s wrong with him?” Carrie glanced into the sedan’s backseat where Lou had curled up under Jay’s denim jacket, asleep against the window.
Corey rubbed his neck. “It’s a kind of migraine. Usually, there are no headaches, just really bad vertigo and flashing lights. He doesn’t get them much anymore, but stress can set them off. Noise, too, but not usually music.” He grimaced. “Shit.”
Carrie reached out and squeezed his elbow. This wasn’t what they needed right now. She was still in shock, too. Corey had arrived just when Carrie had Lou on his feet to get him to the car. Upon hearing about Jay’s arrest, Corey’d cursed so ferociously that Lou had lifted his head and fixed him with an unsteady gaze. “Corey, no.” His voice had been so plaintive, it shut Corey up right away.
Corey wor
ried his lower lip between his teeth. “I gotta find Phil. He’ll have a coronary when he hears about Jay.”
“Find him,” Carrie agreed. “And get him over to the station. I’ll keep trying with George.” She glanced at her phone. The screen remained dark; all her calls so far had gone unanswered.
It should be her rushing off to the station and getting this mess cleared up. She was an FBI agent, not a babysitter.
But Jay had pleaded so desperately for her to look after Lou, she couldn’t renege on that. Jay’s concern had become hers, and the thought of leaving Lou to anyone else, even to Corey, was unconscionable.
And what could she do at the station anyway? If she kept sticking her neck out, Detective Henke would make true on his threat and complain to the Bureau. Her not-quite-kosher assignment was already a gamble, and a complaint from a local LEO would expose them to all kinds of criticism.
A movement inside the car brought her back to the here and now. Lou shifted, tugging the jacket more closely around himself, shivering.
“Get him home.” Corey looked worried. “Phil and I’ll take care of Jay.” He hesitated, then reached out and pulled her close. Carrie let him. For a moment, she buried her face against his shoulder and breathed in his scent, not even minding the sweat. None of the guys had had time to shower yet when all hell broke loose.
He leaned down and kissed her forehead. “I’ll update you as soon as possible.” Then he was gone before Carrie could respond.
Lou dozed all the way to the hotel. He’d shift now and then but didn’t speak.
When they turned into the Four Seasons’ drive Carrie touched his shoulder. “We’re here.” He flinched, his eyes flying open. “Do you need a hand?”
He shook his head. “Can manage.” He fumbled with the door, staggering as he regained his feet. Carrie waited on tenterhooks.
