by Mari Carr
Aubrey glanced over her shoulder and nodded. “Yeah. Typically, the concert organizers put flowers in my dressing room.”
Fergus touched the bouquet, moving several stems aside. Sure enough, tucked in between the greenery and bright blue hydrangeas was a lone red rose and small piece of paper.
“Shit,” he muttered as he pulled it out.
Aubrey stood and crossed the room, taking the note from him. “He’ll never touch you again,” she whispered.
Fergus studied her face, impressed by her composure. Part of him expected her to be upset, to cry. Apparently, Aubrey Summers was made of stronger stuff.
“How do we stop this?”
Fergus rubbed his eyes wearily. “I have access to all the personnel files, but I haven’t had time to read through them. Been chasing you all over the place.”
She gave him a tired look. “I need a drink.” Aubrey was a fan of wine. He’d watched her put away at least a bottle a night, every night, since joining her on the road.
Fergus walked over to the bottle of Chardonnay, chilling in ice, and picked up a corkscrew to open it for her. “I’m going to start digging deeper tomorrow. Is there anyone on the crew that you recognize or knew prior to this tour?”
Aubrey shook her head. “My last tour was over five years ago, and my mother was still running the show back then. I didn’t have many dealings with the crew. Besides, these attacks and the notes have only started since I joined this tour.”
“That’s true. It just seems like this has all escalated fairly quickly. I can’t help but wonder if the person doing this knew you from before, when you were touring with the Sweet Flames.”
Aubrey shrugged. “I don’t recognize anyone. I’m sorry. The only reason I asked to replace Jules was because I needed to get out of L.A.”
“Why?”
“My ex was driving me insane, trying to make amends. He kept showing up at all hours, finding excuses to stop by, claiming he’d left something behind at our apartment after he’d moved out. I wanted to put some distance between us. Not that it worked,” she muttered.
“You think he could have something to do with this?”
Aubrey shook her head. “Not really. Doug is a burnt-out, surfing guitarist with very little ambition and less intelligence. This is way beyond the capabilities of his three remaining brain cells.”
“And you were engaged to this guy?”
Aubrey shocked him by laughing. It was the first time he’d seen her genuinely smile, and the sound of her laughter was as musical as her singing. He’d been a fool, thinking her beautiful before. A smiling Aubrey took his breath away.
“I’ve started referring to that relationship as my period of low self-esteem.”
“There must have been something about him.” This was the first time he and Aubrey had engaged in a civil conversation, and he was anxious to learn more. First, he hoped it would help him discover who might be stalking her, and secondly, he liked this version of her. Maybe he could distract her enough to keep the bitch at bay and this pleasant woman here for a while.
“Doug was fun to be with, easygoing, gentle, kind. After a lifetime of living in the fast lane, working twenty-hour days with a slave-driving mother who always wanted more, being with him felt like a vacation. He didn’t ask me for anything. Except money for pot.”
“The last two times people were attacked, Doug was around. Have you seen him here today?”
She shook her head. “No, but Blair said she saw him this afternoon. Marcus knows to keep Doug far, far away from me, so I can only assume he sent him packing. I hear from Blair and the crew whenever he’s around, but I haven’t seen him myself since joining the tour.”
“I’ll ask around. See if anyone has seen him backstage tonight. Unfortunately, the man seems to have won some fans amongst the crew. If one of them is helping him get access to places he shouldn’t have…”
Aubrey sighed. “I’m no fan of Doug, but I really don’t think it’s him. He’s as harmless as a newborn puppy.”
Fergus had learned with the military police that it was best to work all the angles, rather than focus on just one suspect. While Doug felt like an obvious answer—one he wasn’t dismissing as easily as Aubrey—there were still other possibilities. “If it’s not Doug, what about your mother? There’s a nasty lawsuit going on between the two of you, right? Do you think she’s doing this?”
“No.” Her response came quickly, without hesitation.
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because if my mom was behind this, all those accidents would have been set up to hurt me. Whoever is doing this seems to want to protect me. My mother wouldn’t go out of her way to do that.”
Fergus couldn’t imagine what it must feel like for Aubrey to go through life thinking her mom hated her enough to harm her.
“So, what do the three victims have in common?” Fergus mused aloud. “Maybe the stalker could tell you didn’t like them, and he was trying to get rid of them for you.”
“No. That can’t be it. I really like Dave. He’s funny.”
“You could have fooled me.”
Aubrey took the wineglass he offered, taking a sip of the wine. “I shouldn’t have yelled at him like that. It’s the flames. They scare the shit out of me, so when it made that loud popping noise instead of firing, I freaked out a little. It was wrong to take it out on him.”
“Jenny Sweet of Sweet Flames doesn’t like fire?” He meant his words as a joke, but it didn’t get him a laugh.
She scowled. “I hate flying as well. Hence the bus. Want to make fun of me for that too?”
“I wasn’t making fun of you.”
She took another sip of wine, a bigger one this time. “Okay.”
“So, you liked Dave. But you weren’t fond of the first two guys, were you?” Fergus needed more insight into those incidents.
Aubrey rolled her eyes. “Oscar, the security guard, wasn’t the first guy to lie about having sex with me, and he won’t be the last. The man was harmless. Always trying to catch my attention with cheesy pickup lines. I just blew him off.”
“And the previous bodyguard?”
Aubrey narrowed her eyes. “If I were a mean-spirited person, hell-bent on revenge, I would have torched that asshole’s car myself. But since I’m not crazy, I’m just countersuing him. He assaulted me. Not the other way around. He’s just like everybody else in the world, trying to make a quick buck off the pop star.”
“I don’t believe everybody in the world is out to scam you.”
She snorted. “Stick around five minutes. You’ll figure out how wrong you are.”
This entire conversation had been very enlightening. For seven days, he’d forged an impression of Aubrey he was happy to have disproved. She worked overtime to give the appearance of a haughty bitch, but he could see that was because she wanted to make certain everyone around her kept their distance.
Fergus understood her angry, standoffish attitude was self-preservation, and her actions were like those of an injured animal. She hissed in an attempt to keep danger at bay.
He couldn’t blame her. She’d been hurt countless times. Fergus wondered, if the shoe were on the other foot, would he behave the same way?
He’d been raised in a huge, loving family, with three parents who would lay down their lives to protect him. It sounded like Aubrey had never felt loved, cherished, safe.
Fergus could hear Pop Pop’s voice in his head, urging him to help her. To be her champion, to help her fight her battles.
He was only here for five weeks more, but Fergus vowed that he’d spend them not only keeping her safe, but showing her there were good people in the world, who would genuinely care about her if she would simply crack the door open a bit and let them in.
Apparently, he also carried the same belief that there was nothing a Collins couldn’t fix.
Which meant he could recruit Ailis and Hunter, and maybe even the rest of his family to help, when they got to Baltim
ore for the last big show. They would be there a day or two prior to the concert and then…his job was over.
There was a knock on the door.
“Come—” Aubrey paused when Fergus placed a hand on her arm.
“Who is it?” he called out over her.
“Blair.”
Fergus opened the door and let Aubrey’s assistant in.
“The rescue squad took Dave to the hospital and the bus driver just arrived from the hotel. The bus is unlocked and ready if you want to go there. The engineers are with the police, examining the control board.”
Fergus wanted to talk to them, but his primary job was protecting Aubrey. He’d call Isaac’s secretary in the morning to see if he could get a copy of the police report. Isaac had basically given him carte blanche on information, telling his secretary to give him whatever he requested. What he needed right now was more time to study what he had already.
“We still pulling out tonight?” Fergus asked.
Blair nodded. “The crew hopes to have everything packed up and loaded by midnight. We’re just not sure how long the police are going to set us back on leaving.”
Fergus had been impressed by everyone’s adherence to the tight schedule, living by the motto, “early is on time, on time is late.”
Blair asked if Aubrey needed anything, then excused herself.
“I’ll step outside while you change out of your costume, then escort you to the bus.”
“Okay.”
Fergus was just about to close the door when Aubrey called out his name—his real name, not Rottweiler.
“Fergus.”
He glanced back at her. “Yeah?”
“Thanks.”
He smiled and shut the door.
Progress.
Chapter Four
Aubrey stood up, did three more laps around the small lounge area on the bus, then plopped back down on the couch. She was coming out of her skin.
It had been a week since the attack on Dave. After seeing his damaged hand, she’d confined herself to quarters, opting to remain on the bus or in her hotel room, only emerging when absolutely necessary—for sound checks, hair and makeup and, of course, the concerts. During those excursions, she painted on the happiest of faces, kind beyond belief to everyone she saw.
So far, the attacks had been perpetrated on people the stalker thought had hurt or angered her. From this point on, no one was hurting her. No one was pissing her off. Period.
Her newly revealed sunny personality wasn’t the only thing to change. Fergus had joined her in her self-imposed confinement, leaving his post by the door of the bus and moving into the lounge area with her.
Unlike her, he didn’t suffer from boredom. He was tapping away on his laptop, something he’d been doing nearly every waking hour since the last attack.
He was going over the personnel files on the crew members again. As far as she could tell, he’d done the same thing at least three times already, tugging on threads, compiling lists of suspects, running extended background checks, calling previous references listed.
All that work…and he’d come up with nothing.
“Do you know these men?”
Aubrey stood up and crossed the bus, sitting next to Fergus at the table to look at his computer screen. They’d played this game countless times in the past week, and each time her answer had been the same.
Glancing at the faces of the three men before her, she knew this inquisition was going to end in frustration as well.
She shook her head. “What do these three have in common?”
That was Fergus’s investigation practice. He’d come up with a list of commonalities, things that could point them toward the guilty party, then he’d research each one until he had a list of suspects. So far, he had a list of crew members who’d traveled with the Sweet Flames when they were on tour, who’d been members of her fan club at some point in their lives, and those who’d been connected to the TV show somehow.
“These three were all hired between the time you joined the tour and when the first attack occurred.”
Her eyebrows lifted. This was an interesting approach. She looked at the faces longer, read the names. “Erick Rogerson, 27; Tom Brookshire, 38; and Burt Cranshaw, 56.” According to his notes, Erick was one of the pyrotechnicians who had worked with Dave—she thought he might be the one who stuttered, but wasn’t sure—Tom was in charge of the merchandising, and Burt was a truck driver.
“Have you spoken to any of them?” Fergus asked.
She nodded, then shrugged. “Probably?”
He rubbed his forehead wearily. They’d established early on in the week that Aubrey was shit at names and worse at faces. She’d spent her life surrounded by a revolving door of cast and crew members—on the set of Sweet Flames and on her concert tours. As such, she’d stopped looking, stopped trying to put names to faces. She’d lived behind a one-way mirror for twenty-six years, everyone on one side, perfectly capable of seeing her, while she was trapped on the other side, staring only at herself.
“I’m sorry,” she said, which was how all of these conversations ended.
Then he’d go back to reading the files and she’d…
Dammit. She was running out of things to do. Her nails were filed to perfection, she found it impossible to concentrate on her songwriting, and the bus had been cleaned to within an inch of its life.
She walked to the kitchenette and eyed the unopened bottle of red wine. She’d been making a conscious effort to drink less. She left the bottle untouched and drifted to the couch, dropping down onto her back dramatically. Not that Fergus noticed.
She needed a distraction. There were still two hours to kill before she had to head over to the stage to run through sound checks.
“Truth or dare,” she said.
Fergus glanced up, frowning when he realized she was serious. “Aubrey, I really don’t—”
“Truth or dare,” she persisted, sitting up.
He glanced at the laptop once, then said, “Truth.”
“Do you have a girlfriend?” Aubrey’s favorite way to pass the time lately was to wonder about Fergus Collins. He was a puzzle she couldn’t figure out. No matter how hateful, how bitchy she’d been to him, he never lost his cool. More than that, he didn’t duck his head and hide whenever she appeared on the scene.
Instead, he talked to her like a civilized, friendly human being, and he actually seemed to believe she was capable of the same thing. Strangely enough, that approach had worked, and they talked all the time now. After sequestering herself away from any real human interaction for six months, she found herself suddenly unable to stop talking…about anything and everything.
With Fergus around, the world felt a lot less lonely.
Fergus shook his head. “No.”
He turned back to the laptop, resuming his work.
“When was the last time you dated someone?” she asked.
“I already gave you the truth.”
“Yes-and-no questions don’t count. Everyone knows that.”
Fergus chuckled. “I’m tempted to call my cousin, Finn, to confirm that. He grew up with two sisters and is more up on female things—like Sweet Flames, and probably Truth or Dare—than me. I’m pretty sure you’re cheating, making up rules.”
“Call him,” she said nonchalantly, hoping he didn’t call her bluff.
Fergus glanced at his cell, sitting next to his computer on the table. He didn’t reach for it. “I haven’t had a serious girlfriend since high school. And since it was high school, I’m not sure you can even call that serious.”
“Really?”
“I’ve been a little bit busy, Aubrey. In the military.”
She wasn’t sure what to make of that information. Then she realized it was something the two of them actually had in common. Her list of past boyfriends was ridiculously small as well. Doug hadn’t been her only lover, but he had been her longest relationship by far. “Your turn.”
“Seriou
sly, Aubrey, I need to…” Fergus pointed to his computer again.
She lifted one eyebrow. She was a stubborn woman and she was bored.
He closed his eyes, blew out a long, slow breath, then said, “Truth or dare?”
She grinned. “Dare.”
He leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed over his chest in a way that pulled his T-shirt tighter, drawing her attention to just how muscular he was.
“Show me your tattoos.”
She hadn’t expected that request. “How do you know I have any?”
Fergus wasn’t swayed. “I’ve caught peeks of color on your shoulder. Show me or call the game off.”
“Nice try, but I’m not that easily intimidated.” Aubrey stood up and stepped next to him. “I have two.”
She turned her back to him, stretching the neck of her T-shirt over one shoulder. Apparently, she hadn’t uncovered it enough, because Fergus rose and stretched it a bit more, his fingertips stroking her skin. It was a gentle touch, which made its impact shocking.
Her nipples beaded and her pussy clenched.
The more time she spent with Fergus, the harder it was to keep her hormones in check.
“It’s beautiful. I like the way the artist has woven music notes into the wings. Why a butterfly?” he asked.
She never knew how to answer that question. The reason the ink appealed to her was too personal, too hard to put into words. With most people, she just gave the standard “they’re pretty” response. And because the basic assumption about her was that she was shallow, they took that answer at face value.
Aubrey wondered if he’d react the same way.
“They’re pretty,” she said.
He narrowed his eyes and shook his head. “Try again.”
Damn. Perfect response.
She nearly glanced back to see if the butterfly inked on her shoulder had migrated to her stomach, which started to flutter. “I like butterflies. They’re delicate, fragile and…free. They can fly away.”
“Do you want to fly away?”
She nodded without thinking. “Always.”
He was quiet for a moment, and she wondered if he’d press her for more. It was a relief—and a disappointment—when he asked, “Where’s the other?”
