Replay: An Off Track Records Novel

by Shea, Kacey

  I squint, and lean into the door to view out the peephole, but it’s completely dark. Strange. The beam of light beneath the door tells me the hallway lights work just fine.

  Someone doesn’t want me to see out. The thought hits me in the chest and I take a step back, my eyes trained on the damn letter as if it’s a loaded gun, or a bomb ready to explode. My pulse races as apprehension prickles my skin. I think back to the girl from the party, the one who told me karma’s a bitch, and wonder if I’m being served up a platter of that now. Or maybe this is connected to the package I received at Christmas?

  I muster the courage to move closer and pick up the note, but there’s another sharp knock followed by a shuffle of footsteps. Fucking hell, stop being a pussy! I’m not usually like this. I may not be the first to run into a burning building, but when it comes to the safety of those I love or defending my honor, I’ve been known to be a little reckless. I mentally slap myself for standing here like an idiot.

  “Who’s there?” I holler, proud of the strong and dominating tone of my words. But the only answer that comes is more wordless movement from the other side.

  This is the scene in the horror film when the dude creeps toward danger, opens the door, and gets slaughtered. My mind wants to rationalize there’s a perfectly acceptable reason for someone to be knocking at my door, but given everything that’s happened, I can’t bring myself to reach for the doorknob or retrieve the note. I’m too talented and young to die this way.

  The paranoid sensation that someone has been watching and waiting to find me alone in this hotel scatters all rational thought. Fear, real and palpable, consumes my mind. I hate feeling scared. Hate being alone. It reminds me too much of my youth.

  Fuck this shit. I don’t need to do anything stupid like throw open that door, but I’m not gonna sit and quake under the covers, either. I slide my phone from my back pocket, my heart still hammering in my chest, and slink back to lock myself in the bathroom and call the one person who might actually kill me if I don’t.

  22

  Jayla

  I stare at the open exit door next to the hotel employee and try to not let my impatience and frustration show. This door, at the end of an employee-only corridor, has been propped open for God knows how long, and leaves the entire hotel at risk. “And you’re sure one of the employees didn’t do this? Maybe for a smoke break?”

  “No, ma’am. We were all given explicit orders from your team to do nothing of the sort. Besides, our employees use the catering exit for smoke breaks.”

  I exhale a breath and kick out the brick before tapping my earpiece and speaking aloud to alert the team of a breach. “Unknown person, possibly several, may have accessed the hotel from an unmonitored door. No one gets in or out of that party until threat is cleared.”

  There’s an audible chorus of groans in my ear at my words and I feel their pain. We went above and beyond, hired extra staff, and put every plan in place to ensure a relaxing and pleasurable party experience for the band and guests of WMI. And it’s all for shit, because anyone could have come in through this door.

  I turn back to the hotel manager. “This door was likely opened by a staff member. I need to know if anyone leaves early, goes home sick, or acts out of character.” The guilty tend to grow a conscious after cash has exchanged hands.

  “Of course. I’ll check with each of the on-duty managers now.”

  “Thank you.” I nod and walk back toward the main room. This exit doesn’t offer a direct entrance to the party. Someone would have to either sneak through the busy kitchen unnoticed—nearly impossible—or walk out to the main lobby and then enter from there. “Manning?” I say into my Bluetooth. “Get tape of the front lobby and kitchen from the past hour, further back if needed. Our uninvited threat had to enter from there.”

  “On it, boss.” He’s running the intel on this event from his seat in one of the hotel rooms, and has an eagle eye view of the party, main entrances, and elevator bank.

  My phone buzzes in my hand, an incoming call on the screen. It’s Austin. I grit my teeth at the sight of his name as it scrolls across my cell. I am not in the mood for this right now. If he’s calling because he’s taking that blonde back to his room for the night, so help me, God, I can’t be held responsible for chewing him out.

  After his endearing little “Don’t give up on me” speech to the masses on that video he posted, I started to consider his offer. I began envisioning an us—a future together—as more than just friends, or whatever it is we are. We have history, and obvious chemistry, and maybe, just maybe, I could trust him enough to lower my guard. He was asking for patience, after all, and I’d require the same in return.

  But it was only an act. I should have known. Damn it, I feel so fucking stupid. He wasn’t even willing to wait one night. At the party, he wasted no time finding another woman. I squeeze my eyes shut a second, remembering the way he checked out her flawless body. How he showered her with his complete attention while I looked on from across the room. I shake my head, angry at myself for expecting anything more from someone like him, a famous rock star used to instant gratification. I’d allowed our past and my own desires to cloud my good judgment.

  Shame on me. It won’t happen again. If he’s calling because he needs me to do a background check on a one-night stand, I will give him a piece of my mind. Or be tempted to send her packing with a lie. I knew going into this it’d be part of my job. Clearing any person a band member requests to spend one-on-one time with, but hell if I’ll do it with a smile.

  “Please tell me this is important.” I pick up before the call goes to voicemail, my reply dry with no hint of my inner turmoil. “Because I’m a little busy at the moment.”

  “So . . .” He chuckles, but it’s an awkward sound. “I’m in my room right now.” He pauses and clears his throat. “Actually, the bathroom.”

  I stop walking and pinch the bridge of my nose. He’s going to ask me to clear that woman. He’s going to fuck someone else tonight. A surge of jealous anger pulses through my veins and this time I don’t attempt to contain my irritation. “And that’s important to me how?”

  “Er . . . uh . . .” He laughs again, but there’s a catch to the sound and my body tenses with concern. “Someone keeps knocking on the door, and I’d check who, but I think they blocked the peephole.”

  He’s in danger. My gut knows it, and I react immediately. My first impulse is to start running, but I settle for long quick strides, pushing past the kitchen staff to make my way to the employee elevator.

  “Who else is with you?”

  “I’m alone.” His answer shouldn’t deliver relief, but it does.

  “I’ll be right up.”

  “You don’t have to. I just wanted to check-in, in case I get murdered in my sleep or something.” He’s joking. Fucking joking, but there’s a glint of fear in his words he can’t mask and it churns my gut with an extra layer of alarm.

  “That’s not gonna happen.” I have each of the guys’ hotel rooms memorized, and access to all of them. I dig into my backpack to retrieve the hotel card and as I step inside the lift, I swipe it on the sensor and press the button for the top floor. “I’m on my way up. Give me five. And stay in your room.”

  He doesn’t respond right away and the silence that stretches only causes another wave of unease to wash over me. I open my mouth to say his name, to make sure he’s still with me, but before I can speak, his voice, low and deep, interrupts. “Be careful, please. I don’t know why, but I have a bad feeling about this.”

  Me, too. I reach for my holstered gun to touch the metal, a nervous habit from my days on the force. “Four minutes. Stay in that room. I’m ending our call now. I need to check in with my team.”

  “Be careful,” he warns again, and I end the call.

  I don’t waste a second getting one of my guys on the line. “Ray?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Please tell me you escorted Austin Jones to his room th
is evening.”

  “No, ma’am.”

  I blow out a breath, but before I can ask him why the hell not, Ray continues as if he’s read my mind.

  “Terrance? He’s still on floor duty.” His assignment was to stay on the same floor as the guys’ suites. An extra security measure in case any of them decided to ride the elevator up without detail. “He checked in about an hour ago.”

  An hour? Shit. That timeline coincides with when I estimate the staff entrance was left open and unsecured. “Damn it.” I should have hired more staff. Assigned each of the guys a bodyguard. Installed more surveillance. Demanded they cancel this PR event.

  I watch the floor numbers light up as I ascend, but they move at a painfully slow pace. Seconds feel like minutes, but it’s the adrenaline pumping in my veins mixed with the need to protect Austin from this unknown threat. I tap on my ear piece again, bringing everyone on the line. “Brian, you’re lead until further notice.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  The elevator doors roll open and I step out cautiously, quiet, unsure of exactly what danger exists, but determined to clear the floor and get to Austin without problems. The heavy fall of sure footfalls approaches from around the corner, and my hand goes to my gun.

  A familiar face turns the corner and his hands fly up as his gaze notices my stance. “Whoa, it’s just me.”

  “Terrance.” I heave a rush of breath. “Feel like taking a walk?” I motion toward the way he came.

  His lips twitch with the trace of a grin. “Where you go, I go,” he says and together we make our way to Austin’s door. If I ran it’d take two minutes, but we stop along the way, clearing any area someone could be hiding—the staff storeroom, the vending nook, the small common sitting area near the elevator bank.

  “Anyone been up here? Anything suspicious?”

  “No, boss,” he says. “Besides Mr. Willis and his guest—the girlfriend—it’s been kinda boring.”

  There’s nothing out of order. No evidence left behind of any wrongdoing or shady business—not that there needs to be, but the lack of chaos does loosen some of the worry and stress from my limbs.

  “What about Mr. Jones?”

  “What about him?”

  That prickle of fear surges back, along with a dose of concern. “He’s in his room. Did you not see him come up?” I gesture to Austin’s door and immediately I notice the coating on the peep hole. I scrape it away with my nail, a simple white sticker coming off with ease.

  Terrance lowers his gaze, a glimmer of guilt passing over his features. “Maybe I missed him?” He bites the inside of his cheek. “Might have been the same time room service came up?”

  “Room service?” Jesus. Was everyone and their mother getting around our security measures? I pinch the bridge of my nose and shake my head. My hand flies up to stop his explanation. I swipe my card to unlock Austin’s door and inch it open. Nothing seems out of place. Hell, the suite looks pristine but for the open liquor bottle on the bar. Terrence pads forward, clearing the large living space and attached bedroom with a quick sweep while I walk to the closed bathroom door. I give it a knock. “Austin? Everything okay in there?”

  The door flies open. He stands there looking as handsome as earlier, if not more, and the moment his eyes lock with mine he wraps me in a bone crushing embrace.

  A throat clears at my back. “Boss, um, everything is clear.”

  Austin’s arms go stiff, as if he realizes how improper this must look to my employee, and he releases me from his hold.

  “Thanks, Terrance.” I turn and nod toward the door. “False alarm. You can go back to your station.”

  “Call if you need anything.” He taps his earlobe and nods before heading out the door. The latch clicks into place, the soft sound feeling so much louder than it should in our silence.

  My mind reels, connecting the pieces of everything that’s happened, and how exactly I found myself here, standing in Austin’s hotel room. The two of us alone. My body prickles with awareness, and yeah, attraction too. That’s when it hits me. “There’s nothing here.” My eyebrows furrow as I turn to meet his gaze, but instead I catch him staring at my breasts. My pride flares with indignation. “There wasn’t even a knock, was there?”

  His eyes widen, and he almost looks shocked by my accusation. His chin jerks back and forth under my glare. “You think I made this up? Shit, Jay. I’m hard up, but I’m not that desperate.”

  I almost believe him. If I hadn’t fallen for his expert manipulation before, I probably would. “Because this isn’t some fucking joke. I’m not here for your entertainment.” I take a step forward, my spine straight and tone hard.

  “That’s not—” He stops, runs his hand through the locks of his hair and tugs at their roots. He stares and meets my gaze with a steely one of his own. “I swear. Jayla, I’m a fuck-up about a lot of things, but I’d never lure you to my room under the pretense of a threat. I don’t joke about the safety of my band.”

  His explanation holds merit and I find myself waver.

  “I’ve heard you laugh off everything.” I tip my chin to better hold his gaze.

  “Not this. Swear it.” He shuffles forward a step, bringing our bodies closer.

  “Right now your word doesn’t hold much weight.” My words stretch between us. The memory of him hitting on that woman downstairs only an hour ago brings a sharpness I usually hold back.

  “That’s not fair.” His jaw tightens and the tension winds tighter, like a band about to snap.

  “No?” I challenge and lift my brow, begging him to argue.

  “I’ve never lied to you. I never would.” The gravelly scrape of his low tone sends a thrill up my spine and my body comes alive, not with adrenaline this time, but need. Desire. Want.

  I don’t dare open my mouth, even to argue, because I’m absolutely sure if I do, he will sense my longing. Besides, he won’t change my opinion with words when it’s his actions that garner my mistrust.

  His gaze drops first, and then he practically shouts, “See!” His finger shoots out, pointing at the floor near the doorway. “That’s what someone slipped under the door. And the air conditioner was off.”

  It is warm in here, but there’s a steady stream of cold air pumping from the ceiling vent.

  “I turned it back on,” he says, as if he can read my thoughts, and shrugs in defeat before brushing past to retrieve the letter. “And the peephole was blocked. I wasn’t making that up.”

  “It was a sticker,” I grumble, and take the envelope from him. It’s hotel watermarked and the flap is sealed shut. I peel it open, and inside is a note handwritten on matching stationary.

  New set. 24-48 hours. Expect link.

  I tilt my head and hand over the letter, having no clue what this means. But I want a full view of Austin’s reaction in case he does and won’t tell me.

  His eyes widen for a fraction a second, and if I weren’t staring critically, I would have missed it.

  “You want to tell me what that means?” I tilt my chin and blow out a breath.

  “No clue.” He passes it back to me as if it’s nothing.

  “Really?” I carefully fold the letter and place it back into the envelope, choosing my next words wisely. He’s hiding something. Or protecting someone? Either way, I don’t want him on guard. If he senses my suspicion he might close off completely. “Maybe the hotel staff got the wrong door?”

  “Maybe.” He shoves his hands into the front pockets of his jeans and shrugs.

  So, that’s how he’s gonna play this? Fine. I’ll bring my own tactics. “Thirsty?”

  His gaze shoots to mine with a stare so hot my lips suddenly feel parched. He lifts his brow. “You offering to help?”

  I swallow hard at the innuendo and tip my chin to the bar. “You were drinking.”

  “Right.” He nods and I swear he almost appears disappointed. In me? In himself?

  “You left the party early.” I don’t know why I keep pointing out the
obvious, but I can’t seem to stop. Tension builds in the air with our silence. I don’t entirely trust myself when it comes to Austin.

  “Yeah, well.” He rocks on his heels before flicking his gaze to mine. “The only person I wanted to hang with was unavailable.”

  My heart rate picks up, my pulse racing under the implication of his words. He couldn’t be referring to—?

  “You left,” he blames.

  “I was working.”

  “Was?” His brow lifts with challenge.

  “Am. Still.”

  “But you’re here with me now.” He drags out the words.

  My body does the strangest thing, tightening with hyper-awareness of how close we’re standing, and at the same time straining to lean closer. “Because you were supposedly under attack.”

  His chuckle scatters goosebumps across my flesh. “I feel like an idiot.” He smiles that damn smile. As if it’s just for me.

  “Why did you post that video?” The question flies from my mouth before I have the good sense to keep it in. I shouldn’t care so much about his words and the disappointment he filled me with tonight, but I do.

  “The one we made?”

  I swallow and conjure a confidence I don’t necessarily feel. I already brought it up, no use in backing down now. “The part you added at the end. The message for me.”

  He nods, evaluating me as if he’s unsure of how to proceed, but he must settle on a decision quickly because he takes a step forward, his gaze steady and open. “I’m not sure whether you’re aware, but I like you, Jayla.”

  I like you. What does that even mean? His stare leaves no doubt, but his behavior at tonight’s after party? “You also liked that woman at the bar.”

  His lips tug at the corners and the trace of his smile appears. “I thought I could make you jealous.”

  I lift my brows and roll my eyes. It worked, and I hate myself for it. But I’m not interested in playing games. Spinning on my heel, I turn toward the door.