American Diva (37 page)

 

 

Fortunately, Audrey and Trystan were revamping a dance number, so when she and a dry-eyed Lucas returned to the hotel, she was able to escape Jack and go straight to rehearsal. Lucas looked like a forlorn little puppy as she hurried off, but she didn’t care—she couldn’t be around him at the moment, not with her emotions sitting like a brick inside her.

But neither did she want to run into Jack. She just wanted to be left alone for a little while so she could think.

That was the problem with her life. It seemed like she was always looking for a little alone time so she could just think. It was her holy grail, the one thing she was constantly seeking, and she wondered if she’d ever in her life been alone long enough to think on her own.

She’d gone from her parents’ house to Austin, where she’d almost immediately taken up with a bass player. After that got stale, she hooked up with Lucas. She’d never really been alone for any significant amount of time in her life. She’d never had to solve her problems all by herself. There had always been someone there to help her.

It made her feel messed up, almost as bad as when Lucas made her take pills to help her sleep. She absently went through the dance routines, except that Trystan kept stopping the dance, asking if she needed a break or wanted to review a few steps. Apparently, she was off again today. When she finally called off rehearsal—the dancers were looking ragged, but she could have kept on all night, trying to get it right—Trystan invited her to join the group for a drink.

“Do you mean it?” she asked. They never asked her for a drink anymore, not since the tour started. Frankly, it had always seemed to her that they wanted to get away from her as soon as possible.

“Yeah, seriously,” Trystan laughed, although Audrey could see a couple of the dancers behind him exchanging horrified looks.

“Okay,” she said, smiling a little. “That would be really nice. But I can’t stay long—I’ve got to work on a couple of songs.”

The look of relief on the faces of the dancers was not lost on Audrey.

Man. How bad was she really?

They walked a couple of blocks to a pub. Trystan had his arm linked with Audrey’s, and on her right was Bucky, tonight’s assigned bodyguard. She ordered wine, and after half a glass, she began to wind down. The banter was fun, too, as the dancers reviewed the show in D.C., where one of them had almost danced right off the stage. Audrey laughed louder than anyone.

But as it was with her life these days, they hadn’t been in the pub more than half an hour before people began to notice her, and a small crowd began to form near the bar. Bucky sat at a little two-top, alone, between Audrey and curious patrons, watching them watch Audrey.

She finally gave Trystan a rueful smile. “I guess I better go,” she said.

“Don’t let them chase you off. At least there aren’t any paparazzi,” Trystan said.

“Right . . . but I need to work, and this is only going to get worse.”

“Want me to walk you back?”

“No, that’s okay. Bucky will do it,” she said, nodding in his direction. She thanked the group for letting her tag along, smiling at how surprised a couple of them seemed to be, and said good night. To Bucky, she said, “Ready to blow this joint?”

“Only if you are, Miss LaRue.” He stood up, his large body between her and the crowd that was straining to get a good look at her. She didn’t make it out without being asked to sign a couple of coasters and a hat, but they were nice people and very complimentary of her talent.

On the street, because it was dark, Bucky insisted they take a cab. Unfortunately, there were none to be had.

“They’ve got to have a cab around here,” Bucky said, more to himself than to her, and pulled a cell phone out of his pocket. “I’ll just give Jack a call—”

“No,” Audrey said quickly. “There has to be a cab around here somewhere. Maybe on that street corner,” she said, pointing to the intersection, where traffic seemed heavier than the street on which they were standing.

“Okay,” Bucky said congenially. “Let’s walk down there.”

“If you don’t mind,” Audrey said, “will you walk down there? I’ve got these heels.”

Bucky looked at her feet and winced, then looked at the thirty feet it would take him to get to the corner. “Okay,” he said. “But promise me you will stay put.”

“I promise.”

With another look at the intersection, Bucky jogged down the street.

It was just a moment of privacy, a single moment that Audrey was alone, and she relished it—until a man walking by knocked into her as he hurried across the street. He knocked into her with such force that she was shoved up against the brick wall of the corner of the pub. “
Slut
,” he said beneath his breath as Audrey caught herself.

She jerked around—but the man had jogged across the street and into a dark doorway.

Was she just being paranoid, or was there something uncomfortably familiar about him? He had stark blond hair, and while she couldn’t think of anyone she knew that was towheaded, she still had the feeling she knew him from somewhere.

“You all right?”

Startled, Audrey gasped when Bucky put his hand on her shoulder, jumping a foot in her skin.

“Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said with a look of concern. “But you look a little spooked.”

“It’s nothing,” she said, looking back across the street. “Some guy just bumped into me.”

Bucky instantly turned in the direction she was looking.

“He’s gone,” Audrey said. “Let’s just get out of here, okay?”

“You bet. I’ve got a cab,” he said, and with his hand on her elbow, he moved her quickly down the street to the waiting cab.

At the hotel, Audrey moved through the lobby without looking left or right, Bucky close on her heels. He saw her up to her suite, walked in first, as all the security guys did now. Someone had left Bruno inside, and he came bounding forward, happy to see her. When Bucky was convinced no one was lurking in a closet, he leaned down to pet Bruno. “All clear. Good night, Miss LaRue.”

“Good night, Bucky,” she said, and locked the door behind him. She turned around, leaned her back against the door, and looked around the sumptuous suite. It was just like all the other sumptuous suites she’d stayed in since the tour began—they tended to run together—but this one was vastly different in one respect. In this one, she was blissfully and completely alone. “It’s just you and me, kid,” she said to Bruno. He wagged the nub of his docked tail with delight.

For the first time in what seemed like years, Audrey had total privacy. There were no band members jamming with Lucas, no Courtney, no hair or makeup people or dancers or managers of any sort.

And she relished it. She took a long bubble bath and paraded around the suite completely naked. She ordered in—steak, potatoes, and bottle of wine—and there was no one there to comment. She took Bruno out to a little patch of grass. She ignored her cell phone, which seemed to ring every fifteen minutes. She watched TV, laughing with delight at some of the programs, rolling her eyes at others and trying to remember the last time she’d had the luxury of time to catch a movie or a mindless TV show. Good God, it was like she’d been living in a tent in some foreign desert.

She was wearing a plush house robe and flipping channels when someone knocked lightly on her door around two in the morning. Bruno instantly leapt from the bed, barking frantically at the door. She thought a knock at this hour was strange and hesitated—she couldn’t bear to face Lucas and another discussion. But she really didn’t want her cell phone going off all night, either, so she reluctantly got up and padded to the door, stood up on tiptoe, and looked out the peephole.

There was no one there.

She slid back down to her feet, her brow wrinkled in a frown, a little perplexed. Who would knock on the door? Some of the band coming in for the night, just having a little fun? Or maybe the housekeeping staff? It was very strange—she impulsively pressed her ear against the door, but couldn’t hear anything.

There was a slight flutter in her stomach as she put her hand to the deadbolt and opened the door the little space the chain lock would allow.

Thankfully, no one was outside her door. She quickly shut the door and slid the chain out and opened the door again, only wider. She peeked out—first one way, and then the other. Nothing. She looked down for Bruno and saw him sniffing a small wrapped package, his docked tail wagging maniacally.

On the top of the package was her name, pasted across the top. She recognized the script at once. Her heart skipped a beat or two. “Bruno, come here!” she said, and bent down to get him.

That was when she heard it. She stilled, straining to hear.

The box was ticking.

Jack
answered his cell on the second ring. “Yeah,” he muttered into the phone, not entirely awake.

“Jack!”

His eyes flew open at the sound of Audrey’s voice. He’d been waiting for her to call, waiting for her to say everything that he privately felt desperate to hear. But she was crying, her words unintelligible. “What is it?” he demanded. “What’s wrong?”

“
Bomb!
” she shrieked.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed. “Where are you?” he demanded.

“In the bathroom.”

“Stay there until I call you,” he said, clicked off, and grabbed his jeans.

He found Joe at the end of the hallway of the floor the tour occupied, right where he was supposed to be, watching a video on his iPod. “See anything unusual?” Jack asked as he motioned for Joe to follow him.

“Nothing,” Joe said. “Why?”

“Someone left a package outside Audrey’s door.”

“You’re kidding,” Joe said flatly. “No one’s been by here except the band and a couple of dancers.”

“Anyone else?” Jack asked as they strode down the hall.

“The business manager and a couple of room-service types.”

“What about the stairway?” Jack asked.

“I can see it from here. No one has been in or out of it all night,” he said as they strode down the hall.

They halted at Audrey’s door. The package was small and tucked inside the recess. Anyone could have left it there.

“
Shit
,” Joe uttered.

“Call the police,” Jack said, and as Joe stepped away to do that, he squatted down to check it out. There were no markings on it other than her name. He could hear the ticking, too. It sounded like a kitchen timer.

As Joe called hotel security and the police, Jack called Audrey on her cell and had her open the door for him.

Her face was puffy and red, and she was clutching Bruno so tightly the dog looked like his eyes were about to pop out of their sockets. Jack stepped across the threshold, saw the wild look in her eye, and ran his hand down her arm. “You’re safe,” he said, and picked up her guitar. “But let’s get you out of here.”

“It’s really a bomb?”

“I don’t think so,” he said. “But we don’t want to take any chances. “You have some clothes you can put on?”

She nodded dumbly and, without thinking, dropped Bruno and ran to the bathroom.

She emerged a few minutes later, understandably distracted, dressed in a T-shirt and jeans. She grabbed up her purse at the same moment she slipped on some shoes. “Bruno! Where’s Bruno?”

The dog scurried out from under the bed and allowed Audrey to scoop him up and put him in her purse.

“Okay,” she said. Jack extended his hand, and Audrey slipped hers into it. With a firm grip of her hand, Jack led her out, taking great care to step over the package. She clung to him as they made their way down the hallway.

Fortunately, the hotel management, recognizing the threat of a public relations disaster, was quick to react. They put Audrey on another floor. Jack escorted her to the room and stayed around when the Little Rock Police arrived to question her.

“Can you think of anyone who might have left a gift?” one of the detectives asked.

“No.”

“Boyfriend? Everything okay there?”

Audrey colored slightly and avoided Jack’s gaze. “No . . . but Lucas wouldn’t do that.”

“Lucas? Who’s Lucas?”

“My . . . my boyfriend, I guess you could call him,” Audrey said as she wrapped her arms around her body. “We’ve been having some problems.”

“Oh yeah?” the detective asked casually. “What kind of problems?”

From where Jack was standing, it looked as if Audrey colored even more. “The usual kind,” she said.

“Since when?”

“Since a while. But he wouldn’t do this. He’s been giving me gifts, not bombs.”

Jack wasn’t surprised.

“So what is the nature of your problems?” the detective asked.