Bananas Foster and a Dead Mobster (20 page)

"Thank you." Ginger's glossy lips parted to show perfectly white teeth. "The tour bus will be here tomorrow morning with all the gear, but the rest of our luggage should be coming down the chute any minute." She inclined her head toward Jack, who was nuzzling the neck of a short, dark-haired woman I assumed was his latest girlfriend. "Can you believe he's got a whole carry-on just for his hair products?" Ginger asked in a conspiratorial whisper. She shook her head and made a clucking sound with her tongue. "Rock stars."

I smiled. I liked this woman already.

Kat wagged her finger back and forth, counting everyone in Royal Flush's entourage. "It looks like there are too many people to fit in the Escalade," she said, turning to Ginger and me. "It seats seven, including the driver."

My eyes roved over the group in front of us. Five members of the band, plus Ginger, Kat, me, and the girl glued to Jack's side.

"Hmm." I chewed my lip. "Someone can ride with me in my Jetta."

"I'll do it," Mickey offered, a smile cresting his lips. "It'll give us a chance to catch up."

I exchanged a wide-eyed look with Kat. "Er—" I stammered, trying to think of an excuse to have anyone but Mickey ride along with me. Being alone in a car with my ex-almost-fiancé was dangerous territory.

Mickey saw my expression, and his own face fell. "Hey, I don't bite," he said, sounding hurt. "I just thought it'd be nice to talk. I wanna know what you've been up to for the past five years."

Getting over you, for starters.
I forced down the lump in my throat.
Come on, we're both adults. It's just a quick ride. It's not like he's proposing marriage…again.
"Sure, that'd be great," I said evenly.

After hugging Jack and greeting the rest of the band, Kat and I helped them retrieve their luggage. Then we headed into the parking garage where Kat led the others to the Escalade while Mickey and I climbed into my little gray car. I ducked my head so he couldn't see the involuntary look of panic that crossed my face as he slid in beside me. Being trapped alone in a moving vehicle with my ex was pretty far up there on my list of awkward situations I'd like to avoid, and yet, here I was. I took a deep breath as I backed out of the parking space, silently praying he wouldn't want to talk about why things between us had gone sour.

Turning down Mickey's proposal hadn't been part of my life plan. For the longest time, I really thought we would be together forever. But when he got down on one knee and popped the question right after telling me that he and the guys were dropping out of college to move to L.A., something inside me sort of…snapped. It didn't matter how much I cared for Mickey—I wanted to stay in Atlanta and graduate. I just didn't see myself fitting into the life he wanted for himself: on the road with the band, never staying in the same city for more than a couple of days, never sleeping in his own bed.

Back then, all I wanted was to find a steady job in the music industry and work toward owning my own venue here in Atlanta. Kat and I had achieved that dream last year by taking over Castle Rock. I was happy with the path I chose, but—full disclosure—I'd be lying if I said I didn't often think about what might have happened if I'd said yes to an adventure-filled life on the road with Mickey. While I was happy the band was back in town, having him around this weekend was going to stir up all those doubts and feelings again.

Just grin and bear it,
I thought as I pulled my Jetta onto I-85.
It'll all be over soon.

*   *   *

To his credit, Mickey gave me a good twenty minutes of enjoyable conversation before he dredged up the topic of our failed relationship. We chatted about what life was like for him in California and how much fun it was to be on the road. He even shared a few crazy stories from Royal Flush's world tour—including being chased by an unruly rooster around a hotel courtyard in China. Gradually we tested the waters of reminiscing our college days.

"Have you talked to Dillon lately?" I asked, referring to our old buddy Dillon Green, Royal Flush's original bass player. Jack booted him from the band just weeks before the guys moved out west. Being with Mickey at the time, I knew Jack's claim that they'd had 'creative differences' was to cover up the real reason he'd kicked the old bassist to the curb—Dill had drunkenly made a pass at Jack's girlfriend.

"Nah." Mickey gave a dismissive wave. "We used to text back and forth sometimes, back when Royal Flush was first starting out in Cali. After a while, we just kind of lost touch. You know how it is." Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him sneak a glance at me before turning to gaze out the window.

"Yeah. To be honest, I don't even know if he's still in town," I admitted. "Kat and I were never really close with him. I guess with you guys gone, he didn't see the need to stay friends with us."

"What a shame." Mickey shook his head. "He was such a cool guy before that beef with Jack. Part of me has always felt a little guilty that we blew up right after he left the band. That success should've been his too."

"Oh, hey!" I reached for the volume dial on my radio. "Speaking of your success…" Royal Flush's first big single, "The Hand You're Dealt," emanated from the car speakers. "This one takes me back," I said, bobbing my head up and down as we cruised the interstate. I peeked over at Mickey. "Do you ever get used to hearing your own music on the radio?"

He shrugged. "Yes and no. It was a lot more exciting back when we first got our break, ya know? Flipping from station to station, waiting for a deejay to play one of our singles, seeing our names move up every week on the
Billboard
charts—there's no other feeling like it." Mickey paused. When he spoke again, his voice was softer and a little sad. "But even all of that kind of loses its thrill when you don't have someone special to share it with."

Here we go.
I sucked in a breath and mentally braced myself.
Let's just get this over with.

"I miss you," Mickey said quietly. In my periphery, I saw his hand move toward my knee. At the last second he pulled back, curling his fingers away from me.

"Mickey, look," I started, my voice harsh from frustration. I took a beat to collect myself and softened my tone. "I miss you too," I admitted. "A lot. But we were just kids back then." Cliché or not, it was the truth. "You've been gone five years. We're not even the same people anymore. If you had really wanted to be with me, you would've come back. But you—"

"That's not fair," he interjected, his voice bitter. His hand clenched into a fist in his lap. "You meant the world to me, but the band was going places. I couldn't just throw away everything we'd worked for—the guys were counting on me. I wanted you to come with us."

"I know." I stifled a sigh. "I don't blame you for leaving, Mickey. You've been living your dream for the past five years, and that's not something that many people can say." A sad little smile curved my lips. "I'm proud of you. Really."

"Thanks," Mickey said, but his tone was melancholy. Silence stretched between us for several long moments before he spoke again. "I just wanted you to know that I regret it," he said quietly. "Storming out like I did when you said you wouldn't marry me. Never coming back. That—that's not how things should have ended between us."

"I appreciate you saying that." I kept my left hand on the steering wheel and reached down with my right hand to touch his arm. "And I'm glad you guys found a new tour manager to replace me. Ginger seems nice."

"Yeah, she's all right," Mickey agreed. "A bit of a hard-ass sometimes, though. And no one could ever really replace you. You're still the best manager the band's ever had." He cleared his throat. "So, tell me about your new guy. He's good to you, I hope."

"He is." I couldn't help but grin as I thought about my new beau. I'd met FBI Special Agent Emmett Larson last November when an assignment brought him to Castle Rock. He and his partner were investigating an allegedly reformed Vegas mobster named Shawn Stone. As it turned out, Stone was still very active in his mob family's business. When I found myself in the middle of all the chaos, Emmett came to my rescue. Though the attraction between us was undeniable from the moment we met, it wasn't until Emmett saved my life that we acted on our feelings.

Unfortunately, when Stone caught wind that the feds were closing in, he skipped town. Emmett and his partner, Special Agent Gavin Addison, hadn't been far behind him. That was seven months ago, and since then I'd only seen Emmett in person five or six times. We talked on the phone several times a week, but the frequent calls were no substitute for up-close-and-personal affection, if you know what I mean. Of course, I wasn't going to share all of this with my ex.

The sun had set by the time we reached North Avenue, and darkness slowly curled around the cityscape. "Wow," Mickey murmured when we crested a hill and Castle Rock came into view. He gazed out the window as we drove past the large, gray building. The venue had been named for its resemblance to a gothic castle—similar to the ones you see in movies like
Dracula
or
Robin Hood
. It was a huge structure of stones, wooden doors, turrets and parapets—the whole nine yards. We even had a majestic rear tower that, well,
towered
(for lack of a better word) over the surrounding neighborhood. Two large, red flags with black guitars waved in the breeze high atop the building, like beacons that attracted music lovers from all over Atlanta and beyond. That, as well as the flashing electric red "Castle Rock" sign, made us pretty hard to miss. The venue stuck out from the surrounding condos and skyscrapers like a Marilyn Manson fan at a Taylor Swift concert.

"I can't believe we're finally playing there tomorrow night." Mickey sounded awestruck. "I used to dream about selling out a show at Castle Rock as kid. And now you freaking
own
the place!"

"Co-own," I corrected him. Kat had inherited Castle Rock from its previous owner under sudden, tragic circumstances. While I still served as Castle Rock's general manager and booking agent, Kat had graciously asked me to be her business partner. Having dreamed about owning a concert venue since high school, I'd happily accepted.

Mickey and I rode in companionable silence for several more minutes until we reached the Georgian Terrace Hotel on the corner of Peachtree and Ponce de Leon. "Are you and Kat joining us for dinner?" Mickey asked, lingering in the passenger seat as I pulled up behind Kat's rental Escalade.

I smiled apologetically. "Can't. We've got a show starting in…" I checked my watch, "…twenty minutes. How about we grab coffee tomorrow morning instead?" I'd blurted the invitation without even thinking—wanting to spend more time with Mickey just felt natural. Regret rushed in as soon as I caught the eager look on his face. Did he think it was a date?

Mickey's lips quirked. "Sure. I can't wait." He started to lean toward me, his eyes half-closed. When I pulled back slightly, he hesitated, and his face flushed an embarrassed red. "Sorry," Mickey said sheepishly. "Old habits die hard, ya know?" Without another word, he ducked out of the car and moved to unload the luggage from my trunk.

When Mickey was gone, I smacked my forehead with my palm.
He wanted to kiss me,
I thought, remembering with bittersweet clarity how it felt to press my lips against his, to close my eyes as he wound his hands in my hair. I exhaled a shaky breath.
I would've kissed him back.
That realization was dangerous—I had a boyfriend, for crying out loud! A sweet, sexy, hard-working boyfriend who, at this very moment, was hunting down a lunatic so he could keep me safe. Yet, like an idiot, I'd just asked a man who was technically my
ex-fiancé
out for coffee
.
Just the two of us. What had I been thinking?

That it feels good to see him again,
chimed a voice in my head, a bit wistfully
.
I'd missed Mickey a lot more than I realized. Our banter in the car had only been a watered-down version of the deep connection we once shared, but it was enough to stir something inside me.
It's a good thing Mickey's leaving town on Sunday,
I thought guiltily as Emmett's face flashed through my mind.
Or I'd be in big trouble.

CHAPTER TWO

"How'd it go with Mickey?" Kat asked, leaning against my car. It was ten minutes later, and we had just pulled into Castle Rock's employee parking lot.

"Fine," I said quickly. I was reluctant to spill the details of our awkward good-bye at the hotel.

"Just fine? No earth-shattering confession about how he's still madly in love with you?" she asked. I looked up to find her smirking.

"Hey, don't mock me!" I laughed and playfully pushed Kat's hand off my car. In a more serious tone, I added, "We're okay now, I think. He said he misses me, but we're both better off."

"Good." Kat grinned. "For a minute there I was worried we'd all get caught up in the drama between you two this weekend."

"Us? Drama?" I deadpanned. "Never." I climbed out of the car and stood on shaky feet. Kat waited patiently while I leaned down to stretch. I'd been stabbed in the leg back in the fall, and the blade had practically torn my left calf muscle to shreds. Thankfully, the damage wasn't permanent, but it had been a rough recovery. In typical clumsy Amelia fashion, I'd also sprained my left ankle just a few weeks ago. Now that I was finally back on two feet again, I was being extra careful.

Kat's happy mood deflated as she stepped into the corridor that led to our offices. She stopped halfway down the hall, her eyes fixed on the wall to her left. I watched her gently run her hand across the small, black frame that housed the first ticket stub and dollar collected by the venue's previous owner, Parker Deering.

It had been less than a year since Parker's murder. The months following his death weren't easy for any of us, but his death was especially hard on Kat. She put on a brave face most of the time, but there were still moments when her grief bubbled to the surface.

Kat's hand hovered over the frame, and her slender fingers trembled. I stood beside her, catching her misty-eyed reflection in the glass. A sad little sigh escaped her lips. "Seven months and it still feels like it was just yesterday." She turned to face me, a glint of pain in her blue eyes. "Will it ever get better?"

"I wish I could say that it will, but I honestly don't know." I'd never lost someone as close to me as Parker was to Kat—splitting up with Mickey was rough, but it couldn't compare to something as final and dreadful as dying. I squeezed Kat's shoulder. "But I
do
know he'd want you to keep moving forward, and I'm here to help you do that. We all are."

She nodded. Her hand dropped from the frame and fell to her side. Kat took a deep breath to regain her composure then blew it out. "The show must go on, right?" she asked, a ghost of a smile forming on her lips.

"You betcha." I grabbed her arm and tugged gently, guiding her down the hall toward the Dungeon. "Speaking of, Silent Echo should be on stage right about now. Let's check 'em out."

*   *   *

"Soooo, what do you think?" Bronwyn Sinclair asked, eying us both expectantly.

My gaze swept around the downstairs showroom. "Um," I stammered, not sure what to say. The Dungeon holds roughly the same capacity as our upstairs room, High Court, but the similarities end there. Where High Court has a vaulted ceiling with a colorful mural and a large ornate chandelier, its downstairs counterpart is dark and gritty, with a low ceiling and no overhead lighting—just a few lamps bolted to the walls.

Tonight those lamps were lit with black light bulbs, thanks to Bronwyn's handiwork. We'd recently promoted Bron from intern to marketing and booking assistant. She'd proven herself when she and our assistant manager, Reese Martin, ran Castle Rock by themselves for a weekend while I recovered from my sprained ankle. Kat and I decided to let her schedule tonight's band and handle all of the details on her own—which, for Bronwyn, meant redecorating the Dungeon for the occasion. She'd booked Silent Echo, who was the antithesis of dark, angry rock, to perform in the gothic dungeon-styled showroom. The indie brother-sister duo from California mesmerized the crowd with their ethereal pop vocals and sunny melodies, and the black lights made the colors of their outfits pop like something out of a Katy Perry music video on acid. The entire scene was quirky and a bit off-kilter—just like Bronwyn.

Kat looked around the room. "Maybe we should've ordered those glow-in-the-dark toilet seats from
SkyMall
after all."

"I'm going to assume that means you like what I've done with the place." Bronwyn beamed at her and then turned her green eyes my way. "How did it go with Royal Flush? I still can't believe you used to date Mickey Freakin' Ward." She clasped her hands together. "He's a drumming god—like, better than Travis Barker, even."

"Believe it, chick," Kat said. With a teasing grin, she reached out and pulled the hood of Bronwyn's sweatshirt over the young girl's hot pink hair. "Back in the day, Ame and ol' Mick were hotter than Brad and Angelina, or whoever the current
it
couple is. I can't keep track."

Bronwyn scowled. She yanked off the hood and fussed with her hair until it was back the way she liked it, though it didn't look any less messy. She turned her attention back to me. "If you guys were so into each other, why'd you break up?"

Because he wanted me to put my entire life on hold to be with him, and it scared me shitless.
I grimaced. Time for a change of subject. "Any chance you and Reese finished filing that stack of show contracts I left on his desk this afternoon?" I asked, figuring that any mention of our hot assistant manager would get her off my case. After all, Bron's new boyfriend was her favorite topic of discussion.

Bronwyn's face flamed. "Yep!" she chirped, visibly struggling to keep from grinning. I had a feeling that filing paperwork hadn't been all they'd done. After pining after him for nearly a year, Bron had finally landed her man. They were quite the odd couple—twenty-four-year-old Reese had the body of a linebacker and the face of a California surfer, with olive skin, dirty blond curls, and gentle blue-green eyes. Bronwyn, on the other hand, was twenty years old and a petite five-foot-three, with bright pink hair styled in a short pixie cut, and an emerald stud piercing her left nostril. Despite their differences, Reese and Bronwyn were great together, and they both seemed happier than I'd ever seen them.
I guess opposites really do attract.

Tonight, Bronwyn was dressed in dark denim jeans and a neon green hoodie with black polka dots. In the black lights, her outfit, along with her pink Vans sneakers and bubblegum hair, made her look like a slice of radioactive watermelon. "Isn't Reese amazing?" She sighed dreamily.

"He's lucky to have you," Kat said with a sad little smile. "I wish I were ready to get back in the dating game myself."

"What about Chad?" I asked. "You two had a pretty cozy reunion. Seems to me that little crush you were harboring back in college never quite went away."

Bronwyn cocked her head to one side. "Chad Egan? From Royal Flush?" Her green eyes grew wide. "Ohmigod, I could
totally
see you with him! He's the red-head guitarist with the gauged ears, right?" She nodded, as if answering her own question. "Super hot! You should go for it."

Kat snorted. "Please. It's Chad Egan. The guy's a total goofball."

"You like goofballs," I reminded her. "They make you laugh."

"Yeah, well…" Kat blew out a breath and turned away to watch Silent Echo's performance as she collected her thoughts. She turned back to Bron and me a moment later, her face pinched. "We were always just too good of friends. Plus the guys are only here for a few days. And then there's the tiny little obstacle of me not being ready to jump into another relationship just yet."

I held my hands up in mock surrender. "Okay, okay—no pressure. I'm just saying that it's all right to let yourself have fun. And Chad is definitely fun. Remember the time he pulled the fire alarm at Patton Hall?" Bronwyn gave me a curious look, so I explained. "When everyone got outside, he was sitting in the parking lot with five huge buckets full of water balloons."

I chuckled, remembering Chad's feigned innocence about the gag.
"What? I just happened to be filling these up for a kid's charity balloon fight tomorrow morning. But since we're all out here now…"
He'd started a huge water fight that lasted nearly an hour. It was a miracle he didn't get expelled for the fire alarm prank, but no one could actually prove that he had pulled it.

"Fun? Yes," Kat agreed. "But also kind of insane."

Bronwyn shrugged. "He'd keep life interesting."

We watched the show in silence and then worked together to herd the crowd out of the building at closing time. When the band packed up and left, Kat and I sent the staff home. The incident in the car with Mickey had been eating at me all night, and I finally couldn't hold it in anymore. I had to tell someone. "So, remember how I said nothing happened on the ride to the hotel?" I began, my tone sheepish.

Kat arched one thin eyebrow. "Yeah?"

I swallowed. "Well, that's not entirely true. Mickey sorta…tried to kiss me."

Kat's blue eyes grew large. "He what?"

I shook my head. "I didn't let him—and I don't think I was giving him signals or anything. He just sort of leaned in as he was getting out of the car, like nothing had changed between us and he was kissing me goodnight, like always."

Kat turned to lock the back door behind us. "Old habits die hard, I guess."

"That's what he said." I grimaced. "Maybe it was kinda my fault." I chewed my lip. "Before he tried to kiss me, I invited him to get coffee with me tomorrow morning."

"Just the two of you?"

"Uh-huh."

"Oh boy," Kat muttered. "Here we go."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

She crossed her arms over her chest. "You were practically ready to marry the guy five years ago. If he'd stayed in town, you'd probably be sporting that ring on your finger and balancing Mickey Jr. on your hip." Kat paused, a thoughtful look on her face. "Ya know, maybe letting him back into your life isn't a bad thing."

"Kat, it's just coffee." My words took a slightly defensive tone. "I told you, I gave Mickey plenty of closure on the ride to the hotel. Bucket loads. If we're going to repair our friendship though, we've got to start somewhere. And I don't start anything without a grande iced black coffee." I blew out a sigh. "And besides, I'm already in a relationship," I reminded her—and myself. "What about Emmett?"

"What about him?" Kat shrugged. "You barely even know the guy, Ame. You've been dating for seven months, and I can count on one hand the number of times he's come to town to see you."

"He's got a pretty damn good excuse," I snapped, feeling my face grow hot.

Kat reared her head back as if I'd just slapped her. She exhaled a shaky breath and pulled her leather purse strap across her shoulder as she turned away from me, heading for the parking lot.

Oh, boy. Me and my big mouth.
I shouldn't have over-reacted like that. "Kat, wait!" I called, feeling like Jerk of the Year as I trotted after her. I caught up with her and placed my hand on her arm. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—"

"No, it's okay. You're right." She didn't turn around, and her voice was trembling. "Emmett's a good man. I hope he finds that bastard, Shawn, and makes him pay for all the pain he's caused." Kat pivoted slowly, meeting my gaze with tired eyes. "I just meant that LDR's aren't easy."

My lips quirked at one corner. "It's not necessarily a long distance relationship—he could only be a few miles away right now, for all I know."

Kat gave me a wry look. "You know what I mean."

"Yeah, I do. I'm just feeling very confused," I admitted. "I thought I was prepared to face Mickey, and then I saw him at the airport…" I exhaled. "But nothing is going to happen. We'll grab a platonic cup of joe, and that'll be the end of it."

"Need me to come along and be a buffer?"

"Nah." I smiled. "It'll be fine. I should be in my office around ten. I'd like to get here in time to post info for the new shows we've booked on the website before things get too hectic." The day of a sold-out show was always super busy.

"Okay," Kat said, slipping behind the wheel of the Escalade. "Night, chick."

"See ya." I waved good-bye and climbed into my own car. A sigh slipped from me. Being so worked up over my MIA boyfriend and pining ex was no excuse to snap at my bestie. Though she'd instantly forgiven me, I still felt like the scum of the earth. Kat had a point, though—Emmett and I hadn't spent much time together, and I really didn't know him all that well. Plus I didn't have the best track record with relationships—the last guy I'd gone on a date with before Emmett had tried to murder me. Welcome to the reality show that is my life.

I clicked on the backlight of my phone screen. No new calls or texts. My heart sank. I hadn't heard a peep from Emmett in several days.
Maybe there's a break in the search for Stone.
The thought made my belly do somersaults.

I was often plagued by nightmares about the evil mobster. Sometimes I dreamed I was coming home from a late night at Castle Rock, and he was waiting for me inside my apartment. Other times, my subconscious conjured up the image of him crouching low in the backseat of my car, ready to pounce. I shuddered, casting a nervous glance into the darkness behind my driver's seat. I was alone in the car. Locking the doors to my Jetta, I dialed Emmett's cell before pulling out of the parking lot. Just hearing his voice would go a long way to ease the major case of the creeps I just gave myself—and hopefully help me forget about Mickey, too.