Indigo Rain

by Elise Noble

Two problem clauses. That made them sound like minor inconveniences, yet they had the power to ruin Travis’s life. And Rush’s, Dex’s, and JD’s lives too. The first, the one Red Cat would most likely throw in the band’s face at the end of their five-year sentence if the experience of their predecessors was anything to go by, concerned costs. Red Cat could offset “reasonable expenses” against the twenty-five-million-dollar lump sum the band was owed, but there was nothing to define reasonable. According to Tessa’s whistle-blower, Red Cat recharged everything from executive travel to studio hire to producer fees, all at vastly inflated rates. Twenty-five million would become one million if they were lucky.

  Then there was the non-compete clause that had affected Tessa’s source. Red Cat held an option over his band, and they couldn’t sign with any other label for ten years. Ten freaking years! Who would still remember their names after that length of time? Red Cat had retained the rights to their entire music catalogue too, so they didn’t even get ongoing royalties.

  In short, the contract was one-sided, grossly unfair, and watertight. A legal minefield laid out for young musicians with stars in their eyes and a desperate need to pay their rent. Oh, and Red Cat recharged their exorbitant legal fees too.

  Why did they work like that? Why not nurture and grow a band so they could have a long and successful career? Well, Tessa’s contact had a theory on that too. Following the digital revolution, the music industry had changed, and an act that might once have made its money selling CDs or cassette tapes or even vinyl now made pennies for each “sale” from streaming services, or worse, absolutely nothing if some scumbag decided to pirate their work. Artists couldn’t live on that money anymore. No, now the money came from touring, from merchandise sales, from endorsements and personal appearances and private performances.

  No act could keep that up forever, and fans wanted to see them at the high point of their career, when they were young and hot. Red Cat had a genius marketing department that could take a good band and launch them into the stratosphere. By the time they began falling, the label already had more cannon fodder ready to replace them.

  Once a former star hit the ground—without a safety net, of course—the label’s execs gave them one final kick in the teeth. When a victim found their expenses had eaten away at their earnings and they were owed basically nothing, Red Cat would offer just enough money to keep them quiet about the whole scandal. Half a million dollars or so to sign an NDA and go away, never to be heard from again.

  That was what most likely awaited Travis, and it made me feel sick.

  “What do we do?” Zander echoed my earlier words. “Nothing about this is straightforward. If we’re going to dig into this contract, we’ll have to get a lawyer to look over it, but I don’t want to do that unless Travis agrees.”

  “Travis said a lawyer already looked at it.”

  “Sometimes people miss things.”

  “Okay, I’ll talk to him tonight.”

  “Don’t tell him the full story about the penalties.”

  “I can’t lie to him.”

  “I’m not asking you to lie. Just avoid telling the truth.”

  “Why? Doesn’t he deserve to know?”

  “Yes, but not right now,” Zander said. “First, we need to confirm that Indigo Rain’s contract contains those clauses. Second, what if Travis does something stupid out of anger? Like taking drugs or punching Gary?”

  “Punching Gary isn’t stupid.”

  “Lanie, it’s ten o’clock in the evening. I’m not spending the night bailing your boyfriend out of jail on the other side of the world.”

  My boyfriend. That felt good and scary at the same time. “I suppose you’re right.”

  “We need to be devious, not impulsive, and that means careful research and planning.” Zander’s knees cracked as he climbed down from his stool. “Go and speak to Travis, then get some sleep.”

  The first thing Travis asked about was the contract. Typical. Since we were video-calling, I plastered on a smile, even though my fists were clenched into tight little balls off-camera. In LA, Travis was in his bedroom with the faint sound of music and voices in the background.

  “Did you get my email with the contract?”

  “Wow. It’s enormous.”

  “Yeah, I know, but did you get the email?”

  “Do you ever stop thinking about your dick?”

  “Not when I’m talking to my girl.” His voice softened. “Miss you, blue-eyes.”

  “I miss you too. So, so much. Have there been any developments with, you know, anything?”

  “Nothing. Any news from your brother?”

  “Not on the accidents. But I mentioned the contract to him, and he thinks we should get an independent lawyer to take a look at it. Can we do that?”

  “I don’t trust many people in this world, but I trust you, and I trust Zander, even if he doesn’t like me much. Do whatever you think’s best.”

  The ache in my chest grew stronger with his words, and I longed for his touch. But five and a half thousand miles separated us and would continue to do so for far too long.

  “Do you have company over there?”

  “There’s a bunch of people in my living room, but since Rush invited them, he can deal.”

  “Won’t they ask where you are?”

  “I told them I needed to call Catie, and if anyone asks, she’ll cover for me.” His lips curved into a filthy little smile. “Which means we’ve got all the time we need, baby.” The camera wobbled for a second, then refocused on the considerable bulge in his trousers. “You’re wearing too many clothes.”

  Thank goodness I’d locked the door. “I’ve never done this before.”

  Travis’s voice lowered to that sexy timbre that sent shivers through me, and all our difficulties receded. They still lurked in the background, but for now, they were out of reach.

  “I’ll teach you everything you need to know…”

  CHAPTER 32 - ZANDER

  BEFORE HE WENT to sleep, Zander sent a quick email to Emmy Black, asking if she knew a US-based lawyer with an eye for contracts. With her typical efficiency, she replied at three o’clock in the morning.

  Call Rhodes, Holden and Maxwell. Oliver Rhodes is my guy.

  The name rang a bell. Rhodes had assisted Max with an issue last year after Max’s then-girlfriend and now-fiancée got targeted by a serial killer. Zander sent him an email outlining the situation over breakfast, name-dropping Emmy, and the man’s assistant replied almost instantly with an offer of help and a quote that made Zander’s wallet scream in protest even with Blackwood’s discount already applied. But he needed somebody good, and Emmy wouldn’t recommend a dud. By lunchtime, he’d signed an engagement letter and sent Indigo Rain’s contract for review.

  Then it was into a holding pattern. A day passed. Two. Three. Four. Zander caught up on the work he actually got paid for, and Lanie slept in the daytime, spent the evenings with Tessa and her uni friends, and talked to Travis all night. At least Zander had to believe they were talking. He didn’t even want to think about what else his little sister might be doing behind her closed bedroom door.

  On Thursday evening, Zander settled back in his office chair after a ten-hour day. He wanted to go home, have a beer, and kick back with a movie, but instead, he opened up Providence, Blackwood’s primary data-analysis program. Developed by the US-based IS department, Providence combined advanced search facilities as well as an interface that allowed users to query databases using natural language and receive results in real time. Or, in plain English, it sliced and diced through oceans of data a mere human would drown in and gave Blackwood’s investigators some of the answers they needed.

  Today, Zander asked Providence about Red Cat. Throughout this week, he’d listened as Lanie, Tessa, Ziggy, and Amin discussed the shortcomings of the company over Chinese and sushi and pizza in the kitchen at home, and they’d piqued his curiosity. While the label’s signees slaved away in theatres and arenas the
world over, Red Cat’s CEO, Leonard Martineau, split his time between a luxurious Beverly Hills mansion and a beachfront villa in the Cayman Islands. Ziggy and Amin had come up with a mathematical model that suggested Red Cat’s stable of artists brought in gross profits of over two hundred million dollars a year, so where did it all go? Because it wasn’t ending up in the talent’s pockets.

  “Late again?” a voice asked from behind him. Emmy. “Still working on the Indigo Rain thing?”

  “It’s turned into an even bigger headache than before.”

  “Something to do with a contract?”

  “Yeah. Chances are, their record label’s ripping them off.”

  “Look on the bright side; at least no one’s died this week. If I order pizza, do you want one?”

  “Wouldn’t say no.”

  If Zander worked late tonight, he’d have a better chance of getting home to see his wife on Friday. She’d been in Northbury since Tuesday, and he’d been pining over her like all those whipped guys he’d laughed at just a year ago.

  “Pepperoni?” Emmy asked. “Margarita? Everything? And don’t say Hawaiian or I’ll be forced to fire you.”

  “Everything.”

  “Good choice.”

  “You’re working late too?”

  “By choice. My housekeeper’s on holiday, and my assistant thought it would be a great time to redecorate.” She rolled her eyes. “Again. The whole place stinks of paint, so I’m camping out here.”

  Seemed even billionaires had their problems. “Want a coffee? I’m just getting up to make one.”

  “Strong and black, honey.”

  Emmy sauntered off, but Zander didn’t make it halfway to the kitchen before his sister called.

  “What’s up?”

  “It’s happened again.” Lanie’s voice was tight. Edgy.

  “What’s happened again?”

  “Another girl.”

  Fuck. “What girl? What happened?”

  “Travis messaged to say that Caitlin got hit by a car, and he’s on his way to the hospital.”

  “Who’s Caitlin?”

  “His ex-girlfriend from high school. They’re still friends.”

  Was this ever going to end? “Okay, sit tight. I’ll see what I can find out, then get home as soon as I can. Do you know which hospital?”

  “I don’t know anything!”

  Coffee and pizza got forgotten as Zander called Vance in Blackwood’s LA office, a guy he’d worked with on occasion and who owed him a favour. Vance contacted the emergency rooms while Zander tried to work out who Caitlin was and why she’d been targeted. Five accidents. He’d been starting to doubt his instincts by connecting the previous four, but no way was this a fluke.

  Soft footsteps sounded behind him, and the normally irresistible aroma of cheese, tomato, and pepperoni drifted across his desk.

  “Well, I kept up my end of the bargain. Is the coffee machine broken?”

  “Sorry. Alana called. Another girl got hurt. Caitlin. A hit-and-run, it looks like.”

  “Shit. Badly hurt?”

  “No idea at the moment, other than she’s in the hospital. Vance Webber’s trying to find more information for me.”

  “Witnesses?”

  Zander shrugged. “You know as much as me right now.”

  Emmy dumped the pizza box on the desk and dropped into the seat beside him. Bryson usually sat there, and she swept a pile of candy wrappers into the bin before reaching for the phone.

  “I’ll make some calls too.”

  Caitlin Wiles had been out jogging when a car ploughed into her from behind. According to Vance, she’d gone straight into surgery to fix her broken leg, and her wrist would need pinning too. The doctor said she’d been lucky, but what was lucky about having a lunatic try to kill you?

  “This is escalating,” Zander said to Emmy. She’d eaten an entire Deep Pan Deluxe while Zander could barely stomach a glass of water. “It just keeps getting worse.”

  “Or better. Depends on how you look at it.”

  “Better? Are you insane?”

  “So everybody says. But think of it this way—our perp’s unravelling. They’re gonna make mistakes, and at this rate, it won’t be long before they fuck something up.”

  Although Emmy’s glass might have been half-full, there was a good chance of it shattering completely.

  “But how many more women will get hurt in the meantime?”

  “Again, that depends.”

  “On what?”

  “On how you approach the problem.”

  “And how would you approach the problem?”

  “You don’t want to know.”

  Yes, Zander did. Because with the shit hitting the fan on the other side of the Atlantic, he was stumped as to how he could solve the problem himself.

  “Tell me.”

  Emmy shrugged, as if to say, Well, you asked for it. “Simple. I’d turn the tables on our perp. Flush them out with some tempting bait. Pretty blonde bait.”

  Oh, fuck no. Emmy had been absolutely right; Zander didn’t want to know.

  “We’re not using my sister as bait.”

  She held her hands up. “Hey, I never seriously suggested it because I knew you’d say that. I’m just telling you what I’d do. Fifty bucks says we’d catch the asshole within a week.”

  The bitch was off her trolley. “Either that or I’d have a funeral to arrange.”

  “Are you suggesting my close-protection team doesn’t know what it’s doing?”

  “No, but…”

  “Relax, I’m kidding.” Emmy flipped open the lid of Zander’s pizza box, wrinkled her nose at the sight of cold pizza, but helped herself anyway. “But we can still assist. I can free up some personnel in LA and use our contacts in the police. Unless…”

  “Unless what?”

  “How well do you know Travis Thorne?”

  “Not that well.”

  “In that case, never mind.”

  “If you’ve got another idea, I’d like to hear it. Alana’s miserable as hell, and we’re up to five victims now.”

  Even if Reagan deserved her fate.

  “What if we use bait, but different bait?”

  “How different?”

  “Would Travis go for a cougar?”

  Zander nearly spat his water across the desk. “You?”

  “Hey, I’m thirty-five. I’m not that old.”

  Shit. Insulting the boss wasn’t a good move, especially when she knew a thousand different ways to kill a man and undoubtedly had experience at hiding bodies.

  “That wasn’t what I meant. It was more…aren’t you busy? I thought you didn’t get out of bed for less than twenty grand.”

  “Twenty-five.” One corner of her lips quirked. “Inflation. But I also hate meetings, and I’d like an excuse not to go to some. I’m in LA next week, anyway.”

  Meetings? She’d put herself in danger to avoid meetings? Zander raised an eyebrow.

  “Okay, okay. I think Alana and Travis make a cute couple. Call me a closet romantic. And I know you hate talking about your past, but you and her went through some difficult times, and… Oh, for fuck’s sake… Don’t look at me like that. And don’t you dare tell anyone I’ve got a soft side. Think of it another way—if anything happens to Travis Thorne, we’ll lose the security contract for Indigo Rain, and it’ll affect Blackwood’s bottom line. Does that work better for you?”

  She was serious about this, wasn’t she?

  “What if you get hurt?”

  “Life’s no fun without a little risk. Have you got any chocolate?”

  Zander leaned over to open Max’s desk drawer. He always had chocolate. Not because he ate it, but in case his fiancée visited him in the office and fancied a snack. While he rummaged amongst Max’s crap, he thought about Emmy’s offer. Drawing out the culprit could work, and it had the potential to save weeks of effort. If it had been anyone else standing in front of him, Zander’s answer would have been a flat no, but with
Emmy…

  “Here.” Zander tossed her a box of fancy truffles from Hotel Chocolat, and she caught it one-handed. “I can’t believe I’m even considering this.”

  “Reckon Travis Thorne’d go along with the plan?”

  “If Alana sold it to him, then probably.”

  “So talk to her.” Emmy held out a hand. “Fifty bucks says I catch the fucker.”

  Even though Zander had once watched Emmy garden with explosives, up until that point, he’d harboured a tiny doubt that she was as crazy as people said. But now he knew the truth. The rumours were all true—Emmy was a madwoman.

  He held out his hand. Why did this feel like making a pact with the devil?

  “Fifty bucks.”

  Emmy used a vicious-looking knife to slice open the seal on the box of chocolates, studied the menu card, and popped one into her mouth. Then she pointed the blade in Zander’s direction.

  “Why are you still sitting there? Don’t you have phone calls to make?”

  CHAPTER 33 - ALANA

  “EMMY WANTS TO what?”

  My brother perched on the edge of the dining table, tense. “That’s exactly how I reacted.”

  “She’s crazy.”

  “Said that too.”

  “And you told her no, obviously.” His expression didn’t change. “Zander?”

  “It would give us the best chance of solving this case quickly.”

  “Are you out of your freaking mind?”

  “At the moment, we’ve got five incidents in four different jurisdictions. Three of them might not even be crimes, there are hardly any clues, and the only thing they’ve got in common is Travis. If we can’t flush out whoever’s behind this, somebody else innocent could get hurt. At least Emmy knows what she’s letting herself in for.”

  “What if Emmy gets hurt?”

  “Emmy’s indestructible.”

  “No. No, no, no, no, no. No way.”

  “I need you to convince Travis to go along with this.”

  “Did you not hear a word I said?” I turned to Dove, who’d walked through from the kitchen. “Zander’s lost the plot.”

  “You can’t argue with him. He’s impossible. Believe me, I’ve tried. And I do kind of see his point about Emmy being indestructible.”