The Complete Rockstar Series

by Heather C. Leigh

  I’ve slowly moved forward until we’re less than a foot apart. If he thinks he’s so tough, then I welcome him to try taking me down.

  My dad’s eyes widen in shock and he sputters. “Y-you have to fix it! People are talking! T-this guy isn’t going to stop. H-he’ll eventually get you, Gavin.”

  “What do you care what people say? You’re not associated with me,” I growl. “Haven’t been in years. And since when are you fucking worried about what happens to me?” I take another step and he stumbles back.

  Holy shit. My dad is honest to fucking god afraid of me.

  “Didn’t think this out, did you dad? Never figured I’d be bigger than you, huh? I’m not seventeen anymore, I’m nearly thirty. You’re just a fucking coward, only brave when bullying a kid. I might like dick, but I’m more of a man than you’ll ever be.”

  My dad’s eyes narrow and he assumes a fight stance, fists raised.

  I laugh. “Go ahead. I’ll even let you have the first shot.” I unclench my hands and grin.

  “Just, tell them it’s not true. You need to keep that shit to yourself, Gavin! It’s not right to announce it everywhere.” He still has his hands up, but his resolve is wavering, I can see it.

  “No. Now either hit me or get the fuck out of my house,” I snarl.

  Slowly, his fists uncurl and fall to his sides. “You don’t know what you’re doing,” he hisses. “You have to stop.”

  “I don’t care. I’m not living my life for you or anyone else.” I stride to the back door and open it. “My father is leaving,” I announce to the guard.

  “B-but we’re not done here!” my dad stammers. “The stalker—”

  “I believe you are done, sir,” the hulking bodyguard says. “I’ll walk you to your car.”

  I nod and he takes my dad’s upper arm in his meaty paw, tugging him out the door. Before my dad can speak again, I slam it shut and lean back on the countertop.

  Why does he give a shit about me being gay? His response, as fucked up as it was when I was a teenager, at least made some sense to me. I was a disappointment, not manly enough for my Air Force dad, a failure.

  But now? I’m a grown adult who has no contact with him so what the hell does it matter? And he’s honestly trying to convince me he’s worried about the stalker? What the fuck ever.

  Something about the conversation nags at the back of my mind, but I push it away. Right now, I feel incredible. I finally stood up to Dennis Walker and won.

  I pull out my phone to share my emotional high. The first person I want to call and tell is Mitch. Then I remember I broke up with him. My breath hitches and I stuff the phone back in my pocket, tears burning my eyes.

  Emotional high destroyed.

  Fuck.

  * * *

  “So, we’ve gotten quite a few leads with all of the combined information. The case is moving along smoothly.” Agent Halifax says grinning.

  “Good, that’s good.” The man continues staring at me. Jesus, this fucker makes me uncomfortable. “Where’s Agent Van Zandt?”

  “He’s following up on an interview. Sometimes we split up to cover more ground.” The man shrugs and gives me another one of his lecherous smiles.

  I have to concentrate to keep from flinching in disgust. The weird tension is unbearable. “Drink?” I ask, pulling a couple of glasses out of the cabinet.

  “Just water, please.”

  I can feel his eyes on me as I turn away to fill the glass. Honestly, I want to smash the glass against the side of his head. The few times I’ve spent around the man included his partner. Alone, he gives off fucked-up vibes. Creepy.

  “When do you think you’ll catch this guy?” I plunk the glass down and take a seat across the table from the agent, not wanting to be closer than necessary.

  “Hard to say. Some of these cases go on for years.” He folds his hands on top of the paperwork.

  “Jesus.” Of course, I already knew this. This guy has been at it for over a year. “And how many people did he kill?”

  “Eleven,” Agent Halifax responds. “That we know of. All of them missing their left ring finger.”

  The fucker is still looking at me. What an asshole.

  My phone rings, breaking the bizarre staring contest we have going on. Grateful for the interruption, I answer. “Hello?”

  “Gav! I’m going to Vegas, wanna come?” Hawke is practically shouting with excitement.

  “Vegas?” I push back and stand up, walking to the next room for privacy. And to get that creepy fuck’s eyes off of me.

  “Yeah! It’s going to be so fucking awesome!” I can hear him talking to someone in the background and a bunch of cheers rise up. He’s invited other people.

  “Sounds fun, but I’d have to bring my entourage of yetis,” I remind him.

  “Shit,” he grumbles. “I forgot.”

  “It wouldn’t be any fun with them tagging along.” Not the way Hawke parties. “You go. I’ll talk to you when you get back.”

  “Dude, this sucks. They need to fucking catch this asshole,” Hawke snarls. “It’s vacation time. No album, no tours, no recording we need to worry about.”

  “I know. They’re working on it. Catch ya later.”

  I hang up, annoyed that once again, my life is ruined by the nameless, faceless asshole that’s terrorizing me.

  “Friend or boyfriend?”

  I jump, unaware that Agent Halifax was standing right behind me.

  “Shit!” I scowl at the man and step back. “What the fuck?”

  “Sorry,” he smirks, not looking at all sorry. “Was that a friend or a boyfriend?” the man repeats.

  What the—? I’ve had enough of Agent Asshat.

  “None of your fucking business,” I snap. This asshole has some nerve. “I’m going out soon, so I’ll need you to leave.”

  Agent Halifax acts as if nothing that just occurred was the least bit strange. “No problem. We’ll contact you when we know more.” He brushes his hand through his hair and winks.

  My eyes must bulge out of my head. I was put off before, but now I’m fuming from his unprofessional behavior. I’m about to tear him a new ass when he opens the front door and leaves.

  What in the ever-loving fuck was that?

  Mitch

  “Mom, no, I’m fine.”

  I roll my eyes and sag onto my new couch, letting my head lay back. It smells like the furniture store. I hate it.

  “Mitchell, you’re not fine. I hear it in your voice.”

  My mother’s newest goal is to fix my pathetic love life. Specifically, get Gavin and me back together.

  “Stop, mom. It’s over. I know you met him at the hospital and bonded or something, but you have to let it go.”

  “Sorry, love,” she whispers, properly chastised. “I only want you happy.”

  “No,” I sigh. “I’m sorry, mom. I know you mean well. I just…” I swallow thickly. “I can’t talk about him, okay?”

  “Okay,” she sniffs. “Don’t be a stranger, Mitchell.”

  “I won’t, mom. Love you.”

  “Love you, son.”

  I hang up the phone and toss it onto the cushion, letting my eyes drift shut. My injuries have kept me from working out and I was only just cleared to begin light exercise, so my energy level has been low. Maybe I should walk on the treadmill for a while.

  A loud knocking at my front door wakes me from my dozing. I must have fallen asleep on the couch. I’m not even halfway to the foyer when the pounding starts again.

  Jesus! “Hold on!”

  I fling open the door to find my former co-worker and current resident in Mitch Hale’s doghouse, Sasha Knight.

  “Sasha?” My mouth hangs open, catching flies, as she pushes past me and closes the door.

  “Mitch. Why haven’t you answered any of my calls, emails, text messages…?” She counts each item off on her fingers. “I was about to send a damn letter!”

  I frown. “How are you Sasha? Me? I’m great! Every
thing is wonderful! Yeah, I was shot by a lunatic and watched my life unravel from a hospital bed, but thanks for asking!” I retort with an overabundance of sarcasm.

  She scowls with her hands on her hips. “Don’t be a jerk, Mitch. I’ve been worried about you.”

  My shoulders slump in defeat. “I’m exhausted, Sasha. Can we sit?”

  “Of course. Go sit. I’ll get us some water.” She turns me around and pushes me towards the living room. There are only two rooms on this floor and the other is the kitchen, so it wasn’t much of a guess for her to prompt me in the right direction.

  A minute later, Sasha gingerly sits next to me and hands me a bottle of water.

  “Thanks.” I place it on the end table. “You came all this way because I wouldn’t call you back?” I ask, incredulous.

  Sasha pales, biting on her perfectly painted lip.

  Uh oh.

  “What? What’s going on, Sasha?” My hands tremble and my heart begins to pound. Dread knots in my belly, tightening and unfurling like dark tentacles reaching out to squeeze my internal organs.

  “I need you to be honest with me, Mitch. No more dodging questions.” I stare at Sasha’s face. Her brown eyes are serious, not a hint of mischief in them. Her mouth is taut, fine lines pulling at the corners.

  “Okay.”

  “What happened with Grant?”

  Fuck. Bile rises in my throat. “Grant?” I squeak.

  “Yes, Grant, your partner. Tell me what happened. Why you quit,” she insists.

  “Sasha…” I warn. “I don’t like discussing it.”

  “I understand, but it’s important, Mitch.” Her eyes are pleading with me, begging me to open up.

  “Shit.” I rake a trembling hand through my unkempt hair.

  “When was the last time you had a shower?” She asks, her pert little nose wrinkling up in distaste.

  “Bloody hell, Sasha, I don’t have a clue,” I growl.

  “Sorry, continue.” Sasha gives me a contrite look.

  I reluctantly explain what Grant did to me, the teasing, the flirting, and the eventual betrayal. Her eyes get larger and larger as I divulge my relationship with my ex-partner.

  “What a piece of shit!” she exclaims, her pretty mouth curled into a snarl. “I always knew there was something fucked up about him. I could never get him to trip up in front of me.”

  I shrug. “It was over a year ago, Sasha. What does it matter?”

  “Mitch, you know that finger they found backstage in Gavin’s dressing room?” she asks.

  I wrinkle my brow, “Yes. What about it?” My brain is struggling to make any connections that might include Sasha.

  “It matched up to the victim of a serial killer the taskforce has been tracking.”

  I’m stunned into silence. When I finally speak, my tone is hesitant. “That’s Van Zandt’s case.” I don’t know the agent well, but I’m grateful to have someone competent searching for Gavin’s stalker—the man who shot me, the sick, twisted human being who brought us together only to tear us apart with a single bullet. Yet I’m also paralyzed by fear. The stalker isn’t just a stalker. He’s a murderer, and an active one at that.

  Faint memories of the case fill my mind. The bodies, stripped naked, their left ring finger snipped off postmortem. All men, some gay, some straight, but all of them similar in appearance—tall, blonde, blue eyed… like Gavin.

  “Yes, Mitch. It is Van Zandt’s case, but they assigned him a new partner after you left last year. That’s why I’ve been trying to reach you. His partner is Grant.”

  74

  Gavin

  It’s a beautiful day. The sun is shining, the waves are glistening, people are walking the beach, dipping their feet in the water and enjoying the weather.

  I’m wearing my swim trunks, scowling at nothing in particular. I got up early with the intention of getting some surfing in before the crowds become large. Yet here I am hours later, sitting on the beach next to my board, not having gone anywhere near the water.

  Some young men are playing Frisbee nearby, laughing and joking around. Even the sight of their tanned and toned bodies does nothing to lift my dark mood.

  A pink Frisbee hits the sand nearby. I could get up and throw it back, but my disposition is too shitty to care. One of the men trots over to retrieve it. Before he can reach the bright disc, a member of the Bigfoot squad intercepts him, trying to keep him away.

  “For fucks sake,” I snap. “Let the guy get his Frisbee.”

  Sasquatch scowls, but backs up, apparently realizing that a dude wearing nothing but a tight red speedo isn’t likely to be hiding a weapon.

  The man snatches up his Frisbee and grins. “Wanna play?”

  His eyes sparkle and it’s as if I’m punched in the gut. I suck in a ragged breath. Grey, his eyes are grey. With the tousle of dark hair the man reminds me of Mitch. They don’t look much alike otherwise, but it hurts all the same.

  “No thanks,” I murmur, attempting a smile.

  “You’re Gavin Walker,” he observes.

  “Yeah.”

  “That’s cool.” Confirmation of my identity brings a change in the man’s demeanor. “I’m Chase.” Those grey eyes drop to scan my bare chest and he bites his lower lip.

  Hell, I’m being cruised on the beach in front of my house. Not the first time, but probably the first time I haven’t welcomed it. Though, a good hard fuck would get Mitch out of my head, right?

  Chase is hot, with a perfect six-pack and a seductive smirk. I’m seriously considering his silent offer when a voice calls out from the direction of my house.

  “Mr. Walker!”

  Christ. It’s the Feebs. Agent Halifax to be precise. Cringing, I look over my shoulder, praying his partner is with him.

  Thank god. Agent Van Zandt is trudging through the sand a few feet behind Halifax. I turn back to Chase. “Sorry. I have to go.”

  Standing up, I brush the sand off of my swim trunks.

  “Nice to meet you,” Chase says, holding out a hand. I shake it and he caresses my wrist with his thumb. “Maybe I’ll see you around?”

  Those grey eyes hold a promise of mischief and a damn good time. “Maybe,” I reply.

  Chase winks and returns to his friends. Being out has definitely made it easier to get laid, that’s for sure.

  Irritated at the interruption, I turn to the Agents. “Did something happen?”

  “Let’s go back to the house,” Van Zandt suggests. “It’s hot as hell out here.” When he tugs at his tie all of my blood rushes to my feet, leaving me lightheaded. Memories of Mitch assault me, nearly knocking me to my knees.

  “Sure,” I whisper. My voice is sucked right from my lungs along with my breath. We trek back up to the house, the two agents dump sand out of their uptight business shoes before heading inside.

  Sasquatch closes the door behind us and waits outside, arms crossed and face in a perma-scowl.

  I grab a Red Bull out of the fridge and crack it open. Right now, I’m feeling a little petulant, so I don’t bother offering the agents anything to drink. They didn’t call ahead before barging in on my afternoon. That means courtesy on my part is optional.

  I choose to opt out.

  Especially when Agent Creepy is giving me the once over again. His eyes graze over me lasciviously, stopping at my piercings. I feel naked and embarrassed, which pisses me off.

  I stomp over to the couch and grab my shirt, yanking it over my head.

  “Can I help you?” I sneer, staring pointedly at Halifax as he smirks.

  “We wanted to go over some things. We’re trying to overlay the timeline and locations of the victims’ deaths with your past travel schedules,” Van Zandt says. He opens a binder and searches, extracting a few sheets of paper.

  Do they not have computers for this shit?

  “Do you have my old travel schedules?” I query.

  “No. We were hoping you had it so we could compare it to our killer,” Agent Halifax says, his eyes
drifting from my chest to my mouth as I take a sip of my drink.

  I’m seriously on the verge of punching this guy. Is that a federal crime? I notice a wedding ring on his left hand and nearly choke on Red Bull.

  “I don’t have those things here,” I snap. “The tour company that hosted the tour, the record label, or hell even Ross would have those things. I’m just the talent. I show up, sing and dance, and go the fuck home. I don’t know shit about schedules.”

  “Excuse me,” Van Zandt says, heading for my bathroom.

  Fucking make yourself at home, asshole.

  Shit. Now I’m alone with the closeted Agent Dickhead.

  This is such crap. Why are they really here? I’m about to call Halifax out on his shit when he suddenly stands up.

  “It’s really important that we figure out if any of the notes arrived in cities at the same time victims were killed,” he maintains, slowly walking over to where I’m standing.

  My fingers tighten around my beer. “If it’s that important, you should have called. I could have told you I don’t have that kind of information here at the house,” I growl.

  Halifax stands next to me, staring over my shoulder to look out the kitchen windows. I begin to move away. Uncomfortable is not even in the same universe as how I feel with this asshole so close to me. Before I can take a single step, his hand brushes against mine.

  I scowl and he pretends to be shocked. “What the fuck are you playing at, Halifax?” Livid, I give him a dark look.

  The fucker holds up his hands in mock defeat. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  There’s that damn smirk again. I put down the drink, ready to punch this asshole into next week, when the front door opens and one of the bodyguards calls out. “Mr. Walker, you have visitors.”

  Halifax jumps back, nearly falling on his ass in his haste to get away from me. Before I can blink, someone tears into the room and Halifax is being thrown against a row of floor to ceiling cabinets with an earsplitting crash.