Lyrical Odyssey Rock Star Series: Box Set 1

by Charli B. Rose

  “OK. Then what?” He jotted in his notepad.

  “While Dawson was showering, I got a call from Charles Strong—”

  “Who’s Charles?” the detective interrupted.

  “He’s the owner of the gallery where I have an art show coming up,” I explained.

  “And what did Charles want?”

  “To tell me…” Tears filled my eyes as I remembered why he called. “To tell me that someone wrecked some of my artwork for the exhibit.” My beautiful pieces maliciously marked, torn, and damaged. Why would someone do that?

  “After Charles called you, what did you do?” he questioned.

  “Um. I called for a ride. And I wrote Dawson a note. I didn’t want him to worry when he found out I was gone after he got out of the shower. I don’t remember anything about the car ride. Just that I was worried about the damage since my show is coming up.” My fingers played with the edge of the blanket.

  “That’s OK. Does Charles normally work at the gallery in the middle of the night?” the detective asked.

  “Not usually, though artists work strange hours sometimes. But the cleaning crew doesn’t come in until really late. They’re the ones who found the door unlocked where I’ve been storing my finished pieces. They called Charles. Once he got there and assessed the damage, he called me.” Cotton filled my mouth. I reached for my cup. Dawson held it up for me to take a slow sip.

  “When you got there, what did you find?”

  “Two of my paintings and two of my photographs were damaged,” I choked, a tear leaking out. Dawson whisked it away with his thumb.

  “How many pieces of artwork were in the storage room?” the officer asked.

  “Dozens. Why?” I didn’t understand his line of questioning.

  “And only four pieces were damaged?”

  “Yes.” I frowned. “Why?”

  “Can you describe the pieces? Did they have a common thread?” he asked without answering my question.

  “One of the photos was of a surfer emerging from the tunnel of a wave. The other photo was of Dawson’s band, Lyrical Odyssey. Both pictures were cut to shreds.” I shuddered as I recalled their current state.

  “And the paintings?” the detective prodded.

  “One depicted a line of fans waiting to get inside the concert venue for one of the band’s shows years ago. Each fan in line was covered in red paint… Well, except for a fan at the front of the line. She had pink hair and held a helmet. The other painting was of a young boy handing a bouquet of flowers to a young girl. Only their hands were visible. That painting was shredded like the photos, and the word MINE was painted across the top.”

  “So, different settings, different subjects, nothing to connect them,” the detective mused.

  “Maybe they were just the ones closest to the door?” Dawson offered.

  “No. The photos were stacked on the table by the door with other photos. And the canvases were in the far corner,” I explained.

  “OK. Do you remember anything from when you left the gallery?” Detective Martin asked.

  “I walked out and was about to call Dawson to come get me. Then there was this roar behind me. Before I could turn around, something knocked me to the ground. Then my head hurt and—”

  “And what?” Detective Martin seemed eager to hear what I had to say.

  “And before things went black I saw a motorcycle drive down the sidewalk.” I frowned. That couldn’t be right.

  “Do you remember anything about the motorcycle? Or the rider?” the officer continued with his questions.

  “The bike was black, I think. And the rider was a woman.”

  Detective Martin leaned forward in his chair. “How do you know the rider was a woman?”

  “Long, pink hair was flying out from the back of her helmet. I mean I guess it could’ve been a guy. A small guy. But with the hair, I just thought woman.” I shrugged and motioned for Dawson to hand me the cup. He didn’t, but he did hold the straw to my lips so I could drink some more water.

  “Hmmm, pink hair like the woman in your painting. Interesting. We’ll confirm hopefully with the surveillance footage from the business next door. Is there anything else you can tell me?” the officer asked, closing his pen.

  I shook my head. “Not that I can think of. Sorry.”

  “Well, if you think of anything else, give me a call,” he said as he stood and placed his business card on the bedside table. “I hope you recover quickly.”

  “Thank you.” I shook his hand carefully.

  “Yes, thank you, Detective,” Dawson said, offering his hand to the officer.

  Once the detective was gone, I slumped down in the bed. The short interview wore me out. My eyes fluttered closed for a moment.

  “You’re tired. I should go and let you rest,” Dawson murmured, pressing a kiss to my fingertips, then lacing our fingers together.

  My lids flew open. “No. I mean, I am tired, but I don’t want to sleep. I want to talk to you. Our night was cut short. We have so much to talk about. So much unresolved,” my voice was whisper soft and weak.

  “And we will. There’s time for that. Later. But first, I have a question for you about the pieces that were damaged. The photo of the surfer, was it the one you took of me during the band’s first West Coast tour?” he asked, concentration playing on his features, drawing lines where there shouldn’t be any.

  “Yeah. How’d you know?” I reached up with my other hand and smoothed the skin between his eyes, pressing the lines away. I wanted to touch him more, but the IV taped to that hand constricted my movements.

  Worry painted his handsome face again. “And the young boy giving flowers to the young girl, was that the one you did of us wearing the red thread bracelets?”

  I nodded.

  “Izzy, I’m the common denominator in those pieces that were destroyed.” He cradled my hand in both of his. The warmth of his skin seeped into mine, soothing me while his words created a chill of fear.

  “No. That can’t be. I mean, yes they’re all tied to you. But there are no faces in the Gift of Flowers painting. And your face isn’t easy to make out in the surfing photo either. The fans waiting to enter the concert could be fans anywhere.” I was grasping, not wanting Dawson to be the connection.

  “And your building was vandalized,” he whispered. He lifted one of his hands so his fingers could drag through his hair. “What was painted on the side of your building, flutterby?”

  My mind was foggy. “I can’t remember exactly. Something about he’s mine and slut.” I closed my eyes and tried to recall the graffiti message.

  “And written on your painting was ‘he’s mine’?” Dawson prompted.

  My heart hammered. “Yeah.”

  “There’s something I need to tell you…” his tone of voice made something inside me freeze in terror.

  “I have a stalker. Have had a stalker for years apparently. But I didn’t find out about it until we left the record label. Seems our fan mail was screened to remove any crazy stuff. Plus, we never really saw the bulk of the letters once we actually started getting fan mail,” he said. His gaze dropped to our joined hands. With a light touch, he ran his finger over the design of my thumb ring, now standing stark against my pale skin, not hidden by the metal one I usually covered it with.

  I drew a deep breath. “And you think your stalker destroyed my art?”

  He nodded, shame keeping him from meeting my gaze. “And vandalized your building and tried to run you over last night,” he mumbled.

  “What? You think it’s connected to my accident?” I hadn’t even considered the accident being anything more than an accident.

  He looked at me briefly. Pain all over his face. “I think it’s a possibility. And that scares the hell out of me. It’s very likely that I’m the reason you got hurt. That your work got destroyed… That someone tried to kill you.” His head dropped to the mattress next to mine.

  “You can’t blame yourself,” I whispered, r
eaching to run my fingers through his hair.

  “The hell I can’t. You wouldn’t have been targeted by my stalker if I wasn’t still in love with you. If I hadn’t made it known to the world that you still owned my heart. She came after you because she sees you as a threat. For some sick reason she thinks I belong to her. I think I need to keep my distance from you,” his voice trembled with the suggestion and his muscles tensed.

  “What?” I croaked. I’d just gotten him back. He couldn’t be leaving again.

  “At least until she’s identified and caught.” He turned his face towards mine.

  “No, Daw. You can’t. I can’t lose you again. Please.” My fingers gripped his tightly, like that one touch could anchor him to me.

  The monitor started to beep like crazy. “Shh, calm down, flutterby,” Dawson cooed, running his fingers across my cheeks. He stared into my eyes. “Do you want them to come sedate you?”

  I forced myself to draw deep, even breaths. I didn’t want to be knocked out. I was too fearful that he’d be gone when I woke back up.

  “Can you hold me please?” my voice was weak, but I didn’t care. I needed to be in his arms. To feel safe and loved.

  ♪ Last Shot by Kip Moore

  “Scoot over,” he ordered as he lowered the railing on his side.

  Wincing internally, I inched over until I was next to the cool metal railing on the other side. Gingerly, he eased onto the narrow mattress with me. His arms opened wide, and I wasted no time settling into the safe haven they provided. It would be a lot harder for him to sneak away with my head resting over his heart.

  “Rest now,” he whispered into my hair.

  “I’m scared,” I admitted.

  “I know you are. I promise I’m going to find out who’s doing this and make her pay,” his voice dripped with venom.

  “That’s not why I’m scared.” I picked my head up and looked him directly in the eyes.

  “It’s not?” Frown lines marred his brow.

  “No. I’m scared if I close my eyes and go to sleep, you won’t be here when I wake up.” His features began to blur as my eyes filled with moisture.

  “Oh, Izzy.” He sighed in defeat and squeezed me tightly to the hard planes of his body. “I wouldn’t sneak away like that. I’ll still be here when you wake up. I promise. But I’m not promising that I won’t have to put distance between us for your safety. I have to do what’s right. I’d die if anything happened to you because of me. Don’t ask me to risk your safety.” His eyes begged me to understand. To give him permission to go.

  I didn’t want to argue with him, but I wasn’t ready to concede. “Can we talk about this later? I’m getting a little tired.” I knew it was sneaky using my current state to table our disagreement, but all was fair in love and war. Right? And I was in a war to reclaim my love.

  “Sure, flutterby. We’ll talk later. Rest now.” His fingers stroked my hair.

  My eyes drifted shut beneath the soothing motion. “I hear your heartbeat,” I mumbled.

  “It still says Isa-belle, Isa-belle. Stubborn thing still hasn’t learned a new tune,” he said with a chuckle.

  “Not even after all this time?”

  “Not even after forever. I love you, Izzy. Only you. Only ever you.”

  “I love you too.” I sank into sleep with the comforting warmth of him beneath my skin and the rhythm of his heart singing me a lullaby of love.

  ♪ A Thousand Years by Christina Perri

  Chapter 12

  Dawson

  Even with all the crap going on with my stalker and trying to launch a new record label, all was right with my world as long as Izzy was in my arms, her heart beating in time with mine.

  Once her breathing evened out, I withdrew my cell phone from my pocket, careful not to disturb her. I shot off a quick text to Joe.

  Me: Can you come in here and talk while Izzy sleeps?

  His reply came in the form of the door to her hospital room easing open. He treaded silently over to my side of the bed. With a grace that should’ve been impossible for a man of his stature, he eased onto the chair I’d slept in.

  “How is she?” he whispered.

  “Tired. Scared. Sore.” I sighed.

  “Why is she scared? Did you tell her what you suspect about your stalker?”

  I hadn’t had to voice my suspicions to Joe about who was behind the damage to Izzy’s artwork or her accident. Joe shared my worries.

  “I did tell her. But that’s not why she’s scared. She’s afraid I’m going to leave her.” I dragged the fingers of my free hand through my hair.

  He chuckled with a nod. “She always was perceptive.”

  “Yeah, too damn perceptive for my own good. You know why I’m considering putting distance between us. You know it kills me to think about it. But I have to. For her.” Why could no one understand that it might be necessary in order to keep her safe?

  “I get it, man. But Izzy has never been fond of people making decisions for her. And you haven’t been this happy in years. I hate to see you go back to that sad sap I traveled half the world with. You’re you with her in your life. Don’t make any hasty decisions. We could put someone on her twenty-four seven,” Joe offered.

  “I know. And it’s probably going to be necessary to have someone close by until this sicko is caught. But I’m not sure I should be a visible presence in her life. Now that I have her back in my life, I don’t think I could cut her out completely. I wouldn’t survive without her in my world in some capacity. But it may just have to be limited phone calls, at least for a while.” Every cell in my body rebelled against the idea, but my brain couldn’t let go of the worry, the guilt.

  “Just be careful, man. With her and yourself. You’ve both somehow managed to survive the loss of each other once. I’m not sure you could do it again. Either of you.” Joe’s expression was serious. I knew he was recalling just how far I fell last time.

  I turned and looked at her sleeping face, resting on my chest, her face turned up towards mine. “I know I wouldn’t survive,” emotion clogged my throat. I cleared it. “Can you go by the gallery and take photos of the damaged pieces? And go back by the venue to photograph the mirror and everything else?”

  “Sure, I can do that. Ty and Key arrived during the night. So, I’ll leave them here with you while I go. I’ll take Deric with me. Don’t go out creating chaos in the hospital. Stay here in Izzy’s room. Don’t go anywhere without Ty or Key, not even the bathroom,” Joe ordered.

  I opened my mouth to protest.

  “I mean it, D. I can’t investigate this if I’m worrying about you. Besides, Izzy needs you to stay put.” The stern look on his face left no room for argument.

  “Fine,” I conceded with a sigh. “I’ll be good. And while you’re out, can you take Izzy’s broken phone and get it replaced?” I tipped my head in the direction of her shattered phone laying on the table. Then I wrapped my arms more securely around Izzy and buried my nose in her hair. The faint hint of strawberries wafting through the new scent of lavender helped settle my thoughts and the urge to run.

  My eyes drifted shut as Joe left the room. Izzy’s arm tightened around my abdomen. In her sleep she mumbled, “I love you, Daw.”

  “I love you too, flutterby.”

  The sound of someone clearing their throat loudly awakened me from the most delicious dream where Izzy was finally in my arms again. I tried to linger in that heavenly bliss, but the throat clearing became louder, more obnoxious.

  Slowly, I cracked one eye open, fully expecting Brooks to be staring down at me because I was running late for some appointment. Instead of my best friend, Andrew and Susan Clark stared down at me. A puzzled look covered Izzy’s dad’s face, while her mom stood silently, wringing her hands. Their appearance brought the events of the past twelve hours back into sharp focus. I glanced down and found Izzy still sleeping peacefully on my chest.

  ♪ Open Arms by Journey

  “Hey there, Andrew. Sue,” I wh
ispered, not wanting to wake their daughter.

  “Thanks for calling us, Dawson. How is she?” Susan asked.

  I’d given them a quick call before I crashed last night.

  “A little sore, but they’re giving her something for pain. Keeping her overnight was really just a precaution. She’s been sleeping peacefully for a little while now.” My fingers involuntarily stroked from the top of her head down to the base of her spine.

  Her parents pulled chairs up by the side of the bed. It was a little awkward having them sit there while I lay with Izzy cradled on my chest. I tried to ease out from under her, but her arms wrapped more firmly around my middle, and she mumbled in her sleep, “Please don’t go.”

  “Don’t wake her. Stay where you are,” Susan urged.

  “OK,” I consented sheepishly.

  It wasn’t like they hadn’t seen me and Izzy cuddling countless times before, but this time was unnerving. Things were unsettled between us. Whatever we were at the moment, it was still new. Not ready to be scrutinized or examined too harshly by those whose allegiance belonged to Izzy alone.

  “What can you tell us about what happened? And why are you—” A sharp look from Susan halted the words coming from Andrew’s mouth.

  “Why am I here with Izzy and not Beckett?” I finished for him.

  He gave me a curt nod.

  “Well, my concert was last night, as I’m sure you guys were aware,” I said softly, inhaling Izzy’s scent to calm my jitters.

  “Beckett was so excited. Like a little kid,” Susan said.

  “Anyway, halfway through the show, Beckett left, and Izzy came backstage.”

  “That’s so odd. I can’t believe he would leave before the end.” Susan’s frown caused me to pause and consider my next words carefully.

  “I don’t have all the details. That’s something Izzy or Beckett will have to fill you in on. I only know that they broke up. Anyway, after the show while I was showering, Izzy received a message from Charles at the gallery letting her know that someone had vandalized her work for the exhibit. She rushed straight there. She was gone by the time I got out of the shower. Apparently after she surveyed the damage, she was hit by a motorcycle on the sidewalk when she was leaving. Charles called for help and called Beckett, who gave the doctors here her medical history. My bodyguard is a former police officer, so when I started trying to locate Izzy, he used his connections and found out about the accident. I came straight here and haven’t left her side since.” I took in a deep breath when I finished explaining, filling my lungs with strawberry, lavender and Izzy.