Fame And Secrets (Lords Of Lyre Book 2)

by Cora Kenborn

  Zane lifted his head and smirked. “Maybe if you’d come out with us, you’d actually get pussy instead of being one.”

  I’d already rolled back over by the time Ty protested.

  “I get pussy just fine.”

  Zane laughed. “Last year doesn’t count, brother.”

  “I’ve seen some of the chicks you hook up with, dude. I wouldn’t fuck them with your dick.”

  So much for sleep.

  I rubbed my eyes and sat up. I had no idea where the hell we were, but I knew it wasn’t too far from Santa Fe, New Mexico. My mind had been anywhere last night but on the concert. The crowd didn’t seem to care, but I was on edge every time someone threw shit on the stage. Because of what happened in Salt Lake City, security guards were like snipers. Lately, the only things being thrown were the usual panties, phone numbers, and hotel card keys. I’d tried to skip out on the meet and greet, but Kristina put her foot down.

  Literally.

  The woman put her foot down on my goddamn toe after I told her where she could shove her meet and greet. She said we’d be living in a cardboard box on Skid Row if I continued to treat my fans like assholes. She was right, but kissing people’s asses every night for a life that’d brought me nothing but danger sucked hard.

  “Where are we?” I mumbled underneath the shitty blanket I’d found in a drawer at four a.m.

  “Since I’m driving the bus from bed, let me pull the GPS out of my asshole and check,” Ryker yelled a few feet back. “Go. To. Sleep. Julian.”

  Ryker was a kid. What did he know about responsibilities?

  I had security and convicts watching the house, but it didn’t help. Call it male pride, but nobody could protect my wife and daughter like I could. I needed to be there for them, not two or three states away being worshipped by people who didn’t have the first clue about the man behind the microphone. They glorified the Julian the media wanted them to know. They lusted after an image—something my old manager, Helena, had created a year ago. They didn’t know me. Phoebe knew me.

  I hated leaving her after she’d gotten that damn package. Ever since Iris’s birth, my strong, sassy woman had morphed into an emotional, fragile mess. It wasn’t like her. Mom said it was normal for mothers to be hormonal, but I’d never seen her so unbalanced. This whole shit with her father changed her. My Phoebe slipped away, and my job had me on a damn tour bus somewhere in New Mexico.

  Something had to give.

  “Answer your phone, jackass. Jesus Christ, do I have to sleep in the shitter to get some peace on this bus?”

  I lifted my head. “Huh?”

  “Yes, you, Jag,” Zane shouted under his pillow. “Your phone’s been vibrating back here for ten minutes. Answer it, or I’m flushing the motherfucker.”

  I’d left my phone on the back table after my two a.m. pace-fest. Jumping off the couch, I tripped over random shit on the bus floor until I reached the table.

  My blood ran cold when I saw the caller ID. “Everson?”

  “Mr. Bale, finally. I’ve been trying to call you for over an hour.”

  My throat tightened. “Where’s Phoebe?”

  “Sir, she’s…”

  “Where’s my wife?”

  “Sir, your wife is fine.” Everson took a breath, and I let one out as the entire bus stared. “It’s not your wife I’m calling about.”

  “What?” I stumbled backward.

  “Mr. Bale, there were a series of disturbances last night, and a breach of security. Everything was well orchestrated, sir, and as lead security, I take full responsibility.”

  “What are you saying? What. Are. You. Saying?” The repeated phrase grew in volume as I pounded my palm against the wall.

  He hesitated before delivering the news that broke me. “Sir, your daughter is missing.”

  I slammed my fists into the wall until four others appeared behind me. “He’s dead,” I swore as they wrestled me to the ground while I screamed the deadly promise until I had no voice left.

  ***

  “What do you mean you took a sleeping pill?”

  After I’d told the rest of the band what happened, they drove me to the closest airport. I’d flown straight from Albuquerque to Los Angeles in an hour and forty minutes.

  Fuck Circa Records, and fuck the concerts. If the band kicked me out, I didn’t give a shit. If I lost my contract, I didn’t give a shit.

  My daughter is gone.

  As the cab pulled into the driveway, I dodged a lawn full of paparazzi, television reporters, and every squad car in LA County. It was a media circus, and we were the main attraction. Thank god I had the forethought to have Ryker call Mom. The tabloid frenzy in front of my house would be front page news by the evening edition.

  “Julian, you don’t understand.” Phoebe wiped blotchy tears running down her face. “You’ve been gone. I was exhausted and run down. I didn’t know what day it was.”

  “So you decided drugs would make it better?” I was being an asshole, but I wanted someone to blame. I wanted to hit something. I didn’t know what I wanted, but I knew if I’d been here, I could’ve stopped it.

  But I wasn’t.

  “It wasn’t drugs!” she yelled, standing up and glaring. “Faith gave me a sleeping pill so I wouldn’t be a zombie. Somebody had to take care of your daughter. You weren’t here to do it.”

  “Where was I, Phoebe?” I yelled back, stalking forward and forcing her to back up. “I was on the road in a goddamn tour bus paying for all this,” I motioned to the security guards crawling around the house, “because your family is fucking psycho!” She recoiled like I’d slapped her. I immediately regretted my words, but I couldn’t take them back. The look in her eyes gutted me. “Phoebe.” I reached for her, but she backed away.

  “Don’t.” She shook her head, wrapping her arms around her chest. “Just don’t.” She ran from the room with tears streaming.

  “Shit.” I made a move to follow her when a strong hand grabbed my arm.

  “Let her go, sir.” Everson stood beside me, his military shaved head nodding reassuringly. He wasn’t my favorite person at the moment, so I shrugged out of his grasp.

  “What I say to my wife doesn’t concern you, Everson. I pay you to guard, not offer opinions. You’re lucky you’re still in my house right now.”

  “Julian…”

  I turned my attention to the blond standing behind him and exploded. “You gave her a sleeping pill? Faith, where’s your goddamn brain?”

  Faith jumped, stunned by my outburst. “You didn’t see her, Julian. She was a wreck.”

  “She’s a mother. Mothers don’t dope up.”

  “You don’t understand…”

  “What did you give her that knocked her out for thirteen hours?” I demanded. I’d had it with excuses. Excuses wouldn’t bring my daughter home.

  “I-I don’t know,” she stammered. “Zane gave them to me.” She cupped her mouth and nose with both hands as she backed away. As we moved fluidly across the carpet, I was reminded of a hazy night in a hotel room not long ago.

  “Good night, Jagger.”

  “I’m not sleepy.”

  “You’ll be out in less than five minutes.”

  “What the hell were those things anyway?”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  “Are they legal?”

  “In a couple countries.”

  I’d fucking kill Zane when he got home. God knew what street hood he got them from. His damn illegal pills knocked my wife unconscious while her psychotic father took our baby. I almost took another step toward Faith when Everson blocked my path.

  “Sir, with all due respect, I’m going to have to ask you to step away from Ms. Addison and calm down.”

  I gestured to Faith. “Oh, absolutely. Sorry to frighten you, Mrs. Mottola. I’ll be sure to take this up with your boyfriend.”

  Faith glanced at the floor.

  Good. I wasn’t in the mood to dance around egos. Sinking down into the cou
ch, I waved a hand at Everson. “You’ve got five minutes to tell me what happened.”

  He described how a woman opened the front door with a key and just walked in. She looked like Faith, so security outside the perimeter never questioned her. I sat completely silent as he informed me of the disturbance near the front of the house. Two loud and obnoxious drunk fans, determined to see where “hot rocker Julian Bale” lived, distracted their attention. It took three security guards to force them off the property. I remained somewhat calm as he told me he’d taken a nap shortly after that, leaving McKellan on sole watch for Phoebe and Iris.

  I jumped off the couch and punched him in the face when he got to the part where he awoke to find Phoebe screaming over Iris’s empty crib…with McKellan gone.

  I’d hired a dirty guard to protect my family.

  ***

  The next day, Everson sat solemnly with a swollen face. Zane glared at me from his cross-armed position in the corner—most likely for railing on Faith. Ty, Ryker, and Kristina all huddled around the kitchen table, while police and detectives milled around as if it were any other day. Paparazzi and news teams camped out on our front lawn like the bloodsucking vipers they were, waiting to get a news snippet that the Bale baby had been rescued or found in a dumpster. It didn’t matter to them provided it sold papers.

  It didn’t matter to them my world had come crashing down around me.

  Or maybe it did. Maybe they wanted to see me come apart.

  I was going insane, and the police were no help. They’d determined there was no evidence and no leads to go on. They’d dusted the whole house for fingerprints. They’d even investigated Faith. The woman posing as her had been meticulous. She’d left nothing identifiable…not even a hair. Since the intruder had been identified by witnesses as female, the cops refused to look further into Daniel Dalton as the suspect.

  It fucking blew my mind. The man almost murdered his daughter. He had one confirmed murder on record, and I’d bet my life on Elisabeth Cayden being the second. He’d evaded police for going on four years. Did they seriously think he didn’t have the brain power to orchestrate kidnapping his grandchild?

  Our phones were bugged, the house was bugged, hell, everything was bugged, yet there had been no ransom demands. The police seemed baffled, but I knew his reasoning every time I glanced at Phoebe, who huddled in the recliner wrapped in Iris’s blanket.

  He wasn’t interested in payment. He wanted revenge.

  I’d almost given up on those idiots doing anything but drinking my coffee and eating the sandwiches that kept magically appearing in the kitchen. People kept bringing food over. Kristina told me it was the thing people did when they didn’t know what to say in tragic situations.

  I had an idea.

  Instead of cold cuts, they could get their asses out and look for my goddamn daughter.

  As soon as the doorbell rang, my feet hit the floor. I’d had enough of the paparazzi and their damn cameras. Jerking open the piece of shit door, I wedged it against my boots. “You want a statement? I’ll give you a statement, cocksuckers…”

  “I’d prefer a cup of coffee first. I mean, I did come all this way.” I stood like a moron staring at him. He lifted an eyebrow, glancing around me into the room. “Are you going to invite me in, or do we stand here and let the paparazzi keep taking shots of my fabulous ass?”

  Jaxon Hough.

  I’d never been so happy to see anyone in my life. I grabbed his shoulder and pulled him inside. Two men and a petite woman followed him, their expressions blank.

  I nodded to them. “Your family?”

  He smirked, his olive, Italian skin a stark contrast to the blond police brigade that filled my house. His close cut, dark hair had grown out since I’d last seen him, making him look much older than his thirty years. Apparently, life in New York hadn’t been kind to him since we’d left.

  “You could say that.” He smiled. “Julian Bale, I’d like you to meet Special Agents Young, Gates, and Hyatt.”

  “FBI?” I shook each of their hands. As a long-time detective at the NYPD, I wasn’t sure why he’d arrived with FBI agents.

  He winked. “I’ve told you before, Bale. People owe me favors all over the place.” He nodded toward the three agents standing at attention. “Agent Young is an old friend of mine. He’s the agent I told you I’ve been working with on your case. He informed me Gates and Hyatt have been investigating your pops-in-law for a while now. They got wind of your situation and thought they’d check it out for themselves.”

  Jesus. Did this guy know every-freaking-body?

  “Yeah, well, good luck with that,” I muttered. “Fucker’s like the wind.”

  “With all due respect, Mr. Bale,” interrupted the small female agent named Hyatt, “sometimes the FBI can find links local enforcement miss. Not because they’re incompetent, but because we’ve been studying Daniel Dalton for years.”

  “We’ll take any help we can get.” I glanced at Phoebe, who stared blankly at me from underneath the blanket.

  “Do you mind if we take a look around?” Hyatt asked, already taking notes.

  I dismissed her with a wave. “Go wherever you want.” If it helped them find Iris, they could demolish the house for all I cared. She nodded as the three of them disappeared.

  Jaxon slapped me on the back. “We need to find this supposed woman who dressed up as Phoebe’s friend.”

  After hours of stressing over the same thing, I laughed at the simplicity of his statement. “Easier said than done, Hough.”

  “Didn’t you say she had a key?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Security system?”

  “Dismantled,” I replied flatly.

  He leaned in, lowering his voice. “Sounds like someone’s playing the friend. Maybe a family member or a co-worker?”

  “Oh my god, the memory book.” Every head turned toward Phoebe. She’d remained silent up until now. Since our argument, she’d simply rocked herself in the recliner, hugging Iris’s blanket against her chest. It shocked me to finally hear her speak.

  I kept my voice steady. “Memory book?”

  She nodded vigorously. “Faith was making a memory book for our wedding. When Blogosphere Daily scooped the details, she figured out her assistant’s intern stole the book and sold the intimates to BD. By the time Faith went to confront her, she was gone. No one’s seen her since.”

  My blood boiled. “You didn’t think this information was important yesterday?”

  Her voice softened. “I didn’t remember it until now.”

  “I’m sure Iris will appreciate the sentiment.” Her eyes widened, and once again, I regretted my words.

  What was happening to us? If there was a time to pull together and unite, it was now. But all we’d done was tear each other to shreds since I walked through the door.

  “It doesn’t matter now,” Hough broke in. “We need to contact Faith and find this woman’s name. She’s our key.

  Zane pushed away from his designated corner. “I’ll call her again. Maybe this time, she’ll fucking answer.” He walked out of the room, refusing to look at me.

  Great. Offend my best friend?

  Check.

  Hough turned back to me. “Then we need to find this McKellan guy. He’s obviously in on it. Or dead,” he added with a grim face. “Either ending sucks for him.” He shrugged as he scrolled through his phone.

  Within minutes, people scattered. Hough took charge, assigning people jobs or tasks, and a flurry of activity commenced. Even the lead detective in charge of the investigation heeled under his command. It was bizarre.

  Overwhelmed, I braced both hands against the wall. Everything hit me at once: lack of sleep, jet lag, adrenaline crash, and nightmares on the plane.

  I failed her.

  The weight of the words rested on my shoulders, and my hands slid down the wall, callouses digging into the cheap paint. As I closed my eyes, the familiar scent of coconut swarmed around me. The gentle press
ure of her hand slid down my spine before wrapping around my waist. When I didn’t move, she took that as a green light to keep going, and before I knew it, her other arm engulfed me. I dropped my forehead against the wall, my eyes glued to her hands clasped together at the top of my belt buckle. Her rings shone brightly. The visual prompted me run my thumb across my own wedding band as I swallowed hard.

  We were supposed to be able to face anything together. For better or worse. In sickness or in health. But there were no vows about your child being taken because your wife was high as a kite.

  I wanted her comfort. I wanted to take her in my arms and love her. I needed her warmth. But something inside wouldn’t let me. So, I stopped rubbing my ring, and disentangled her hold on me. Gently pushing her away, I saw her chin tremble out of the corner of my eye. She clasped her hands in front of her, pulling inward as if she were trying to make herself disappear. It tore me apart to see her like this, but I still couldn’t force myself to offer her comfort.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Kristina whispered behind me.

  “I can’t, Kristina. I know I’m wrong, but I can’t hide how I feel.”

  She sighed. “Julian, you can’t isolate yourself.”

  My eyes remained fixated on my beautiful, broken wife. “I love her,” I whispered. “But if she hadn’t been popping pills, maybe she’d have heard something and stopped it.”

  Glancing up with new tears generated in horror, Phoebe ran to our bedroom and slammed the door.

  Okay, maybe my tone wasn’t as hushed as I thought.

  Kristina sighed again. “Or maybe they’d both be missing. Ever think of that?” Her words sliced me. “Turning on your only link to that little girl won’t bring her back. If anything, it’ll make you more miserable than you ever thought possible.” She walked away and slid onto a table chair, glaring at me before sinking her head in her hands.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Phoebe

  At some point, I thought I fell asleep, but it turned out I’d just stared at the television and thought the show was a dream. I kicked a bag of chips off the bed. Someone had placed them there in my stupor, most likely as an encouragement to eat.