I cringed. "That's my cue to leave," I told Emmett. Turning to Kat, I added, "I'm gonna start setting up for the fan meet and greet in the tower."
"Not staying to hear your song?" Mickey asked as I turned to leave.
"Nope," I called over my shoulder without looking back. "Break a leg," I added under my breath, feeling a bit less sorry for bailing on him this morning. Stupid "Gamblin' Grace." I grabbed Emmett's hand and headed for the stairs leading up to Castle Rock's rear tower.
After a lot of discussion, Kat and I decided to turn the tower's lone room into an events space for VIP experiences at the venue. It provided a unique and memorable backdrop for after-parties and fan meet and greets, allowing attendees to enjoy the breathtaking view of the Atlanta skyline from the tower's open windows.
As Emmett and I reached the top of the stairs, I spotted a familiar silver-haired man kneeling next to a PA speaker, unraveling a string of cables. My back stiffened. I'd forgotten that 95Rox's most arrogant DJ, Tim Scott, was running tonight's station-sponsored meet and greet. We're making a ton of money off this, I reminded myself. And letting Tim interview the band for his show is good exposure for Castle Rock. Tim's widely-syndicated radio talk show, Tune Talks, was broadcast on nearly every rock station in the Southeast and even a few on the West Coast. He'd do anything to get a juicy story for his segments, and he didn't care whom he hurt or what lines he crossed to get the scoop. Tim called it being a good journalist—I called it being a huge douchebag.
Tim looked up as we approached and flashed me a cheesy grin. "Good evening, Miss Grace."
"Hi, Tim," I said, forcing a polite tone. "You remember my boyfriend, Emmett."
Tim bristled, and a scowl melted through his plastic smile. "Of course I remember Agent Larson," he said dropping the pile of cables and rising to his full height. He begrudgingly stepped forward and gripped Emmett's hand. "I don't suppose you're here to block me from broadcasting even more important news?" he asked through clenched teeth.
"I hope you haven't been giving Amelia a hard time while I've been away," Emmett said, narrowing his eyes at the man. He wasn't a fan of Tim's, either.
"Wouldn't dream of it," Tim said dryly. His annoyance evaporated, and an eager look crossed his face. "That reminds me, how is your case going? Caught that slimy mobster yet?" Tim's lips twitched, and his eyes narrowed in challenge. "Why else would you be back here?"
"Sorry, Scott. Classified info. You know how it is." Emmett shrugged, but I saw his jaw muscle flex and felt him go rigid beside me. I got the feeling he wasn't in the mood to play twenty questions with the shady journalist.
"Need a hand with your equipment, Tim?" I cut in before he could continue to grill Emmett further.
The man shook his head. "No, thank you. I'm almost set, and my intern should be back up here any minute with the camera. We're going to get some shots to post on the 95Rox social media accounts." Tim stooped to resume his task of untangling speaker cables while Emmett and I set up a folding table and chairs for the band. We set a stack of black and white promotional photos of Royal Flush on the table, along with several gold markers.
Bronwyn bounded up the stairs then, her arms full of water bottles. "The band is ready," she called. She placed a drink on the table in front of each empty chair. "Reese is lining up the station's meet and greet contest winners in High Court." Bron tapped the microphone on her headset. "Should I radio him to bring them up now?"
"Yeah, go ahead," I said absently. My attention was fixed warily on Tim. His conniving smirk had returned at the mention of the band. What stupid stunt does he have planned this time? I wondered. Tim had risen to radio fame by interviewing the world's most famous musicians and reporting live from some of the biggest events in entertainment history. Now that his career was beginning to dry up, however, he was known to pull "shock and awe" publicity stunts for the sake of increasing his ratings. If he had something up his sleeve, I wanted to be ready for it. I leaned back against Emmett's chest and tilted my head up to whisper in his ear. "Keep an eye on Tim."
"You got it, babe." Emmett squeezed my shoulder.
Bronwyn reached for the walkie-talkie hooked to her jeans and mashed the button on its side. "We're good to go in the tower, Reese," she spoke into her headset. "Bring 'em up."
Static belched from the speaker. "Roger that," Reese's deep voice crackled. "On our way."
"Thanks, sexy." Bronwyn made a smooching noise into her mic and then released the radio button. She came to stand next to Emmett and me as the noisy stomping of footsteps echoed up the stairwell. A few moments later, Reese and Kat appeared at the door leading a line of ten lucky Royal Flush fans into the tower.
Tim flashed a cheesy game-show-host grin. "Welcome to 95Rox's 'Rock After Dark' with Royal Flush!" he said, going to each fan and shaking their hand. "Congratulations on winning a seat at this exclusive post-show event. The band will be up shortly for an autograph signing and photo session." He flicked his gray ponytail over his shoulder and gestured for the group to line up next to the table.
The excited winners chattered amongst themselves as they filed in. Two blonde girls that looked to be in their late teens or early twenties led the line, followed by a couple in their thirties, two middle-aged men, two college-aged men and a woman wearing Georgia State T-shirts, and a man with an Atlanta Braves baseball cap pulled down low over his eyes. Something about the last fan seemed oddly familiar. I squinted at him, trying to get a better look at his face.
Applause erupted from the group of fans as Royal Flush entered the tower room. Chad and Zane walked in first, followed by Sid, Mickey, and finally Jack. The two blonde girls squealed with delight as Jack appeared. Suzie and Ginger entered right behind him. The two women and Kat joined Bronwyn, Emmett, and me off to the side as the musicians took their seats behind the autograph table.
Emmett leaned down and put his lips close to my ear. "Gotta use the john," he said. "I'll be right back." He planted a kiss on the top of my head before heading toward the stairwell. I couldn't help but notice that Mickey gave him the stink eye as he passed.
Reese ushered the fans into a line starting at the left end of the table where Sid Malone was seated. One by one, each winner handed their black-and-white Royal Flush photograph to Sid. He signed the pictures before passing them assembly-line style to Mickey, Chad, Zane, and finally Jack, who was seated at the other end of the table. Each rocker chatted with the fans as they reached him. Chad bumped fists with the two younger men in the Georgia State tees. The blonde girls walked around to the back of the table and leaned down on either side of Mickey. He placed his arms around them as they posed for a picture.
"I've gotta tell you," one young man said to Jack. "I have this crazy theory about the meaning of your song 'House of Cards'."
"Oh yeah?" Jack grinned. "Hit me. What's your theory?"
The young man's face lit up with excitement. "So, check this out," he began, gesturing with his hands. The rest of the band turned to watch him with interest. "You know how you've got that one line that goes, 'We're all just livin' in a house of cards, and it's bound to come tumblin' down'? Well, I think you wrote that as your way of saying that our nation's government is so weak and corrupt that the next big political scandal could unravel the whole thing." The fan looked at Jack hopefully. "Am I right?"
"Whoa. That's deep," Jack said with a chuckle. He shook his head. "I'm afraid it's not nearly as profound as that."
The young man's face fell. "What's it about then?"
Chad held up a hand. "I can answer that one." He flashed the kid a toothy grin. "Sorry to burst your bubble, dude—but one time in college, we got really stoned and decided to build a fort out of playing cards. It took us nearly fifty decks and some tape, but Mickey and I finally constructed four flimsy walls and a roof."
Mickey gave a hearty laugh. "I remember that. Then Jack came in and went all Big Bad Wolf on us. He literally blew our house down."
"Oh." The fan said, deflated. "Er, well, thanks
for listening to my theory, anyway."
"It's a good one," Jack said, winking at the kid. "Hold on to that. The song can mean whatever you want it to. That's the great thing about art."
A loud thud pulled my attention to the other end of the table where Sid Malone was seated. "What the hell's your problem, bro?" he snapped at the man in the Braves cap. Sid pounded his fist so hard that he rattled the whole table. He pushed his chair back and stood up, his chest puffed out as he glowered at the fan.
"You stole my shot at fame," the man replied nastily. His voice sent a bolt of recognition through me…Dillon?
The man pulled off his Braves cap and flipped it around so that the bill faced backward before setting it back on his head. Though it had only been five years since I'd seen Dillon Green, he looked to have aged twice that. He was slightly thinner than I remembered, and a thick layer of scruff covered his cheeks and chin as if he hadn't shaved in a week. His disheveled appearance, combined with his almost palpable anger, made our former friend seem deranged.
I glanced at Kat. Her eyebrows were raised, her lips parted in surprise. She'd no doubt reached the same conclusion. Kat met my gaze and moved closer to me. "You've gotta be kidding me," she whispered, gripping my arm. "I thought he seemed familiar, but I didn't get a good look at him before."
The other fans had taken a few steps back from Dillon and were glancing around the room nervously. Tim Scott stood on the opposite end of the room, wicked glee written all over his face. He rubbed his hands together and eagerly bit his lip as he fumbled for the microphone. "A hundred bucks says Tim arranged this as a publicity stunt," I muttered to Kat.
She looked over at the conniving deejay and then gave me a sidelong glance. "One hundred? How about a thousand?" Kat ground her teeth. "I really want to clock that jerk right in the face."
"Get in line," I said dryly.
Sid scowled at Dillon and crossed his arms defiantly over his chest. "If you had any talent, you'd probably still be with the group," he spat. "Why don't you crawl back into your has-been hidey hole and leave us real rockers alone?" He flicked a glance toward his bandmates, looking for them to back him up.
Chad, Mickey, and Jack gaped at Dillon as if they were seeing a ghost. Zane eyed him warily and then leaned over in his seat. "So this is that Dillon guy who Jack kicked outta the band?" he asked Chad.
"Not now, man," Chad muttered, poking him in the ribs with his elbow.
"Dude," Mickey said to Dillon. "What are you doing here?"
Dill glared at him. "What's the matter, Mick? Not happy to see an old friend?"
Mickey held up his hands in a placating manner. "No, man. I'm just surprised is all. I thought about calling you while we were in town, actually."
"You're not welcome here," Jack said, his tone gruff. His handsome face puckered, and he squinted daggers at his former band mate.
"Like hell I'm not!" Dillon held up his 95Rox VIP badge, his expression smug. "I'm a contest winner. You guys owe me a meet and greet." He stepped forward, turning in a circle with his arms stretched wide. "So here I am. Greet me, jerks," he challenged.
"Don't mind if I do." Sid stomped around the table, his jaw clenched. His arm shot out, connecting his fist with Dillon's jaw with near lightning speed. Then chaos erupted. The two men collided in a tangle of swinging arms and thrashing legs. Excited cries echoed around the tower as the other fans scrambled away from the brawling pair. Dillon punched Sid in the neck, and the wiry bass player returned the favor with a knee to the stomach. Dillon staggered backward but recovered in time to block another one of Sid's jabs. There was a sick crunching sound as he slammed his fist into Sid's nose.
"No!" Ginger cried, breaking my state of horrified paralysis.
"Stop," I called, rushing forward with my arms outstretched. Chairs scraped the stone floor as the rest of the band pushed back from the table to help break up the fight.
I reached Sid and Dillon first and attempted to wrench my arms between them. "Amelia, look out!" I heard Kat yell over the racket. I jerked my head toward her just as something smashed into the right side of my face with an explosion of pain. The lights went out as I dropped to the floor.
CHAPTER FIVE
"Amelia?" A voice floated through my consciousness, and I felt a gentle tap on my cheek. I cracked open an eyelid and found Mickey peering down at me—at least, I thought it was Mickey. It was hard to see through all the stars clouding my vision. "Ow," I groaned.
"Are you all right?" he asked. I opened my mouth to answer but closed it again as the pain in my head swelled. I squeezed my eyes shut and pushed out a breath, trying to stop my world from spinning. The air moved beside me as Mickey sat down. I felt his hands slide gently underneath me and lift. When I opened my eyes again, he was cradling me in his lap.
Kat stooped beside us. "Shit, Ame! You were out for nearly a full minute." She peered at the side of my face, lightly touching the spot where a flying fist had smashed into my right temple. "That's gonna leave a bruise. Bronwyn, ice!" she called, and I winced at the loudness of her voice.
Through my blurred sight, Bronwyn's pink hair looked like a puff of cotton candy bobbing toward the autograph table. She brought a cold water bottle over and gently pressed it against my temple. "Thanks," I mumbled weakly. I blinked a few times until her face came into focus.
Bronwyn mashed the button on her radio and spoke into her mouthpiece. "Yo, Derek, we've got a code…" She paused and looked at Kat, her eyebrows drawn up in question. "What's the code for 'Ame got her lights punched out by some arrogant douche canoe'?"
Kat huffed and snatched the headset from around Bron's neck. "Derek, if everyone's cleared out downstairs, we could really use your help up here," she said, her voice tense.
"On my way," came the reply through the small speaker.
"What the hell is going on here?" Footsteps thundered toward us, and suddenly Emmett was on the ground next to me. He looked from Mickey to me, the muscles in his face tightening. "I can take her," Emmett said, and I felt Mickey's body tense as Emmett pulled me out of his arms and slowly helped me to my feet.
"Ow," I moaned again. I leaned heavily on Emmett.
He pulled me closer and brushed the hair out of my eyes. "What happened?" he asked softly.
"Sid and Dill got into it," Mickey said, rising from the floor. "And Sid punched her when she tried to break up the fight."
"It was an accident!" Sid cried, sounding both startled and angry. "The bitch got in the way. It's not my fault."
"Don't you call her that," Mickey warned, his voice a low growl. There was a grunt, and I turned my head in time to see him shove Sid hard in the chest. The spiky-haired bass player staggered backward and bumped into Dillon, who immediately brought his fists up again.
"No," Mickey warned, his own hands clenching at his side. "This is over—now."
Emmett motioned to Kat, who came over and wrapped her arm around my middle to support me. Emmett released his grip on me and walked over to stand next to Mickey. They nodded to each other, a silent understanding passing between them, and then they turned to Sid with twin expressions of anger. "You need to cool off," Emmett said through clenched teeth. He grabbed the bass guitarist by the shoulders and walked him toward the stairs.
"Sid couldn't go one night without causing trouble," Ginger muttered. "I'm so over this." The irritated band manager raked her manicured nails through her hair and blew out a breath. She cast a weary glance at Kat and me. "The meet and greet is over." She turned and scurried after Sid and Emmett.
Dillon stood with his arms folded across his chest, his expression smug. "At least I know better than to hit a lady," he grumbled. He caught my pained expression and his cheeks flushed. "Sorry, Amelia. I didn't mean for you to get in the middle of this."
My anger boiled over like hot lava. "What are you even doing here, Dillon?" I snapped. "Get out."
Reese stepped forward and wrestled the disgruntled former band member's arms behind his back. "He was just leaving
." Reese gave Dillon a menacing look. "Weren't you?"
"Get your hands off me!" Dillon protested. He struggled against Reese's iron grip. Derek appeared in the tower and joined Reese in subduing the jilted rocker. "I could press charges," he threatened as they led him away.
"Hey, um," stammered a voice near the autograph table. All eyes turned to one of the contest winners, a middle-aged man in black jeans and a gray Royal Flush T-shirt. "What about our group photo?" he asked timidly.
Are you freaking kidding me? I glared at the man and gingerly rubbed my temple. "I think I'm gonna be sick," I told Kat, my voice tight with pain.
Kat nudged Bronwyn. "Get her downstairs. I'll handle this mess." She inserted her pointer finger and thumb between her lips. I flinched as she blew a shrill whistle, silencing the chatter among the anxious fans. "Sorry folks," she said.
While Kat took care of things in the tower, Bronwyn ushered me slowly into the stairwell. A grunt escaped Bron as she supported my weight down the first step. "I think I can make it on my own," I insisted.
Bronwyn snorted. "With your track record? Let's not take any chances, Amelia Graceless."
I scowled. My old rival, Stacy, used to call me that. "Let's just get to my office," I muttered. We took each step one at a time, carefully making our way down to Castle Rock's ground floor. When we had finally reached the employee hallway, I slipped my arm from around Bronwyn's shoulders. "I can handle it from here," I said, taking the last few wobbly steps to my office. I eased into my desk chair and opened the top drawer, rooting around for my bottle of aspirin. I popped two pills and chased them with the bottle of water Bron had fetched from the signing table. Opening the small compact mirror next to my keyboard, I held it up to inspect my face. A sigh slipped from me as I took in the large mark just below my temple that was already darkening to a purplish hue. "That's gonna be one hell of a bruise," I groaned.
Deception at Castle Rock (Amelia Grace Rock 'n' Roll Mysteries Book 2) Page 5