Mom gave me a purposeful look. Her mouth tightened, blue eyes narrowing. And she blinked slowly. It was a look to say, I know what you’re thinking. And I’m not going to tell them.
My throat cinched up, tears of relief biting my eyes.
The meeting went on for another hour, people venting opinions over who killed Tom. Morrey insisted it had to be a local roadie. “Somebody got through that back door, that’s all there is to it.” He rubbed the Superman tattoo on his upper left arm. “If I were the detective, I’d be questioning the local guard posted at that door real hard. Maybe he let someone through.”
“Or what about any fan who wanted to get backstage?” Rich spread his hands. “Maybe one of the inside security people let the guy through.”
“Who says it’s a guy?” Ross raised his eyebrows. Carly looked at him askance. He shrugged. “I’m just saying — we don’t know.”
Rich wagged his head. “Guy, girl. Either way, that means a mere thirty thousand people attending the concert are suspects.”
“Maybe Tom was into something we don’t know about,” Stan said. “Like drugs. Someone could have killed him over that.”
No way, Tom hated drugs. I shot Stan a disgusted look.
“Or maybe he knew something he shouldn’t know.” Morrey scuffed a sneakered foot against the carpet. “I’ve seen that happen before. Remember Stephen Restler who played with Ace? He was going to testify against some gang member and was shot before the trial started.”
Kim stuck a hand in her hair. “Did Tom gamble? Owe somebody too much money?”
No, he didn’t gamble.
I pressed my legs together, teeth clenched. What was wrong with everybody? Didn’t they know Tom better than that?
Shaley—you didn’t know him either.
The thought hit me like a brick. I pushed back against the chair, feeling sick all over again. True, I didn’t know him like I’d thought. What other secrets had Tom kept from me? Maybe he did do drugs. Gamble. Hang out with violent people.
My eyes flicked from one face to another — to the people I thought I knew so well. What were they hiding from me? From the rest of us?
What if one of them was the murderer?
Revulsion shot up my spine. No, I couldn’t believe that.
Kim blew out air. “You know, Tom might have —”
“Stop it!” I shoved up from the chair. “Stop it, all of you! You don’t know what you’re saying. There wasn’t anything wrong with Tom — there wasn’t.”
My chin quivered. No. I did not want anyone to see me cry.
“Shaley.” Mom stood up. “We didn’t mean —”
“I don’t want to hear it. I just — I’m leaving.” Shuddering a breath, I stalked across the room. Behind me, I heard the rustle of Brittany pushing to her feet.
Mick strode to the door, opened it, and checked in the hallway. “Okay.” He motioned me out, his expression a total poker face.
I flounced from the room, not looking back. Brittany followed.
Mick escorted us down the hall, took my key card and slid it into the lock. Inside our room, he checked around the beds and in the bathroom before pronouncing it safe.
When he left, I collapsed on my bed, feeling numb.
Thank goodness Brittany was with me. I wouldn’t want to face this night alone.
By sheer habit, Brittany pulled out her cell phone and turned it on.
She groaned. “Oh, no. I have a message from Mom.”
29
He collapsed on his bed and shut his eyes, blocking out external sound. This day had been long and hard — and it wasn’t over yet. He needed sleep, but he wouldn’t get it. His back was tied in knots, and his neck felt like stone. Tension squeezed at his veins and arteries. His head still pounded.
Every Saturday he received a call from the person who had sent him on this tour to watch the Special One. In the past their conversations had been brief and veiled — there was a risk that others could be listening. He spoke of his work like he was just shooting the breeze, knowing the person on the other end of the line understood the meaning behind his chatter.
But now he no longer took the calls. Nor would he ever again. Things weren’t going exactly the way the sender had planned.
The scene of the Special One at the mall flashed repeatedly through his brain.
Such chances for her he’d taken — and she’d gone shopping. He pictured her tears as the crowd hemmed in, the fear on her face. Maybe she was a little too ungrateful. Maybe she’d deserved that.
And the lurid details he remembered of that crowd. Especially the close, pressed bodies …
He cycled his legs against the mattress, seeking comfort that couldn’t be found.
Face it — he never should have agreed to this mission. Sure, the sender’s money was good, but the ungratefulness of this girl. The sheer flaunting of herself — in front of the whole world.
He’d thought she was as superior as he. That she deserved him.
How wrong he was.
30
Brittany had to go home.
Her mother was adamant. She wasn’t going to have her daughter hounded and scared by the press. She never should have let Brittany come in the first place.
I curled up on my bed, worn and hungry, and listened to Brittany’s side of the conversation.
“I wasn’t that scared, Mom. It was really no big deal.”
“But they have bodyguards with us all the time.”
“So what! We didn’t think they’d notice Shaley in the wig. But now it doesn’t matter, because her mom already told us we’re not going anywhere. And we’re guarded.”
“I can’t leave her now; she needs me. I won’t go.”
I don’t know what’ll happen, Shaley, just … some danger.
“All the other people on tour don’t matter. I’m her best friend. I need to stay with her.”
“We’re leaving San Jose tomorrow, remember? We’ll be in Colorado, far away from whoever killed Tom.”
Let’s hope so.
“How am I supposed to get home anyway? Rayne’s already paid for all my plane tickets. I’ve already got one for Denver.”
Her mom had already figured that out. Brittany would ride in the limo with us to the airport in the morning. Instead of boarding the plane to Denver, she’d be catching one a half hour later bound for Southern California. End of story.
Brittany stomped back and forth across the room, begging and pleading and arguing until she was practically blue in the face. “Do I have to get Rayne to talk to you again? Is that what it’s going to take?”
“Mom, I can’t leave. I’m telling you, she needs me here.”
I pulled a pillow over my head, wishing I could shut out her voice. Her arguments wouldn’t matter, I knew that. Future lawyer or not, this time she wouldn’t be changing her mother’s mind.
In the end, Brittany smacked off the call, threw her phone across the room, and sank down on her bed. She lowered her head and started to cry silently. I sat up cross-legged, watching her shoulders shake. My tears had all dried up. I was just too tired.
Brittany sniffed. “I can’t believe this.”
“I can. After all that’s happened? I wouldn’t expect anything to go right.”
Brittany spread her fingers on the bedspread and bunched up the fabric. “Maybe you could come home with me.”
My stomach grumbled. I still hadn’t eaten anything. When we came back to the room, my dinner was too cold. We’d set our plates outside in the hall.
“Do you think you could?” Brittany looked at me, her face pinched.
“I wish. I can’t wait to go home. But I know what Mom would say. Here I’m close to her, plus we have the bodyguards. There I wouldn’t have any protection.”
“Maybe Bruce could come with you.”
Wouldn’t that be great? To go home and see all my friends again.
“But your mom wouldn’t want me staying with you. I’d just bring trouble.”
Brittany considered that. “You could stay at your own house. Your housekeeper’s there. Bruce or Wendell could even stay in one of your guest bedrooms.”
I fastened a look on her, feeling a twist in my belly. Brittany’s eyes held mine. Slowly her expression flattened.
“You don’t think …”
“No. But how can I know for sure? Detective Furlow thinks Tom’s killer is one of us. How can I know it’s not Bruce or Wendell or Mick?”
“But you know them. You trust them.”
“I thought I knew Tom too. I didn’t.”
“But that’s diff —”
“Brittany, shut up.” My voice thinned to steel. I pushed off the bed, hands thrust in my hair. “You think I want to have these thoughts? That I want to distrust everyone around me? This is driving me crazy.”
She dropped her head, pressed thumb and forefinger between her eyes. I took a few aimless steps, then flopped back down on the mattress.
“Sorry.” I cast her a rueful look. “Didn’t mean to snap at you.” “I know.” She sighed. “At least ask your mom. Would you just do that?”
So I asked. I didn’t even want to drag myself to the connecting door. Instead I turned on my phone and called Mom’s cell. I told Mom Brittany had to leave and begged halfheartedly to go with her, knowing the answer.
“No. You need to stay near me. Near the bodyguards. No way am I letting you take off on your own.”
Depression weighing me down, I hung up. Brittany and I barely spoke. We hugged each other, then went about the business of packing. I wished I hadn’t bought any new clothes. Now I just had to work all the harder at fitting things in my suitcase.
We watched a movie. I hardly saw it.
Sometime after eleven we crawled into bed, craving sleep but dreading tomorrow.
We turned out the lights, and I stared upward, reliving the last twenty-four hours — finding Tom, the nightmare about my father. The rose, the photo, the crushing crowd.
Sweaty and trembling, I took a long time going to sleep.
Troubled dreams wove through my head, surreal scenes of the mall and flashing cameras, white roses raining down on me, walls covered with pictures materializing out of nowhere —
And a blasting sound in my ears, loud enough to wake the dead.
My eyes flew open.
31
The blat-blat-blat pitched raucous and high. Blaring again and again. The noise took an ice pick to my head. I jerked upright in bed, smacking both hands over my ears.
“What is it?” Brittany shouted.
I sucked in deep breaths. “A fire alarm!”
Blat-blat-blat. I squeezed my eyes shut.
“Shaley, what do we do?”
It wasn’t the first time I’d heard a fire alarm in a hotel. I pulled back the covers and forced my feet to the floor. “We have to get out of here!” I stood up, swaying, my body groggy and heavy.
Blat-blat-blat. The noise was about to burst my brain open.
Brittany groaned. “Maybe it’s a false alarm.”
“We can’t rely on that. Besides, you want to stay and listen to this?”
“No.” Brittany slid out of bed.
We switched on a lamp, blinking in the sudden light, and slipped into the clothes we’d taken off just a few hours ago. My arms and legs were limbering up. I shoved my feet into my shoes, remembering to grab my room key from the nightstand. “Ready?”
Brittany flipped uncombed hair from her face. “Yeah!”
Mom pounded on the connecting door. I leapt for it and swung it open.
Mom stood in shorts and a T-shirt, tension in her every movement. “Come with me.” She swiveled toward her room. Brittany and I scurried after her.
Blat-blat-blat.
“You’re not going out there alone!” Mom yelled over her shoulder as we hurried through her room. “Mick’s outside, ready to take us down. Shaley, don’t you move from his side.”
We slammed through the door and into the hall, then ran for the stairwell, Mick beside me. The noise was every bit as loud out there as in our rooms.
As he ran, Mick’s right hand hovered waist high, near the gun he always wore beneath his shirt.
Rooms slid by in peripheral vision. Other band members popped out of their doors, joining us in our flight.
Mick’s right fingers flexed.
We reached the steps. With no food in my stomach, I felt so weak. My legs started to wobble on the very first flight. We had fourteen floors to go down.
Blat-blat-blat. The alarm ricocheted off the hard stairs and metal railing, the stark white walls. Echoes bounced around my aching head, their vibrations thudding through my chest.
One floor.
Two.
Three.
Why hadn’t I eaten dinner last night?
Ninth floor. Eighth.
Thudding feet and the open-mouthed pants of everyone crowding the stairwell blended with the screech of the alarm. A long line formed, people moving as fast as they could, more joining us through banging doors at every landing. Vaguely I registered the second looks of numerous people as they recognized the band members. Their curious eyes made me want to shrink away.
Mick held me tightly by the right elbow, his other hand still poised above his gun.
Seventh floor.
Sixth.
Fifth.
My vision blurred, my feet moving on their own. I couldn’t even feel them anymore. A buzzing started in my brain, whirling around and around, fueled with each sounding of the alarm. I dropped my jaw wide open, sucking air.
Fourth.
Third.
Almost there, Shaley, almost there.
Memories of the mall pierced my head. The noise, the crowd —
I stumbled.
“Whoa!” Mick jerked me upright.
Second floor. Sweat rolled down my temple. I’d lost Brittany. Where was she?
One more level.
Ground floor. My heel banged down on the last stair.
I tripped on my own feet. Mick threw an arm around me and pulled me to the exit. We burst through the heavy door and into the parking lot. Cool air slapped my cheeks. I gasped.
A camera flash split the night.
The sudden light spun terror through me. I jerked back as if I’d been hit.
“Get out of here!” Mick roared. He encircled me with his arms, spun me away.
Another flash, a second, and third. I cringed in Mick’s arms.
Then — pounding feet. They retreated into the night.
I squeezed my eyes shut and slumped against Mick’s chest. Whimpers spilled from my lips.
“It’s okay, it’s okay.” He patted my head. “They’re gone.”
Brittany and Mom ran up to us. Mom pulled me from Mick’s arms and held me tightly. Soon the others materialized in groups, their chests heaving. Rich, Stan, Kim, and Morrey escorted by Wendell. Ross, Lois, Melissa, Carly, and Marshall with Bruce.
Inside the hotel, the alarm still screamed.
Mick scuttled us off to the side of the parking lot, away from other people and the bright pole lamps, and we formed a huddle. The three bodyguards faced outward. Brittany and I clung to each other. Familiar voices spoke, cursing the alarm and lack of sleep — and how hard that would make the next concert. Mom and Ross talked in low tones. I couldn’t say a word. Couldn’t even get enough oxygen. I raked in air, tears biting my eyes. Don’t be such a baby, I scolded myself. But too little sleep, no food, and way too much fear got the best of me.
My legs trembled.
The last thing I remember is sliding through Brittany’s arms toward the hard, dark asphalt.
32
I swam to consciousness, lying on my back. Brittany, Bruce, and Mom bent over me with distorted faces. I blinked hard. The left side of my head throbbed.
The hotel’s fire alarm cut off mid-blare. The sudden silence roared in my ears.
“Shaley, can you hear me?” Mom sank down beside me, cradling me in her
arms.
“Yeah, I’m … My head hurts.”
“You hit it when you fainted.”
Ross stomped back and forth before our group, cursing. “Anybody see that photographer’s face?”
Photographer. Flashes. The memories flooded back.
Vaguely I registered the negative answers.
“I didn’t see it either,” I whispered to Mom. “Everything happened so fast.”
“I know, I know.”
Ross whipped his cell phone from his pocket.
A hotel employee approached. “It’s all right to go back inside now. Someone pulled a false alarm. We’re so sorry.”
Ross cursed again. “False alarm. Right.” His narrowed eyes met Mom’s. “This was planned.”
She gave a tight nod.
Planned?
More memories swept over me. Mom not letting me go into the hall without her. Mick running with a hand near his gun.
Ross jabbed numbers on his phone.
The pavement felt so hard. I sat up straight. “I want … I need to get up.”
Mom helped me stand. “Feel all right now?”
Brittany peered at me with concern.
“Yeah. I’m okay.”
“Detective Furlow, Ross Blanke here.” His irritated voice boomed into the phone. “You need to get over here right now.”
“Shaley, you okay?” Carly came over and hugged me. “Baby, I’m so sorry. I didn’t even see you go down.”
“It’s okay. Really.” I smiled crookedly. “Thanks.”
“There is too much craziness going on here,” Ross snapped. “I expect you to get to the bottom of it — now.”
“Rayne,” Mick said. “We should get back inside.”
“Yeah. Okay.” She pulled at Ross’s arm.
“All right.” He snapped his phone shut. “Detective’s on his way.” He looked around. “Let’s go. Everyone stay together.”
Mick, Bruce, and Wendell placed themselves on the outsides, the rest of us in the middle. Our thick group narrowed to enter the lobby door two at a time.
Ross halted. “Who’s got room keys?”
Vaguely I remembered sticking mine in a pocket. I felt for it. “I do.”
Always Watching Page 10