Drake Sisters 06 - Turbulent Sea

by Christine Feehan

  "Let's give these people a concert. Whatever happened with Dean, the police will handle it. Thank you all for cooperating. The detective was able to clear us to perform, so let's get it done. I believe we have a sound check to conduct."

  The crew broke out into assents, nodding heads and talking all at once. She pulled Brian aside and nodded toward the man who was hastily ducking behind heavier equipment, clearly staying out of her way.

  "Who is that?"

  Brian shrugged. "John or Jake or Joe, something with a 'J.' I don't know, why?"

  She glanced around. Several of the crew, a few of the security people, as well as Nikitin's guards were still observing her. For all she knew, the long-range zoom lenses of the photographers were watching—and she could feel Ilya's gaze boring into her back.

  "No reason. I just thought maybe I should get to know the people traveling with us a little bit. We used to know everyone, and I think some of our crew have the wrong idea about me." She pushed a hand through her hair, realized she was trembling, and put her fist behind her back. Ilya's warning had affected her more than she liked. She didn't want anyone thinking Brian knew anything he shouldn't. "Never mind. I just don't like people thinking I'm a diva."

  Once more her gaze was pulled over toward the man with the muddy aura. She tried not to look, but she couldn't help it. And he was staring back at her with a mixture of fear and anger. He knew she recognized him. He straightened slowly, maintaining eye contact, obviously trying to intimidate her. Suddenly his gaze shifted from her to the three Russian security guards off to his left, and then to Ilya, who had come up behind her.

  Ilya took her arm and pulled slightly away from Brian. "Explain all this to me. What are you doing?" Keep looking at me.

  She wasn't cut out for intrigue. Her eyes kept shifting toward the crew member she knew had hung out with Dean. Everyone had professed to the detective that Dean was a loner and rarely talked to any of them. That had taken on a sinister aspect when she realized everyone was afraid to be associated with him. She kept her eyes locked with Ilya's. He was so good at it, looking as casual as a coiled rattler, which was the way he always looked.

  "Well, each venue where we perform has different acoustics." She tried to keep her voice even, but it trembled.

  She cleared her throat. Brian had walked off and was talking to the one of the sound crew, and the man with muddy aura walked over to him. Everything in her shifted. From scared she went into protective mode. She even took a step in their direction, but Ilya shackled her wrist, preventing her from moving.

  "Keep talking. I'd like to understand."

  He kept his smile easy, although it never reached his eyes. Joley knew he was buffering her. She took a deep breath and tried to play along, even as she kept an eye on Brian. "When I say different, I mean very different. You can hear a perfect pitch, so you're aware of sound quality. We have to make up for the differences at each venue. The PA is tuned before each concert to get the system ready for a performance. Our sound engineer is very particular about his equipment, and he makes certain everything checks out before the band goes up. He always checks each instrument alone and then blended together. That gives us a rough idea how it's all going to sound for the show."

  Ilya watched out of the corner of his eye as the man who had been friends with Dean inched closer, all the while talking animatedly to Brian. Ilya had been investigating the band and crew for some time, and he knew the man's name was John Dylan. Dylan had been working on and off for the band for the last two years. He'd traveled to Europe twice with them and had a good reputation as a crew member. He showed up for work, worked hard and didn't party so hard he was hungover the next morning. Most of Ilya's inquiries had resulted in positive things. Dylan was somewhat of a loner, but well liked, hung out mainly with Dean and mostly smoked pot rather than did harder drugs.

  Nothing about Dylan had singled him out as someone who would have a mob affiliation, but he was clearly trying to overhear what Joley was saying, and the look he'd shot her earlier had alarmed Ilya. Fear could make people do things they ordinarily wouldn't consider. And the Russian mob ruled with fear.

  The sound engineer called out to the band. "Let's get the instruments. Yours, Brian. Let's hear sound."

  The band was already loosely assembled. Joley started over to them. Ilya keeping close pace, his body between hers and Dylan's at all times. He glanced out over the amphitheater. "The audience would change everything," he observed. "Don't they absorb some frequencies, and the sound would echo on the walls and ceilings of most buildings. In this case, the rocks."

  She nodded. "That's why I have a genius for a sound engineer. The first two songs during the actual performance generally give him an immediate idea of what's going to happen, and he compensates for it. Are you staying for the check? You might find it interesting. Sometimes we get a few people who sneak in to listen so they can get an idea of what we're doing in the show. When I want to introduce new material into the show, or Brian or Rick has something they've worked on, we rehearse it several times during sound check before adding it in."

  She picked up the microphone and turned toward her sound engineer. He lifted a hand and Denny counted off with a drumbeat. The band instantly swung into a familiar song, one that had been a number one hit for weeks on end and was always in demand. Ilya listened, but his gaze was moving over the crew members, yet always keeping Nikitin's security guards in his vision as well. He wanted to know if they even went close to Dylan. The crew member appeared to be concentrating on his job, crouched down back behind the sound engineer. The last notes of the song died away.

  "Everyone okay with levels? Okay with guitar, Brian?"

  Brian nodded. "Good here. Joley, let's try the new number."

  She lifted the microphone to her mouth and smiled at Ilya. His heart nearly stopped beating. She was hazardous to herself as well as to everyone around him. Any woman who could make him forget he was surrounded by danger, by cameras, by the damned Russian mob, was truly dangerous. "I hope you like this one. I wrote it."

  She glanced at Denny, who immediately went into action, his drumsticks twirling and then pounding down in a dynamic burst of powerful rhythm. The guitar came in, the music aggressive, and then Joley's voice broke over them, passionate and intense and drowning in a sultry melody of notes. When she stopped, there was a small silence.

  "Is everyone okay with everything? Are we good?" Joley turned to survey the band.

  Ilya let out his breath. They were used to her, but her voice still got to all them—he could tell by the short pause.

  "A little more bass," the sound engineer finally said. "Can you give me a little more, Rick?"

  Denny picked up a glass and swallowed the contents. "I'm having a little trouble hearing."

  Each instrument performed a long solo until it received a thumbs-up from the sound engineer. He then nodded to Joley. She swung into the next number, one, Ilya noted, that they sang often. They moved back and forth between the well-known numbers they were familiar with and the newer numbers, to ensure that everything was perfect for their audience.

  The natural acoustics of the place were incredible. He watched Joley perform. Her love of music showed in the way she poured herself into every song. Joy was on her face, in her eyes, in the color of her aura. She had a loving relationship, more like siblings, with the band, and an easy, familiar relationship with her sound crew. The others she might not know so well, but those traveling with her obviously cared about her in the same way she cared for them.

  "That's it," she said, coming up to him. "We run through our song list once and hopefully nothing goes wrong tonight. What did you think?"

  He thought she was the most beautiful, vibrant woman alive, but he merely nodded his head and escorted her back to the bus.

  Chapter 9

  JOLEY glanced around the small all-night diner where the buses had stopped. Her band and the crew were traveling together to Dallas in a caravan, and they'd all been
hungry. They'd broken down the stage in record time and gotten on the road, still anxious over Dean's death in spite of the fact that the show had been good—not great—but good. Joley hoped they performed better in Dallas.

  She walked to the largest round booth, where Denny was sitting, and put a hand on his shoulder. "How'd it go with Lisa?" There was compassion in her voice.

  The other band members went silent, waiting, willing things to have gone well for Denny. He had lines on his face that hadn't been there before.

  Denny shrugged. "We talked and I think it was good. At least she didn't just walk away from me like I deserved. But she has a son and she said she needed some time to think about us. She doesn't want him getting attached to me and then me walking out on them."

  Joley rubbed his arm through his sleeve. "That's fair. She doesn't want to risk her son, and that's admirable. You just have to show her that you mean it, Denny. That you're capable of being faithful and committing to her and your relationship."

  "She flew back home after the Red Rocks concert. I didn't want her hanging around just in case it wasn't safe," Denny added.

  Joley slid into the booth. "Surely whatever Dean was up to didn't have anything to do with us."

  "Whatever it was, I'm hoping it's a long way from us," Rick said. "I heard every single bone in his body was broken. Can I just say ouch?"

  "He was an ass, but he didn't deserve that," Jerry said.

  Logan wedged himself into the booth, scooting close to Joley. "Do you think his murder had anything to do with the disappearance of that girl? The cops were asking questions about the Russian mob. Maybe Nikitin is involved with them…"

  "Shut up, Logan," Brian admonished him. "Nikitin isn't involved in the mob."

  "You ought to know," Logan said. "You hang out with him all time." He plopped a stack of tabloids and magazines in front of Joley. "Take a look at these, my little sister."

  Joley glanced around the diner. Few people were there at three in the morning, but several of the workers had cell phones with cameras and recorders. They were busy texting their friends. The band would be lucky if the place didn't fill up immediately in spite of the hour. She sighed. It didn't seem to matter where they went, they couldn't ever have a quiet meal.

  She glanced at the stack of papers Logan put in front of her. "What are we up to now?"

  The rest of the band pushed into the booth, making her grateful she'd chosen the largest, round one. Everyone peered at the dramatic headlines.

  "We're married, Joley. A secret wedding with our secret baby." He pulled one out of the stack and placed it on top. "You had the baby and we've been hiding it."

  She laughed. "You have to be kidding me. Your 'love' child was splashed all over the papers a week ago. Let me see that."

  "Joley, you rock, girl," Rick said, ripping open a cracker from the little basket on the table. "How could you stay so slim and be pregnant? You hid it well."

  "Didn't I?" She spread the paper on the table so they could all see.

  The photographs had been taken of the two of them standing with the baby in front of the band's bus. Joley was holding the baby and Logan was standing behind her, hands on her shoulders looking down at his child. The next picture showed him kissing the top of Joley's head. The third photograph showed Joley placing the baby in his arms, and in the fourth he was climbing into the bus to "hide" their child.

  She scanned the article. "Wow. I supposedly had this baby while on tour. How cool is that? All that working out kept me from showing, although apparently once or twice they thought they saw a baby bump." She looked down at her flat stomach. "I need to do more sit-ups."

  Brian rolled his eyes. "You've already got a six-pack there, Joley. Pretty soon the tabloids are going to say you swing both ways."

  "I think they did that a year or so ago," Logan pointed out.

  Joley looked around. "Where's Tish? Has she seen this one?"

  Long ago, Tish had told them all to either ignore the tabloids totally or assume every word in them was a lie and just enjoy the ridiculous absurdity of it. Looking back, Joley realized how truly sage her advice had been. Living in the spotlight, with no letup, was an exercise in endurance. It made them all immensely popular, but in the end, they had all begun to crack. They'd come to feel like hunted animals, stalked every moment of every day. Tish had also told them they had to find ways to live out of the spotlight when they weren't touring, which had been one of the things that saved them all. Her advice was one of many things Joley missed about her.

  "She just changed the baby, but she's coming."

  "Well, make room for her. I don't want to be the only chick at the table."

  Logan pulled another paper from the stack and smoothed it out in front of them all. "Yes, Tish has seen the tabloids, and this one is her particular favorite."

  The band members crowded closer, hovering over each other's shoulders to peer down at the magazine.

  "Wow, Joley," Denny said. "Check it out. You've always wanted a ready-made family, and now you have one without ruining your figure."

  Brian whistled. "I had no idea that was so important to you, but hey, it's right here in the headlines. You want children but don't want a matronly body."

  "Well I am just so vain." Joley blew on her fingernails.

  Rick pointed to another headline. "This says child protective services are investigating you for drug and alcohol consumption, and that you left the baby in a restroom and we had to turn the buses around to go back for her. Wow, Joley, that's kind of sick."

  Leo tugged at strands of her hair. "You were in the restroom doing one of the band members and Logan is devastated."

  "I'm sorry, Logan, but seriously, you're two-timing me with Tish, so I feel you sort of deserve it. And which band member am I doing this time?" Joley asked, leaning her chin into her hand and batting her eyes at him.

  "The handsome one," Rick said. "Me."

  "Ooh baby," Joley cooed and blew a kiss at him.

  Laughter bubbled up as the waitress came over. She appeared starry-eyed and breathless. "Do you think I could get an autograph? And maybe a picture with you?" she asked.

  "How 'bout this, sweetheart?" Brian said. "We'll all sign autographs for you and your crew and take pictures if the place doesn't suddenly fill up with friends, family and reporters. We'd just like a quiet meal."

  She nodded her head several times, held up a finger and ran over to the counter to whisper to the other waitress and the cook, before coming back to take their orders. The other waitress struggled with getting orders from the crew.

  Joley looked around. Even with no other customers, they took up most of the room. Granted, it was a small diner, but how different this all was from now it had been in the beginning, when the band had no one but Tish traveling with them. Now there were so many… Her gaze collided with ice-blue eyes. Her breath caught in her throat. Ilya Prakenskii stood just to the side of the booth where he could hear everything that was said. And she hadn't been aware of him. Her palm hadn't even itched—until now.

  "What are you doing here?" Joley asked, trying not to stare. She didn't know whether to feel belligerent or exhilarated.

  "I asked him to come," Jerry said "I felt maybe we should beef security up a little around everyone until the end of the tour."

  "But he has a job," Brian protested. "And you should have consulted me."

  Joley ducked her head, not looking at any of them, least of all Ilya. It was scary having him around so much, because the more she saw him, the less resistance she seemed to have.

  "He's on temporary loan," Jerry said. He beckoned Ilya to sit down.

  Ilya shook his head. "I'm fine right here."

  Tish, holding the baby, squeezed in and flashed Ilya a tentative smile. "I feel for you, trying to guard Joley. She's not the most cooperative."

  "Hey now!" Joley objected. "I'm the epitome of cooperation."

  A groan went up around the booth.

  "He's not the kind of bodyg
uard who needs cooperation," Jerry said, casting Joley a hard look.

  She sat up straight. "What does that mean?"

  "It means his job is to keep you safe. I'm getting gray hair reading your hate mail lately. And after Dean was murdered, I don't want to sit up nights wondering if some nut is going to kill you right in front of all of us, so I've hired him to keep you alive and told him to use whatever means it takes."

  "Umm, Jerry," Joley said, beginning to smolder with fury. She carefully avoiding Ilya's slashing blue gaze. "You work for me. You're supposed to clear this kind of thing with me. And it isn't cleared."

  "I had a long talk with Jonas and your sister Sarah. They both agreed we need to cover you better, especially if the Russian mob is in any way involved."

  "He's Russian," Brian snapped. "Nikitin probably fired him and he's been hanging around making you think we need him, Jerry. Seriously, are you crazy?"

  At once Joley felt protective toward Ilya, a complete contradiction. Sometimes she felt her emotions around him were like a Ping-Pong ball, just jumping all over the place. "Rein it in, Brian. Sheesh. The man is standing right there listening to every word you say."

  "I'm backing you up," Brian pointed out.

  "You're being mean about it. Nikitin didn't fire him, he wouldn't." Probably for more reasons than she wanted to know, but she was certain she was right.

  "Nikitin loaned him to us to keep Joley safe."

  "You know, I don't know why all of you think I'm the only one in danger. Every one of us is hanging out there."

  "Maybe because you live your life in the tabloids," Ilya interjected, his voice low and controlled.

  "That's not fair," Brian objected. "It's not like we ask for the paparazzi to follow us everywhere we go and make up lies."

  "It's still a choice. And this," Ilya leaned over Joley's shoulder and snapped the paper with his finger, "this is dangerous. There are people who believe this crap. They want to believe it and they fixate on it."