Out of the Blue

by Dee J. Adams

  The silence in the building seemed otherworldly. Behind a sleek chrome desk, a receptionist sat typing away at a giant computer. She turned as Casey approached. Her dark hair barely touched her shoulders and her smile displayed a small gap between her top teeth. “Hi!” Her eyes lit up before Casey said anything. “You’re Casey!” She stood and smoothed her wrinkled yellow dress. “I’m Annie. We’ve been expecting you. Follow me.”

  Questions piled up as Casey followed Annie through a maze of hallways and into a recording studio. Her heels clicked on the tile floor while Annie’s flats didn’t make a sound. Why hadn’t Miles mentioned this earlier? How long was she going to be here? Had Brendan followed her here too? She hadn’t seen him once they’d gone past the security gate at the studio.

  A comfortable sitting area with a gray sofa and matching cushy chair sat outside the actual recording booth and on the other side of the room a high tech console took up enough space for three people to sit behind it. A stack of notepads and an array of pencils, pens and highlighters sat on a small end table next to the sofa. A small refrigerator nestled in the corner. Budding excitement grew in her chest. She had to admit this setup was as legit as she’d ever seen.

  “Have a seat. Everyone should be here shortly.”

  It seemed as if she was the only one out of the loop and despite the anticipation of creating new music, it sure as hell grated against her nerves.

  “Help yourself to anything in the fridge,” Annie said, pointing toward to the corner. “The ladies room is farther down the hallway to your right. Let me know if you need anything.” She left the door open when she padded out.

  Casey took a seat on the chair, not willing to share her space with the strangers she expected to encounter. The clock ticked and Casey fidgeted in her seat. She picked up the pad and a pen and started doodling. Slowly a few words came to her and she began writing.

  You’re making me wait. You’re making me late.

  I don’t want to be here. I’d rather tempt fate.

  I’d rather be out, painting the town.

  I don’t need fancy or your sparkly gown.

  The pen hovered over the page as words danced in her head.

  Gimme the freedom to live my life

  To break the bonds and—

  “Casey!” Miles shocked her with his loud entrance and Casey hugged the pad to her chest as she stood. “There you are,” he said. “Sit down, sit down. Get comfortable.” He took the spot on the edge of the sofa nearest her as more men entered the room and gathered around. “I wanted you to meet the team,” Miles said, glancing at everyone.

  “The team?” She didn’t know there was a team and didn’t immediately sit.

  “Yeah. These are the guys you’re going to collaborate with to make the next hit record for Griffstar Enterprises. Guys, this is Casey. Casey this is Leroy, Dennis, RJ and Stubby.” All of them had varying degrees of tattoos on their arms. RJ and Stubby wore man buns, Leroy had an old-school afro and gold front tooth, and Dennis wore a knit cap despite the heat outside. Miles tipped his chin toward her pad. “Whatcha got? I saw you writing already.” He grinned and pointed to the corner of the ceiling where a camera shot video of the whole room.

  “I’m on camera?” Casey asked numbly. It was like being on the reality show all over again and she wasn’t ready for it. Her knees wobbled, her gut pitched and she finally sat down.

  Miles just laughed, his dark eyes twinkling, his smile bright. “Always, babe. Always. So c’mon let’s hear it. What’d you write so far?”

  Casey kept the pad against her chest. “It’s nothing. Just scribbling. It’s not anything I can share.”

  “It better be.” Miles lifted an eyebrow. “Everything you write, everything you come up with belongs to me, which means I get to see it whether you want me to or not.”

  It was like an ice bucket challenge no one warned her about. She wanted to run away screaming, but the shock of his words stunned her silent.

  “What?” Miles asked. “You look like I killed your dog.”

  And yet, that seemed to amuse him. Casey resisted the urge to shiver. “Not everything I write belongs to you, Miles. We live in the U.S.A., remember. I’m a free human being.”

  “You might be a free human being, but any songs you write belong to me. That’s the contract you signed to do the show. It’s the exchange for half a million dollars and a contract for multiple albums.”

  Half a million dollars. The reminder made her giddy and nauseous at the same time. Signing that contract and winning the show made her a very wealthy woman. Now she had to live with the pressure.

  Fine. Anything she wrote belonged to Miles. But if she recorded something on her phone with no one around, then how was he ever going to find out about it? This contract wasn’t going to last a lifetime. She had ten years to be at Miles beck and call before she could launch her own career, and she sure as hell planned on making that happen. If she could get this far, she could make it through to the other side.

  “How long is this going to take?” Casey asked. She wouldn’t mind lying down with a couple more ibuprofen to knock out this headache. “By the way, why didn’t you tell me you had this planned?” How often did he intend to surprise her with spur of the moment songwriting sessions?

  “Not long,” Miles said. “Maybe an hour. I just want everyone to get acquainted. Can’t write hits if we don’t get along. I wasn’t sure the guys could make it and they called right as you were leaving the show.” He sat back in the sofa and grinned like a lunatic.

  That must have been the phone call her driver took when they left the studio.

  Poor Brendan. What if he was outside, waiting for her in the sweltering heat? That wouldn’t be good for him after yesterday. Casey excused herself to the ladies room and texted him.

  Where are you? Not sure if you followed the car or not.

  Her screen lit up immediately and Brendan replied, Yes. Followed you. What’s up?

  Admittedly, she liked knowing he was close by, not so much because she thought someone might bust through the door and kill her, but because of the uncertainty in a strange place. Brendan gave her some security. She wished he didn’t, but there it was.

  Impromptu songwriting session, she texted. Might be here for at least an hour. Surprise for me too. Sorry.

  Thanks for the heads up. All good, he typed back.

  Her relief turned to frustration, because now she was going to worry about him the whole time. Seriously, what if the heat was too much for him? What if his shoulder hurt as badly as her head?

  Screw it. He was a big boy and he made his own decisions. She doubted anything she said would change his mind anyway.

  Casey strode back to the studio. RJ sat behind the console while the other three played in the recording booth. Leroy played bass, Stubby sat behind a keyboard and Dennis riffed on his guitar.

  “What do you think of this sound,” RJ asked. He flipped a switch and a beat pumped into the room via two massive speakers placed behind him.

  It was too much bass for Casey’s taste, but she waited for Miles to say something. The three guys jammed and the edgy sound crawled up Casey’s spine and weighed on her every last nerve.

  “Let’s put some words to this sound,” Miles announced with a glance to Casey.

  “What?” Casey stomach nearly dropped to the floor. She didn’t work like this. She started with the words and let the music follow suit. How could she find the rhythm if she didn’t have the words? Sweat dampened her palms.

  “You’re the songwriter. Let’s make it happen, babe. You’re in the real world now.”

  Brendan waited. Then waited more. After Casey’s text, he’d run across the street to the corner market and loaded up on water, energy drinks and power bars. He just hadn’t expected to go through everything he bought. He baked in the car like a side of beef in the broiler. The wrap and sling on his arm made him twice as hot and his shirt stuck to his skin as if someone had glued it on. Intermittent
intervals with the AC didn’t much help either. At the two hour mark he texted her, but got no response. Closing in on hour three, he’d had enough. He didn’t care about running into Miles. He planned to pull Casey out of there. She’d been frickin’ shot yesterday and had stitches in her head for God’s sake. What the hell did Miles think he was doing?

  He got halfway across the parking lot when the door opened and Casey came out. She didn’t just walk out…she ran. For a split second his heart soared as she bee lined toward him, but then his adrenaline spiked and his senses heightened when he saw the angst in her eyes.

  It took a few seconds to realize she didn’t plan to stop and Brendan braced himself for contact. Like a linebacker, she ran into him, almost knocking him back, but he caught her in his good arm even as pain ricocheted in his bad one.

  “What happened? What’s wrong?” He held her as close as he could, considering one arm was immobile against his chest. He pulled away to look into her eyes, easing her hair back with his right hand. An overwhelming urge to hurt someone on her behalf whistled through him. “Talk to me. What happened?”

  Glancing up at him, she shook her head. “Can we get out of here, please? Like, now. Please.” She looked over her shoulder and grabbed Brendan’s good hand, leading the way to the truck.

  “Yes. Yeah. But do I need to go back in there and kick someone’s ass?” He hung back, leery to leave in case this gave him a chance to confront Miles.

  “No, no. Just c’mon please. Before any of them come out.”

  Them? “Who’s coming out?” The need to beat the shit out of someone burned through him like fire. He’d fought feelings like this for years, but now he didn’t want to work through the rage, he wanted to pound somebody. Ultimately the desperation on Casey’s face changed his mind. The last thing he wanted was to add to her clear agony.

  She didn’t say anything until they were in the truck and Brendan had pulled into traffic. Then she put her head in her hands. Her shoulders shook and Brendan wished to God she was laughing, but he knew better. Her tears tore him up.

  “Case, talk to me. What happened in there? Are you all right?”

  She nodded and sniffed. Pulled a tissue out of her purse and blew her nose. “I’m okay. I just need to lie down. I have a killer headache.” He didn’t like the look of her pale skin. “Miles wanted me to write songs. Like I could just sit down in a strange place with strange people and bust out a hit. He brought in musicians, a producer…he had the studio ready for a whole session. He didn’t even warn me about this.”

  It clearly freaked her out. “Not your process, huh?”

  “Not even close.” She told him about the session. About how the words didn’t come. How she hated the music they played and it was nothing like she imagined. “I thought Miles wanted what I brought to the show. I mean how am I going to write songs for music that isn’t my own? Doesn’t he realize that’s going to be a problem?”

  Apparently not, but Brendan didn’t say it out loud.

  They reached the house and Brendan was glad Casey could take it easy. He was pretty wiped out himself. He wouldn’t be surprised if he’d sweat off ten pounds today.

  They made a stop in the kitchen where he grabbed ice water for them both.

  Casey’s phone vibrated on the counter and she checked the screen. “It’s the police,” she said, glancing at him before accepting the call. “Hello?” She paused. “This is Casey. Did you find something?”

  Brendan watched her face as she listened. Watched what little color she had drain away.

  She looked at her watch. “Right now?” She glanced at him, the exhaustion in her eyes as clear as the day outside. “No, I totally understand. I’m on my way. I should be there in less than an hour.” She disconnected and took the glass of water from his hand. After guzzling half the glass she sighed. “I have to go to the police station. They found something, but they won’t tell me over the phone.”

  “Fine. Let’s go.” His shoulder hurt like a bear. He’d been looking forward to a cool house and soft bed, but no way was he letting Casey out of his sight. “After you eat something.” He opened the fridge and found a couple of turkey sandwiches his mom must have made for them. “We can take these for the road.” With all the crap he ate in the car, Brendan wasn’t starving, but he knew she had to be.

  Casey didn’t argue with the fact that he planned to come with her. Maybe she figured he deserved to know the information too since he’d been a victim as well. After she changed out of her dress and heels into a pair of white capri pants, flats and a navy tank, they trudged back to the car and drove thirty minutes to the police station. She wolfed down half her sandwich and a bottle of water during the drive.

  The closer Brendan got to the building, the more his stomach cramped in anxiety. After opening the door, a burst of cool air wafted over them, but Brendan still got the heebie-jeebies from the place. It reminded him too much of the aftermath of his kidnapping. Going through mug shots after his release from the hospital, the nauseous feeling in his stomach because his ribs hurt so badly. Now he was back and he still felt sick this many years later.

  They waited ten minutes for the officer who called to meet them at the front desk. He introduced himself as Officer Ramos and ushered them to a back bullpen filled with desks. After pulling an extra chair over for Brendan, they all sat down.

  “Miss Turner, can you tell me if you’ve had anyone in your apartment lately?”

  Casey’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not sure I understand the question. I mean, I was gone for six weeks doing the show and no one came over once I got home.” She shot a glance to Brendan. “I kind of needed some time to regroup.” After she lost. She didn’t say it out loud, but the implication was there.

  “What about before the show?” the officer asked. “Did you have any kind of party or send off?”

  “No.” She glanced at Brendan again. “We had to keep it confidential per the contract. My parents and Jeff knew, but they weren’t going to advertise it. No one was supposed to know except the two people who were the outside interviews and they had to sign confidentiality clauses, too, since they were on camera.”

  The officer tapped his pencil. “So no one was at your place for any period of time without you being there?”

  “Absolutely not. No.”

  “Why?” Brendan finally asked. Enough with the bullshit.

  Officer Ramos looked Casey in the eyes. “Your apartment was bugged.”

  Her shock registered with wide eyes. “What? Where?” He understood how violated she felt. Understood it with a clarity that tightened his chest.

  “It was under the table in your dining area. Just about the exact center spot of your apartment, not counting your bedroom. Any conversations that took place in your kitchen or den would’ve been picked up by it. The question is how long was it there?”

  Color drained from Casey’s cheeks. “I have no idea.” She shook her head. “So you’re saying someone broke into my apartment without me knowing? How is that even possible? Wouldn’t I have noticed a broken lock or broken…” Her eyes widened even more. “Oh my God.”

  “What?” Brendan asked.

  “Zoe was watching my apartment when I was in Hawaii, just stopping by every couple of days to make sure everything was okay and bring in my mail. One day she got there and a window near the door was broken. She went in and found a baseball. She checked my jewelry box and everything was there. No electronics were missing and she figured some kids had been playing catch and busted it. She had the window replaced and told me when I got home. I checked and nothing seemed to be missing so I forgot about it.”

  “Son of a bitch,” Brendan seethed.

  The officer nodded his head. “That was our guy. So he planted the bug while you were gone and listened to everything when you got home.” He pulled a pad of paper over. “Did your sister tell you when that happened?”

  “It was midway in my trip, I remember that. I can call Zoe and ask. She’ll reme
mber.”

  Officer Ramos nodded. “Good. Do you remember any phone conversations you might have had in your living room that might have been overheard?”

  “Zoe came over, but that was it. I talked with her and my parents on the phone when I got home, but…” She froze again and looked at Brendan. “Oh my God. That’s how the show—how Miles—found out.”

  “Found out what?” the officer asked.

  Casey ignored him and turned fully to Brendan. “I told Zoe about meeting you in Hawaii and she put the pieces together after watching us during the show. She knew we’d met before. I told her your name and that you worked for Seger. She knows me inside and out, and she totally saw the surprise on my face when you walked in the first day of the show. So when I got home we talked about it. Whoever bugged my place heard the same conversation. That was right before the news came out. Oh my God, Bren, it was my fault after all. I’m so sorry.”

  The anguish in her voice killed him. Brendan leaned forward and wrapped an arm around her. “It’s okay. You didn’t know you were being recorded. Don’t blame yourself.” He turned to the officer. “Any chance you picked up a print when you found the bug?”

  “We picked up two sets. My guess is they belong to Miss Turner and her sister, but—” he glanced at Casey, “—we need to get your prints and hers to verify. Do you think she’d come down for that?”

  “Of course. Anything to help. I’ll call her.”

  The officer nodded. He asked a few more questions and ten minutes later Brendan was driving Casey back to his parents’ place.

  With her fingers massaging her temples, Casey looked to be in about as much pain as he was. Once at the house, with the security gate closed and their safety assured, Brendan took Casey’s hand and walked her upstairs to his old bedroom. He gestured to the bed. “Get comfortable. I’ll be right back.”

  “Bren, I have my own room. I’m not going to sleep with you.”

  “I know and I know. Can we just lay down next to each other for a minute and give some pain relievers a chance to take away your headache and my shoulder ache?”