Out of the Blue

by Dee J. Adams

  “Just you,” she squeaked out in a shaky voice. Her palms burned where she’d hit the pavement, but that seemed like a small price to pay. “I’m okay.” As okay as she could be considering someone nearly killed her. Again. She was seriously sick and fucking tired of it.

  “C’mon,” he said, helping her up. “We need to get clear. It’s too hot.” He flinched as she took his hand.

  “Bren, are you okay? Did you get hit?”

  He adjusted the sling as they backed up toward the street. “I’m okay. Just tweaked my shoulder.” He pulled out his phone, at the same time sirens blared in the distance. “That’s probably coming here.”

  Probably so, since the raging ball of fire that used to be her car wasn’t going to put itself out. “Dammit!” Anger quickly took over from the shock and fear. “That was my freaking car, dammit!”

  Neighbors filtered out of nearby apartment buildings as orange flames licked all around her car and shot high into the air. Thick black smoke billowed beneath the long carport and the noxious fumes climbed up her nose. The cars around hers had been damaged as well. Her insurance company was going to love this.

  Fire trucks screamed around the corner and stopped at the curb. A team of firefighters dressed in their bright yellow gear went to work, dragging the hose and attaching it to the nearby hydrant.

  Casey’s legs felt like noodles so she sat on the curb under the shade of her favorite Magnolia tree and rested her head in her hands. The accidents on set had been bad enough. Yesterday’s shooting seemed like the pinnacle, but this? This sealed it for her. One close call too many. She swallowed back the urge to cry. What if the man doing this was watching her right now? What if he wanted to see her weak and afraid?

  Brendan sat next to her. His hand warm on her back as he soothed her frayed nerves without saying a word. Where would she be without him? Dead. The answer hit her like a brick. She leaned into him, drinking in his comfort like the parched earth during rain.

  “Thanks for saving my ass. For the eight thousandth time,” she added under her breath. She shook her head, dazed. “We should just stop keeping track and I’ll be your indentured servant for the rest of my life. This is ridiculous.” He didn’t say anything. “How did you even know something was wrong?” She finally met his gaze.

  His brows quirked in concern. “First, you said the alarm sounded different. Then when you opened the door I saw a bit of wire under the car. I just connected the dots. Honestly, I wasn’t even sure, but I figured it was better to play it safe.” He shook his head. “For a second I thought maybe I was overreacting, but…”

  “But you weren’t.” Her chest constricted and her eyes stung as she stared across the street. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” she whispered. She didn’t aim the question directly to Brendan, but he was the only one there to field it.

  “You just keep going. Write a few songs and kick some ass.” He gently squeezed her nape. “You’re the fucking winner of Write Your Ticket. You’re going to write the most amazing songs we’ve ever heard.”

  She scoffed. Yes, the winner by default, so how much weight did that carry anyway? “Yeah, no pressure. Thanks.” She should’ve put a lid on the sarcasm, but couldn’t manage it. Her stomach twisted knowing she’d have to go back to Brendan’s place and somehow write music after this.

  The police arrived along with two news vans and a helicopter overhead. Casey called her parents before they saw the news and texted Zoe that she was fine. It was just another shitty day in a pile of shitty days for Casey. From the minute she’d found out she’d won the show, her life had gone downhill faster than a luge at the Olympics. With the exception of Brendan. He’d been her savior countless times.

  Maybe God was trying to tell her something and she needed to listen.

  The sun beat down relentlessly adding to the heat and smoke from the explosion. Brendan was tired of the bullshit. Tired of constantly being one step behind. Tired of fighting the ghost of Casey’s ex. It seemed he had too many mountains to climb where this lady was concerned. The biggest—and deadliest—being who the hell wanted her dead so badly and why?

  More police showed up along with the bomb squad and more reporters. The chaos grew. Brendan and Casey didn’t have any information to share so they ended up leaving the scene when the tow truck drove off with Casey’s burnt out car over two hours later.

  “Goddammit!” Casey growled, clicking the seatbelt across her lap. She stomped her foot on the floorboard of his truck. Brendan had never seen her this pissed.

  “I only had a few more payments on that damn car!” She looked around the neighborhood, at the few remaining people who’d come to watch the excitement. She closed her eyes and sighed. “But I’m alive, so I’m going to keep my eyes on the big picture. Now I just need to figure out how I’m going to write songs all weekend after this.”

  A motorcycle screamed past his door and Brendan flinched, his senses too on edge. He didn’t know how to answer her. Creativity was a fickle thing. “You’ll find a way. Life is full of material, right. You’ve got a ton of material going for you.”

  She shook her head. “Pfft. This is shitty material, my friend.”

  He’d have reached for her hand if he didn’t need it to steer the damn truck. Words of wisdom escaped him and the rest of the drive continued in silence. His primary goal consisted of getting her home and safe. When he turned the corner to his parents’ house he immediately noticed the black Hummer parked in front.

  “Oh my God,” Casey breathed.

  Not welcome words. “What?” Brendan checked out the guy who got out of the monster truck as they drove up. Dressed in a gray power suit, the man leaned against the back with his arms crossed. “Who’s that?” Although he had a suspicion.

  “Jeff. It’s Jeff. How did he find me?” She’d gone completely pale, her blue eyes wide. Because nearly getting blown up today just wasn’t enough, now she had to deal with her douchebag ex.

  Brendan pulled in front of the gate and got out. He wished he didn’t have his arm in a fucking sling. “Can I help you with something?” His pulse quickened and his muscles tensed, ready for the unexpected, which he’d had way too much of already in his lifetime.

  The dude stood up straighter and Brendan took satisfaction in being taller than him, although the guy beat him in bulk. He looked civilized enough, but Brendan had learned a couple years ago—by way of his brother-in-law—not to judge a book by its cover.

  “I’m here for Casey. Need a minute of her time.”

  Over Brendan’s lifeless body, maybe. “You’re not going to get it. What can I do for you?” The words before I throw you back in your ride might have been implied.

  “You can get out of my way, shithead. I’m here for Casey.”

  Ding, ding, ding. Major Asshole Alert. Brendan was ready to shove the guy’s balls down his throat and he took a step toward him when Casey grabbed his arm and kept him next to her. Standing tall, she faced the creep with complete composure. Brendan had never felt so much pride for another person.

  “I don’t have anything to say to you, Jeff. You shouldn’t have come here.”

  Hell, how’d he even find them? That issue was enough for Brendan to be doubly suspicious of the guy. The smile he gave Casey made Brendan’s skin crawl…and it took a lot to make that happen. “C’mon, Casey, just a few minutes of your time.”

  “Anything you have to say to me, you can say in front of Brendan.”

  “Really.” Jeff took a second to look Brendan up and down, not bothering to hide his disdain. “I see you had no problem jumping from my bed into someone else’s. Guess my mom had you pegged right.”

  A red haze slowly filled Brendan’s vision. He took a step toward Jeff and crowded the asshole against his car. Casey grabbed his arm to hold him back, but he barely registered her touch. “I think you need to get in your truck, drive the hell away and stay the hell away.”

  Jeff stood up to his full height and got chest to chest wit
h Brendan. “You don’t get to tell me what to do, asshat. Now move out of my way or meet my fist.”

  “Bring it, you little—”

  “Stop!” Casey plowed between them as tires squealed behind Brendan. She pushed him back, but only because Jeff had nowhere else to go. “What do you want, Jeff? Make it fast.”

  Jeff’s gaze went over his shoulder and Brendan caught sight of Eric and Danny closing in fast. He had no problem with a little backup, but only because he wasn’t a hundred percent. If he didn’t have the damn sling, it would be another story.

  “I know who took those shots at you yesterday and who planted that bomb today.” Jeff’s cocky attitude was enough to make Brendan puke, but then his words landed like another bomb. He knew who was trying to kill her, yet he’d done nothing about it?

  Brendan snapped. “You fucking son of a—” He made another move toward Jeff, but his brothers held him back. The pain in his shoulder only fueled his anger.

  Casey crossed her arms. “If you know who did it, then why didn’t you go to the police?”

  “I didn’t know his name until just now and I thought you should know before I went to the cops.”

  Brendan wasn’t buying this shit for one second. “Who?” he asked, because obviously this joker had a plan. Why else would he wait this long when he knew Casey was in danger?

  “Mitch Constantine.” Jeff kept his gaze on Casey. “The guy you knocked out on the first night of the show.”

  She watched him carefully. “I don’t believe you. How would you know this?” She paused and her body stiffened. “You’ve been following me, haven’t you? Or more likely you had someone follow me.”

  It would explain how he knew where to find her. Brendan’s anger simmered hotter and his brothers felt it because their hold on him tightened.

  “So you’ve waited until now to tell me?” Casey said, a new level of calm to her voice. Brendan had never seen her like this: poised, but on edge.

  “Like I said, I didn’t know he who he was until just now.”

  She tilted her head to the side and her hair fell in a long sheet across her arm. “But you couldn’t go to the police and give them a description either, could you?” Oh yeah…she was way too calm.

  “Look, for all I knew, the guy watching you was another dick you blew.” He shrugged and lowered his voice. “I do miss that sweet mouth of yours on my—”

  Wham! It happened before Brendan blinked. Casey punched the guy right in the face. Fist plant straight in the kisser. His head snapped back and blood sprayed on his shirt and tie. She went after him again and this time Brendan and his brothers jumped in to separate them. He held her back while his brothers kept a wall of muscle between them.

  Jeff gave her a deadly glare as he wiped blood from his nose. “You fucking bitch. You are so going to pay for that.”

  “Okay,” Eric said, grabbing his arm and shoving him inside the door that Danny very graciously held open. “This is you getting in your truck and driving away.” He closed the door then smacked the frame at the open window. “This is also you never looking back. You’re not talking to her again, you’re not looking at her again. You got me?”

  The bastard had the balls to smile at Eric. “What do you think you’re going to do about it if I don’t give a fuck what you just said?”

  “I think we’ll have a restraining order out faster than that right jab Casey just nailed you with. Then maybe a little call to the news stations so they know who’s been harassing the winner of America’s hottest new reality show. You hearing me?” Eric backed away from the Hummer and tipped his head toward the road. “Hit it. Don’t come back.”

  Jeff cranked the engine and peeled rubber out of the spot. Brendan took his first look at Casey. She was shaking from head to toe. Shit, what a fucking day from hell.

  “C’mon,” he said softly, taking her hand and leading her toward the gate. “Dano, catch!” he called over his shoulder and tossed the keys to his truck. “Pull my truck in would you?”

  “You got it,” Danny said, snapping the keys from the air.

  “Case, let’s get you something to drink, okay.” She was probably dehydrated from the sun. They’d been outside for hours dealing with the fire department, police and dodging reporters, then this mess with Jeff. Brendan wished he’d been the one to knock the guy senseless. Although Casey probably needed to get that out of her system and he totally understood.

  Once in the kitchen, he sat her at the table and got her a glass of ice water. “Here.” He knelt in front of her, trying to gauge her mood and her health. He waited until she drank most of it and set the rest on the table. “How’s your hand?” he asked.

  “Hurts!” Oh she was definitely still angry.

  Brendan almost smiled, but it wasn’t a laughing matter. Instead he got her some ice wrapped in a thin dishtowel. “Let’s put this on your hand.” He lifted her wrist, shocked when he saw her raw knuckles. “Aw, Case.” It must have hurt like a bitch. He set the ice on her hand and sat next to her. “You know I’m kind of pissed too.”

  “Why are you pissed?” She had that same attitude in her voice and Brendan liked it better than fear.

  “Because I wanted to hit him! I’ve been practicing my moves, see.” He did a couple dodge and weaves next to her and brought a reluctant smile to her beautiful lips although it only lasted a second.

  She sat for a minute, staring at nothing. “I don’t know whether to believe him or not,” she finally said. “I mean, I think he was probably following me or paying someone to follow me. So it’s possible they spotted whoever shot at us and blew up my car. Or…”

  “Or he did it himself?” Brendan asked. Either way they needed to call the police and share this new information.

  She shook her head, hooked some hair behind her ear. “I just can’t picture him doing it. His dad is too high profile for him to do something like that.”

  Brendan sighed. Dealing with someone high profile only meant more red tape along the way. “Who’s his dad?”

  “Senator Bauer.”

  Brendan’s eyes widened. “What? Get out of here. The guy who was just indicted for blackmail and extortion?” Apparently the good senator had blackmailed a colleague when he’d discovered the man was having an affair. The whole thing had blown up in his face after he learned the other woman was really the man’s wife. Apparently the two liked role playing. Needless to say, things hadn’t gone well for Senator Bauer when he’d doubled down with his threat and it was all caught on film.

  Casey nodded. “A great role model, right? But that’s my point. Jeff wouldn’t put his dad in bigger trouble by doing something this stupid.”

  Leaning against the table, Brendan scoffed. “I don’t know… Guy seemed pretty clueless to me. I mean, who says shit like that to a woman with a right jab like yours?” He was pretty sure he won her over with that comment because she kissed him.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Casey poured all of her anger into the songs she wrote for the next two days. The words flowed out of her, and the edgy tunes playing in the back of her head sounded nothing like her norm. She felt violated and abused and it came out in the music. Plus her damn knuckles and palms hurt and made it hard to play any instruments. Her battered hands reminded her of everything she’d been through the past couple of weeks.

  Brendan had shown her the family’s studio—formerly the garage. The soundproof walls, new Berber carpeting and a dozen instruments made the perfect spot to create new music. The words kept coming and she just wrote them down, arranged them in a way that made sense. Aside from bringing her meals, Brendan and his parents left her alone for the most part. If anyone understood working through a traumatic experience, the St. Johns did.

  The shooting, the car bomb and her confrontation with Jeff all took a toll. Not to mention the pressure from Miles to get his songs written.

  On Monday, after a summons from Miles, Brendan drove her to the same recording studio in Hollywood. The day seemed
especially bright and glare off the dashboard blinded her even after she got out of his truck. Casey walked in, shoulders back, head high. If Miles didn’t like what she had, then he could kiss her ass. If only. He held all the cards and they both knew it.

  She’d dressed up a pair of skinny jeans with the only pair of black heels she’d tossed in her bag. Her black, capped-sleeve shirt, gathered at the waist, flowed around her. She wanted Miles to see someone worthy of the win.

  Though she was buzzed into the building, no one sat at the front desk. The quiet hallway seemed like a long bubble of doom, and each step took her closer to something unknown. She found Miles in the same studio as before. Dressed in all black, he’d kicked his feet up on the console so she set the sheet music near his heels. His slicked back hair had enough product in it to grease an engine.

  “Here you go. Fifteen songs. It was the best I could do in two days.” It was unheard to write that many songs in that amount of time and Miles knew it.

  He studied her with narrow eyes. “Fifteen songs? How the hell’d you do that? A little artificial stimulation, babe?” His smile showed his glaringly white teeth.

  There was a time when she liked this man, but that had been very short lived. “No, Miles, no artificial stimulation. Just pure emotion.” You might want to try it sometime. She didn’t have the balls to say it out loud.

  “Why didn’t you answer any of my calls?” he asked. “That car bomb was big news, and when the reporters started calling, I had nothing to give them because you didn’t call me back. You know that’s breach of your contract, right?”

  Fresh anger swamped Casey. “Let me get this straight, you gave me two days to write songs, but you’re still allowed to make me do interviews during my time?”

  Miles stood up. “Casey, you don’t have any me time. You’re on Miles time. From the moment St. John handed you the win to the moment your contract ends, I own you. When I tell you to write songs, you write songs. When I tell you to put on a pretty face and answer some reporters’ question, then you do that too. If I ask you to suck my dick in between sessions, you’ll do that too.”