Coming Undone

by Susan Andersen

  “Stay down,” P.J. heard him order as her friend began to struggle beneath him. He hunched over her, clearly prepared to take the brunt of the light if it swung back their way.

  And sure enough, they were still in its trajectory when it reached the cable’s apex and started its return swing. From what she could judge from where she stood, P.J. thought it was probably high enough off the ground to pass right over them.

  But she wouldn’t want to bet the bank on it. And finally she moved. “Can somebody get that?” she yelled and raced toward them.

  Hank passed her and threw himself in the light’s path, catching it before it reached the pair on the floor. P.J. heard Hank’s breath explode from his lungs as the fixture hit him in the diaphragm, but he bent and wrapped his arms around it, hugging it to himself. “Jesus,” he whispered and let go of the metal casing to grab hold of the cable that still attached it to the overhead beams. Angry red marks marred his inner forearms.

  “Ohmigawd, it’s hot, isn’t it?”

  He shrugged, and she gave herself a head slap.

  “Stupid question. Of course it is.”

  He passed the broken fixture to Eddie, who’d come to help, and squatted down next to Jared and Nell. “Y’all okay?”

  “I’m fine.” Jared lifted himself off Nell but knelt beside her, gently touching the back of her head and her shoulders. “How about you? Are you all right? Did I bruise you?”

  “Um.” She rolled over gingerly then pushed herself up into a sitting position. She blinked from him to Hank. “What the hell happened?”

  The portly stage manager arrived, out of breath and apologetic. P.J. stepped between him and Hank when her musician looked ready to charge like an enraged bull. She gave the manager her best no-nonsense look. “You want to tell me what happened here?”

  “I’m sorry, Miss Morgan. We won’t really know until we take the light back to our electrician and have him look at it.”

  “That’s not good enough,” Hank snarled. “Nell could have been seriously hurt.”

  “But I wasn’t,” she said and with Jared’s assistance climbed to her feet. She crossed over to Hank and patted his arm. “I’m fine. A little the worse for wear and shook up, but fine. Don’t blame him. Accidents happen.”

  But nerves that stemmed from more than having to wait for the stage crew to finish checking the remaining lights before they were allowed to get back to it were in evidence throughout the sound check. And their music during the actual concert later that evening was edgier than usual. When the last note was sung, P.J. knew that she for one hadn’t given her best performance. Fortunately the audience hadn’t seemed to notice.

  Uncertain she could blame it strictly on the accident, she was subdued and feeling down as she washed off her stage makeup in the dressing room after the show. When she stepped out into the vast corridor a short while later, she was happy to see that Nell had waited for her. They fell into step and the sound of their shoes striking the linoleum-over-cement floors bounced off the concrete-block walls. Harsh overhead fluorescent tubing negated the late hour.

  “I’ll be happy to see the last of this town,” Nell said.

  “Yeah, me, too.” But part of her wasn’t quite ready to move on, no matter how much she’d been looking forward to seeing L.A.

  Hank was smoking a cigarette on the tarmac outside the bus when they arrived and Jared stood a few feet away, his shoulders and one foot propped against the vehicle’s silver exterior.

  “What are you guys doing out here?” P.J. asked as she and Nell walked up, surprised to see them together.

  “Marvin’s not here,” Jared replied and pushed away from the bus. He gave it a slap. “He left this buggy locked up tight, which is actually a good thing, if inconvenient.”

  “Where could he have gone? He’s usually around when we need him.”

  Jared shrugged and Hank rolled the paper tube of his cigarette between his fingers until the coal dropped to the ground. Stepping on it, he disposed of the dead butt in a nearby trash can, then walked over to join them. “Interesting concert tonight,” he said.

  “Yeah,” she agreed glumly. “Not our best.”

  “Having a missile on a string come hurtling outta the blue tends to put a crimp in a band’s style.”

  Marvin came bustling up. “I’m sorry, Miz Morgan,” he said, his sparse gingery red hair standing up in electrified tufts. “A kid told me I had a call from home in the front office, but it musta been a practical joke because the office was locked when I got there and my wife didn’t have a clue what I was talking about when I called her back.” He grimaced apologetically. “I shoulda known she’da just called me on my cell.”

  Jared stiffened and put a hand out to stop Marvin from unlocking the bus. He indicated the flashlight in the driver’s utility belt. “Can I borrow that?”

  Marvin hesitated, but then handed it over. “Sure, I guess.”

  Jared played the light down the doors then got down on the ground and shined it up beneath the bus’s carriage.

  P.J.’s stomach sank. Oh God. That didn’t look good.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Hank demanded. “Looking for a goddamn bomb or something?”

  “We had a fixture break today that shouldn’t have,” Jared replied calmly. “It was no doubt an accident, but—”

  “You’re right,” Hank interrupted, glancing at Nell. “There’s no such thing as overkill when it comes to safety. You need any help?”

  As the driver exclaimed in alarm, obviously hearing of today’s event for the first time, Jared said, “Yeah, go to about the midpoint and see if anything looks out of place when I shine the light that way.”

  Nell explained to Marvin about the incident with the light and her and Jared’s part in it as the men went over the bus. Then it was her turn to exclaim when P.J. contributed the part where Hank had caught the light and gotten burned for his efforts.

  Minutes later the men climbed to their feet. “It’s fine,” Jared said and handed the driver back his flashlight. “Go ahead and unlock it.”

  Marvin did so but paused in the midst of putting his foot on the first step after the doors opened. “What’s this?”

  Jared muscled him aside and reached down to pick up a crumpled manila envelope that had clearly been crammed under the door. Holding it by the corners he climbed into the bus and walked to the little galley table. “Hit the lights, will you, Marvin?”

  P.J. was right beside Jared when he turned back from getting a steak knife from the drawer, but he intercepted her hand when she reached out for the envelope.

  “It’s addressed to me,” she protested, looking down at the block printing that spelled out PRISCILLA JAYNE.

  “I know. But try to touch it as little as possible in case we have to turn it over to the cops.”

  “Who the hell are you?” Hank demanded, and only then did P.J. realize that both he and Nell had crowded behind her. “You’re awful damn cautious for a record company’s stooge.”

  “I’m not a Wild Wind employee. I’m a partner in Semper Fi Investigations, the agency that Wild Wind hired for this job.” He slid the blade tip under the sealed flap.

  “Semper Fi, huh? You were a Marine?”

  He nodded, clearly intent on his mission to open the envelope with as little contact as possible, and P.J. jerked her gaze away from his hands to stare at him in surprise.

  “You were?”

  “Yeah. Not a lifer like Rocket, but I put in my four years.” He sliced the blade along the envelope’s fold. Glancing over his shoulder at Hank, he said, “Semper Fi specializes in investigations and security.” Then he turned his attention back to the job at hand and extracted his blade from the now-slit mailer. “Let’s see what we’ve got.”

  Carefully he tipped out the contents, which turned out to be a single sheet of glossy magazine paper.

  Tilting her head to one side, she realized it was a half-page photo that had been taken of her for an article in Country C
onnection magazine several months ago. For a second she merely stared down at it without understanding.

  “Aw, shit!” Hank growled, and it was then that horror began to seep through her incomprehension.

  For where her photographed eyes had been were blank holes. And printed across her chest in more of those block letters were the words IF THINE EYE OFFEND THEE, PLUCK IT OUT.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Hyperlink, www.CelebrityCafe.com/Country

  Priscilla Jayne Single “Crying Myself to Sleep”

  Goes Digital Gold!

  LOUNGING AT THE TABLE in the galley, Jared watched P.J. exit her sleeping quarters at the back of the bus the following morning and stumble down the hallway to the coffeepot in the galley. “So,” he informed the back of her head. “It turns out I’m not leaving after all.” Even as he braced for an argument, he couldn’t prevent the faint smile that tugged up the corners of his lips. She had one helluva case of bedhead.

  They’d spent what remained of last night at a Bakersfield police station and hadn’t hit the road to L.A. until well after three a.m. He’d set his alarm for four hours later in order to talk to Croffut at Wild Wind Records in Nashville. Following that conversation he’d sat in the galley drinking coffee and making notes until P.J. finally emerged from her room.

  She turned to give him an owlish blink, her face still blurry with sleep. “Wha?”

  A bifold rustled open down the hall and Hank rolled out of his sleeper, wearing a pair of unzipped jeans and nothing else—not even the bush hat that Jared had never seen him without. “He said he’s back on the job.”

  “Which I’m sure thrills the hell out of you.” He hung on to his cool because that’s what he did. But, dammit to hell. If Peej had objections he’d counter them. It would be a lot easier, however, if he wasn’t being double-teamed.

  “I don’t know if thrilled is the word I’d use,” Hank said mildly. “But to my surprise I actually think it’s a good idea.”

  Jared stared. “You…what?”

  “I know, who’da thunk it, huh?” Zipping up his jeans, Hank, too, ambled over to the coffeepot. Giving his bare stomach an absent-minded scratch, he poured himself a cup. He swallowed a sip, finger-combed his hair, which Jared noted was receding slightly, into a rough sort of order and gave Jared a level look over the cup’s rim. “You looked like you knew what you were doing last night and that’s more than any of the rest of us can say. For instance, sick as that note to P.J. was, I probably would have blown off taking it to the cops since our schedule gave us no choice but to turn right around and leave town the minute they were through with us.”

  “But we needed to have the incident on record in case she—you—” he turned to include P.J. in the conversation since this concerned her most of all “—receive anything else like it. Not to mention that cops have the juice to check for fingerprints.”

  “So you said,” Hank agreed. “And you were right. You were also right to make sure we handled that piece-of-shit correspondence as little as possible to give the cops a better chance of getting usable prints from it—another detail that never would’ve occurred to me. And you exhibited a cool head under pressure at sound check. Your actions saved Nell one helluva knock off her feet. So I think you’re probably our best bet for keeping P.J. safe.”

  “I agree.”

  Jared’s head whipped around at P.J.’s raspy voice. “You do?”

  “Yeah. Having someone who knew what to do last night was the only thing that kept me from freaking. And like Hank, I was blown away by the way you rescued Nell.”

  “Me, too,” Nell said, entering the galley. Unlike the other two, she was dressed and her hair was neatly braided. She seemed to falter for a second when her gaze touched on Hank, but either that was his imagination or she had an immediate recovery. Stopping in front of Jared, she looked up at him with solemn blue eyes. “Things happened so fast and furiously yesterday I didn’t even thank you for getting me out of the light’s way.” Rising onto her toes, she kissed his cheek, then settled back on her heels. “Thank you. I shudder to think of the damage it could have done if you hadn’t intervened.”

  It wasn’t often he was caught flatfooted, but he was staggered by their responses. He’d prepared himself to fight them all if necessary and instead they made him feel…welcome. “Yes, well.” He rolled his shoulders uncomfortably, then squared them with an impatient snap. For God’s sake, he was a professional. “I’m glad you’re okay, but it was nothing. I was just doing my job.” He turned to P.J. and said briskly, “I’ll need to know your schedule from now on. What’s on your agenda today?”

  “I have a radio interview at one. Then sound check at four.”

  He made a notation in his notebook then glanced up at her. “Is this another of those satellite interviews that you conduct over the phone?”

  “No.” She shoved a hank of her bed-messy hair behind her ear. “From now on they’re all live.”

  “In that case, plan on me accompanying you.”

  “All right.”

  “Don’t plan on going anywhere by yourself from this point forward. That means either me, Hank, Nell or someone else you trust is to be with you when you’re around the arena areas. And I’m with you when you go out in public.”

  She grimaced, but nodded gamely. “Gotcha.”

  Seeing her put a brave face on, he relented. “That letter might have been a one-shot deal and it might not even have anything to do with the incident with the light. But we don’t bet your safety on it. Until we know otherwise we treat everything as connected and we stay vigilant. Where’s Eddie?”

  “Still in bed,” Hank said. “Want me to roust him?”

  “No. He’s hardly ever around, so his part in this isn’t as crucial as yours and Nell’s. But fill him in when he gets up, will you? Because when he is here he has to be every bit as watchful as the rest of you.”

  P.J. looked up at him. “Should I be afraid, J?”

  His stomach tightening at hearing the diminutive she’d given his name years ago, he reached without thinking to touch a gentle fingertip to the point of her chin. “No, just aware. Just stay aware, Peej.”

  P.J. didn’t think that would be a problem. She hadn’t been kidding about being freaked last night and she had every intention of keeping her eyes peeled from now on. Nothing was going to get past her.

  But later that afternoon as she discussed her career on the air with a Los Angeles DJ called Lonesome Jack, the thought of Jared not leaving the tour after all kept scratching at the back of her mind—and her emotions vacillated wildly.

  On the one hand, her inner little girl, who’d once given him a leading role in her most heartfelt dreams, still lingered in some of the more shadowy corners of her psyche. And Jared’s take-charge attitude last night had played right into those fantasies. He’d known exactly what should be done and had organized her, Nell and Hank with a competent lack of fuss into doing it. It had been enormously comforting.

  “We’ve talked about the success of ‘Crying Myself to Sleep’ and ‘Let the Party Begin,’” Lonesome Jack interrupted her thoughts. “Did you write those songs yourself?”

  “Just ‘Crying Myself to Sleep.’” On the other hand, she wasn’t a little girl anymore. And if she’d had any idea Jared would be hanging around instead of leaving, she never would have kissed him the way she had. How was she supposed to deal with him with that forever in the back of her mind?

  Then she shoved the ping-ponging viewpoints aside and concentrated on her interview. “That one came from moving around a lot as a kid and feeling like an outsider every time I landed in a new town.”

  “How much of your own music do you write?”

  “I probably pen about a third of my songs.”

  “What’s your favorite?”

  She laughed. “I don’t know this from firsthand experience, mind you, but I gotta imagine picking just one song from all the ones I dragged kicking and screaming from my soul must be a little like
having to name your favorite child.” Then she gave Lonesome Jack a grin. “Still, that said, I have a sneaking fondness for ‘Designated Driver.’”

  “The one about drinking and not driving.”

  She gave him a wry smile. “Bless you—you’ve obviously listened to the entire CD. But yes. I doubt I lived in a town growing up that had a population of more than two thousand souls. And a common denominator with hick towns everywhere is teenage drinking.”

  “You think that’s due to a lack of other available entertainment?”

  “Probably. Boondock towns rarely have a movie theater, let alone the type of underage, liquor-free clubs where kids can go to party. You can always find a beer blast somewhere, though. And in at least six of the towns I lived in, students died or were seriously injured in alcohol-related accidents. That makes this subject close to my heart. So if even one kid takes my song to heart and picks a designated driver before he or she goes out to party in the woods or at the lake I’ll be one happy woman.”

  “Wouldn’t it be more responsible to tell kids not to drink in the first place?”

  “Absolutely. I don’t know how realistic it is, though. In an ideal world preaching would make an impact, but I can’t honestly say I’ve ever seen the just-say-no principle work. The desire to fit in is a lot more immediate and compelling than some country singer’s opinion. God knows peer pressure is alive and well. Probably even more so in small-town America than in its bigger-city counterparts, where I’m sure it’s bad enough.”

  “You might have a point,” Lonesome Jack said. “Listeners, what do you think? Let’s open the lines now and take a few calls.” He pointed to his engineer, who toggled open a line, and said, “Hi, you’re on the air. Who am I speaking to?”

  “My name is Benjamin McGrath,” said a familiar voice.

  P.J. straightened in her chair. “Ben?” She glanced at the disc jockey in confusion.

  He winked at her. “Please welcome Priscilla Jayne’s manager, cowgirls and cowpokes,” he said to his listeners in a hearty DJ voice.