Coming Undone

by Susan Andersen

  “Yeah. See you at sound check.” She watched him walk away, then turned to watch Hank approaching.

  He dropped onto the seat next to her and for a moment simply looked at her. Then he blew out a soft breath. “He seemed to take the rejection pretty well.”

  “You think?” She laughed. “What do you bet that even as we speak he’s slapping the moves to another woman?”

  “I wouldn’t have let you shut me down so easily.”

  The look in his eyes made her heart kick like a confined stallion at the wall of her chest. “I know.”

  “So…I’m your guy?”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  “Good. Because I thought for a minute there I was history. What with your longtime dreamboat offering to tie up at your dock and all.”

  “Well, I’ll tell you what—it was flattering after all that time spent yearning over him. But it’s you I love, Hank.”

  His eyes went still. “God.” Slipping an arm around her shoulders, he bent his forehead to hers. “You sure?”

  “I’ve never been surer of anything in my life.”

  “Good. Because I love you more than I knew a man could love.” He lowered his head to kiss her.

  They were straining together and breathing heavily by the time he tore his mouth away. He slid his hand from her breast. “Damn! Who thought this bus was a good way to travel, anyway?” He shot his narrow sleeping compartment a considering glance but shook his head. “No room, no privacy.” Then resolve filled his expression. “But you can take this to the bank, sweetheart. The very next town where we have a two-day gig you better do everything you need to do the first day. Because you and me are getting us a room at a hotel.

  “And we aren’t coming out until it’s time for me to have my butt onstage for the concert.”

  P.J. STUDIED JARED’S profile as they strode toward the arena, where he planned to double-check the security. His gaze was alert to their surroundings, to the people in the parking lot, to everything but her. Her stomach churned because, dammit, every time she looked at him she wanted to both burrow into his arms for the sheer safety of it and smack him silly for being such a bonehead. And she was sick to death of feeling torn in two.

  She couldn’t do this anymore. She couldn’t be practically joined at the hip to a man who refused to even acknowledge the elephant in the room, let alone talk about it. “I need a break from you,” she heard herself say. It came out of nowhere, unplanned and unrehearsed, but it was the truth. It felt, in fact, like the reality of the century.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” he said, glancing down at her, then back toward the flurry of activity going on over by the venue’s service entrance.

  His dismissiveness shattered what little composure she had left and she stopped dead. “Who the hell are you to call me ridiculous?” she demanded, grabbing him by the arm and jerking him to a halt, as well. Part of her was appalled by the hysteria starting to bleed into her voice but she felt helpless to stem it. Besides, a larger part of her frankly didn’t give a rip. Tough patooties if she lost control. Unlike some she could name, she didn’t think the world would come to a flaming end if she failed to hold it all together. “I’m not the one who thinks being a freaking robot beats expressing a few real feelings. You’re the one who’s ridiculous, J, and I can’t stand another minute of your company.” Standing on tiptoe, she got as close to being in his face as she could manage. “I need a break, Ineedabreak, I NEED A BREAK!”

  She all but roared the last and he gaped down at her as if volatile vapors were steaming from her pores to envelop her in a dangerous cloud. “Okay, okay,” he said in a careful, create-no-sparks tone of voice, and, wrapping his long fingers around her upper arms, he backed her up a step. “But it’s not safe for you to be on your own. So I’ll take you to Nell. You can hang out with her while I conduct the security check.”

  “Now!” She wanted away yesterday and feared if she didn’t get some space between them soon she’d do something that could never be undone.

  By the time they tracked Nell down, however, she was beginning to feel a little foolish. Anxious to be shed of him all the same, she gave Jared a terse nod.

  “I’ll see you in a bit,” he said and looked down at her, dissatisfaction evident in his gaze. “Stay put.”

  “Uh, that might not be possible,” Nell said, and when he bent a hard stare on her, she shrugged apologetically. “I’ve got a lot of ground to cover before the sound check, so we’re going to be all over the place. But all within the building.”

  “Okay.” He looked back at P.J. “Just take care.” He started to turn away, then executed a militarily precise right turn, bringing them back face-to-face. “Jesus, Peej,” he muttered and, reaching out, wrapped his hand around her nape. Bending his head, he kissed her.

  It was brief, hard and full of frustration. When he lifted his mouth from hers, he stared down at her for a moment, swore under his breath, then set her loose and strode away.

  P.J. watched him go until Nell’s heartfelt “Whew!” redirected her attention. She turned to find her friend fanning herself with her fingers.

  “I bet make-up sex with that man is almost worth the crap that comes before it.”

  “Everything’s so screwed up, Nell.”

  “I know. I can see how unhappy you are.” Wrapping an arm around her shoulders, Nell gave her a warm hug. “I’m sorry, Peej. Men are idiots sometimes—a sad fact but true. Still, let Mother Nell take you in hand. Maybe I can help soothe your bruised soul.”

  She let her friend do exactly that. Accompanying her on her tour-manager rounds helped to settle P.J.’s jangled nerves. Nell’s warmth kept the unhappiness if not at bay, then at least at a manageable level. Little by little the knots in P.J.’s stomach unwound and by the time they were strolling down the wide, echoing corridor that contained her dressing room, she’d even laughed once or twice.

  As they started to walk past the dressing room, however, she suddenly recalled something she’d meant to do. “Oh, crap! The top!” Bouncing the heel of her hand off her forehead, she came to a halt in front of the room’s door. “I need to stop here.”

  “What? Why?” Nell glanced around as if looking for what had sidetracked her. But they were the only ones around aside from a workman in a toolbelt squatting in front of an outlet fifty feet down the corridor. And he wasn’t paying the least bit of attention to them.

  “I need to change my top before sound check. An underarm seam pulled apart in my silver blouse the other night and between one thing and the other I forgot all about having it fixed. I’ve got that red bustier I bought in L.A. in my wardrobe trunk. It turned out to be a little over the top for every day but should pop well enough to work as stage duds. I’d like to give it a whirl during sound check though, before I commit to it. If it’s not gonna work I’d as soon find out before I’m standing in front of thousands of people.” Afraid she was rambling, she shook her head. “Look, I’ll just be five minutes. Ten tops, if it’s not where I think it is.”

  Nell looked at her watch. “I’m sorry, Peej, but I’ve got an appointment in about four minutes with the will-call people about that block of tickets the local radio station is giving away and it’s gonna take me five to get there as it is. We’ll come back here soon as I’m done, okay?”

  “No. That is, yes, you go ahead. I’ll just stay in the dressing room until you get back. That will actually give me time to organize some stuff.”

  “I don’t think leaving you alone is a good idea. Jared told you to stay with me.”

  “Yeah, but I don’t think he meant for me to go outside to the will-call booth.” She reached for Nell’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “I could use a little time to get my head together. I’ve let so many things slide lately. And if the bustier doesn’t work I need to figure out which of my other stage outfits I can reuse in a pinch. You know how I sweat during performances. It may not always be possible to get my costumes cleaned between shows, but I at least like to give them a c
ouple of days to fully dry before I have to use them again.”

  “Okay. But I’m not leaving you in the dressing room without at least checking it out first.”

  “Good idea.”

  It only took them a moment to make sure the room was empty, and reluctantly Nell headed for the door. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. And I’m warning you right now, if I run into Jared between here and the will-call office I’m sending him back to stand guard.”

  Swell, she thought but merely nodded. “Fair enough.” She waved her friend off. “Go take care of business. I promise I won’t step foot outside this door until you return.”

  “See that you don’t.” With a final concerned look, Nell left the room, closing the door firmly behind her.

  P.J. had barely turned away to start going through the pile of stage stuff she’d hauled over from the bus earlier when there was a thump against the door. Laughing, she crossed the room. “Nell, come on, I’m fine,” she said, opening the door. “You really are going to be late if you don’t—”

  A man burst into the room, one hand clamping over her mouth. His momentum sent them both stumbling deeper into the room and he kicked back with one foot, slamming the door shut behind him.

  For a minute her eyes went blurry with fear and all she could hear was the roar of her own heartbeat in her ears. Her only thought was a befuddled, Why does an electrician want to hurt me?

  But the man with his hand over her mouth and a fierce grip on her arm wasn’t one of the arena workers, of course. And once she got past the fear of expiring on the spot of a heart attack or—nearly as horrifying—wetting her pants, P.J. recognized his face. It was the police artist’s rendering come to life, except that Luther Menks’s eyes were more fanatical than any artist could ever capture. They burned with a zealot’s fervor.

  Looking into them now made her heart thunder in her chest and sent her pulse racing off the charts.

  “I gave you every opportunity,” he said, removing his hand from her mouth and rubbing it furiously against his pant leg as if to remove some invisible substance. He loosened his grip on her arm, as well. “If you’d just paid attention, if you had bothered to read even one of my letters, this would not have been necessary. All I asked was that you honor your mother—even though it’s since become apparent that you have committed other equally unforgivable sins.” His hand kept rubbing, rubbing, rubbing against his navy-blue cotton pants while spittle gathered in the corners of his lips.

  P.J.’s blood ran cold, an expression until now she had always assumed was invented by someone with a propensity for melodrama. Now she understood if anything it was an understatement, for she felt frozen to the marrow.

  With no time to worry about it. “I didn’t get your letters.”

  “What?” It broke his rant and seemed to throw him off-stride.

  Menks was old enough to be her father but he was fit, bigger and stronger than she was and standing between her and the door. She took a stealthy step to one side anyhow.

  “I’m so sorry,” she blurted, “but I never received them. I get hundreds of letters a week and they’re all sent on to the Priscilla Jayne fan club. I’m afraid it’s often months before I see them and even then I only see a select few.” She took another careful step away.

  “They should have come to you,” he grumbled. “I thought you were a good, moral—”

  “Yes, they should have.” She knew she was taking a chance interrupting him, but it seemed an acceptable risk if it kept him from getting all wound up again. “And I apologize again for the error that prevented them from doing so. This fame thing is pretty new yet and we’re still adjusting, trying to find better ways to be organized.” Watching his continuous rubbing of his hand against his pant leg, she blurted, “Would you like to wash your hands, sir?”

  He stared at her, the repetitive motion halting mid-action. “What?”

  “You seem to have something on your hand and I’ve got a sink over there if you’d like to use it.” She pointed toward the bathroom in the far corner.

  When he turned from her to look in the direction she indicated, P.J. broke for the door. This was her best chance, her only chance, and she ran as if the hounds of hell were nipping at her heels, which was pretty much the case. She heard Menks bellow behind her but didn’t look back. Panting, she snatched open the door and was two steps into the corridor when he grabbed her ponytail, stopping her in her tracks.

  It felt as though her roots were being ripped from her scalp and, reaching back, she covered his hand with her own, first prying at his fingers, then clawing at them in an attempt to ease the pressure.

  “Don’t touch me with your whore’s flesh!” His arm crossing her chest, he released her hair at the same time that he spun her around with the hand he’d clamped to her far shoulder. She twirled dizzily and his elbow, which was still raised from his hold on her hair, connected solidly with her cheekbone.

  Black stars exploded in her vision and she staggered several steps back until the wall brought her up short.

  “It’s your fault,” he snapped, half pulling, half carrying her back into the room. “You’re so little you came around faster than I expected.”

  Yeah, great, blame the victim, she thought groggily but was smart enough to keep her mouth shut. Those black spots threatened again when he shoved her into a high-backed wooden chair with enough force to snap her head back. For a moment she was really, really afraid she was going to be sick.

  By the time her head quit spinning she realized he’d tied her ankles together with her own belt.

  “Ungrateful child, wanton woman,” he muttered, jerking her hands together in front of her and whipping her narrow Indian gauze scarf around them several times. Adding insult to injury, the beads that made up its fringe clinked cheerfully as he jerked the ends together and knotted them over her wrist bones.

  “Wicked Jezebel. I thought you were pure, but you’ve been fornicating with that man.” His eyes burning with the conviction of his own righteousness, he scowled into her face. “Well, I know how to deal with you, missy.” And reaching into the toolbelt slung around his hips, he pulled out a long-bladed pair of shears.

  Her heart stopped dead. Oh God, he was crazy. And she wanted Jared, wanted him with every fiber of her being.

  Menks yanked the rubber band from her hair. “You won’t use your woman’s wiles to entice men after I rid you of your crowning glory.”

  “My hair? You’re going to cut off my hair?” Rage battled with horror as she watched him go from air-snipping the scissors open and shut to rubbing the side of his hand down his pants. Rage won. “Who do you think you are? I’m not a whore, and you don’t know the first damn thing about my relationship with my mother.” And what was the deal with all that hand rubbing, anyway? The man was too freaking scary for words.

  “I know you. I know your kind.” Additional saliva joined the bubbles in the corner of his lips. “I thought you were a good, moral daughter, an icon for our youth to look up to. You needed guidance, but I excused the lack because you’re surrounded by immoral people. But you’re like a rotten apple, juicy on the outside, corrupt at the core.” He leaned down until his weird-ass eyes were only an inch away from hers. “You think I don’t see you? You think you’re so smart and above the rules? I know what you do, and the wages of sin must be paid. You failed to set a good example in life. Now, I’ll see to it that you set one in death.”

  He was going to kill her? Oh God, she more than wanted Jared—she needed him. How had she let that awful distance between them grow to this point? Suddenly her pride didn’t seem all that important. It doesn’t matter if he’s an idiot about some things. I’m going to die and I never even told him I love him.

  But she couldn’t think about that now. “You won’t get away with this,” she whispered, her voice raspier than usual.

  He didn’t seem particularly worried, merely staring at her with those judgmental eyes. “Right is on my side,” he said solemnly. �
�Behold. You’re Delilah, a snake-kissed Eve, the whore of Babylon. Women like you were turned into pillars of salt in Sodom and Gomorrah, stoned at the walls of Jericho.” For a second rationality returned to his gaze. “And what can you do to stop me, anyhow? Yell?” His tone mimicked her speaking voice. “Go ahead. No one will hear you.” Lifting the shears, he yanked up a hank of her hair and lopped it off.

  Shock reverberated down her spine and her lip quivered. But she was damned if he’d see her cry. And if he truly believed she’d simply sit here and take this quietly he was even crazier than she’d already realized.

  She met his zealous gaze squarely. “I’m guessing you’ve never heard me sing.” Since anyone who had would know she could project her voice to the back row of a thirty-thousand-seat arena.

  He paused with another handful of hair draped over the bottom blade to look down his nose at her. “Your pride doesn’t interest me. That you can speak with conceit at a moment like this only proves that you deserve to die.”

  Not if I have anything to say about it, Bub. And figuring she had nothing left to lose, she screamed the house down.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Publishers Monthly magazine online

  Publisher’s Brunch:

  Priscilla Jayne Biography Pulled. Jodeen Morgan

  Dropped from Agent’s Roster.

  Earlier

  IT WAS WAY PAST TIME somebody yanked him off this case.

  Jared scowled as he realized he’d just missed the start of the venue’s gate security procedures report. It wasn’t the first time in the past half hour he’d found his thoughts straying. Hell, it wasn’t even the second or third. He hadn’t been able to concentrate worth spit since the moment he’d left P.J. with Nell. What the screaming eff had possessed him to let a little bit of five-foot-nothing titanium-laced femininity dictate the terms of how he did his job?