"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 inCountry Connection 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 wordsIF THINE EYE OFFEND THEE, PLUCK IT OUT.
CHAPTER TEN
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 goinganywhere 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 withthat forever in the back of her mind?
Then she shoved the ping-ponging viewpoints aside and concentrated on her intervi
ew. "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.
"I'm calling to congratulate her on the success of her single 'Crying Myself to Sleep,'" Ben said. "It's the second record on herWatch Me Fly album to go digital gold. I have in my hand a copy of a certificate commemorating the sale of more than one hundred thousand downloads. I overnighted the original and it will be presented at tomorrow night's concert. Congratulations, Priscilla."
A laugh bubbled out of her. "Ohmigawd. Seriously?"
"Absolutely," Lonesome Jack said, then leaned into the microphone. "So listen up, all you fans out there. If you don't have your ticket to Priscilla Jayne's concert yet and you'd like to see the official presentation, you'll want to run, not walk, to your nearest Ticketmaster. Uhoh, wait a second. Marley's signaling me." He leaned over to hear as his coworker spoke in his ear, then returned to the mic.
"Erase what I just said," he drawled. "It appears both concerts have sold out. But don't despair, my little buckaroos, because we here at KPIX are still the proud owners of a block of tickets. And for the next ten lucky listeners to be the ninth caller when they hear this-" he played the opening bars of "Crying Myself to Sleep" "-you'll not only be our guest to hear Priscilla Jayne's concert, but you'll be issued a backstage pass so you can personally offer her your congratulations after the show."
Jazzed up yet vaguely uneasy, P.J. had to concentrate in order to answer the number of legitimate phone-in calls that followed. She was still in a daze and bouncing from one emotion to another as she wrapped up the interview with the DJ and thanked him not only for having her on today's show and the airtime his station devoted to her music, but for the part he'd played as well in staging the news of her single going digital gold. Leaving the soundbooth, she floated down the hallway to the reception area where she promptly bounced off Jared's chest when she walked right into him without seeing him. She distantly heard Lonesome Jack's program playing softly through speakers mounted on the wall.
"Hey." Wrapping his hands around her shoulders, he steadied her, then held her at arm's length to grin down at her. "Congratulations! How cool was that? You didn't know anything about it, I take it?"
"No." Then, because his open expression reminded her of the boy she'd known back when they were each other's only support system, she admitted, "For years I dreamed of the kind of success I'm beginning to enjoy. But now that it's coming my way-" She broke off, because she'd just gotten excellent news and truly didn't know why she wasn't simply bouncing with joy.
"You're seeing there's more than one side to it," he suggested. "There's the good part-the being paid like a queen, having your work loved by many and seeing your records go gold. But there's a downside, too. Your private life is fodder for sleazy journalists to spread across their rags for every Tom, Dick and Harry to consume with their morning Wheaties, and you've got a potential stalker who apparently feels perfectly justified in sending you sick, incomprehensible messages."
"Yes!"Relief surged through her that he understood, and, stepping forward, she leaned her forehead against his chest in sheer gratitude. He smelled of soap and man and laundered cotton, and her itchy restlessness settled as she breathed him in. She rocked her head back and forth against the solid warmth of his chest. "I know nobody likes a whiner, J. But that photo really shook me up."
"Hell, yes, it shook you. You wouldn't be human if it hadn't." Cruising his hands up over the curve of her shoulders, he slid them in to lightly encircle her neck, his thumbs resting on her collarbones and his fingertips working the vertical slope of her nape like a maestro coaxing a symphony out of a sax. "But I'm good at my job and I'm telling you this flat out-I will keep you safe. Trust me."
She raised her head to gaze up at him. Usually when a man said, "Trust me," it was the last thing she was inclined to do. But Jared meant trust him as a professional, and in that arena she did.
It made her uneasy to realize that she'd apparently been harboring a secret wish to trust him on a more personal level, as well. But she merely met his eyes and nodded. Then she drew a deep breath and eased it out before taking a casual step back. When his hands slipped away to drop to his side she shivered against the sudden lack of warmth in the air-conditioned lobby.
"I'll do that," she said, then cast a meaningful glance at the receptionist, who was clearly pretending she wasn't straining her ears for all she was worth in an attempt to overhear their conversation. "Right now, though, I think we better ask little Miss Nosy over there to call us a cab."
NELL LAY QUIETLYin her bed in the stateroom she shared with P.J. and stared through the stygian gloom as if she could actually see the ceiling that hid behind the darkness overhead. When the linens on the other bed rustled quietly, she turned her head in that direction. "You awake?"
"Yeah."
"Good interview today. I meant to tell you earlier that I'd tuned in to listen. I was impressed Lonesome Jack didn't once bring up the business with your mother." She smiled in the darkness. "But then he had an entirely different surprise in mind, didn't he?"
They'd celebrated when P.J. had returned from the radio station, but then it'd been time for sound check, after which she'd had a hundred details to see to. And when those had been done P.J.'d had to get her stage makeup done and get dressed for the concert. The next thing Nell knew it had been showtime. This was the first opportunity she'd had to discuss anything in private with her friend.
She heard a return smile in P.J.'s voice when she said, "Wasn't that something? I called Ben back as soon as we quit partying and of course he'd staged the whole thing. But he also said the positive press is starting to outweigh the negative-and
that the bad stuff probably fueled sales, anyway." She blew out a noisy sigh. "What a business."
"Yeah, it's lunatic." Nell hesitated, then said casually, "This is changing the subject, but have you ever seen Hank without a shirt on before today?"
"Sure, once or twice. It's a rare thing, though." P.J. laughed. "Too bad, too. The boy's got a six-pack on him, doesn't he?"
"I'll say." It had blown her away. She didn't know why, exactly-he generally wore his shirts neatly tucked in and it wasn't as if she'd ever seen them stretched over a beer belly or anything. It was just:
She'd never once considered him in a sexual way. "He's no Eddie," she said, thinking out loud. "But-" Seeing him half-naked and disheveled as she had this morning had made her look at him in a brand-new way.
"He might not flaunt it like Eddie does, but his build leaves Mr. I've-got-the-attention-span-of-a-gnat's in the shade." P.J.'s bedding rustled once again and her voice sounded closer, as if she'd rolled to face her. "He's more man than Eddie will ever be, if you ask me."
"Oh, I know. I like him a lot. He's easy to talk to and he's professional and really talented. But Eddie is so gorgeous." She shook her head. "And my God, that makes me sound shallow."
"Ya think?"
"I know, I know. But the thing is, I've had a crush on that man for what seems like forever."
"Yeah." P.J.'s voice was soft in the darkness.
"And I realize he's never going to look at me the way he does his parade of sweet young things. Still:" She drew in a deep breath, then eased it out again. "I want to fix myself up a bit. Trouble is, I was born without the girly gene, which means I don't have the first idea where to start. You always look pulled together, though, with all your dresses and skirts and funky jewelry."
"A woman named Gert, who took me in after my homeless spell, bought me the first dress I ever owned that wasn't a hand-me-down," P.J. said. "I'd pretty much lived in jeans and T-shirts up until then, and that little sundress made me feel so feminine that I started buying more whenever I could get the moons to align."
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