A Perilous Pursuit

by Diane Gilmore

  After exiting the freeway, the car turned into an exclusive residential area of Beverly Hills. There, elite mansions huddled behind large spreads of land, security checkpoints, and luxurious, secluded landscaping. Bruce Fairchild’s home sat off the wide, paved street, behind a seven-foot-high privacy wall. The car proceeded up a hill and around the circular stone driveway until it stopped at the front door.

  Teresa, her father’s rather large, matronly housekeeper, greeted them warmly at the door. Teresa had worked for Bruce since Taylor was a child. Although she and her family lived on the east side of Los Angeles, she treated Taylor and her father as if they were her own family.

  She stepped aside to usher them into the home’s wide entrance hall, which was paved in stone tiles and paneled in dark wood. A gleaming chandelier hung overhead, and a wide staircase rose on one side that led to the upstairs bedrooms.

  Taylor introduced her to the band, then said, “So, where’s my father?”

  Just then Bruce stepped out of the living room and embraced her warmly. He glanced over the others but paid particular attention to Craig.

  “I thought you might bring back a souvenir or two,” he chided her, “but this—”

  After a round of laughter, introductions were made, and Bruce led them into the living room, where Jim Carroll, President of Tempo Records, sat on the sofa. Aside from being a friend of her father’s, Jim and Bruce had worked together on many of the acts Fairchild Management Group represented. He was large and beefy in build, and his hair was cropped close. He wore a tailored suit with a narrow black and gray woven tie. Jim was a creative, imaginative man, and Taylor liked him better than any of her father’s other colleagues. A stylish wireless speaker sat on the coffee table.

  Jim immediately got to the business at hand. “So, what’s this I hear about the kid finding some new talent?”

  “I have the audio files right here,” Taylor said, retrieving her phone from her purse. She walked over to the speaker, turned it on, and paired the speaker virtually with her phone. She queued Fury’s audio files to stream wirelessly through the speaker.

  “These songs were recorded in a small studio in London,” Craig began. “Nothing elaborate, but it was the best we could put together on short notice—”

  “Never mind,” Jim said with a wave of his hand, cutting Craig off. “You have to always give the best with what you can do. The songs will tell me if you’ve got what it takes. In this business, you go with your gut. If you’ve got a good rhythm track, you’ve got the beginnings of a good record. If you don’t, you’ve got nothing. I’ll know if the songs have marketing potential as soon as I hear them.” He pointed to the speaker. “Just play the thing.”

  The band’s music filled the room. Jim listened to ‘Love Moods’ all the way through.

  “Stop there,” he instructed, and Taylor hit the pause button on her phone. After a moment of thought, he said, “Play it again.”

  Taylor replayed the song. After hearing it a second time, Jim nodded solemnly.

  “Now play the rest of it,” he instructed.

  He listened to the remaining songs in silence. He didn’t say anything at first but stared at the speaker, lost in thought. Finally, his eyes met Craig’s. “The songs need some work, but all in all, the whole thing feels right” he said. “Let’s do ‘Love Moods’ first. Sounds bluesy. That’s a good beginning.”

  Before he left, arrangements were made to have ‘Love Moods’ formally recorded in the studio. He shook Craig’s hand at the door. “You have a good sound. I think we can get something going.”

  ~ ~ ~

  The wheels began to turn in the ensuing weeks, launching Fury into the American music scene. After signing the band to Tempo, a producer was obtained to work with the band on their debut album.

  It took grueling, seemingly endless work in the studio in 12-hour shifts, mixing and dubbing layer after layer of vocals and guitar riffs, but finally, the band’s initial album was produced and ready to be marketed. ‘Love Moods’ was released as the group’s flagship power ballad single. The song was played locally at first, and Fury began to establish a following. After local airplay, ‘Love Moods’ began to spread eastward across the country, and by the end of the summer, it slid into the Top 10 of the singles list as an emotional youth anthem. That a Top 10 single should happen with an unknown British group on their first release in the States was rare, and soon Taylor was arranging tour details while the band played as the opening act for big-name groups around the country. In the ensuing months, they acquired a following of loyal listeners and fan mail began pouring in. By the time Fury had run its course of initial attention, they had released three singles from the first album back-to-back, all skyrocketing to the top 10. A tour of their own to support the album got underway, and Fury lit up marquees nationwide, playing to sellout crowds on the arena circuit and receiving top reviews from the critics.

  Craig often thought about Robert Cabrera. So far, nothing had come of his sudden departure from the Organization, now several months in the past. Still, the grisly consequences of others who strayed from Cabrera’s ironclad grip haunted him. He could well be on the drug lord’s radar right now, and the mere thought of the methods Cabrera used to silence his detractors scared Craig to his core. Although he loved the fast pace of touring and performing in a different city every night, he hoped the frequent moving from place to place would make it harder for Cabrera to find him.

  The time touring had so far been exciting as they played their music, met new people, and built a following. All the precautions he had taken to protect himself were now seamlessly integrated into his work life. All he could do was hope that Cabrera really had accepted his reasons for leaving.

  For Taylor and Craig, their relationship burned high with sweet excitement. She flew out to meet him whenever she could, both to oversee the tour and to spend every spare moment with him. Though exhausted after a high-pitched performance, he welcomed Taylor into his arms, and their romantic interludes were as magical and momentous as the first time she gave herself to him in London. It seemed eons ago.

  “You know what I hate about all this touring stuff?” Craig asked Taylor one afternoon in his hotel bed. Taylor sat straddled atop him, completely nude. The scent of her perfume filled his nostrils. It was a womanly, musky scent, filled with the promise of passion. He remembered buying it for her on their last trip to Paris together during a holiday weekend, and the sex they had shared there excited him even more. In her hand was a long black feather.

  “That you have to go to another city every day?” Taylor teased as she drew imaginary circles on his chest with the feather.

  “No, but getting up and taking off for a new arena every day can get a bit knackering.” He chuckled softly as the feather made him squirm beneath her. “Stop that. You’re driving me crazy with that thing.”

  Taylor giggled seductively. “Don’t you like it?” She bent down and kissed him. “Are you getting tired of this business?”

  “Tired? No,” Craig smiled. “A couple of years ago, I never would have dared to dream about playing anything better than Soho. Before you came along, that is.”

  “You deserve all this, you know,” Taylor said. “Enjoy it, even if it does get crazy now and then.”

  “Sometimes, after I’m gone awhile, I come home and feel like I came from another dimension. And we can’t see each other as much.”

  “I’ll make up for the lost time,” she said flashing a sexy smile.

  He could see the firm roundness of her breasts just above him. He reached for them.

  Taylor took his hands away. She sat up again, shaking her head.

  He looked at her with playful suspicion. “And what are you up to, love?”

  Taylor smiled coyly at him. “Just enjoy the moment. Power is very seductive, especially when I have i
t.”

  Keeping her eyes locked on his, she reached behind her and lowered the feather on his defenseless organ.

  Craig tensed. He was completely vulnerable to the delicate tickling of the feather.

  As her hand slid the feather back and forth over him with tender, gentle strokes, Craig’s body began to convulse involuntarily beneath her. The light threads of the feather felt cold on his growing manhood, a stark contrast to the heat rolling through his body. The maddening caresses made him rock hard in record time. He clenched his jaw. “You do know how to torture a fella, don’t you? Shit, no more.”

  Taylor smiled down at him. “Well, you do play well, I have to admit.”

  She put the feather down. Then, lifting herself up, she lowered her hips, placing the tip of him against the lips of her sex. Rocking her hips back and forth, she rubbed herself against him. Craig struggled beneath her, bucking and groaning as she tormented him.

  She finally pressed him to her entrance, sinking down on him and impaling herself. He arched his body to press up inside, stretching her to the limit. Slowly, methodically, she rode him.

  “Too slow, it’s agonizing,” he growled. He grabbed her behind, trying to keep himself inside her, but she pulled up, almost withdrawing, but not quite.

  “It’ll be better this way. Trust me.” She lowered herself down again, continuing her slow movements, all the while bending down to flick the tip of her tongue against his nipples.

  Craig moaned. He clutched at her, trying to keep himself inside, without much success. Her leisurely pace was driving him insane. He pushed up against her. “Faster, luv,” he urged, his breath ragged with desire.

  “I love it when you respond this way,” she breathed into his ear. “You still with me?”

  “Yeah, but you’re taking me to the limit,” he gasped. “You’re driving me crazy. Please! I really need to get into you, now!”

  “Not until I say so.”

  She continued her slow, agonizing assault for several minutes more, pushing slowly, building up a little speed, then slowing again to a torturous crawl.

  Craig grimaced at each passing second until he finally could take no more. He shouted out a string of profanities.

  “Okay, now,” she panted.

  Craig grabbed her from behind and slammed her down on him. He thrust into her, hard and fast, over and over while his groans of pleasure mixed with hers, climbing closer to release with each stroke. The friction, the intensity, finally became too much, and they plummeted together to orgasm. He felt himself let go, not remembering the last time he had come so hard. Taylor convulsed above him, taking him deep within her as she called out his name before collapsing against his chest, panting and satiated. She kissed him fiercely, the sweet texture of his lips melting against hers.

  Afterwards they lay there, not saying a word, while they just ran their fingers over each other’s bodies. Time seemed to stand still; the minutes seemed like years.

  “God, I love you, Yank,” said Craig finally, gently caressing her face with his finger.

  “And I love you,” Taylor murmured softly as she held him tightly and drifted toward sleep. “I want us to last forever.”

  “We will, love. We will.”

  ~ ~ ~

  The evening was warm and breezy in the dry Mexican Sierra mountains. In a sprawling two-story estate in the rolling hills above Culiacan, Robert Cabrera sat in his elegantly styled den, reading an American news magazine. He was relaxed, for a change, since fleeing Europe after the Prime Minister’s recent crackdown on England’s drug trade. Arrests were coming down at an alarming rate all around western Europe, and he had the foresight to flee before he got caught in the web of the authorities. He set up his business elsewhere, this time on his home turf, the country of his birth.

  As soon as he arrived in Mexico, he put his plan into action. He used a portion of his land holdings for a cattle ranch. The property provided ideal drug farming territory in which to do business with the Mexican drug families that controlled most of the heroin and cocaine markets in this part of the world.

  Now he had everything he had worked for all these years, and he relished the feel of it. He had enormous wealth and all the power he could ever want. With a simple nod of his head, people became history. The idea didn’t bother him in the least.

  He brought his attention back to the magazine in his hand and his eye caught a glimpse of a familiar face in a photograph on the celebrity pages. He stopped to scrutinize the page more closely. It was a picture of a group of young men, with the caption, “Fury Sweeps the States.” He folded back the magazine and studied the picture carefully. Then he scanned the short article underneath it. He reached in his breast pocket and pulled out a twin cigar. He unwrapped it and lit it, while his eyes read and re-read the paragraphs again and again. The lines of concentration deepened along his brows and under his eyes.

  After a few minutes, he pressed the intercom on the end table next to him. A moment later, a frail, older Mexican woman entered the room.

  “Find Montagne. I want to see him immediately,” he barked at her in Spanish. Cabrera knew his control and authority inspired apprehension from his underlings. Stingy with praise, he was regarded with fearful respect by those he gave orders to. That was the way he wanted it.

  Obediently, the woman disappeared. He picked up the magazine and walked to the window, gazing at the line of grand oak trees that surround the estate. Their massive frames looked like giant silhouettes along the tall, wrought-iron security fence.

  Pierre Montagne hustled into the room. “Robert, is there a problem?”

  Cabrera tossed the magazine on the coffee table. “See for yourself.”

  Montagne picked it up and saw the photograph. “It’s Craig Phillips!” he said in amazement. “And I see Steve Mitchell here as well.” He raised his brows. “So, our man has done well for himself, no? This must have been what he was talking about when he left us so suddenly.”

  Cabrera snatched the magazine from Montagne’s hands. “I don’t give a damn about what he’s doing,” he said gruffly. “Find him. I want him back.”

  “For what reason?” Montagne asked incredulously. “He disappeared rather suddenly but our contacts say he didn’t sell us out. We’ve found new men who are eager to work for us. Why bother with him?”

  “Normally, I would have had that little bastard wasted a long time ago for ditching me like he did. But he is in a position to do something for me,” Cabrera said mysteriously. “Read. Look who his new padre is.”

  Montagne studied the text. “Fairchild Management Group, headed by Bruce Fairchild,” he read out loud. He looked questioningly at Cabrera. “Do you know him?”

  “You bet your ass I know him,” Cabrera said bitterly. “He was that law partner of mine in New York.”

  Montagne’s eyes widened. “The one who—”

  “Set me up with time in prison? Yeah, that’s him,” Cabrera replied, the coldness seeping into his normally smooth, emotionless voice. “If it weren’t for him squealing about my investment fund, I could have carried on that business indefinitely. I always knew I’d get even with that snitch if it were the last thing I ever did. Now I can.”

  He paused, then began pacing around the den, the calculating of his mind spurring his adrenalin.

  Then he stopped and turned to Pierre. “Montagne, a grand double-opportunity has just presented itself to me,” Cabrera said. “I have the chance to get Phillips back and to give Fairchild what he has coming to him. And I can do it all in one shot. Sometimes I can’t believe my own good fortune.”

  He walked over to Montagne and took the magazine from him. He glanced at the photograph again.

  He looked at Pierre. “Montagne, I think it’s time for us to pay our rising star a little visit.”

  Chapter 10


  “Hello!” Craig popped his head into Bruce Fairchild’s office. “Am I interrupting anything?”

  “Craig!” Bruce stood up, happy to see him. “Come on in and sit down.”

  Craig sank into a nearby chair.

  “So, what brings you all the way downtown?” Bruce asked. “Enjoy your time off while you can.”

  “Taylor and I just had lunch. I’m on my way home.”

  “I see,” Bruce teased. “I assume she’s back at her desk working. Don’t you two ever get tired of each other?”

  Craig laughed. “That, I hope, will never happen.”

  “Sales are still going great. With all those songs, plus the ones on the next release, we’ll be knee-deep in hit singles for a long time.”

  “Well, you have quite a job ahead of you, then,” Craig said.

  “That’s what I’m looking forward to.”

  Suddenly the intercom on Bruce’s desk sounded with a pleasant, electronic tone.

  “Yes?” Bruce responded aloud.

  “Mr. Fairchild,” his secretary began in a hushed tone, “there are some men out here who insist on seeing Craig. They say he knows them.”

  “Who are they?” Bruce said, annoyance creeping into his voice. “We’re busy. Get rid of them.”

  Her voice lowered to a near whisper. “They aren’t fans or friends, or anyone else I’ve ever seen before. I told them to wait in the reception area. They know Craig is here, and they are demanding to see him right now. They don’t look very cooperative.”

  “How did they get in here?” Bruce asked. He glanced at Craig. “Who knew you were coming here today?”