Black and White

by Cynthia Rayne

  She’d come to Music City with stardust in her eyes, convinced it would only take her a few months to get her big break. Then again, she’d been eighteen and thought anything was possible. During the day, she worked at the diner, and every evening she played at open mic nights. It had taken two years of barely scraping by before she caught a break.

  “I suppose we should get down to business, Gloria. How are you feelin’ about the show tonight?”

  “Great. I’ve been studyin’ the sheet music, gettin’ up to speed.”

  “Wanna go through the openin’ number again?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Savvy started singing her debut hit, What He's Done. Gloria joined in, and she had a smooth alto tone, which blended perfectly. They swayed together, keeping time by tapping out a rhythm against their legs.

  She sang from the diaphragm to give her voice more power. She prided herself on how long she could hold a note. Savvy had a wide vocal range, and she could hit the higher registers like a soprano, as well as lower alto tones.

  “Excellent. You’re ready to crush this concert,” Savvy said, once they finished.

  “Thanks.” Gloria headed for the door. “Well, I should head out and give you some privacy.”

  “You can stay if you want.” Savvy was enjoying her company.

  “Sure, if you don’t mind.”

  “I don’t.”

  Gloria took a seat next to her at the lighted mirror and brushed some powder on her nose.

  And then there was a knock on the door. “Ms. Summers? I have a delivery for you.”

  Savvy sighed. “Who is it?”

  “Davis Flower Delivery. I have a bouquet for you. Security waved me through.”

  How sweet.

  Had her record label sent flowers?

  “Want me to let him in?” Gloria asked.

  “Please.”

  A man in a pair of khakis and polo shirt, embroidered with his company name on the pocket walked in. He had a clipboard under one arm along with a bouquet of forsythia and sunflowers in a glass vase, which he set on a nearby table. Those were her two favorite flowers. There was a thick envelope on a plastic holder, attached to the container.

  “I need a signature, confirming they were delivered.” He held out his clipboard.

  Savvy glanced at Gloria. “Do you mind?”

  “Not at all.” She hastily scribbled her name.

  “Okay, thanks.” Savvy reached into her purse and handed him a tip. “Any idea who sent these?”

  “Let me see.” He flipped through some pages. “Mr. Smith. I can’t tell you any more than that. He paid cash.”

  Hmm. Sounds like an alias to me.

  “Good luck tonight.”

  “Thank you.”

  The delivery guy shuffled out.

  “Wanna see the card?” Gloria asked.

  “Sure. Why not?”

  Savvy opened the envelope to reveal a card with a large heart in the center. It was the type of thing a man might give his sweetheart on Valentine’s Day, and it wasn’t signed.

  What the…?

  The interior of the card was filled with a hastily written scrawled. Savvy tried to read it, make sense of the note, but the sentences were dense and floated from one topic to another. She snatched a phrase here and there: love you so much, why haven’t you responded, I need you.

  Savvy dropped the card, and it fluttered to the floor. Gasping, she pressed a hand to her mouth.

  Suddenly, she thought about John Lennon being gunned down outside of the Dakota in New York. And Selena was murdered by the president of her fan club.

  She stared at the flowers as though they were a nest of vipers. Savvy had the urge to tip them right out of the window.

  Gloria frowned. “Savvy, are you okay?”

  “Yes, I’m fine.” She shook her head, to scatter the dark thoughts.

  Savvy couldn’t afford the distraction right now and needed to keep both their heads in the game. If her focus was split, she’d do a terrible job, and she didn’t want to disappoint anyone, least of all her fans.

  She tucked the card into her purse for safekeeping. After Adam talked to her about the terrible sales numbers, she’d have a serious discussion with him about security at her events. The deliveryman shouldn’t have been waived through the line.

  But what if some crazy obsessed fan is out there in the audience? Just waitin’ for me to step on stage.

  No. Don’t think about it. You’ll work yourself into a panic.

  “Savvy? Are you positive nothing’s wrong?” Gloria searched her face.

  “Yeah, absolutely. I was just thinkin’ I’m overdue for some fun. You can totally say no, but do you wanna hang tomorrow?”

  Sometimes, she snuck away from all the madness. Savvy tucked her hair underneath a baseball cap, pulled a hoodie over it, along with some shades, and blended into a crowd, as best as she could. Although, she looked a bit like the Unabomber.

  Gloria nodded. “Yeah, that sounds fun.”

  “Excellent. We could sit at a café, have some coffee and order pastries, maybe watch the world go by.” Savvy couldn’t remember the last time she’d just enjoyed herself, sat still, present in the moment, instead of thinking ahead, worrying about her to do list or the next item on her agenda. “If we’re feelin’ real adventurous, we could sightsee a bit.”

  “I’d love to. I’ve never been to London before.”

  “Then it’s settled. We’ll sneak away for a couple of hours tomorrow.”

  This was the third time she’d been to the UK, and Savvy hadn’t seen anything besides the venue and her own hotel room, and she’d love to go sightseeing. Savvy wanted to visit Big Ben, London Bridge, the tower, and Buckingham Palace.

  A guitar riff sounded in the distance.

  “Well, I gotta go, there playin’ my song.” Gloria pointed to Savvy. “Or actually, they’re playin’ yours.”

  They hurried down the labyrinth of hallways backstage until they waited in the wings for their cue. Once again, excitement crackled in the air.

  Screw it.

  She put the demented fan out of her mind. The music filled her head, pushing away all the doubts and the fears. Music had always been a comfort, the place she’d turn to when the world roughed her up. Nothing else mattered. Not stalkers, and definitely not the amount of money in her bank account.

  “Are you ready?” Gloria asked.

  “Hell yeah.” Savvy grinned. “Bring it on.” I’m gonna blow the roof off this place tonight.

  Gloria walked onto the stage, to join the other backup singers and the crowd cheered.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, Savannah Summers!” The announcer said, and her fans erupted into enthusiastic applause. It was like being enveloped in a wave of warmth, and the love was a welcome balm to her soul.

  Savvy stepped into the hot glare of the spotlight, and the beam followed her as she moved across the stage.

  She waved to everyone. “Thank you, London! I’m so happy to be here. How y’all doin’?”

  They clapped and whistled in response. Behind her, the band started up, and the audience shouted, ready to get started.

  Savvy focused on the joy.

  She grabbed a guitar from a stagehand and played her opening number, Baby, I Can’t Quit you. The audience sang along with her, and they knew every word by heart.

  When Savvy reached the chorus, the other singers crowded around Savvy, and they danced together. The moves were carefully choreographed and went off without a hitch.

  Now, it was a matter of muscle memory, and she did the steps without thinking.

  After three up-tempo numbers, she moved into a slow song, a ballad, it was so sweet and gentle, it could be a lullaby. The audience quieted down, lifting their cellphones to illuminate the sea of faces smiling back at her.

  She stood beside Gloria. They crooned, harmonizing, taking the song to the bridge. And then the fiddle player took over, playing a tender tune.

  Savvy tugged the
microphone away from her mouth, and Gloria did too.

  She bent to whisper in the other woman’s ear, “What a fantastic group. They’re eatin’ it up.”

  “Yeah, they love it.” Gloria’s eyes danced. Evidently, performing gave her a high, as well.

  She surveyed the crowd, drinking in their reaction, filing away the mental picture for later, making a memory.

  And then came a muffled dart-like sound.

  It had been so close, but Savvy thought she must’ve imagined it.

  Savvy turned to see a red dot between Gloria’s brows, almost like a laser beam.

  Another thwap.

  And then Gloria fell to the ground.

  The rest of it happened in agonizing slow motion.

  There was a gaping hole in Gloria’s skull, right between the eyes. Her head had cracked open like a ripe watermelon.

  Savvy was startled to see red droplets all over her hands and face, dripping down her arms. The blue sparkles on her gown illuminated the crimson, gave it a gruesome sheen. For a moment, she stared, not really processing what she was seeing.

  The audience scattered like ants at a picnic.

  Like an idiot, Savvy didn’t run or hide. Couldn’t move.

  No, this can’t be happening. I was just talking with her.

  Another shot rang out.

  The next thing Savvy knew, she was squashed beneath a bodyguard as he tackled her. Three more of them surrounded Savvy, dragged her to her feet, and then carried her into the wings.

  Savvy glanced behind her to see Gloria’s bloody body abandoned on the stage.

  And she screamed.

  Chapter 2

  “Two hundred!”

  Thomas King and Quentin Zane were doing sit-ups, one right after the other, in quick succession. They moved faster and faster, trying to outdo one another, like a seesaw, up and down.

  King’s abs were screaming, but he’d be damned if he stopped first.

  Zane grunted in pain.

  “You ain’t gonna quit on me now, brother?” Please let him say “yes,” so I can stop.

  “Fuck that. I could do this for another hour.”

  “Yeah? Well, I could do this all day long.”

  They were both drenched in sweat, after spending the last thirty minutes doing a brutal HIIT workout. King needed a couple of ibuprofen and a long hot shower.

  “You’re both full of shit,” Travis “Storm” Reynolds said, from across the room. He was running sprints on the treadmill.

  King and Zane were former Navy SEALs and Storm used to work for the CIA. They’d collaborated on several missions to take down terrorists in the Middle East, and now they all worked for Black Star Security.

  They were in the gym located on the second floor of a renovated barn. It was the headquarters of their operation, and their barracks, all in one neat package. Since they all worked and bunked together, they were like a family.

  Yeah, a really awkward family.

  “Why are you workin’ out with us anyway?” Zane asked, in between huffing and puffing. “Don’t you usually go for a walk?”

  “In case you missed the last episode, let me catch you up. A serial killer broke in here, kidnapped one of our crew and poked her with a knife. So, fuck that. I’m gonna get buff. I’m talking an Arnold Schwarzenegger level of fitness.”

  Storm was thirty years old and he already had a lean, muscular build. He stood a bit over 6 feet tall, with dark brown hair and eyes.

  A few weeks ago, they’d rounded up escaped fugitives, and the thing had gone a bit sideways. Thankfully, no one had gotten hurt. Well, no one that mattered anyway. The murderer was now six feet under, where he belonged. King wasn’t losing any sleep over his demise.

  “I thought you installed a state-of-the-art security system.” King gasped for breath.

  “Aren’t you ready to quit, old man?” Zane taunted.

  “Never.” He laid back down and struggled into a sitting position again. “And who are you callin’ old man? You’re only a year younger than me.”

  “Yeah, but I look way younger.”

  Zane was thirty-two, six feet tall, and he had steely blue eyes, medium brown hair, and a sinewy, well-developed frame.

  King grunted, and Stormy rolled his eyes.

  King was six feet eight with reddish blond hair, and he usually sported a thick layer of stubble on his chin. Although, it had grown into a full-blown beard, because he hadn’t shaved in a month.

  Zane’s black German Shepherd puppy, Bomber, trotted over and sniffed him experimentally. Zane gave him a fond pat on the head, and the puppy settled by his hip and nosed him, trying to get Zane to play.

  “Your bond with Bomber is downright strange.” It was almost like a furry child.

  “You’re just jealous because he likes me better than you.”

  When Bomber grew up, he’d be their canine officer. Zane had also handled a dog in the field, Ares, so he was experienced at training them. That dog would’ve followed him into hell and back.

  “I know you let him sleep in the bed, and follow you around, but you don’t, like, bathe with Bomb, do you?” Storm asked.

  Zane scowled. “No. He’s a puppy, so he needs a lot of attention. And I want him to trust me in the field, so it’s important to build a relationship. Therefore, anywhere I go, he goes. Get used to it.”

  Bomb leaped onto Zane’s stomach, wagging his tail, and barking. Zane collapsed on the floor, unable to move.

  “And we’re done.” With a Herculean groan, King grabbed a towel and wiped his sweaty face.

  “So, who won?” Storm asked.

  “We both did.” King glanced at Zane who nodded.

  Zane gave him a high five. “Damn straight, we’re awesome.”

  “Downright spectacular.”

  Storm just shook his head.

  ***

  After showering, they all headed downstairs to the kitchen.

  While Storm made his customary smoothie, King seized a cast iron frying pan and cooked Zane and himself scrambled eggs, veggies, and some bacon while the coffee brewed.

  Due to his six foot plus frame, King required a lot of fuel. Workouts always made him ravenous.

  Zane took a seat at the end of the table, and Bomber settled at his feet. Storm joined him with a glassful of green junk.

  “Whatcha got?” Zane asked.

  “A green smoothie this time—avocado, romaine lettuce, kale, green apple, and almond milk, along with ginger, for its anti-inflammatory properties.”

  “So, basically it’s a salad in a cup?”

  “Yep.” He took a slurp.

  “Gross.” King shuddered.

  “Hmm, I’ve been thinkin’ about eatin’ healthier.” Zane squinted at the smoothie.

  “Awesome. I could help you out, Zane, if you want.”

  Zane mulled it over. “Yeah, I’d like a few tips, but I’m gonna eat eggs and bacon this mornin’.”

  “Fair enough. I’ve also been thinking about organizing runs a couple times a week. Would you be interested?”

  King and Zane were Southern gentlemen, while Storm had grown up in California. He’d picked up some strange notions on the East Coast.

  Zane lifted a shoulder. “Maybe.”

  “What about you, King?”

  “Thanks, but no thanks.” King didn’t mind working out, but he hated running. He’d gotten his fill of it in basic training. They’d made them carry heavy ass backpacks and run five miles every damn day.

  The phone rang, and King hit the green button. It was his younger sister, Elinor.

  “Hey, Ellie, how’s it goin?”

  There was a long pause. “Everything’s fine.”

  “Great.” She’s lying. King knew her very well.

  “Yeah, I just wanted to hear your voice.”

  She was dating a bastard. Dave belittled her, found ways to put her down. Things hadn’t gotten physical, as far as King knew, but emotional abuse was no joke. King wished he could intervene, but sh
e was a grown woman and could make her own decisions.

  Even if they are shitty.

  “I love you, Ellie.”

  “I love you, too. Look, I gotta go to work, but can we talk this weekend?”

  “Of course. Give me a call anytime.”

  “I will.”

  “I mean it. Day or night.”

  “Okay, Tommy.” She still called him by his childhood name. “Bye.” And then she hung up.

  “Was that your sister?” Zane asked.

  “Yeah, she didn’t sound so hot.” King had confided in Zane about her troubles. Back in their SEAL days, she’d bunked with him a few months until she’d found her own place, so Zane knew her.

  “She’s not ready to leave him yet?” There was a tightness in Zane’s voice.

  “If she was, I’d be at her place tonight with a U-Haul.” Whenever he’d tried to have a conversation with her about Dave, she changed the topic.

  “It’s tough. There’s nothin’ you can do until she’s ready.” King had told his brothers what was going on. He wanted their advice on the matter.

  “I know, and it sucks.” On average, it takes a woman seven times to leave an abusive partner. It was so damn frustrating.

  After handing a plate to Zane, King sat down and shoveled the food into his mouth, chewing silently, trying to shake off this funk.

  It wasn’t working.

  Mackenzie Pierce, Mack for short, walked into the kitchen with a blue velvet box in her hand. She didn’t glance at them as she grabbed some cottage cheese and cantaloupe from the fridge, evidently lost in her own thoughts.

  They all exchanged glances but didn’t say anything.

  Mack was thirty-one years old with curly red hair, a snub nose, and wide-spaced blue eyes. A light dusting of freckles dotted her face. Mack was a strange name for a woman who was just over five feet, but it suited her.

  For what she lacked in height, she made up for in attitude. She could handle men twice or three times her size. Mack was a former FBI hostage negotiator, and only a fool would mess with her.

  Zane nudged King and widened his eyes.