Bronwyn scrambled for the gun and pointed it at Tony with trembling hands. "Come any closer, and I'll blow your head off," she warned, but even from my collapsed position on the floor I could see the uncertainty and fear in her eyes. His sudden attack on me had shaken her, and she'd lost her nerve.
Tony sensed her hesitation too. He rose to his feet and walked stiffly toward her. He knocked the gun out of her hand, sending it flying over the side of the tower. Lightning illuminated his face. A deep fury burned in his grey eyes, fringing on utter madness. "I'm going to make you pay for that," he threatened, rubbing his gut again and advancing closer to her. Bronwyn backed up until she was once again on the edge of the tower balcony, her hands held out protectively in front of her. Tony caught her by the throat and squeezed hard.
Sirens wailed in the distance, and I wished with all my heart that they were heading for us. I could see the terror and pain in Bronwyn's bulging eyes as Tony's other hand snaked around her neck. He was going to throw her off the tower, and I was powerless to stop him. I sucked in mouthfuls of air and tried in vain to remove the knife from my calf. It was buried too deep, and the pain was severe. I felt like I was going to pass out from blood loss at any moment.
"Ame!" Bronwyn squawked. Her cry was cut short as Tony tightened his grip to cut off her air supply. The desperation in her voice zipped through me like a shot of adrenaline. With my last remaining ounce of strength, I hauled myself up from the floor. I limped on my right foot to the nearest window, where one of the red Castle Rock flags hung just over the ledge. I struggled to pull the flagpole from its holder then turned on my one good foot to face Tony.
The sirens grew closer—maybe someone heard us scream and called the police. Tony was weakening. Blood oozed from the wound in the back of his head, and he was swaying slightly. If I could hurt him again, maybe Bron and I could subdue him until reinforcements arrived. I limped forward with a renewed sense of strength.
"I told you I'd take you out tonight, Amelia," Tony growled without turning around. In all his fury, he hadn't noticed that I'd gotten up from the floor. "But first, your little friend needs to take a dive." He struggled to lift her, and I saw Bronwyn's toes leave the ground. She clawed frantically at his hands, but her face was starting to take on a purplish hue, and her strength was waning.
"Bron, duck!" I yelled. Tony released her and spun around in surprise. Bronwyn dropped to the floor and rolled off to the side. I gripped the flagpole and lunged toward Tony like a knight in a jousting match. The tip of the pole caught Tony in the chest just above his heart. I released it with a hard shove, sapping the last of my strength. My legs buckled beneath me. As I collapsed, Tony staggered backwards. The momentum of the flagpole slammed him against the balcony ledge. With an ear-splitting scream, he topped backward over the side. Brilliant lightning flashed, and the coinciding thunder erupted, thankfully covering the sound of his body hitting the ground.
Bronwyn jumped up from the floor, rushing to my side as approaching footsteps thundered up the stairwell. The door burst open. As my eyes began to lose focus, I saw Cliff Rogen, Bobby's drummer, bound into the room with a gun raised. "Freeze!" he yelled. "FBI!" His voice sounded far away, as if he were yelling from the other end of a tunnel.
"It's always the quiet ones," I said, and then I sank into darkness.
CHAPTER TWENTY
"I think she's coming to," said a voice close to my ear. Disoriented, I lay still with my eyes closed, at first only aware of the mixture of sounds surrounding me. There was the peaceful rhythm of raindrops. I liked that. It made me want to retreat further into myself, to forget…what was I trying to forget? I couldn't remember, so I guessed the rain was working its magic.
There were also several voices. I recognized Bronwyn's, her father's, and Detective Dixon's. There were two others I couldn't put a face to—a man's deep Southern accent, and another male voice that was rich, smooth, and somewhat familiar. "Addison, call an ambulance," yelled the latter.
Multiple sirens wailed, some in the distance and others very close by. As I focused on them, something clicked in my brain—or, rather, my leg. Blinding pain crashed over me—and with it, my memory of the night's events. I'd been stabbed, and I'd lost a lot of blood. Even worse, I'd killed a man. I moaned, tossing my head from side to side as I willed myself to forget the pain again and retreat into the peaceful, comforting darkness. For a short time, I succeeded.
I was next aware of the sensation of being lifted from the ground. There were more voices now. "Alright, Agent Larson," a woman said. "She's all patched up, but you need to be very careful with her on the stairwell. The stretcher is waiting downstairs." Two arms slid underneath my back and the backs of my knees, and I was scooped up. My eyes flew open, and I cried out against the flare of pain I anticipated—but to my surprise and relief, there was nothing more than a dull ache.
"What the…?" I grew even more discombobulated. I began to feel light and strangely giddy, as if a huge weight had been lifted from me. Oh no…I died. If I can't feel pain, I must be dead. Right? Truth be told, dying didn't seem too bad so far. My eyes adjusted, and I swept my gaze up to the handsome, angelic face peering down into mine. "Well, at least I'm in heaven," I mumbled with a happy sigh.
"Why is that, Amelia?" The angel arched a brow and studied me with quizzical green eyes.
"You're the angel—you tell me." It was pretty swell of the Big Man Upstairs to have such a sexy spirit escort me through the pearly gates. I yawned and lolled my head back to gaze outward as we passed through the gilded threshold—only to find that they weren't as glorious and shiny as I'd expected. They looked an awful lot like the tower stairwell at Castle Rock. "Tell the Big Guy I, uh, love what he's done with the place."
"I think she's going to be okay," my savior said with a laugh, and I chuckled drowsily along with him.
As we passed through another doorway, I was sobered by icy drops of rain pelting against my face. The spell of the pain-killers was broken. I looked around frantically, trying to process what was happening.
"Can I ride with her?" Jared Flynn asked as he gently lowered me onto the gurney and flashed his badge. Two EMTs rushed in front of him, carting me toward the waiting ambulance.
"Alright, Agent. Come on." The EMTs secured me in the back of the ambulance, and Jared climbed in after them.
"Hey," he said softly, sliding in next to me. He squeezed my hand. "How are you feeling?"
"Like I've been stabbed in the leg. Jared, why do they keep calling you 'Agent?'"
He sighed. "My name isn't Jared," he said in a tone that was slightly sheepish but still held an air of authority. "It's Emmett. Special Agent Emmett Larson of the Federal Bureau of Investigation."
Oh, okay. So I'm not dead after all. I'm just dreaming. "I can't say that I've ever had the stalked-by-the-FBI fantasy before, but I suppose there's a first time for everything. Must be the pain-killers."
Emmett glanced at the snickering EMTs and turned a light shade of red. "I'm serious, Amelia."
"Right, I get it. Role-play. Then I get to be Mila Kunis." The fuzzy, drowsy feeling returned then, and it was lights out all over again.
* * *
The next time my eyes opened, it was to the blinding brightness of fluorescent bulbs. "Ack!" I threw an arm over my face. "Somebody turn that damn light off!" I cupped my hands over my eyes and peered out from my little finger cave. Four faces stared right back at me. Bronwyn, Jared—or was it Emmett?—Cliff Rogen, and Kat.
"Somebody dim the lights!" Kat demanded, rushing forward and putting her hand over my forehead as if checking for fever. Silly Kat. I didn't have the flu. I had a stab wound—which, for the record, hurts like a bitch. I would recommend steering clear of psychos with knives whenever possible.
I hoisted myself into a sitting position—wincing and muttering a handful of expletives as I moved my wounded leg. "I'm fine," I assured Kat as she reached behind me to fluff the pillow beneath my back. When my parents had moved to Texas after c
ollege, I'd listed Kat as my emergency contact, but the way she was fussing over me made me wish the ER had called my mother instead.
Even Bronwyn had traded her usual snark for a more serious demeanor. She scurried to my bedside, peering at me in awe. I noticed several dark bruises on her throat, but she seemed otherwise okay. "I totally thought you were dead," she murmured, her voice froggy. "You saved my life."
"I'm pretty sure you saved mine, too. That was quite a tackle you made—ever thought about trying out for a women's football league?" I managed a weak chuckle, but it was cut short when I jostled my leg. Fresh pain brought tears to my eyes. I flipped the blanket off my body and stared down at my heavily bandaged left calf. My leg appeared swollen beneath the gauze, and a sense of dread crept over me as my eyes found the wheelchair in the corner of my room.
"Don't worry—you'll walk again," said a voice from the doorway. A middle-aged woman in a doctor's coat entered the room and approached my bed. Her black ponytail was streaked with silver, and behind her glasses were kind, blue eyes. "I'm Dr. Stevenson." She reached out and patted my hand. "You lost a good deal of blood, but luckily a transfusion wasn't necessary. It seems your attacker wasn't strong enough to do irreparable damage, and the cut didn't sever any tendons." I thanked my lucky rock stars that Bronwyn had cracked Tony's skull.
"You do have forty-three, stitches, however," Dr. Stevenson continued. "You'll require physical therapy as your leg heals. I'll provide you with instructions for caring for and cleaning your wound when we discharge you tomorrow evening. I can also recommend a physical therapist. But for now, I don't care what the FBI says," she turned to give my visitors the evil eye, "it's well past visiting hours, and you need your rest." She crossed her arms over her chest. "Agent Larson, I'm going to have to ask that everyone leave and allow Miss Grace some time to recuperate."
Kat stepped forward to protest, but Jared placed a hand on her shoulder. "Let me handle this," he said in her ear. Taking a step toward Dr. Stevenson, Jared flashed her a charming smile. "Alright, Doctor,' he said pleasantly. "If you'll please allow me to stay here for Miss Grace's protection, the others will be happy to go home until regular visiting hours. As this is a matter of Amelia's safety, I have to insist that I keep close watch over her until our suspect is apprehended." Suspect? There was just no way Tony could've survived that fall from the tower. Could Stacy have escaped after I fainted?
"Very well." Dr. Stevenson gave a resigned sigh. "Just please try not to disturb the patient while she rests. She needs to save her strength. The road to recovery starts tomorrow."
The doctor ushered everyone out of my room, save for Jared. Kat waved a tearful goodbye, promising she'd be back first thing in the morning. She slid her arm around Bronwyn and walked her through the doorway with Cliff Rogen behind them. He paused to linger by the door as the doctor led my friends down the hall. "Really glad you're okay, ma'am," he said with a thick Southern accent. He dipped his head in a bow.
"So you can talk," I marveled. Hadn't I heard him say something else just before I passed out in the tower? "You're FBI, too." It was more of a question than a statement.
"So you remember, Mila?" The man I'd known as Jared grinned.
"Huh?" Oh. My cheeks flushed as I remembered letting my meds do the talking in the back of the ambulance. "Your name isn't Jared," I said slowly. "It's…"
"Emmett," he supplied. "Emmett Larson, FBI." Cliff cleared his throat. Jared—er, Emmett—gestured to the drummer. "This is my partner, Special Agent Gavin Addison."
Gavin smiled down at me with friendly brown eyes. "Pleased to meet you, officially," he said in that delightful twang. "I'm really sorry you got caught up in this mess."
"What mess, exactly?"
"It's sort of a long story," Emmett began just as an irate-looking Dr. Stevenson appeared in the doorway. She tapped her watch and gave Cliff—excuse me, Gavin—a reproachful look.
Gavin gave me a look of apology. "I wish you a quick recovery, Miss Grace," he said, bowing. "Agent Larson will fill you in once you've gotten some rest."
Dr. Stevenson glared at Emmett. "Agent Larson, please take your post in that chair over there, and let Miss Grace get some sleep," she said, her voice clipped. Emmett made a show of backing away from my bed and taking a seat, folding his hands behind his head.
I rolled over in the bed and pulled the blanket back over me. "Thank you, Doctor." I flashed a brilliant smile then yawned, closing my eyes. I lay still. The doctor turned off the light and gently closed the door, and I could hear her giving Agent Addison a good reaming as she pulled him down the hall. Once her voice had faded from earshot, I opened my eyes and sat up in the bed, clicking on the lamp beside it. "You were saying?" I looked expectantly at Emmett.
"Well…" He stood up to peek through the window blinds and make sure the Good Doctor wasn't returning anytime soon. Satisfied, he turned back to me. "We've been after the Stone family for months. Joey and his cousins were always just a step ahead of us in Las Vegas, and they're good about covering their tracks. We've had a hell of a time trying to pin Stone for any of the crime on the Vegas Strip, but recently some intel leaked to us about Shawn Stone. Our source claimed Joey's cousin agreed to pretend he had quit the family business out west so he could start a new underground venture near the Gulf Coast and East Coast."
According to Emmett, Shawn met with Owen Jefferson at a music conference in Vegas six months ago, and a partnership was formed. Shawn had already dipped his toes into the music industry by calling in some favors, and he'd landed the gig as Bobby Glitter's touring manager. Shawn would be able to book Bobby's comeback tour at venues along the East Coast that he and Joey wanted to purchase for their new franchise of underground casinos. They planned to use muscle if necessary to get venue owners to sell.
With Owen Jefferson owning a large percentage of the venues in the Southeast, Shawn and Joey agreed to bring him in as a partner and put him in charge of managing all venues that they purchased. He and his daughter, Stacy, would make a huge profit and eliminate a large chunk of their competition by acquiring control of those venues and managing them for the Stone family. Any owner who refused to sell would be dealt with by any means necessary.
"Unfortunately," Emmett said quietly, "Deering was hit before we could gather enough evidence to build a case against Stone and the Jeffersons."
My heart sank. "That's what Parker and Stone were arguing about that night."
Emmett nodded, taking a seat next to my bed. "Right. Agent Addison and I both have a musical background, so our source helped us land the gig as Bobby's supporting band. I've taken bass lessons since elementary school and was in a garage band in high school." He grinned. "We performed at several clubs around town and actually did covers of some songs from Bobby's old band, StarStorm. Gav's been playing since he was a kid, too. He's a great drummer but a terrible actor. We figured as long as he didn't speak and just played his set he could pass for one of those quirky rock stars who are the strong, silent type."
I arched a brow. Now I understood why the drummer had never spoken to me.
"This allowed us to go undercover on the road with Stone, monitoring his every move until we could build a solid case against him," Emmett continued. "We caught a big break when Stone approached me and propositioned me to be his muscle when convincing the first owner to sign over the deed to his venue. It was Parker. Stone said he'd met him in Vegas. He made an offer for the property, but Deering refused—so Stone got his goons to rough him up a bit and told him they'd be paying him a visit in Atlanta really soon.
"Meanwhile, Owen Jefferson did some digging on Parker, and they found out that he had no living relatives. If Deering wouldn't comply when Shawn came to town to buy Castle Rock, all it would take would be an unfortunate 'accident' to get Parker out of the way. There was no will on file, so his property would go to the state. Then Owen could use his connections in the Georgia state government to work out a deal for purchasing the property at a much cheaper price tha
n they would have paid Parker."
"So, that night when you followed Shawn and Parker—Stone wanted you to rough him up?" I swallowed hard.
"Yes," Emmett looked guilty. "I wouldn't let it get that far, though—I got in his face and made a few verbal threats so I could keep Stone's trust, but I never laid a hand on him. Unfortunately, Stone had a hit man in his back pocket that we weren't aware of. When I didn't use enough force for his liking, he gave Tony the green light. Gavin and I were onstage with Bobby when it happened. By the time we found out, it was too late. Parker was already dead." He looked at me with sorrowful green eyes. "I'm so sorry, Amelia."
I bit my lip. I was right all along to suspect Shawn, but I'd never seen Tony or Stacy coming—and they'd never seen Kat coming. Stone thought he could just kill Parker and then buy Castle Rock for dirt cheap. No wonder Parker had married Kat in secret. If anything happened to him, Castle Rock would go to her.
"How did you guys figure out that Tony and Stacy were the killers?"
"Actually, I have you to thank for that," Emmett grinned. "Gavin stayed behind in the hotel on Tuesday night to monitor Shawn's emails and phone calls, trying to decode any hidden messages to Joey or his goons. In order to keep suspicion off us, I went out with Bobby and Candy for a night on the town like any normal band mate would. When we bumped into you and Tony at The Cavern, I knew I'd seen his face before—I just couldn't remember where. I shrugged it off for a while, but the more I saw him, the more it tore at me.
"At the same time, Detective Dixon did a background check on all the members of our crew. He'd found out about Shawn Stone's past, but sources claimed he'd sworn off the family business and was working in the music industry now, which checked out. What he couldn't find, though, were backgrounds for either 'Jared Flynn' or 'Cliff Rogen.'" Emmett looked sheepish. "Since we hadn't anticipated running into this kind of trouble, headquarters hadn't supplied us with full backgrounds. Dixon tailed us this afternoon and confronted us."
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