Now he understood her surprise when she’d introduced herself and he had no recognition.
Bet that doesn’t happen often.
“Yeah? Find anything interesting?” Chasin asked.
“First letter was delivered to her about a year ago. No one thought much about it because there wasn’t much to think about other than it came to her house instead of the PO box. Normal fan mail, he loved her music, her songs touched his soul. Stayed that way about four months. Then Genevieve performed in a benefit concert and the next letter was angry. He thought her outfit was too revealing and demanded she only wear jeans on stage so no one would see her legs. For the next month, he made it clear he thought Genevieve belonged to him, he loved her, thought she was beautiful, wanted to marry her and take her away from the spotlight so they could have a family. Genevieve went on tour, fifty-two days, thirty-one venues. Again, there was a shift. During that time, twenty letters were mailed to her home, all postmarked from the cities she was in. He was following her around and not happy. Huge escalation in attention and the tone became threatening.”
Christ.
None of that was good.
“And the gifts?”
“If you can believe this shit, it started out with stuffed animals. Another reason they paid them no mind, they were benign—teddy bears, stuffed unicorn, a frog, shit like that. We printed out the images Bobby sent us. She was smart and cataloged everything.”
Alec folded his arms. “After the benefit concert, he started with jewelry—all silver. A necklace with a heart pendant, bracelets, musical note charms, earrings. Not overly expensive, but still, the number of items would’ve set him back some cake. Then the last two months since she’d been home from touring, along with the letters he started sending pictures of rings he’d ripped out of magazines. The first three tear-outs had ‘marry me’ written in black marker under the ring with question marks. The next three still had ‘marry me’ scribbled but he lost the question mark and replaced it with an exclamation point. The last one says, ‘Pick one bitch, or I’ll pick for you.’”
Fucking hell, he’d stopped asking and started demanding. The letters were bad, the gifts upped the creep factor. The escalation in the frequency of the letters—really not good, but it was the shift in his response to being ignored that sent a shiver of concern up Chasin’s spine.
“And the house? Did Bobby leave anything out about the break-in?”
Alec didn’t answer, and the longer the silence stretched, the more acid leaked into his gut. There was more.
“Tell me,” Chasin demanded.
“Shit, brother, I knew something was eating at you this last week, and seeing your reaction to her, it doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together. You gonna be able to keep your shit—”
“I will if you tell me what else you know.”
“You’re not gonna like it,” he warned.
“Don’t suspect I will, considering I don’t like any of the shit you just told me. But that doesn’t mean I don’t need it all.”
“Keep your shit, Chasin,” Alec issued a second warning, something Chasin wasn’t fond of. But he kept his mouth shut so his friend would hurry up and tell him the rest.
“Bobby said she got home and the house was empty. Genevieve was out in her studio, which is on the property. Bobby says there are two guest houses, one she lives in and the second Genevieve converted to her home studio. I checked the satellite image, looks like it’s about twenty-five yards from the main house. Bobby said as soon as she entered the house, she felt a strange vibe and did a walk-through. She didn’t call the police because there were no signs of a break-in, just a gut feeling and she didn’t want to look like a fool if she was wrong.”
She should have trusted her gut, Chasin thought. Alec’s next words supported that belief.
“The last room she checked was the master suite. Bobby says when she walked in the room she knew someone had been in there. Genevieve’s tidy when she isn’t living out of a suitcase, but the dresser drawers were all opened, clothes hanging out. She noticed the bed covers were messed up and there was something lying in the middle. That’s where she saw the balled-up panties and picture. What she didn’t tell us, was he…fuck, brother…”
“Spit it out,” Chasin grunted, not liking a damn thing he’d heard but growing impatient for the rest.
“The picture of Genevieve also had semen on it.”
“Fucking Christ!” he exploded.
Sick fucking bastard.
“Let me guess, on her face,” Chasin bit out.
“You’d be correct.”
Goddamn, sick, fucking bastard.
“Bobby call the police?”
“Called the police, went to the studio, told Genevieve she should take a break. Convinced her to go out to lunch with her. Kept her out of the house long enough for the police to do their thing, the cleaning lady to come in, wash all of Genevieve’s clothes in her dresser. Police took the bedding, cleaning lady remade her bed and scrubbed the room. By the time Genevieve got back to her house, it was good as new and she never knew some motherfucker was in her bed jerking off and that her room had been a crime scene.”
Motherfucker was in her bed jerking off.
Chasin’s stomach roiled. The built-up acid leaked, turning bitter as his rage built.
“That shit shouldn’t have been kept from her.”
“I agree, but Bobby says she’s got her reasons though she didn’t share. What she did tell me was, she did it to protect Genevieve.”
You’d think that because you don’t know her.
What didn’t Chasin know? Why would Genevieve be better off left in the dark?
“That all?” Chasin asked.
“For now. McKenna’s running the names the uncle sent Genevieve. Jameson went to Baltimore to pick up the equipment he needs to set up the new system. Nixon’s in his office talking to the detective in Tennessee. All I can tell you about that is, Nix doesn’t sound happy.”
Which meant the police in Tennessee didn’t have shit on this guy, and likely hadn’t been taking the letters and gifts seriously.
Fucking hell.
“You need me to bring you a bag?” Alec inquired.
“It’d be appreciated, I’m not leaving her here unprotected. The locks here are a fucking joke, no outside lights, and plenty of places to gain entry undetected. Bobby still there?”
“She left five minutes ago, said she was going to the store to stock up. Genevieve asked her uncle to stop the delivery service and cleaning crew. And Bobby doesn’t want Genevieve going out and getting recognized. Which reminds me—”
“No, I had no clue,” Chasin answered before Alec finished his question. “I don’t listen to country. She introduced herself as Genevieve Ellison. Though even if she’d told me her name was Vivi Rush, I still wouldn’t have known her.”
“Seriously? Her songs are all over the radio. She’s huge right now.”
“She any good?”
“Fuck yeah.”
Chasin felt a swell of pride hearing his friend’s praise. Something he didn’t have the right to feel, but there it was all the same.
“I’ll have to look her up.”
“Dude, she’s in the house—why would you look her up when you could ask for a one-man concert?”
That wasn’t going to happen anytime soon.
“I’ll look her up,” he repeated.
“Right. Check back later.”
Alec disconnected and Chasin shoved his phone in his pocket. It was time to find Genevieve and get some answers. But from what Bobby had told him, and the cold shoulder Genevieve kept giving him, he reckoned it would be like pulling teeth getting her to open up.
Chasin climbed the stairs, wracking his mind trying to find his best play. He should use the stalker angle to his advantage and scare her into forgiving him. But he couldn’t do it—not even when he’d thought she was a cheating bitch would he have been able to stoop that low. Genevieve was scar
ed enough. He’d felt it when he’d held her after Bobby told her what had happened in her bed. Chasin would do pretty much anything to make sure she never felt that kind of terror again.
He stopped on the second-floor landing when he heard the first strum on the guitar. The sound came again, still mellow but this time louder and building faster. The earthy sound drew him closer to the closed door—not the master but the room he’d seen her instruments in earlier.
Then her voice accompanied the strings and sweet Christ, he couldn’t move.
She was singing.
The rasp in her voice more pronounced, full of heartbreaking emotion—the words came from her soul and Chasin knew without being told, the song Genevieve was belting out was hers. She’d written those words; no way those lyrics came from someone else, not the way she was singing. She felt those words to her soul.
Christ. Beautiful.
Somebody’s gonna treat you right.
But it’s not me.
Somebody’s gonna hold you tight.
But it’s not me.
Somebody’s gonna take you home and spend the night.
But it’s not me, it’s not me, it’s not me.
Her voice strong and sure, angry, broken, chock full of pain.
She stopped singing but kept strumming the chords. Suddenly Chasin felt like an intruder but it didn’t stop him from listening. He was captivated, held hostage by the power of her voice.
His palms went to the cool wood of the door. He leaned forward and rested his forehead there, wishing he could see her but knowing he wasn’t welcome.
Yeah, he fucked up—huge.
8
I’d lost track of time.
This wasn’t new.
This wasn’t even abnormal.
The sun had set and it was pitch black outside so I figured I didn’t lose a little time but a lot of it. I’d finished tweaking the song I’d started the night Chasin left and started a new one, forcing myself to write something more upbeat. If I let myself wallow, I’d have an album full of hateful breakup songs.
I set my PRS back on the stand and stretched. There weren’t many things I missed about my house in Oak Hill. The truth was, I hated that house long before I’d found out some wackadoodle had broken in. But I loved my studio and Bobby’s guest house. Bobby had a great eye and had made the two-bedroom bungalow an extension of her bubbly personality—a side of her I hadn’t seen in a long time.
On that thought, my chest started to hurt.
I’d lost her, too.
How did that happen?
My stomach rumbled, reminding me I hadn’t eaten since lunch. I opened the door and noted the house was quiet. It was a big house; a party could’ve been going on in the back living room and kitchen and I probably wouldn’t have heard. But that didn’t stop me from wondering where Bobby was.
We needed to talk. There were things I wanted to explain to her, all the things I should’ve said a long time ago but I’d been too lost in my head. Now I’d screwed up and I was afraid it was too late. But I still needed to try to salvage a friendship that I valued, even if I’d been a shit friend and hadn’t shown it. I just wasn’t sure how to start the conversation. But Bobby was Bobby so if I opened the door, I knew she’d barge through it.
All I needed to do was find the courage to crack it open.
Indecision and paranoia weighed heavily on me as I moved through the dark living room into the kitchen. But all thoughts of Bobby and conversation flew from my mind when I saw Chasin sitting at the table, his back to me. His laptop was open so the screen was facing me. There was no sound but I recognized the video he was watching—that night was the best night of my life.
My breath caught in my lungs as I stood statue-still, and watched.
I was on stage, singing a duet with Sean Lovette, bright lights dancing behind us. The country music legend wore a long black trench coat over black jeans, a black button-up collarless dress shirt, and his signature cowboy hat complete with the multi-colored, beaded hatband and shiny, black crow feather tucked under the band. Sean strummed his Gibson; the rosewood body gleamed each time the spotlight hit it, the high-gloss finish reflecting a starburst of light.
I was standing next to him in a kickass red floral mini dress. It had a deep-V, tight against my cleavage but flowy everywhere else, making it look sexier than it would’ve been if it’d been tight. I was wearing a pair of square-toed red alligator cowboy boots that cost more than my first car. From top to toe, I looked every bit the country girl I was, only better.
And Bobby was in her seat three rows back, singing her ass off, swaying to the music. I knew this not because I could see her in the video, but because I’d left her in that seat when I’d gone backstage before my performance. I knew she was singing because she always did. She was living my dream with me—by my side—always.
That night, I won my first country music award and Bobby’d been there, cheering me on. She’d also been there the next two times I’d been back to the CMAs and had cheered me on when I’d won those nights, too.
Chasin dropped his chin to his chest and jerked his head back and forth before he muttered, “Christ, beautiful.”
My body jolted and I inhaled so deeply I wasn’t sure I’d left any oxygen in the room. He didn’t know I was there, didn’t know I was watching him watching a video of me singing.
His reaction was honest.
I’d sung for millions of people, heard my name chanted, had my fans sing along to lyrics I’d written—words I bleed for, but never had my chest burned so hot.
Chasin pulled the earbuds out of his ears, tossed them on the table, and closed his laptop.
“That was my first time at the CMAs,” I whispered and he turned to look at me.
I wished I’d had the forethought to sit down before I’d opened my mouth—the way he was looking at me made my legs turn to jelly. Soft and gentle, tinged with something else I couldn’t put my finger on, but I liked it.
Which was a bad, bad thing. I needed to stay safely behind my shield where his velvet stare couldn’t touch me. Chasin had burned me once, and I’d learned a long time ago to believe someone when they showed you who they really were.
“Yeah?” he asked, but it was more than a question, it was a prompt to continue. And stupid, stupid me kept talking.
“Yeah. I was scared to death to take the stage in a room full of my idols. I almost threw up I was so nervous. Bobby had to talk me off the ledge when I was ready to bolt. I got backstage and Sean Lovette, that’s who I was singing with, was waiting for me with his wife. They made me feel like we were old friends. He must’ve seen how nervous I was during rehearsal and thought he’d better have his wife there to help him calm me down so I didn’t screw up his song.”
“Babe, the last thing you looked like was nervous. Obviously, I had no idea who you were when we met. Had no idea there was the voice of a sexy angel behind those lips. Holy hell, woman, you can sing.”
I’d long since stopped blushing when people praised my voice, but Chasin paying me such a nice compliment had my cheeks warming.
“Thanks.”
“Were you offended when I didn’t know who you were?”
“Hell no.” I laughed. “It was a nice change. Though, I admit, at first I thought maybe you were faking.”
“Faking? Babe, that is one thing that I absolutely didn’t do with you.”
That warmth on my cheeks blazed.
No, neither of us had to fake anything that night, at least not while we were in bed.
“Right,” I mumbled, and pinched my lips to stop from smiling.
I was supposed to be keeping my distance.
“You hungry?” he asked.
“Actually, that’s why I came down here. I didn’t realize how long I was playing.”
“I wanted to go up and get you but Bobby told me to let you be. She said that when you’re in the groove, you don’t like to be bothered.”
Bobby would know. She’d been
my friend long before I got my first recording deal. And even back then, when I was writing or playing I didn’t like to be interrupted. That was my time, it was private, I could let my guard down and be me with no one watching.
“She’s right.”
“Sit. I’ll heat you up a plate.”
I looked around the clean kitchen and wondered if Bobby had cooked.
“Where’s Bobby?”
Chasin stood and went to the fridge and started pulling stuff out, placing it on the counter.
“She went out.”
“Out?”
Where in the world would Bobby go out to? We were in the middle of nowhere. Since I’d been there, I’d driven through Cliff City and there was two grocery stores, a tractor supply, and three bars that were not her scene—if there wasn’t sawdust covering the floor and a mechanical bull, Bobby saw no point spending ten dollars on a beer. Or she hadn’t. Pain stabbed my heart and I remembered I didn’t seem to know my best friend very well anymore. Back in the day, she hadn’t liked expensive slouchy purses either.
“She went to Nixon and McKenna’s place.”
Chasin was being skimpy on the details and I wondered if he was doing that on purpose.
“There a reason you’re not elaborating?”
“Elaborating?” he queried, his head tilting to the side. The gesture made him look bad-boy-cute, if there was such a thing.
“You know, explaining to me why Bobby went to Nixon’s house without us having to play twenty questions.”
“Twenty questions?” Chasin gifted me with a dazzling smile. As annoyed as I was that he was repeating my words, I found I really liked Chasin’s smile.
Stupid, stupid me.
“As much as I’d love to wow you with my superior skills of deductive reasoning, it would be faster if you just told me why Bobby would go to Nixon and McKenna’s house at…” I paused and looked at the digital display on the stove. “Ten thirty at night?” That last part came out as a surprised whisper because I had no idea it was that late.
Chasin’s chuckle slid through me and I remembered how much I liked his laugh. The night we’d spent together, I’d found myself doing what I could to amuse him just to hear it. From the second I’d laid eyes on him, I thought he was good-looking. But then he smiled at me, and I felt something strange wash over me, and I did something I never did and asked him if he wanted to come into the house.
Chasin's Surrender (Gemini Group Book 5) Page 6