by Mari Carr
The driver of her bus, Joel, was an older gentleman who’d spent the past twenty years driving rock stars all around the country. As such, at least he knew the drill and respected her desire for zero conversation. She wasn’t here to make friends.
The bus wasn’t as large as the ones carrying the crew or bands, or even Hunter and Ailis’s. In truth, it felt more like an RV, the space between her living area and the driver and passenger seats open rather than blocked off by a half wall or door. The jump seat Fergus had just claimed spun around so that it could actually be an extra chair in the lounge.
She tried not to think about how close he’d be at all times.
Peering through the bus window, she could see Fergus was true to his word, standing at his post.
She was about to head back to her bed when she spotted Ailis Maxwell racing toward the bus. Fergus grinned, his arms outstretched, and she ran straight into his embrace. He gave her a big hug that looked amazing, along with an affectionate, brotherly—or in this case, cousinly—kiss on the top of her head.
Aubrey tried to recall if she’d ever been hugged like that. She didn’t try to remember for long. She knew the answer. She hadn’t.
Her mother wasn’t the maternal type, and her father was a deadbeat who’d kicked her pregnant mom out before she was even born. Of course, according to her mother, the fucker had tried to come back into Aubrey’s life the second she became famous, but Mom shut that down quick, getting a restraining order against him.
Not because she gave two shits about Aubrey’s feelings or desire for a father, but because she wasn’t about to share the cash cow.
Aubrey had never seen her father. She didn’t even know his name. After breaking ties with her mom, she considered hiring a private detective to track him down. But even after her mother’s track record for telling lies had been revealed, Aubrey was too afraid to try. Mom claimed the “sperm donor” was a complete loser and Aubrey was lucky she’d never had to deal with him. The fact he apparently hadn’t shown up until she was rich seemed to prove that was true.
Aubrey already had one shitty parent, stealing everything she could get her hands on. She didn’t want to risk adding another.
Ailis and Fergus continued to talk. While she couldn’t hear them, Aubrey could just imagine what they were saying. No doubt Fergus was telling his cousin what a nightmare Aubrey was, and Ailis was probably commiserating. Part of her hoped Ailis would find something—even just one thing—positive to say about her.
Not that they were friends, exactly.
The best Aubrey could say was she’d managed to be distantly friendly with Hunter and Ailis. Primarily because they didn’t need anything from her. Lately, all her relationships fell into one category—work colleagues. Whether it was her producers at the label, manager, PA, fellow headliner or the crew members, everyone was held at the same arm’s length, and no one was considered a friend.
Aubrey walked to her laptop, intent on closing the lid.
A new email popped up, and she groaned.
“Fuck,” she whispered to herself.
It was from Doug, her ex-fiancé. The stupid asshole emailed her daily, something he’d moved to when it had become apparent she’d blocked his number in her phone.
The subject heading “I love you” told her this missive was going to be more of the same. He’d been groveling ever since she’d walked into their apartment—returning home a day early from an out-of-town show—and found him naked with his face between her mother’s legs.
They had dated for nearly three years, and she’d seriously thought it was love. He was the one who’d encouraged her to start writing music again. They’d been blissfully, idyllically happy—or so she’d thought. Right up until the second Doug proved to her that what she’d thought was love was nothing more than easy companionship.
She’d been a lonely child—something perpetuated by her mom, who’d been extremely overprotective of her golden goose—and that feeling of isolation had only increased after Sweet Flames ended. That was when she’d discovered she was nearly broke.
Enter Doug Wright, a sweet, struggling musician. He’d found her at her lowest point, picked her up, dusted her off, and then…shown her that love didn’t exist.
The world was made up of takers and givers. She’d given her trust to the wrong people too many times, and every single one of them had trampled it to dust.
That would never, ever happen again.
She deleted Doug’s email without reading it, slammed down the lid on the laptop, and walked back to her bedroom.
With any luck, she might actually manage a couple uninterrupted hours of sleep, though she wasn’t holding out much hope.
Insomnia was a bitch.
Then she considered Fergus standing guard by the door as she closed her eyes, and that same weird feeling of security washed over her.
For right now, I’m safe.
That was her last cognizant thought as she drifted off to sleep.
Chapter Three
Fergus stood backstage, watching Aubrey perform. He’d been her guard dog—he was going to have to find a way to break her bad habit of calling him Rottweiler—for one week. During that time, she’d ignored him, saying less than fifty words, the majority of those being stay, sit, and fetch. Which really did perpetuate his feeling of being an overpaid mutt.
Rather than speak to him in a civil manner, Aubrey preferred to shoot him either impatient or annoyed looks, answering his questions with one word or head gestures, and she’d never engaged him in conversation.
He recalled Pop Pop’s advice when he’d talked to him his second night on the job. Pop Pop insisted a person caught more flies with honey than vinegar, so while Aubrey bombarded him with rudeness, he responded with polite smiles and easy conversation.
The more Aubrey maintained her chilly, cold demeanor, the harder Fergus tried to break through it. Pop Pop had taught him all about battles, those fought in the middle of a war, as well as the more personal, one-on-one kind, where words were brandished instead of weapons.
So, while she took pleasure in ignoring him and treating him like a guard dog, he’d gone the “kill her with kindness” route.
She was silent, but Fergus was not.
He talked to her constantly, sharing stories of growing up with his cousins, details about his job with the military police and funny anecdotes about things he’d seen that day. So far, Aubrey was proving to be a tough nut to crack, never laughing or even smiling, never asking questions or joining the conversation. Instead, she’d sniff indignantly or pretend to ignore him.
The one thing she hadn’t told him to do was stop.
Which told him she was listening.
Hunter had warned him that Aubrey would work overtime to make his life a living hell. Her distrust of bodyguards ranked up there with mothers and fiancés, according to Ailis. She’d told him that as a way of encouraging him to be patient, and for the most part, it worked. Aubrey had been mistreated by those she should have been able to count on.
He got it.
Most of the time.
Then she’d shoot him a nasty look, call him Rottweiler, and he’d have to fight hard to remember why he shouldn’t take the bad-tempered little diva over his knee.
He considered the money he was being paid and wondered if it was enough. He was running out of steam one week in, trailing behind a sullen rock star all day, then trying to manage a few hours of restless sleep.
The record label wanted her protected above all else, so he’d had precious little time to investigate the accidents or the notes. Since he’d taken over the job as her bodyguard, there had been no more roses delivered and no more sightings of her ex at concerts. Part of him wondered if his presence alone had been enough to scare the stalker away, or if Aubrey had been right, and the unfortunate events had been accidents and the appearance of the notes a mere coincidence.
He hadn’t managed a full night’s sleep yet. Sleeping sitting up was a painful e
ndeavor, made even more difficult by the fact Aubrey suffered from insomnia.
Between trying to find a comfortable position in the jump seat and listening to her strum and hum and fight her way through lyrics on the couch in the lounge area in the wee hours of the night, he was lucky to grab more than a couple hours rest at a time.
He tried to make up for that lack of sleep on the nights they stayed in hotels. He always got a room directly across from Aubrey’s suite, but he wasn’t completely at ease with that arrangement. He worried about not being able to hear her if someone attempted to break into her room, so he spent most of those nights, while comfortably sprawled out on a bed, resting fitfully and fully dressed, as he listened to every sound in the hallway.
Several times, the bus driver, Joel, had encouraged him to sack out on one of the couches whenever Aubrey ventured back to her bedroom, but Fergus recalled her comment on the phone the first day they’d met, about Jesse Richards molesting her. She’d clearly been hurt by the previous bodyguard, and he thought it best to keep a professional distance, not infringing on her personal space.
Aubrey began singing another song, one that had become his favorite in the past week. Like Hunter, Fergus couldn’t reconcile the angry woman spitting venom at anyone who crossed her path with the songwriter who’d created so many haunting, beautiful tunes and penned such deep, meaningful lyrics.
Everything he knew about Aubrey thus far were the things others had told him, which meant he couldn’t be sure any of it was the truth. He’d heard about the bodyguard incident from no less than six crew members, each one offering similar accounts. No one had seen the bodyguard grab her, but they’d all seen the punch, and they all agreed Aubrey had been wasted.
He’d also gotten four or five different versions of gossip based on the night Aubrey had walked in and found her fiancé in bed with her mom. Interestingly, Aubrey was the one who’d been jilted and betrayed, yet she somehow came out of that story the villain as well, the storytellers claiming the so-called charming ex constantly sent her bouquets of flowers and chocolates, and showed up at concerts proclaiming his undying love for Aubrey to anyone who’d listen.
According to Blair, Doug contacted Aubrey daily, begging for forgiveness, but the “coldhearted woman” wouldn’t even talk to him. And the last person to discuss the affair, one of the event planners here in Charlotte, North Carolina, commented that Doug could hardly be blamed for looking somewhere else, given Aubrey’s bitchiness.
The more people trash-talked her, the more Fergus felt sorry for her.
Aubrey glanced his way in the midst of her slow song, and he swallowed heavily, even though she narrowed her eyes at him.
Aubrey Summers was two different people, a raging bitch offstage—Hunter hadn’t lied about her temper tantrums—and a pure beauty under the spotlights.
Aubrey’s appearance had already taken him down hard the first day they’d met. She was the most gorgeous woman he’d ever lain eyes on, and he now understood Finn’s and Hunter’s infatuation. Glancing toward the crowd, he saw as many men as women present, and there was no denying they were all under Aubrey’s spell. She had long, wavy dark hair, big blue eyes framed by thick lashes, porcelain skin and full red lips.
But more than that, there was her music.
Fergus had fallen in love with the songs she sang night after night. Her music was filled with emotion, speaking to him in ways he couldn’t even begin to comprehend. Her songs made him feel as if she saw straight to the depths of his soul and understood everything, even the things he didn’t get about himself.
And then there was the sound of her voice. In mythological times, she would have been a siren—and he, the sailor, definitely would have willingly crashed on her rocks.
“She’s amazing, isn’t she?” Ailis said, stepping up next to him.
Fergus nodded. There was no point in denying the truth, even if Aubrey went out of her way to drive him crazy offstage. Every night since his first on the job, she’d tried to lose him, exiting the stage on the wrong side, darting around crew members to conceal herself, and finding ways to escape him. He’d begun to hate any room that had two doors. It kept him on his toes, and while there was enough Collins in him that he got a kick out of the challenge, there was the larger, military-trained part that panicked whenever she wasn’t in sight. Her safety was paramount to him, and she wasn’t taking it seriously.
While there’d been no more roses, that didn’t mean the stalker still wasn’t there, watching and waiting.
“I love having you on the road with us, Fergus. I missed your ugly mug all those years you were away with the Army.”
Fergus chuckled, wrapping his arm around her shoulder and tucking her close. Ailis and her sister, Fiona, had grown up on tour buses like the ones they were rambling around the country in right now. Despite the fact he hadn’t spent as much time with Ailis as his other cousins growing up, he’d always felt like she was a kindred spirit.
She shared his love of reading, and while the rest of their relatives tended to be loud and boisterous, always ready for the next party, the two of them found pleasure in the quiet times.
“I missed you too.”
Dave, one of the three pyrotechnicians on the crew, approached, his assistant, Erick Rogerson, trailing behind him. Fergus had “befriended” both men earlier in the week, trying to get a feel for them. Given the fact both the “accidents” had involved some sort of fire, the pyrotechnicians seemed like the best people to start his investigation with.
Dave, like Finn, had started crushing on Aubrey when she was Jenny Sweet, and “super-fan” was the only way to describe him. He flirted with Aubrey whenever she was around, playfully begging her to marry him.
Erick, in contrast, was a shy guy who blushed and stammered whenever anyone spoke to him.
“Make way for the flames. My future wife is depending on me.”
Ailis and Fergus backed up as Dave took his place by the controls. Fergus was always equal parts impressed and terrified whenever they performed this special effect during the show.
The song, her oldest and most famous one, was the last of her set and a showstopper. The fire that erupted as she hit the last high note was a nod to the fact this was the Sweet Flames’ signature song. It never failed to drive the fans wild.
Fergus held his breath. They’d done a run-through of the effect this afternoon, like always, but one of the cannons hadn’t fired. Aubrey had given Dave an earful for screwing up, and Fergus had felt bad, watching as the affable guy apologized over and over.
As Aubrey hit the final note, Dave fired the cannons, flames shooting twenty-five feet into the air. There were seven in total, each one firing off in tandem until the last and biggest cannon—the one that had failed earlier—erupted with a bang.
Fergus was so focused on the stage, the cannon, and Aubrey, he didn’t notice the first few sparks that flickered backstage.
Someone screamed nearby, and Dave reared back as if jolted. That was when Fergus realized the man had received a nasty shock. Dave went down hard, jerking violently as the current passed through his body. A high-voltage wire was exposed and sparking on the control board. It appeared one of the controls had been loosened, the wire beneath stripped.
Erick quickly hit the circuit breaker, killing the electricity to the machine. The flames onstage sputtered out, but the crowd didn’t appear to notice the malfunction as the song had nearly ended anyway.
“It j-just started sp-sparking,” Erick, who had a stutter, said, his eyes wide and scared, his face white as a ghost, his hands trembling. “Is h-he…”
“It’ll be okay, Erick,” Fergus said, hoping that was true.
Ailis dialed 9-1-1, talking to the dispatcher as Fergus knelt next to Dave. He was unconscious, but he was still breathing. There was a nasty burn on his hand, the smell of scorched flesh surrounding them.
Her set over, Aubrey came offstage. She exited the right way this time, clearly drawn by the crowd standing a
t the edge.
“What happened?”
Fergus heard the tremor in her voice.
He stood up, studying the control board. “Someone tampered with the equipment. Exposed a live wire. Dave must have touched it.”
“Oh my God.” Aubrey was still looking at Dave. “Is he…did he…”
“He’s still alive, but I’m worried about that burn.”
“His hand,” Aubrey whispered.
Dave’s hand was bright red and severely blistered, some of the skin and flesh burned away.
“Come on, Aubrey.” Fergus needed to get her away from here. Someone was definitely targeting people who upset her, and it had to be a member of the crew. Unfortunately, there were countless roadies traveling with them, taking care of seemingly endless tasks involved in putting on the shows. Because Hunter and Aubrey were both considered headliners, and each put on a big production, the crew number was doubled. He’d asked for and received files on everyone—from Aubrey’s crew as well as Hunter’s—but Fergus hadn’t had time to read all the information.
“But—” she started, trying to turn back to Dave.
Fergus wrapped his arm around her waist—the first time he’d touched her since shaking her hand the day they’d met—and propelled her toward her dressing room.
Aubrey was clearly as shaken up as Fergus because she didn’t protest the touch. He escorted her to her dressing room, walking in and scanning the area, making sure no one was there and nothing had been tampered with.
“It was because of earlier, wasn’t it?”
Aubrey was sitting in the chair at the dressing table, her back turned to him. He could see her face through the reflection in the mirror—and he realized she’d never truly believed the accidents were merely that.
Fergus nodded. “Yeah. I think so.”
“It has to be someone on the crew.”
“Yes.” As he spoke, he noticed the bouquet of flowers sitting on a small table near the entrance. “Were these here earlier?”