Soundbyte (-byte series Book 5) Read online

  “No stitches?” I asked, watching him.

  “Oh, you’re getting stitches, just not out here. I’ll do it in the sick bay inside.”

  Damn.

  He wrapped my arm. We went inside and up to our floor where Kurt escorted me to the sick bay. He stitched the cut then stuck a waterproof dressing over it while mumbling something about my body starting to look like a road map.

  He wasn’t wrong. My body bore quite the collection of scars from various escapades and lucky escapes.

  “Mom used to say life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safe and sound in an attractive and well-preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways, thoroughly used up, worn out and screaming, ‘Woo hoo, What a Ride!’” I looked at my arm. “And again, I need a new shirt so I can carry on with the day.”

  Kurt laughed. “You’re welcome.”

  “Thanks,” I said with a smile. “Should we go help Jeff and John?”

  “We should,” he replied.

  “I’ll just grab a shirt from my office then we can get going.”

  Ten minutes later, we were re-tracing my steps.

  Jeff saw us before we saw him and waved to get our attention.

  “No one has anything usable on tape. We have a clear picture of a man’s back though. Looks like he’s picking something up off the ground.” Jeff thrust a print out of the picture into my outstretched hand. Kurt and I gave it due consideration.

  “And no other cameras or witnesses could add anything?” Kurt asked.

  “No, sir.”

  This is Washington, DC. There is security everywhere. There are cameras everywhere. The only way to avoid being captured on surveillance is to know where all the cameras are. Whoever shot at me was no idiot.

  “He’s policing his brass,” I muttered. “He’s picking up his empty cartridge cases. He knows where all the cameras are and which stores have armed security guards and he just grazes my arm with a bullet?” I looked around but saw nothing out of place. “Grazing my arm like that and doing no other damage takes talent.”

  Kurt’s eyebrows rose. “Something doesn’t add up.”

  Maybe if I hadn’t come across something that didn’t add up in West Virginia, I wouldn’t have been so suspicious, but I had, and I hated the cloak and dagger bullshit that seemed to be prevalent in my life all of a sudden.

  “I’m going back to the office,” I grumbled. “He didn’t want me dead. He wanted my attention but didn’t leave any crumbs for me to follow. This shit will do my head in.”

  Kurt handed out orders to Jeff and his partner. They were to stay and see if they could find anyone who saw the mystery man’s face. I smiled when I heard him tell them he wanted a report on his desk by that evening.

  Fine by me.

  I had evening plans with Carla and Lee. A little bit of Joey-free mother/daughter time, with Lee along for security.

  Six

  Shout

  Our Friday evening destination was FedEx Field. Joe, Grange’s tour manager, was waiting for us at the gate.

  “Follow me. I’ll take you to your seats. I’ve had some of the crew sitting in them.”

  We followed close behind him, even so the band and crowd were so loud it was difficult to hear him as he spoke. “Having three empty seats with reserved plastered on them would’ve made Rowan curious.”

  A thousand booted feet danced in my stomach, whipping my dinner into a foamy frenzy. It took a lot of control to follow Joe when all I wanted to do was grab Carla and get the hell away from the seething mass surrounding us. Visions of the last Grange concert I attended swam in front of my eyes complete with explosive blood splatter. It was so fresh that the metallic odor hurt my nose.

  Lee took Carla’s arm as the crowd closed in. He used his body to cut a path behind Joe for Carla and me. It was like parting a brain-dead sea.

  We made the switch while Rowan was changing instruments. He turned to face the crowd holding a six-string acoustic guitar and Tony belted out the opening bars of a very familiar song.

  By the time, Rowan hit the first chorus he was grinning at me. The crowd was going nuts. At the second chorus, he beckoned. I looked around expecting to see someone famous right behind me. When I looked back he changed the next line to, “Ellie, you and Carla get on up here.”

  Carla screamed with joy. Lee poked me in the ribs. “I think you’re wanted.” I felt the color drain from my face. Rowan smiled from the stage and the big screen above the stage. He was everywhere. The crowd responded with raptures and screams. Rowan looked down at me, knelt on one knee at the edge of the stage, and held out his hand. Women in the first row squealed and grabbed at his hand. He smiled and focused on me.

  “You can’t leave him hanging there. They’ll pull him off the stage,” Lee said, his voice rumbling below the screams into my ear.

  Rowan’s security team was moving in. He’d be fine.

  Lee parted the two rows in front of us, leaving me no choice, and delivered us to the front of the stage. Rowan’s hand grabbed mine, and there I stood on the stage, trying not to look out at the seething crowd below, and trying harder still not to puke. Lee boosted Carla up. She joined me, grinning from ear to ear. “They’ll just die. The girls at school will die.”

  Cameras flashed.

  “I’m glad their deaths bring you such joy, kiddo,” I said, struggling with my terror.

  The guitar was gone, a stool materialized; Rowan motioned to me to sit then gave Carla a hug. I perched on the stool with Carla leaning against me while he sang the rest of the song.

  Nausea surged in relentless waves. For the first time ever I wished for a debilitating migraine, just so I had an excuse to leave. My body didn’t oblige.

  During the out-of-control shouting that erupted at the end of the song, he pulled me to my feet and wrapped an arm around my shoulders. No microphone, just forty-eight thousand high-pitched fans, and us.

  “Thank you for coming,” he whispered.

  His eyes flashed. “I want you to stay up here.”

  “I can’t leave Lee.”

  He kissed me, the screaming echoed through my head louder than ever. “Go back to your seat, but you all have to come back up for the last song.”

  Rowan walked us to the edge of the stage. Carla turned for one last wave at the band, still pumping out music. Martin blew her a kiss and she exploded into the biggest smile I’d ever seen. A security guard motioned for her to sit on the edge of the stage. He then lifted her to the ground. I jumped into a clear space Lee created for me. Rowan bent down. “The last song Lee, the three of you should be up here.”

  Lee nodded.

  A voice whispered through a gap in the screaming women next to me. I looked over and saw a dark-haired woman with eyes full of tears. I smiled. The same whisper flowed again. This time the words took form. “You don’t deserve him.” Her voice sounded familiar. She could’ve been the same woman who left so many loving messages on my phone.

  The woman blended back into the crowd. I shrugged. Fans are possessive creatures. I get that. I don’t like it. But I get it.

  We went back to our seats amidst jealous comments and sniping remarks. If looks could kill, my blood would’ve flowed and flowed. I’d be nothing but an empty husk.

  I’d noticed a definite escalation in nastiness over the last few months, ever since photos of Rowan and Carla were plastered all over the television and gossip magazines. Cameras flashed, phones flashed, a lot of it seemed directed at me. Knowing I was armed was of no comfort. The constant media attention and cameras in my face was not something I adjusted well to or wanted to adjust to.

  It was three quarters of an hour before Rowan called us up again. The crazy women around us stopped with the snarky comments.

  Lee and Carla were whisked backstage to watch from the wings and I was back on the stool – when the song ended, Rowan introduced me. I sat terrified, clutching the edge of the seat lest I should fall on my face. He said, “On our new al
bum I was lucky enough to work with Special Agent Ellie Conway – we co-wrote five of the thirteen tracks and that was one of them.”

  The crowd went wild. I felt dizzy. This was not a good way to conquer my terror of large crowds, concerts, and public speaking. My mouth opened, no words surfaced. After a few seconds of my best goldfish impression I spluttered, “Thank you.”

  I scrambled off the stool and tried to escape and almost succeeded in falling flat on my face. Rowan’s arm encircled my waist. The band thanked the audience for coming and for supporting the Butterfly Foundation, and then disappeared off stage taking me with them. The screaming was deafening, yet all I heard was laughter from Lee as he stepped up next to me.

  “Shut up!”

  Rowan lowered himself into a chair and downed half a bottle of water then grinned at me. His hair was damp, and sweat trickled down the sides of his face. He smelt incredible. How could anyone expend that amount of energy and still smell so damn good? Amidst a flurry of backstage activity centered around the band members and involving towels, hair dryers, and bottled water, Rowan took something out from his ear, it hung over his collar

  I could still hear the screaming. Earplugs sounded like a great idea but I was pretty sure that’s not what Rowan was wearing. Curiosity got the better of me. I think I was deflecting, trying not to think about where I was.

  “What’s that?” I said, pointing to the molded object hanging by a wire.

  “An IEM.”

  My brain stalled. I heard IED. Damn concert bringing back too many unpleasant memories.

  “Say again?”

  Rowan looked up at me. “An I.E.M. In-Ear Monitor.”

  “And it does?”

  “Enables me to hear the band, my own voice, and still interact with the crowd. The ones I wear are called Sensaphonic 3D Active Ambient In-Ear Monitor system.”

  Now that was a mouthful.

  “It doesn’t explode?”

  “It doesn’t explode.”

  “You all wear them?”

  “Yep – not always the same type but we all wear them.”

  “Does it protect your hearing too?”

  “Yes. Man, you have a lot of questions,” Rowan said with a grin, which told me the subject was about to change. “I thought you were gonna hurl out there.” His hand gestured to the stage.

  “Thanks,” I contrived a glower and directed it at him. “Thanks a whole fuc’n lot.”

  He hooted with amusement. “Come on, we’ve got an encore, join us for four songs?”

  “Hell, no!” I stepped back semi-concealing myself behind Lee.

  “Come on, Ellie,” Tony said. “We’d love it if you would.”

  “You should do it, Mom,” Carla added. “Then I get bragging rights.”

  “I can’t leave you on your own,” I said.

  “She’ll be with me,” Lee replied, wrapping an arm around Carla’s shoulders. “Nice and safe.”

  My middle finger took on a life of its own and flew at Lee. Who captured it in his hand with neat precision and folded it back into the flock.

  Deafened by earsplitting screams from fans and a desire to escape, I slunk back into the shadows.

  “We’re up,” Rowan said, grinning. “Come on – the first one’s for you.” He took my hand. Next thing I knew I was on the stage.

  Rowan whispered, “I’ll let you go, I promise … after this song.”

  There was no stool.

  “Where’s the fuc’n stool?” I whispered back.

  Rowan’s breath tickled my neck as he leaned into my ear and said, “You can do this, follow my lead.”

  The band launched into their newest hit Another Night.

  His warm hands took mine; he lifted one to his shoulder, slipped an arm around my waist, and held my other hand close against his chest. Then he pulled back a little and looked into my eyes.

  “Is that a Glock on your hip?”

  “If I was that pleased to see you I think we’d have some major issues.”

  His eyes shone as his smile widened, and he pulled me close and whispered, “You came armed …” His smile gave nothing away; no one but me knew he was upset.

  “You picked a great time to have an issue with that.”

  “There’s a time and place for weapons … this isn’t one.” He was dancing me around the stage, a smile stuck on his face so none of the cameras flashing would catch what was going on.

  Through my smile I replied, “Babe, I’m a Fed and that by definition means I am armed. It’s not a job, it’s a vocation.”

  His smile became real again. “Touch�.” Rowan danced me around the stage until we were by Lee and Carla on the wings, with a quick hug I slipped off to watch the rest of the encore with them. It was an odd feeling, watching the performance from the side as we were.

  I saw more of Rowan’s back than I did anything else. He bounced around the stage like the energizer bunny

  “He’s into you big-time,” Lee commented, nudging me just as Rowan turned his back on the audience for a brief moment and flashed a fabulous smile in my direction.

  Beyond his left foot, I saw the dark-haired woman from earlier dissolve into hysterical tears. She stood out because I’d heard her comment. No doubt the rest of them thought or even said similar things. Why hers was the one I heard with such clarity I did not know but I’d hazard a guess it was because I’d heard her voice before in my messages.

  From the corner of my eye, I saw Tony beckon to Carla.

  “Can I, Mom?”

  “Sure, go!”

  She shot across the stage to Tony, who kissed her on top of the head and handed her a tambourine. I hoped he knew what he was doing.

  My kid looked so happy. “Lee, she’s okay isn’t she?”

  “I think so,” Lee said. “She’s been acting like a teenager but I think she’s okay.”

  I looked at him. So he’d noticed it too.

  “If there was something wrong, something she was worried about. She’d talk to one of us, right?”

  “She always has. Although she’s older now and teens tend to talk to each other more than mom and grandpa.” Lee nudged me and pointed at Carla and Tony. “Right there, that’s a happy kid.”

  I willed my brain to take a snapshot of the moment. I’d need to remember this moment when teenage Carla reappeared with demands and boys and parties.

  “Are we taking the night off, or do you wanna get some work done?” Lee asked.

  I grinned. “I have other plans, Mr. Jacked-Up-On-Adrenaline out there …” I tilted my head toward Rowan on stage. “… for one.”

  As long as the gun thing doesn’t come up again and ruin those plans.

  I nudged Lee, “Gracey just smiled at you.”

  “Really?” He smiled then frowned. “You think she likes me?”

  “Would that be a problem?”

  “Yeah, no, musicians aren’t really my thing. I have a fondness for LEOs.”

  “You don’t say.” Like that was news. Lee wasn’t the best at covering his tracks and Delta is a close team. We all knew who he was seeing, but let him believe it was a secret. If he wanted to keep it quiet, or if it was more exciting that way, it wasn’t our business.

  The smile locked. “Yeah.”

  I pressed the car keys into his hand. “Take the car, I’ll be okay.”

  “You want me to drop it off at your place?”

  “Nope, not tonight.”

  “What about Carla?”

  “Rowan and I will drop her off at Dad’s.” For the weekend.

  “Call me.” He made a phone with his fingers.

  “You’ll hear from me sometime.”

  Lee started to walk away then turned back. “Tomorrow morning?”

  “Unless something major comes up, I’m not planning on calling you until at least Sunday.”

  He left with a grin and backward wave.

  Rowan bounced toward me across the stage. His every move followed by thousands of eyes. He took my hand.


  “Come on,” he whispered in my ear. “Dance with me, baby.”

  The heat from his body drew me in.

  Seven

  Under My Umbrella

  BBreathless.

  Not the ideal way to start a Monday.

  With my hands on my hips, I bent at the waist and breathed hard. I sucked in air trying to fill my lungs. Thick humid air clogged my throat, choking me. Washington in the spring can be a special type of muggy hell. Pounding feet from across the street came to an abrupt stop. I looked over. Lee was standing on the street corner. One hand resting on a rain splattered building as he too attempted to draw in vast quantities of air. I caught his eye and shook my head.

  A song erupted from somewhere close, I looked into the windows next to me, expecting it be a café or hair salon which might account for the music. No such luck. Kevin Costner and Modern West sang ‘Maria Nay.’ My private concert and it made no sense. I wasn’t chasing a woman. Or was I? Maybe my mind didn’t know any songs about chasing an Unsub in a spring rainstorm.

  Another set of pounding feet came up fast behind me.

  “You all right?” Kurt said, stopping at my side. We sheltered under a sagging awning.

  “Yep, just catching my breath. It’s too fuc’n wet and hot for foot pursuit.” I scouted around, no sign of police. “What the hell happened to police support?”

  A sharp ripping sound above me caught my attention. A small tear appeared in the awning. With a sudden splash, a bucketload of water landed on Kurt’s head and poured over his face. Kurt’s cool, calm, Kevin-Costner-in-a-suit-look poured onto the pavement and mingled with the runoff from more normal people. Laughter erupted. Kurt shot me a silencing glare. It didn’t help. I turned away and tried to contain myself.

  “I don’t know. Maybe they’re still at the crime scene,” Kurt growled, moving away from the cascading water.

  The song continued. Could be I was hearing it because Kurt was with me. It made me smile just thinking about it, I’d made the association between him and Costner some time ago and it stuck so tight, it’s all I can think about when he’s around. Thank God no one can see inside my head.