Always Watching (16 page)

O
fficers swarmed into the supply room. Voices and radio static filled my head. My mind and body were beyond numb.

Wendell helped me to my feet and out to the huge hallway.

I hugged him hard, feeling the rock solidness of his muscles. “I’m so sorry I ran from you. I thought …”

“I know.” He tried to smile. “I look like a bad guy. What can I say?”

So much commotion around me. I started to shake. The hotel manager ushered me and Wendell into his office, away from the noise. I sank down on a small couch and stared at my bare feet.

Wendell left and returned with my flip-flops.

A female officer, fearing I was near fainting, brought me a yogurt smoothie. I managed to drink half of it.

When my mind cleared enough to think a little, I asked if I could use the manager’s phone. I called Brittany and told her what happened. Except for one very important detail.

Someone phoned Mom, and she came racing over with Mick. Didn’t even wait for a limo, just demanded that some local stagehand drive them. By the time she arrived, it was six p.m. The concert was supposed to start at eight with the warm-up band. Rayne was taking the stage at nine.

Mom rushed into the manager’s office and swept me into her arms. “Shaley, Shaley!” She stroked my hair. “I’m so glad you’re all right. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

We held each other and cried until our tears ran out.

“You have to go and get ready,” I told her. “The concert …”

“I don’t
care
about the concert. I’m not leaving you.”

We sat in silence, fingers laced.

Your father sent me.
Inside me the words thrashed and rolled.

I wiped tears from my face. My head throbbed. “I miss Bruce and Tom. I can’t believe they’re dead.”

I missed Jerry too. The Jerry I used to know.

Mom pulled in a deep breath. “I can’t believe any of this either.” She squeezed my leg. “But it’s over now. It’s all over.”

No, it wasn’t.

Your father sent me.

Twice I almost told her Jerry’s dying words. But I couldn’t.

Of course I should have. She should know, as well as the police. But the words burrowed too deep down inside me. I couldn’t bring them to my mouth, much less hear myself utter them. Shame, rage, confusion, grief … all those emotions kicked through my chest as I clung to my mother. Part of me wanted to shake her for her secrets. But I could feel her deep love for me, and the anger wouldn’t stick. Because, no matter what, I needed her so very much.

Besides, what if Jerry wasn’t even telling the truth? He’d obviously been thinking crazy things. In his warped way of “protecting” me, did he think the best last words he could say were to give me hope about my father?

But how did he even know I
wanted
that hope?

Anyway, why should Jerry think his words were good news? My father sent a
killer
into my life. Wonderful. Did the man hate me?

At 6:30 Mom’s cell phone rang. I could hear Ross’s voice as they talked. He was worried about me. She told him I was okay.

“Look, Rayne,” he said, “I have to make a decision by seven thirty whether we have a concert tonight.”

“Okay. Whatever.” Mom rubbed a hand across her forehead. “I just know I’m not leaving Shaley.”

A plainclothes detective came and questioned me. He was a small man, gray-haired and craggy-faced. Looked like he’d seen
a lot of hard things in life. I told him everything I could remember — except for Jerry’s last words. Apparently Wendell or the police officer had reported that Jerry whispered something to me in his final moments.

“What did he say?” The detective asked.

Mom’s hand on my arm felt protective and warm. I looked into her eyes. They glistened with love for me.

Lowering my gaze, I shook my head. “Nothing important.”

Shortly after seven, the interview was over.

The detective stood. “Thank you, Shaley. You’re a very brave young lady.”

Brave? I almost laughed.

Mom put her arm around my shoulder. “Finally, you can go to your room and rest. I’ll stay with you. With Wendell and Mick posted outside the door.”

I shook my head. “You’ve got a concert tonight.”

“We’ll cancel it, Shaley. I’m not leaving you.”

“You won’t have to. I’ll be backstage, listening to every song.”

Her mouth opened, then closed. She pushed a strand of hair off my cheek. “I couldn’t sing tonight even if I wanted to. Not after almost losing you.”

My lips curved. “Of course you can. You’re Rayne O’Connor. And Rayne reigns.”

She managed a wan smile. “Thanks. But really —”

“Really, you
will.”
I took her hand. “Come on. Let’s get to the arena.”

R
ayne, you reign! Rayne, you reign!”

At nine p.m. in Denver’s Pepsi Center, I sat backstage, too exhausted to be on my feet, chanting with the sold-out audience. Pride for my mom swelled in my chest.

She and the band members filed past me, ready to go onstage. I held up a palm. Mom and I high-fived.

“Go get ‘em!” I shouted.

She grinned. I could see the adrenaline rush in her cheeks, feel the energy pulsing from her body. Despite her own tiredness and grief, she would give her fans the show they’d come to see.

Carly stopped to hug me. “Love you, Shaley!”

“Love you too.”

She placed her hands on my cheeks. “Thank God you’re safe.”

I smiled. “He’s ‘always watching,’ right?”

Joy flicked over her face. “Yes, he is!”

Laser lights kicked on, whisking over the stadium in red, blue, and white. The crowd screamed.

The band and backup singers ran onstage. Mom’s glittery blue top shimmered in the spotlights.

He’s always watching.

Funny how the words resonated within me. I’d said them merely for Carly’s sake. But after all I’d just lived through, I wanted to
believe
them.

Are they true, God?

Stan strummed a hard minor chord on his lead guitar, and Mom’s voice filled the stadium.

I’d heard the lyrics hundreds of times, but suddenly they seared me. I brought laced fingers to my lips and stared at Mom.

Was this song about my dad?

Your father sent me.

I pictured Jerry’s paling face. Were the last words he’d spoken on earth lies?

If not,
why
had he been sent? Was my father such a terrible man that he’d want a killer close to me and Mom?

A burning desire surged through my veins, one that I knew would not,
could not,
leave me. The desire to
know.

Rayne O’Connor strode across the stage, thrust her hand in the air.

Mom.
I would have to tell her what Jerry said. And she would have to tell me her secrets. Without that knowledge, I’d never understand any of this.

That would be a painful, hard conversation.

Can you help us, God?

The song reached its final chorus. Mom held the last note long and clear as the guitars riffed, the drums thumping in my chest. With a crash of cymbals, the music ended. Thousands of fans clapped and whistled and cheered. I joined in.

Somehow amidst all the noise, Mom must have
felt
my applause. For at that moment she turned to me and smiled.

As another song blasted through the arena, I made a vow to myself. For me, for Mom.

I would seek the truth — until I knew it all.

Y
our father sent me.

The last words of a dying man, whispered in my ear. Were they true? What did they mean?

Guitars blasted the last chord of Rayne’s hit song, “Ever Alone,” as Mom’s voice echoed through the Pepsi Center in Denver. The heavy drumbeat thumped in my chest. With a final smash of cymbals, the rock song ended. Multicolored laser lights swept the stadium. Time for intermission.

Wild shrieks from thousands of fans rang in my ears.

I rose from my chair backstage. Tiredly, I smiled at the famous Rayne O’Connor as she strode toward me on high red heels. In the lights her sequined top shimmered and her blonde hair shone. She walked like a rock star — until she stepped from her fans’ sight. Then her posture slumped. Mom’s intense blue eyes usually gleamed with the excitement of performing, but now I saw only sadness and exhaustion. How she’d managed to perform tonight, I’d never know. Except that she’s strong. A real fighter.

Me? I had to keep fighting too, even if my legs still trembled and I’d probably have nightmares for weeks.

Your father sent me.

I had to find out what those words meant.

“You’re a very brave young lady,” a Denver detective had told me just a few hours ago. I didn’t feel brave then or now.

“You okay, Shaley?” Mom had to shout over the screams as she hugged me.

I nodded against her shoulder, hanging on tightly until she pulled back.

The crowd’s applause died down. Voices and footsteps filled the stadium as thousands of people headed for concessions and bathrooms during the break.

Kim, the band’s alto singer, laid a tanned hand on my head. A white-blonde strand of hair stuck to the gloss on her pink lips. She brushed it away. “How you doin’?

“Fine.”

Bodyguards Mick and Wendell walked over to escort Mom. Wendell’s eyes were clouded, and his short black hair stuck out all over. He hadn’t even bothered to fix it since the life-and-death chase in our hotel a few hours ago. He was usually so picky about his hair. Mick looked sad too. They both had been good friends with Bruce.

Bruce had been killed hours ago. Shot.

And he’d been trying to guard me.

My vision blurred. I blinked hard and looked at the floor.

“Come on.” Mom nudged my arm. “We’re all meeting in my dressing room.”

Mick and Wendell flanked her as she walked away.

Usually we don’t have to be so careful backstage. It’s a heavily guarded area anyway. But tonight nothing was the same.

Kim and I followed Mom down a long hall to her dressing room. Morrey, Kim’s boyfriend and Rayne’s drummer, caught up with us. He put a tattoo-covered arm around Kim, her head only reaching his shoulders. Morrey looked at me and winked, but I saw no happiness in it.

Ross Blanke, the band’s tour production manager, hustled up to us, along with Stan, lead guitarist, and Rich, Rayne’s bass player.
“Hey.” Ross put a pudgy hand on Mom’s shoulder. “You’re doing great.” He waved an arm. “All of you, you’re doing just great.”

“You do what you have to,” Stan said grimly. His black face shone with sweat.

We all trudged into the dressing room. Mick and Wendell took up places on each side of the door.

Marshall, the makeup and hair stylist, started handing out water bottles. In his thirties, Marshall has buggy eyes and curly dark hair. His fingers are long and narrow, and he’s great with his makeup tools. But until two days ago, he’d been second to Mom’s main stylist, Tom.

“Thanks.” I took a bottle from Marshall and tried to smile. Didn’t work. Just looking at him made me sad, because his presence reminded me of Tom’s absence.

Tom, my closest friend on tour, had been murdered two days ago.

Mom, Ross, Rich, and I sank down on the blue couch — one of the furniture pieces Mom requested in every dressing room. This one was extra large, with a high back and thick arms. To our left stood a table with lots of catered food, but no one was hungry. I’d hardly eaten in the last day and a half and knew I should have something. But no way, not now.

Stan, Morrey, and Kim drew up chairs to form a circle.

“All right.” Ross sat with his short, fat legs apart, hands on his thighs. The huge diamond ring on his right hand was turned to one side. He straightened it with his pinky finger. “I’ve checked outside past the guarded area. The zoo’s double what it usually is. The news has already hit, and every reporter and his brother is waiting for us. Some paparazzi are already there, and others have probably hopped planes and will show up by the time we leave.”

Is Cat here?
I shuddered. The slinky-looking photographer had pulled a fire alarm in our San Jose hotel the night before just to force us out of our rooms. The police told him not to get within five hundred feet of us. Like he’d care.

My eyes burned, and I was so tired. I slumped down in the couch and laid my head back.

Ross ran a hand through his scraggly brown hair. “Fans out there are gonna be talking about what they heard on the news before the concert. Rayne, you should say something about it.”

“Yeah.” Mom sighed.

Rich frowned. He was moving his shaved head side to side, stretching his neck. His piercing gray eyes looked my way, and his face softened. I looked away.

Everyone was being so nice. Still, it was hard to know three people had died because of me.

Ross scratched his chin. “We got extra coverage from Denver police at the hotel tonight. Tomorrow we head for Albuquerque. It’s close enough for Vance to drive the main bus without a switch-off driver, and the next two venues are close too. But we’ve all been through a lot. Can you guys keep performing?” He looked around, eyebrows raised.

“Man.” Morrey raked back his shoulder-length black hair. “If three deaths in two days isn’t enough to make us quit …” His full lips pressed together.

I glanced hopefully at Mom.
Yeah, let’s go home!
I could sleep in my own bed, hide from the paparazzi and reporters, hang out with my best friend, Brittany

But canceling concerts would mean losing
a lot
of money. The Rayne tour was supposed to continue another four weeks.

Mom leaned forward, elbows on her knees and one hand to her cheek. Her long red fingernails matched the color of her lips. “I almost lost my daughter tonight.” Her voice was tight. “I don’t care if I
never
tour again — Shaley’s got to be protected. That’s the number one thing.”

I want you protected too, Mom.

“Absolutely,” Morrey said, “but at least the threat to Shaley is gone now that Jerry’s dead.

Kim spread her hands. “I don’t know what to say. I’m still reeling.
We barely had time to talk about any of this tonight before getting onstage. I feel like my mind’s gonna explode. And Tom …”

She teared up, and that made me cry. Kim had been like a mother to Tom. Crazy, funny Tom. It was just so hard to believe he was gone.

I wiped my eyes and looked at my lap.

“Anyway.” Kim steadied her voice. “It’s so much to deal with. I don’t know how we’re going to keep up this pace for another month.”

Mom looked at Ross. “We can’t keep going very long with only Vance to drive the main bus.”

Ross nodded. “Until Thursday. I’d have to replace him by then.”

“With who?” Mom’s voice edged.

“I don’t know. I’ll have to jump on it.”

“You can’t just ‘jump on it.’ We need time to thoroughly check the new driver out.”

“Rayne.” Ross threw her a look. “I
did
check Jerry out. Completely. He had a false ID, remember? That’s what the police said. I couldn’t have known that.”

“You might have known if you’d checked harder.”

Ross’s face flushed. “I
did —
“

“No you didn’t! Or if you did it wasn’t good enough!” Mom pushed to her feet and paced a few steps. “Something’s mighty wrong if we can’t even find out a guy’s a convicted felon!”

What?
I stiffened. “How do you know that?”

Mom waved a hand in the air. “The police told me just before we left the hotel.”

I stared at Mom. “When was he in prison?”

Mom threw a hard look at Ross. “He’d barely gotten out when we hired him.”

Heat flushed through my veins. I snapped my gaze toward the floor. Jerry’s last words rang in my head.
Your father sent me.

My father had purposely sent someone who’d been in prison?