Because of You (9 page)

I block out the conversation with my mother that was entirely like all the rest of our conversations over the years as Finn finally shuts the car off and we leave the cool comfort of the air conditioning.

“I know we have a right to question Eve’s motives about everything. I’ll quit bugging you about the stalker thing, but in the meantime I’ll do some legwork on this Brady guy and see what his story is. I still have military connections, and they can tell me if he’s on the up and up or just another one of your mother’s puppets. In the meantime, don’t give him any ammunition to use against you. Don’t do anything stupid and tone down the diva ‘tude just a notch when you’re around him,” Finn says with a cocky smile.

“This 'diva ‘tude' is essential to my well-being, my little minion,” I throw back at him, trying to lighten the mood as we knock on a back door to the arena that says
Performers Only
and wait for it to be answered.

Finn and I both know that pretending to be a music diva is the only thing that keeps me sane most of the time. I can don the fancy clothes and the expensive jewelry and take on an air of sophistication and thinly veiled annoyance with those beneath me like it's a second skin. I have perfected that act over the years, and it’s turned into a perfectly constructed wall that keeps my heart and mind intact and barely bruised. I can pretend like I don’t care what people say about me, ignore the hate my mother surrounds me with, and act like my life is one big deliriously happy ball of parties, awards shows, and concerts. Finn is the only person in the world who knows the real me, who knows all of my hopes and dreams and the pain that eats away at my soul every time I get up on stage and fake a smile and happiness I never feel. Not even Sam, the man I thought I loved and wanted to spend the rest of my life with, had known the real me. The fact that I never even thought about showing him my father’s guitar should have been a warning sign that I didn’t really trust him. We were doomed from the start, and that’s the only thing that makes all of it easier to handle.

A big, burly man with a bald head and skull earring hanging off of one ear finally answers our knock and shares a head nod with Finn before opening the door wider and letting us in.

“Miss Carlysle, it’s good to see you again,” the man says, his voice pleasant and soft and the complete opposite of his appearance.

“Thank you, Bones. It’s good to see you too. Is the band already here?” I ask as we step through the door and follow him down a long, dark hallway.

“Yep, already setting up on stage. Some dude who said he was with security just got here a few minutes ago too. Name’s Brady. He’s on the list your mom gave me so I let him in already. He’s sitting in the back row.”

I thank Bones and Finn shares a handshake with him after he escorts us to the back stage area where I can already hear my bass player running through the scales and my drummer warming up with basic rudiments.

“Oh goody, Brady’s here!” I exclaim to Finn with fake enthusiasm.

“Don’t even try to pretend like the idea of him sitting there in the dark, in the very back row, with his face all broody and stubbly doesn’t get your panties all in a bunch.”

Finn gets a punch in the arm for that comment and my middle finger in his face before I walk away from him and up the stairs leading to the stage to warm up my voice and try NOT to think about the man at the back of the auditorium, watching my every move, and wondering if he’s the enemy.

Like nails on a fucking chalkboard.

This music is going to drive me right back to drinking, I swear to Christ. All of this techno-electric shit is giving me a headache. Whatever happened to just sitting down at a microphone with an acoustic and a kick ass drummer?

Even though my ears are bleeding with all the synthesizing going on and the top forty, cheesy lyrics, I can’t help but notice how amazing Layla looks on stage. She lights up the whole damn place as she rocks her hips to the beat and struts back and forth from one end of the stage to the other, making sure to use up all available space so the audience who will see her tonight will get their money’s worth. Her choreographed moves are sensual without being over the top and fun without being too campy. I can tell they’ll be just enough to get the younger members of the audience excited and have them jumping in unison with her while the older male members, probably forced to bring their daughters to the concert, wish they knew what she looked like naked. She’s the perfect blend of entertaining and hot on stage.

Too bad she doesn’t look like she’s enjoying one minute of it. The band has just finished their eighth song in the set, and even sitting in the very last row in the twenty-thousand-seat arena so I can observe unnoticed, I can tell she dislikes every minute.

Why the hell is she doing it then?

Pulling out my cell phone, I send a text to Gwen asking her to look into every record she can find, public or private, about Layla Carlysle and her entourage, specifically Finn Michaelson and her mother. I want to see if any of them have a history of making up stories or hey, even stalking. I don’t care if Finn pestered his sixth grade girlfriend with love notes; I want to know about it. I’m still not sure I completely believe that Layla has any kind of a deranged person after her since she’s only received a few notes so far and no real threats have been made, but it’s better to be safe than story. More often than not though, these rich assholes feel the need to invent drama when there isn't any, just to put the spotlight back on them. With the amount of enthusiasm I’ve seen on Layla’s face today, I’m going to guess the little princess is just board as fuck and needs some excitement in her life.

I’m still getting paid, so it’s no skin off my back, but she damn well better not be wasting my time just to give herself a little thrill. There are plenty of other ways I could give that blonde beauty a thrill, and it would involve less time researching and more time with her skirt up around her hips and moans floating past those full lips of hers.

Focus, Brady. Jesus, it’s like you’ve never seen a hot chick before.

I really need to get laid. I need a mindless fuck to get this thing, whatever it is, out of my system. I don't need any type of distraction on a job, even if it
is
a pointless waste of my time. Distractions only get the people around you killed.

“I need an ETA on SEAL team four. They were supposed to touch base at twenty-one hundred. I’ve had nothing but radio silence from them, over,” I spoke softly into my earpiece as I rounded the corner of one of the villas, my gun drawn.

Garrett couldn’t find Parker and his worry and anger about that situation had transferred to me. I shouldn’t have left them with Milo. Even though I called it in, and was assured they had cover, I still had an uneasy feeling when I walked away from the three of them. Parker could be anywhere right now having God knows what done to her. I knew she was a pretty bad ass CIA agent, but anyone can be broken.

I switched channels on my wireless mic and tried contacting the back-up SEAL team again. Earlier, distracted by what was going on with Parker, I had rattled off coordinates to the south side of the resort for Captain Risner to give them so they could touch down and start their own clearing of the area to eliminate any threats. I didn’t have time to clear the area ahead of time, but I figured it didn’t matter in a resort this size; they’d be okay no matter where they landed. They were SEALS for Christ’s sakes. They knew how to do their job without me babysitting them.

“Dragon, King, Maxwell. One of you assholes come in, over.”

I moved beyond the last villa in the row and headed towards an outcropping of palm trees and other exotic foliage that made up a good couple of acres of ground cover—the perfect place for someone to hide.

Ignoring the silence in my ear, I bent down to a crouch and slowly inched my way into the tropical forest, using the small tactical flashlight on the barrel of the gun to light my way, moving it from left to right as I checked for threats.

A few feet into the brush, my foot smacked against something on the ground. I whipped my gun and flashlight down and my eyes landed on a boot. A Navy SEAL issued, black, hot weather jungle boot.

“Oh Jesus. Fuck! God dammit, Garrett! Why the fuck did you come out here alone?” I moaned to myself in horror as my flashlight and gun slowly made its way up the woodland-camouflaged pant leg and across the torso bearing the same patterned T-shirt. Then I reached the face.

King, not Garrett.

It was King’s pale face and lifeless eyes that stared up at the Dominican night sky. It was King’s forehead that bore a bloody hole—a kill shot that took his life the instant it was fired. Jared King: a thirty-year-old husband and father who made us all laugh constantly back at the academy with his actor impersonations and shitty karaoke skills.

A pain shot through my chest when I realized the main emotion I felt right now was relief that it wasn’t Garrett on the ground, and I instantly felt guilty. King was a friend. A good friend. One with a new baby at home that he showed everyone pictures of before they even asked.

I pushed aside every emotion inside of me, erecting a wall to block them out, and continued with the job. It was only one person. He knew the risks when he signed on to be a SEAL. There were still two more men on his team that I needed to find and get them the fuck out of this ambush.

Stepping over the body, I continued on, pushing palm leaves and wildlife out of my way. Just three meters later, the wall came crashing down when I found Dragon and Maxwell in almost the exact same positions as King: unmoving eyes, chests still from taking their last breaths, and a gunshot wound blossoming from between their eyes.

I should have researched the location better before I gave them the coordinates. I should have made sure the area was clear before I dropped them down right in the middle of a trap. They trusted me to lead them into a safe area, and I led them right into hell. I was going to have to tell their wives, girlfriends, and mothers it was my rash decision to get them here as soon as possible for back-up, so Garrett and I could find Parker, that got them killed. They would never celebrate another anniversary with the women they loved, never hug their mother on her birthday, never watch their children grow up.

I knew better than that. I knew not to let anything distract me from a mission.