Coming Undone (14 page)

The clerk was dressed head to foot in black, had green and black hair, a tattooed asp on her neck and multiple piercings. She was also a nonstop talker who followed him around the store extolling the virtues and drawbacks of her merchandise. The man would have preferred a little privacy to mull over his choices, but he gave in with good grace when it became clear he wasn’t going to be granted that wish. He made his selection and talked pleasantly to the clerk as she boxed up his item. Ten minutes later he was on the freeway back to LosAngeles.

He was pushing the far boundaries of the timeframe he’d set for himself when he finally neared the arena where Priscilla Jayne was holding her concert. All the same he pulled into a service station and changed into his uniform. The restroom’s disgusting condition made his skin crawl and he washed his hands three times before letting himself out. Even then he couldn’t relax until he’d also gone over them with one of the antiseptic wipes he kept in his glove box.

He drove around the peripheries of the arena until he located the tour bus he’d identified as belonging to Priscilla Jayne. It was in the lot near the backstage tunnel, and, parking his car in the shadows of an alley half a block away, he sank low in his seat to observe the bus for signs of occupancy.

All was quiet. A faint glow filtered through a couple of the black tinted windows, but he couldn’t see any activity going on behind them. Which made it impossible to tell who was on the bus. That was unacceptable. He was on a mission and he needed to know that Priscilla Jayne and her entourage were elsewhere while the bus driver was on board. Was that so much to ask?

Considering that without the driver, his mission fell apart.

Well, perhaps the driver was on the bus. It was even probable. There was only one way to find out, however. Climbing from the car, the man straightened his uniform, settled his hat low over his forehead and reached back into the vehicle for the package. He set off with a purposeful stride for the bus.

He was about fifty yards away when the sound of approaching laughter floated up the ramp from the arena entrance down below. He melted into a shadow until he could see who emerged. To his surprise and momentary pleasure, Priscilla Jayne herself walked into view, hugging a large plaque to her chest. She whirled at the top of the ramp, and he watched her skirt lift up to twirl around her legs. She laughed and slapped it down, dancing backward in front of a cigarette-smoking man who was likely a drug user by the dissipated look of him; a woman with short, messy brown hair and full-figured curves that ought to be decently covered by clothing much less form-fitting than what she had on and a tall man with a loose-limbed walk but a vigilant air about him.

Like the moon pulls the tides, the man’s gaze was drawn back to Priscilla Jayne. She was so animated, even prettier and more joyous in person, that it was difficult to look away.

Then he gritted his teeth in disgust. The attraction of the flesh was the
last
thing he should be thinking about. That was the devil, whispering temptation in his ear.

“Get thee behind me, Satan,” he muttered. So close. He had been so
close!
Anger at being denied his goal was a slow fire inside of him that threatened to burst into full flame.

He firmly stamped it out. Turning away from the noisy group, he headed back to his car. It was disappointing, yes.

But there was always tomorrow.

F
IVE CITIES, FIVE CONCERTS
, five drive-all-night bus rides. And now, with the morning sun lighting their way, they were rolling through town number six.

P.J. watched Denver unfold outside the window and memories of living on its streets, first by herself, then with Jared, began piling up faster than she knew how to handle. She stole a quickie peek at the banquette where J sat engrossed in a book, sipping a cup of coffee.

He didn’t spare her so much as a glance in return.

Of course not. Acid cramped her stomach. Never mind that Denver was where they’d met, the city where they’d gone through so much together, where they’d relied on each other to stay sane. She’d taught him every bit of street savvy she’d learned there. He’d comforted her, talked to her, been her friend. Hell, even though he was a person of interest wanted for questioning in his father’s murder, he’d risked exposure to face down a pervert for her—all because she’d called Mama begging to come home and had been told she’d made her bed and could just lie in it. When she’d flipped out as a result and was about to throw herself over the edge, Jared had pulled her back.

But no, never mind all that.

Because ever since L.A. he’d gone back to being Mr. Professional Bodyguard or Security Guy or whatever the hell he was supposed to be. And she was ready to scream.

Or cry.

Or—hey, here was an idea—shoot him.

The last option was gaining favor by the minute. For really, it beat the heck out of crying. And screaming was so bad for the voice.

Not to mention that she was just plain ticked. Because try as she might, she couldn’t get their incredible encounter out of her mind.

She had never known sex could
be
like that. It had blown her away, and she’d thought of little else for the past six days. Not merely about the orgasms, either, which had been a revelation all their own. But about the comfort of being in his arms afterward, the feel of his voice rumbling beneath her ear and speaking over her head at the same time as he’d said those nice, nice things about her. She had felt close to him in a way she’d never felt with anyone else. She’d felt safe.

Jared apparently hadn’t found it particularly special. Otherwise he wouldn’t be so freaking determined to act as if it had never happened.

Her life had been turned upside down and inside out, while his—

Well, his clearly hadn’t. Not if he could go from what they had shared back to treating her like good ol’ Peej.

She’d probably stunk at it. She was twenty-eight years old and hardly a virgin, but neither did she have a lot of know-how on her side. She’d been nineteen the first time she’d done the deed, years behind most of the girls she’d known. Nineteen when Johnny Ripley had sweet-talked her out of her panties in the bed of his pickup truck down at the end of the dirt road next to old man Hemming’s orchard. The experience had been messy and uncomfortable and had cured her of her crush on Johnny but good.

It had improved with the next guy, but not by leaps and bounds. Same thing with the guy after that—it had been better, but not by much. The truth was, she’d mostly been too busy trying to get her foot in the music-industry door to bother with it much.

Then Jared had come roaring back into her life and introduced her to Sex with a capital
Ssss.

And at the risk of repeating herself, she’d probably stunk like a skunk at it.

Well, she didn’t care. So what if he was some hotshot stud between the sheets and she did the wild thing with all the expertise of the thirteen-year-old he’d known back when? She had other skills. Hell, dollars to doughnuts the only place Jared could carry a tune was in the shower.

But that wasn’t a place she cared to picture him in, since she knew only too well how good he looked in it. They’d made love there, too.

Besides, maybe he was sorry they had done it
because
of his memories of the girl she’d once been. Or it was possible that he didn’t like women who made the first move. Of course, if she’d waited for him to make it, they probably never would have had sex at all, and she refused to be sorry that they had. Or maybe—

“Arrgh!” She thunked her head against the window.

“You okay?” Nell asked vaguely, looking up from the score she’d been laboring over night and day since L.A.

“Yeah, sure.”
Ducky.
She dredged up a smile for her friend, but inside she was screaming,
Get me out of here!
It was only eight a.m. and already she was sick of being cooped up on this bus with everyone.

It had never occurred to her when they’d first set out on this tour that such close contact with her band might develop into a problem. And, really, it hadn’t—at least not into a big one. But she had to get away for a while. Maybe check into a nice hotel, sign herself up for a few spa treatments. They were a good eight hours away from the sound check for tonight’s show, and what was the point of being a big-whoop singing sensation if she couldn’t get away every now and then to enjoy the benefits? Everyone was a little edgy from so much togetherness; they were beginning to rub on each other’s nerves.

About the only one who hadn’t gotten on hers the past several days was Nell. That was a two-edged sword though, because not only did her friend have her hands full with managerial duties, she’d been spending every moment not devoted to her paying job hunched over her music sheets, composing. Songwriting drew her deep inside herself. P.J. knew how time-consuming it could be, and she respected the process too well to interrupt the flow.

At the same time, she was tired of tiptoeing around. She hadn’t turned the television on or the stereo up for days now for fear of disturbing Nell’s concentration. Running would have been an outlet, but even that had been denied her more often than not. Jared insisted she only run when he could accompany her but then he’d had one excuse after another not to do so. And her stress levels had kept building and building.

Until she felt ready to explode.

Well, she’d reached her saturation point. Between being back in Denver and being stuck in close quarters with Jared, wondering every damn time she opened a door if he’d be on the other side of it—knowing that even if he was he’d only ignore the fact they’d had sheet-scorching sex—she needed to clear her head. Needed to gain some perspective.

They were playing three cities on this leg of the tour. Tonight’s show was near here. Denver was centrally located between the other two cities, and following the Colorado College gig in Colorado Springs tomorrow night they even had an honest-to-God day off before playing Fort Collins. So her mind was made up. She was getting herself a big private room and commuting to the next three concerts.

Jared, of course, would feel that it was his job to accompany her, which would defeat the purpose of the exercise. So why tell him? It wasn’t like there’d been any further contact from the weirdo in Bakersfield. That disturbingly doctored magazine spread thankfully had been a one-shot deal.

While Marvin pulled into the Red Rock Amphitheater’s lot west of town, talked to an attendant, then jockeyed the bus into a space reserved for performers, P.J. came up with a possible way to get out from under Jared’s indifferent yet watchful eyes. Going back to the stateroom, she packed a small overnight bag and made two phone calls.

When she came out again she collected her backstage pass from Nell. For one crazy moment she considered simply making a break for the door, but knew she wouldn’t get far. So she asked for Jared’s pass, as well, then walked over to him where he still sat at the table. “Come with me.”

Placing his finger in his book to mark his place, he looked up at her. “Where?”

“I want to check out my dressing room.” Seeing his gaze grow wary didn’t exactly knock her on her butt with surprise, considering what had happened the last time they’d been in one together. But it stabbed her to the quick.

No.
She sucked in a breath, straightened her spine. His suspicion didn’t hurt; it pissed her off. Just what did he think she was going to do, demand he
service
her? “Look,” she snapped, “I can go by myself, if you’d rather not. You’re the one who keeps harping about taking someone with me every damn place I go.”

“Did I say no? Christ. Give me a minute to change gears.” He climbed to his feet and followed her off the bus, his book still in hand.

They didn’t speak, and a tension that neither acknowledged grew with every step that brought them closer to the assigned room. When they reached a door with her name on it, he took a step back and looked at her with shuttered eyes. “I’ll wait out here.”

“Whatever. I’m not rushing for you, though, so you might wanna get comfortable.” She nodded at his book. “You may just get to finish that.” Opening the door, she paused to glance at him over her shoulder. “You want to—” A huge yawn caught her unawares and she went with the flow, dropping her bag to stretch her arms in opposite directions as she inhaled a lungful of air, then expelled it in a long, squeaky, attenuated breath. “Sorry,” she said once it passed. “You want to come in and grab a chair?”

Taking another brisk step back, he tipped his chin toward the corridor they’d just traversed. “I saw one down by those props. I’ll go grab that.”

“Suit yourself.” She essayed an indifferent shrug even though her first inclination was to break into a happy dance.

She walked into the room but immediately stepped back out into the hall when he strode away. Slipping off her sandals, she watched until he was halfway down the long hallway, then grabbed her bag, eased the dressing room door closed behind her and raced down the corridor in the opposite direction. Reaching the exit, she glanced back and saw him leaning over a stack of old scenery. His shirt strained across his shoulders, his jeans pulled tight over his muscular butt, and for a moment she stood frozen, staring at him. Then she caught herself and pushed through the door before he could see her. She put her shoes back on and jogged around to the front of the venue.

A taxi arrived scant moments after she’d reached the arena’s main entrance and she slid inside. “Hotel Teatro in Denver, please.”

The morning rush-hour traffic doubled what should have been a twenty-minute ride back to Denver, but eventually the cab pulled up to the long sidewalk awning that protected patrons of the boutique hotel from the elements as they crossed the sidewalk to the ornate front entrance. A doorman came forward to open her door.

“Good morning, miss.”

“Good morning.” She relinquished her overnight bag to the bellman who came out for it, then followed him into the hotel. Pausing inside, she managed to take in the sweeping staircase, the rich use of marble throughout the lobby and the intricate ceiling without gawking. It was a near thing though, for first-rate hotels were still pretty new to her. Trying her best to project an image of a woman who frequented places like this all the time, she turned through the archway to her left to check in at the front desk.

In short order she’d been escorted to her suite and shown the amenities. She tipped the bellman, closed the door behind him and leaned back against the smooth wood with a sigh of relief. Then she pushed away and went into the bedroom to unpack. After calling room service she flopped down to watch a morning show while she waited for her breakfast to arrive. Propping her feet on the coffee table, she gazed around contentedly. This was heaven.

Not long after she’d finished eating, however, she began to grow antsy. For all that she’d been dying for some privacy, she was accustomed to being surrounded by people. And without someone to share it with she didn’t quite know what to do with the entire day that stretched in front of her.

She supposed she could watch more television. But a little viewing went a long way and at the moment she wasn’t interested in anything on the schedule. She could go shopping or work on the song that had been scratching at the back of her mind for a while now. Except shopping was more fun with a friend and the song still had some percolating to do before she could even begin to delve into it.

Then, just like that, it came to her what she wanted to do.

She wanted to see Gert MacDellar. Years ago John Miglionni had located Jared for J’s sister and in tracking him down had gotten P.J. as a bonus. When they sent Jared home to Colorado Springs, John’s office manager, Gert, had taken P.J. in until Mama could be convinced to take her back. She had discovered later that Gert had also seen to it that her mother
got
convinced, and on Gert’s schedule, not Jodeen’s. For months Mama had bad-mouthed the older woman something awful as a blunt and bossy old broad. But P.J. had adored Gert for those very reasons. She had known exactly where she stood with her and Gert had treated her the way P.J. always imagined real families treated each other.

They’d kept in sporadic touch over the years but P.J. hadn’t actually seen Gert in person since the day the crotchety old woman had carefully packed the new dresses she’d bought P.J. into a sturdy suitcase and driven her down to Mama’s trailer in Pueblo.

Energized, P.J. called the concierge desk for a taxi.

If she also felt a brief jitter of unease, she shoved it aside. Maybe it was reckless to waltz into Jared’s business, but—what the hell—he was safely stashed out at the amphitheater. Besides, it had been a tough week. She was due to catch a break.

If she had second thoughts when her ride pulled into the small parking lot that fronted Semper Fi Investigations’ converted Arts-and-Crafts-style house, it had nothing to do with J. Maybe Gert wouldn’t want to see her. Yes, she had responded to P.J.’s occasional letters, but maybe that was just old-lady good manners. Gert probably wouldn’t even recognize her, and then P.J. would have to introduce herself and everyone would feel awkward and—

“You will get out now?” the cabbie asked in his musical accent.

“Yeah.” Taking a deep, controlled breath, she opened the door and stepped out. The taxi immediately reversed in a tight, fast turn, rocked to a halt, then shot out of the lot. It was already at the corner light by the time she climbed the stairs to the covered front porch. A discreet chime sounded when she opened the door.