More Than a Feeling (Curves for the Rock Star 3 - A BBW Rockstar Erotic Romance)

MORE THAN A FEELING

Curves for the Rock Star 3

by

Clare Cole

Copyright 2012 Clare Cole

http://www.clarecole.com/

This is a work of fiction. Any
similarities to any situations or persons, living or dead, is
entirely coincidental.

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author.

It's not like I hadn't been
warned enough times.

Years as a freelance
photographer on a music magazine had brought me into contact with
some of the biggest characters – and egos – that humanity had to
offer. Some were sexy, some were idiots, all were intriguing. In
most cases, there was always a sense of danger about those types of
people – and those were just the ones without rampant drug and
alcohol problems. But no matter who it was, a knowing glance from a
more experienced colleague usually always meant the same thing.

Don't date a rock star.

I was beginning to find out why.
This was not, to all intents and purposes, like real life. In a
whirlwind six months, I had fallen in love, seen the world multiple
times over, been to the Grammys (and got involved in a huge fight
at that very show), been photographed on the red carpet and been
drugged by a nefarious manager. Now, I sat nervously in Julia and
Michael's living room as we awaited the phone call from the men who
had kidnapped Rick's son.

Honestly, you couldn't make this
shit up if you tried.

"How are you feeling?" Rick sat
beside me and gently ran a hand across the small of my back.

"Shellshocked," I replied,
keeping my voice close to a whisper. "I can't believe this is
happening. Never mind me, how are Michael and Julia?"

Rick sighed. "Strange as it may
sound, I think it's probably best to leave them alone for the time
being. This is going to be one hell of a day."

"And you? Luke's your son, of
course. You must be in pieces right now." I squeezed his hand.

"I'm okay," Rick replied, his
voice breaking slightly. I didn't completely believe him. "We'll
get him back. This is almost certainly about money and I've got
plenty of that."

Martin Farrell, the inspector
who had been placed in charge of finding Luke, walked over to us
and crouched down. "I don't want to alarm the others, but I think
it's important we know what we're dealing with here. It's almost
certainly going to affect you in the sense that they are going to
demand a ransom."

"I know," Rick sighed. "We were
just talking about it."

"Well, we don't know exactly how
this is going to pan out yet but I will warn you that it's not our
policy to negotiate with kidnappers. We'll talk to them, sure. But
if they think they're going to get any money, they're sadly
mistaken."

Rick shook his head. "The money
isn't a problem."

"You don't know how much it is
yet," Martin smiled. "Besides, we have ways and means of handing
over fake cash if it comes to that. But it's a big if. The
intention should always be to resolve this peacefully and find Luke
safe and well."

"And the kidnappers?" I
asked.

"Oh, don't worry, Miss. Those
sons of bitches won't get away with this. Dealing with something
like a kidnapping is never fun. But I don't tolerate involving a
child. No way."

Rick took a deep breath and
looked to the ceiling. "What else is being done, officer?"

"Well, it's only been just over
forty minutes since the first call. We have a trace put on your
line courtesy of your cellphone company. In addition to that, we
have teams looking at any CCTV footage in and around this property
from just before, during and after the abduction. It's almost
certain we'll find something, but we just have to wait. Time is of
the essence right now. Our people are working as quickly as they
can to find any clues as to what happened. The second they know
something, we'll know too."

I leaned forward. "You said time
was of the essence? Why is that?"

"Well, again, I don't want to
alarm anybody. But the reality is we have to find Luke sooner
rather than later. The longer this goes on, the more time whoever
took him has to get further away. Right now they can't be too far.
They're almost certainly travelling by road, which gives us a
fairly tight radius to work with. Air traffic control is on high
alert, just in case somebody wealthy has a helicopter at their
disposal. But I really don't think that's what we're working with.
Something tells me this is going to begin and end right here in
LA."

We were suddenly startled by the
sound of Rick's phone jumping to life. Multiple police officers
gathered around and both Julia and Michael came running. I felt
sick, literally and figuratively, as Rick slowly picked up the
phone.

"Like I said, we have a trace on
the line. Put it on speaker so we can all hear. I have to ask
everyone to be as quiet as possible, okay?" We all nodded and
Martin gestured to Rick to answer the call.

"Hello?"

"I assume this call is being
traced, so I will be suitably brief. Your son is alive and well. We
have no intention of harming him as long as you comply with our
demands."

"I want to speak to him," Rick
barked. "Why should I believe anything you say?"

"It appears you really don't
have much of a choice, Mr Borrell. As much as I'm sure you're being
reassured by the officers there, I am the only key to getting your
son back safely. Since I'm a fan of your music, I may cut you some
slack."

Rick shook his head in
disbelief. "Are you trying to be sarcastic?"

"No, not at all. I really am
quite the fan. I find your music strangely relaxing when going to
the toilet, for example. I find it helps in those moments."

Martin gestured in a circular
motion to Rick, encouraging him to keep the kidnapper talking.
"You're fucking hilarious, aren't you?"

"I have to say, Mr Borrell, I do
feel you lost it a little bit with that solo album. Too many soppy
love songs for my liking. Still, we all need a vanity project now
and again, correct?"

"I'll bear your review in mind
when I do the next one."

"That's a shame, Mr Borrell. I
was hoping you weren't going to make another piece of shit like
that. Anyway, we're getting away from the point here. Since you've
kept me on the line for far too long – all to no avail, I might add
since this call has been rerouted through multiple networks – I
should get to the reason why we are talking in the first place,
right?"

Rick looked up at us.
"Right."

"I'm a man of simple needs, Mr
Borrell. The life of your child in exchange for $5 million in cash.
How does that sound?"

"Jesus Christ," Rick retorted.
"How the hell do you think I'm going to get my hands on that kind
of money?"

"I really don't care how you do
it, Mr Borrell. The fact of the matter is that you will. You have
six hours."

Martin placed his hands on his
head in disbelief.

"What if I can't get it that
quick?" Rick asked.

"You're missing the point. Like
I said, you don't have a choice. Now since I'm a generally
misunderstood kidnapper and have a kind heart beating beneath my
exterior of capitalist greed, I will send you a photo of your son
after this call is over to prove to you he's still okay. I'll send
you further instructions within the next few hours. Do not even
contemplate deviating from what I asked for or the next photograph
I send will be of Luke's first severed limb. What you would prefer
to start with? An arm, perhaps?"

Julia started sobbing
uncontrollably. "You fucking bastard," Rick growled. "He's just a
kid. I'll give you the fucking money, but he's just a kid."

"Very good, you do understand,
after all. And do pass on my condolences to Miss Forster. She must
be devastated right now. Await further instructions, Mr Borrell.
And just to be clear – do not pull anything stupid. If the money is
fake, Luke dies. If the money explodes or gets covered in coloured
paint, Luke dies. I am not acting alone, Mr Borrell. Live or die,
the choice is yours."

The call ended and the entire
room fell silent as if none of us knew exactly what to say.

The normally beautiful LA
weather had conspicuously turned to something I was more used to
seeing back in England. Dark clouds gathered over the house, heavy
rain suddenly lashing at the windows and strong gusts slamming
against the sides of the walls. The rain came down at a forty-five
degree angle, like shards of glass intended to pierce our efforts
and make the day even more difficult than it had already become. It
was important to remember that these inconveniences were nothing in
the scheme of things.

Nothing else mattered.

We
didn't matter.

Only Luke mattered. The life of
a five-year-old boy who knew no better, who was caught up in this
insane world of celebrity and money, was our only priority. We had
to get him back safely. There was no other option.

The alternative was
unthinkable.

"Just get the money, Charlie. I
don't give a shit who the hell you have to speak to. Just make it
happen, okay?"

Rick was on the phone to his
financial team, doing everything he could to make sure the cash the
kidnappers had asked for would be released. It was easier said than
done – nobody can just turn up at a bank and withdraw $5 million in
cash, even if you have it. Hell, most bank branches don't even hold
that much money at any one time. But when you have half of the Los
Angeles Police Department and the missing child of an international
superstar at stake, strings can be pulled more effectively.

"My people tell me the money
will be released within the next hour and a half," Rick said,
walking towards Martin and myself. They going to have to transport
extra cash in by a secured unit, but Chase Bank on Wilshire
Boulevard has been made aware of the situation. They're ready to
go."

Martin nodded. "Okay, good. Rest
assured we'll do everything we can to either prevent the money
being taken or to recover it."

Instinctively, I grabbed Rick's
hand and squeezed it. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply for a
moment before shooting me a nervous smile.

"None of this would have
happened if you hadn't bleated to the press," Michael said, pacing
forward from the bedroom where Julia was curled up, sobbing. "You
and the crazy fucking world you inhabit." He jabbed his finger in
the air in Rick's direction.

"Wait," I interjected. "None of
this is anyone's fault…"

"The hell it is!
The hell it
is!
It was you that told the world on Twitter that Luke was his
son! We were living a quiet life here, nobody bothering us. And
then you come along, the pair of you, and everything is chaos."

Rick moved forward. "Michael, I
know you're upset…"

He lunged at Rick only to be
stopped by two police officers. They grabbed both his arms and held
him back. "Upset? Fuck upset! You son of a bitch, Rick Borrell! You
have no idea…"

Michael started to sob as the
police officers led him towards the back of the house. Rick bowed
his head. "He's devastated. He has every right to be. Everything he
says is true. I seem to have a reverse Midas touch. Everything I
come into contact with turns to shit."

"Not everything," I smiled,
kissing his cheek.

A tall, blonde woman strolled
over to us and tapped Martin on the shoulder. "Well, whoever made
that phone call was partially telling the truth."

Martin scanned the piece of
paper she handed to him. "What do you mean?"

"He said the call couldn't be
traced. From the analysis we've done and the information we had
back from the cellphone companies, that's not strictly the
case."

"You mean we can trace it? We
can figure out where that call came from?"

"Sort of. Because Rick kept him
on the phone for so long, we were able to trace some of the packets
of data that were being sent along the line. He wasn't actually
using a cellphone. He was using an Internet telephony service of
some kind."

"Like Skype?" Rick asked.

"Very similar," she nodded. "I
only wish it were a commercial operation like that. We'd be able to
get the user info from them in a heartbeat. This had been set up
manually, bounced off various IP addresses around the world and
then back to here. There's just one mistake they made – we were
able to trace some of the packets that were transmitting during the
call. They point to an Internet router somewhere here in LA."