On Tour (3 page)

My phone rang, jolting me out of my roofie induced haze. The detective and the nurse had been in and must have left silently after I nodded off for the third or fourth time.

It was Mark. I knew he wasn't going to be happy. In fact, I'd be lucky to get away without hearing, "I told you so" a dozen times. While our relationship had had its share of rough, even dangerous, moments, this was the first time I'd been drugged by someone.

"Hi, Mark," I croaked.

"Diana? Are you okay? I just got Andre's message. What happened?" His voice was choked.

"I'm fine now. Luckily Andre was with me when it happened."

"So, I heard the message right? Someone drugged you?"

"It appears I have a stalker," I said more calmly than I felt.

"Diana, stalkers tend to follow you around and watch you. It sounds like you've got a psychopath following you. You were drugged!" Poor Mark, being with me was not a walk in the park.

"I know. I guess he didn't tell you about the scrapbook pictures."

There was a long pause.

"Did you say scrapbook pictures?"

"Yeah, they're like warning letters depicting attempts on my life."

There was cursing on the other end.

"You've been getting threatening letters and decided to keep it to yourself?"

"No!" I scrambled to explain. "I hadn't opened my mail. They've just been sitting there. Ashley found them today, but didn't realize they were threats because they were so pretty." Now that I thought about it, the threatening letters were actually warning me about the attempts. If I'd have opened them, that is.

Again a pause as he tried to visualize pretty, threatening letters. "How many?"

"Three." I sighed. Mark had not been happy about this tour.

"Three! There have been three attempts on your life?" He was incredulous.

"Yeah, remember the boot incident I told you about last week? Based on the pictures, we think someone tampered with the heel and might have drugged my iced tea. And, of course, there was the speaker incident—"

"What speaker incident?" Mark interrupted.

"Oh, yeah, I forgot that I kept that one to myself. I'm sorry, Mark. I just didn't want you to worry."

I had a vision of him raking his hands through his hair. I always seemed to have that effect on him.

"Look. You stay where you are. Don't leave Andre's sight. Can't believe I'm uttering those words," he growled. Andre and I had a romantic entanglement in the not so distant past. Everything was completely platonic now, but Mark had a hard time with my ex-boyfriend guarding my body. "I'll be docking around eleven tomorrow morning. Find someplace safe to hide out tonight."

"Aye, aye, Cap'n!" I said with sarcasm. I got the feeling Mark thought this was somehow my fault. "You know I didn't ask for this."

"No," he agreed, "but you've got some cosmic karma that seems to attract it."

Couldn't really argue with that one. Instead, I changed tactics. "I miss you."

The hard edge left Mark's voice. "I miss you, too. This long distance relationship stuff sucks. I can't wait to get you alone."

I laughed. "What
will
you do with me?"

We spent another fifteen minutes discussing the possibilities before hanging up.

I rose unsteadily to my feet and stretched. The endless orange sunset beckoned me to the deck. I sank into a chaise lounge chair and gazed out at the water. I closed my eyes with a sigh. I still felt tingly after my conversation with Mark. He had that effect on me.

It was dark when I opened my eyes. Something had jolted me awake. I looked around. I could hear Ashley's voice in the distance. I saw Andre standing a few feet away.

"You going to make it?" he asked as he sat down on the end of the lounge chair.

I nodded. "What time is it?"

"Almost ten. Ashley saved you some dinner if you're hungry."

I made a face. "Not a chance."

"You'll be good by the morning according to Wikipedia."

"Nice—getting medical advice from the internet. Nothing but the best for this rock star."

Andre laughed. "That's the spirit."

I sat up, and my phone clattered to the floor.

Andre handed it to me. "Looks like you missed a call."

I looked at the display. Unknown number. Uh-oh. I clicked the voicemail button and listened to the message. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Andre watched me closely as I brought the phone away from my ear in slow motion. He took the phone away from me and pressed the message again, this time playing it through the speaker.

"Yo Shorty, this Tyrell. We need to talk. Tomorrow's visitin' day. Best be here, if you want to live."

Andre cursed.

I shuddered. The last time I'd seen Tyrell he'd been pointing a gun at me. As far as Tyrell was concerned I had two strikes against me. The first being I was the girlfriend of the CIA agent who was responsible for his brother's incarceration. And the second being that I was Carlos' singing partner. Tyrell couldn't come to terms with the fact that he'd gotten beat up by a crazy-ass pirate. His threats had become all out vendetta that ended with him ambushing us on stage during a performance. Now he was behind bars in Miami-Dade County Prison waiting for me to pay him a visit. His words echoed in my mind. Was Tyrell behind the threats?

"I'll make some calls to Miami. He can't think you'd actually go to see him. He's a complete nut case."

"But what if he knows something about these threats?" I reasoned. "If you get him in trouble, then we won't find anything out. I've got to go see him."

I couldn't believe I had uttered those words. Road trip to Miami-Dade Correctional Facility. Not exactly on my top ten list of things to do in Southern Florida.

Andre stared at me like I was crazy. Actually, his look wasn't all that unusual.

"Of all the things you get yourself into—" he began.

I held up a hand. "I didn't get myself into this. He called
me
."

"So how'd he get your number?" Andre asked.

"Well, he must have saved it from the last time he was threatening me."

Yeah, I felt stupid saying that.

Andre rolled his eyes upward. "I can't believe you didn't change your number."

I pointed a finger at him. "Hey—you're my bodyguard. How come you didn't think of it?"

He stared at me for a few seconds. A muscle ticked in his cheek. He huffed and turned on his heel, heading out the door.

I felt a moment of satisfaction. It wasn't often that I got the best of Andre. Even when we had been hot and heavy a couple of summers ago, he had been more of a hall monitor than a boyfriend. Granted he was super sexy in that tall, dark, handsome, and I-can-kick-some-ass way of his, but I just wasn't into being bossed around by my boyfriend. Besides, he wasn't very good discussing personal details. Namely, he'd forgotten to mention he had an estranged wife.

The glow of my triumph faded as I realized I'd have to face Tyrell tomorrow. Not to mention Mark's reaction when he arrived and found out we were headed to a prison instead of a nice comfy bed.

*  *  *

"We're going where?" Mark stared at me. His dark brown hair was ruffled from the wind, and up until a few seconds ago, he'd had a smoky, bemused expression on his face that made my toes curl and my stomach flip-flop. We were standing on the deck of his Uncle Ed's boat, now docked in front of the Key West villa.

I played Tyrell's message for him. Mark raised his eyebrows and gave me
the look
.

"I've got to go see him! He knows something."

Mark ran his hands through his hair. "Diana, he's the guy who tried to kill you less than six months ago.
I'll
go talk to him. Better yet, I'll make a few calls and have someone visit his cell." Mark's face darkened. I wasn't sure if he had connections in the prison, but he was ex-CIA. So I suppose anything was possible. Mark's ex-CIA status was a regular bone of contention for us. The main reason being the ex-CIA status came with an ex-partner named Marsha who looked like a playboy model, fought like a marine, and had taken more than a professional liking to Mark. Did I mention she also hated my guts? Enough of a reason to want him to stick to the relatively safe and predictable occupation of commercial real-estate developer.

I shook my head stubbornly. "It's got to be me. Tyrell would never talk to you. He blames you for both him and his brother being in jail. But you can drive."

"Gee, thanks." He wrapped his arms around my waist, trying a different tactic. "How about we go later? Let's do a little visiting below deck."

I was tempted. Really tempted. Not so long ago, we'd spent some exciting time below deck in the beautiful stateroom. "As soon as we get back from the prison."

"You really know how to sweet talk a guy."

I smiled and leaned in for a kiss. "Shake a leg. It's a three-hour drive."

Mark groaned. "I was hoping for a little more than a kiss and the opportunity to chauffeur you on a three-hour trip to a prison. I spent a week alone on a boat to get here, you know."

After a short consultation with Andre, we borrowed the rented SUV and headed north on US 1. There was only one lane in each direction, and the beautiful views and overlook pull-offs kept the traffic at a crawl.

The drive gave us time to catch up on things that were happening back in Annapolis, Maryland. Mark had spent the better part of the summer designing the new commercial waterfront buildings near Dock Street that would replace the ramshackle office front where Greene's Staffing was currently housed.

"Most of my time has been spent trying to get permits," he added. "I've worked on projects in foreign countries that had less red tape."

I was having trouble concentrating on what he was saying. My mind was still on the threatening scrapbook letters. While I hadn't thought twice about any of them at the time, I kept thinking about how close a couple of those "accidents" had come to killing me.

"You okay?" he asked.

I sighed and turned to him. "Just thinking how much simpler life was when I was a temp and playing gigs a couple nights a week. No one was trying to kill me then." I paused, adding, "Well,
usually
they weren't." I'd never been threatened on a job before, but manning the counter at the temp agency was another story. People threatened you so much that you kinda got used to it. But no one had ever sent me a threatening scrapbook page or drugged me—sheesh!

Mark patted my knee. "We'll catch this guy. Don't worry. Besides, tour's over in a couple of days. You'll be back at home with Max in no time."

Max was my Shih Tzu-Poodle. A fluffy white dog with an overbite and an attitude. "How's he doing?"

"He asks about you all the time."

I rolled my eyes. "He doesn't even know I'm gone, right?"

"Pretty much. I feed him hotdogs on a regular basis; I think the nitrates may have erased all memories of you."

"Great, now he'll expect hotdogs for dinner when I get home. Did he give you any problems when you left him at Ashley's?"

"No, he was actually excited. Must've smelled the deer jerky Dan was brewing up."

My brother-in-law, Dan, was one part redneck and two parts Paul Bunyan. My sister said he was just "outdoorsy." Guess that explains why he insisted on peeing outside.

"Well, he'll have fun with the kids and Sally." My sister also had three kids and a really dumb Lab. Like "if you look at her, she'll pee" dumb. Come to think of it,  my brother-in-law was probably to blame for the dog's potty problem. He hadn't exactly set a good example with his own bathroom habits. 

Despite my inability to get my mind off homicidal crafting, the ride was surprisingly enjoyable. The view was lovely, our lunch at an ocean side restaurant along the way was perfect, and the conversation was interesting. It felt like we were on a date. I found myself almost forgetting my problems…only to remember that this date was ending at a prison.

As we pulled up to the sprawling gray industrial building surrounded by barbed wire, Mark took my hand. "Let me go. You don't need to do this."

I stared into his brown eyes. I had an impulse to lean over and kiss him, maybe even jump over into the driver's seat with him. He was just that yummy. But I controlled myself. This was a prison after all.

"Thanks," I patted his hand. "But I need to do this. He's not going to talk to you."

"Well I can at least help you get through the process."

Turns out, there wasn't much of a process. It was visiting day, and the place was swarming with women and children. I signed in, showed ID, and waited. Because Tyrell was in Maximum Security, I had to be escorted to a special visiting area in another part of the prison. I gave Mark a sheepish wave before the doors clanged shut.

It was a long walk down several large gray hallways. It looked more like the office area of an old factory than a prison. It was also weird that there were a lot of prisoners just wandering around. I made a comment to my pudgy guard escort.

"Most of 'em are on work release or short-timers. They ain't gonna mess up a good thing. Don't you worry." He gave me an admiring glance that gave me an icky feeling.

We came to a door that had a sign warning visitors against a variety of actions. Some of which didn't make any sense.

"Aren't the prisoners behind glass?" I asked, pointing to the sign that read "No Touching."

"Yeah, the sign's for the visitors. No touching each other. We had a problem with girls coming in and putting on a show if ya know what I mean." He gave me a leering grin.

"Oh, I see." Now all the warnings were starting to make sense.

"Okay, here we go," the guard said, grandly opening the door and leading me to a glass booth. "You've got yourself quite a character for a boyfriend."

"He's not my boyfriend."

The guard gave me an inquiring look.

"He's, um, an old friend from school. I just found out he was in jail."

Great now he was going to think I was really a weirdo. I should've just gone with being his girlfriend.

"Uh-huh." The guard shook his head and made a face, clearly not believing a word. "Well, he's been real anxious to see you. Kept asking if a blonde shorty was here to see him. You seem a little tall to be a shorty," he cackled.