On Tour (8 page)

"Aye, aye!"

Andre had doubled our security detail to six men. Carlos and the band had already headed down to the festival. Andre and three of the guards, including Marsha and Mark, were waiting for me.

"Don't be late," I called to Ashley as I headed to the front door.

"Like I haven't heard you sing 'The Rum Song' a thousand times," she snarked, her head buried in paperwork.

"This is my last performance. It would be nice if you got a few pictures."

"Aye, aye, Cap'n." She gave me a mock salute and continued to work. Even though the event was only a few streets away, Andre drove us in the SUV. In case we needed to make a quick getaway, he'd said. I was starting to get nervous about the performance.

"I'm basically a sitting duck on the stage, aren't I?" I asked once we had all piled into the car.

There was a second or two of silence. "Our men are securing the area. There are no tall buildings to shoot from. We will have full control of the scene." Andre sounded confident.

I gulped. "Maybe he's getting desperate. He sure changed it up last time with the machine gun in a public place. Not much of an accident there and no scrapbook message." This had been worrying me all morning.

Andre turned towards me. "You're right. It shows desperation. And the more desperate, the more unpredictable. I'm confident that we have the area secured, but if you don't want to do this, Diana, you don't have to." This sent Roger and Phil into fits.

Mark held up a hand. "Andre's right. No contract or amount of money is worth putting yourself at risk."

I thought about it for a minute. I really wanted one last performance to finish up my singing pirate career. And I trusted Andre's opinion. "I'm doing it. I can't let him scare me off."

Roger and Phil uttered sighs of relief.

Marsha shot me a keen look. "You're braver than you look. Not real smart, but—"

Mark gave her a not-too-gentle elbow in the side.

"Hey, I've been shot at on stage before and lived to tell the tale." I gave a nervous laugh.

Nobody else cracked a smile.

*  *  *

"M'lady," Carlos called and swept me a low bow. He patted his cutlass. "The boys and I have yer back if the bilge rats are about."

I smiled. "Thanks. Let's do this thing."

I pulled my guitar out of its case and began to tune it. I put a tick mark in the lid next to the hundreds of other marks. Each time I performed, I put a mark in the lid of the case. I hoped this wasn't the last.

I relaxed as I ran through the chords of a couple of songs. With my guitar in hand I felt almost invincible.

The street was a sea of pirates and wenches. The stage was directly across from Eli Prattley's bar. If I lived through this performance, I was going to stop in to see Eli and down an ice cold martini. I saw our security guys stationed strategically around the stage. Andre was taking no chances. Maybe I'd be having that martini after all.

Mark was at my side, eyes scanning the audience. He leaned over and kissed me. "The area's secure. Just get up there and give them a great show."

The audience roared as I joined Carlos on the stage. They chanted:
Rum Song, Rum Song, Rum Song!
We opened with one of my originals and then rolled through several of Carlos' Spanish numbers. The first set went off without a hitch. During the intermission, I changed into my wench costume and bumped into a roadie I hadn't seen before. He was carrying a bundle of fake swords.

At the sight of me, he dropped his bundle and gushed, "You were so awesome, Ms. Hudson. I know you're busy, but could I get your autograph?"

My spidey-senses were aroused. I glanced nervously around for Andre or Mark. I took a step back from the guy, saying, "Catch me after the show. They're waiting for me."

He started to reach into his pocket, and I freaked. "Help! He's got a gun! Ahhh!"

I closed my eyes, flailing and kicking at him.

I heard shrieking and screaming coming from somewhere other than my mouth. And then strong arms wrapped themselves around me, and the scent of eau de Mark filled my nostrils.

I opened my eyes to the see the roadie cowering in the corner. "Get her off of me! I'm suing! This is workman's comp."

Andre was now on the scene as well. "What's going on?"

"He pulled a gun on me," I croaked out in a high, strained voice.

The guy held a pen in his hand. "I was only trying to get her autograph. She's a nut. I'm sick of working for rock stars. They're all nuts." The guy kicked the plastic swords and stalked off.

Andre pinched the bridge of his nose. "That was Eddie. He's been with Carlos since Puerto Rico. Didn't you recognize him?"

"No," I mumbled. I was feeling pretty stupid at this point.

"It's okay, Diana," Mark said, giving me a squeeze. "We're all a little jumpy. I'm sure Eddie'll get over it."

We heard cussing in the distance and saw Eddie gesturing wildly to Roger and Phil. "Or not," Andre added.

"It's show time," called a stagehand.

As I took the stage, he handed me my electric guitar.

"Why isn't it plugged in already?" I asked.

He shrugged and held up his hands as he walked away.

I shook my head and took the stage. The audience cheered. Carlos quipped some pirate pleasantries into the mike, and the audience roared with laughter.

As I bent down to plug in my electric guitar, I heard high-pitched shrieking. I looked out to see Ashley racing down the street, screaming like a banshee, and waving a piece of paper in her hand.

What now? The longer I was on the stage, the more I felt like a sitting duck. I leaned forward to plug in the guitar.

More screaming, and then I was knocked off my feet and thrown to the ground. A blur of red hair flashed before my eyes. Marsha had tackled me. I knew it! She was the assassin. It all made sense now!

I fought back scratching and clawing at her.

She seemed surprised. "What the hell's wrong with you? Get off me!"

The audience cheered, chanting:
Cat fight! Cat fight!

I growled and got her in a choke hold. "I knew you were the killer," I ground out. "You were going to kill me and have Mark all to yourself."

She elbowed me in the gut, and I lost my breath.

"If that'd been the case, you'd already be dead. Now get off me before I have to hurt you," she shot back.

I was riding an adrenaline high and not thinking clearly. I threw a long leg over her, grabbed a handful of her red, glossy hair, and gave a satisfying tug.

The audience went wild.

Carlos had started emceeing the fight, like it was all part of the show.

"Diana's got the wily, buxom wench by the hair. Finish her off, M'lady!"

I felt arms grab me from behind and lift me off of Marsha.

"Let go of her," Mark ordered.

"She's trying to kill me. She knocked me down," I panted.

Andre helped Marsha to her feet. The audience booed at the interference.

"No, she just saved your life," Mark said in my ear. He pointed at the amp I was going to plug my guitar into. "We think it's been tampered with. Ashley just got another letter."

I blanched and looked abashedly at Marsha and then down at the handful of red hair in my fist. "Uh-oh."

"Just play along like this was all part of the show and use your acoustic guitar." He pointed to the guitar I had used for the last set, still sitting next to my mike.

I nodded numbly. I raised my hands like I was the victor and pranced around the stage. "Take that you red-headed minx!" I crowed into the mike.

The audience howled with laughter.

Carlos gave me a wink and played the opening notes to "The Rum Song." The audience went crazy, forgetting the cat fight as they lost themselves in the pirate anthem.

I played along, but the sight of my electric guitar lying next to the amp filled me with dread. The world was closing in around me. If he could tamper with the amp, what else could he do? The brakes on the SUV? A wall switch? My mind raced.

Had The Spider struck again?

*  *  *

We finished the set to thunderous applause and quickly exited the stage so the next band could set up. Mark and Andre were waiting for me with equally severe faces. Ashley was with them.

"This was under the door as I was leaving today." She waved a large sheet of paper and an envelope.

It was another scrapbook page depicting me prostrate on the stage, my electric guitar and amp smoking beside me.

I shook my head in disbelief. "Why would he do this?"

Marsha snorted behind me. "It's so ridiculous. This hitman has watched one too many cartoons. Next thing you know, he'll try to drop an anvil on your head. You're lucky you were almost electrocuted, or I'd be looking for some payback for my hair."

"I am sorry about that." I turned to face her. "I guess I'm getting paranoid."

"Ya think?" she said.

"Well, Marsha," Ashley said, "you can hardly blame her. I mean it's bad enough to have a hitman after you, but it seems like Diana's hitman is nuttier than most. If it hadn't been for that scrapbook letter, she might be dead now."

Ashley sticking up for me made the whole situation seem more real. It was definitely not the norm for our relationship. Geez, she must think I didn't have a chance. I shuddered again.

Mark came forward and hugged me to his chest. "If he is like Wile E. Coyote, then that makes Diana the Roadrunner. And that's a good thing. The Roadrunner sidesteps the anvil every time."

I breathed in Mark's scent and felt myself relaxing. The performance was done. I was still alive. And there was a martini calling my name. A thought occurred to me. "What if someone's trying to stop him by sending these messages? Maybe someone close to him who doesn't want to see me hurt?"

"Worth looking into," Mark said thoughtfully. "It just doesn't make sense that a hitman of this caliber would warn his victims."

Glenn, our lights and sound guy, called for Andre. "You need to check out this amp, man."

We all huddled around the equipment. "It's been rewired. The amp plug is hot—as in it'll shock the shit out of you." He pointed to the spot where I had almost plugged in my guitar.

"People who run their own electric at home do this all the time. You don't notice it until you go to pull a broken light bulb out of the socket and the socket casing is hot. It'll knock you across the room, but the circuit breaker would trip before it killed you. But seein' how we don't have a circuit breaker box out here…" He looked pointedly at me.

Phil and Roger had came in at the tail end of the conversation. "You're like a walking, talking disaster movie," Phil huffed.

Roger nodded his head in agreement. "Maybe we should hire an exorcist."

"Well, one thing's for damn sure." Phil pointed his finger at me. "We're not doing any recording until you shake this hitman. I'm not risking my studio getting firebombed."

Andre stepped in. "Hey, guys. It's not her fault. Her life's being threatened here."

"Because she pissed off a Miami drug dealer." Roger pointed his finger in the air.

"Technically, he put a hit out on me to get back at Mark and Carlos," I reminded everyone. But I was actually happy to have a reprieve from the recording deal. I didn't have any desire to be locked in a stuffy recording studio for the next month with Carlos and The Brethren.

"It makes no difference." Phil waved a hand at me. "You're the common denominator. It's bad juju plain and simple."

I shrugged. "My bad juju and I are heading across the street. The King is serving up martinis. Anybody like to join me?"

They all looked at me like I'd finally cracked.

"You mean the place you got roofied at?" Ashley asked.

I nodded. "The one and only."

"I'm not sure that's the best idea," Andre began.

"Probably not, but I'm going. Elvis makes a mean martini."

"Whoa, didn't think I'd see you back so soon," Eli greeted me.

"What can I say, you make a great martini." I smiled. Eli was sporting a thick braided gold necklace and a polyester print shirt open almost to his belly button.

"What the heck?" Ashley whispered. I silenced her with a look.

He started working on my martini. "See you brought some friends."

"Safety in numbers."

He laughed.

It was true, though. In addition to Ashley, I had the entire band, six bodyguards, Andre, Mark, and Marsha with me. Roger and Phil had declined my invitation.

Carlos and the band put together a couple of tables directly behind me. Pirates and wenches were already swarming around them.

Eli peered appreciatively at Marsha who sat next to Andre at the bar. "That was some cat fight the two of you put on." He chuckled. "I didn't catch much of the rest of the performance, but that little number was pure gold. Reminded me of the old days."

"Glad you enjoyed it," Marsha said sarcastically. "I'll have a Jack and Coke—hold the roofie."

"She's a spitfire." Eli gave Andre a knowing wink.

Andre made no comment, but a smile tugged at his mouth.

"One drink, and we're out of here," Mark grumbled. "This is dangerous. We should be back at the villa packing."

"And then what, Mark?" I asked, turning on him. "This guy chases me back to Annapolis. How's that for a solution?"

Andre leaned over. "We've come up with a tentative plan to throw him off your scent."

I raised an eyebrow.

Mark said, "Very tentative, but Andre's chomping at the bit because it involves him and Marsha on the boat for a week."

"Don't you say it!" I whispered furiously.

"I'm sorry, Diana. But it's got merit. They take our places on the boat, and we head back to Annapolis and lay low. We are closing in on this guy. It's only a matter of time."

I put my hands on my hips. "Exactly how close is 'closing in'? I'd like a few more details if this is going to cost me a romantic cruise up the coast."

Mark sighed. "They found a link between the nut-jobs on the pirate boat and the motorcycle guy who tried to grab Ashley. Two of the guys in masks were facing third-strike felonies in Florida. Didn't take much pressure to convince them to roll over on motorcycle guy. They say he hired them for the job and that he's a made-man in one of The Five Families."