Over the Line (18 page)

"Janey! Janey! Janey!"

The cheer rose up in a deafening roar. Fans of all ages and sizes pushed against the barricades, hands reaching, bodies pressing.

"Jesus," Jase sputtered, then tucked Janey under his arm and headed for the building's entrance.

"Mike!" He had to yell to be heard above the roar that was now mixed with the noxious chant from the Reverend Black's contingent of, "Sister of Sin. Satan's spawn," that spewed into the night like sewage.

"Move 'em back, Mike!" Jase shouted just as a barricade rattled over.

It was like a dam broke. Instead of water spilling over the break, bodies poured through the opening.

Jase swept Janey up into his arms and shouldered toward the door—but not before one of Black's pious disciples got to her.

"Whore!" a woman spit, her eyes blazing brimstone and damnation. "Tainted blood! You're nothing but—"

"Fuck!" Jase swore, and shoved her aside, but not before she managed to throw something ... aw hell. Blood poured over his shoulder where he'd ducked to protect Janey, and ran down his arm.

With a roar, he charged headlong toward the door, knocking down anyone who was stupid enough to get in his way.

Finally, he made it inside, then fell back against the door when Mike managed to close it behind them. Just before it closed, Jase swore he saw Chris Ramsey in the crowd, grinning.

He didn't have time to think about that now. His heart was hammering. So was Janey's. He could feel it drumming against his chest. Feel her horror in the grip of her fingers on his arms.

"It's okay," he said, lowering his head to hers. "You're okay."

"Yeah. Yeah," she said with a little nod. "I'm fine. Wet. But fine."

He looked down then ... and saw that he hadn't managed to block all of the blood. Her pale face was splattered with it. Her arms speckled as well.

"Christ. I'm sorry."

She gave him a game smile. "Not your fault. Besides, I always wondered what it felt like to be in a bloodbath. Now I know.

"Hey," she said when Jase just looked at her. "It's okay. Welcome to my world."

He shook his head.
Tough,
he thought again. "You're one tough cookie, you know that?"

"Speaking of cookies, I liked it a lot better when they showed up with them."

"Black just made it to my list," he said. Tomorrow, he was calling No. He wanted this bastard checked out—if for no other reason than to see if he could find any dirt on him. Paybacks, he thought as the stickiness of the blood that had hit him sucked onto his skin through his shirt, were hell.

"Um ... you could put me down now, you know."

Oh. Yeah. He'd forgotten he was still holding her. Or maybe not.

"I could," he agreed and headed for her dressing room.

He felt her gaze on his face as he carried her down the hall. She didn't say anything. Neither did he.

And he didn't put her down until he'd set her safely inside and locked the door.

Same day, Peoria, Illinois, 10:30p.m.

It was because people made his job so easy that Alex was so good at it. That and his patience.

He didn't even have to use his pick kit tonight. The back door hadn't been locked. What was it with these smalltown yokels? They had no fear or they were just plain stupid. Or both.

He'd waited until the husband left for his bowling league half an hour ago, watched the house until the bathroom light went on five minutes later, then let himself in the back door of the white ranch house on Englert Lane.

Kathy Wallace was lying back in the tub, a scented candle burning on the counter, music playing from a sound system in the den, bubbles bouncing and popping and floating like foam.

By the time she spotted him in the doorway, it was too late to save herself. She just didn't know it yet.

"Don't scream," Alex ordered, shoving the business end of his Sig dead center between her eyes.

She was too terrified to scream.

And he was too focused to care much if she did. This wasn't going to take long.

He glanced around the bathroom until he found what he was looking for.

"What... whatever you want... just. .. just t-.. . take it." She covered her ample breasts with an arm, her brown eyes wide and pleading behind a pair of wire-rim glasses.

Alex plugged the handheld hair dryer into a socket. He flipped it on and, looking into those huge, horrified eyes, dropped it into the tub.

It was over with barely a splash and a sizzle.

Simple.

Neat.

And tomorrow, the coroner would rule Kathy Wallace's death an accidental electrocution.

She might have been a pretty woman once, Alex thought as he took a moment to make sure she was gone. But she'd let herself go. An extra twenty or thirty pounds, by the looks of it. She wasn't going to need that diet book sitting on the edge of the tub anymore.

Satisfied that she was dead, Alex slipped out of the bathroom and out the back door. Then he walked through the dark streets and the three blocks to the car he'd paid thirteen hundred cash for and would abandon at the airport.

"It's done," he said into his cell phone, half an hour later.

He'd set the terms for payment for these last four jobs. He already had all of his money. There would be no more half before and half after crap. He'd proven he was capable of delivering and he'd be damned if he was going to sit through anymore blow-by-blows so his client could get off on the gore.

"And it will look like another accident?"

"Just like the others."

"Good. Fine. I've got another . . . assignment."

Another one? Whatever.

And while Alex had to admit he was curious as to why he'd been paid to off a middle-aged barfly from Mississippi and a pudgy preschool teacher from Illinois, it was no skin off his ass. The other three—same thing. They were average Joannes. Hardly his usual hits, but hell, he'd never seen South Dakota before. Lots of grass. Hot as hell.

That was where the Richards woman had met with an "accidental" death two days ago due to carbon monoxide poisoning. Poor soul had slipped on a patch of oil in her garage—after she'd turned on her car and, unfortunately, left the garage door shut. People were probably still wondering what she was doing out in her garage in her bare feet at two in the morning. Any bruises on her body would be attributed to the fall.

Tampa had been just plain hot the next day. It was a little more difficult taking care of Lana Fredrickson there. Or it would have been if it hadn't been for the impressive open staircase in her two-level condo. The fatal fall from the second floor had broken her neck.

And Texas. Hell. They could leave that place to the cactus. It was a stroke of luck that Mrs. Smith had just had a new pool installed in her backyard for her grandchildren. Too bad about her drowning. Well, not too bad for Alex.

He'd take that kind of easy money any day. A job was a job. He was for hire.

And a hundred K was a hundred K.

Tuesday,
 
July I8th,
 
New York City,
 
the morning after the Madison Square Garden concert

"Okay, if we're going to do this," Jase cast a dark look between Max and Janey, "we're going to do it my way."

Other than the incident with Black's pious perverts before the concert, the Garden party had gone off without a hitch. Once inside, Jase had called for doubled security, positioned a 24-7 guard at the door to Janey's suite, and never let her out of his sight.

The Jersey contingent of Bible-thumpers hadn't raised any more Cain. Grimm hadn't shown his perverted face, either—at least he hadn't been spotted.

That didn't mean Jase was happy about how exposed Janey was onstage each time she performed. But short of locking her up, his hands were tied. She insisted that the shows would go on.

Now they had to deal with this new development. The bank at Tupelo had contacted Max earlier this morning. It seems that Alice Perkins had a lockbox. As the only survivor, Janey was entitled to the contents. The hitch was, she could only access the lockbox in person. Which meant she had to return to Tupelo.

"And what's your way?" Janey asked from the table by the window in the hotel suite where she was autographing a stack of eight-by-ten glossies.

"No limo. No private jet. We take a cab—just you and me—to LaGuardia. Then we fly commercial back to Tupelo. Jeans, T-shirts, no bling. No attention. No fuss."

"I don't like it," Max said, looking uneasy. "Makes her too accessible."

"Pardon me for being blunt, sir, but you people are so used to traveling like royalty, you forget how the 'real' folk live. And dress. No one's going to recognize her if they aren't expecting her. Especially if she's traveling with me." Jase stood with his feet planted wide, his palms stuffed in the back pockets of his jeans, and gave his best farm-boy face to drive home his point.

"I still don't like it. And I don't think you should go," Max said.

Janey hadn't intended to go at first. Jase hadn't been all that surprised by her reaction to the news. She'd been estranged from her mother. She'd had it rough as a kid. Jase could sympathize but not relate. His family was loving and close.

And they had expectations. Especially after Jeremy died.

Ones Jase hadn't fulfilled. Which was why his last visit home had been so short. His mother had cried when he left. His father... well, his father had been, as usual, disappointed and working damn hard to hide it. Which made Jase feel that much more guilty.

"Janey?" Max prompted again, jarring Jase out of his little side trip into guilt and Janey out of her funk.

"I'm not going to hide out the rest of my life, Max. I'm not going to let him do that to me. I'm going. I need to get this done if I want to put it behind me."

Jase waited for Max's reluctant nod, then started making arrangements for a flight that morning so they could fly back north to Boston for a concert the next night.

Score one for the bodyguard.

"It's none of my business," Wilson said after the plane lifted off and they were settled in first class without so much as a hitch or a second look, "but would you mind telling me something?"

Janey turned her head against the leather headrest and met his gaze. "What do you want to know?"

"Why do you put up with McCoy?"

She couldn't help but smile. Derek was a prick. For him, getting her into his bed was an image thing. A personal challenge to make her his latest sexual conquest.

She thought back to that night after the first West Palm concert and realized in retrospect that he'd actually scared her a little. He'd backed off since, so she'd let it pass.

"You don't think much of Derek, do you?" As if she hadn't already figured that out from the dark looks and disgusted head shakes when Baby Blue thought no one was watching.

"Gosh, does it show?" he said deadpan.

She grinned. "Gosh, yeah."

"The guy's a loser."

"True. But he's a helluva drummer."