Summer Vows (Arabesque) (3 page)

“Therein is your problem. You have to stop dating guys in the
business.”

“I would if I happened to meet one who’s not in the business.
But, day in and day out it’s songwriters, musicians, recording artists and
producers. I’m ready to try one of those dating sites, but with my luck I’ll end
up with a psycho.”

“Don’t do that, Ana. I can always hook you up with one of my
colleagues.”

She shook her head. “And have him think I’m desperate. I don’t
have a problem attracting men, Tyler. It’s just that I attract the wrong ones.
Would you believe I was hit on by a twenty-year-old?”

Tyler swallowed a mouthful of savory crab cake. “Who’s
that?”

“Justin Glover aka O’Quan Gee aka OG.”

“What’s up with the stage names? Why doesn’t he just go by
Justin Glover?”

“He’s a crossover artist. He’ll record pop and R&B under
Justin and rap and hip-hop as O’Quan Gee.”

Tyler chuckled under his breath. “How does it feel to be a
cougar?”

Ana rolled her eyes. “I don’t think so, Tyler. There is nothing
a twenty-year-old can do for me. I have enough trouble with immature
thirtysomething baby boys. And for all his musical genius Justin may prove to be
a problem.”

“Why’s that?”

“He’s good and he knows it. But I’ll let Jason handle the
musical end of his career. I had enough issues trying to convince him to sign
with Serenity instead of Slow Wyne. It ended in a bidding war where we signed
him for less than what Slow Wyne would’ve offered, but our perks are more
lucrative. We also included a morality clause at the insistence of our
publicist: no drugs, DUIs or DWIs and he cannot become involved in any paternity
suits for the term of his contract.”

“How long is his contract?”

“Two years with an option to renew for an additional two. Slow
Wyne wanted to tie him up for two years with a five year option. Negotiations
became a little dicey when Basil Irvine went gangsta on me, but in the end he
had to back down.”

“What do you mean he went gangsta?”

Staring at the twitching muscle in her cousin’s jaw, Ana chided
herself for mentioning the telephone conversation between herself and the CEO of
Slow Wyne. “He said I would pay for stealing Justin away from him.”

“Pay how, Ana?”

She forced a brittle smile. “I don’t know. He didn’t go into
detail.”

“Aren’t you concerned that he threatened you?” Tyler asked.

“Not really. He was just acting like a little boy who couldn’t
get his way. Basil Irvine doesn’t have the best reputation when it comes to his
artists. He will throw a few dollars at them—more money than they’ve ever seen
to win them over. He also has a reputation for hosting elaborate parties for his
artists complete with beautiful women, premium champagne and I suspect drugs,
and in the end he’ll own their souls. His performers make a lot of money, but
unfortunately too many of them die before they’re able to get what’s coming to
them. If they’re not involved in some feud or have beef with another performer,
then it’s a drug overdose.”

“I want you to be careful, because this clown sounds like he’s
going to be trouble,” Tyler warned softly.

“If he wants trouble, then he’ll get it,” Ana countered. “As
soon as he issued the threat I told him I was going to tape all of our
conversations. I suppose it was enough for him to back off. He sent me a letter
last month congratulating Serenity after Justin’s album debuted at number
one.”

“What was your response?”

“I called and thanked him personally. He mentioned something
about sharing drinks at the next Grammy awards, and I told him I would make
certain to set aside time to meet with him.”

“So, you’ve kissed and made up?”

Ana’s mouth twisted. “We’re more like fremenies.”

“Friend or enemy, you still should watch him.”

Waving her hand in a dismissive gesture, Ana affected a bored
expression. “I try not to give him a passing thought.”

Tyler glanced at his watch, touched the napkin to the corners
of his mouth and then placed it beside his plate. “I hate to eat and run, but I
want to go back to my hotel and unwind before I go over my notes for tomorrow’s
presentation.”

Ana realized her cousin must have gotten up early to fly in
from Mississippi. She’d offered to have him stay in her condo, but Tyler said it
was more convenient to check into the hotel where the conference was to take
place. Reaching into her handbag, she took out her wallet and placed enough
money on the table to cover their meal and a generous tip.

“Thanks for sharing lunch.”

Tyler winked at her. “Thanks for inviting me and next time it’s
on me.” Pushing back his chair, he stood up and came around the table to ease
back Ana’s chair. “Are you coming to Hillsboro for Thanksgiving?”

She looked at him. “Are you sure Dana’s going to be up to
hosting Thanksgiving so soon after giving birth?”

“We’re having it catered.”

She nodded. Although she wasn’t married and had no children Ana
always got together with her cousins and their families for Thanksgiving. Their
parents had complained that Thanksgiving was a family holiday, but the younger
generation stood firm when they’d decided to exercise a modicum of independence.
The result was a livelier and unrestrained gathering with an ever-increasing
number of children running around in abandon.

Arm in arm they left the restaurant and walked out into the
brilliant late-spring Florida sunshine. Ana placed a pair of sunglasses on the
bridge of her nose, Tyler following suit. “Where are you parked?”

He pointed to a late-model silver sedan. “I’m right here. Where
are you parked?”

“I’m around on the other side.”

“I’ll walk you to your car.”

“That’s all right.” Going on tiptoe, Ana pressed a kiss to
Tyler’s cheek. “If I don’t see you before you go back to Mississippi I’ll
definitely see you for Thanksgiving.”

Winding his arms around Ana’s waist, Tyler pulled her close.
Dipping his head, he whispered in her ear. “Stay out of trouble.”

“What are you—” Her words stopped when a sharp sound pierced
the humid air. Tyler’s arms fell away as he crumbled to the ground in
slow-motion like fluttering confetti. All warmth fled from her body, replaced by
an icy-coldness that wouldn’t permit Ana to move. It seemed like an eternity
where it was only seconds before she was able to scream when she sank to the
ground beside her cousin’s body. The screams kept coming until people in the
parking lot raced over to see what the commotion was about.

Her eyes wide with fear and panic, Ana screamed, “Help me!” She
cradled Tyler to her bosom, her white blouse stained red with the warm blood
seeping from his chest wound. His eyes were closed and his breathing shallow.
The wait seemed interminable, but off in the distance she heard the sound of
wailing sirens.

“Let me have a look at him.”

She glanced up to find an elderly man kneeling beside her. Her
brain refused to process what had just happened. How could someone shoot Tyler
and she not see them? She hadn’t noticed anyone close to them in the parking
lot. Ana tightened her hold on her cousin’s neck. “No.”

“Please, miss. I’m a doctor.”

“No!” She screamed again, this time when a pair of strong hands
pulled her up and held her fast. Ana fought like a cat, crying and clawing, but
she wasn’t able to free herself from the arms that held her like manacles.

Some of the fight went out of her, and she slumped against the
wide chest of a man who towered above her by a full head. The wail of sirens
came closer and closer and within minutes first responders and police officers
filled the restaurant’s parking lot. She was barely coherent when she gave an
officer the account of what she
didn’t
see.

Working quickly, the paramedics stabilized Tyler, placing him
on a gurney as she stood numbly by. A crime-scene unit had arrived as Ana was
helped into the rear of the ambulance. Reaching for Tyler’s hand, she closed her
eyes and prayed.

* * *

Ana sat in the family room at her parents’ house,
reacting like an automaton. She’d become a prisoner. Easygoing, laidback David
Claridge Cole had turned into a tyrant, taking the keys to her car and condo,
while declaring he had no intention of burying any of his children and if he had
to shackle her to keep her from leaving, then he would. Ana knew her father was
incensed because she hadn’t divulged the details of the negotiations to sign
Justin Glover, and she’d argued because he was no longer involved with the
day-to-day operation of the recording label she wasn’t obligated to apprise him
of the proceedings.

And the media had exacerbated the situation when headlines
blared about the attempted murder of a member of one of Florida’s most prominent
families. An undisclosed source told a reporter at
The
Miami Herald
about the alleged ongoing feud between Slow Wyne Records
and Serenity Records, and that Dr. Tyler Cole unintentionally had become
collateral damage. Ana prayed the source hadn’t come from Serenity, because all
the employees had signed a confidentiality agreement as a condition to
employment. And if not them, the rumors had to come from someone in the Slow
Wyne camp.

Reporters had also attempted to interview Jason, but his ‘no
comment’ left them searching for other leads. Basil Irvine did agree to be
interviewed, stating emphatically that there was no bad blood between his
L.A.-based company and Serenity. He did admit he’d wanted to sign Justin Glover,
but conceded when the singing phenom said the music produced by Serenity was
better-suited for his singing style and vocal range. His Cheshire cat grin and
velvety smooth voice had Ana screaming at the television that he was lying; she
was incensed because she wasn’t able to rebut his allegation.

It’d been three days since someone had gunned down Tyler and
instead of fading, the image of her cradling him persisted. An unscheduled
gathering of the family descended on West Palm Beach when the news hit that
Tyler had become the victim of a possible sniper. Fortunately the bullet missed
all major arteries; however, the wound was still serious enough for the
attending physician to recommend he remain in the hospital for several days.

The police were able to find the spent round and a ballistics
expert had identified it as military issue; surveillance feed from cameras
outside the restaurant and several other buildings showed a figure in camouflage
repelling down the side of an office building and speeding off on a motorcycle.
The police were able to identify the make and model of the bike, but when the
video was enhanced the Kawasaki was missing the license plate, leading them to
believe either it was stolen or the plate was intentionally removed.

Ana had felt like a parrot, repeating the same thing over and
over when interrogated by law enforcement officials. First it was the local
police, then special agents from the FBI. The theory that the sniper was
connected to the military was a cause for concern among family members.
Particularly those who’d had military experience.

Pulling her knees to her chest, she rested her head on them and
closed her eyes. Why, she thought, did her parents insist on keeping their home
so cool. “I’m freezing, Mom.”

Serena Morris-Cole stared at her daughter. She was shaking and
it wasn’t from the air-cooled temperature but because she was still traumatized.
“I’ll adjust the air and bring you a cup of hot tea.”

Ana’s head popped up. Her registered-nurse mother had divided
her time between sitting at Tyler’s bedside and providing emotional support for
Ana. “Thank you, Mom, but I can get my own tea.” Serena gave Ana a look she
recognized immediately:
do not argue with me
.
“Okay,” she conceded. It was as if all the fight had gone out of her when she’d
never been one to back down from any confrontation.

David and Serena had raised their children to be free spirits
in the tradition of 1970s hippies and Ana had become somewhat of a wild child.
She was never one to turn down her brothers’ challenges and she preferred
hanging out with them rather her architecture-historian sister who was the
consummate girly-girl. For Ana it was baseball instead of cheerleading, shooting
pool instead of ballet lessons. She’d earned an undergraduate degree in business
and finance before enrolling in law school, with a focus on business law.

She’d taken control of Serenity Records once her father
retired, while her twin brother, Jason, had become the label’s musical director
and producer. She’d negotiated deals with artists who had served time for
felonies, yet never at any time had she ever felt threatened or intimidated
until now.

Ana didn’t want to believe Basil’s denial that there wasn’t bad
blood between them, despite his too-sweet letter congratulating Serenity on
Justin’s successful record launch. But the more she thought about it the more
she felt it was retribution for signing up an artist the head of Slow Wyne
coveted as if he were the Holy Grail.

A tentative smile parted her lips when Jason walked into the
room. Ana patted the cushion beside her on the love seat. “Hang out with me for
a while.” Fraternal twins, and older by fifteen minutes, Jason was her masculine
counterpart. He was undeniably a Cole: tall, broad-shouldered, olive complexion,
black curly hair, delicate features and dimples.

Extending his hand, Jason pulled her to stand. “Come with
me.”

Walking on bare feet, Ana had to practically run to keep up
with his longer stride. “Where are we going?”

Jason flashed a wolfish grin. “To my place.”

He was the only one of his parents’ four children who still
lived at home. He had his own apartment in the expansive house and had access to
an in-home recording studio. Although he was provided ultimate privacy, Jason
refused to sleep with a woman under his parents’ roof. If his dates didn’t have
their own place, then he entertained them at hotels.