Chapter 1 #3
As Roy laid out comprehensive changes to his personal security, DJ stayed in a deceptively relaxed pose, fingers templed, long legs in snug denim stretched out and spread, heels dug into the carpet to anchor him as he rocked back and forth in his chair.
His shoes were ratty sneakers with no laces.
While he’d donned a dark blue button down for the meeting, he hadn’t buttoned it.
On one wrist, he wore a trio of parachute cord bracelets strung with semi-precious gemstone beads.
Tiger eye, lava stone, and amethyst were three Roy recognized.
The conference room lights reflected off a black platinum ichthys on a chain he wore around his neck.
The pendant rested between his pectorals.
The Christian fish symbol was something he always wore on stage and seemed to be wearing most of the time when he wasn’t. Though he didn’t claim a particular religion himself, he’d said in multiple interviews it was a gift he’d been given in his teens. Some stories weren’t in Roy’s paperwork.
While the brown eyes under the unruly hair were intent, and he listened well, Moss looked tense. It reinforced what Roy already detected, that things weren’t as placid as they seemed.
“Are there any questions?” Roy’s gaze brushed over Moss to be polite before returning to DJ.
“Yeah.” DJ straightened, lacing his hands on the table, squaring himself with Roy. “I need to be sure there’s not going to be any Kevin Costner, Whitney Houston, crushing-on-the-client nonsense from you, Roy. Because I’m pretty irresistible.”
Moss swallowed a noise that could have been a laugh or a horrified squeak. Roy ignored him. The kid had really compelling eyes, and his mouth was made for…a lot of things.
“Your fans’ opinion of you doesn’t make it true or real,” Roy said evenly. “Most of my clients are insecure assholes with pretty faces and talents the public erroneously worships.”
“So who can these sad clients trust for a real or true opinion?” DJ didn’t seemed riled by Roy’s answer.
“The people who matter.”
A light smile touched DJ’s mouth. Hell, the kid was testing him, seeing what he was made of. It made Roy kind of like him. And want to give as good as he’d been given.
“It’s actually more common for the client to crush on the bodyguard, because there’s an inevitable fondness for the person keeping the monsters out from under your bed.”
“Just so you check every night. Thoroughly.”
“Jesus, DJ,” Moss muttered. “Roy, he’s—”
“Moss, you know how I feel about being handled.” DJ held up a hand and gave Roy an unsmiling look. “Fear isn’t my thing. I’m not going to run and hide, but I am concerned about my people.”
“Then you’ll need to pack up the tour and shut down everything until he’s caught, because this stalker is going to keep coming until something changes his mind or someone stops him.” Roy gave it to him straight. “Anyone between him and that goal will be seen as an obstacle to eliminate.”
Moss made a concerned mutter at the shut down comment, but Roy pressed onward.
“With this type of personality, you don’t know who that will be.
It could be the makeup girl who laughs at one of your jokes, or your tech putting a friendly arm around your shoulders.
He resents anyone being closer to you than he is, and that’s everyone, physically.
“In the messages he’s sent you, he’s framing you as soulmates, spiritually close, meeting in the ether where he understands you and no one else does. This guy wants you in his basement, Mr. James.”
DJ’s gaze hadn’t wavered, but he’d had the sense to pale a little. “You sound familiar with the type.”
“Stalkers aren’t terribly original in their psychological profile, but they are unique in how they pursue their fantasy and goal. While the authorities try to find him, thwarting that pursuit is the challenge my team and I will handle.”
“Is there an option other than shutting down the tour? Not just because my bandmates won’t go for it, and we’re equal partners. A lot of people depend on us for their livelihoods. Also, hiding is a strategy I’ve never seen work when someone wanted to hurt me.”
Roy thought of the foster records they’d pulled, and his gut tightened with anger on behalf of the innocent. “What did work?” he asked.
“Enduring.” DJ’s jaw flexed. “Saying I will be what I am, no matter what. Even if it puts me in an early grave. I just don’t want to take anyone else with me.”
“All right. Then let me do my job. None of the people working for you threw up any flags on our background dive. I’ll work with Henry to augment what he’s already doing to protect the band, but you are my priority. I’m sure as hell not here to protect your self-destructive drummer.”
DJ’s expression became stone. “You can have your opinion, but keep it to yourself around him.”
“Agreed, unless he increases the risk to you.”
“Anything else?”
“If I see anything go up your nose, in your arm, et cetera, I'm done. I don't care if this stalker puts you in his basement until you rot. Users are called that because that's what they are. Users.”
For several beats, the only noise was the hum of the overhead lights. Moss visibly restrained himself from the buffering DJ had rejected.
“You’ve lost someone because of that,” DJ said. “Client or family?”
“Not a client, though I have handled one or two who proved to me their addiction made my services a waste of time. That’s the only part of that story that’s your business. Just remember I’m a bodyguard, not a babysitter. I’m not here to save you from yourself.”
Roy shifted gears. “Final thing. Sometimes you might want to discuss the decisions I make. You’re the client; that’s your right. But in the event there’s no time to have a discussion, you’ll need to follow my lead. It’s not personal. You’re trusting the skills, not the man.”
“Since the character of the man defines how he uses his skills, it’s hard to separate the two.”
Something powerful was turning a wheel behind DJ’s eyes. He was actively part of the conversation, but some part of him was…elsewhere.
“Are you writing music right now?” Roy asked.
DJ blinked, surprised, then lifted a shoulder. “Sorry, it happens a lot. I still heard you.”
“Good. Unless you have further questions, we’ll sign the contract. Then I’ll get my people up to speed and in place. The plan is to stay here a few days after the show?”
When DJ looked his way, Moss took over. “Yes. Steve’s girlfriend Lonnie lives here. He’s trying to convince her to join us for the rest of the tour, and he wants to spend some time with her and parents.”
Lonnie’s picture in his files flashed through Roy’s head. Striped stockings, short dress, straight hair and pretty blue eyes. Olive Oyl skinny, not an eating disorder.
At DJ’s nod, Moss pushed over a copy of the contract. The kid read it carefully. He and Moss had a good relationship, but DJ didn’t trust blindly. Another good sign.
DJ signed and stood up. “I was fucking with you on the Kevin Costner shit,” he said, his brown eyes serious. “Your credentials told me you know this world, but I wanted to see face to face how you handle the mind fucks in this business.”
“How I do my job will tell you that,” Roy said.
“Yeah. And if I’m wrong, I’m dead and it doesn’t matter.”
“If anyone is going to end up dead trying to get to you, it’s going to be him or me,” Roy said. “Otherwise, I’m shit at my job.”
“If you end up dead,” DJ observed, “it seems to me you’re still shit at your job. You didn’t see it coming in time to save both our asses. I’ll make you a promise. Keep both of us alive, and I’ll give you a five-star rating.”
“You’d give me a crap rating if I die protecting you?”
“Hell, yeah.” DJ’s smile was a mysterious, endearing little smirk, like Eddie Van Halen on the 1983 “Jump” music video. “One star. I’ll call you a total fuck-up at your funeral. But I will come to it. And pay for a nice flower arrangement. What’s your favorite?”
“Dandelions,” Roy said.
“A persistent and stubborn weed.” DJ extended his hand. “I’ll remember that.”
His grip was firm and yet relaxed in Roy’s. A message that DJ had the strength to surrender, if he trusted someone enough. Roy suppressed the desire to slide his thumb over the calluses from his guitar playing.
Damn, DJ was right. He was irresistible.
Roy released his hand. “I’ll bring my team leaders by to meet you before the concert. We’ll talk to all your regulars in small groups, letting them know our process. We officially start the clock on your protection in forty-eight hours, and it will be in place 24/7 until the threat is removed.”
“So you’ve decided I’m worth protecting.”
Moss didn’t register the lazy warmth in DJ’s golden voice. But it drew Roy’s attention like a neon sign. Kid was still fucking with him.
“I’ve decided the bad guy shouldn’t get what he wants.”