12. Chapter Twelve
Chapter Twelve
“ N orth, you shouldn’t be back here.” Vanessa stepped forward, blocking his view of the bed, and put a firm hand on his shoulder. “I’ll brief the entire band shortly, but—”
“No. This is worse than nasty letters. I glad you’re here, Vanessa, but I need to know what else will be done to protect Annette.” North swallowed hard against a wave of nausea. He wanted to puke, but he had to toughen the fuck up. This had been left for Annette. What if she’d come in here first?
What if whoever got on the bus had stayed? Ice slithered up his spine, drawing a sharp shudder.
“Deep breaths, North. The last thing I need is you passing out on me.” Vanessa led him to the loveseat against the opposite wall from the bed. Waited until he sat before she continued. “The police are on their way. They’ll assess the situation and continue their investigation. There was always a chance the threat would escalate.”
“So what do we do? Cancel the tour?” He knew Annette would hate disappointing the fans—so would he and every member of the band—but her safety came first. “Wouldn’t she be safer at home?”
“Not necessarily.” Ballz’s tone was rough, his eyes dark with rage. He ended the call and stuffed his phone in the pocket of his black jeans. “Letters have been left there. Even with our alarm system and a police presence, all it would take is for the stalker to wait until things calmed down a bit. Annette won’t put up with being a prisoner in her own home for long.”
“The detective believes the stalker is from Detroit. He traveled to Canada, but the letters started showing up here.” Vanessa made a vague gesture toward the bed. “He’s bolder on his own turf.”
“So if we went back to Canada—”
“The progress the detective’s made will be delayed. Law enforcement in Canada is coordinating their efforts, but there are challenges to this being an international case.” Vanessa crouched down in front of North. “Reese has proposed we put both bands on one bus so we can combine security. She’s already begun vetting additional personal, but that could take a few days. In the meantime, we’ll make sure Annette is never alone. That there’s always someone on the bus. Keep a few people out of sight so we can see who’s watching her.”
The sick feeling in North’s gut intensified as he stared at Vanessa. “You’re using her as bait.”
“No. We’re forcing this fucker out into the open. Oakley is going to work on changing the dates for some of the stops. There will be no more posts from any of you on social media unless I approve it. The detective thinks that’s how the stalker’s been finding Annette.” Vanessa’s lips thinned. “Whoever this is isn’t stupid. Annette takes pictures a few times a day to share with her fans. The timing of them is close enough to the estimated times that the stalker’s been leaving the letters.”
“So you’ll have her post only when you want him to find her?”
“Yes and no. She can take a picture and post after she’s in a secure location. Then one of us can wait, out of sight, and see who shows up.”
That made sense, but he still fucking hated it. He inhaled slowly and rubbed his thighs, doing his best to sound as calm as they were so he’d stay informed. “One wrong move and he’ll catch on and go into hiding anyway.”
“Maybe, but while we’re on tour Annette will never be isolated. Which gives law enforcement more time to work on the case.” Vanessa sighed. “There’s no quick fix. But this plan keeps Annette safe and avoids the need to cancel the tour.”
Nodding slowly, North watched Ballz from the corner of his eye as he spoke to Oakley, his tone hard, every muscle in his big body tense. He was too close to the situation, but no way was anyone gonna get him to stand back and let others protect Annette.
Ballz rubbed his fist against his lips as he met North’s eyes. “You know she won’t let us cancel the tour. Even if that’s what I thought was best, she’d argue.”
“One look in here might change her mind.” Apparently North was allowed to see the bed again. A glance over and he wished Vanessa had kept blocking the bloody mess. “But we’re not going to let her see this fucked up shit.”
“No, we’re not.” Oakley spoke up for the first time. He was pale, but steadier than North would’ve expected. “We’re going to leave the bus. Wait for the cops—I’ll speak to them.” He squared his shoulders. “North, since you’re here, help Balthazar grab whatever Annette might need. Get her and the rest of the band settled on the other bus.”
“It’s gonna be tight.” Ballz pulled Annette’s suitcase out from under the bed and opened it on the floor. “But there are twelve bunks, place for three in the back lounge, and another two in the front. Crew can sleep in the vans.”
North inclined his head, then went to grab Annette’s stage-wear from the thin closet by the open window. “We’ll make do. Up until last year all we had was a van.”
Nodding, Ballz continued to pack in silence, handling Annette’s clothes carefully as he emptied out the drawers, even though anger and frustration came off him in waves. North respected the hell out of the man, but damn, no way could he be that contained if someone he loved was being followed around by some demented freak.
Of course, losing his shit wouldn’t help.
Grabbing the laundry bag Ballz tossed him, North slid past the curtains into the bunk area, then continued to the front, looking over his band as every member stood. He could let Ballz give them the news—or even Oakley, since it was his job as tour manager.
But this was North’s family. The only one he had. Or wanted. He might’ve fucked up in the past, been a moody headcase and all that shit, but they needed him to man-up. No matter how messed up he was over what he’d just seen, how scared he was for Annette, he’d hold things together for every single one of them.
He reached out and pulled Annette into a firm hug, letting the laundry bag fall by his feet. “We’re getting out of here.”
Annette shook her head, but didn’t pull away. Arms wrapped around his waist, she spoke against his shoulder, tears soaking through his dark blue T-shirt. “You’re not canceling the tour.”
“We figured you’d say that.” North kissed the top of her head, then eased back, letting her go to Ballz. He took a deep breath and looked over at Orion and Quinton. Shot Kace a bracing smile. “Look, we took some steps to ramp up security, but it wasn’t perfect.” He wet his lips, choosing his words carefully. “Not giving details, but something else was left for Annette while we were all off the bus. We’re leaving the bus here so the cops can check it out.”
“And going where?” Orion folded his arms over his chest, his disheveled black hair falling over one eye. “The van’s full of merch and equipment now. There’s not enough room for any of us to sleep.”
This should be interesting. North rubbed his jaw. “No, but there is room on Winter’s Wrath’s bus.”
Orion’s eyes narrowed.
Quinton put a hand on the guitarist’s shoulder, fixing North with a hard stare. “Have you lost your mind?”
“North, you and Brave will kill one another before we hit the first mile marker.” Annette turned in Ballz’s arms, back to his chest, brow furrowed. “Touring together is one thing, but being trapped together for hours on the same bus?”
Kace cleared his throat and stepped up to North’s side. “If we’re not canceling the tour, this is our only option. We can’t afford to rent another bus—not with the deposit locked in with the last one. We’re coming back this way before the Canadian leg of the tour. We can get the bus back then.”
Reaching out, North rubbed the nape of Kace’s neck and grinned at the others. “Exactly. This is about being adult-like for a few weeks. Even I can manage that.”
Annette’s lips quirked. “‘Adult-like’, eh? I suppose that’s better than nothing.”
Connor, who’d sat quietly through the discussion, cleared his throat and stood. “I can’t speak for my whole band, but I doubt anyone will start shit. We’ve all toured in rougher conditions. This ain’t gonna be that bad.”
With that, Orion grumbled his assent, Quinton gave a short nod, and everyone began packing up. Ballz brought Annette’s things to the Winter’s Wrath’s bus, telling them to give him five minutes to give the other band a head’s up. The police arrived as the first of the luggage and supplies was unloaded.
Oakley and Vanessa went to speak to the officers, and North heard them assuring the two uniformed men that nothing in the room had been disturbed, aside from the things in the closets and drawers.
North took a box of cereal and pasta from Annette as she came down the steps, turning to put it with the rest. He stopped short as Derrick appeared in front of him.
Then cursed as the drum tech stumbled back.
“Take the box, boy.” Skull, Winter’s Wrath’s oldest roadie and Ballz’s big brother, frowned at the drum tech, his own arms full of bedding in large vacuum-seal bags. “Jesse made it clear we were going to be civil and accommodating. I don’t have the patience for your foolishness.”
“I’m sorry, Skull. I just…” Derrick stared at his ratty sneakers. “The idea of catching something freaks me out.”
Skull’s expression hardened. “Do you think North would be on this tour if he was sick?”
Derrick quickly shook his head. “No, nothing like that.”
“The bands share a manager. You’re aware of that? Do you think Reese would let them tour if it was detrimental to anyone’s health?”
“No, but—”
“Enough. We’ll discuss this later. Take the damn box.” Skull glared at Derrick long after the young man had dashed off with the box. Drawing his shoulders back, he glanced over at North, his expression softening. “If anyone gives you trouble like that again, tell me. It’s up to you if you share your personal business, but I hope you know, I’m here if you need to talk.”
Skull being so nice set North off-balance. He hadn’t been sure the man liked him—the old roadie treated Winter’s Wrath like the children he’d never had. North didn’t expect the same, but he respected the hell out of the guy. Knowing Skull didn’t hate him was fucking cool.
“I appreciate that, but I’m good. Got all my tests. Was just a stupid rumor that got started.” Pissed as he was, North wouldn’t rat Tate out. But he had a feeling about Skull’s reaction. “I have a good friend who’s HIV positive and people act like that around him whenever they find out. He doesn’t say shit, but I know it hurts. This isn’t even a taste of what he goes through.”
“I lost a lot of friends to AIDs during the peak of it in the 90s. So many people are still damn ignorant about it.” Skull inhaled slowly, considering North for a moment. “Since you have a friend with the diagnosis, I assume you’d have a different reaction if that had been the rumor.”
“I would.” North shoved his hands in his pockets. “People think I have some kind of skin disease.”
Skull’s lips thinned. “I see. You are aware that Jesse or I, or even Oakley, could speak to the bands and kill the rumor, as well as see that the person who started it faces consequences?”
A loud thunk followed by a gasp of pain drew their attention to Tate. The young drummer paled, rubbing his thigh as he struggled to hold a heavy box of books against the side of the bus and get a better grip on it.
For a split second, North almost wanted to leave him to it. To watch him suffer a little bit while there was no one around to make everything nice and easy for him. A few words and Skull wouldn’t be looking so concerned. He’d be ripping.
Instead, North stepped forward and grabbed the other side of the box, tossing an appreciative smile back to Skull. “Could’ve been a rumor started online. You know how it is.”
“Very true.” Skull sighed and shook his head. “Well, it’ll pass. But either way, don’t forget what I said.”
At North’s nod, Skull dropped the blankets on top of another box of food, hefted the whole thing up, and started toward the other bus.
The second Skull’s back was turned, Tate tried to jerk the box away from North.
North tightened his grip. “This isn’t me being needy . You can’t carry this box alone.”
“Then let someone else help me.” Tate wouldn’t meet North’s eyes. Hood pulled up over his strange new faded aqua hair, his one uncovered eye fixed on the pavement, the drummer tugged at the box again. “Please just let go.”
“Did you miss the part where I did?” North ground his teeth so hard his jaw hurt, but he couldn’t let this shit between him and Tate keep going. Especially not now that they’d be stuck on the same bus. “I left you the fuck alone and you still started shit. What’s your problem?”
“I don’t have a problem.”
“You’re a fucking liar.” North moved quickly to keep pace with Tate as he began backing up. “You told Derrick I had a fucking disease.”
Tate went still. Lifted his head. His lashes were wet. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”
A slash of pain cut deep into North’s chest as Tate blinked fast, looking down again. Was Tate crying? Did he just feel bad, or—
“I can’t do this, North. If you ever gave a fuck about me, don’t make me do this.” Tate’s grip on the box slipped. “I need to go. Please let me go.”
The second time Tate was saying those words, but it was the same message he’d given North before. Only not cold and hard. Not like he was done with North.
More like North was hurting him .