Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
D ella was greeted at The Rox by a line of biceps and brawn that blocked her view of everything from the SUV to the back entrance. She gave her warden the side eye. “This is overkill, don’t you think? We’re four hours early. The parking lot is empty. There’s nobody here but us.”
“There’s ten different vantage points that give a sniper a clear shot of your head.” He scanned from left to right as if he expected to have to leap in front of a bullet at any second.
He couldn’t be serious. Wait, who was she kidding? Ward the Warden was always serious. “You know, I think that’s more than you’ve said to me in the last two weeks. I’m glad you’ve finally figured out how words work.”
“Keep moving.” He gestured for her to move ahead of him, his face set like carved stone. “Please.”
She wiggled her fingers at the waiting line of men. “I hope you’re all getting paid overtime for this. Be sure to check out the after-party. Drinks are on me and Piper. Tell them I sent you and have one for me, okay?”
A couple of them shifted their gaze to her for a heartbeat or two, but none of them spoke. They didn’t even crack a smile.
She was losing her touch.
“This way, Ms. Bellamy.” Greg gently took her elbow.
“It’s Della, Greg. We’ve been friends for three years. That hasn’t changed. I don’t care what he says.” She immediately regretted snapping at him. Greg didn’t deserve her irritation. She fell into step beside him. “He doesn’t get to boss you around. You work for me. Not him.”
Greg opened the door for her. “We’ll all feel better once you’re inside, Del. Please?”
“Fine. Because you asked.” She stepped inside.
The long hallway that led to the backstage area was also paved with men. It wasn’t an overly large space to begin with, but now it was claustrophobic and more than a little intimidating.
She nudged Greg’s arm. “Where did he find these people? Is there some kind of bodyguard cloning program on eBay?”
Greg’s shoulders jiggled a little in a chuckle.
Ward cleared his throat.
Greg straightened and walked so stiffly that she thought it might take an entire warehouse of Vaseline to get the pole out of his butt.
She tossed a glare at Ward. “You get this is supposed to be a fun thing, right?”
“For you. Yes.” Ward’s tone was carefully neutral, but she caught the accusation in the words all the same.
“It’s hard to get amped up to entertain a crowd if everyone around you is determined to be a vortex of sullen,” she pointed out.
“A professional wouldn’t let anything stop them,” he said in that quiet but derisive tone she hated.
Since Piper would be done with the sound check by now, Della headed straight for the dressing room. Ward and Greg clomped around her, making the halls echo with a beat that was hard to ignore. She hummed Taylor Swift’s “Bad Blood” in time to their stomps but resisted the urge to raise an imaginary baton like a band leader.
Romi and Piper stood next to the open door, watching their approach.
“Great song, DellBell.” Piper’s lips quirked with amusement. “Hey, Greg. Ward.”
Romi gave her a hard stare.
“Piper,” Greg said with a slight nod. He positioned himself against the wall opposite the door.
“The room is clear,” Romi said.
“Heard,” Ward replied.
Della exchanged an exasperated look with Piper. “Am I imagining things, or are they having an entire conversation about me and my life choices using only one-syllable words?”
“Don’t worry about it.” Piper waved her over. “Sound check went smooth. I replaced the bumpy mic. Shouldn’t have any more glitches with it, but if you do, we have another on standby.”
“Oh good.” Della wrapped her arms around Piper and squeezed a little longer than necessary. It felt so good to see a friendly face that she didn’t want to let go. “Sorry I wasn’t here to help. Someone wanted to limit my so-called exposure.”
She flashed a dirty look at Ward, who was giving instructions to a small brute squad clustered around him.
The showrunner, a tiny blonde in black jeans, a black shirt, and a headset, caught sight of Della and her face brightened. “Oh good, you’re here. Three hours, thirty minutes to curtain, you two.”
“Thanks, Fran.” Della glanced at the open door to the dressing room. “Do we get to change without supervision, or is my warden coming with us?”
“I am covering the inside,” Romi said.
“It was a joke,” Della said wryly. “We don’t need a babysitter.”
“She’s not a babysitter,” Piper said with just a touch of defensiveness. “She’s the reason we can relax.”
Romi gestured for Della to go in. “I will not get in the way of your primping.”
“Gee, your consideration is overwhelming.” Was it her imagination or did Romi almost grin at that?
Piper glanced down at her phone. “Go on in. I’ll be right behind you. I just want to answer this post.”
“Okay.” Della hesitated. The last time she’d been in a dressing room there’d been two dozen roses, a crazy letter, and a sudden life change waiting for her.
She knew nothing would be in there now. Romi had declared it clear. She knew from experience that Romi wouldn’t say that if she hadn’t made damn sure it was true. The woman may not like her, but she’d never let her personal feelings get in the way of her job.
Come to think of it, her warden had said something like that. He’d made it sound like he often had to work with people he didn’t like or agree with.
People like her. Celebrities.
She looked at Romi. “You know, your job actually kind of sucks, doesn’t it.”
“No,” Romi said. “It does not. People sometimes do.”
Della glanced at Ward. He caught her looking at him and raised his eyebrows. She looked away. “Sorry if I’ve been one of them.”
Romi gave her a considering look. “Are you standing out here in the hallway for some purpose? You may enter. There is nothing in there that should not be there. I will remain here through the show to ensure there are no surprises.”
“Thanks.” She flashed a small smile at the woman, but she couldn’t seem to make her feet move.
“Della?” Piper put a soft hand on her shoulder.
Della tucked her arm around Piper’s and clung to her. “I swear there’s more security than fans tonight.”
Piper gave her a reassuring squeeze. “I doubt that. But I have to admit it’s getting a little crowded back here.”
They stepped through the doorway and into the dressing room together. Romi followed them in and moved to a corner opposite the door where she could lurk like a guard dog, or a disapproving parent on date night.
Della gave the entire place a casual sweep with her eyes.
Their costume changes were on the rack like always.
The vanities were set up with their makeup kits and hair styling tools.
No roses.
No note.
A little sigh of relief escaped her lips, and the knots in her stomach began to unwind.
“You okay?” Piper asked under her breath.
“Yeah. Let’s do this.” She shut the door behind them, leaving Ward and her nerves on the outside.
Four hours later, Della waited behind the curtain at the steps leading up to the stage for Piper to finish winding up the crowd. The anticipation and excitement that always filled her when she was about to go on had been slow and sluggish to build. She bounced on her tiptoes as the show started to coax her energy level up where it should be.
She was as ready to see her fans as they were to see her, but her body didn’t seem to realize that. She felt…off.
“You know who’s here, right?” Piper asked the crowd in a teasing tone.
“Della! Della! Della!” the audience cried.
Della glanced to her left. Ward watched her from the bottom of the steps, his gaze fixated on her.
That was it, she realized. That was why she was having such a hard time getting into the mood tonight. He was just…there. He radiated disapproval and danger signals. He was a constant reminder of how she’d felt in the dressing room. She hated that he could trigger that feeling with just a glance.
She closed her eyes to shut out that burning stare. She had to give her full attention to the music and her fans, not to the man who was starting to make her feel paranoid.
“You want her, you got her!” Piper shouted. “Everybody say hey to my sister Della!”
The background music kicked up a notch. It was her cue.
Della opened her eyes, slapped on a beaming smile and rushed onto the stage. She waved madly at the people who’d come to see them. “Hello, Los Angeles! How’s it going tonight?”
The music kicked up into the first song. She gathered her breath and launched into the first verse. The audience joined in, and they rode the musical wave together.
Greg guarded the steps to the stage on the right like he always did when she performed. Usually, his head would bob up and down in time to the music while he watched the crowd.
Tonight, his head didn’t move at all.
She glanced to the left.
Ward was still there. Watching.
He wore a dark suit and stood with his feet apart and his arms crossed. If he had on sunglasses, he’d look like every FBI agent she’d seen in the movies.
His gaze followed her wherever she went, and his serious, forbidding expression never wavered. She was on stage in front of thousands of people screaming her name and none of them looked at her with that kind of intensity. It made her feel naked. Exposed.
Self-conscious.
She danced to the far side of the stage and stayed there so long Piper shot her a confused look, then took her by the arm and dragged her back to center.
During their second song, she threw herself into the performance, hyping it up until she was breathless in an attempt to get past the feeling that she was being judged.
Singing to a crowd had never felt this way before. Nerves tumbled in her stomach, disrupting her flow and rhythm.
She blamed Ward. It was hard to look into the faces beaming up at her and not wonder if one of them was the one who’d left the letter in her dressing room.
Piper put her arm around Della’s shoulders during the chorus. Her sister’s expression told her she’d gone a few steps overboard. She dialed it down and refused to look in Ward’s direction for the rest of the song.
She could feel the weight of his stare. It was a tangible thing with tentacles and teeth that latched on to her and refused to let go. She couldn’t get away from it.
What if the stalker was waiting somewhere nearby? What if he was planning something worse than roses and a letter?
What if he was in the crowd?
What if they were right, and she was wrong? What if this guy was a lot more than just a fan?
She lost her breath, the beat, and her words for a half second. Disoriented, she looked to Piper for a cue.
Piper gave her a quizzical look as she took the lead for the last verse.
Della offered her a half smile of apology and shook off the gnawing sense that something bad was waiting. She couldn’t give a good show if she was jumping at shadows.
She missed her mark for the bridge, but picked it back up for the finish.
The crowd roared their appreciation. They hadn’t noticed anything was wrong. She hoped.
Piper gave her shoulders a squeeze. “My sister Della!”
Della waved with both hands. “Thank you! Be good to my sister, y’all! She rocks!”
The crowd chanted, “Piper rocks! Piper rocks!” as Della left the stage.
Ward and Greg escorted her off the stage, rushed her past the dressing room and down the hall. She was in the backseat of a waiting SUV with Ward before she even caught her breath from that last high note. Greg climbed into an identical SUV, and the drivers of the two cars pulled away while the stadium still rocked with Piper’s next set.
Nobody saw her leave.
She snapped her seatbelt into place and fumed.
Her warden hadn’t even let her change clothes. She’d been rushed out of the building like an embarrassing relative. She had a feeling if he could shove her into a box and ship her off to some deserted island, he’d do it just so he wouldn’t have to deal with her.
He was high-handed, arrogant, and way out of line.
No. It was worse than that. He’d thrown her off. He’d spent the past few weeks making her feel small and paranoid, and she’d screwed up the show because of it.
“Dammit.” She smacked the seat next to her with a fist.
Ward raised an eyebrow, but didn’t look at her.
She glared out the window. She could see his profile in the reflection, a ghost that refused to stop haunting her. All of the frustration and pent-up energy she’d been suppressing for the past weeks boiled over and the words spilled out.
“You arrogant, obnoxious asshole! You made me so freaking paranoid that it messed me up. I couldn’t get your damn lectures out of my head. I couldn’t focus. Tonight was the first time that I ever gave a show less than my all, and I hate that feeling. I hate it even more than I hate sitting in that house day after day after day, and you know what? I’m done. I’m done with worrying about this, I’m done with pretending there’s something wrong when there’s not, and I’m done—absolutely, one-hundred-percent done—with you.”
She hadn’t meant to shout, but by the time she’d run out of words, she was pretty sure people in the car next to them could hear her.
Silence roamed the car while the wheels turned and the city zoomed by.
Her warden didn’t say a word. Didn’t even shift in his seat. He was doing his stoic statue impersonation.
She looked over at him. “In case that wasn’t clear, you’re fired.”
He stared straight ahead. “With all due respect, Ms. Bellamy, you’re not my client.”
“I don’t care.” She turned in her seat to give him the full force of her anger. “I don’t give a shit who hired you. I want you out of the house. Tonight. I’m leaving tomorrow and you’re not coming with me. I’m going to see Lizzie, and I don’t care what the hell you do as long as you get away from me.”
Several muscles along the side of Ward’s jaw twitched as if he were clenching and unclenching his teeth. “You realize that’s what he wants, right?” he said in a low tone that shot a chill straight through the heat of her anger. “He wants you to think you’re safe so you let your guard down. Get back to your routine. Make it easy for him to infiltrate your life.”
“Safe?” She barked out a laugh at the absurdity of that statement. “I’ve never felt unsafe on a stage until tonight. You did that. Not him. I couldn’t even hit my marks. All I could think was, ‘What if he’s in the crowd?’”
He met her gaze with a stony glare of his own. “Good. I’m glad you were worried because it was a real risk to be there tonight. All it takes for someone to get to you is determination and skill, and the guy who’s stalking you has both, with a healthy dose of obsession thrown in. There’s no amount of security that can stop someone determined to trade his life for yours. Do you get that? Crazy trumps prepared every single time.”
“I couldn’t do my job!” Tears pushed at the edges of her eyes. “I’m nothing without it.”
He looked as if he were chewing on rocks. She could see words building up, but she could also see that he had no intention of saying them.
“For crying out loud, just spit it out.” She made a rolling gesture with her hand. “What’s the worst that could happen? You’ve already been fired.”
He waited so long to say something that she thought he was going to just ignore her, but finally he took a slow breath and spoke in the low, even tones of suppressed anger. “Your job is what you do. Not who you are. Everyone is much more than what they do. Even you.” He looked away. “And even if you never sang again, your family would very much care if something happened to you.”
She didn’t miss the hitch in his voice when he said the word family. There was pain buried underneath the lecture. She studied the side of his face. The tension had spread from his jaw down to his shoulders, and there was something strained around his eyes.
“Look, maybe…”
Ward suddenly leaned forward to stare out the windshield as the driver pulled up to the guard house at Piper’s gate.
One of Piper’s former security team, a beefy guy named Todd who usually had a ready smile, poked his head out the window and gave a nod. “Just a sec. Power to the gate shorted out. Have to move it by hand.”
The driver looked over his shoulder at Ward. “Should I get out and help?”
“No. Stay with her.” Ward shot her a warning look as he got out of the car. “Stay here. Lock the doors.”
He slammed the door and strode over to Todd with a grim look on his face.
He acted like they were about to be attacked by a swarm of rabid tourists or something. It was silly. That kind of thing never happened in this neighborhood. It was just a malfunctioning gate.
What if’s danced through her head. A chill ran through her.
Della reached over and clicked the door lock.
Greg’s SUV pulled up behind them, blocking the drive from the street. Greg got out and jogged over to Ward and Todd.
The three men huddled in the glow of the headlights.
Todd flicked a wave at the guard house. Ward shook his head and pointed at the pole near the gate. She could pick out Ward’s clipped, intense tones through the closed car windows, but she couldn’t make out the words.
Going by the look on his face, he was angry. No. Frustrated, maybe.
He probably thought the broken gate meant an invasion and he probably blamed Todd for it. It was his job to think in worst-case scenarios, but damn it was exhausting to always be on high alert.
Ward pulled out his phone and typed something, then he and Greg helped Todd push the gate open. He gestured for the driver to keep going while he helped close the gate again after they passed through.
Della watched the gate through the back window as her driver pulled through and headed for the house. “Josh…what was that all about?”
“It’s hinkey.” Josh glanced in the rearview mirror, then sped up a little. “We checked the gate this afternoon and it was fine, and it’s got battery backup, so it shouldn’t matter if the power goes out. I’m sure they’ll look into the why and when of it.”
“It just glitched. No big deal.” She shook her head as if to deny the growing sense of something’s wrong that lurched its way from her stomach to her chest.
“Maybe.” He dropped her off at the door and waited for her to go inside before pulling away.
Just inside the door, the tell-tale scent of pepperoni and cheese beckoned. She found some of the night shift security team standing around three large open boxes of pizza. Della’s mouth watered. “Oh my God, give me a slice. I’m starving.”
“Hey, Della,” one said. She didn’t know his name, but she liked the dimple in his chin and the sparkle in his eyes. He was shorter than the rest, and a little wider, and she bet he’d be a lot of fun when he wasn’t trying to look good for her warden.
Another, a blonde muscled guy she thought went by Brent, or maybe Bob, saluted her with a slice. “Thanks for this, Della. It really made our night.”
“Uh, you’re welcome?” Strange. She hadn’t sent the pizza. Maybe the stage manager had. Or Ward.
No. He’d never do something that nice.
Except that one time he had Annie and Spencer bring you ice cream , a little voice in the back of her head taunted.
The man was full of contradictions. One minute, he was thoughtful and almost kind, the next he was Rambo or that guy from Die Hard and the world was about to end.
It messed with her head. He’d killed the last show of the year for her. There was no excuse for that.
She’d meant what she’d said.
He was fired, and she was going to Lizzie’s. Tomorrow. She’d shoot her manager a text right now to get the plane ready.
She took a piece of pepperoni and a napkin. “Good night, y’all.”
A chorus of “Good night” followed her down the hallway.
Her spirits lifted now that she had a plan. She nibbled the pizza on her way to the bedroom, thinking it through. First, she wanted to spend some quality time with her big sister. Two months, maybe. Until Mattie’s wedding, unless Mattie was serious about moving the wedding until after the baby came. If she was, then maybe she could hop to Piper’s next movie location for a bit first. Was it Greece? Germany? Spain? That was it. Spain. Then she’d go back to the Belhurst when it was close to baby time.
She reached her bedroom and paused. The door was closed.
She frowned at it. She always left it open when she wasn’t in there.
A fresh prickle of unease tickled the back of her neck. First, the broken gate. Now, a closed door.
She snorted an impatient breath. She was getting as paranoid as Ward. There was nothing wrong. The gate was old, and one of the security guys probably shut the door when he checked the room.
The security on this house was so tight it didn’t let a crack of sunlight through. No way anyone could get in here without being spotted.
She pushed the door open and strode in, taking another bite of pizza as she went.
Her gaze instinctively swept the room and snagged on something lying on the bed.
She drifted closer, not sure what she was looking at, until she spotted the rose.
The room blurred around her as she focused on the things that hadn’t been there when she left. Several photos littered the middle of the bed, and a single red rose lay on her pillow next to a white envelope with “Della” scrawled on it in black.
The bit of pizza she’d just eaten sank like a rock in her stomach.
If one of the security guys had done this…
If it was a joke…
She stared at the envelope. It looked just like the one in the dressing room. Same size. Same color.
Her name wasn’t written neatly. It was jumpy and jagged, like someone had been in a hurry.
Or angry.
The slice of pizza hit the floor as goose bumps raced down the back of her neck.
She reached for the photo closest to her. It was a candid shot of her on Scott’s shoulders in the pool. He was looking up at her, and she was laughing.
She remembered that moment. Marshall and his date had just wiped out going for the ball. She could still hear Scott’s rich, deep laugh. He had a warm, friendly smile that lit up his eyes and made her day a little brighter.
She couldn’t see his smile in the photo.
Someone had obliterated it with angry black slashes across his face and hands where they rested on her thighs.
She checked the other photos. One showed Scott standing on the deck. He faced the spot where they’d placed the DJ platform, but she couldn’t totally be sure what he was looking at because most of his body had been scratched away, along with a lot of the background.
Was she in that one?
She studied it. No.
Her gaze traveled over the rest of the photos. She was in some of them, but most placed Scott center stage, and all of them featured black slashes over his face and body.
As if someone had wanted to slice him into pieces or wipe him from existence.
“Sweet Jesus,” she whispered.
Why do this? Why leave a bunch of destroyed pictures of a man she barely knew all over her bed?
Her gaze fixed on the envelope.
The rose lay against it, deep crimson against pale white. It looked fresh and beautiful, and the thorns looked sharp.
Somewhere, a door slammed. She jerked at the sound, but she couldn’t drag her eyes away from the envelope with her name on it.
Slowly, she reached for it.
It wasn’t sealed.
The letter was printed, just like before, in a plain, neat font that was completely at odds with the slashed handwriting on the envelope.
The words on the page turned the chill in her veins from icy to arctic.
Sweet Della,
The flirting thing needs to stop.
I try to be understanding, I really do. I know how lonely you are. You long for me as I long for you and it makes you act out.
I love your free spirit, and women are wired for entertaining. But when I saw your legs wrapped around him…I have to confess it made my blood boil.
The only man who should ever be between your legs is me.
The way he looked at you. The way he touched you.
Fondled you.
It’s disgusting.
Your perfect match stood right there in front of you. We had a connection.
Then he got in the way and dazzled you.
Don’t worry. He’s been dealt with. He won’t disrespect us like that again.
They locked you away. Hid you from me. But they can’t keep my songbird caged forever.
I won’t let them.
I’m everything you need and everything you will ever want. I struggle with your behavior, sweet thing, I really do.
When we’re together, you’ll see.
I am patient. I’m going to provide you with the perfect home. It’s private and beautiful, and it’s all for you.
We’ll spend the rest of our lives there, together.
Not long now.
“Oh God. Oh God.” She slapped a hand over her mouth to stop the hysteria building in the back of her throat, but all it did was turn her chant into a low moan.
She stared at the lines that struck her like slaps to the face.
The way he looked at you.
Fondled you.
He ’ s been dealt with.
He… She glanced at the photos. Scott.
Scott had been dealt with.
She tried to call out a name, but guilt and fear strangled the sound. She pulled in a shaky breath and tried again. This time, her voice came from the diaphragm with all the force of a lifetime of practice projecting to the last row of a crowded stadium.
“ Ward !”