Chapter 1 #2
"Text if you need anything." He smiled, but his expression showed concern. Then he said, "I enjoyed hanging out with you. May I give you a call?"
Genevieve had no objection. She wondered if he was going to call for a date or because he was worried about her. He was so polite, yet so damn sexy.
*****
Genevieve sprawled on her sofa, clutching the postcard from Brooke. The image showed a pristine beach with azure waters. Wish you were here! Brooke wrote. Gabriel and I are having the time of our lives. The resort is gorgeous, and the food is divine.
Genevieve smiled and propped the card on her coffee table. She doubted that a trip to the Bahamas was in her own future, but she could enjoy looking at it. At least one of them had found happiness.
She glanced at her phone again, but there were no messages. A week had passed since the wedding and Abe had asked for her number, yet still no call. It was best not to think about him, but that wasn't easy.
She had a performance that night and needed to focus. Her phone buzzed. It was Cadie, the piano player in her band—but more importantly, her best friend. "Are we still on for coffee before tonight's gig?"
"I wouldn't miss it. See you at Café Noir in an hour."
Genevieve dressed quickly in black jeans and a fitted top. She grabbed a light jacket, since it was cool in the evenings.
Genevieve arrived to find that Cadie had already claimed their usual corner table, her fingers tapping rapidly on her phone.
"Do you have a hot date later?" Genevieve slid into the chair opposite her friend.
Cadie looked up with a grin. "Working on it. This guy from the music shop is tall and has dreamy eyes. And he plays bass." She set her phone down. "But enough about my love life. How are you holding up after the wedding?"
"Fine. The band's booked solid for the next two months." Genevieve stirred her latte, avoiding Cadie's eyes.
"I wasn't asking about work." Cadie leaned forward. "That cop who rescued you, what was his name?"
"Abe Stewart."
"Abe," Cadie repeated, drawing out the syllable. "Did he call?"
"No." Genevieve shrugged with feigned indifference. "He was just doing his job."
"No officer's job description includes watching over someone all night in their patrol car." Cadie's eyes sparkled. "That was special treatment."
"Maybe." Genevieve traced the rim of her cup. "It doesn't matter. I can't keep finding myself in situations where I need rescuing."
"But you want to see him again."
It wasn't a question. Genevieve nodded reluctantly.
Cadie smiled. "Then call him."
"And say what? 'Hey, remember that scary guy that brought me the dead bouquet of roses? Wanna to grab dinner sometime?'" Genevieve shook her head. "That's not exactly romantic."
"Neither is pining over your phone." Cadie checked her watch. "We should head to the club. You need time to warm up."
The House of Blues was a restaurant and bar with a small stage. But the size of the stage didn't diminish its importance. The venue was popular and sought after by performers.
Genevieve peeked around the corner, scanning the audience. She hadn't realized how much she'd hoped Abe might show up but wasn't surprised that he hadn't.
"Five minutes," the stage manager said. Genevieve pulled back and closed her eyes to focus. For the next hour, there would be no Jason, no Abe, no complications—just her band and the music.
The spotlight hit her as she walked on stage to a roar of applause. Smiling, she adjusted the microphone. "Good evening," she said. "Let's start with something new tonight." She nodded toward Cadie at the piano and the band found the opening chords.
Genevieve's voice filled the room. Each song flowed into the next, and the audience responded with growing enthusiasm. By the end of the set, she was riding high on their energy. Taking her final bow, she scanned the crowd one last time.
She stiffened. Jason Thornton stood at the bar, his intense stare fixed on her. He wasn't applauding, just watching.
His unexpected presence sent a flash of panic through her.
She forced a smile and exited the stage, keeping her movements casual. Mickey, the drummer, approached as she reached the backstage area. "Great set tonight."
"Thanks," she said, trying to keep her voice steady. "Can you stay and talk for a few minutes? I need to send a text."
"Sure thing."
She turned away from the entrance, fingers trembling as she pulled out her phone. Mickey chatted about the night's performance, but his words barely registered.
She typed quickly: Jason's here at the club. Feels threatening.
Abe's response came quickly: On my way. Stay with someone. Don't leave.
Relief washed over her. She continued her conversation with Mickey, laughing a bit too loudly at his jokes, while keeping an eye on the backstage entrance.
"I think we really killed it with that new arrangement," Mickey said, then she spotted movement. Jason appeared, his lean figure silhouetted against the dim light. The other band members had scattered, leaving only Mickey beside her.
"Excuse me," Jason said to the drummer. "I'd like a word with Genevieve, alone ."
Mickey glanced at her uncertainly.
"He was just leaving," Jason said, "weren't you?"
"Actually—"
"It's okay," Genevieve interrupted. "I'll catch up with you later."
Mickey nodded and walked away, shooting a concerned look over his shoulder.
Jason stepped closer. "Beautiful performance tonight. You've improved since our days together."
"What do you want, Jason?" She kept her voice calm, though she felt a bit dizzy.
"I'm just reconnecting with an old friend." He smirked. "I've been following your career. You've done well for yourself."
"We're not friends."
His smile vanished. "No? I gave you your start, Genevieve. Without me, you'd still be singing in dive bars."
"I worked for every bit of success I have." She took a step away. "Please leave."
Jason leaned closer. "You're still as ungrateful as ever. But I'm warning you—"
"Warning about what?" She stood her ground, refusing to show fear.
"Success can be… fragile ." He reached toward her face. "So can other things."
"I wouldn't do that if I were you." The deep voice came from the entrance. Abe stood in the doorway, his posture commanding. He held his badge up, and said with authority, “Detective Stewart.”
Jason's hand froze in midair. He turned slowly, his face changing into a mask of innocence. "Officer," he said in an arrogant tone, "I don't think you know who you're dealing with."
"Wrong," Abe said. "I don't think you know."
Jason sauntered closer and leaned toward Abe. "You're just a cop. You mean nothing."
Abe didn't flinch. "We'll see about that."
Jason turned to Genevieve. "We're not done here." With that, he brushed past Abe and disappeared into the club.
Abe watched him go, then turned to Genevieve. "Are you okay?"
"Better since you arrived," she said, feeling shaky.
"Let's get off this stage." Abe gently guided her to the small dressing room and closed the door. "Tell me what happened."
Genevieve sank into a chair. "He showed up, talking about how fragile success can be, and making veiled threats."
"Has he done anything else since the wedding?"
"No, but to appear twice in little more than a week after years of nothing?" She shook her head. "It's unsettling."
Abe's expression was serious. "I have my eyes on that guy."
"His behavior is unacceptable," she said. "I think I need to take steps to ensure I'm protected."
"I'm here to do that," Abe said without hesitation.
"But what about your work?" Genevieve said.
"Don't worry about that. I can take a few days off, at least until I'm sure what that guy is up to." His voice softened. "No one's going to hurt you, Genevieve, not while I'm around."
She didn't argue. "Rescuing me from danger is becoming a habit."