Chapter 5
COLLIN
When Joe returns, meeting us back stage, Kat shows us around and explains what’s going to happen—wardrobe and make-up, sound checks, warm-ups as the audience arrives. Two men from Fenway Park security show up as we’re checking Kat’s dressing room.
“Let’s talk in the catering room,” Kat says as she leads us there.
The Chief Security Officer takes charge. “This your first time doing security at a concert?”
“No.” Joe says.
I give him my unfriendly smile, a baring of teeth that reads more like a growl. “We’ve covered political rallies and large weddings, Big crowds, different locations.”
He nods and when he looks like he’s going to respond, Kat puts a hand on his arm to stop him.
Dag gets his attention, or rather she retains his attention which has been intermittent since he laid eyes on her. “We assume you’re watching all the entrances and exits and checking for weapons?”
“No one’s bringing anything in that could be used as a weapon, not even a hair pin. We’re also stationing people in the crowd. We’ve doubled our security detail at the request of Fenway management.”
I glance Kat’s way and she smiles with extra amusement in the crinkles at the corners of her eyes. I find myself smiling back. Even beyond my admiration for her talent and her smart career, I find I like her in person more than I expected.
Joe hands him a stack of folders from his brief case. “We have a profile of the likely threat. Male, nineteen to twenty-nine, likely dressed to blend in back stage. Sneaky. He may even have a lanyard with an ID so make sure you check them closely. Let everyone know what to keep a watch for.”
“We’ll have people stationed at all possible entrances to the stage area.”
Kat shows us around the stage and the places where she’ll be performing. She plans to comes down from the stage onto the field and dance around among the audience, but a hard no jerks my head back and forth.
“No.” I ignore Dag’s arched brow.
“I agree,” Joe says.
“It’ll be safe. You’ll be with me.” Kat’s looking directly at me.
Joe says, “Even if Collin follows you—”
“It’s no different than being on stage with me, is it?” She asks me. Her eyes are innocent and I’m convinced it’s a genuine question.
“We’re not—”
“Yes, we are,” Joe says quietly. “We’ll be on stage with Kat’s Kittens for the entire concert. Where they go, we go.”
Dag interjects, “Kat, you may not realize this, but when you move through a crowd of people it tends to increase the potential success of a random attack due to the closeness and the relative difficulty of spotting weapons—”
“Right.” She smiles at Dag and touches her arm. “Thank you.” She looks Dag up and down and adds, “You’d make a great Kitten. Do you play any instruments?”
Dag laughs and the sound is like a shot to my gut, striking me where my deepest emotions live, buried under everything I can heap on them, exposing them like a new wound. Shit. It’s like I have PTSD from losing her. From leaving her behind when she asked me to stay.
Like PTSD episodes, I need to remember that was then and this is now and everything is different. I’m safe now.
Except I feel far from safe. I feel more like a walking target and she has a packet full of ammo.
The noise level rises as the crowd starts arriving. Energy charges the air in palpable waves as the band and Kitten dancers warm up.
Joe and I are handed guitars by the sound manager who assures us they aren’t connected to the soundboard. Dag is handed a tambourine.
“Perfect. How did you know I have rhythm?” she says, playing her role, I assume.
The man gives her a quizzical look. “Kat said you were a backup singer and could handle a tambourine.”
“Right. Speaking of Kat.” She glances over to where Kat is talking with her lead guitarist and marches over.
One of the Kittens says, “It’s nice to have a couple of tom-cats joining us for the night.” She winks at Joe and I snort a laugh.
The kitten says, “Kat told us you won a local competition. Congrats. I was surprised because I never heard about the promo but her agent set it up I guess. Brooks is the bomb.”
“Your band is close?” Joe asks.
The kitten practically purrs her response to Joe and I take my guitar to join Kat where she’s standing at her mic for a sound check. Dag is right there with her.
“Collin,” she smiles and puts a hand on my arm. I notice she likes to touch people to make a connection and it works, feels nice.
Dag notices the easy touch and flashes her eyes at me in speculation.
“Do you sing at all?” Kat asks.
I lean in, partly to make sure she hears me, and partly to test Dag and maybe myself too.
“How’s this?” I sing the first few lines of her recent hit song, Telling the Truth. Then I step back to see her startled and pleased expression.
“Oh my God. You’re great. I’m going to make your mic live, you devil.” She turns to Kat. “You were so right. Thanks for the tip.”
“You told her about my stint with the boys choir when I was in grade school?”
“What? No, I didn’t know about that one,” Dag says, folding her arms in front of her. I knew she didn’t. I know she’s heard me sing, but only once before, a very long time ago. In another world, another place too far in the past to let it interfere with the here and now.
“That sounds like a fun story that you have to tell me later,” Kat says, taking my arm and wrapping hers around it.
I smile at her, but don’t commit to anything happening later. It’s not a good idea to take a flirtation with the client too far.
Glancing at Dag, I’m surprised to see her on the edge of frowning.
“Let me show you your places,” Kat says. “We’ll do some warming up now and then it’s showtime.” Her energy is palpable now, like she’s turned on the entertainer switch and got a surge that puts an extra bounce in her step and an extra vibration in her voice.
The crowd buzz grows as we warm up, or look like we are and I survey the surroundings in a constant loop of awareness, even when the lights go down and Kat takes the mic center stage with the spotlight on her to start the concert.
The crowd roars and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel the rush.
In fact the only way to remain vigilant is to keep my eyes off her and keep them on our surroundings.
We play along for two sets and Kat remains on stage.
It’s almost fully dark by the time the stadium lights go on as she takes her final bow.
The stage hands come on to help pack up all the equipment.
I stay with Kat, wary of the stage hands because every one of them looks like a potential suspect and more than one of them drools when they look at her.
She carries her guitar down the stairs at the back of the stage into relative privacy and heads to a make-shift dressing room. I stop at the door.
She laughs. “Come on in. I won’t be changing.” She looks down at herself. “I think I’m dressed right to go out for dinner? Except for the boots.” She sits and starts pulling them off, but struggles.
“Want some help?” It’s the natural thing to say. She smiles as if I’ve offered to help her with more than boots.
“That would be great.”
I kneel on the floor in front of where she sits when I look up at the knock on the door.
Dagmar comes in and finds me with my hand on Kat’s leg. She stops but doesn’t turn away or leave.
Her expression is a storm of emotions. Her brow furrowed and her mouth flat.
“I can take over from here,” she says.
Kat laughs. “It’s not what it looks like. I’m only changing my shoes. We should all go out for dinner.”
Dag gives me a nod, and I recognize the fiery flash in her eyes, but we’re not together, so what the hell is she jealous about? She doesn’t stick around, giving a curt nod before turning to go back into the hallway. She doesn’t close the door.
“I hope she’s not upset. Is there something—”
“No, nothing like that.”
Still kneeling in front of Kat, I pull her boots off and she sighs gratefully and pulls on some sneakers. She extends her hand when she’s finished, as if she’s too exhausted to stand, so I hold on and help her up.
“You’re pretty tired.”
“How’d you guess?” Her smile is soft, but I if I’m not mistaken, there may be a flirtatious note.
“Instead of going out to dinner, how about if we go back to Holy Trinity Security to relax and eat? I say. “Your band and the Kittens are welcome, and of course your manager and Brody too.”
She laughs. “You’re a hockey fan, aren’t you?”
I nod. “Seriously it would be fun. We have lots of space, a pool table and an amazing view of the Boston skyline and harbor.”
“Sounds romantic.” She smiles, fully aware she’s flirting now, and even if I’m not sure what to do with that, I reciprocate with a smile to be polite.
“How can a girl say no to that?”
Joe shows up in the door behind us. “We ready to go? The quicker we can get out of here, the better.”
“I’ll second that,” Kat says as she winks at me.
“We’re right behind you,” I say as Joe pauses to swivel his head, taking in everyone, same way I do.
“I’m so relieved it’s over. All in all I enjoyed my extra security detail,” Kat says. “You’ve all been wonderful, making me feel very safe.” She squeezes my arm. “Especially you. How could a girl not feel protected by all these muscles?” She laughs.
Her laugh distracts me as I survey the hall leading to the open back stage area and the exit. But Joe and Dag are ahead of us and I keep Kat close as we move forward.
A man wearing a cap low over his long stringy hair and wearing a plastic tag identifying him as a stagehand pulls a deck cart loaded with speakers.
I scrutinize him closely. He’s carrying a multi-tool, crescent wrench, gaffer tape, and a flashlight on him, visible in his pockets, but when he turns, I see something else under the loose button-down shirt he wears over his t-shirt. A utility knife in his pocket.
He lets go of the cart when Kat comes through the door behind me. The man moves in our direction.
“Kat, can I have an autograph?”
She automatically turns, smiling, but I hold onto her arm to stop her from approaching him.
the man. While I’m examining every inch of him, taking in the details, she pulls away.
He takes off his gloves and I notice the tattoo on the back of his hand.
Immediately, I recognize the symbol from a Satan blood cult and surge toward him and Kat.
As if in slow motion, I watch as he picks up a program from the cart to hand to Kat, and as she’s reaching for it. When his other hand moves in the direction of his pocket, I see the knife there glinting and ready.
“Kat,” I yell and lunge forward, but she’s out of reach.
Instead Dagmar jumps between the stagehand and Kat as he pulls his knife. He slashes down and Dagmar tries to out of his way to defend herself, simultaneously kicking his knees to throw him off balance. The knife catches her as she pulls Kat free from his grip
I’m on the man, turning him face down with my knee planted in his back before either of us expels another breath. Joe joins me with plastic cuffs and plants his foot next to mine.
Kat is screaming, “Someone help her she’s bleeding.”
I scramble to Kat and Dag. “Call 911,” I say to Joe without removing my eyes from Dag and the pool of blood spilling from her side, under her right arm. There’s blood on her face where she’s been nicked above her left temple. I pull a cloth from my pocket and hold it there.
“What should I do?” Kat’s voice is shaky, but she appears lucid.
“Get the first aid kit and find someone who can give emergency care while we wait for the ambulance.”
I could do it, but I need to stem the flow of blood and rip off my shirt to wad it up and hold it against her side.
“How are you, Dag?”
“Dizzy. Fading…”
“Stay with me. I know you hate the sight of blood, so close your eyes.”
She does and I see a tiny lift of the corners of her mouth while all hell is breaking loose around us, Fenway security finally kicking in and clearing the place out.
“Kat!”
I look up to find her manager careening our way, sliding to the floor next to her client and hugging her hard. Brody Holden is one step behind and crouches down, taking in the situation while I clamp down on Dag’s stab wound.
“You need anything?” he says. “Besides an ambulance?”
I smile. “I got it.”
One of the security guards rushes over with a first aid kit finally and Kat insists on ministering to the wound on Dag’s forehead.
“I know what I’m doing,” she says. Her hands are shaky, but I watch her and she’s right.
The sound of the sirens are loud and it doesn’t take long before a gurney rolls in and Dag is lifted onto it and whisked away into the back of the ambulance.
I go with her after a brief tussle with Joe and Kat.
Holding her hand as I listen to the beeping and the talk of the attendants back and forth with the emergency room, I focus in on their description of her, young female in excellent health.
They must not notice the other scars she has scattered on her body and I wonder if she has any new ones. I tried to keep track of her over the last twelve years, but her unit wasn’t exactly an open book about their doings or their personnel.
My adrenaline rush is slowing but my heart rate is not as deep-seated fear takes place of the need to act. My hands squeeze together and I stare at her as the attendant backs up, having hooked her up to a sack of blood and an IV filled with who knows what. Pain meds, antibiotics, fluids…
Her fingers on her left hand move and her head turns in my direction. “Joe?”
“Collin,” I say with emphasis. Without waiting for an invitation, I take her hand and squeeze gently. It’s the one last little thing I can do before I give her over to the doctors as we pull into the emergency bay and screech to a halt.