Every Heart Sings (Serenity Island Series) (4 page)

She took a moment to assess the stranger. He could model Calvin Klein underwear. Wow. She got dizzy just thinking about it. Then, she realized she’d been holding her breath, instead of breathing.

Clearly he was a tourist, but not a run-of-the-mill tourist. This guy had money. He wore an expensive Rolex watch and Berluti shoes that went for eighteen-hundred dollars a pair.

Yeah, this guy had money.

Jordan knew what she and Ivy, the island realtor, had discussed as a good asking price for the property based on the condition of the building. One hundred-fifty thousand dollars.

Tony and Grace needed help, plus she could pad her banking account to last her a good long while if she doubled the price. She didn’t want to be too greedy.

What did she have to lose?

She held her breath a moment and made a snap decision.

“Three hundred thousand. Cash.”

Sidewinder whistled behind them. “Girl . . . I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“Quiet, old man,” Jordan barked at him. “And the old man comes with the place. You can’t throw him out.”

The guy smiled. “Deal.” He extended his hand. “I’m Josh, by the way.”

“J.D.”

“You look familiar, do I know you?”

“Nah. I have one of those faces,” she lied.

“Huh.” He shrugged and let it go. “Let me know what bank and name to wire the money to.”

“Seriously? You’re for real? You’re buying the café on the spot.”

“Hell, yeah.” He grinned at her. “I consider it an investment in my future.”

“You haven’t even looked around. You have no clue about the condition of this place. That’s just not a good business decision. There’s a commercial kitchen in back, if you want to keep the café running as a restaurant. There’s a full apartment upstairs. All the plumbing is in order. The roof is good for another ten years.”

“Sounds great. I’ll take it. I’d like to move into the apartment upstairs now if it’s vacant.”

“Ah, yeah. No one lives there. I keep it clean. It comes fully furnished. The furniture is old, but in good shape.”

He walked to the window and pulled down the
For Sale
sign and handed it to her. He punched a number into his cell phone and spoke to someone. “Wire three hundred thousand dollars to the . . .” He looked at Jordan. “What’s the name of your bank?”

“Atlantic Mutual.”

“Yes, wire three hundred large to Atlantic Mutual in Serenity, North Carolina, to . . .” He raised an inquiring eyebrow, waiting for her name.

Jordan studied the floor, jammed her hands in her back pockets, then took a deep breath. What were the chances he’d recognize her name after her being away from Hollywood for over ten years? He looked to be in his early-thirties.

Maybe he’d recognize her name. Maybe not.

But if she didn’t tell him her name, she’d never get a deal like this again.
Shit, shit, shit.
She didn’t know this guy. Didn’t know if she could or should trust him. He could be a player.

“Jordan Drake,” she whispered, rubbing her hands on the bar rag she pulled off of her shoulder.

“Sorry, I didn’t hear you.” He angled his head. “I thought you said Jordan Drake?” Dawning awareness made his eyes go big. “Holy shit. You are Jordan Drake.”

She nodded. “Yeah.” So much for anonymity. She narrowed her eyes at him. “But that’s confidential information.” She pointed a finger at him. “And I swear, if you sell that information to the gossip rags, or bring the paps charging here, I will find a way to eviscerate you. Got it, buddy? Deal or no deal. Your silence and whoever you have on the other end of that telephone line must guarantee that this will not leak out. Got it? It’s my only condition for the sale.”

“Yes, sorry, Joe. Wire the money to Jordan Drake. And that’s confidential information. No one needs to know. No, not even Ben. Got it? I’ll call him with my whereabouts later tonight.”

He disconnected the phone. “Done.” He reached out and shook her hand. His long, strong fingers gripped her palm.

Jordan’s fingers tingled, an electrical pulse surged up her arm. They both looked at their joined hands.

Wow. He’d felt it, too.

She pulled back hastily and braced her hands on her hips. “What are you? A rock star?”

His mouth dropped open and his eyes widened. He blinked. Then he smiled. “Well, yeah, kinda. Hi. Sorry. I didn’t introduce myself properly. I’m Josh Nicodemus, front man for the band Nicodemus.”

Shit, shit, shit.
She couldn’t breathe. Her chest squeezed. Not because she was star-struck. Jordan didn’t get star-struck, not even when she’d met George Clooney or Val Kilmer. No, this was an oh-fuck-what-have-I-done panic attack. She didn’t need this. Didn’t need a celebrity here. In her café. Bringing unwanted attention to Serenity. To her.
Shit, shit, shit.
Everything she’d worked so hard to build could all be ripped away by this one man.

Jordan high-tailed it back to the lunch counter. She wiped the countertop compulsively, not meeting Josh’s eyes. He walked up to the counter, placed his large, sexy hands over hers to stop their movement. “It’s okay. I promise. I’m not here to hurt you. I’m here to write my new album. It does me no good to bring unwanted attention my way, or yours.”

She stared into his eyes so blue she could see the bottom of the Caribbean there. But in those depths, she saw truth. One thing she’d learned over the years was who to trust and who was out for her good. It’s why she’d gotten what was left of her money away from her parents at sixteen, why she’d removed her career from their mismanagement and taken back her life. She’d known. And that kind of knowledge and understanding conditions you to see truth and falsehood. This man told her the truth.

“Okay.” She sighed. “The apartment is yours. I’ll keep a set of the keys until I know the money clears the bank tomorrow. And, if you didn’t know, the police station is just down the block. I’ll be talking to Sherriff Daniels before I head home.”

He grinned at her, his thumb rubbing the back of her hand. “I’d expect nothing less.” He seemed to realize his hands were stroking hers. He pulled them back quickly. “I noticed there aren’t many restaurants on the street. This one and a diner on the corner.”

“Yep. That’s it. The diner covers the overnight and breakfast crowd. We cover lunch and dinner. There’s a bar around the corner, since I don’t actually sell alcohol here. My sober coach would frown on it.”

Josh nodded. “I probably need to keep the café running. I don’t want to put a strain on the locals.” He rubbed his neck. “Do you know a good manager who might be able to run this place for me? I’m not really interested in managing it twenty-four-seven.”

“I could manage the café for you for a while. See how it goes.”

“That’d be nice.” He cleared his throat. Their conversation trailed off—that awkward pause of two people surprised by an immediate chemistry.

Jordan noticed Sidewinder had stopped playing about the time Josh pulled the
For Sale
sign from the window. Now, he closed the cover on the keyboard and stood. He clicked his way toward the door.

“Where are you going, old man?” she asked.

“Gotta hit the pharmacy and the grocery,” he said, all hurried like, his shuffle a smidge quicker than normal.

“Damn you. You’re worse than an old gossiping woman.”

Sidewinder hooted and placed the fedora back on his head before he pulled the door open. “When you got the scoop, you got the scoop. See you tomorrow, J.D. Nice to meet you Nicodemus.” He smiled real big, as pleased as a child with a triple scoop ice cream cone, and pushed through the front door.

Jordan watched him go, then spoke to Josh. “You’ll be lucky if you get a wink of sleep tonight. Make sure you lock the door after me. The old bandicoot will spread news of your arrival and the sale of this place far and wide. In an hour you’ll have every woman, eligible or not, checking you out under the guise of bringing you ‘Welcome to Serenity’ casseroles and every man trying to size you up by finding out what kind of car you own or what kind of Moby-Dick-big-catch fish stories you’ve got to share.”

Josh winced and looked worried for a moment. “Shit. I don’t want trouble. I can’t afford to cause a commotion.”

“Don’t worry. The island folks are good at keeping secrets.”

“Apparently. How long have you lived here?”

“Ten years.”

Josh whistled low. “Damn. That’s NSA kind of control.” His brow cleared and he picked up his duffle bag and his guitar case and headed toward the steps to the apartment. “This way?”

“Yep. Enjoy. I’ll lock up.”

“What time do we open in the morning?”

“Eleven a.m.” She began cleaning the counter again. “Although I start prep work at eight.”

“Great. See you then.”

Jordan watched the sexy rock star climb the stairs and her mouth went dry watching his jeans tighten over his ass and long toned legs.

Damn. How long had it been since she’d dated?

Certainly way too long if she was seriously leering at the backside of a rock star with too much charisma and sex appeal for his own good. She knew the type. Arrogant. Entitled. Maybe a little tortured. Took what they wanted from life and didn’t care who they hurt in the process. She’d been there, done that. No. She didn’t get involved with celebrities, especially not musicians. Not anymore. Never again. She’d put that life way behind her. For good. She was a small-town girl now. That’s all. She lived simple. Enjoyed a slow, happy life.

She’d manage the café for Josh Nicodemus.

But that was it. Absolutely no personal contact.

Nope. Not gonna do it.

If she was so convinced she could keep it platonic with Josh Nicodemus, then why were all her lady parts tingling in anticipation. Shit. Who was she kidding?

Trouble. She was in big trouble, and she stood in it hip deep.

Chapter 3

Studio Setup

Josh couldn’t feel any better about his decision to buy The Down Dog Café than he did when he walked through his new apartment.

The space was open and clean. He liked the old glossy hardwood floors and the fifties style wood trim. The baseboard heating might suck in the winter, but the windows poured lots of light into the space. And light had always been important for Josh’s creativity. The apartment took up the entire top floor of the café, the appliances could use a little updating and the bathroom needed a little tile work, but all in all, the space would do quite nicely for what he had in mind.

A quiet place to call his own. He planned a day or so of R&R to charge his batteries. Then he’d jump in, try to get started on writing music and lyrics for the next new project, the album he wanted to create. Not necessarily the album Ben or the record company wanted. But the album he was contracted to create.

Serenity was perfect. Just what he needed. Remote. Quiet. With a protective village community. He could tell already, he would love it here. And, damn, the moment he’d walked into The Down Dog Café, he’d known he come home.

The old man’s music had captured him. His bluesy, gospel spin on everything from Sinatra to Elvis to Imgaine Dragons. Who the hell did that? No one.

No one transformed the classics to their sound. Mostly, everything was commercialized and branded to death. Rock was rock. It didn’t cross the line, not if an artist was established. Hell. That’s what he wanted. To break out of the mold. Go a little off track, take his fans on an emotional journey they wouldn’t ever forget.

Yeah, he still had commercial rock tunes left churning inside him, but today, this album, he wanted to be different.

He wanted it to be like the old vision he’d had for his career—the one he’d had as a baby artist arriving in L.A.—not the jaded rock star who sang about sex, drugs, and rock-n-roll. No, he wanted to meet people where they were. On main street. His current vision for this new project was to capture the essence of what it meant to be human, not just famous.

Hearing that Luke Alexander was dead had hit Josh hard last night. Rocked him, not in a good way. He’d liked Luke. He’d forgotten all about him, though, he’d been so caught up in his own world—the ascent of his music career.

Josh wanted to locate that kid, help him out however he could. Serenity wasn’t that big. It wouldn’t take him long. He’d find out who’d managed Luke’s career, too, and where the copyright money from his songs was going. He could do that for Tony. That kid and his mother should be reaping the benefits of all of Luke’s hard work, even if he never made it as big as he’d hoped before he died. Josh could help now, though.

First, he’d take inventory of what he had here in his new apartment and what he still needed for the next two months. He’d call Ben to let him know where he was and have him ship some equipment to him—a few of his guitars, since he’d only brought the one he had in the car, some recording and sound equipment, and his computers and processors. He could have it here in two or three days.

He pulled out a small moleskin notebook he carried with him all the time to jot down thoughts, tidbits, and phrases. He never knew where inspiration would come from, but he wasn’t averse to capturing a thought or phrase at stray times. He called it his idea book. The pages were dog-eared. Anyone else would look at his scribbling and wonder what it meant, but he knew. He understood that creativity bloomed from nuggets of life interspersed with to-do lists and shopping lists, all evidence of a life maintained on the run while trying to keep a creative career going.

Too bad too many of the pages were either blank or devoid of the normal living that he usually chronicled in his notebooks. The tour had taken more of a toll than he’d imagined it could. Road tours were part of the business, he understood. But, damn, they could suck the life out of you if you weren’t careful.

He flipped through two dozen pages filled with tiny scrawled handwriting that summed up the experience of his life the past year. Excess. Soul-sapping weariness. Those are the themes that jumped from the page. He gripped the pages, ready to tear them out. Then he stopped. No. He didn’t have to like who he’d become, but that didn’t change the experience.

He needed to keep it. Use it if he could. Or move on.

Instead of throwing out the notes he’d made, he folded over a new page, providing a division between the old entries—life on tour—and the fresh blank pages which would be filled by the new days ahead here in Serenity.

For the first time in a year, he felt hopeful. A quiet anticipation hummed through his body. Totally unlike the high-octane energy he experienced before a big concert, this expectation seemed real. Muted, but genuine. Not artificial or fake or hyped. Not about a show. But about who he really was or who he wanted to be. His whole body vibrated with an unrealized potential. Possibility.

He didn’t know if he could survive for two full months here on this island. He was a pretty extroverted guy who drew energy from his performances, the time he spent with people and in crowds. So he might go stir-crazy after a week or so. But owning the café should help.

He’d asked on the mainland about the hot spots on the island. The Down Dog Café was the heart and soul of Serenity. Apparently, it always had been, even before the sexy former child actress Jordan Drake owned it.

The guy on the mainland hadn’t mentioned she owned the cafe.

How the hell did they keep that information secret? That’s what he wanted to know. It was an almost impossible feat in this information-crazed age.

He jotted down a few words from his encounter with the café owner. She’d been a party girl in the nineties. The Miley Cyrus or Drew Barrymore of her age. But, clearly, the stories were either overblown, or she’d done a lot of unplugging to get herself back on track, because she looked good, healthy. She looked like she lived slow here on Serenity.

Pausing, he let the grown-up image of Jordan Drake take over his imagination. She was tall for a woman. Maybe five-eight. She came to his chin. But, God, if she wasn’t a sweet package. All curves and long golden limbs. She’d worn simple cut-off jean shorts and a UCLA T-shirt that hugged her form. That image of her alone could fuel his thoughts for hours, with her natural beauty and sex appeal. Her golden blond hair hung past her shoulders and was sun-streaked. Her hazel eyes, while wise and guarded, had been clear and smart.

Hell, yeah, he’d like to get to know Jordan Drake a little better. There was potential there. And certainly there’d been a spark of awareness between them. He was open to it—maybe he could finally have a real relationship or friendship with a woman that led to something more than a one-night stand.

When had that happened in the past ten years?

Not often. Not since his music career had taken off.

However, she’d seemed keyed up about his presence when she’d found out he was a rock star. Although she’d stood up to him and he’d been afraid at one point she might follow-up on her threat—and he believed she still would—if he brought a media frenzy down on this place. But he didn’t want that, wasn’t interested in disturbing the peace he hoped to find here.

No. He wanted to absorb it, let it take hold of his soul, see how it changed him. Because he didn’t doubt for a moment that that woman, and this place, would change him. It had already started its magic, the moment he’d stepped on the island and through the front door of The Down Dog Café.

Josh spied a small spiral staircase in the kitchen that led to what looked like it might be a deck on the roof. He followed it and pushed open the door to a rooftop. A table with an umbrella and chairs sat near the door and a low brick wall that led to what clearly had been a chimney once. Now it was a bump out that included the door and stairwell to the apartment.

He turned in a slow circle and sucked in a breath.

He could see for miles up here. The whole island. The ocean to the east and the mainland to the west a few miles beyond the Intercoastal Waterway. It was beautiful. The water sparkled, diamonds dancing in the sun. He lowered the sunglasses from the top of his head to cut the glare.

His phone rang. He looked at the caller ID. Ben.

Time to face the music. He answered. “Hey, Ben.”

“Where the hell did you get to last night?” Ben jumped right into the conversation, just like he always did. No preamble, no greeting. No touchy-feely.

Straight business all the time.

“Good to hear from you too, Ben.” Josh laughed. “I decided it was time for me to get away from the noise. I stayed in the bus last night. Wanted to find somewhere quiet for the next month or so. Get serious about writing the new project. Keep you and Howard happy.”

“Great. Good. Glad to hear it. About time. So where are you? I’ll send the publicist to manage your appearances, and I’ll come meet you, give you a hand. Get you situated. Take care of whatever you need while you write.”

Josh blew out a breath and sat down in one of the wrought iron chairs. No. This was for him. Serenity was his. He didn’t want Ben invading it with his uptight energy and his subtle passive-aggressive manipulations. Besides, Ben wanted a different album than Josh wanted. If he came now, they’d only fight about it the whole time. No. He needed a pure experience. Time to write the music he wanted to write.

“No. I’m good for now. Give me a few weeks to work on this. Get the project started. Then I’ll let you know where I am.” Josh propped his feet on the white deck railing. Wind snapped around him.

“You sound like you’re in a wind tunnel.”

Josh laughed. “No, but I’m outside. It’s a beautiful day.” Ben counted on Josh spilling his location. Not a chance. “Hey, but there are a few things I need sent to me so I can work.”

“Sure, buddy. Just let me know what and where to send it.” Ben sounded laid back, only too happy to accommodate him. Yeah. Josh wasn’t buying it. He’d find out where he was so he could show up with the stuff he needed. No thanks. “We’re hitting the road tomorrow. Heading the buses back to L.A.”

“I’ll e-mail you the list of items I need later today. And I’ll let you know where to ship them.”

“Great, great,” Ben said. Josh heard him talking to someone else in the background. “Okay, I need to run, Josh. I’ll talk to you more later. Good luck, buddy.”

“Hey . . . I got one more question for you, Ben.”

“Shoot.”

“You got industry contacts. Do me a favor, would you?”

“Sure, anything for you, my man.”

“Check into who repped Luke Alexander.”

Silence greeted him.

Josh looked at the phone screen. Nope still connected. “You still there?”

“Yeah, sorry, got another call.”

“Will you look into it for me?”

“I’ll see what I can find, but, Josh, you need to focus on your own career. Write that album. That’s your main concern right now. Not some dead rocker who never made it big.”

“Dammit, Ben. Just dig around for me, okay? Stop mothering me.”

“Telling you like it is, buddy. Straight up. You don’t deliver this album by the end of August, your career with Capital Records is done.”

Josh sucked in a deep, calming breath. “I know. Don’t worry. I got this.”

“Make sure you do.”

Josh didn’t respond. No point in fighting this battle over the phone. Ben would have an album by the end of summer.

“Thanks, Ben. I’ll send the list.”

“You do that.” Ben signed off with as little chit-chat as he’d started the conversation.

Abrupt as usual.

While Ben had sounded amenable to the suggestion that he not show up, Josh had no doubt that Ben would try to find out where he was and he’d just show up to control the situation and try to manage Josh the way he thought best. Not always the way Josh wanted to be managed. However, this time he didn’t plan on giving in to his manager. Ben had done right by him. He liked Ben. He was a good guy. But, lately, he’d begun to grate on Josh. Wear thin. So a little distance wouldn’t hurt for a few weeks.

Josh made a few more calls. He arranged for Ben to pull the items he needed from the equipment buses and his personal bus and drop the items at a warehouse in Charlotte. A shipping company would pick up the load in Charlotte and deliver it to Raleigh. Then another company would pick it up in Raleigh and bring it to Wilmington, where Josh had arranged for a small local company to bring it across to Serenity via the toll bridge access on the north side of the island. He’d given clear instructions. Each company would be paid well if the shipping manifest and delivery location remained confidential.

He hated feeling like he was hiding the bread trail, but he knew Ben. The man was relentless when he wanted something. And obviously he wanted to find out where Josh was hiding to write the next album.

No deal.

Josh lifted his face to the late afternoon sun. The ocean breeze caressed his cheeks and his chin, playing with his hair. He had no one to tell him what to do. Nowhere he had to be. He sank into the quiet. Solitude filtered through him and took its own inventory of his weariness, then she settled in for a longer stay than his occasional flirtation with her over the last year.

He stood at a crossroads.

The next two months would be life changing.

He welcomed it. Embraced it.

Life was good. It didn’t get any better than this. He closed his eyes.

“Yoo-hoo. Hello!” a woman’s voice reached Josh, jarring him awake.

He blinked. Rubbed sleep from his eyes. The sun was low on the horizon. Maybe an hour or two had passed since he’d come up on the top deck of The Down Dog Café, his new home for the next couple of months.

“Over here.” The voice came from his left.

Josh turned his head to see a pretty woman, maybe ten or fifteen years older than him, holding a cocktail glass and hanging precariously over the railing of rooftop patio on the next building over. He offered a smile and lifted his hand in acknowledgement, but he didn’t move. “Hi.”

“Well, howdy-doo. Aren’t you a cutie?” the woman said. She had a great figure and obviously knew it. Her breasts strained against a light blue off-the-shoulder top that left nothing to the imagination. And low-slung jeans hugged her hips. “I’m Audrey, and just who are you?”