Hot Pursuit (3 page)

Grabbing her guitar case and backpack, she followed Blake inside. As she maneuvered past the bar and approached the small stage, the young man was already at work. Setting down her case and pack, she studied him thoughtfully as he buzzed like a bee, placing her amp exactly where she wanted it and then dragging out the extension cords. For the first time, she realized the guy paid attention to their setup and
knew
what he was doing. An idea began to form, and as her other band members arrived and started to lug in their equipment, Cara eased toward the bar and leaned against it, watching.

“Wish I could hire that kid.”

Cara turned to see Jess, the bar's manager and her boss, studying Blake as the boy moved around efficiently. “Why can't you? He obviously needs work, and he's a good guy from what I can tell.”

“Couple of reasons.” Jess crossed his arms over his broad chest. “First off, pretty boy like him would get eaten alive in this place.”

“Only if he's out front. What about cooking or washing dishes?”

“That'd work if I had an opening in the back, but I don't.” The big man sighed. “The one position I did have, you filled it. I needed a bartender, and Blake didn't have the cash to take the classes and get his license, even if I decided to give him a shot.”

“Damn, that's a shame.”

“Yeah.” He gestured to Blake. “Thing is, I don't know if he'd take the job if I had one to offer. The kid's gonna have to swallow his pride and accept some real help if he plans to get off the street, and me slippin' him a sandwich every day doesn't count.”

She frowned. “Back up. Why do you doubt he'd take a job from you?”

“Blake struggles hard with seeing every kind gesture as a handout. He's skittish, too. Keeps his head down and tries not to attract attention, even though he's hungry for a chance and a connection with people around him. There's this cop who's taken a liking to him, struck up a friendship of sorts, and so far Blake hasn't even let
him
help.”

Suspicion hit her hard in the gut and she found herself bristling. “Who's this cop?”

Jess laughed. “Down, girl. He's not interested like
that
, and he means well. He's a detective—name's Tate or something. Nice guy, on the up-and-up.”

“A cop with a heart of gold? As if.”

“I swear it.”

She gave an unladylike snort. “Right. I'll put that on my list of surprises for the week.”

Just then, Blake came walking up. “Hey, Cara? I finished.”

She gave him a smile. “So you did, and it looks great. You're getting pretty good at the setup.”

Blushing, he ducked the compliment and said shyly, “They're ready for sound check. I can make the adjustments so you guys don't have to stop what you're doing.”

“That's fantastic—thanks.” She nodded at the stage. “If I didn't know better, I'd say you've done this before we met.”

He shrugged his slim shoulders. “Some. I was in a band in high school.”

“Awesome,” Jess put in. “What do you play?”

“Bass. It was fun, but nothing lasts forever, you know.” Almost reluctantly, he glanced at the small stage.

Nobody had to tell Cara the reason his dreams had crashed and burned. Even if she didn't know the whole story, it was clear the young man's support system was nonexistent. Someone, maybe more than one person, had dealt this boy a terrible blow.

But luck could turn on a dime.

“Well, I have a bass player right now,” she began. Blake's face fell and she hurried on. “But what I don't have is a good sound man. Before you started assisting me, it was taking forever to get things set up so we could move on to rehearsal and be ready for the show. I need someone I can count on to make sure we're ready to go and that the show runs smoothly from beginning to end.”

The young man blinked at her, processing. “I— What are you saying?”

“I'm saying I want to hire you for the job.” Blake's mouth fell open and his eyes widened, and she couldn't help but smile. “You've been helping with the setup, but this would entail you staying for the whole evening, manning the sound board, and breaking down the equipment afterward as well. It's more responsibility, but, frankly, I think you're ready.”

“Why me?” he managed. “I mean, it's not because you feel sorry for me? I don't take handouts—if I can help it.” He shot an embarrassed look at Jess, probably thinking of the food the manager sometimes gave him.

Cara shook her head and said firmly, “This is not a handout, Blake. Do I empathize with your situation? Yes, and I won't lie about that. But working for a band is just that—hard
work
. What's more, it's a job I believe you're well qualified to do, when so few are. What do you say? Will you be my sound man?”

The boy opened and closed his mouth, making an effort to keep his composure. “What nights would I work?”

She had him and they both knew it. “We play here two nights a week right now, Wednesday and Friday. We don't normally set up this early, but we're doing an extra rehearsal today. So count on being here around four on those days. We'll do a run-through of the show, then be back onstage at eight. We play several sets with breaks in between, all the way until closing at two a.m.”

“That's a long night.”

“Will the hours be a problem?”

“No, just thinking out loud.”

A light dawned. “You'll need transportation.”

He studied his battered shoes. “I'll be here on time, no matter what.”

“For the time being, I'll pick you up wherever you're staying and drop you off. And you
will
have a real place to stay before tonight is over,” she insisted, cutting off any protest he was about to make. “Nobody who works for me is going to be without a roof over their head, because that'll make me look like a world-class cheapskate and an asshole to boot. You got it?”

A small grin curved Blake's lips. “Yes, ma'am.”

“Aren't you going to ask about your pay?”

“I don't . . .” Taking a deep breath, he squared his shoulders and raised his chin. “What's the offer?”

“Confidence—that's good,” she observed in approval. “You'll need that, working with my band. They're good guys, but they'll ride you at first to see what you're made of. Give it back to them as good as you get and they'll respect you. To start, I'm thinking seventy-five dollars a night.”

The boy hesitated and glanced at Jess, who arched a dark brow. “She's lowballing you, kid. Four in the afternoon to two in the morning is a long-assed day, even with breaks. Don't let her get away with that shit.”

Cara could've kissed Jess for latching onto what she was doing and for playing along. Blake's face scrunched as he thought about the offer.

“If you count eight hours of actual work, that's barely more than nine dollars an hour,” the young man stated.

“That's more than you're making now.”

He met her gaze without backing down. “You pointed out that this job is one not many people are qualified to do. I think I'm worth more.”

She wanted to cheer but forced herself to nod seriously. “You're right. How much, then? Ninety?”

“One h-hundred cash.” His voice was quiet, but he didn't flinch. “Per night.”

“That's a good chunk.” She pretended to consider for a long moment, then stuck out her hand. “Deal. Do I have a new sound man?”

A wide smile spread across Blake's beautiful face as he took her hand. “Yes, you do. And thank you for giving me a chance.”

“I'm happy to have you aboard. Now, why don't you come meet the band officially? They're going to love you.”

As she led Blake over to her guys, she was glad to see they greeted him warmly, even if some of their colorful comments caused the boy to blush. She still had to work out where he would stay, but she'd think of something.

By the time they launched into a cover of Heart's “Barracuda,” Cara was in her zone. Letting the music wash over her and carry her far from her problems was her crack, and it worked.

At least for the moment.

•   •   •

Taylor climbed out of the passenger's side of Shane's new crossover SUV and slammed the door. “Nice ride, man. Comfortable.”

Shane joined him as they walked toward the entrance to the Waterin' Hole. “I can hear a
but
in there.”

He shrugged and suppressed a grin. “No
but
. It's a nice vehicle if you're into that sort of thing.”

“What sort of thing?”

“You know, the
family
thing.”

“You say that like it's a deadly disease.”

“If the colonoscopy fits.”

“A colonoscopy is a
procedure
, not a disease.” Shane snorted. “You're an asshole—you know that?”

“Whatever.”

“Now you sound like Drew,” his friend grouched. “Damn, I need a beer.”

“I think they can handle that request.”

As Taylor pulled open the door, the din of partying and rock music hit him, a solid wall of sound that he always found exciting. Something about music, being around other people out to have a good time, pumped his blood. Always had, ever since he'd reached legal age long ago. Lately, though, despite his ribbing Shane about his new status as a family man with a dorky-looking SUV . . .

Yeah, he was jealous. And lonely. After enjoying a few beers and laughs with the guys, Shane had a gorgeous woman waiting at home.
And I have a cold, empty bed
.

It didn't have to be that way. He could troll the room, pick up a sweet honey for the night. Take her to a motel room and act out their own version of that “ride a cowboy” song. But the problem was always how awkward he felt leaving in the wee hours. Empty, too.

No, tonight he'd sit out that scene. He'd enjoy a few rounds with his buddies and call it a night. He was just about to take a seat next to Shane at their group's table when he spotted a familiar figure to the right of the stage. Nudging his partner, he indicated the young man fiddling with a panel of switches.

“Hey, isn't that Blake?”

Shane squinted. “Yeah, looks like. What's he doing?”

“I'm gonna go find out. Order me a Guinness, will you?”

Without waiting for an answer, he pushed through the crowd toward the Sugarland PD's former police informant. The young man was intent on his task and didn't see Taylor approach.

“Hey, kid!” he called over the canned music blaring over the club's sound system.

Blake's chin jerked up and a broad smile spread across his face. “Detective Kayne. How's it hangin'?” He stood and offered his hand.

Taylor shook it briefly. “Just Taylor, man,” he said, then gestured to the board loaded with various knobs. “Did you score a job with the band?”

“I sure did,” the kid declared proudly. “Can you believe it? Not playing in the band—though that would be awesome—but setting up, doing the sound check. Making sure the sets go all right, and breaking down afterward. Cool, huh?”

The boy's enthusiasm was catching. Taylor clapped him on the shoulder. “It sure is! Congratulations. I knew something was bound to shake loose for you sooner or later.” He was beyond relieved that the boy now had a way to get off the streets. Before he left tonight, he'd make sure Blake had a place to go, whether he wanted to accept help or not.

“Thanks.” He glanced behind Taylor. “You here with your cop friends?”

“For a while. Thought we'd have a couple of beers, take in some music.”

“Dude, you're gonna
love
this band,” Blake said, jerking a thumb behind him in the general direction of the backstage area. “The lead singer is so
hot
and way talented.”

Taylor smiled. The young man was out and gay—the reason he'd been kicked out of his house several years ago. “What does he look like?”

“She,” Blake corrected. “Her name is Cara.”

“Oh? Switching teams already?”

“No! But I'm not blind, man. Cara's the
bomb
.”

Chuckling, he shook his head. The woman must be something to have earned Blake's trust and loyalty—not an easy thing to accomplish. “Well, if she's so incredible, maybe you'll introduce me.”

Blake eyed him, considering. “Maybe, if you're lucky.”

It took him a moment to realize the kid wasn't teasing. “She really must be something.”

“She is.” The house lights dimmed briefly, and Blake straightened. “Showtime in ten. Gotta get back to work.”

“All right. I want to talk to you before I go, though.”

The wariness crept back into Blake's brown gaze, but he nodded. “Sure thing.”

He probably knew that Taylor wanted to make sure he had a place to stay. Taylor had pushed him about the matter every single time they spoke, to the point he worried the young man would up and disappear for good. But he wouldn't stop until he knew for sure Blake was on the path to putting his life together. And the kid couldn't do that while sleeping behind a Dumpster or in an abandoned building.

Taylor rejoined his group, grabbed his Guinness, and took a long draw. “Thanks for the beer. I've got the next round.”

Shane waved him off. “No problem. So, what's up with the kid?”

“Our young friend got himself a job with the band, doing the sound stuff and whatnot.”

“Hey, that's great. Maybe you'll stop worrying so much about him now.”

Shane didn't fool him—his partner was just as concerned about Blake, especially since he now had a teenage son of his own to raise. Kinda brought home how important family was, and how much Blake must be hurting inside.

“Maybe. I'm still going to make sure he has a roof over his head before I leave tonight. Even if he has to come home with me.”