Natural Born Charmer (15 page)

“I don’t think I have enough time for that.”

Blue squeezed her arm and drew four different dogs. As Riley started to paint, Blue grabbed some clothes upstairs and took them out to the caravan. On her way back inside, she stopped in the dining room and gazed at the four blank walls. She imagined them covered with dreamy landscape murals, the kind of work her art professors had so tactfully criticized her for painting.

“A bit derivative, don’t you think, Blue?”

“You need to start stretching yourself. Pushing the boundaries.”

“
I’m sure an interior decorator would love what you’ve done,”
her only female professor had said, more bluntly.
“But sofa paintings don’t make good art. This isn’t a real statement. It’s sentimental claptrap, an insecure girl looking for a romanticized world to hide in.”

Her words made Blue feel as though she’d been stripped naked. She’d given up her dreamy landscapes and begun producing bold mixed-media pieces using motor oil and Plexiglas, latex and broken beer bottles, hot wax and even her own hair. Her professors were delighted, but Blue knew the work was phony, and she left school at the beginning of her junior year.

Now the blank dining room walls wanted to lure her back to those dreamy places where life was simple, where people stayed in place, where only good things happened, and where she would finally feel safe. Disgusted with herself, she went outside to sit on the porch steps and watch the sunset. Maybe painting kids’ portraits didn’t inspire her, but she was good at it, and she could have built up a respectable business in any of the cities where she’d lived. She never did, though. Sooner or later, she started feeling panicky, and she knew the time had come to move.

The porch post felt warm against her cheek. The sun reminded her of a shimmering copper globe hanging low over the hills. She thought about Dean and their kiss. If the timing were different…If she had a job, an apartment, money in the bank…If he were more ordinary…But none of that was true, and she’d spent too many
years living at the mercy of others to put herself any further under his control. As long as she resisted, she had power. If she gave in, she’d have nothing.

The noise of an engine intruded on her thoughts. Shielding her eyes, she saw two cars approaching down the lane. Neither of them was Dean’s Vanquish.

Two SUVs with tinted windows pulled
up in front of the farmhouse. The back door of the lead vehicle opened, and a man dressed entirely in black stepped out.

His shaggy dark hair was threaded with gray, his weather-beaten face creased from too many long nights riding the glory trail. As he moved away from the car, his gunslinger’s arms hung loosely at his sides ready to draw—not a six-shooter—but the blazing Fender Custom Telecaster he’d used to conquer the world. If Blue hadn’t already been sitting, her knees would have buckled. As it was, she couldn’t squeeze a single particle of air into her lungs.

Jack Patriot.

Car doors began to open behind him, and men in sunglasses spilled out, along with a long-haired woman carrying a designer purse and a water bottle. They stayed by the cars. His boot heels hit the brick walk, and Blue turned into every screaming fan who’d knotted her fingers through a chain-link fence, pressed her body against a police barricade, chased a stretch limo, or stood vigil outside a five-star hotel praying for a glimpse of her rock idol. Except, instead of screaming, she couldn’t make a sound.

He stopped less than eight feet away. Small silver skulls adorned his earlobes. Beneath the cuff of his black, open-neck shirt, she saw a leather bracelet with a beaten silver sleeve. He nodded. “I’m looking for Riley.”

Ohmygod!
Jack Patriot was standing right in front of her. Jack Patriot was talking to her! She scrambled to her feet. She wheezed for air, choked on nothing, and started to cough. He waited patiently, the silver skulls turning to rust in the sunset. Her eyes began to tear. She pressed her fingers to her throat, trying to clear the air passage.

Rock star legends understood overwrought females, and he took in the house while he waited. She balled her hand into a fist and struck her chest. He finally spoke again in the familiar smoke-and-gravel voice that still held remnants of his native North Dakota. “Could you get Riley for me?”

As she struggled to pull herself together, the front door opened, and Riley came out. “Hi,” she muttered.

Only his lips moved. “What’s this all about?”

Riley gazed toward the silent entourage gathered around the SUV. “I dunno.”

He tugged on his earlobe, the silver skull disappearing between his fingers. “Do you have any idea how worried everybody’s been?”

Her head came up slightly. “Who?”

“Everybody. Me.”

She studied the toes of her sneakers. She wasn’t buying it.

“Who else is here?” he asked, scanning the house.

“Nobody. Dean drove away, and April went to her cottage.”

“April…” He spoke her name as if he were conjuring up a nottoo-pleasant memory. “Get your things together. We’re leaving.”

“I don’t want to go.”

“I’m sorry about that,” he said flatly.

“I left my jacket at the cottage.”

“Go get it then.”

“I can’t. It’s dark. I’m too scared.”

He hesitated, then rubbed his hand over his jaw. “Where’s this cottage?”

Riley told him about the path through the woods. He turned to Blue. “Can I drive there?”

Yes, you sure can. Take the lane back toward the highway, but just before you get there, you’ll see a road going off to your left. It’s not much more than a track, really, and easy to overlook, so keep your eyes peeled.
But none of that came out of her mouth, and he looked back at Riley, who shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess.”

Blue had to say something. Anything. But she couldn’t adjust to having the man she’d had a crush on since she was ten years old standing in front of her. Later, she would ponder the fact that he hadn’t kissed or hugged his daughter, but for now, she focused on willing her mouth to open.

It was too late. He’d signaled both Riley and his entourage to stay where they were and headed toward the path his daughter had pointed out. Blue waited until he disappeared, then slumped down on the top step. “I’m an idiot.”

Riley sat down next to her. “Don’t worry. He’s used to it.”

As dusk settled in, April finished her last phone call, slipped her cell into the beaded pocket of her jeans, and wandered down to the edge of the pond. She loved it here at night, the soothing lap of water, the throaty croak of a frog striking a bass note against a cricket chorus. The pond smelled different at night, musky and fecund, like something feral.

“Hello, April.”

She spun around.

The man who’d shattered her world stood in front of her.

It had been three decades since she’d seen him in person, but even in the dusky light, every feature in that angular, excess-lined face was as familiar as her own: the long, aquiline nose; the deep-set eyes,
black at the rims but with golden brown irises; his swarthy skin and knife-blade jaw. Silver threaded the dark hair that used to fly in a midnight storm cloud around his head. It was shorter now—just above his collar—and wirier, but still thick. She wasn’t surprised he’d made no effort to cover the threads of gray. He had little personal vanity. Although he’d always been tall for a rocker, now he seemed even taller because he was so thin. The sockets beneath those gaunt cheekbones were deeper than she remembered, the grooves at the corners of his eyes more sharply etched. He looked every one of his fifty-four years.

“Hey, little girl. Is your mother around?”

His voice was whiskey-soaked gravel. For the briefest moment, she felt the old breathlessness claim her. This man had once been her world. She’d flown across the ocean on an hour’s notice to be with him. London, Tokyo, West Berlin. It didn’t matter where. Night after night as he’d come offstage, she’d stripped the tight, sweat-soaked costume from his body, smoothed his long, damp hair with her fingers, parted her lips, parted her thighs, made him feel like a god.

But in the end, it was only rock and roll.

Their last face-to-face communication had taken place the day she’d told him she was pregnant. From then on, everything had been handled through an intermediary, including the blood test after Dean was born. How bitterly she’d resented Jack for that.

She pulled herself back together. “Just me and the frogs. How have you been?”

“My hearing’s shot, and I can’t get it up anymore. Otherwise…”

She only believed the first part. “Lay off the booze, cigarettes, and teenagers. You’ll be amazed how good you’ll feel.” She didn’t need to mention drugs. Jack had cleaned up his act years before she’d been able to.

A leather and silver bracelet slipped down on his wrist as he ambled forward. “No more teenagers, April. Cigarettes, either. I haven’t
smoked for a couple of years. And hasn’t that been a mission from hell? As for the booze…” He shrugged.

“I guess you geezer rockers need at least one vice.”

“I have a few more than that. How about you?”

“I got a speeding ticket on my way to Bible study a few months ago, but that’s about it.”

“Bullshit. You’ve changed, but not that much.”

He hadn’t always been able to see through her so easily, but he was older now and, presumably, wiser. She shrugged her hair from her face. “I don’t have much interest in vice anymore. Too busy making a living.”

“You look great, April. Really.”

Better than he did. For the last decade she’d worked hard to repair the damage she’d done to herself, detoxifying with endless cups of green tea, hours of yoga, a little nip and tuck.

He tugged on a small skull earring. “Do you remember how we used to laugh at the idea of a rocker over forty?”

“We used to laugh at the idea of anybody ever reaching forty.”

He stuffed a hand in his pocket. “AARP wants me to pose for the cover of their fucking magazine.”

“Damn their black hearts.”

His crooked smile hadn’t changed, but she wasn’t going to wander down memory lane with him. “Did you see Riley?”

“A couple of minutes ago.”

“She’s a sweet kid. Blue and I have been quite taken with her.”

“Blue?”

“Dean’s fiancée.”

He pulled his hand from his pocket. “Riley came here to see him, didn’t she?”

April nodded. “Dean’s tried to stay away, but she’s persistent.”

“I wasn’t the one who told Marli about him. She had a fling with my former business manager last year and weaseled out the information. Until I got your message, I didn’t know Riley had found out.”

“This is a hard time for her.”

“I know. I had some things I needed to take care of. Marli’s sister was supposed to be watching out for her.” He glanced toward the cottage. “Riley said she left her jacket.”

“No. She wasn’t wearing her jacket when she came here.”

“She was stalling, then.” He slipped his hand in his shirt pocket, as if he were looking for cigarettes. “I could use a beer.”

“Afraid you’re out of luck. I’ve been a teetotaler these many moons.”

“You’re not serious.”

“I lost the urge to die.”

“Not all bad, I guess.” He had a way of looking at people as though he really saw them, and he turned that intensity on her. “I hear you’ve done well for yourself.”

“No complaints.” She’d built her career one client at a time, with no one to rely on but herself, and she was proud of that. “What about Mad Jack? Now that you’ve won the rock wars, what do you do for an encore?”

“The rock wars can’t ever be won. You know that. There’s always another album, another shot at the top of the charts, and, if that doesn’t happen, the inevitable reinvention.” He made his way to the edge of the pond, picked up a rock, and flung it far out into the pond, where it made a quiet splash. “I’d like to see Dean before I leave.”

“So you can reminisce about the good times? Lots of luck. He hates you almost as much as he hates me.”

“Then what are you doing here?”

“It’s a long story.” Something else she wouldn’t go into with him.

He turned back to her. “One big happy family, aren’t we?”

Before she could reply, a flashlight beam ricocheted toward them, and Blue shot out of the path. “Riley’s gone!”

To keep herself from falling mute again, Blue pretended Jack Patriot didn’t exist and focused only on April. “I’ve searched the house, the
caravan, that mousy barn.” She shuddered. “She can’t have gone far.”

“How long has she been missing?” April said.

“Maybe half an hour. She said she wanted to finish her painting before she had to go. I went out to burn the trash like you showed me, and when I came back, she’d disappeared. I gave flashlights to the men who came with”—
Mr. Patriot
sounded ridiculous, and
Jack
too familiar—“with Riley’s father—and they’re looking now.”

“How could she do this?” Jack said. “She’s always been so quiet. She’s never caused any trouble.”

“She’s scared,” April told him. “Take my car and look along the lane.”

Jack agreed. After he set off, Blue and April searched the cottage then struck out for the farmhouse, where they found Jack’s entourage poking ineffectively around the garden while the lone woman sat on the back step, smoking a cigarette and talking on her cell. “There are a hundred places Riley could hide,” April said. “Assuming she’s still somewhere on the property.”

“Where else could she go?”

April searched the house again while Blue rechecked the caravan and toolshed. They met up on the front porch. “Nada.”

“She took her backpack,” April said.

Jack pulled up to the house and climbed out of April’s Saab. Blue retreated into the shadows so she didn’t embarrass herself in front of him again. Dean should be coping with this, not her.

“No sign of Riley,” Jack said as he approached the porch.

“I’ll bet she’s watching the house,” April said quietly. “Waiting for you to leave before she comes out.”

He shoved a hand through his wiry hair then glanced over at his bodyguards emerging from the barn. “We’ll leave. Then I’ll circle back on foot.”

Only after the cars had pulled away did Blue emerge from the corner. “Wherever she is, I’m sure she’s scared.”

April rubbed her temples. “Do you think we should call the police…the sheriff…whoever?”

“I don’t know. Riley’s hiding; she hasn’t been abducted, and if she sees a police car pull up…”

“That’s what worries me.”

Blue gazed into the darkness. “Let’s give her some time to think this through.”

Dean slowed as his headlights picked out a man walking down the side of the lane toward the farmhouse. He flicked on his high beams. The man turned and shielded his eyes. Dean looked closer. Mad Jack Patriot…

He couldn’t believe Jack had come after Riley himself, but here he was. Dean hadn’t talked to him in a couple of years, and he sure as hell didn’t want to talk to him now. He fought his instinct to goose the accelerator and shoot past him. Years ago, he’d fixed his strategy for dealing with his father, and he saw no reason to change. He pulled up and slid down the car window. Keeping his expression carefully neutral, he propped his elbow on the frame. “Jack.”

The son of a bitch nodded. “Dean. It’s been a long time.”

Dean nodded back. No digs or wisecracks. Total indifference.

Jack rested the heel of his hand on the roof of the car. “I came to get Riley, but she ran away after she saw me.”

“Really?” It didn’t entirely explain why he was out here walking alone, but Dean wouldn’t ask.

“I don’t suppose you’ve seen her.”

“No.”

The silence between them lengthened. If Dean didn’t offer to drive him to the house, he’d be showing the son of a bitch exactly how much he hated him. Still, he had to force out the words. “Need a lift?”

Jack stepped back from the car. “I don’t want her to see me. I’ll walk.”

“Suit yourself.” He slid the window up and pulled slowly away. No spinning tires or flying gravel. Nothing to show the depth of his anger. When he reached the house, he headed inside. The electrician had finished installing most of the fixtures today, and they finally had some decent light. He heard footsteps overhead. “Blue?”