Obsession

Cover image:
Mic in Blue
by Podgorsek © iStockphotography.com

Cover design copyright © 2011 by Covenant Communications, Inc.

Published by Covenant Communications, Inc.

American Fork, Utah

Copyright © 2011 by Traci Hunter Abramson

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any format or in any medium without the written permission of the publisher, Covenant Communications, Inc., P.O. Box 416, American Fork, UT 84003. This work is not an official publication of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. The views expressed within this work are the sole responsibility of the author and do not necessarily reflect
the position of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, Covenant Communications, Inc., or any other entity.

This is a work of fiction. The characters, names, incidents, places, and dialogue are either products of the author’s imagination, and are not to be construed as real, or are used fictitiously.

First Printing: September 2011

978-1-60861-797-5

Dedication

To Jana Lynn, Connie, and Paula,

for constantly showing me the value of friendship

Acknowledgements

Thank you to the wonderful people at Covenant for helping me bring this book to light, especially Kathy Jenkins, who always offers me so much support and encouragement; Kirk Shaw, who challenged me to try something new; and Samantha Van Walraven for her constant willingness to help me work through my ideas and for all her efforts in ushering this book through the editing process.

As always, thank you to Rebecca Cummings for her continued willingness to read everything I write and for all her invaluable insight.

I also want to thank my friends at the FBI who continue to share all of those little details that help me write what I enjoy. Thank you to my sister, Tiffany Hunter, for relating so many of her experiences with working backstage at the Grammys. Her insight was truly invaluable.

And finally, thank you to all of the readers who continue to support my journey in discovering which story comes next.

Water shimmered behind her, nearly the same color as her dress. Only a sliver of light cut through the darkness, but it was enough for him to see her delicate features and the way her blonde hair flowed past her shoulders. A slow smile crossed his face, one of appreciation and anticipation.

He took a step forward.

She took a step back.

His voice was low and eerily calm. “Don’t be afraid.”

“What do you want from me?” She asked, her breaths coming in rapid, short gasps. “You said—”

“Here.” He lifted the single rose he held until it was in her line of vision. The stem was slightly crooked and still held its thorns, jagged in comparison to the delicately curled blood-red petals. The breeze caught its fragrance, mixing it with the subtle scent of the swimming pool behind her. His eyes gleamed with expectation as he held the flower out to her. “This is for you.”

Only briefly did her eyes focus on the rose before they slid to the gloved hand that held it. When she looked up once more, her eyes darted around the expansive backyard as though she were looking for a way out, a way to free herself. She took another gasping breath and another step back, and his excitement shifted to dread.

He shook his head. She had to know how perfect things would be once they were together. He edged closer. “What’s wrong? Don’t you want it?”

“It’s late.” Her voice quivered. “I need to go back inside.”

He felt the stab then, swift and clean as the hurt and betrayal clawed inside him. It was all going wrong again. Pain exploded in his chest as though bursting to get out. The shadows began closing in, settling onto his shoulders, into his heart and mind.

Even as he stared at the light and beauty in front of him, he welcomed the familiar weight, the comfort of the darkness he could lose himself in. His voice was raw when he asked the question, the same question that echoed from a previous night, a previous pain. “Why won’t you love me? I only want you to love me.”

“I don’t understand . . .” Her voice faded, and her eyes widened as she saw him lift his other hand. She opened her mouth, maybe to question, maybe to scream, but no sound came out. Only the muffled gunshot overshadowed the rhythm of the water gently lapping behind her.

He stared down for a long moment.

It could have been so perfect. But, no, she couldn’t have been what he’d always wanted. With a shake of his head, he assured himself that next time would be different. Next time she would understand that they belonged together. He dropped the rose beside the lifeless figure on the ground and then silently disappeared into the night.

Three quick raps sounded at the door, followed by a deep male voice. “Ten minutes, Miss Blake.”

“Thank you,” Kendra called out. Her stomach pitched and rolled with nerves, and her breath shuddered out as she anticipated her upcoming performance. At moments like this, she wondered why she had chosen to pursue a career that kept her so firmly in the spotlight. Then she reminded herself that the spotlight would follow her regardless of what she did. She’d been born famous.

Her first baby pictures had netted a cool three million dollars and had appeared on the covers of countless magazines, the result of some enterprising hospital employee who realized “Baby Girl Blake” was none other than the daughter of renowned actor Sterling Blake.

Now, twenty-five years later, Kendra was all grown up, but the spotlight still hadn’t faded.

As the music from the opening act continued to pulse through the air, she closed her eyes, willing her body to relax. She had worked hard to get to this point in her career, to make a name for herself beyond just “Sterling Blake’s daughter.” The Grammy she had taken home a few nights earlier had certainly helped distance her public image from that of her father’s. Now, if she could just gain a bit more freedom in her private life.

Only three years had passed since she had demanded the right to control her own career, her own finances, even her own independence. All her life, her father’s overprotective nature had restricted every aspect of her life, from where she went to the friends she kept. Finally, she was stepping out on her own and beginning to discover who she was and what she wanted.

As terrifying as facing a crowd of twenty thousand could be, at least she knew this was her choice. She also knew that once she let herself get lost in her fans’ emotions, the nerves would disappear, and she would remember why this agony was worth it.

She turned to face the lighted mirror on the wall of her dressing room and straightened her shoulders with determination. Dozens of red roses reflected behind her, tokens from various fans and friends. They also served as a reminder that a single comment to the press could take on a life of its own.

Leaning forward, she touched up her makeup and then muttered to her reflection, “Okay, you can do this.”

Just then, her cell phone rang, and Kendra scooped it up from among the clutter of makeup on the counter in front of her. When she read the caller ID, her lips curved into a smile.

“Hi, Grandpa.”

“How’s my little girl?” William Blake’s voice carried over the phone at full volume.

Kendra’s nerves settled into a dull ache. “Nervous.”

“What are you nervous about? All those fans of yours love you, and I know you’ll put on a good show.”

“You always say that.” Her smile widened.

“And I’m always right,” he insisted. “When are you coming to visit?”

Kendra considered for a minute. “My last concert is tomorrow night in San Francisco. Maybe I’ll head over to Phoenix this weekend.”

“Good, good. I was just telling your grandmother this morning that it’s been too long since we’ve seen you,” he said. “And who knows when that sister of yours will stop gallivanting around Europe.”

“Sienna will be home as soon as she finishes shooting her new movie. Besides, we just saw you at Dad’s house in Malibu for Christmas,” Kendra reminded him. “That was only a few weeks ago.”

“At my age, a few weeks can seem like forever,” he said in a serious tone, even though Kendra knew he was fighting a grin. “And with that army of bodyguards your father keeps around, we could hardly have a decent conversation without an audience.”

Kendra laughed now, her nerves forgotten. “You’re the one who made him so paranoid. He says growing up with a dad in the FBI showed him how many crazy people there are in the world.”

“Excuses, excuses.” William chuckled.

Another knock sounded on her door. “I’ve got to get going, Grandpa. I’ll call you tomorrow or the next day and let you know when I’m coming.”

“Good luck tonight.”

“Thanks.”

Kendra hung up and crossed her dressing room. She pushed the door open, and Dustin Brady instantly appeared at her side. She glanced over at the forty-two-year-old former Marine who had been on her security detail since she was sixteen. His presence reminded her that she hadn’t completely broken free of her father’s influence.

At least she had finally managed to reduce her security team to a single bodyguard, but even that change had been hard won. Kendra reminded herself that it wasn’t Dustin’s fault that her father insisted she have a bodyguard. She tried to keep her resentment out of her voice. “Are we all set?”

Dustin nodded. When several members of Kendra’s band approached, Dustin seemed to blend into the background like a silent sentry. The band members all moved toward the stage, waiting as the crew finished the set change. The buzz from her fans was both energizing and a little unnerving.

Kendra closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She could feel the energy around her, the impatience of the crowd. A wave of nausea threatened, and she took another deep breath to steady her nerves. She knew she should be used to this by now—the crowds and the adrenaline rush that always came before a concert—but even after four years, she always felt like she was walking out onto the stage for the first time.

“Are you okay?” Zack Prescott asked as he stepped up beside her.

Kendra nodded and looked over at him, the newest dancer in her entourage. A dimple flashed in his pretty-boy face—a hint of infatuation showing in his expression. She supposed she should be amused that he was still a bit starstruck, but at the moment, all she could think about was filling her lungs with air and hoping she didn’t look as awful as she felt.

“I’m fine. It’s just nerves.”

“Really?” Zack’s eyebrows went up. “You’ve already had three number- one albums, and you still get nervous?”

Kendra didn’t answer. Instead, she focused on her cue and managed a weak smile. “Okay. Showtime.”

Zack gave her an odd look before getting swept onto the stage to take his place with the other dancers. The stage lights were off, and Kendra could barely make out the movement as the crew made the final adjustments to the set.

Anticipation bubbled inside her as the stage lights came on and the crowd’s buzz intensified with excitement.
I can do this
, she told herself, just like she’d done hundreds of times before.

She heard her name announced and heard the rumble of the crowd turn into a roar. With her heart pounding wildly, she forced herself to move into the spotlight.

One hand pumped into the air; the other grasped the microphone. “Hello, Los Angeles!”

The roar erupted, punctuated by high-pitched squeals, and Kendra was suddenly grateful her earplugs were in place. Through her earpiece, she could hear the transmission from her manager followed by the notes of the opening song.

The deafening noise from the crowd slowly faded, quieting as her voice began blending with the music. Then all she could hear were the words she had written and her smooth voice, joined by thousands of others.

Lights glared through the windows of the elegant house nestled against the side of Camelback Mountain. The landscaping was subtle, blending into the surrounding desert. Music blasted through the air, the words of some rapper competing with the voices inside the house.

Moving forward quietly, Charlie Whitmore gripped his weapon and prayed no shots would be fired tonight. His hands went clammy as a memory flashed into his mind, the memory of the last time he had been forced to draw his weapon. Charlie gritted his teeth, refusing to let the images of that night in DC fully form.