Outsider (49 page)

“I
guess I should watch while I have the chance. I sure won’t be following you all
over the country like some star-struck groupie.”

No,
that would have been the type of thing her mother would have done.

Reagan
was pretty sure she was dreaming when Trey backed the rental car out of the
driveway, and her father pulled out behind them in his SUV.

“Are
you magic?” she asked Trey as she turned to make sure that her father was
indeed following them to the arena.

“Maybe
a little.” He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. He then
dialed Ethan through the car’s Bluetooth system.

“Hey,”
Trey said when Ethan answered. “Thought we should warn you that Reagan’s dad is
coming to the arena with us. Figured we should come up with our game plan. I
vote that Reagan tells him she’s only marrying me because she can’t legally
marry both of us; what’s your vote?”

Reagan’s
head swiveled in Trey’s direction, and she forgot how to breathe for a second.
“You will
not
be telling him that!”

“Why
not? It’s true,” Trey said.

There
he went with wanting to tell everyone—even her staunchly conservative
father—the truth. How dare he?

“I’ll
stay out of your way,” Ethan said. “Mr. Elliot and I don’t get along.”

“You’ve
never even met him,” Reagan said.

“I’ve
argued with him on the phone more than once.”

“He’s
a toasted marshmallow,” Trey claimed. “Crusty on the outside, warm and gooey on
the inside.”

“You
must have caught him on a good day,” Ethan said.

“Speaking
of catching someone, did you catch anyone distributing tabloids around the
stadium?” Reagan asked.

Ethan
sighed. “No. Maybe they know we’re onto them.”

“How
would they know that?” Reagan asked.

“Hold
on . . .” Ethan carried out the final word for several beats.
“Guess he didn’t learn his lesson the last time. Next time you see me, you
might be bailing me out of jail.”

“What?”
Reagan asked. “Ethan? What do you mean?”

He
didn’t answer, but the car’s robotic feminine voice replied, “The call has
ended.” A beep followed.

“What
the hell is he talking about?” Reagan asked Trey, as if he shared a psychic
link with Ethan.

“How
am I supposed to know? Sounded like he’s about to get violent with someone.”

By
the time Trey pulled up to the arena, the violence had ended. And Ethan had
gone a lot easier on the punk than Trey would have. The lanky rocker with black
and burgundy bangs held a baggie of ice pressed against one eye, but he didn’t
seem to be bleeding anywhere.

“I
didn’t do anything,” Pyre insisted from his seat on the curb. Ethan, Butch, and
half the security team had him surrounded.

“You!”
Reagan bellowed as she leapt from the rental car.

Ethan
managed to capture her around the waist before the sole of her boot connected
with Pyre’s thin face.

“I
didn’t do anything!” he whined.

“Then
tell us why you’re here,” Butch said tersely.

“I
told you; I just came to see the show. You can’t hold me prisoner. You’re not
cops. I’m not trespassing or loitering.”

Butch
looked at Reagan, shook his head, and lifted his gaze to Ethan standing behind
her. “We’re going to have to let him go.”

“Search
his car,” Reagan shouted, struggling to free herself from Ethan’s cross-body
hold.

“You
can’t,” Pyre said. “In fact, I should press charges against your
boyfriend
for hitting me in the eye.”

“Why
are you really here?” Trey asked, crossing his arms over his chest. “You should
know better than to come within a thousand yards of Reagan after what you tried
to do to her last month. You should be in jail. How did you manage to skate out
of that unscathed?”

Pyre
lowered his gaze. “Can I go now?”

“Answer
my question,” Trey said, squatting down at Pyre’s level. He hated the guy, but
doubted he’d get a word out of him in this intimidating situation. Half a dozen
hard-muscled security guards, any one of whom could have used their hands as
lethal weapons, had the fallen guitarist completely surrounded.

“I
know the right people,” he said, flipping over the bag of ice and pressing it
to his eye again.

“Which
people?”

“None
of your business.”

“I’m
making it my business.”

Ethan
crouched beside Trey, apparently deciding intimidation wasn’t going to get
answers from the guy. Trey glanced over his shoulder to see why Reagan wasn’t
kung-fu-fighting Pyre’s face and found her animatedly telling her father all
about the horrors she’d experienced at Pyre’s hand.

“Just
tell us who you’re working with,” Ethan said, his tone no longer threatening.
Pyre flinched away from him regardless. “Is her name Bianca, by chance?”

Pyre’s
pasty face went an additional shade whiter. “How do you know Bianca?”

Trey’s
heart thudded. Were they about to finally figure out what was really going on?

“We
know she’s the head editor of the
American Inquirer
,” Ethan said, “a
tabloid owned by the same corporation that owns Exodus End’s record label. We know
she’s Steve Aimes’s ex-wife and that she’s bitter about their divorce and would
love to get back at him for the pain and embarrassment he caused her.”

“We
know you’re in love with her,” Trey said, taking a stab at their connection.

Pyre
snorted and shook his head. “Hardly.” Pyre glanced up, the eye not obscured by
an ice pack wide in his ashen face. “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

Ethan
sighed and grabbed Pyre by the shirt, standing to his full height and dragging
Pyre up with him until the tall skinny guy was on his tiptoes. “Guess I’m going
to have to beat it out of him.”

The
baggie of melting ice dropped from Pyre’s hand, and his eyes searched the crowd
for assistance. He must have spotted an ally because he began to wave both arms
wildly. “Uncle Sam, a little help here?”

Ethan
chuckled. “Do you really think the government is going to save you?”

“Uncle
Sam!” Pyre yelled. “Help me. He’s going to kill me this time.”

Confused,
Trey turned toward the building and saw Exodus End’s manager staring at them
like a vocalist who’d forgotten the lyrics to all his songs.

“You’re
his
uncle
?” Reagan bellowed.

“What’s
going on?” Gary asked, his hand resting on his daughter’s shoulder.

Ethan
lowered Pyre’s feet to the ground, but didn’t release the front of his shirt.
Trey supposed Pyre’s connection to Sam explained why a band as mediocre as Hell’s
Crypt had started the tour as an opening act. It also explained why Sam had
insisted Reagan not press charges against Pyre to avoid a scandal. It didn’t
explain what Pyre was doing in Little Rock or tell them if he was connected to
the tabloid distribution. Trey was pretty sure Pyre did know Bianca. Or someone
named Bianca. He scowled. Best to leave the detective work to Ethan, he
decided.

“Why
are you here, Peter?” Sam Baily said, sauntering over to the group, obviously over
his initial shock of being outed as the dickhead’s uncle.

“I
just came to watch a show,” Pyre said, sticking to his original story.

Sam
sighed. “I can’t help you anymore. Sorry.” He turned to walk away, but Reagan
stepped into his path.

“I
demand that you explain everything right now!”

If
Sam had been slightly more flammable, the look Reagan gave him would have
instantly ignited him into an inferno.

“I’d
rather not,” Sam said. “It’s not a very exciting story.”

“Don’t
leave me here with these people.” Pyre was whining.

“Shut
up,” Trey said, “before Ethan shuts you up.” Having a big strong boyfriend was
beneficial for more than one reason.

“If
Trey wants me to resort to violence on his behalf, you must be exceptionally
irritating,” Ethan said.

Pyre
cringed. He did shut up, however.

Sam
sighed, his gaze focused on Reagan. “What do you want to know?”

“Are
you his uncle?” She pointed at Pyre.

“Yes,
an unfortunate fact. My sister asked me to help him see his dreams become a
reality. The unfortunate part is that he’s not as talented as you are.”

Reagan
tried not look proud at Sam’s admission, but Trey caught her little grin of
self-satisfaction.

“I
slipped his demo tape into the finalists for the contest. Fuck, I invented that
contest so he could work with the guys. Thought maybe they’d pull him out of
mediocrity. But you won the contest, Reagan, so he insisted his stupid band
join Exodus End on tour.”

Sam
rolled his eyes, and Trey found himself liking the dude for the first time
since he’d met him.

“I
convinced the label to add Hell’s Crypt to the ticket as the first opening act,
the one that plays so early in the evening that most of the fans aren’t even in
the parking lot yet.”

“Uncle
Sam,” Pyre said, his tone pleading.

“Shut
up, Peter. I’ve saved your ass one too many times.”

“I
didn’t do anything,” Pyre insisted.

Sam
charged forward, fury radiating from every inch of his body. Ethan released
Pyre’s shirt and stepped back.

“You
didn’t stalk Reagan backstage?” Sam shouted in Pyre’s face. “You didn’t try to
scare her into quitting the tour? And when that didn’t work you didn’t drug
her? Try to kidnap her? Practically strangle her to death?”

“I
should have won that contest,” he said. “If I’d played for them—”

“You
still wouldn’t have beat her! She could outplay you in her sleep. Go home back
to your mama, boy. I’m not going to stick my neck out for you again.”

“Just
one more thing,” Ethan said. “How is he connected to Bianca?”

Sam
blinked, and the fury drained from his face as quickly as it had built there.
“Bianca? Steve’s ex-wife?”

Trey
and Ethan nodded in unison.

“This
again?” Sam shook his head. “I already told the guys that she and I are not
connected in any way. I didn’t sic the tabloids on Reagan. You can blame your
sweet little Toni and her money-hungry mother for that entire ordeal.” He
strode off without another word.

Trey
noted that somewhere in the confusion, Pyre had slipped away.

Reagan
crossed her arms over her chest and watched Sam enter the arena through a back
door. “Why do I get the feeling he’s still hiding something?”

“Who
is that man?” Gary asked.

“Band
manager,” Reagan said. “He’s been a pain in my ass since the beginning of this
tour, and I recently learned that it was Max who originally put him up to it.”

“Who
is Max?” Gary asked.

Reagan
linked her arm through her father’s. “I should probably introduce you to my
band. Trey?” she called over her shoulder. “Could you grab my cello? I’m late
for rehearsal.”

“Sure,”
he said, too happy that she was getting along with her father to complain about
being her errand boy. They had roadies for a reason. Ethan followed Trey to the
rental car, leaning close to him as he opened the trunk.

“I
know that guy and Sam are somehow related to the tabloid.”

“Probably,”
Trey said with a shrug. “But we’re fighting this a different way now.
Remember?”

“The
wedding thing?”

Trey
nodded. “And now the cello thing.” Trey lifted the instrument from the confines
of the trunk, careful not to bump it.

“The
cello thing?”

“Have
you seen her play this thing?” Trey asked.

“She
played for me and my mom in a music store once.”

“And
did you weep at the beauty of it?”

Ethan
laughed. “No, but Mamá did.”

“It’s
hard to deny her talent when she plays guitar, but there’s no denying it when
she plays the cello. Now I just have to make sure the boneheads in her band let
her play it tonight.”

“Why?”

“Because
I know people.” Trey grinned. There was more than one benefit to having a
little black book the size of an encyclopedia. “And I can get them here to
listen to her play. And if they hear her play . . .” He
shrugged. The possibilities were endless.

“Are
you friends with everyone?”

“Not
everyone,” Trey said, walking perhaps a little too close to the man beside him.
He couldn’t help it, though. Ethan had an undeniable force that drew Trey like hippies
to a music festival at a marijuana farm.

“How
did you get along with Mr. Elliot?” Ethan asked as he held the door open for
Trey and they entered the darkened interior of a corridor. The air-conditioned
breeze ruffled Trey’s already misbehaving hair.

“You
mean Gary?”

“He
lets you call him Gary?” Ethan asked, shaking his head incredulously. “Well, I
guess that answers that question.”

“Oh,
he hated me at first,” Trey said.

“For
what? Five minutes?”

Trey
grinned. “About that long. Are you jealous?”

“Glad.”
Ethan leaned closer as if to kiss Trey’s forehead, but decided against it and
smiled at him instead.

Someday,
Trey promised himself, Ethan would kiss him in public. Not today, obviously. But
someday.

Reagan
was in the middle of introducing her father to her bandmates when Trey and
Ethan arrived with her cello.

“Trey’s
your brother?” Gary asked Dare, as if it were the most astonishing news he’d
ever heard.

“Last
time I checked,” Dare said, releasing Gary’s hand after a firm shake.

Reagan
took the cello case from Trey and kissed him. She exchanged a loving look with
Ethan, but it had to be killing them both that they couldn’t greet each other
properly. While she was setting up, Ethan leaned in close to Trey.

“So
what did she tell her father about me?” Ethan asked.

“Nothing,”
Trey said. “And don’t push her yet. They sort of made up, but their
relationship is still rocky.”

“I
wasn’t going to push her. I just wanted to know how careful I need to be.”

It
chewed at Trey’s insides to advise Ethan not to openly display his affection,
but what choice did he have? He was so looking forward to the couple of weeks
they’d have together between the U.S. leg and the European leg of the tour.