Rock Bottom (15 page)

“No, I don’t watch much television. PBS, sometimes BBC America. Movies, CNN.”

“No kidding.”

“My mom discouraged us at a young age from TV. It’s why I picked up a guitar.”

“Interesting. At what age?”

“Twelve. My brother and I played together.”

“And you kept it up.” The conversation had segued into an interview, but she wanted to hear more about him.

“Yeah, it got in my blood. Even when I didn’t have my guitar in my hands, my fingers would move to chords I heard in my head.” He smiled at the memory.

“Did you ever try any other instruments?”

“Sure--keyboards, bongos, banjo, zephyr. I used to experiment a lot.”

“I remember some of your earliest songs had some interesting sounds.”

“Yeah, and those received some critical acclaim, but didn’t make the charts, so…” Absently, he drummed his fingers on the steering wheel.

“So you stopped experimenting. That’s a shame.”

He shrugged.

Openness on her part might make him open up again. “You never know what you’ll discover. What new things might open up.”

Jet stared ahead with a glazed look.

To fill the silence, she lapsed back into interview mode. “So your first hit. How old were you?”

“Ha. Nineteen.” He shook his head, like the thought amazed him too.

“So young for stardom. Were you ready for it?”

“No one’s ever really ready. I did my best to run with it.”

“But sometimes you were caught beneath the wave instead of riding on top?” The question came from her own curiosity, though she could always use the material.

“Sometimes. Mistakes are part of the learning process. I’ve learned from mine. I’m a better person now.”

The conviction in his tone made it sound important she believe him.

“Musically? Or personally?”

“Both. I like to think so, at least.”

“In what ways?”

“Musically, I’ve perfected my sound. It’s now my personal brand. People identify my sound with me.”

“And you’re not tempted to stretch the brand? Add a little lemon to the cola?”

His mouth puckered as if in distaste. “Sometimes.”

“But?” Her instinct told her this story went deeper.

Impatience edged his voice. “But now’s not the time.”

She softened hers. “If not now, then when?” If making him angry would help him out of his stagnation, she’d do that too. Her comment seemed to have had the opposite reaction, but the blaze in his eyes told her she’d hit the intended mark.

A nerve pulsed in his cheek. “I don’t know.”

Time for a change of tack. “So, personally, do you think you’re different now?”

“Absolutely. My head’s on straight. I have no filters now. I see people as they are.” He said it like a challenge.

“Filters--you mean drugs?”

“Right. I’m health conscious. I take care of myself in every aspect.”

Sounded ominous. “Such as…you’re protective of your interests? Musically?”

“I’m careful who I let in.”

“Seems a funny thing to say, considering you have so many strangers in your home.”

“Everyone’s been thoroughly screened. Including you.”

Duly noted. “What about those people already on the inside?”

His brows twitched together. “What?”

“Do you ever re-evaluate old relationships based on your current perspective?” Naming Stu outright would raise an outcry from both camps. Something about the guy didn’t sit right, and users like Stu ran rampant throughout the music business.

“No. I trust the people in my life.”

“But you set the rules, right? Rather than follow them?” She knew she’d tested the limits with that one.

He studied her. “You like to push, don’t you? Push every button until the buzzer rings, the lights go off and--jackpot.”

He thought she meant to ensnare him in some trap. “You’re wrong.” How could she make him see what she saw? Feel the threat she felt on his behalf? She’d bet a paycheck Stu siphoned profits away, and would keep on doing so until the well ran empty, then leave Jet high and dry. She’d seen it too many times before.

“I’m pretty tolerant, but I don’t like to be pushed too far.”

Bluntness seemed the best approach. She clicked off the recorder so he’d know she spoke from the heart. “I’m worried about you.”

He spat a laugh. “I’m touched by your concern. But there’s no need.”

Her cell buzzed, and Everett’s name showed in the display. “Damn. Excuse me, I have to take this. Hello?”

“Where the hell have you been?” Tension ratcheted up her editor’s voice.

None of his damn business. “What’s wrong?”

“I called you six times, and texted you at least that many. Where the hell are you?”

“I’m out, all right?”
Asshole.

“No, it’s not all right. Someone’s hacked into the blog, and I have a feeling it’s someone there.”

Dread chilled her. “How? What did they do?” Oh God. The laptop. Someone must have broken into the cottage, and she must have still been logged on.

Jet touched her leg, concern sharpened his features. She bit her lip and fought the urge to slip her hand in his.

Everett described the erotic photos of the contestants. “I deleted the post, then more reappeared. I suggest you head back now.”

“We will.”

His voice rose. “We?”

“I’ll call you when I get there.” She closed her cell. “Sorry, I really need to get back.”

Starting the engine, he shifted into reverse. “What’s up?”

Relaying what Everett told her, she cursed herself anew for leaving. She should have known nothing good would come of this.

* * * *

“Shit.” Slamming into high gear, his foot punched the accelerator. When she’d joked earlier about not wanting to rock the boat, he’d thought her too cautious. He should have known something like this could happen.

He sped along the highway and side streets until reaching the gate. Clicking the remote, he pulled in, barely making it through the opening. He opened the door at the same time he stopped. They rushed down the path.

The cottage door stood locked, and she fumbled with the key. “Maybe Everett was wrong…” She flipped the lights on and gasped.

“Son of a bitch.” No. He’d been absolutely right.

The laptop lay on the floor, along with all her things. “Who would do this?”

Jet eased beside her. “The window--they came in that way. Goddammit. Give me your camera.” He’d document it all. Retribution required proof.

Appearing dazed, she reached in her bag and held it out.

He switched it on and took photos from every angle, then ran upstairs. “Man.” He’d hoped they’d spared one room, at least. Raising the camera, he snapped away. Sheets lay in strips on the floor, her underwear, tank tops and shorts hung from open dresser drawers, shredded.

“Up there too?” She hurried up the steps, and halted abruptly, eyes wide. She flung open the closet and moaned. “No.”

The same had been done to the few outfits she had.

Restrained anger shook his voice. “Whoever did this will pay. And the show will reimburse you for whatever you lost.”

“Why would someone do this?”

“I intend to find out. I’ll be back. Don’t touch anything.” After jogging downstairs, he strode out the door.

Within minutes, he rounded them all up. “Get over to the cottage. Now. Every single one of you.”

Most exchanged questioning glances. A few grumbled but showed no surprise.

He glared before rushing back. He could see her head as she sat slumped on the bed. “They’re on their way.”

A moment later, Cindy came in. “Oh my God.”

No faking that surprise. But he hadn’t suspected her.

Stu followed, and murmured something to Cindy, who nodded and left.

“Miss Prescott? Are you all right?” Stu called.

“A little shaken, but fine.” She halted on the steps when Cat, Ashley, Brianna and Julie entered.

Just after came Justin and Danny. “Holy shit,” said one of them.

Jet moved to the side, blocking the stairs. “Anyone have any idea how this happened?”

Ashley and Brianna shifted their hips, folded their arms. Julie stared, alarm in her wide eyes.

Cat arched a brow and folded her arms. “You brought us here for this?”

Nostrils flared, Jet paced. “Someone hacked into the
Strung Out
blog site. I don’t suppose anyone knows anything about that either?”

Cat primped her hair. “I’m sure it was an improvement over the usual crap.”

Brianna tittered.

Rising to his full height, Jet glared. “You think this is funny? Destroying personal property? Do you want the magazine to sue us? Do any of you want the public to know about this?”

Cat pointed a long red fingernail at Billie. “She should never have come here.”

Jet spoke softly but pointedly. “You don’t decide who comes and goes. I do.”

“And you’re supposed to spend time with us, not her.” Cat jerked her head in Billie’s direction.

“It’s none of your damn business who I spend time with. Any of you.”

“Jet,” Ashley gasped, tears welling.

“Someone better apologize, or I’ll have to call the police. It’s a federal crime to hack into a website.”

He exaggerated for effect, and it seemed to be working. Cat, Ashley and Brianna exchanged nervous glances. Ashley nudged Cat and whispered.

Jet shuffled his feet. “It’s getting late. Maybe I should just call nine-one-one.”

Brianna glared at Cat. “This is all your fault.”

“My fault?” she shrieked. “If that bitch hadn’t stolen Jet--”

Billie gripped the rail. “I didn’t steal anyone.”

The contestants argued, accusing one another.

“Enough!” Jet threw his hands in the air. “Get out. Just go. And so help me, if anything remotely like this happens again, someone--or all of you--will be hauled off.”

Billie slumped to the step as they left.

Stu paused in the doorway. “Sorry about all this.”

Jet shooed him with a wave, and with a skeptical glance, Stu closed the door behind him. Crouching, Jet set the laptop on the sofa and gathered up the papers.

“Hey, don’t worry about this. I’ll take care of it.” She slipped the papers from him.

Rising, he raked a hand through his hair and heaved a sigh. “You can sleep in the house tonight.”

“Oh no.”

“But your bed…”

“Right here’s fine. I am not sleeping under the same roof with them.”

He couldn’t blame her. She was probably afraid she’d awake to a neat slit across her throat. “I’m so sorry about this.”

She sat on the sofa. “It’s not your fault.”

“This is not how I thought this evening would end.”

Tensing, she stared at the folder in her hand.

He sat beside her. “I meant, I enjoyed talking to you about music. The craft. It’s been a long time since I’ve done that, or since anyone’s asked. It felt good to be taken seriously as an artist. Thank you.”

She met his gaze. “You’re welcome. I enjoyed it too. You have so much talent. I’m expecting great things from you in the future.”

He searched her face. “You are, huh?”

“Yes.”

She said it with such confidence, he almost believed it himself.

“Maybe we could talk more sometime.”

“I’d like that.” The words slipped out softly, and with enthusiasm.

Jet stilled, watching her intently.

A knock sounded. Stu called, “Jet? Can I speak with you?”

Wincing, Jet sat there. “In a minute.” Heaving a long breath, he went to each window and locked them. “Tomorrow, you can take the corporate credit card and go shopping. Anything you need.”

“No, I--”

Jet reached for the door handle. “No arguments.” First time he had to argue with a woman to convince her to shop.

She blurted, “I had fun. You know, until all this. Thanks.”

He had too. More than he’d realized. Wishing he could stay, he said, “Goodnight.”

* * * *

With a wave, she sank back onto the sofa. If Stu hadn’t come back… Such a tight leash. Stu didn’t like her being alone with his client, she knew. But why? What didn’t he want her to find out?

Or did Stu not approve of them spending time together? If he’d violated some part of his contract by leaving, she’d suffer the repercussions too.

Such a surreal night. The jealous bimbos ransacking her cottage. Dancing with Jet Trently. She wished she could relive that dance. Curling a pillow to her chest, she closed her eyes and imagined herself in his arms. Coziness wrapped around her like Jet’s embrace and eased the tension from her body.

She awoke with a start to banging on the door. Squinting against the sunlight, she clutched the pillow and listened. Had the bimbos returned?

“Billie? It’s Cindy.”

With a sigh of relief, she rose and opened the door. “Hi. What’s up?”

Cindy held up a hangered dry cleaning bag and a plastic shopping bag. “I brought you some things. Sorry if I woke you.”

She waved her inside. “No problem. I normally don’t sleep late, but I had a restless night.” She wouldn’t elaborate she’d been unable to sleep because her head swirled with thoughts of Jet. Something about him last night, alone at the club, had stayed with her long into the night. How he looked at her with no pretense, just sheer desire while they danced. How he spoke so openly, revealing bits of himself he might not have to another reporter.

How could she be so naïve? He either wanted to get her into bed as another conquest, or to sway her writing in his favor as Zin warned. Probably the latter.

Cindy set the bag on the ottoman and laid the dry cleaning across the sofa. “I can imagine. What a nightmare to come back to. But I brought you an outfit from wardrobe, new sheets and pillows, and someone will be by with breakfast soon.”

Did the woman never sleep? “How nice. An outfit too?” Billie had worried she’d have to wear the same clothes as yesterday.

“A sundress, I figured that was safest size-wise. We’ll restock your fridge today too. If there’s anything special you want--anything at all, Stu says--just say so.”

“Thanks, but the usual is fine.”

“You should take advantage. Stu doesn’t make these offers lightly, or often. Hey, I’ll send you a case of the wine Jet had delivered.” She nodded decisively and pulled a card from her pocket. “Oh, and here’s the corporate card. Go crazy.” Pausing at the door, Cindy winked before closing it.