Strung Out (Needles and Pins #1) (55 page)

She was again plotting her getaway when she spotted Gage on a couch. He had been hidden from her direct view by the two women on his lap until one got to her feet. His hair was damp and waving about his face, and he wore the jeans and tee shirt he had left the house in earlier, instead of his stage getup. He was speaking intently to the remaining woman who was practically humping his leg, and his hand rested on the bare skin showing between her short shirt and the low waist of her jeans.

The beautiful girl smiled, putting her lips to his, and Scarla averted her gaze. While seeing her rock star stepbrother on stage had filled her with pride, seeing him in full-on backstage rock star mode made her queasy.

Using both hands, he set his lap ornament aside, and was about to stand when the other girl returned and held a beer and something else out to him. He grinned his thanks, accepting the bottle, and that’s when his gaze roamed around the room and fell on her. His eyes widened, and he curved a pleased smile, instantly springing to his feet. The girl waved the device in her hand to get his attention, and he frowned at it before turning his back on the skank.

Scarla basked in his purposeful stride toward her and returned his steadfast gaze as he crossed the room.

Colt, who was closer, intercepted and squeezed her in a hug. “Hey, Scarla. What can I do you for? There’s beer, wine, cocktail bags…”

“Scar.” Gage shouldered Colt aside. “Where’ve you been? I had to send out a search party.” As he joked, she noticed the girl who’d brought him the beer pinch her nostril and snort from the paraphernalia she had waved. She wondered if Gage would have partaken if he hadn’t looked up and found her watching. “What can I get the prettiest woman in the room to drink?”

“Your
sister
,” here Colt emphasized the sibling connection, “is the hottest, in or out of the room.” He grabbed her hand. “Follow me, Scarla. I’ll party you up.”

As she was literally dragged away by Colt, she craned her neck toward Gage and shrugged, unsure what to do. Snatching her arm from Colt’s grasp would cause a mini scene—one Colt didn’t deserve. He had, after all, been a complete gentleman to her and had come running to her rescue in the a.m. hours the night Gage had OD’d.

“You enjoy the show?” Colt kept up a conversation, ignoring the premixed drinks and making her one.

Mustering up all the enthusiasm she’d felt while watching the performance, she nodded and enthusiastically babbled. When she looked back to where they’d left Gage standing, women were once more draped all over him.

“Hoarding the smokin’ hottest babes all to yourself is not allowed!” The newcomer’s voice boomed as he approached.

She’d managed not to become flustered when Gage and Colt had lavished her with flattery. But when the famous drummer from one of tonight’s other bands perused her with a smoldering look while talking shit, she couldn’t control the embarrassed flush she felt staining her face.

“Fuck off!” Colt’s swear was light hearted and dished to the other guy with the barest quirk of a smile.

She accepted the drink he passed her and quickly took a gulp as the drummer returned, “No fuckin’ way. What’s your name, sugar pie?”

“Scarla.” A few sips fortified her enough to deal with a rowdy rock star, and she returned, “And yours?
Sugar?
”

Colt snorted in amusement and turned away to mix another drink presumably for himself. Gage fixed the drummer with a dark look as he moved closer with his current flock of groupies in tow.

“You make me laugh, sugar pie.” Obnoxious rock star hitched his chin up a notch. When his lips tipped, the lines around his mouth were more pronounced. “Haven’t had to introduce myself in a decade.”

A decade was laughable. The man had been a well-known face for two decades. He was clearly in denial of his true age, and the twenty-year-old women clinging to him seemed proof of the fact.

“Really? A decade? Everyone you’ve met during that time has psychic powers?” Here she bit the inside of her lip, aware she was being a bitch and that her prejudice against obnoxious celebrity musicians was goading her on.

A pucker of a confused frown creased the skin between his eyes. Instead of shooting her the finger or walking off, he shook off his own groupie women and swaggered closer. She wanted to step back when he invaded her space, but she rooted her feet to the floor. Combing his fingers through her hair, he stared into her eyes, and tipped his head downward. “I know you, don’t I? How well do I know you, Scarla?”

Again, she felt heat burning her face. Did he think she was a past one-night stand who was bitter at being cast aside? “You don’t. We haven’t met.”

“You don’t know her. She’s not from the States.” Gage now moved into their bubble of space. “You mind keeping your hands off my sister?”

Colt pushed the fresh drink at the drummer, obviously trying to aid Gage in diffusing things. Ignoring the plastic cup, Mr. Obnoxious peered more intently into her face. Realization dawned on his features and he blinked rapidly.

She fell a step back and wheezed a panicked breath. For a man who’d been too ignorant to understand her ‘it-would-take-a-psychic-to-know-his-name’ joke a minute ago, he certainly was quick to put two and two together from Gage’s careless sister comment.

“Scar-
lette
. Scarlette Conterra.”

She felt her head bobble side to side in denial. Her eyes darted, hoping no one else was listening. A few of the girls who remained attached to Gage, Colt, and the drummer had stilled and were scrutinizing her with narrowed eyes.

“That’s not her name.” Gage loomed even closer, practically a human shield between her and the rest of the room. His words were steely, and he stared hard at the side of the drummer’s face, but the guy hadn’t broken eye contact with her.

“You look just like him. My God, your eyes…”

‘Ghosted’ is what she’d privately labeled such scenarios in her past. It had happened on and off through the years. Former band members, friends of her father’s, or anyone who knew him from more than a picture, always had the same reaction when seeing her. Sometimes, after experiencing such moments, she’d studied her father’s pictures, striving to see herself as they saw her.

“No, she doesn’t.” This time, Gage put out an arm, swinging the other man around to face him. “You’ve mixed her up with someone else.”

The man came out of his astounded fugue and backed up a step. He nodded at Gage and then to her, but the knowledgeable light still burned bright in his gaze. “Yeah. I guess so. Now that I’ve taken a second look. Not sure what I was thinking… A pleasure—an honor—to meet you.”

Scarla let out a relieved breath as the man moved away, casting one last look back toward her. He knew. No mistake. But she had misjudged him. He was cool. The girls followed him, bored with her now that she was once again a ‘nobody.’ Possibly, they were willing to believe the mistaken identity.

“I’m getting her out of here.” Gage already had Scarla turned toward the door, and she allowed herself to be propelled forward. By the time they exited into the hallway, a large man fell into step beside them. She had heard Gage mention bodyguards and presumed from the way this man accompanied and parted the fray as they moved ahead that he was one. They dodged the many roaming people and Gage ignored the excited yells of his name as they rounded corners.

“Gage! Gage! I love you! Gage! Please!”
Pleas and selfie sticks fell by the wayside as he crouched and like a bull, barreled his way through with her tucked under his arm.

They were picking up followers, and the bodyguard guy leaned to Gage. “Sir, where are you headed?”

“Just away.” Gage took a look behind them, and she saw the resignation and desperation on his face. “Away, please.”

The man ushered them into a side hall and then quickly into a room off the hall. The door clanged closed and the blissful sound of silence floated in a peaceful cloud around them.

“You okay?” Gage dropped the shelter of his arm from her shoulders but maintained contact when his hand slid down her arm.

“Damn. That was intense.” An ugly sense of déjà vu weighted her memories.

“Yeah. Well, I know you know how it is.”

But she didn’t anymore. Her mom had moved them out of the country when she could no longer stand being the most hated woman in the rock world.

During her affair with Tyler Conterra, Henni Smythe had been loathed by female fans for being his baby mama, by male fans when their icon fell to the clutches of a woman who ran around on him, and by all fans when his depression supposedly caused by her constant infidelity had led to drug addiction and ultimately death. With Gage’s father, Henni had achieved for a short time an untouchable status with the press. But without him, she’d taken Scarla and run when it all became too much.

Taking a look around, she saw a wall of active screen feeds. A guy wearing a staff shirt stood up from the observation deck. The two men spoke while glancing every so often toward her and Gage.

“I gotta text Bill.” Gage pulled his cell phone from his pocket.

“Is the helicopter our ride back to the house?”

“Unfortunately, it was only our way here.” His texting slowed and then stopped, and his eyes raked over her. “You’re shaking.”

“I should’ve brought the jacket.” She curved a smile at her jest and rubbed her arms even though she wasn’t cold. But Gage didn’t seem fooled.

“I’m sorry, Scar. I wasn’t thinking. I was an idiot.”

“I won’t deny the idiot part.” She lifted her brows and resisted sticking her tongue out at him like she did when they were kids. “But what are you sorry for?”

“For saying who you are. For saying something that had him putting the pieces together.”

“Mr. Remington?” Burly bodyguard dude appeared. “I’m going to escort you to your ride if you’ll just give me a moment.”

As the man spoke into his headpiece, assuring someone on the other end he had them safe, Gage and Scarla moved closer to stare at the screens. It surprised her to see the party room they’d run from was monitored—as well as the stage area, the hallway outside the dressing rooms, and several other busy areas.

Her eyes swung to the exterior camera footage.

Limousines and other vehicles were in a line. Fans dotted the area becoming a blob just outside the exit, and she worried. “Is that where we’ll be going? Will we go through the craze again?”

“We’ll keep you cloaked. I’ll make sure you’ve got shades and a hoodie. Whatever you need in case your picture is snapped. There’ll be no recognizing you, okay?”

She nodded, totally trusting him. Before she looked away from the screen, it came to life, the throng of people surging one way. Several people pushed through the crowd, and a limo door opened to admit them. One of the individuals turned back, looking almost directly at the camera before being shepherded into the car.

Ivy!

“S
ure it was her?”

“Yes!”

Her scream was so shrill, Gage almost plugged his ears.

“Why do you keep asking me that? Wait, the PI called, didn’t he?”

They were lying on the pad surrounded by pillows in the theater room watching DVR’s of ‘That Metal Show.’ He reached for the remote, backing the volume down. “He just texted.”

When Scarlette had seen her friend, he had hired an investigator to track the limo down and therefore Ivy. Earlier in the week, the Private Investigator had reported to them. He’d made prints from the video, traced the limo by the license plate, and had questioned the occupants. The girl hadn’t been Ivy. Gage had demanded the investigator check into it more and hadn’t told Scarlette yet. Until now. Now because he’d gotten a text confirming his guy had a face to face with both the drivers and the passengers in the car. They had all named the same girl who wasn’t Ivy. Now he pulled the picture up for Scarlette.

“This is who they are saying the girl is. She’s the girlfriend of one of the band members.”

She took his phone from him and stared for several long seconds. Her hand fell to the cushion, and then she sat up and studied it again. “This isn’t who I saw.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay. But I don’t know what more to do. Do you want me to have him watch the house?”

“Which house? There were three others in the car besides her.”

Exactly
. He watched the emotions play over her face and hated feeling helpless.

“Besides, it would cost a lot. To have him do that.” She passed the phone back.

“Doesn’t matter. Hell, Scarlette, we’re the lucky ones. We never have to worry about money.”

She remained quiet, her hands now folded across her stomach just above the waistline of her distressed black denim shorts.

“We’ll get someone on all the houses. Don’t think about the cost. I’ve spent money on stupid shit. I bet you have too.” Now she twisted a wry smile, and happy to see that curve of her lips, he teased. “Yeah? Really? I was joking about you. What has the practical and responsible Scarlette splurged on?”

“Does my mom’s psychic count?”

Her grin had been deceiving, and now his own fell away as he noted the tinge of bitterness coating her inquiry.