Trouble Rising (New Adult Rock Star Romance): Tyler and Katie's Story #3 (12 page)

“Your cousin?”

“She’s not my cousin,” I confessed, putting my face in my hands. “And she’s run away!”

“Okay.” Leanne took a deep breath, stepping into the house. “Come on. Let’s go sit down and you can tell me everything.”

We went to the kitchen, and I told her everything while I made coffee. I told her about finding Jay on Trouble’s tour bus when she was just twelve—with her two older girlfriends and an eight-ball of heroin. I told her how I’d introduced Jay to Rob, so he could let her down easy and tell her that he was in love with and engaged to Sabrina, and would be marrying her as soon as his divorce with Catherine was final.

I poured us coffee and told her how I confiscated their drugs and put all three of the girls on a Greyhound bus back to home. I gave them all my cell phone number, in case they ran into a problem. Jay had been the only one to use it, letting me know when she was home safe. Her mother hadn’t even missed her, she said.

That was the beginning, I told Leanne. We’d stayed in touch. Jay liked to turn to me when she was having problems at home or at school. She was an average student—but she got a lot of attention from boys. Especially older boys. I’d done my best, I told Leanne, giving her long-distance advice, trying to be both a friend and an adult, trying to steer her in the right direction.

I told Leanne about Jay’s alcoholic father and neglectful mother, how her father had left—
yay!
—and then her mother had found a replacement that was actually far worse—
boo!
And then, how Jay had run away, coming to us for help, and we’d taken her in.

“So why would she run away from you?” Leanne asked, putting cream in her coffee, and so I told her that, too. What had happened last night, how Sabrina had sent her home because of some misunderstanding between Jay and Rob—no, I didn’t know the specifics, not yet—and how Jay had sobbed and apologized and told me it was all a mistake.

“Well, you can understand Sabrina’s reaction,” Leanne mused.

I said I could—of course, I could. They’d had issues before, with fans who wanted a job just to get close to Rob. Nannies, in fact. I didn’t blame her. But it had been devastating to Jay.

“Then, Tyler went off on her.” I winced at the memory. “He said he wanted her to send her home. I think that’s what did it. I think Jay ran away before we could send her back…”

“Well, her mother must be looking for her,” Leanne said. “Maybe that would be the best thing?”

“Not if her stepfather’s in the house,” I snapped. “She says he hasn’t done anything… yet. But he will. If we give him the opportunity, he will.”

“Well, if she’s in danger… maybe you should just let the police and the system handle it?” Leanne suggested, shrugging when I glared at the idea. “It might be safer for everyone.”

“Everyone but Jay.” I shook my head vehemently. “They won’t take her away until something happens. We both know that.”

“Call Tyler,” she suggested. “He’s got access to resources. Maybe you can find her before she gets too far.”

I nodded, reaching for my phone, hoping to see a message from Jay, maybe made from a pay phone, but there was nothing. I called Tyler, but it went straight to voicemail. The read-through, of course. He would have muted it.

“Ty, it’s me,” I said, leaving a message, watching Leanne put a rectangular box on the table. She’d been carrying it under her arm when she came in, but I hadn’t really acknowledged it—I’d been too worried about Jay. “Listen, as soon as you get this, I need you to call me. Jay… I can’t find her. Her backpack is gone. I think she’s run away from us. I think… please, just call me. As soon as you get this. Please.”

I hung up, staring at the phone in my hand.

“Look at this.” Leanne pulled a photograph out of the box, handing it over to me.

“Awww.” Jeez, my ovaries were sensitive to babies. My biological clock was ticking away like a time bomb down there. “Wait… is this… is that Tyler?”

“Yes.” Leanne’s smile was filled with both sadness and a sort of motherly pride. “Wasn’t he darling?”

“Look at all that blonde hair.” The little boy in the photograph couldn’t have been more than a year old—he was standing holding onto a coffee table, balancing between it and a dirty, flower-colored sofa, wearing only a drooping diaper. His smile lit up his whole face. I would have recognized it anywhere. Tyler. My Tyler.

“Are there more?” I looked at the box, holding out greedy hands for it.

“Lots,” Leanne agreed, pushing the box over to me. She was holding a photograph in her hand. “You can go through them all later. After we find Jay.”

I nodded, glancing into the box that held all that was left of Tyler and Rob and Sarah’s history with their mother. It broke my heart.

“But I wanted to show you this. Actually, I wanted to show it to Tyler... I wasn’t sure what to do with it. About it… I guess…” The scar on Leanne’s face seemed to droop at her words, and her one good eye flitted from the photograph in her hand up to me and back again. “Here. You tell me.”

“Is this Sarah?” I asked, smiling at the dark-haired girl in the picture. She looked to be about kindergarten age, wearing a short summer dress, holding one of those orange sherbet Push-Up ice creams. She was in mid-lick, the ice cream dripping down toward her elbow, her head tilted sideways, half-smiling for whoever was holding the camera.

“Yes.” Leanne nodded, pursing her lips. “At my mother’s place. That was after… after they were taken away. After Tyler… after Joe was killed. I was in jail.”

“I thought they were separated?” I frowned, staring at the picture. “Weren’t they all put into foster care?”

“My mother had the kids for a month or so, before that,” she explained. “They might’ve given her custody, if it wasn’t for the fire.”

“The fire?”

“She fell asleep,” Leanne said. “Passed out, more like.”

“And there was a fire?”

“Smokers shouldn’t drink.” She pointed to the photograph. “This must have been taken then. Do you see who’s standing in the background?”

“Is that… Dante?” I’d only seen Tyler’s real father once in person—although as California state prosecutor, I’d seen pictures of him in the paper. He was in a lot of them after his arrest.

Leanne nodded. “Do you recognize anyone else?”

I squinted at the men standing in the background. They were slightly out of focus, standing in a group on the driveway, four of them. Dante was tall and recognizable—he was even looking over at Sarah, a fact I found ominous, now that I knew what sort of operation he was running, and continued to run. Two men had their backs to the camera, so Leanne could only be talking about the other man standing beside Dante.

“I don’t—” I shook my head, looking at the man beside Dante. He was much shorter and he was sporting a goatee and pornstache, probably to make up for the way his hair was thinning on top.

“He’s younger.” Leanne’s voice was soft, but she sounded sure of herself. “More hair. The beard probably throws it off. But it’s him.”

“Arnie.” I stared at the photograph in my hand, watching it tremble. What did this mean? Arnie and Dante? Long, long before Arnie had “discovered” Rob, helping him find Tyler and Sarah while he put the rest of Trouble together.

“It’s him.” Leanne’s one good eye looked at me, unblinking.

“How?” I shook my head, confused. “Did he know Dante?”

“I don’t know.” She sat back with a long sigh. “But… I had a bad feeling about him, when we were at Rob’s. Last week? Remember?”

I remembered—when Tyler had made his announcement.

“Bad feeling?” I looked more closely at the photograph. The more I looked at it, the more I was sure—it was Arnie. He was younger, thinner, and he had more hair—but there was no doubt, it was him. “What do you mean?”

“I… let’s just say, I didn’t like the way he looked at Jay,” she said. “That whole modeling thing? It just… felt wrong.”

“You think…” I didn’t want to say it out loud. The thought made my whole body break out in goose flesh.

“I didn’t want to say anything.” Leanne sipped her coffee, looking at me over the rim. “I thought I was just jumping to conclusions. But then I saw that photograph… and I knew I had to tell someone.”

“I have to call Tyler.” I pulled my phone back out, hitting redial.

Answer, answer, answer,
I thought, closing my eyes and willing him to pick up. I needed him to pick up.

“This is Ty, leave me a message.”

Beep.

Goddamnit. I hung up, not leaving a message, and looking through my contacts for the studio number. I could get one of the girls at the front desk to go get him.

“No luck?” Leanne asked as the studio phone started ringing.

Lindsay answered—I recognized her voice, and she knew me, thankfully, so when I asked her to go get Tyler, she didn’t think it was weird.

“Oh, hey, Katie,” she said, and I heard phones ringing in the background. She wasn’t the only one manning the desk up front. “I think they’re done for the day. Ended about an hour ago?”

“Really?” I frowned. “He said he wouldn’t be home until dinner…”

“I don’t know,” Lindsay said, not sounding concerned. “Maybe he had another meeting? I saw that reporter from Variety skulking around earlier.”

I stiffened, my lips barely forming the words. “Alisha McKenna?”

“Uh-huh,” Lindsay agreed. “If he comes back in, I’ll have him call you.”

“Okay, thanks.” I ended the call, glaring at my phone.

Alisha McKenna. Alisha-
fuck-me
-McKenna.

“Everything okay?” Leanne asked as I searched my apps for
“Find iPhone.”
Our accounts were connected, and I could track Tyler anytime, anywhere. I’d told him that when we’d signed the contract for our phones, and he’d kissed me and said, “I love it when your eyes get green like that.”

“Yeah, I just—” My voice trailed off as the little dot blinked on the map, showing me where Tyler was right that moment. “Oh my God.”

“What?”

“He’s downtown—L.A.”

“So?” She cocked her head at me but I barely registered it.

“At the Hilton.
He’s at a hotel
.”

“Katie!” she called after me, but I already had my keys in my hand and I was heading toward the door.

“I’ll drive.” That’s all Leanne said, and I let her.

I was shaking too much to try operating a motorized vehicle, anyway.

I had no idea what I was going to do, when we got to the hotel. I had visions of knocking on every single door at the Hilton, looking for my husband. Because of course they wouldn’t tell me where he was. I could imagine the smirk on the clerk’s face when I asked if Tyler Cook had checked in—or Warren Peace. That was the ridiculous “punny” pseudonym he liked to use.