Coming Undone

CHAPTER NINE

"DID YOU SEE THIS SHIT?" Furious, Hank stormed onto the stage and thrust the tabloid at Nell. "Shocking secret life, my ass. Something's gotta be done about P.J.'s old lady."

Taking the paper, Nell skimmed the article. "Jodeen doesn't seem to actually reveal any shocking secrets," she murmured when she finished. "Funny how that's often the way with these rags, isn't it?"

He snorted. "Like there's anything to reveal. Something's got to be done," he repeated.

"Like what? You going to take out a contract on her?"

He pretended to consider it. "Not a bad idea." Her startled look dredged forth a faint smile. "No, I'm not planning anything violent. But why the hell doesn't P.J. do something?"

Nell gave him a level look. "What's your mom like?"

"Mine?" His smile grew. "She's great."

"Thought you were wonderful, told you you could accomplish anything you applied yourself to?"

"Yep, that's my mama."

"P.J.'s mama pretty much ignored her or told her what a burden she was up until the day Peej showed signs of becoming a money machine Jodeen could cash in on."

He scowled. "My point exactly."

"Oh, you don't think you would've spent a good part of your life hoping your mother would somehow turn into the kind you were lucky enough to be raised by?"

"Hell, n-" But he cut himself off and thought about it. "I don't know. Maybe."

"I have a friend who's an E.R. nurse. She sees abused kids way too much, kids with broken bones whose X-rays show too many previous breaks to be accidental. And the one true constant, she once told me, is that they all deny their parents had anything to do with their injuries. It's a built-in defense mechanism, because the truth is just too ugly to admit."

"Shit."

"Yeah." Then she shook her head. "We can't do anything about Priscilla's bad luck in the parent pool and I doubt she'd appreciate knowing we were discussing it. So you want to help me with a song I've been working on instead? I've practiced it over and over again on piano, but I'd love to hear how it sounds on fiddle."

"You bet." Man, he liked this woman. She was smart and funny and talented-and he'd bet the bank she'd be one warm, round armful if he could ever get her there.

But she had a yen for Eddie. Idiot Eddie, for crissake, who would never in a million years appreciate a woman like her the way she deserved to be appreciated. And that was supposing the fool could manage to look past the superficial in the first place, which, considering how far removed Nell was from the twenty-something airheads in sprayed-on Lycra that Eddie generally went for, wasn't likely.

He had to admit, though, that his band mate, for all that he couldn't keep his pants zipped for more than four or five hours at a pop, didn't pretend to be anything other than what he was. He was honest and up front about his shortcomings.

Maybe I oughtta take a lesson,Hank thought. Because he knew damn well if Eddie were ever interested in Nell, he wouldn't dither around about it. He'd let her know right away.

Not wanting to think about it any longer, Hank reached for his fiddle.

"Wait." Nell put a soft hand over his as he tucked the instrument under his chin and raised his bow. "Let's change the note here to C flat."

He leaned into her to see what she was pointing at on the sheet. "This one?"

"No, the one next to it there, see?"

A fresh, elusive fragrance tickled his nose. But instead of complimenting her on it or telling her what pretty skin she had or how much he enjoyed spending time like this with her, he merely nodded and began to play the new song.

And berated himself for being such a goddamn chicken-liver.

JARED BLEW OUT A BREATH, squared his shoulders and climbed onto the arena stage through the almost ladder-like stairs at the back of the boards. He was so tense he felt as though one false move and he'd fracture into so many tiny pieces he'd look like a damn mosaic. And wasn't that insane? How could one little kiss unleash fifteen years of suppressed emotion?

It shouldn't be able to.

Yet, oh, man, it had. Unleashed it big-time. The back of his tongue still retained P.J.'s taste, his palms itched and his fingers kept wanting to curl into the shape of that luxuriant curve of her butt.

But he trusted intellect, not strong emotions. Fifteen years ago he'd lost his temper and as a result he'd thought for a brief, awful time that he'd killed his own father. In the wake of it, once his life had finally stabilized in Tori and John's care, he'd made himself a vow that he would never again let his feelings take control. Because just look where that had gotten him. He'd quit acting in the heat of the moment, had given up committing any rash acts at all. The stronger his emotions were, in fact, the more likely he was to rein himself in. If there was a small part of him that was exhausted by always having to guard against a spontaneous reaction, it was a small price to pay. Because the truth was he just couldn't trust what might happen if he ever let go.

Which made his reaction earlier with P.J. all the more shocking. He'd formed that resolution years ago, and considering how well it had always worked for him he'd just naturally assumed it was an established fact by now.

Not so, apparently. Because his ironclad control had sure as hell slipped with her.

And slipped big.

It was bad enough he'd allowed her to anger him with that crap about his "perfect" life. In the short time they'd been reunited, she'd managed to rile him faster than anyone he'd ever known. But he always got himself back in hand fairly quickly. And he'd done so today as well.

Only to lose it completely when she'd kissed him.

Holy shit. A kiss was a kiss was a kiss-or that's what he'd always believed, anyhow. Kisses were nice and they led to activities that were even nicer. But face it, they were pretty much interchangeable.

Not hers.A harsh breath exploded from his lungs. Hers had damn near blown the top of his head off.

He was going to pretend it hadn't, though. He was going to corral her before sound check and have that catch-up talk he'd told her they'd have. He was going to chat and smile and keep it light and friendly. He'd keep his hands in his pockets and his gaze off her mouth. And afterward he'd ride that midnight bus down to L.A. with her.

Then he was getting the hell back to Denver, where life had boundaries he understood.

P.J. wasn't onstage when he rounded the huge speaker blocking his view of most of it, but he hadn't expected her to be. He'd come extra early by design.

Hank and Nell had come even earlier. They sat on stools on the left side of the stage, Hank playing a stanza or two of a song on his fiddle before Nell interrupted, made a notation on some sheets of paper she held, then waved at him to continue.

Well, shit.Nell was a sweetheart, but Hank sure didn't top the list of people he was dying to see.

But those were the breaks. As that old philosopher Mick Jagger said, you can't always get what you want. Releasing his frustration on a hearty exhalation, he assumed a pleasant expression and shoved his hands into his pockets as he sauntered across the stage.

Hank spotted him first and the slight smile curving his lips disappeared. "Aw, hell." Lowering his fiddle, he gave Jared his usual what-the-hell-are-you-doing-in-my-territory fixed stare. Then he turned to Nell. "Hand me that paper, will you, darlin'?"

She passed him a tabloid-sized newspaper and the musician immediately thrust it at Jared. "Here. Why don't you make yourself useful for a change and do something about this?"

"Hank," Nell remonstrated without heat.

Jared looked down at what was indeed a tabloid and swore when he saw the headline. Then he shut out the others to read the entire article.

When he finished, he didn't kick it across the stage or reach for the closest book of matches to torch it the way he wanted. Instead he handed it with extra care back to Nell. "God, I despise that woman," he murmured to himself, his gaze still locked on theNashville Tattler and its screaming headline even as Nell twisted to put the paper away. "She was malicious fifteen years ago and she hasn't changed a bit."

"You know P.J.'s mother?" Nell asked.

He looked up, surprised that he'd actually said it out loud. Then he gave a mental shrug. What the hell-he'd given up caring who knew about his earlier days a long time ago. "We've never met, but I know she's a liar and a lousy mother. That story in the rags a while back about P.J. running away from home when she was thirteen? Pure bullshit. Her mother kicked her out."

"And you would know this how?" Hank demanded skeptically.

"By living on the streets with me," P.J.'s voice came from behind him.

Aw, crap. He turned to face her. He'd give a lot not to have had her overhear this particular conversation. But that cat had slipped its cage.

"Yeah, right," Hank guffawed. "Mister Hundred-Dollar T-shirt, here? Pull the other one."

Tired of the other man's attitude, Jared gave him a flat-eyed stare. "What, you think bad parenting can't cross the socioeconomic line? Think again, pal. I had a dad who made Peej's mom look like Mother Teresa."

"Sez you." P.J. snorted. "My mother was barely getting warmed up when your dad took that letter opener through the heart."

Oh, gawd. She couldn't believe she wasjoking about this! Yet there was something liberating about being able to do so after all the years of pretending that if only she wished hard enough everything would turn out okay. The truth was her mother was never going to be the parent she'd spent a lifetime dreaming of. And while she wasn't close to being ready to share that with the rest of the world, she could at least admit it to the people here. She was among friends.

Well, two of them were, anyway.

Jared looked down at her with a coolly raised eyebrow. "And that doesn't tell you something right there-that he was murdered and according to Rocket and Tori they had more suspects than they knew what to do with, but I was the top pick anyhow? If Dad had survived your mother would have had to hang her head in shame. The woman was a piker compared to my old man. Hell, she wasn't even in the same league-she was strictly the minors."

She saw the stunned looks on Nell's and Hank's faces and couldn't prevent a wry smile. Because she and Jared might not be friends in the normal sense of the word, but their time in Denver had forged a bond that would never break no matter how thin they stretched it. If she never saw him again after tomorrow the experience they'd shared as kids would still be a link that connected them forever. They'd survived things together that most people couldn't even imagine.

Jared turned those imperturbable eyes on Hank. "So do me a favor, buddy, and quit making assumptions. You don't know the first damn thing about me."

Hank stiffened and P.J. took a casual step forward that put her between them.

Jared merely put his long hands on her shoulders and leaned over her head. "But because I live to brighten your day, I will tell you that I'm out of here after we get to L.A."

"And not a moment too soon," Hank muttered. But the look he gave Jared was more thoughtful than his usual you-asshole glare.

She, on the other hand, just felt sort of edgy. Dissatisfied. "Where's Eddie?" she demanded and winced at her petulant tone.

"I'm here, babe."

He stood in the wings with a young blonde beneath the drape of his arm. This one looked barely legal and P.J. was fresh out of patience. "If you'd be so kind?"

"You betcha." Giving the blonde a final squeeze, he set her loose and strolled onto the stage.

She turned to Hank. "And our backup band?"

"They're down in the passageway, most of them," he said. "I'll tell 'em it's time." He disappeared behind the speakers and yelled down the steps. Men's voices replied from the cavernous corridor below, then footsteps sounded on the stairs.

"Good," she said, even though nothing felt all that good to her at the moment. "I don't know about the rest of you, but I've got things to do. So whataya say we get this under way? Is the soundman here?"

An affirmation came from the darkened orchestra pit and P.J. nodded. "All right, then. Let's go."

Watching Jared saunter toward the wing where the blonde stood, it took her a moment to realize Hank was talking to her. She turned to him. "Huh?"

"We playing this in the usual order? I'm trying to figure out banjo or fiddle for the first song."

"Oh." She had to think a second, then shrugged when it still didn't pop to mind. "Yeah, usual order." Whatever that was.

"Banjo, then."

She gave her head an impatient shake as he turned away to exchange instruments. What the hell was the matter with her? If the constant traveling was catching up with her already that didn't bode well. They'd barely gotten started.

Nell shuffled what looked like a song score to the back of her clipboard and walked to center stage to check off the musicians who were beginning to trickle onto the bandstand. When everyone was assembled, she turned to P.J. and nodded. "We're good to go."

"Okay, let's get right to it," she said. She just couldn't get in the mood for this today and wanted it over and done with as quickly as possible.

The musicians were launching into the first number when a short metallic screech rent the air overhead. Musical notes trailed off as everyone stopped to listen, but the noise had ceased. They raised their instruments again, but before they could launch back into the beginning of the song the sound came again-a short, high-pitched shriek that ended almost as quickly as it had begun.

Everyone looked up. "What the hell?" someone muttered.

Then there was a longer attenuated screech, and the next thing P.J. knew, Jared was racing toward them. "Clear the stage!" he yelled, and when everyone still stood frozen in shock, he leaped into the air.

And took Nell to the floor in a flying tackle just before a huge metal light on a cable that had been severed on one side came swooping with the velocity of a home-run ball straight through the spot where she'd stood a second ago.

"Stay down," P.J. heard him order as her friend began to struggle beneath him. He hunched over her, clearly prepared to take the brunt of the light if it swung back their way.

And sure enough, they were still in its trajectory when it reached the cable's apex and started its return swing. From what she could judge from where she stood, P.J. thought it was probably high enough off the ground to pass right over them.

But she wouldn't want to bet the bank on it. And finally she moved. "Can somebody get that?" she yelled and raced toward them.

Hank passed her and threw himself in the light's path, catching it before it reached the pair on the floor. P.J. heard Hank's breath explode from his lungs as the fixture hit him in the diaphragm, but he bent and wrapped his arms around it, hugging it to himself. "Jesus," he whispered and let go of the metal casing to grab hold of the cable that still attached it to the overhead beams. Angry red marks marred his inner forearms.

"Ohmigawd, it's hot, isn't it?"

He shrugged, and she gave herself a head slap.

"Stupid question. Of course it is."

He passed the broken fixture to Eddie, who'd come to help, and squatted down next to Jared and Nell. "Y'all okay?"

"I'm fine." Jared lifted himself off Nell but knelt beside her, gently touching the back of her head and her shoulders. "How about you? Are you all right? Did I bruise you?"

"Um." She rolled over gingerly then pushed herself up into a sitting position. She blinked from him to Hank. "What the hell happened?"

The portly stage manager arrived, out of breath and apologetic. P.J. stepped between him and Hank when her musician looked ready to charge like an enraged bull. She gave the manager her best no-nonsense look. "You want to tell me what happened here?"

"I'm sorry, Miss Morgan. We won't really know until we take the light back to our electrician and have him look at it."

"That's not good enough," Hank snarled. "Nell could have been seriously hurt."

"But I wasn't," she said and with Jared's assistance climbed to her feet. She crossed over to Hank and patted his arm. "I'm fine. A little the worse for wear and shook up, but fine. Don't blame him. Accidents happen."

But nerves that stemmed from more than having to wait for the stage crew to finish checking the remaining lights before they were allowed to get back to it were in evidence throughout the sound check. And their music during the actual concert later that evening was edgier than usual. When the last note was sung, P.J. knew that she for one hadn't given her best performance. Fortunately the audience hadn't seemed to notice.

Uncertain she could blame it strictly on the accident, she was subdued and feeling down as she washed off her stage makeup in the dressing room after the show. When she stepped out into the vast corridor a short while later, she was happy to see that Nell had waited for her. They fell into step and the sound of their shoes striking the linoleum-over-cement floors bounced off the concrete-block walls. Harsh overhead fluorescent tubing negated the late hour.

"I'll be happy to see the last of this town," Nell said.

"Yeah, me, too." But part of her wasn't quite ready to move on, no matter how much she'd been looking forward to seeing L.A.

Hank was smoking a cigarette on the tarmac outside the bus when they arrived and Jared stood a few feet away, his shoulders and one foot propped against the vehicle's silver exterior.

"What are you guys doing out here?" P.J. asked as she and Nell walked up, surprised to see them together.

"Marvin's not here," Jared replied and pushed away from the bus. He gave it a slap. "He left this buggy locked up tight, which is actually a good thing, if inconvenient."

"Where could he have gone? He's usually around when we need him."

Jared shrugged and Hank rolled the paper tube of his cigarette between his fingers until the coal dropped to the ground. Stepping on it, he disposed of the dead butt in a nearby trash can, then walked over to join them. "Interesting concert tonight," he said.

"Yeah," she agreed glumly. "Not our best."

"Having a missile on a string come hurtling outta the blue tends to put a crimp in a band's style."

Marvin came bustling up. "I'm sorry, Miz Morgan," he said, his sparse gingery red hair standing up in electrified tufts. "A kid told me I had a call from home in the front office, but it musta been a practical joke because the office was locked when I got there and my wife didn't have a clue what I was talking about when I called her back." He grimaced apologetically. "I shoulda known she'da just called me on my cell."

Jared stiffened and put a hand out to stop Marvin from unlocking the bus. He indicated the flashlight in the driver's utility belt. "Can I borrow that?"

Marvin hesitated, but then handed it over. "Sure, I guess."

Jared played the light down the doors then got down on the ground and shined it up beneath the bus's carriage.

P.J.'s stomach sank. Oh God. That didn't look good.

"What the hell are you doing?" Hank demanded. "Looking for a goddamn bomb or something?"

"We had a fixture break today that shouldn't have," Jared replied calmly. "It was no doubt an accident, but-"

"You're right," Hank interrupted, glancing at Nell. "There's no such thing as overkill when it comes to safety. You need any help?"

As the driver exclaimed in alarm, obviously hearing of today's event for the first time, Jared said, "Yeah, go to about the midpoint and see if anything looks out of place when I shine the light that way."

Nell explained to Marvin about the incident with the light and her and Jared's part in it as the men went over the bus. Then it was her turn to exclaim when P.J. contributed the part where Hank had caught the light and gotten burned for his efforts.

Minutes later the men climbed to their feet. "It's fine," Jared said and handed the driver back his flashlight. "Go ahead and unlock it."

Marvin did so but paused in the midst of putting his foot on the first step after the doors opened. "What's this?"

Jared muscled him aside and reached down to pick up a crumpled manila envelope that had clearly been crammed under the door. Holding it by the corners he climbed into the bus and walked to the little galley table. "Hit the lights, will you, Marvin?"

P.J. was right beside Jared when he turned back from getting a steak knife from the drawer, but he intercepted her hand when she reached out for the envelope.

"It's addressed to me," she protested, looking down at the block printing that spelled outPRISCILLA JAYNE.

"I know. But try to touch it as little as possible in case we have to turn it over to the cops."

"Who the hell are you?" Hank demanded, and only then did P.J. realize that both he and Nell had crowded behind her. "You're awful damn cautious for a record company's stooge."

"I'm not a Wild Wind employee. I'm a partner in Semper Fi Investigations, the agency that Wild Wind hired for this job." He slid the blade tip under the sealed flap.

"Semper Fi, huh? You were a Marine?"

He nodded, clearly intent on his mission to open the envelope with as little contact as possible, and P.J. jerked her gaze away from his hands to stare at him in surprise.

"You were?"

"Yeah. Not a lifer like Rocket, but I put in my four years." He sliced the blade along the envelope's fold. Glancing over his shoulder at Hank, he said, "Semper Fi specializes in investigations and security." Then he turned his attention back to the job at hand and extracted his blade from the now-slit mailer. "Let's see what we've got."

Carefully he tipped out the contents, which turned out to be a single sheet of glossy magazine paper.

Tilting her head to one side, she realized it was a half-page photo that had been taken of her for an article inCountry Connection magazine several months ago. For a second she merely stared down at it without understanding.

"Aw, shit!" Hank growled, and it was then that horror began to seep through her incomprehension.

For where her photographed eyes had been were blank holes. And printed across her chest in more of those block letters were the wordsIF THINE EYE OFFEND THEE, PLUCK IT OUT.