Coming Undone

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

FIVE CITIES, FIVE CONCERTS, five drive-all-night bus rides. And now, with the morning sun lighting their way, they were rolling through town number six.

P.J. watched Denver unfold outside the window and memories of living on its streets, first by herself, then with Jared, began piling up faster than she knew how to handle. She stole a quickie peek at the banquette where J sat engrossed in a book, sipping a cup of coffee.

He didn't spare her so much as a glance in return.

Of course not. Acid cramped her stomach. Never mind that Denver was where they'd met, the city where they'd gone through so much together, where they'd relied on each other to stay sane. She'd taught him every bit of street savvy she'd learned there. He'd comforted her, talked to her, been her friend. Hell, even though he was a person of interest wanted for questioning in his father's murder, he'd risked exposure to face down a pervert for her-all because she'd called Mama begging to come home and had been told she'd made her bed and could just lie in it. When she'd flipped out as a result and was about to throw herself over the edge, Jared had pulled her back.

But no, never mind all that.

Because ever since L.A. he'd gone back to being Mr. Professional Bodyguard or Security Guy or whatever the hell he was supposed to be. And she was ready to scream.

Or cry.

Or-hey, here was an idea-shoot him.

The last option was gaining favor by the minute. For really, it beat the heck out of crying. And screaming was so bad for the voice.

Not to mention that she was just plain ticked. Because try as she might, she couldn't get their incredible encounter out of her mind.

She had never known sex couldbe like that. It had blown her away, and she'd thought of little else for the past six days. Not merely about the orgasms, either, which had been a revelation all their own. But about the comfort of being in his arms afterward, the feel of his voice rumbling beneath her ear and speaking over her head at the same time as he'd said those nice, nice things about her. She had felt close to him in a way she'd never felt with anyone else. She'd felt safe.

Jared apparently hadn't found it particularly special. Otherwise he wouldn't be so freaking determined to act as if it had never happened.

Her life had been turned upside down and inside out, while his-

Well, his clearly hadn't. Not if he could go from what they had shared back to treating her like good ol' Peej.

She'd probably stunk at it. She was twenty-eight years old and hardly a virgin, but neither did she have a lot of know-how on her side. She'd been nineteen the first time she'd done the deed, years behind most of the girls she'd known. Nineteen when Johnny Ripley had sweet-talked her out of her panties in the bed of his pickup truck down at the end of the dirt road next to old man Hemming's orchard. The experience had been messy and uncomfortable and had cured her of her crush on Johnny but good.

It had improved with the next guy, but not by leaps and bounds. Same thing with the guy after that-it had been better, but not by much. The truth was, she'd mostly been too busy trying to get her foot in the music-industry door to bother with it much.

Then Jared had come roaring back into her life and introduced her to Sex with a capitalSsss.

And at the risk of repeating herself, she'd probably stunk like a skunk at it.

Well, she didn't care. So what if he was some hotshot stud between the sheets and she did the wild thing with all the expertise of the thirteen-year-old he'd known back when? She had other skills. Hell, dollars to doughnuts the only place Jared could carry a tune was in the shower.

But that wasn't a place she cared to picture him in, since she knew only too well how good he looked in it. They'd made love there, too.

Besides, maybe he was sorry they had done itbecause of his memories of the girl she'd once been. Or it was possible that he didn't like women who made the first move. Of course, if she'd waited for him to make it, they probably never would have had sex at all, and she refused to be sorry that they had. Or maybe-

"Arrgh!" She thunked her head against the window.

"You okay?" Nell asked vaguely, looking up from the score she'd been laboring over night and day since L.A.

"Yeah, sure."Ducky. She dredged up a smile for her friend, but inside she was screaming,Get me out of here! It was only eight a.m. and already she was sick of being cooped up on this bus with everyone.

It had never occurred to her when they'd first set out on this tour that such close contact with her band might develop into a problem. And, really, it hadn't-at least not into a big one. But she had to get away for a while. Maybe check into a nice hotel, sign herself up for a few spa treatments. They were a good eight hours away from the sound check for tonight's show, and what was the point of being a big-whoop singing sensation if she couldn't get away every now and then to enjoy the benefits? Everyone was a little edgy from so much togetherness; they were beginning to rub on each other's nerves.

About the only one who hadn't gotten on hers the past several days was Nell. That was a two-edged sword though, because not only did her friend have her hands full with managerial duties, she'd been spending every moment not devoted to her paying job hunched over her music sheets, composing. Songwriting drew her deep inside herself. P.J. knew how time-consuming it could be, and she respected the process too well to interrupt the flow.

At the same time, she was tired of tiptoeing around. She hadn't turned the television on or the stereo up for days now for fear of disturbing Nell's concentration. Running would have been an outlet, but even that had been denied her more often than not. Jared insisted she only run when he could accompany her but then he'd had one excuse after another not to do so. And her stress levels had kept building and building.

Until she felt ready to explode.

Well, she'd reached her saturation point. Between being back in Denver and being stuck in close quarters with Jared, wondering every damn time she opened a door if he'd be on the other side of it-knowing that even if he was he'd only ignore the fact they'd had sheet-scorching sex-she needed to clear her head. Needed to gain some perspective.

They were playing three cities on this leg of the tour. Tonight's show was near here. Denver was centrally located between the other two cities, and following the Colorado College gig in Colorado Springs tomorrow night they even had an honest-to-God day off before playing Fort Collins. So her mind was made up. She was getting herself a big private room and commuting to the next three concerts.

Jared, of course, would feel that it was his job to accompany her, which would defeat the purpose of the exercise. So why tell him? It wasn't like there'd been any further contact from the weirdo in Bakersfield. That disturbingly doctored magazine spread thankfully had been a one-shot deal.

While Marvin pulled into the Red Rock Amphitheater's lot west of town, talked to an attendant, then jockeyed the bus into a space reserved for performers, P.J. came up with a possible way to get out from under Jared's indifferent yet watchful eyes. Going back to the stateroom, she packed a small overnight bag and made two phone calls.

When she came out again she collected her backstage pass from Nell. For one crazy moment she considered simply making a break for the door, but knew she wouldn't get far. So she asked for Jared's pass, as well, then walked over to him where he still sat at the table. "Come with me."

Placing his finger in his book to mark his place, he looked up at her. "Where?"

"I want to check out my dressing room." Seeing his gaze grow wary didn't exactly knock her on her butt with surprise, considering what had happened the last time they'd been in one together. But it stabbed her to the quick.

No.She sucked in a breath, straightened her spine. His suspicion didn't hurt; it pissed her off. Just what did he think she was going to do, demand heservice her? "Look," she snapped, "I can go by myself, if you'd rather not. You're the one who keeps harping about taking someone with me every damn place I go."

"Did I say no? Christ. Give me a minute to change gears." He climbed to his feet and followed her off the bus, his book still in hand.

They didn't speak, and a tension that neither acknowledged grew with every step that brought them closer to the assigned room. When they reached a door with her name on it, he took a step back and looked at her with shuttered eyes. "I'll wait out here."

"Whatever. I'm not rushing for you, though, so you might wanna get comfortable." She nodded at his book. "You may just get to finish that." Opening the door, she paused to glance at him over her shoulder. "You want to-" A huge yawn caught her unawares and she went with the flow, dropping her bag to stretch her arms in opposite directions as she inhaled a lungful of air, then expelled it in a long, squeaky, attenuated breath. "Sorry," she said once it passed. "You want to come in and grab a chair?"

Taking another brisk step back, he tipped his chin toward the corridor they'd just traversed. "I saw one down by those props. I'll go grab that."

"Suit yourself." She essayed an indifferent shrug even though her first inclination was to break into a happy dance.

She walked into the room but immediately stepped back out into the hall when he strode away. Slipping off her sandals, she watched until he was halfway down the long hallway, then grabbed her bag, eased the dressing room door closed behind her and raced down the corridor in the opposite direction. Reaching the exit, she glanced back and saw him leaning over a stack of old scenery. His shirt strained across his shoulders, his jeans pulled tight over his muscular butt, and for a moment she stood frozen, staring at him. Then she caught herself and pushed through the door before he could see her. She put her shoes back on and jogged around to the front of the venue.

A taxi arrived scant moments after she'd reached the arena's main entrance and she slid inside. "Hotel Teatro in Denver, please."

The morning rush-hour traffic doubled what should have been a twenty-minute ride back to Denver, but eventually the cab pulled up to the long sidewalk awning that protected patrons of the boutique hotel from the elements as they crossed the sidewalk to the ornate front entrance. A doorman came forward to open her door.

"Good morning, miss."

"Good morning." She relinquished her overnight bag to the bellman who came out for it, then followed him into the hotel. Pausing inside, she managed to take in the sweeping staircase, the rich use of marble throughout the lobby and the intricate ceiling without gawking. It was a near thing though, for first-rate hotels were still pretty new to her. Trying her best to project an image of a woman who frequented places like this all the time, she turned through the archway to her left to check in at the front desk.

In short order she'd been escorted to her suite and shown the amenities. She tipped the bellman, closed the door behind him and leaned back against the smooth wood with a sigh of relief. Then she pushed away and went into the bedroom to unpack. After calling room service she flopped down to watch a morning show while she waited for her breakfast to arrive. Propping her feet on the coffee table, she gazed around contentedly. This was heaven.

Not long after she'd finished eating, however, she began to grow antsy. For all that she'd been dying for some privacy, she was accustomed to being surrounded by people. And without someone to share it with she didn't quite know what to do with the entire day that stretched in front of her.

She supposed she could watch more television. But a little viewing went a long way and at the moment she wasn't interested in anything on the schedule. She could go shopping or work on the song that had been scratching at the back of her mind for a while now. Except shopping was more fun with a friend and the song still had some percolating to do before she could even begin to delve into it.

Then, just like that, it came to her what she wanted to do.

She wanted to see Gert MacDellar. Years ago John Miglionni had located Jared for J's sister and in tracking him down had gotten P.J. as a bonus. When they sent Jared home to Colorado Springs, John's office manager, Gert, had taken P.J. in until Mama could be convinced to take her back. She had discovered later that Gert had also seen to it that her mothergot convinced, and on Gert's schedule, not Jodeen's. For months Mama had bad-mouthed the older woman something awful as a blunt and bossy old broad. But P.J. had adored Gert for those very reasons. She had known exactly where she stood with her and Gert had treated her the way P.J. always imagined real families treated each other.

They'd kept in sporadic touch over the years but P.J. hadn't actually seen Gert in person since the day the crotchety old woman had carefully packed the new dresses she'd bought P.J. into a sturdy suitcase and driven her down to Mama's trailer in Pueblo.

Energized, P.J. called the concierge desk for a taxi.

If she also felt a brief jitter of unease, she shoved it aside. Maybe it was reckless to waltz into Jared's business, but-what the hell-he was safely stashed out at the amphitheater. Besides, it had been a tough week. She was due to catch a break.

If she had second thoughts when her ride pulled into the small parking lot that fronted Semper Fi Investigations' converted Arts-and-Crafts-style house, it had nothing to do with J. Maybe Gert wouldn't want to see her. Yes, she had responded to P.J.'s occasional letters, but maybe that was just old-lady good manners. Gert probably wouldn't even recognize her, and then P.J. would have to introduce herself and everyone would feel awkward and-

"You will get out now?" the cabbie asked in his musical accent.

"Yeah." Taking a deep, controlled breath, she opened the door and stepped out. The taxi immediately reversed in a tight, fast turn, rocked to a halt, then shot out of the lot. It was already at the corner light by the time she climbed the stairs to the covered front porch. A discreet chime sounded when she opened the door.

Going from bright sunshine to dimmer indoor lighting blinded her and for a minute she simply stood on the threshold. Then an irascible voice said, "Close the door. We're not paying to air-condition the great outdoors."

P.J. laughed, her nerves settling. That was the Gert she'd known, and she could see her now, seated behind her enormous oak desk, sporting the same blue-tinted up-do and cat's-eye glasses she'd had the last time P.J. had seen her. "You said the same thing to me fifteen years ago."

"Then you don't learn very fast, do-" Cutting herself off, the elderly woman with the ramrod posture rose to her feet, her hand going to her bony chest. "P.J.?" She rounded the desk and strode over, stopping right in front of her. "Well, my God. Itis you."

"Hello, Gert. It's been a long time but you haven't changed a bit."

"And you're all grown-up. But that voice is the same. I should have known it from the first word out of your mouth." She reached out a hand as if to touch P.J.'s face, but then let it drop to her side. And that glimpse of uncertainty made P.J. lose her own.

Closing the distance between them, she gave Gert a hug.

The old lady squeezed her fiercely in return, then held her at arm's length to conduct a comprehensive appraisal. "You might not have grown any taller, missy, but you grew up real pretty. You finally have a little meat on your bones."

She grinned. "That started in your kitchen with the brownies you made. You still have that Felix the Cat clock on your wall?" She'd loved Gert's house. It had been a seven-room ode to the forties and fifties.

"Yep. Everything's essentially the same. Thank you for the tickets to your concert, by the way."

Pleasure lit her up from the inside out. "You're coming, then?"

"Well, of course I'm coming. I wouldn't miss seeing you in action."

"Mac, have you seen the Pedersen file?" A tall sun-streaked brunette with a faint British accent strode into the room. "The blasted thing has disappeared." Seeing P.J., she halted midstep. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize anyone else was here." Then her dark eyes went wide. "Omigawd. You're Priscilla Jayne!"

It always surprised her-and thrilled her a little-to be recognized. She stepped forward, her hand extended. "Yes. How do you do?"

"This is Jared's niece, Esme," Gert said, then to the young woman added astringently, "Try not to drool."

"You won't remember this," P.J. said to the brunette, "but I met you once, a long time ago."

"I'm afraid I don't, but Mum's told me about it."

"How is your mother? I have a song called 'Mama's Girl' that makes me think of her every time I sing it."

"Mymum? Not your own?"

"No. Well."Good going, Morgan. You couldn't keep your mouth shut? Then she squared her shoulders and met Esme's gaze head-on. "I was a thirteen-year-old who'd been thrown out of my house when I met your mother and saw how much she loved you. It made a lasting impression on me."

Esme reached out and touched her arm. "I'm sorry. That was frightfully rude of me. Mum would be really honored to know you feel that way." Her gaze dropped to P.J.'s denim and froth skirt. "What a smashing piece."

"Isn't it great?" Running her hands down the garment she'd bought on the Los Angeles shopping trip, she smiled. "I was telling my friend Nell just last week that Gert started me on my love affair with skirts and dresses."

"You knew Mac before today then?"

"Yes. I lived with her for a short period. She bought me my very first non-hand-me-down dress."

Esme turned to the old woman. "You never told me that Priscilla Jayne lived with you."

"Yes, there's a surprise, dear. That I don't tell a twenty-one-year-old girl everything about my life."

P.J. grinned and gave Gert's hip a little bump. She knew the old lady's gruffness rubbed some people the wrong way, but she loved it. Because she knew it for what it was: a very thin layer over a solid-gold core.

"Is that what brings you here? A visit with Gert?"

"Yes."

"Did you know my dad, too?" Without awaiting an answer, she whirled off down the hall. "Daddy! You'll never guess who's here!"

"You might not surmise it from her constant chatter," Gert said wryly, "but she's a very bright young woman."

P.J. hadn't really considered the fact that she might see John, and her heart took a funny skip. She'd had such mixed feelings about him as a kid. Mostly she'd admired him and felt grateful to him for getting her and J off the streets. But a big chunk of her had been pea-green jealous of the way Jared had hero-worshipped the man who would become his brother-in-law.

But when he sauntered out of his office, fifteen years older but still lean and tall and easy in his skin, she smiled, her momentary unease dissolving. His black hair was dusted gray at the temples and was no longer worn in a long ponytail. But he hadn't lost an iota of the cool she remembered and still carried the same air of confidence and competency that even her thirteen-year-old self had known defined him.

"Well, look who's here," he said with a warm smile. "Little Priscilla Jayne Morgan, all grown-up."

"Hello, Rocket."

"Omigawd," Esme said. "Nobody calls him Rocket anymore."

"Except your mother and Jared," John said dryly, hooking an elbow around his daughter's neck and scrubbing his knuckles over her scalp. "And Coop and Ronnie and Zach and Lily and all their assorted kids."

She grinned. "Yeah, except for them."

Sliding his arm down to circle her shoulders, he hugged her to his side and directed his attention back to P.J. "So where's Jared?"

Her heart gave another of those funny skips but she gestured vaguely. "Out at the amphitheater. It's so big that the security walk-through should take up half the morning." Which wasn't exactly a lie-a walk-throughwould take half the day:if such a thing existed. She flashed him an insouciant smile. "Besides, there's nowhere safer than with you, don'tcha think?"

"I suppose that's a point. Congratulations on your success, by the way. Tori and I have been loving the hell out of watching your career rise." His cell phone rang in his pocket and he pulled it out to check the screen. "Excuse me for a minute. This is a call I have to take." He loped back down the hall and disappeared into his office.

Esme came back to P.J. and for a moment simply stood gazing down at her. "You're so tiny."

"Compared to you and your father and Jared, I am," she agreed. "I feel like a munchkin."

"I didn't mean that rudely. It's just that your voice is so big I assumed you would be, too." Esme gave her a crooked smile. "Which merely proves that axiom about whatassume makes of you and me, I suppose. Speaking of Jared-"

"Did your mother get the tickets I sent?"

Esme's face lit up. "Yes! How lovely of you. Mum had already bought some, but not in such a premium area! My best friend Rebecca is so jealous. We gave our old tickets to her and her parents."

Conversation around Esme never lagged, and P.J. found it easy to allow the young woman to take it where she would. She squeezed in chats with Gert in between Esme's topics and found herself having a perfectly lovely time. When the front door opened behind her she was seated in a chair pulled up to Gert's desk, her feet propped up on a pulled-out file drawer while she sipped iced tea from a tall, frosty glass. As she laughed a big belly laugh at an acerbic comment Gert had just made, it occurred to her that this was the most relaxed she'd felt all week.

A condition that promptly imploded when Jared's irate voice growled, "Security walk-through, my ass! What the hell do you think you're doing?"