Spring Shadow (Seasons Pass Book 2) Read online

  The wait gave him time to stress over the case. There were too many ways to get tripped up working undercover and no backup around when it happened.

  But there it was, and he was stuck with it.

  Didn’t matter if he liked the job or hated it, believed Paige or doubted every word out of her mouth. He’d been given a case, and he’d work it to the ground just like he always did. He’d never given a case half measure before and he didn’t plan to start now.

  That didn’t mean he couldn’t resent the whole situation.

  Now all he had to do was figure out how he would handle his cover story.

  No one in the band would know he was a cop or even that Paige had a stalker problem. He was just a local, hired to fill in for a band member who’d broken his leg.

  Odd man out. Sort of like entering a small school in the middle of the year. He wasn’t there to make friends, but he needed to find out as much as possible about everyone around Paige. And he needed to keep his facts straight while doing it.

  He’d stay as close to the truth as possible, just move the timeline around. His mother was an opera singer, his father a concert violinist, he’d studied at Julliard, but what had he been doing these last years? He’d been playing in New York? No, too likely one of the band members had worked there. California was just as bad. New Orleans. That should work.

  Then he’d come home to help with his dying mother. Since she passed, he’d been playing pick-up gigs. He could pull that off if no one questioned him closely.

  Damn. He should have done a Google map search of New Orleans. How long since he’d been there? Five years? Six?

  There were so many little clubs on back streets, he’d be okay.

  It would be nice if he could trust the band members and roadies to help him—the more eyes on Paige the better—but too many stalkers were someone close who managed to go unnoticed.

  Paige and her band were rehearsing in an old building that had once housed a failed nightclub. The faded brick dinosaur was located in the buffer zone between the thriving downtown area and wood-framed houses with peeling paint and yards full of cars parked on hard packed dirt.

  He slipped in the side door in time to hear her voice echo through the cavernous space.

  “I heard him myself, not like the last yahoo I had to take on someone else’s say-so. This one’s got the skills and enough talent to pick up what he needs to follow along.”

  “If he’s so good, why’s he available at the last minute?” The voice had a deep, accented drawl.

  Okay, job number one: find out who yahoo was and get Conner to check him out. Get him to look into the guy with the broken leg while he was at it. Yahoo number two might think he didn’t need replacing.

  Hell, Lyle Lovett played and sang sitting in a chair after a bull stomped on his leg.

  Conner could check out Paige while he was at it. It might not be fair, but being a cop made you skeptical of everyone.

  Noah’s footsteps rang out on the wooden floor and Paige stopped talking. All eyes turned his direction.

  Yep, just like being the new kid in school.

  “Evening, guys, Paige. I’m…Noah…Daniels.” Damn, first sentence out of his mouth and he’d almost screwed the pooch by saying Detective and giving his real name. “I understand you’re short one guitar player.”

  “Hi, Noah. I was just telling the guys how lucky we were to find you, last minute like this. I’ll let everybody introduce themselves. There’ll be a test later.” She winked.

  A cymbal crashed and he jerked his eyes up and back to the drummer’s platform. A tubby man with a Beatles bowl-cut grinned at him. “Jeff Cooper, from Denver.”

  One by one, they introduced themselves.

  The last was the lead guitarist; a tall skinny guy with a frown that would curdle milk. “Kevin O’Malley, New Orleans.”

  Well, fuck. Now what?

  Disappointment surged through Paige like a physical presence. After years of trying to outrun her past, every decision she’d made the last few days had been wrong. Starting with coming to Houston early so she could visit her mother.

  What made her think that was a good idea? Just when they’d taken the first tentative steps toward reconciliation, some giant hand had scooped up a pink gum eraser and rubbed out large chunks of her mother’s memory. Now they were back to the days of accusations and recriminations, suspicion and distrust, a confusing mash-up of love and hate.

  So what had she done? Compounded the error by letting performance anxiety cause her to demand protection after a threatening letter was slipped under her hotel room door.

  She’d tried to correct her mistake by going to the police chief’s office and calming the situation, only to let the fool’s insult get under her skin. As if what she or any other woman wore gave some pervert the right to harass her.

  Add to that, a cop with a voice that flowed over her like satin sheets on a hot night, and she’d been too dumbfounded to put her foot down. Instead of convincing the Chief that the best way to insure her safety was to get the public to help watch for her stalker, she’d acquired a babysitter.

  Now she’d stepped into a pile of shit clear up to her kneecap. Her only hope was to keep him focused on the singing and protection part of his assignment.

  Paige watched Noah win the guys over, one at a time. Well, all but Kevin who looked like he’d been sucking on a pickle. Nothing unusual there. Kevin didn’t like anybody, especially anyone who might make the band look bad, and, by reflection, her.

  Noah shouldn’t fall into that category. He definitely had the chops to play. Now it seemed he had the skill to blend in with an already close knit group.

  What did it mean that he could lie so easily, pretend to be something he wasn’t?

  Was any of his story true? The dying mother, the murdered father? She’d have to be careful what she said around him.

  He wasn’t to be trusted.

  Noah took his guitar from the case and she nodded to herself. She’d horded a little nugget of worry his instrument wouldn’t be performance quality. So many amateurs didn’t know the difference, and as a cop, he likely didn’t have a lot of cash to spare. But he’d just pulled out a Taylor, series 300 if she wasn’t mistaken, acoustic. Sweet choice. At first glance it looked like spruce, but no, something else. Hawaiian Koa?

  She wasn’t any expert on wood, but she’d swear she’d checked out one like it when searching for a back-up instrument for herself. Maybe she’d misjudged his financial status.

  He didn’t seem to be married. His partner wore a ring, but he didn’t. Not on his left hand, anyway. Not that a ring was any guarantee.

  Forget the ring and the guitar, what about a gun? Did he carry one and if he did, where did he hide it? Not in those jeans.

  She had to keep him busy, and that required focusing on more than playing in the band. He was supposed to be her protection also, yet he was sitting, one hip parked on a table, laughing, not even looking her direction.

  Everything about him was different from the up-tight, suit-wearing detective she’d met a few hours ago. He strolled in easy, like he’d been on stages all his life. His hair looked like he’d raked his fingers through it so that it fell, sort of casual looking, and he sported an earring in one ear.

  Nope, not the same man at all.

  He’d look fine standing up on that stage, though. Tall, buff, good looking. Not in a movie star kind of way. More like the guy you wanted to meet, but were a little afraid of. The type it was best to avoid.

  An asset to the band, too. A better voice than poor Harvey. She hadn’t realized how weak Harvey was until she heard Noah. His voice was strong, solo-worthy. But did he know how to control it? She couldn’t risk him overpowering her on stage.

  Saturday night was a big break for her career. She’d worked too many years and given up too much to risk letting a mistake blow this chance.

  They’d get along fine as long as he remembered why he was there.

  She ran
her fingers over the smooth wood of her own guitar, a move that always soothed her.

  This was her show after all. She was the star and anybody who worked for her better not forget it.

  As long as he remembered that, they’d get along just fine.

  Noah cradled the phone against his shoulder as he swung his bare feet up on his desk and leaned back in the Henry Miller chair Betsy had bought him for a housewarming gift. Sweet Pea shot him a dirty look and adjusted her position on his lap.

  “Four fucking hours to rehearse four songs. That’s all the time they’ve allotted us for the concert, four songs worth.”

  “Us?” Conner didn’t even try to disguise the chuckle in his voice.

  “Her. The band. You know what I mean. If she’d pick the four songs and stick with them it would be one thing, but she keeps trying different ones. Says she needs to figure out how my voice will fit in. I tell you, I trained two years under Antonio Baldaci. Antonio fucking Baldaci, and he didn’t hold a candle to her in the perfectionist department.”

  “So how do you think it’s going?” Conner sounded tired. What did he have to be tired about? He spent the afternoon sitting at a computer, not standing on a stage playing catch-up and tap-dancing around questions.

  Noah crossed one ankle over the other. Sweet Pea opened her eyes but didn’t move. “Okay, I think. If this assignment had come down the pike two months ago, I’d have been in trouble. But I’ve been playing enough lately to build up some callouses. My hands and fingers are sore, but I’ll be ready to go again by morning. If she would just pick one fucking song and stick with it.”

  “The assignment, nitwit, the assignment. Are you so worried you won’t be the best at something you’ve forgotten the reason you’re there?”

  “That’s what I’m getting at, numb-nuts. I have to be able to play the part, don’t I?” Was that it? Or had Conner hit on some deeply buried character flaw he didn’t want to examine too closely? “Those guys are good, and if I can’t win their confidence I’ll never learn any of their secrets. Which brings us back to the reason for my call. What have you learned?”

  “First, Paige is clean as a new morning. No wants. No warrants. Not even a parking ticket.”

  “Good to know. And the rest of them?”

  “Harvey Simmons, the guy with the broken leg, seems to be resting comfortably in Nashville.”

  “What do you mean, seems to be?” Noah reached into his bag of Cheetos, bit one in half, and gave Sweet Pea the nub.

  “He answered his phone when I called and pretended to be an insurance salesman. He’s happy with his coverage, by the way. They were really nice to him in the hospital and he walked out, or maybe limped, without having to pay a dime. Wait till he gets his first bill. Then we’ll see how satisfied he is.”

  “He might have been home this afternoon but what about last night? It can’t be more than a three hour flight from Houston to Nashville. And what if that was a cell phone or he had call forwarding? He could be here in Houston and we’d never know.”

  “Thus the ‘seems to be,’ part. The Nashville police are going to find a reason to ring his doorbell, but that will have to wait for morning. Which, by the way, is only a few hours away.”

  Noah glanced at the time displayed on the lower corner of his computer. Not even eleven. The news had only been over for twenty minutes. Conner was turning into an old lady. Wait until that baby came. He better learn to operate on little sleep. And his five a.m. jog might be with a baby stroller.

  Sweet Pea whined and Noah gave her another Cheeto nub. That made four; her limit unless he was willing to risk waking up to a stinky, orange mess of diarrhea. “You had half a day, you have to have learned more than Harvey likes his insurance company. What happened to him, anyway, how’d he break his leg?”

  “Hit and run. He’d walked Paige back to her apartment after a gig and a car sideswiped him as he stepped off the curb. They never did find the guy who did it, but the car was a dark colored Ford Taurus, probably 1995 or thereabouts.”

  “You think it could tie in with our case?”

  “It happened after midnight on a dark street and Harvey had been drinking. Nashville police didn’t seem too sympathetic. Acted like Harvey was an idiot who brought it on himself by not paying attention. Gave him a ticket for public drunkenness. Still, you know how I feel about coincidences.”

  Yeah, me too. “Could he hold a grudge against Paige for the accident?” That would be a stretch.

  “She wasn’t the one who hit him, and she drove him to the hospital.”

  So, probably not Harvey, but he’d love to know who drove that car. “What about the rest of the guys in the band, anything suspicious about them?”

  “They’re musicians, I found a lot of stuff: DUI, smoking weed, skipping out on a hotel bill. The only one with any violence was that O’Malley guy and it wasn’t much. He came off the stage after a drunk threw a beer bottle and hit him in the head. In the end, he didn’t do anything but shove the guy out the door.”

  “In other words, I have to watch out for all of them.” Fuck, why couldn’t one of them have a record for domestic abuse or stalking? Nothing was ever easy. None of the band members had stood out as creepy during rehearsal, but Paige was always nearby and any pervert worth chasing would have been on his best behavior.

  While Noah had good instincts and could usually recognize a scumbag whether hiding behind a business suit, clerical collar, or guitar, true creeps knew how to keep the freaky side of their personality well camouflaged. With several people to keep an eye on, he could use some help from Connor in narrowing down the field.

  “I should know more tomorrow. Speaking of keeping an eye out, how’s our girl? Is she tucked in safe and sound?”

  Our girl? Conner was riding a desk, he was the one on the front line. “She’s tucked in, but I don’t know how safe. You’re the one who arranged her lodging.”

  “I did everything I could. She’s in a new hotel. Her room was reserved in Lieutenant Jenson’s name and is on the seventeenth floor. No chance of a window break-in and no connecting door. I checked it myself. I even left her one of those alarmed door stops. The thing goes off if someone tries to push the door in. A retired cop is working security and for twenty bucks he agreed to keep an eye on her room. She refused to have an officer bunk in with her so that’s the best we can do.”

  “You’re shittin’ me. An ex-cop hit you up for twenty bucks? He’d know it came out of your own pocket.” Noah had slipped many an informant his hard-earned money, but one of their own? He crushed the empty Cheetos bag against the side of his chair, spreading a cloud of orange dust over his pants. Sweet Pea jumped at the noise and almost fell off his lap.

  He sighed and ran a hand over the Yorkie’s head until she settled down. No point getting angry, but he’d remember if the guy ever came to him for help. For now, he had to concentrate on this case. “I had her call me after she was safe inside. She promised she’d engaged the dead-bolt and pulled a chair in front of the door, but I agree, that’s all we can do. I don’t understand why they come to us for help, then ignore our advice.”

  “She should be fine for tonight. You coming in tomorrow?”

  “I’ll stop by around nine if you give me your word you won’t rag me about how I look.”

  Silence floated down the phone line, then Conner started chuckling. “You’re not wearing that stupid earring, are you?”

  “Hey, I’m undercover. I haven’t worn it since that drug buy over a year ago. It took me fifteen minutes to get it in and now my ear’s so sore I can’t touch it. But these boots were even worse. I stuck my little Smith and Wesson inside one boot and my badge inside the other. By the time I took the boots off, they’d dug an inch into my skin.”

  “I still think you should have taken my Walthrup pp. It’s lighter.”

  “And I still think you’re full of shit. Either way, I’m better off with what I’m used to.”

  Not that it mattered. He’d neve
r had to use it before and he certainly didn’t plan to use it now. Not on some sneak and peek pervert.

  Although the last one he met almost finished him off.

  Light from the neon sign seeped through the blackout curtains and formed an odd pattern on the ceiling. Paige tried to force it into some type of recognizable picture, but failed. Not a dog or a horse. A face?

  Only if it were painted by Salvador Dali.

  The bed was comfortable, but the pillow was all wrong. She punched it several times in an effort to tame it, then pulled a second pillow on top of the first only to yank it off and toss it to the side two minutes later.

  Maybe the room was too hot. No, the AC was set at sixty-nine. Any colder and she’d wake up freezing. If sleep came at all.

  Was that a noise in the hallway? If so, it wasn’t repeated. She sighed and threw back the covers. What was this, the third or the fourth time she’d checked the door? A thin stream of light showed at the bottom, but no note had been pushed through the opening.

  Why hadn’t she listened to reason and let a policewoman stay in the room with her? Having one cop watch her every move was bad enough. Two was out of the question.

  If it were only her, she’d consider heading home with her tail between her legs. But it wasn’t only her. She owed it to the guys not to let her mistakes ruin this opportunity. They were on the cusp of an actual career. What happened next could make them or break them.

  She’d seen too many one-hit-wonders not to know they had to strike while they had their fifteen minutes. Dreaming of You wasn’t even a true hit. More like a semi-hit. Popular in the South and West, but still unknown in large parts of the country. She had to do everything she could to get her name out there.

  So far she was in the hole. She’d spent more money promoting than she’d made. Money she didn’t have. After selling her mother’s house, car, TV, pots and pans, and any knickknack worth more than a dollar twenty-five, she had enough to keep her mom in comfort for only another two years. And the doc said she could live ten more, slipping farther away with each passing day.