The buzzing alarm pounded nails in my head. I slapped it off and stared blearily at the closed curtains of the hotel room.
Brittany and I moved like slugs as we dressed, dreading our parting. Hopefully we could stay together until the last minute since she was flying on the same airline and our gates shouldn’t be too far apart.
I so wanted to go home with Brittany. If only Mom had said yes.
I have to stay with you, Shaley, or there’s danger …
Brittany’s expression told me she was thinking the same thing. Neither of us spoke it.
I was achingly tired, and my head felt pressed in a vise. I’d promised myself I would eat breakfast but now had no interest in food. My growling stomach stretched within me like a deep, black hole.
Our limos pulled away from the hotel shortly after ten a.m. Sitting next to Brittany, I closed my eyes and laid my head back against the seat. I felt miserable. At that moment I hated the tour. I hated the band. I just wanted to go home.
“You all right, Shaley?” Mom sat on the other side of Brittany, Kim next to her. Facing us on the opposite seat were Mick, Ross, and Morrey.
“No, thanks to you.” My tone dripped with accusation.
Mom’s voice edged. “I’m just trying to keep you safe, Shaley.”
“I’d be safer away from this tour.”
“You’ll be safer where I can keep an eye on you. Not to mention the bodyguards.”
Little good they’d done.
No one else spoke. Tension swirled around us all the way to the airport. I kept my eyes closed the entire ride.
The limo pulled to a halt.
“Heads up, Shaley, we’re here.” Mom sounded irritated. “And mind yourself if reporters show up. The last thing we need are news stories of you acting snotty.”
Snotty?
Okay, so Mom was tired too. Still, didn’t I have a right to be angry? I railed to myself. How about Cat and the other paparazzi? Not to mention the reporters. They were hounding me, remember?
Besides, at that moment I couldn’t have cared less what anyone thought of me. Why couldn’t everyone just leave me alone?
We entered the San Jose terminal, pulling our own bags, and headed for the upstairs level where check-in is located. Mom and I stepped off the elevator straight into a mass of reporters.
I shrank away. The reporters shouted, and TV cameras whirred. Flashes battered my eyes. Microphones were thrust toward me. I ducked and put a hand in front of my face.
“Rayne,” some woman yelled, “what do you know about Tom Hutchens’s murder?”
“Are there any suspects?”
“Shaley, is it true Tom was in love with you?”
The question stung like pelting hail. I reeled back.
“Shaley, talk to us!”
More reporters shoved. Cameras clicked on.
“Hey!” Ross shouted. “Get back and give us some room!”
“Shaley, was Tom your boyfriend?”
“Did the false alarm at your hotel have anything to do with the murder?”
“Were you dating anyone besides Tom?”
Wendell grabbed my arm. “Let’s go.”
My throat cinched shut. Brittany hung onto me. Keeping my head down, I watched the floor move under my stumbling feet. Bruce and Wendell closed in on either side of Mom.
Airport guards surrounded us as Ross checked our baggage. The questions and cameras wouldn’t stop. I buried my head in Wendell’s chest, hands over my ears, praying for Ross to hurry. Finally checked in, we were hustled through security as quickly as possible. Once we pushed into the lines, the reporters had to fall back.
Tears swam in my eyes as I walked through the security machine. On the other side, I could finally breathe.
Ross’s face was red with anger. “Sorry about that, Shaley.” He gave me a rough hug. “Those idiots don’t even know what they’re talking out.”
Oh, yes they do. But how had they found out? Leaks from the police? The media now knew more about Tom’s feelings for me than Ross and the band did. Wouldn’t take long for Stan, Morrey, and all the rest to hear the sensational details. Then how could I face them?
Bruce, Wendell, and Mick formed a triangle around us as we headed to our gate. Reporters were gone, but fans and curiosity-seekers were everywhere. The band members always tried to be polite with fans, but this had been a rough couple of days for all of us. The looks on our bodyguards’ faces sent the message — leave them alone.
“You okay, Brittany?” I reached for her arm. She could stay with me until we boarded.
“Yeah.” She sounded as shaky as I felt.
At the gate, I fell into a chair, Kim on one side and Brittany on the other. Exhausted and sick at heart over Brittany’s leaving, I stared at my lap.
Carly came over and patted my knee. “Want something to eat? There’s a Starbucks nearby. I can bring you a sandwich.”
I shook my head. “But thanks.”
Brittany laced her fingers through mine. “Just stay close to your bodyguards — all the time. Everything’ll be okay.”
“But you said —”
“I know what I said.”
“Then, what? That sense of yours telling you something new?”
She was silent for a moment. “You’ll be okay. You have to be.”
In other words — no.
An airline employee called for our boarding to begin.
Brittany and I stood up and clung to each other. Tears ran down her cheeks, wetting my own. “Take care of yourself. Be careful.”
“I will. You’re right — I’ll be fine.”
She pulled back. “Call me. A lot. The minute you get off the plane.”
“I will.” I pulled my top lip between my teeth. “I’m sorry, Brittany. I’m so sorry all this happened. I just wanted you to have a good time.”
“No, it was the right time for me to be here. I mean, if this had to happen, I’m just glad I could be with you.”
“Come on, Shaley.” Mom touched my arm, empathy in her voice. “We have to go.”
“Bye, Rayne.” Brittany hugged my mom. “Thanks so much for inviting me.”
“Sure. Wish you could have stayed.”
Brittany stretched out her arm as I moved away, and we touched fingers until we could no longer reach.
Walking down the boarding ramp, I turned back for a final wave. She raised her hand with a sad smile.
A month. A solid month until I saw her again. The last two days themselves had seemed an eternity.
Mom’s cell phone rang as we entered the plane. She pulled it from her purse, checked the ID, and answered in low tones.
I followed her into our first-class row—hers, the window seat, mine, the aisle. Sinking into my seat, I turned off my cell phone and shoved my purse under the chair in front of me. Mom was still talking to someone.
“I see.” She stared blankly at the seat in front of her. “Well. That’s really —” She laid her head back and gazed upwards. “Yes. We should. In fact she’s right here. Would you tell her?”
She handed the cell to me, her expression serious. “Detective Furlow.”
I tensed, searching her eyes. Now what? News about Tom’s murderer I didn’t want to hear? “Hi, this is Shaley.”
“Hello. I understand you’re on the plane. Glad I caught you. I just told your Mom we were able to trace the credit card buyer of that white rose you received.”
It’s my dad. The thought pierced me, an arrow through the back. I went weak. Maybe he really was out there trying to reach me. After all the years of wanting to find him, had it come down to this mundane moment, sitting on some stupid plane?
“Yeah?”
“Turns out it’s not someone we’d thought of, but in hindsight, we should have guessed.”
My heart knocked against my ribs. “Wh-who?”
“Tom Hutchens.”