Coming Undone (22 page)

“Okay.” He looked back at P.J. “Just take care.” He started to turn away, then executed a militarily precise right turn, bringing them back face-to-face. “Jesus, Peej,” he muttered and, reaching out, wrapped his hand around her nape. Bending his head, he kissed her.

It was brief, hard and full of frustration. When he lifted his mouth from hers, he stared down at her for a moment, swore under his breath, then set her loose and strode away.

P.J. watched him go until Nell’s heartfelt “Whew!” redirected her attention. She turned to find her friend fanning herself with her fingers.

“I bet make-up sex with that man is almost worth the crap that comes before it.”

“Everything’s so screwed up, Nell.”

“I know. I can see how unhappy you are.” Wrapping an arm around her shoulders, Nell gave her a warm hug. “I’m sorry, Peej. Men are idiots sometimes—a sad fact but true. Still, let Mother Nell take you in hand. Maybe I can help soothe your bruised soul.”

She let her friend do exactly that. Accompanying her on her tour-manager rounds helped to settle P.J.’s jangled nerves. Nell’s warmth kept the unhappiness if not at bay, then at least at a manageable level. Little by little the knots in P.J.’s stomach unwound and by the time they were strolling down the wide, echoing corridor that contained her dressing room, she’d even laughed once or twice.

As they started to walk past the dressing room, however, she suddenly recalled something she’d meant to do. “Oh, crap! The top!” Bouncing the heel of her hand off her forehead, she came to a halt in front of the room’s door. “I need to stop here.”

“What? Why?” Nell glanced around as if looking for what had sidetracked her. But they were the only ones around aside from a workman in a toolbelt squatting in front of an outlet fifty feet down the corridor. And he wasn’t paying the least bit of attention to them.

“I need to change my top before sound check. An underarm seam pulled apart in my silver blouse the other night and between one thing and the other I forgot all about having it fixed. I’ve got that red bustier I bought in L.A. in my wardrobe trunk. It turned out to be a little over the top for every day but should pop well enough to work as stage duds. I’d like to give it a whirl during sound check though, before I commit to it. If it’s not gonna work I’d as soon find out before I’m standing in front of thousands of people.” Afraid she was rambling, she shook her head. “Look, I’ll just be five minutes. Ten tops, if it’s not where I think it is.”

Nell looked at her watch. “I’m sorry, Peej, but I’ve got an appointment in about four minutes with the will-call people about that block of tickets the local radio station is giving away and it’s gonna take me five to get there as it is. We’ll come back here soon as I’m done, okay?”

“No. That is, yes, you go ahead. I’ll just stay in the dressing room until you get back. That will actually give me time to organize some stuff.”

“I don’t think leaving you alone is a good idea. Jared told you to stay with me.”

“Yeah, but I don’t think he meant for me to go outside to the will-call booth.” She reached for Nell’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “I could use a little time to get my head together. I’ve let so many things slide lately. And if the bustier doesn’t work I need to figure out which of my other stage outfits I can reuse in a pinch. You know how I sweat during performances. It may not always be possible to get my costumes cleaned between shows, but I at least like to give them a couple of days to fully dry before I have to use them again.”

“Okay. But I’m not leaving you in the dressing room without at least checking it out first.”

“Good idea.”

It only took them a moment to make sure the room was empty, and reluctantly Nell headed for the door. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. And I’m warning you right now, if I run into Jared between here and the will-call office I’m sending him back to stand guard.”

Swell,
she thought but merely nodded. “Fair enough.” She waved her friend off. “Go take care of business. I promise I won’t step foot outside this door until you return.”

“See that you don’t.” With a final concerned look, Nell left the room, closing the door firmly behind her.

P.J. had barely turned away to start going through the pile of stage stuff she’d hauled over from the bus earlier when there was a thump against the door. Laughing, she crossed the room. “Nell, come on, I’m fine,” she said, opening the door. “You really are going to be late if you don’t—”

A man burst into the room, one hand clamping over her mouth. His momentum sent them both stumbling deeper into the room and he kicked back with one foot, slamming the door shut behind him.

For a minute her eyes went blurry with fear and all she could hear was the roar of her own heartbeat in her ears. Her only thought was a befuddled,
Why does an electrician want to hurt me?

But the man with his hand over her mouth and a fierce grip on her arm wasn’t one of the arena workers, of course. And once she got past the fear of expiring on the spot of a heart attack or—nearly as horrifying—wetting her pants, P.J. recognized his face. It was the police artist’s rendering come to life, except that Luther Menks’s eyes were more fanatical than any artist could ever capture. They burned with a zealot’s fervor.

Looking into them now made her heart thunder in her chest and sent her pulse racing off the charts.

“I gave you every opportunity,” he said, removing his hand from her mouth and rubbing it furiously against his pant leg as if to remove some invisible substance. He loosened his grip on her arm, as well. “If you’d just paid attention, if you had bothered to read even one of my letters, this would not have been necessary. All I asked was that you honor your mother—even though it’s since become apparent that you have committed other equally unforgivable sins.” His hand kept rubbing, rubbing, rubbing against his navy-blue cotton pants while spittle gathered in the corners of his lips.

P.J.’s blood ran cold, an expression until now she had always assumed was invented by someone with a propensity for melodrama. Now she understood if anything it was an understatement, for she felt frozen to the marrow.

With no time to worry about it. “I didn’t get your letters.”

“What?” It broke his rant and seemed to throw him off-stride.

Menks was old enough to be her father but he was fit, bigger and stronger than she was and standing between her and the door. She took a stealthy step to one side anyhow.

“I’m so sorry,” she blurted, “but I never received them. I get hundreds of letters a week and they’re all sent on to the Priscilla Jayne fan club. I’m afraid it’s often months before I see them and even then I only see a select few.” She took another careful step away.

“They should have come to you,” he grumbled. “I thought you were a good, moral—”

“Yes, they should have.” She knew she was taking a chance interrupting him, but it seemed an acceptable risk if it kept him from getting all wound up again. “And I apologize again for the error that prevented them from doing so. This fame thing is pretty new yet and we’re still adjusting, trying to find better ways to be organized.” Watching his continuous rubbing of his hand against his pant leg, she blurted, “Would you like to wash your hands, sir?”

He stared at her, the repetitive motion halting mid-action. “What?”

“You seem to have something on your hand and I’ve got a sink over there if you’d like to use it.” She pointed toward the bathroom in the far corner.

When he turned from her to look in the direction she indicated, P.J. broke for the door. This was her best chance, her only chance, and she ran as if the hounds of hell were nipping at her heels, which was pretty much the case. She heard Menks bellow behind her but didn’t look back. Panting, she snatched open the door and was two steps into the corridor when he grabbed her ponytail, stopping her in her tracks.

It felt as though her roots were being ripped from her scalp and, reaching back, she covered his hand with her own, first prying at his fingers, then clawing at them in an attempt to ease the pressure.

“Don’t touch me with your whore’s flesh!” His arm crossing her chest, he released her hair at the same time that he spun her around with the hand he’d clamped to her far shoulder. She twirled dizzily and his elbow, which was still raised from his hold on her hair, connected solidly with her cheekbone.

Black stars exploded in her vision and she staggered several steps back until the wall brought her up short.

“It’s your fault,” he snapped, half pulling, half carrying her back into the room. “You’re so little you came around faster than I expected.”

Yeah, great, blame the victim,
she thought groggily but was smart enough to keep her mouth shut. Those black spots threatened again when he shoved her into a high-backed wooden chair with enough force to snap her head back. For a moment she was really, really afraid she was going to be sick.

By the time her head quit spinning she realized he’d tied her ankles together with her own belt.

“Ungrateful child, wanton woman,” he muttered, jerking her hands together in front of her and whipping her narrow Indian gauze scarf around them several times. Adding insult to injury, the beads that made up its fringe clinked cheerfully as he jerked the ends together and knotted them over her wrist bones.

“Wicked Jezebel. I thought you were pure, but you’ve been fornicating with that man.” His eyes burning with the conviction of his own righteousness, he scowled into her face. “Well, I know how to deal with you, missy.” And reaching into the toolbelt slung around his hips, he pulled out a long-bladed pair of shears.

Her heart stopped dead. Oh God, he was crazy. And she wanted Jared, wanted him with every fiber of her being.

Menks yanked the rubber band from her hair. “You won’t use your woman’s wiles to entice men after I rid you of your crowning glory.”

“My hair? You’re going to
cut off my hair?
” Rage battled with horror as she watched him go from air-snipping the scissors open and shut to rubbing the side of his hand down his pants. Rage won. “Who do you think you are? I’m not a whore, and you don’t know the first damn thing about my relationship with my mother.” And what was the deal with all that hand rubbing, anyway? The man was too freaking scary for words.

“I know you. I know your kind.” Additional saliva joined the bubbles in the corner of his lips. “I thought you were a good, moral daughter, an icon for our youth to look up to. You needed guidance, but I excused the lack because you’re surrounded by immoral people. But you’re like a rotten apple, juicy on the outside, corrupt at the core.” He leaned down until his weird-ass eyes were only an inch away from hers. “You think I don’t see you? You think you’re so smart and above the rules? I know what you do, and the wages of sin must be paid. You failed to set a good example in life. Now, I’ll see to it that you set one in death.”

He was going to
kill
her? Oh God, she more than wanted Jared—she
needed
him. How had she let that awful distance between them grow to this point? Suddenly her pride didn’t seem all that important.
It doesn’t matter if he’s an idiot about some things. I’m going to die and I never even told him I love him.

But she couldn’t think about that now. “You won’t get away with this,” she whispered, her voice raspier than usual.

He didn’t seem particularly worried, merely staring at her with those judgmental eyes. “Right is on my side,” he said solemnly. “Behold. You’re Delilah, a snake-kissed Eve, the whore of Babylon. Women like you were turned into pillars of salt in Sodom and Gomorrah, stoned at the walls of Jericho.” For a second rationality returned to his gaze. “And what can you do to stop me, anyhow? Yell?” His tone mimicked her speaking voice. “Go ahead. No one will hear you.” Lifting the shears, he yanked up a hank of her hair and lopped it off.

Shock reverberated down her spine and her lip quivered. But she was damned if he’d see her cry. And if he truly believed she’d simply sit here and take this quietly he was even crazier than she’d already realized.

She met his zealous gaze squarely. “I’m guessing you’ve never heard me sing.” Since anyone who had would know she could project her voice to the back row of a thirty-thousand-seat arena.

He paused with another handful of hair draped over the bottom blade to look down his nose at her. “Your pride doesn’t interest me. That you can speak with conceit at a moment like this only proves that you deserve to die.”

Not if I have anything to say about it, Bub.
And figuring she had nothing left to lose, she screamed the house down.

Earlier

I
T WAS WAY PAST TIME
somebody yanked him off this case.

Jared scowled as he realized he’d just missed the start of the venue’s gate security procedures report. It wasn’t the first time in the past half hour he’d found his thoughts straying. Hell, it wasn’t even the second or third. He hadn’t been able to concentrate worth spit since the moment he’d left P.J. with Nell. What the screaming eff had possessed him to let a little bit of five-foot-nothing titanium-laced femininity dictate the terms of how he did his job?

The fierceness of his dissatisfaction must have shown on his face because the young man giving him the overview began to stutter. Jared forced himself to concentrate on the report. It was vital information and considering he’d been the one to request it in the first place, the least he could do was give it the courtesy of his full attention. The very fact that he had to work this hard to focus, however, merely deepened his self-disgust.

As he walked away a few minutes later he blew out a breath. Inhaling another, he drew it deep and held it in the bottom of his lungs as long as he could before exhaling again. Breathing was supposed to be soothing—or so he’d always heard. According to his sister it even helped minimize the pain of childbirth. So was it asking so goddamn much to hope it might elevate his mood to a calmer plane?

Apparently so, since he didn’t feel a freaking bit more tranquil.
Shit.
Another deep breath and he finally faced the bottom line he’d been tiptoeing around.

There wasn’t a rationale on God’s green earth that excused him for putting P.J.’s safety into someone else’s hands. Particularly when the someone in question was a mild-mannered songwriter without an iota of training in personal security. And the fact that he’d let Priscilla Jayne’s minimeltdown make him forget the bedrock basics of said personal security—many of which he’d frigging perfected—was unforgivable. Rocket was going to have his balls in a basket when he told him about this.

The cold, hard truth was he’d gotten much too close to P.J. It might have been acceptable if he’d managed to keep some separation between his personal and professional personas. But today’s screw-up was just another reminder that there were good, solid reasons for his cardinal rule to never, but never, get involved with a client. His emotional entanglement in P.J.’s life had made him careless and if anything went wrong she’d be the one to pay the price.

“Entanglement,” he muttered and a harsh, humorless laugh escaped him. There was a prissy-ass word if he’d ever heard one. This went so far beyond that it wasn’t even funny. He’d allowed his feelings to cloud his judgment right down the line.

In the course of his career he’d worked with some of the most difficult clients a man could ever care to meet and not once had he let his feelings interfere with the job at hand. He’d stuck to them like flies to a glue trap no matter what their mood, their attitude or the amount of lip they’d given him. Yet had he done the same with P.J.? Oh, no. She had one little hysterical moment, said she needed a break from him and he’d backed off like a goddamn rookie.

Well, break time was over. As of now, he was back on the job.

But that was easier said than done, he discovered after searching in fifteen different places without seeing so much as a glimpse of her and Nell. And while several people reported sighting them, every time he chased down a new lead it was to find himself once again having just missed the duo.

With every minute that passed he grew more uneasy. He wanted to believe it was merely a continuation of that mistake-to-let-her-out-of-my-sight edginess scratching low and deep in his gut. But it was more than that. Something else was nagging him.

The security in this place had more holes than a slab of Swiss cheese. Take for example the nervousness of the young man who’d given him the report. The thought of it had him picking up his pace. Because no one involved in gate security should be rendered jumpy by one unhappy expression. You had to be ready to push back when someone gave you grief. Anything else rendered you worthless at manning the entrances of a venue of this magnitude.

Then there was the fact that the arena’s head of security had sent a kid to do the job in the first place. A kid who hadn’t even been familiar with the sketch of Menks that Jared had sent over the minute they’d hit town.

Jesus. If Menks had decided to come after Peej again…

His gut churning and, finally running out of people who’d seen P.J., he headed for the dressing room. It was the only place he could think of that he hadn’t already checked. He’d left a trail of his business cards, handing them out like kisses from a politician to everyone he’d come across, along with strict instructions to tell P.J. or Nell to call his cell number the instant they were spotted.

Meanwhile, the churning in his belly was growing worse. If anything happened to Peej it was on him. He had one area of expertise in his life and he’d blown it big-time today.

A woman’s scream suddenly rent the air as he was approaching the intersecting hallways where he’d turn off for her dressing room.

Son of a bitch!
Heart slamming, adrenaline spraying through his system like fire laid down by a semiautomatic, he sprinted toward the sound echoing down the tunnel-like corridors. He’d know that voice anywhere.

He moved faster than he ever had in his life, yet still felt as if quicksand sucked at his feet, as though hours passed before he spotted the tinfoil-covered cardboard star that P.J. always nailed to her dressing-room door. Blood pumping hot and furious through his veins, he burst into the room. “P.J.!”

For one awful second, as he tried to make sense of the scene before his eyes, he felt as though his entire system had stopped in its tracks.

Muttering incoherently, a hunched man jerked awkwardly toward him then lurched a few steps in his direction with a Quasimodolike gait. It only took one look to know it was Menks and Jared tore across the room, his gaze on the long-bladed shears in the man’s hand.

Shit, shit, shit!
Where the hell was P.J.? It took a moment for his cognitive processes to clear, then he saw her feet and lower legs, which were partially blocked by the man between them. They stuck up in the air at a forty-five degree angle, and he realized that not only were her ankles bound together but she was tied to a chair that was tipped over on its back. Sucking in a deep breath to stave off the rage trying to shanghai his reason, he gritted his teeth over his inability to go to her aid until he had Menks secure. He could only demand, “Peej. You okay?”

For a heart-stopping moment, she didn’t reply. Then her voice, low and raspy, said, “Yes. That is, I think so—only…I don’t know. He said—” Her voiced trembled. “Oh, God, J, he said I set a hor—a horri—an awful example in life but he’d see to it that I set a good one in death.” She swallowed audibly, clearly fighting back rising hysteria. “I think I kicked him in the nuts.”

That would explain the bastard’s posture.

“Be not deceived,” Menks croaked, waving the shears as he backed away from Jared. “Neither fornicators, nor idolaters, nor adulterers, nor—”

Not about to let him close to P.J. again, Jared lunged, grabbing Menks and twisting the shears from his hand. For one enticing moment the thought of plunging them into the asshole’s neck beckoned like a Belgian beer on a blistering summer day. Then, grabbing hold of his professionalism, he tossed the implement aside. Yanking the older man’s hands together behind his back, he looked around for something to bind them.

When Menks twisted to stare at him over his shoulder, however, Jared left off searching to study him in return. A cold shiver worked its way down his spine, leaving a wash of goose bumps in its wake. The guy had seriously crazy eyes.

“Let the marriage bed be undefiled—for fornicators and adulterers God will judge.” In a sudden, unexpected movement, Menks jerked half-free of Jared’s hold to lunge toward P.J.

She screamed and Jared caught his first entire-Peej glimpse since entering the room. Stuck like a turtle on her back, her eyes showed too much white and tendons stood like overburdened cables in her neck. A chunk of hair had been hacked off about chin length on the side nearest him, but it was the knot on her cheekbone, which was beginning to bruise, and the blackening eye swelling shut above it that really made Jared see red.

His professionalism went up in flames.

He swung Menks around by the arm still in his grip, then sent him crashing to the floor with a powerhouse right hook to his jaw.

The guy screamed like a girl and stared in horror at the blood that spattered the hand he’d raised to his mouth. “You can’t strike me! God has charged me with a mission.”

“Yeah, me, too. And I’m glad you’re at peace with Jesus, buddy,” he growled through clenched teeth, “because I’m gonna send you home to Him.” He hauled Menks to his feet only to flatten him once again. “Oops. Look at that. It appears I missed the damn chair entirely when I tried to seat you. Tell you what, Luther. Why don’t you go ahead and take a swing at me just to even things out.”

Menks didn’t move an inch from where he was sprawled on the floor. “The law of Jesus Christ has made me free from the law of sin and death.” He pinned Jared with his fanatic’s eyes. “I have no argument with you. May God grant you repentance so that you may know the truth, that you may come to your senses and escape the snare of the devil. My mission is with
her,
the devil’s whore.”

Jared’s temper spiked another degree hotter. “Get up, tough guy,” he said. “You’re real free and easy with your fists and your scissors when your opponent is a woman who weighs maybe a hundred pounds soaking wet. Let’s see how you deal with someone your own size.” Oh, man, he wanted the SOB to take a swing. Just one lousy swing. It was all the excuse he’d need to lose that last thin thread of control preventing him from annihilating the bastard. Without taking his eyes off his downed quarry, he leaned down and righted P.J.’s chair.

“You sure you don’t want to take a shot?” he demanded of Menks when she tried to stifle a gasp of discomfort. “No? Okay then, don’t say I didn’t offer.” And filled with a cold, killing rage, he put the power of his shoulder behind the punch he threw. Pain sang up his arm when his knuckles connected with Menks’s face, and cartilage popped audibly in Menks’s neck as the man’s jaw followed the trajectory of Jared’s fist. “I’ll make you a deal, Luther. If you’re still alive when the cops arrive we’ll call it even. That’s better odds than you gave Priscilla.”

“She is Jezebel.” Menks’s eyes burned with conviction even as he cowered away from Jared. “I thought she was pure but—”

“She
is
pure, you son of a bitch!” And damn it to hell, although her bruises were Menks’s responsibility, the situation was
his
fault. His father had always said he was a fuck-up and he’d just proved the old man right. His pride and goddamn need to allow P.J. her distance for his own emotional safety had almost cost him the woman he needed more than—

No. He gave himself a mental shake. This was not the time to get into this. His lack of professionalism had already nearly cost P.J. her life.

Stowing his guilt in a dark corner of his mind already teeming with like-minded emotions, he shoved Menks into a chair, then bent down and whipped P.J.’s belt from her ankles. “Change of plans. I’m not going to jail for stomping the life out of a twisted bastard like you,” he snarled as he secured Menks’s legs. When he untied the bandana from around P.J.’s wrists and saw her swollen fingers, however, he didn’t hesitate to wrench Menks’s arms behind his back with unnecessary force. And if he tied the bonds a little too tightly…?

Tough shit.

He lifted P.J. from her chair, supporting her when her legs buckled. Fighting the rage that threatened to consume him all over again when he assessed her bruises and contusions, he touched them with gentle fingertips. He could feel the tremors that racked her body as she leaned against him. “Easy, baby, just hang on,” he murmured as gently as he could manage with all this unspent adrenaline thundering through his veins.

Just then Nell burst into the room. “Oh, God, oh shit,” she moaned when she took in the situation.

“Here.” Pulling his cell phone from his belt loop, he tossed it to her. “Call 911. We need the cops and an EMT. Then get hold of Security.” Looking down at P.J. again, he assured her quietly, “The paramedics will be here to check you out real soon.”

It only took minutes for word of P.J.’s encounter to spread. Hank arrived and a mere moment later so did Eddie. In short order the room started filling up with roadies, extra musicians, the sound guy and two women from the front office. Last to appear was a man Jared recognized as the arena security head.

“I don’t need the paramedics,” P.J. said, and to his horror her eyes filled up with tears that silently spilled over.

“Aw, man, don’t cry,” he pleaded, wrapping his hand around the back of her head and pressing her face into his chest. God, she was killing him here. His control had all but disappeared this afternoon. For the first time in fifteen years he’d failed to stop and count the consequences before he’d acted, and only some failsafe embedded deeply within had prevented him from beating Menks into a coma for what he’d done to P.J. He needed to get back command of his emotions. “Please, baby, don’t cry.” Over the top of her head he watched the security guy approach and narrowed his eyes. He had more than a few choice words to say to the man.

“I’m not crying,” she denied gruffly, rubbing her uninjured eye against the swell of his pec. “But I don’t want a paramedic. I just need you. I was so scared, J.” She pressed herself against him as if trying to climb inside. “God, I thought I was dead for sure and I hadn’t even told you I love you.”

He froze. Joy warred with terror and he couldn’t say which was winning. A dozen thoughts and twice as many emotions jumbled his mind. But only one emerged.

“You don’t really mean that, Peej,” he assured her coolly. “You’ve been through hell and had the crap scared out of you. You’re not thinking straight.”