Turbulent Sea (10 page)

"Joley, give me a break here. Dean probably saw the kid for a few minutes and forgot all about her. Do you think they remember all these girls they're with? They have sex, they get blow jobs, they do drugs with them. They aren't in love."

"That just proves my point. We can't waste any more time. I want her picture shown to everyone before they all lose their memories. And stop trying to handle me for Jerry. The coward. He knows I'm upset and he's hiding. If he doesn't get this done, he's gone right along with Dean. I mean it, Brian. I'm at the end with all of them."

Brian held up his hand to stop her rant. "Listen to yourself, Joley. When was the last time you slept? Or ate, for that matter? You're not taking care of yourself. And Jerry told you we should skip Red Rocks this year, it's too small, but you insisted and we have to drive all night now and set up for a back-to-back concert. Everyone's exhausted, you included. You're acting like no one but you cares about anything."

"Well Jerry and I just don't see eye to eye anymore about much of anything, do we?" Joley dropped into a chair and covered her face with her hands. Maybe she was acting like a diva. She couldn't tell anymore. And Brian was right, she was exhausted.

"Jerry wants whatever you want. He scheduled the stop in Red Rocks because you asked him to do it."

"Red Rocks is magical. When the sun is setting and the energy is right…" She trailed off. She couldn't explain it to Brian. You either felt it or you didn't. She was so tired she could barely think, but Red Rocks would recharge her, it always did, even when they had to do one concert right after the other to fit it in the schedule.

"We're going to have to get going in order to make the schedule, Joley. Try to get some sleep."

"Is Jerry checking on this girl right now?"

Brian shoved both hands through his hair in agitation. "You're like a bear with a sore tooth. We don't even know if it's the same girl, Joley. Calm down and think about this logically. She could have drank too much and gone to a girlfriend's house and is afraid to go home."

"And she's still not home after a week?"

"Okay, maybe she did shack up with Dean and they think they're in love," Brian said, exasperated. "Although I don't think the entire crew would be protecting him."

"But you're certain he worked the last two concerts?"

"He was there. Everyone saw him. According to a couple of his friends, he didn't realize any of the girls were underage until you yelled and they started giggling. He was stupid and ran, but he made them leave. He doesn't want to lose his job. The others said he went back to the hotel that night to catch a shower before leaving the city with the bus and he's been working hard ever since. That's as much as I know. And they certainly haven't seen the girl with him."

"Could she have stowed away in the bus? Did anyone check their bus?"

"They're checking it now. They were already on the road, but Jerry had the driver pull over and they're searching it before continuing. He'll call if they find her. And if we don't get moving, Joley, we're not going to make it in time for our next concert. Jerry's doing everything he can to find this girl, but we've got to get out of here now. There's nothing more we can do. She'll be found."

Joley pressed her fingertips to her eyes. The girl wasn't going to be found, not if that terrible feeling in the pit of her stomach was right—and it usually was. She couldn't exactly explain that feeling to Brian. "Fine. I'm sorry. I know I'm getting crazy here, but the mother said someone in our band invited this girl—this thirteen-year-old child—to an after hours party. Who would do that?"

"Anyone could have issued the invitation, not necessarily a band member or one of our people. Come on, you know that. Nikitin or any of his crew could have or someone else coming to the party. We'll show the picture to everyone tomorrow, and if we're lucky, the police will tell us she turned up and is now home safe. I promise, tomorrow morning, as soon as we hit Red Rocks, I'll talk to Dean personally and so will Jerry. I'll make certain of it. In the meantime, try to get some sleep. I know you didn't get any last night." He leaned closer to her. "I mean it, Joley. We don't want to have to cancel due to your exhaustion, and it could happen. Go to sleep."

"You've all been talking again." She knew that when the band was worried, they appointed Brian to be the spokesman. "I'll go to bed." She would, but there would be no sleeping. "Logan and the baby?"

"He's going to meet us in Red Rocks early in the morning. He said he'll call Tish and see if she'll take the nanny job. I think after your song, all of us believe in second chances." Brian's gaze was steady. Maybe even a little accusing.

Joley felt the color rising in her cheeks. "Okay, I poured a little too much into that song. It was for Lisa, but I was a little distracted. I thought Denny was going to personally kick that man with Lisa. I've never seen him like that, have you?" Brian had known Denny since they were in kindergarten.

Brian grinned. "Denny's got it in him when you get him riled, but no, never over a woman. I think Lisa's the real thing. She slapped him though, right across the face, very hard. And she was crying. I saw him go over to her after the performance, and she just hauled off and let him have it."

"Good for her. Then what did she do?"

"She was crying and he kept trying to put his arms around her. She didn't run away, but she belted him a couple of more times in the chest. Girlie punches though."

"So is he on the bus?" She didn't want to lose her drummer.

"He's driving with Lisa so they can talk. I think they rented a car. He'll follow the bus."

"Joley! Brian!" Steve called out from the driver's seat. "We've got to go now. Brian, if you're riding with us, I'm taking off."

Brian's eyebrow went up. "I'll stay if you want me to. We can talk things out if you like, because, seriously, Joley, you've got to lay it down."

Joley shook her head, suddenly weary. "I'll try to sleep." She placed the picture of the missing girl on the small built-in stand beside the couch. "I'll see you in Red Rocks."

Brian nodded and waved at Steve, before shutting the door between the driver and the rest of the bus, which was Joley's home on the road. At once, the vehicle rumbled to life, and Steve pulled out of the parking lot onto the road.

Joley waved to Brian and watched him sprint for the second bus before she slid the privacy screen in place and heaved a sigh. It was going to be another long night. Was she really being ridiculous over the missing girl? It was entirely possible her band and crew had nothing at all to do with the underage teens being at the party. And Brian was right, she was exhausted and fixating on the missing girl.

Maybe she was crazy and it really wasn't the same girl—Steve didn't think so, but every time she looked at the photograph, she was more convinced than ever. She was angry with Jerry and Brian because six days had gone by and Dean hadn't been questioned—but truthfully, she was angry with herself. The Columbus concert, she'd flown in, done the sound check, and the roadies had broken everything down and were on the move before she remembered. She'd been upset because Ilya hadn't been there and he hadn't talked to her since the night in New York. She'd been thinking about him instead of the girl. She was used to handing everything over to Jerry to handle and she just let herself forget.

The Auburn Hills concert she'd remembered just before going onstage, but afterward, she didn't remember again until she was about to leave, so she hadn't asked Jerry if he'd spoken with Dean. The road crew was already gone. It was easier to blame Jerry and Brian, but ultimately, it was her responsibility to make the inquiry if she wanted it done, because she was really the only person who believed it was the same girl. She was so used to everyone doing things for her, and what did that make her after all? A diva. She really was messed up, mostly because she desperately needed to hear Ilya's voice again.

She considered calling one of her sisters, but they'd compare notes with Hannah, and one—or all—would come running. She didn't want to disrupt their lives, especially when they would see her glaring character flaws. It was fine to turn it all into a family joke—"Loser Apply Here" stamped to Joley's forehead—but it was altogether different for her sisters to witness it. And yet laughing with them, she could pretend it wasn't that bad, but when she was out on her own, alone in the bus, with no one to share either problems or laughter, she knew she could easily get into trouble.

Joley made her way to the back of the bus. Maybe if she rested, she'd manage to pull herself together. As she passed the small closet, a large hand snaked across her mouth and an arm slid like an iron bar around her waist. She was jerked back against a hard male body. Warm breath fanned her neck.

"Don't scream."

She knew who it was instantly. His scent. His aura of danger. His hard, masculine body, far stronger than he looked. She drew in a breath, struggled and tried to sink her teeth into his palm. He let her. She knew he let her bite him. He didn't utter a sound, or flinch, but his body crowded closer to hers, and she felt the press of his arousal, strong and full and unapologetic. She went still and waited for him to release her.

Instead Ilya Prakenskii trapped her between him and the closet door, his body pressed tight against hers. He rubbed his palm over her full lips, as if he expected her to kiss the bite better. And she was tempted. As it was, she couldn't keep her tongue from touching the small wound. He tasted masculine and sexy. The heat of his body crept into hers, a slow assault on her senses. She could feel the band of his arm sweeping up her rib cage to halt beneath her breasts. At once her skin felt too tight, her nipples hard and aching, and between her legs, already, the first flush of dampness signaled her response to him. It didn't help that the bus swayed as it rolled over the asphalt and his body brushed against hers intimately with every movement.

"How did you get on the bus?" Her voice sounded breathy. Her heart hammered and her stomach did a slow somersault. "How did I not see you?"

He bent to her neck, his teeth scraping over her skin, tugging at her earlobe before his mouth settled leisurely on the side of her neck. She closed her eyes, leaning into the heat of his body, feeling his thick shaft nestled tight against her. "That's what I do," he replied, in between bites along her neck. "It's my job not to be seen. Bodyguards are supposed to fade into the background."

"Really?" Self-preservation demanded she move. Self-respect demanded she feign shock. She did neither. His arms made her feel safe when she should have felt threatened. His mouth on her skin sent little flames darting through her bloodstream. Her brain said to move, but her body refused to acknowledge the command. "I think you're too much of a presence to fade into the background."

"You never notice I'm around unless I want you to notice," he pointed out. He turned her into his arms so that she was crushed against the broad expanse of his chest. "Look at me."

"If I do, you'll kiss me," she said, her voice muffled by his shirt.

He laughed softly, and she was instantly aware it was something he did rarely. "I've been craving the taste of you ever since I kissed you in New York. A week is a long time, and I don't think I can wait any longer."

She inserted a hand between them in an effort to get space, but his body was immovable and his arms had locked her tight against him. She lifted her face, and his lips were inches—
inches
—from hers. His breath was warm with the promise of temptation and sin. She wanted both.

His mouth settled on hers, teeth tugging at her lower lip insistently, until, without much resistance, she opened for him. Lost in his intoxicating, sensual taste, all male and sex and urgent demand, Joley went pliant, melting against him, hands sliding around his neck to press even closer.

His mouth didn't just promise sex and sin—it tasted of it, delivered it, sent fire streaking through her body like lightning, and somewhere music played, vibrating through her entire body, singing in her veins. She melted into him, skin to skin, sharing breath until her toes curled. She gripped the front of his shirt for support as her knees turned to rubber and every nerve ending in her body caught fire.

Ilya didn't give her time to think or breathe. He simply took her body over, stealing her soul with scorching kisses, his hand sliding up to cover hers, to pry her fingers from his shirt, his thumb sliding in a caress over her palm.

Her entire body clenched in need. Her womb pulsed and throbbed. Joley gasped and tore herself out of his arms. How could he do that? One touch of the pad of his thumb across her palm and her body was scorched and trembling, so in need she could barely think.

Joley blinked back the tears glittering in her eyes. "You have to go, Ilya. I'm going to call Steve and tell him to let you off someplace you can call for a car." Even her voice trembled.

He shook his head and caught her chin, tilting her face up so she was forced to look at him. His hands were incredibly gentle, but his fingers were firm, keeping her from pulling away. "Not tonight. I'm staying with you. Just relax,
lyubimaya moya
, I'm not going to hurt you."

She took a breath and laid her palm against his chest, over his heart. "Yes, you will, Ilya, and I don't think I'll recover. So, no, you can't stay with me tonight or any other night."

"Why would you think I would hurt you?"

She blinked up at him—seeing him—seeing his aura—seeing inside of him. Each person, through individual experiences, created his or her own symphony, and she "saw" it when she looked at them. It was the reason she could pour compulsion toward a specific person into her song. She could pull out a short thread of his melody and match the exact pulsations. She could "feel" the vibrations of each musical note running in his brain, registering as various instruments and creating pieces both complex and simple, pieces filled with joy or sorrow, compassion or driving ambition—everything passionate, and especially the passions of good or evil.