Turbulent Sea (30 page)

JOLEY flashed across the stage like quicksilver, looking so sexy Ilya found it hard to tear his gaze from her. She was all glitter and flash, sultry and dazzling, burning so hot, flying so high, he knew she would crash after the performance. He had done that. Driven her to the breaking point. To everyone else she looked strong and confident; to him she looked vulnerable and fragile. She wanted the world to think she was just fine—she wanted
him
to believe it, but he knew her too well.

He had crushed her with his careless handling. For the first time in his life his training had utterly failed him. Joley was everything he had ever dreamt of—more. She had given him back humanity, taught him to feel, to believe in hope. He had been careless for the first time in his life, stealing time for himself, forgetting that his life depended on secrecy. And he had been indiscreet, giving her a truth and then pulling back when she accepted it.

He swore and forced himself to look away from her, to study the audience in the first several rows and then slowly back farther. Her voice played over his skin, a mix of sultry heat and promise that kept his body hard when his chest felt weighed down with sorrow.

He had absolutely no experience when it came to relationships. None. His instinct, when he realized she was withdrawing, had been to pull her close to him. to force the issue, but he couldn't give her what she needed, and she would have fought him with her last breath. It would have turned into a physical confrontation, and there would have been no winner. So he'd backed off, and now he had no idea what to do to regain her trust.

He detested this feeling of inadequacy, of indecision. He was a man confident in his abilities, sure of his responses, quick to make judgment calls, and in the most important area of his life, he felt paralyzed by his lack of knowledge.

His gaze strayed back to Joley. The stage was every bodyguard's worst nightmare. The venue was a bowl with the stage in the center, surrounded by thousands of screaming fans. They had people scanning the crowd, but to find trouble was like looking for a needle in a haystack. And there was going to be trouble. The electric energy of the crowd nearly drowned out the small threads of malevolence he could feel, but he was ultrasensitive to danger and it was there, somewhere in that vast sea of faces.

"Check the south side," he said into his radio.

He didn't like the shows in the huge venues. Joley used a rig shaped like a platform bridge that swung her out over the audience. It put her right in the midst of them, up high; she gyrated and sung on a narrow metal path in the air. And when she performed, she was giving it her all. Lights flashed, the sky rained sparkles, and fire rose from the stage. Joley ran and leapt for the platform as it began to swing out over the audience.

"South side. South side," Ilya hissed. His gut was in hard knots now. "Get the camera on her. Make certain there's nothing wrong with that platform." He had inspected it himself. With his belly churning and that heaviness of dread weighing down his chest, he knew the small threads of dangerous energy were gathering fast.

There were a million tricks one learned as a personal protector, but he realized most of them went out the window when the person you were guarding was your soul. He had to keep forcing his gaze from straying toward her. His heart beat too fast, and he tasted fear in his mouth. If someone wanted her dead, it would be so easy. A gun—hell, in this crowd, whoever shot her could probably tuck the gun into his shirt and walk away.

He took a deep breath and pushed it all away, falling back on years of cool distance. He forced himself back under rigid control, knowing that if he allowed emotion to rule him, he would lose this battle. He let his senses flair out, uncaring that he would be gathering information it would take his mind months to get rid of.

The stadium was on its feet as the band swung into one of the favorites. Joley looked like mouthwatering candy as she moved over the bridge. The crowd responded with wild screams and waves, reaching up toward her, thunder filling the bowl as the people stomped feet and clapped hands to the pounding beat.

As the platform swung to the south, Ilya shut everything out of his mind but the people under her; he was watching intently for something beyond his vision, something that would register in his mind, in his senses, long before his brain would recognize what his eyes were seeing. People dancing. Women on men's shoulders, arms lifted. His heart jerked and he began moving fast.

"Just under the bridge. Focus directly under the bridge."

He raced across the stage, leapt for the stairs going up the bridge. Even as he ran, his training didn't fail him. He blurred his image to keep cameras from focusing on him. Below him he could see the man on the shoulders of another man taking his hands away from the steel. Both men ducked, hands over their heads.

Joley. Toward me!

She didn't question or hesitate. As if they had choreographed a dance together, she turned and raced toward him, still singing, still holding the microphone. The charge went off just after she passed the device. Sparks raced to the ceiling, but no more than the dazzling display of light and sound racing around the bowl. The sound of grinding metal was loud as the beam split, one side, jagged and sharp, popping up, catching Joley's arm as she flashed by. The other side dropped down toward the crowd, held only by threads.

"In the crowd. Two men. One is wearing a striped shirt, the other has on a leather jacket, a long one. Get them. I'll be there as soon as possible to question them." He spoke low into the radio, keeping in the shadows as he moved into a better position to help Joley.

She went still, keeping control of the situation like the pro she was. "Swing it slowly over the stage, guys, we don't want anyone hurt." Her voice was absolute calm, and it stopped the crowd beneath her from panicking. She sent them a quick sassy grin. "These little things happen at all shows. That's going to get a lot of play on the Internet. Oops, watch Joley fall off the platform. Maybe I'll get really lucky and become famous!"

The audience went wild cheering. As always, she carried them with her personality and her voice. No one seemed to realize that there was still danger.

He was standing behind her now, his hand on her, as the bridge moved back into position. He felt the shifting under his feet as it wanted to shred and buckle, and he tightened his hands at her waist in case he had to throw her clear. Joley kept talking, seemingly unaware that her arm was dripping blood. He got a good look at the cut as the lights played over them.

It's bad, Joley. Your arm's ripped open.

Tell me something I don't know. Can you do anything to get me through this?

He didn't hesitate. As the platform went level with the stage, he lifted her to firm ground, turning for a moment, his body blocking hers from sight, both hands wrapping around her forearm. She gasped and went pale. Blood dripped steadily. Warmth spread from him to her, and she took a breath and stepped back.

Thanks. I can work with this.

He didn't turn around but kept walking, jumping off the stage as the audience erupted into a round of applause.

"Aren't my guys great?" Joley asked, then turned and sent a mock scowl toward her band. "Hey! I didn't see any of you rushing to be my hero."

Denny held up a glass. "Sorry, love, we were taking a break. Did something happen?" He burst into a drum solo that had the crowd laughing and back on their feet.

The crew discreetly moved the platform back away from the audience as far as possible once it was lowered to the stage, while Joley took the towel Brian handed her and casually wrapped it around her arm.

"Joley." His voice was broken.

"Thanks, babe," she said and stood on her toes to brush a kiss against his cheek where she could whisper reassurances. "I'm fine. We need to keep going here, Brian. Help me, okay?"

He nodded and backed away from her, but his face was stiff with guilt and fear. Joley straightened her shoulders, ignored the pain in her arm and moved to the front of the stage, peering down at the rows in front of her. Spotting a young girl of about ten who looked frightened, she leaned toward her, flashing her famous smile. "Were you scared just then?"

The girl nodded.

"So was I, but not nearly as scared as the time I decided to crawl out my window to go to a girlfriend's house. I was just about your age and she was having a sleepover. My parents said I couldn't go because I'd done something that day at school to get in trouble." She'd put a live mouse in the teacher's drawer because the teacher had yelled at her for writing notes, but she for sure wasn't confessing that. "Well I got stuck half in and half out of that window and I heard my dad coming down the hall. I have to tell you—now
that
was a truly scary moment."

The little girl laughed and visibly relaxed. Joley turned back to the band.

"The father has punished you for your sins." The voice blared over a handheld microphone, loud and commanding.

Ilya, who had been striding up to the office, paused, holding his breath. Joley could turn the crowd ugly with one tone of her voice. She slowly turned back, shading her eyes with her hand, and a small smile broke out. With Joley, that was like watching the sun break free.

"RJ. I see you're back again. You just can't seem to stay away."

"I follow where sin and debauchery take me so I might be an instrument of good. Had you been following the path of righteousness, no evil would have befallen you."

The crowd booed and stomped their feet. Joley held up her hand for silence. Ilya held his breath. She held them in her palm, didn't the Reverend see that? Hear it? She was magic on a stage. She probably didn't even realize how much of her gift she utilized onstage as she performed, but her voice was a powerful weapon and it definitely could incite an ugly riot. He knew the power of sound, he'd used it more than once to hypnotize, incite, or to seduce. Survival was everything, and any and all weapons were exploited.

"No, sir, that was a good old-fashioned accident. They happen all time. These people have worked all week, and they're here to have a good time and enjoy themselves, that's all. So you sit down and let's get on with the fun."

The Reverend sat—and that more than anything showed the power Joley wielded with her voice.

As the band swung into a number, Ilya made his way into the office where security held two men. They were much younger than he'd first thought, and both looked scared. He made them even more terrified by leaning up against the desk, folding his arms and staring at them in silence. One of the security guards handed him the two IDs, showing one was eighteen and the other twenty.

Ilya nodded his head toward the door and the guards left, leaving him alone with the two kids. In silence he pulled on thin leather gloves as he deliberately glanced around the room as if looking for cameras, making certain that the two young men looked as well.

The younger of the two, Raymond Silver, was the one who had planted the charge. He cleared his throat and shifted anxiously when Ilya's cold gaze settled on him. The boy kept sending frightened looks to his friend. The silence stretched and lengthened.

"Look, man," Raymond finally burst out with. "I was just telling those dudes. That wasn't supposed to happen. It was only supposed to rock the platform and unbalance her, not break like that. A guy paid us a hundred a piece to put the device there. He even gave us the tickets for those seats and showed us on a drawing where to place it. He was filming it for the Internet. You know, where they play all the videos."

The other boy, Tony Morano, grinned. "I'll bet it turns out cool."

Ilya reached out, his hand a blur of motion, slapping the kid hard enough to rock him back on his heels. The blow was fast, vicious and shocking, the sound loud in the small confines of the room. Tony staggered and fell against the desk.

"I guess you didn't notice that Miss Drake was injured." Ilya kept his voice low and calm, completely at odds with the blow.

"You can't hit me," Tony yelled, wiping the blood from his mouth. "I could sue you. This is police brutality, man."

Ilya caught him by the throat, again the movement so fast the boy never saw it coming. Ilya yanked him off his feet and slammed him against the door, a foot off the ground, simply holding him there by his throat, while the kid's heels drummed against the wood.

Again he used a calm, mild, unhurried voice. "I guess you didn't hear me, Mr. Morano. I said Miss Drake was injured. A proper response would have been to say you're sorry and that you hope it isn't a bad injury." Ilya ignored the gasping for breath, the ragged, desperate choking and gagging as the boy turned color. Ilya shifted slightly so he could look at Raymond. "Don't you agree that would have been a better response, Mr. Silver?"

Raymond nodded desperately over and over, backing around the desk to put it between them.

Ilya allowed Tony to drop to the ground, releasing him abruptly and not at all gently. Tony fell to the floor, holding his throat, coughing and sputtering.

"Let's try again, Mr. Morano." The voice never changed. It remained casual and matter-of-fact, almost friendly. "I am not the police. I don't arrest people and I have no intention of turning you over to the police. They can find you all by themselves if there's anything left to find when I'm done here. I do, however, do other things besides arrest people. You don't want me to have to do those things to you. There are no cameras in this room, no recorders, and those men outside are my men. They'll walk away and disappear, just like I can make you disappear. So, with that in mind, let's try again. Miss Drake was injured by your little stunt."

Tony tried to get his feet under him twice, but fell back coughing.

"I have a good job. Extermination. At first I wasn't so certain it was a good thing, but after a while I realized there were people that just were never going to get it, you know? They were never going to understand the rules of living in a society." Ilya shrugged. "You know what I mean, Mr. Silver?" He never took his gaze from Tony's face.