Page 33 of Blue Moon

Ryder stepped forward. “No problem, ma’am. I’m a part of Ms. Maara’s security team, and I just need to make some standard checks.”

“Oh, sure, sure. Follow me.”

“Could you take a couple of pictures of me before we go?”

“Me?”

“I’d ask him…” I jerked a thumb at Ryder and rolled my eyes. “But he tells me it’s not a part of his job description. Honestly”—I lowered my voice to a whisper he could still hear—“he takes himself way too seriously.”

His lips twitched as I strode past him, the casino employee hustling behind. Ryder had told me to bitch at him? If there was one thing I was good at, it was acting like a diva.

Our escort took pictures of me looking pensive on stage, then gazing out at the empty theatre, then sitting on the grand piano. I had a live band for this show. In fact, I had live bands for most shows, but never the same band. Whenever I’d suggested putting together a permanent group of musicians so we could get used to each other’s working styles and form a more cohesive team, Mom had muttered about costs and logistics and said it wasn’t possible. In San Gallicano, Ryder had finally shed some light on the real reason, and perhaps that was why I’d finally struck out on my own. Mom had kept me isolated. Sure, there were always people around me, but nobody I could get close to. Nobody who could help me to see just how much power she wielded and allow me to wriggle out from under her thumb. She hired session musicians, contract bodyguards, and never anyone she thought I might like. The only other constant in my life had been Jubilee, and Mom had control over her too.

Now? Now, I was still lonely, but at least I was in charge of my own affairs.

“Nice touch with the eye roll,” Ryder murmured as I walked past him. The casino escort was too far ahead of us to hear, and she was also facing ahead, so I trailed a fingertip over his hand. His eyes widened, but then he smiled. A proper grin, not the tight little smiles he’d been giving me since he got to Las Vegas. It was gone in a second as he returned to tough-guy mode, but I knew what I’d seen. And what I’d felt. That flicker of excitement. I had plenty of secrets—the sexual assault, my fake personality, the strained relationship with my family—but this was the first time I’d had a good secret. And it was kinda fun.

Our escort had called ahead, and the head of security ushered us inside the control centre. I’d never seen so many TVs in one place. These people could watch every single show on Netflix, all at the same time.

Ryder held out a hand. “Ryder Metcalfe. I’m on Ms. Maara’s security team.”

“Derek Monroe.” He was a slender man with dark circles under his eyes, messy brown hair, and a harried look about him. The two men shook. “Everything okay?”

“Maybe, maybe not. Ms. Maara has received several interesting communications from a fan, and it’s setting off alarm bells.”

Derek eyed me up. “You want to talk privately?”

He was talking to Ryder, not to me. Trying to exclude me from my own life the way literally everyone else did. I opened my mouth to protest, but Ryder got there first.

“Whatever we discuss, we’ll do it with Ms. Maara’s involvement.”

He took my side. Ryder took my side. He didn’t treat me like a helpless female, capable of entertaining but not of being master of my own destiny. My fingernails bit into my palms as I clenched my fists, waiting to see if Derek would argue.

He didn’t.

“As you wish.”

Derek waved us past him into a small, cluttered side office. He moved a gym bag off one visitor chair and a stack of files off the other, then pushed a trio of empty coffee cups to the side of the desk.

“Take a seat.”

Ryder closed the door behind us, and we both settled into minimally padded chairs. Was a cushion really too much to ask for? Apparently so, because the two men just continued the conversation as if our butts wouldn’t start aching before it was over.

“Why are these communications a concern?” Derek asked. “What’s the nature of them?”

“The first note came here with a pair of earrings. It showed up on the gift table in the theatre.”

Ryder had put the note into a ziplock bag, and he slid it across the desk toward Derek. Well, he slid it most of the way. A bottle of energy drink blocked its path. This wasn’t a man who got much sleep. Derek adjusted his glasses, and Luna fidgeted as he read.

“Man’s a kook” was his verdict. “Every artist gets this shit.”

“The other two notes were delivered to Ms. Maara’s apartment.”

“Same guy?”

“Same guy.”

“Right.” Derek glanced at the note again. “In that case, I can see why you’re concerned. Are there cameras at her place?”

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