Page 35 of Savage Guardian

“Who…who would kill that idiot? Yeah, the guy was a certifiable asshole, but who would kill him? It wasn’t like he could really hurt anyone.”

Speak for yourself.It wasn’t Carrie whose lyrics and compositions—written with heart’s blood—had been shit on across all social media platforms for two years. It hurt like fuck.

“That’s what we’re here to find out, Miss James,” Special Agent Tyler said, his tone unusually flat when addressing Carrie. Maybe he just didn’t like her.

That’d be a first; a man who didn’t want to bang Carrie James.

Immediately, her mind went to the scene from that morning—Hawk with his arms wrapped around her sister, his eyes dark with desire. For Carrie.

Dammit! Now wasn’t the time to think about one more thing she couldn’t control.

“Has Mr. Dalton ever threatened you?” Detective Benson asked Carrie, whose gaze flicked to Fae before shaking her head in answer.

No, J.P. hadn’t outright threatened Aoibheal, just her career. But she never would have killed him over something like that.

“There was a letter tucked under the…contents.” That was news to her, mostly because all she saw was a goddamn human head, forget whatever else was in the box. “In the letter, the…err…sender mentions an upcoming concert.”

“Yes, that’s in two weeks,” Carrie replied. Her usual excitement about it seemed to dim a bit, which was understandable, considering the circumstances.

“Was Mr. Dalton attending that?”

Shaking all over, Fae replied, “N-not that I-I know.”

“The tickets are online purchase only, and the venue deals with all that. We don’t have access to that information.” Jimmy wiped the perspiration from his brow but missed the pool of it gathering beneath his neck flab.

“Who would?” Special Agent Tyler glared at Jimmy like Jimmy had just recited the Aryan creed.

“The admin at The Music Box…and Savage Protection. We hired them for Carrie’s security, and they would have contacted TMB to set up security for the event.”

“Fuck,” Benson muttered under his breath. “Who is the point of contact for your contract?”

“Hawk,” Carrie answered, the fear on her face turning to something else. “Can you call him and get him here, please?”

Why would Hawk need to be there? Oh…right…Aoibhealgot the head. He would need to be contacted, which meant he was going to blaze all up in there and turn the day’s clusterfuck into a shit-tsunami.

“Hold on,” Benson said, pulling his cell from his coat pocket and turning to walk a few feet away, no doubt calling Hawk.

Sighing, Fae slouched onto the couch, wishing it would all be over. Wishing everything was all over. Wishing she were back in her bedroom-slash-recording studio in her little house in Olsen, and that she’d never met Jimmy Rains. Wishing that the kiss from the night before hadn’t wrecked her. Wishing that Hawk had chosen her over Carrie—which was ridiculous. Ultimately, she wished she could close her eyes and everything she’d ever wished for before would come true.

If wishes were pennies, she’d be rich. Or buried under a metric ton of copper Lincolns.

Across the room, Special Agent Tyler continued staring, his intense dark eyes taking in everything—Carrie, Jimmy, and Fae. Flicking from one person to another, then back, almost like he was taking stock. Finally, his gaze flew to Benson, who’d returned, slipping his cell back into his coat pocket.

“Right. Hawk is on his way,” he informed the group, which made Carrie’s face light up and Fae’s stomach drop into her toes. You’d think that seeing a human head in a box would be the worst thing to happen, but having to deal with seeing Hawk after her humiliationandafter seeing a human head…yeah, it was too much.

Standing, she turned to Benson and asked, “Am I done here? Ca-can I g-go?”

Benson’s gaze peered into her, no doubt seeing the wariness woven with the weariness and fear.

Finally, he heaved a sigh and replied, “I got all I need for now, but take my card and contact me if there’s anything else you can think of.” He handed her his card and she took it, slipping into carelessly into her pocket.

“Stay safe, Ms. McCabe,” Benson suggested needlessly. If she could, she’d never step foot in Junkbox Studios again. Unfortunately, she had another week of intense work before she could leave the rest of the production work to Teddy. Despite the crapshow that was her life currently, she couldn’t let her fans down—at least the onesnotsending heads. They were coming to Vegas for a concert, and they were expecting a new album. She had next to nothing to do with the show, but the album was all hers. She couldn’t just not show up and do the work.

She nodded before turning to grab her bag off the floor nearest the end of the couch where SA Tyler was now standing.

“Here’s my card,” he said, his voice strangely compelling. Fae looked at the extended hand with the card it in, then blinked up at him. “Take it. Call me if you think of anything…or if you need anything. I know this had to have been difficult for you.”

Swallowing the sudden rise of bile at the memory of J.P.’s wide open dead-eyed gaze, she could only nod and take his card. Stuffing the card into her pocket next to Detective Benson’s, she hurried toward the exterior door, weaving her way through the small gathering of police and CSI who’d congregated near the box of fan mail…andthe package. She guessed that she’d get the box of fan mail back once they’d looked through all of it, making sure another surprise hadn’t been delivered as well. After the day she’d had, though, she really didn’t care if she got the mail back. As far as she was concerned, they could burn it all.

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