Page 7 of Hunted Hearts
The pieces were beginning to fall into place, from her clothing to her cultured voice.
“Just surprised. A violinist isn’t the kind of person you expect to have a stalker.”
She sighed, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “Well, you clearly haven’t met many classical fans.”
Everything settled in Theo’s mind.
The team around her had an air of precision and polish, not glitter and rhinestones. They weren’t the kind of people who trailed behind a pop diva—they moved like a unit, efficient and quiet, orbiting her like she was something rare and untouchable.
And looking at Juliette, he could see why. The woman didn’t look like she came from this century, let alone this decade. Her long, dark hair waved over one shoulder in a thick cascade, almost too much for her slight frame. And those eyes seemed too large compared to her small, upturned nose and rosebud lips.
She perched on the cushion as if ready to get up and bolt out of the room.
“I know you have a performance this evening, so I’ll make this as quick and painless as possible.”
“All right.” Her voice was soft, with a lilt of a French accent.
He leaned in a little, studying her face, the shift in her tone. “So how did this happen? Someone targeting you? What’s the story?”
“Like I told everyone, I don’t believe it was a threat. Just an unfortunate event.”
“Can you tell me what happened?” With his legs folded this way, an old knee injury was waking up like a grumpy mountain ogre. He stretched it out, and Juliette tracked the movement, her stare clinging to his thigh for a moment before a slight flush climbed her pale throat.
She pursed her lips and then launched into the story of entering her dressing room after sound check to find a vase of gardenias. When she leaned in to smell the flowers, a scorpion crawled out.
“I grabbed the first thing I saw—my high heel—and I smashed it.”
Theo studied the woman before him. “You killed a scorpion with your shoe?”
She dipped her head in a nod, appearing a bit uneasy for the first time.
He threw a look at the trash can across the room. “Are those the flowers?”
“Yes.”
“And the shoe you used to kill it with?” It was gold, with delicate straps he could picture lacing around her ankles all too easily.
He tore his gaze away.
“Yes, that’s my shoe.”
“I’ll have a closer look in a minute. Can you think of anybody who would want to scare you?”
“No.”
“Any boyfriends? Exes? Lovers?”
“No.” The pink that had started to fade on her throat flared bright again and began creeping up her jaw to settle in her cheeks.
“Jealous friends? Family members you have a problem with?”
She shook her head. “No.”
She didn’t give him much to go off—he needed tour dates and a list of recent venues, as well as names of every person in Juliette’s inner circle.
He didn’t look away from her. “Did you leapfrog over someone to get this tour slot?”
Her spine stiffened, and she crossed her arms over her small breasts, jaw tensing like she’d just tasted something sour.
