Page 147 of Naughty Dreams
Her being right didn’t change anything. He’d sat next to her bed, and for the first time in their history together, he’d touched her the way he’d touch someone he loved. He clasped her hand, looked her in the face, and said a version of what he’d just told DJ. “If I lost you because you protected me, it would tear me to pieces. I’d never recover.”
“You’re tougher than that, boss. We all have the right to sacrifice ourselves for those that matter to us. No one gets the exclusive right on that. Now, if it had been Raul, I would have let the bomb blow him to smithereens. Bastard still owes me money for the last poker game, and he was all set to stick me with the bill at that dive bar we had to fight our way out of in Manila.”
“He says you were bored and provoked the fight, claiming that guy grabbed your ass.”
“He did grab my ass,” she said with mock affront. “Or at least he was thinking about it so hard it felt like he did. It was biblical. You think it, you did it.”
Then she’d started wheezing. He’d made her talk too much. But when the nurse shooed him out, G’s eyes held his with fiery resolve, reinforcing what she said. She’d made a gesture with her burned hands.
We’re square.
It wasn’t long after that he went into private security, and though he’d nearly come to blows with her over it, with the money he’d gotten on that first job, he’d paid for top-end cosmetic surgery for her face and torso.
DJ had been honest with him, and he’d been hard on the kid. But thanks to the picture G had just sent him, all Roy could think about was what would happen if DJ made a decision that landed him in this guy’s hands, beyond Roy’s reach.
The photo showed a happy face created out of guitar picks. It had been left a quarter mile down the road from DJ’s property, laid out on the shoulder on a flattened concert T-shirt. Warrenhad noticed it when he drove in for his early morning shift. G had waited until she had all the forensics in for the taunt before texting Roy with it, anticipating what questions he would have.
While it wasn’t a busy road, the fact it was undisturbed meant the bastard had done it only a short time before Warren’s arrival. He was watching the house, enough to know the security shift change schedule. They would be changing that up as of now, rotating it to random hours.
The shirt was from Survival’s most recent tour, and the picks were a whimsical gift from Lonnie to Steve. They had their initials on them, S + L. While Steve would toss other picks into the crowd as keepsakes, he never did that with those.
The NTSB information Mick had procured for Roy confirmed what G had been told off the record, that the bomb had been planted before they took off, and set to detonate on landing. But the more detailed reports Mick got for him discussed how the bomb design didn’t connect to any known players. The techs thought it was homemade, though sophisticatedly so.
The stalker had to have pulled the picks from Steve’s guitar case when it was loaded on the plane, only an hour before takeoff. Which meant he’d posed as a baggage handler or maintenance tech and escaped detection.
The only good news about the T-shirt/guitar pick incident was it meant the stalker didn’t know where DJ was.
It didn’t help.
Roy was glad DJ was moving back toward his music. But once they went back to DJ’s normal life, the stalker was going to be closer than he’d ever been.
Doing his job well depended uponalwaysstaying calm. DJ had become important, so Roy would build a stronger room in his head to hold the emotions that belonged to the kid. DJ needed his passion when it was just them, and Roy could go into that room during those times and give him that.
Roy wouldn’t withdraw from Dory, because pulling back wouldn’t help. At this point in their relationship, that would be like capping a bottle and shaking it.
When he came back into the room, he’d leveled out. He couldn’t deny how good it felt to see DJ sitting on the couch, his head bent over his guitar, his notebook out. He wore only his loose, worn jeans, and was barefoot.
His gaze moved to the long-fingered, arresting hands on the strings. DJ was rocking a little as he figured out the music he wanted. He tensed as Roy entered, telling Roy he was aware of him, but he didn’t stop. He was giving Roy space, but maybe also protecting himself.
He’d hurt the kid. That bugged him.
Roy came and sat on the coffee table, facing him. “Can you give me a minute?”
DJ set the guitar aside and looked at him expectantly. “I need to tell you about something that G did,” Roy said.
When he finished the story, he added, “I’m sorry for how I reacted, though I meant what I said.”
“So did I.” DJ had that stubborn jut to the chin, the challenging flash in his eyes.
“Yeah, I got that. I’m not going to say I’m okay with it, and I’ll probably apply my belt to your ass to make myself feel better about it, but I do get it. I get it.”
When the extra emphasis showed DJ that he meant it, DJ relaxed a fraction. “Want to hear the song I’m working on?”
“I don’t have time for that crap. It’s almost time for my game shows.”
DJ grinned, and they were all right again. “When I see G, I’m going to give her a big hug.”
“I’ll transport you to the hospital when she takes out your kneecaps. Play me the song.”
