Page 86 of Play Dirty (Brooklyn Dawn 1)

I quickly thanked the last of the crew that was cleaning up after first class and found a scary-looking security guy waiting for me. He smiled with a sweetness that belied his military bearing, but almost immediately, the blank mask returned.

“I’m Jerome.”

“Lindsey.”

He nodded curtly. “If you’re ready, ma’am?”

“I am.”

He gestured to take my bag, but I shook my head. If I had to slip away from him and find my own way out, it was safer for me to have my travel life on me. Replacing a license was easy enough, but my passport? Hell no.

It was a near sprint through the colossal airport that was O’Hare. Finally, we ducked down a hallway I’d never been through. We generally traveled with our own plane or bus, depending on the closeness of the venues. Signs for shuttles eased my anxiety. We had to be close. The blast of cold coming through the door at the end of the hallway had me burrowing into my lightweight jacket. Chicago’s version of fall was definitely not as temperate as Winchester Falls.

My strapping young security guard kept talking into some little microphone on his shoulder. When I got to the door, I saw why. They’d found me.

Fans always found a way.

Luckily, it was just fans, and not photographers on the hunt for a shot to sell. I had enough vanity to say a small prayer of thanks. I looked like roadkill’s dinner.

I smiled at people reaching for me with their phones out. Jerome did his best to hold people back, but it really was no use. “No pictures today, guys. I only have a second.”

Collective groans and a few tears almost had me relenting, but then my pocket buzzed again. I was well past late at this point. Thank God they didn’t really need me at soundcheck. At least I told myself that as I accepted notebooks, CDs, phones, and human appendages to sign.

I made small talk and asked people if they were coming to the show. I finally relented for one picture with a little girl wearing a Brooklyn Dawn shirt and blinged out jeans.

Finally, my driver, George, stepped out and herded people back with a bark of orders, then shuffled me into the car.

I waved at the fans and collapsed against my seat. “Thanks.”

“Darcy is about to have a litter of kittens,” he said as he slammed his door.

“She’s always a step away from birth.”

George just grunted. Pretty much his favored form of communication. It suited me. He let me rattle off about my day like a therapist when I needed it. Sometimes imparting bits of wisdom, but mostly, he just allowed me to unload.

George Hendrix was built like a tank, with a barrel chest full of muscle and arms that could snap a body in half. I’d witnessed his impressive bodyguard technique on more than one occasion. Best of all, he made me feel safe in a world full of people who could be fairly imbalanced. Add in my rich parents and I’d been security-conscious for most of my life at this point.

Selling tens of millions of records brought with it a lot of amazing things. It also brought stalkers, mentally challenged people, and people looking to make a quick buck on an illicit photo.

Again, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out to see Darcy’s number. Just as I was about to accept the call, a FaceTime call came through the in-dash iPad.

Jamie’s profile icon with the double middle finger won out. I hit accept.

“Where the hell are you?” She frowned at me. “You look like ass.”

“Thanks. Missed you too.” Jamie, however, looked rested and extra tan. She’d probably spent the week in a cabana with her bartender.

She narrowed her eyes at me. “Did you get fucked?” She filled the screen with her angular face as if it would give her a better look at me.

Yes. “Jesus, Jame.”

“Lift your sunglasses.”

It was on the tip of my tongue to own up to it, but something held me back. Again. It wasn’t as if I was ashamed, more like I wanted to keep that little piece of us mine. Yes, even from my best friend. Fucked up, maybe, but it was the truth. “No.”

“Hmm.” A smirk slid across her sharp features. “Well, I got enough for the both of us. Bartender boy was magnificent. He was also a surfer and something about the ability to balance on a surfboard gave him extra hip action and thrusting power. I swear, he tried to break me and it was glorious.”

“Good God. I haven’t had enough sleep or coffee for this discussion.”

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