Hung Out: A Needles and Pins Rock Romance (80 page)

“W
hat the hell?”

Gage had expected Scarlette’s question. Police procedure was over. Ketchum and his accomplice had left in the back of a squad car hours ago. Scar’s live-in bodyguard had been escorted to the hospital the moment his temporary replacement (times two) had arrived. The two men were downstairs. One stationed outside and one inside the downstairs apartment with the surveillance equipment.

Ketchum and his accomplice had used an animal tranquilizer dart on her regular security as he was entering the property and then restrained him in his apartment for two days with further doses of tranquilizer. He’d told the police that he’d had a window of approximately a minute before the drug and his assailants had overtaken him, but his phone hadn’t worked. He suspected them of using a ‘pocket jammer’ to prevent his call for help the moment he realized he was under attack.

They’d used the keys in his pocket to get him back inside his apartment, and a lock picking kit to get inside her apartment. This explained the jammed, uncooperative lock when she arrived home.

“Seriously, guys.” She looked to Logan who had immediately busied himself cleaning up the mess in her apartment the moment they’d walked in.

When he pretended not to hear, Gage sighed. “I was on my way back even before I got your text. It took so long because I’d had Allison just pull over and let me out before she got on the freeway. I got the text while walking back toward your place, and I tried to call you to see if you wanted to pick me up. When you didn’t answer, I kept walking while calling Logan to give him hell for not picking me up at the airport. He was already on his way here, so he swung by. Picked me up. By the time we got here, we were arguing.”

“You were on your way here?” Scar turned inquisitively back to Logan, and Gage gritted his teeth. Not ‘wow, Gage, you were
walking
back to my house?’ The part of that story she’d taken so quickly away was Logan.

“Yeah. To apologize. In person. About the dating fiasco.” Logan, to his credit, seemed embarrassed.

At this, Gage left her side for the first time since finding her at the end of a gun muzzle. Opening the fridge, he peered in, biting back his jealousy as Logan proceeded with the mentioned apology.

The moment he’d looked beyond Logan to the house and had seen the broken windows had been the most terrifying moment of his life. And he’d had some doozies, if near death experiences counted.

Scar’s fridge was near empty. One bottle of water occupied space among a few condiments. He left it for Scar and opened cabinets until he found a glass. California tap water might be lethal but he’d take his chances.

“You eat today?” He returned to the couch where Logan had hijacked his spot. Without preamble, he jammed himself on the piece of a cushion between Scar and the armrest, happy for the excuse of his body touching hers.

“I think.” She spaced off staring toward the fireplace. “I’m not hungry if that’s what you’re asking.”

“I’m gonna order. Is that okay?”

“Here?”

A stab to his gut. The one-word question was as good as saying, ‘Why my house? Eat at your own damn house.’

“I’m not leaving you.” Stubbornly, he began scrolling through his ‘food finder app’ for nearby takeout and ignored the kick to his pride when she frowned while mulling over his words.

Logan spoke up. “Well, I had a thing tonight. My friend’s band.” The group his assistant named wasn’t among any he knew. “You remember, Scarlette.”

Another sting of jealousy pricked when she nodded.

“I can cancel. But since your stalker’s in custody, I thought I’d go.”

Just go.
Damn he may have drawn blood biting his tongue this time.

“Sure. I’m good. Go. In fact, I may not stay here tonight. It’s too soon.” She walked him to the door. Hugged him.
Ouch again
. “Thanks for cleaning up—and everything.”

Logan left. Scarlette decided for sure she couldn’t sleep in the house where she’d been attacked hours ago. He felt like an ass for not being more sensitive to this and understood her aversion to ordering food and sitting down to a meal in this place so soon. She decided on the Bel-Air hotel just down the road.

“Can you just grab me anything you see out of that basket on the dresser to get me through the night? It’s the tour packing reject pile.” She pecked at her phone. “I’m going to call Mom again.”

He selected clothing and toiletries, piling them on the bed for her perusal and easy packing and texted security while she called Henni for the third time that evening. He knew she was worried because Ketchum had mentioned accomplices in Belize waiting to pounce if things didn’t go right. As much as it riled him to do so—since in a way, Henni had been the cause of this climatic situation with her usual lack of smart choices and careless handling of situations as they arose—he’d arranged round-the-clock security for her for the next several days.

“They got there.” Scar ended the call, and she looked so relieved, he felt petty for his anti-Henni attitude. It didn’t matter that he thought she was a shitty mother. She was Scar’s mother. Her only living relative that she knew of.

“Good.” He indicated the spread of items on the bed, and she nodded her thanks.

In less than five minutes, she’d dumped one of her smaller bags from tour into the bathroom floor and began selectively refilling it. “Did you already make the reservations?”

“Yeah. I got us a suite.” Something crossed her face, and he wondered if it was the ‘us.’ Hurriedly, he added, “Two bedrooms, a Jacuzzi for you to soak in, and the kitchenette has both a hot
and
cold beverage maker.” He waggled his eyebrows while touting the perks as quoted to him. But mainly he’d wanted to stress the two bedrooms. He was picking up on some extreme vibes.

It was normal, he knew. She was shaken. Traumatized. And he was no shrink, but surely, their on-again-off-again, freaky relationship was the last thing on her mind right now. It wasn’t as if they’d ever had more than a few months of being a couple secure enough to seek solace in each other at a time like this without overthinking things.

“Sound okay?” He reached out, running a finger down her arm. “It’s like I said, I don’t want to be away from you right now.”

“Yeah. Yeah.” She zipped the bag and seemed to shake from a fugue. “It’s not that. It’s that…” And then she turned and his heart stopped. Her eyes were limpid with unshielded emotions. Uncertainty. Loneliness. Love. “…I think I changed my mind. I’d rather go to your house if that’s okay.”

Okay? OKAY? Hell yes!

“Sure. It’s fine. Whatever you want. You know that.” He curved on hand through the handle of her bag, and the other around her hand and reiterated. “Anything you want. You know that, Scar.”

“Thanks. Because right now, what I want most in the world is to be in your bed, snuggled, with Rascal between us.”

Rascal, huh?
But he understood. And the turbulence inside him calmed.

“Me too.” He squeezed her hand.

She insisted on leaving every light on inside her home when they locked it up. Her security detail met them at the bottom of the steps. Outside, a hummer was idling. Once he and Scar loaded into the back, he informed the men of the change in plans and rested an arm behind the seat where she sat.

The ride to his house lasted almost an hour. In that time, he felt the tension ebb from her body, and her chin dropped as she dozed some.

Mike met them in the driveway, escorted them into the house, and Gage left him to deal with the particulars of her security team. The moment he opened the door, Rascal hurled himself, leaping so high that Gage was able to catch him and despite the canine's large build and weight, lift him. The hyper dog noticed Scar and wiggled, dropping from Gage’s grasp and leaping onto her, his paws landing on her chest. Laughing, she knelt and endured the onslaught of dog kisses, scrunching her face and turning it protectively when Rascal became too enthusiastic.

“Enough, boy.” Gage reprimanded his dog, although he was secretly a tiny bit jealous that after his own months on the road, it was Scar his pet seemed to have missed the most.

“It’s fine.” She straightened while continuing to pet Rascal. As they came out of the hallway, her head swiveled. Eyes wide, she took in the boxes all around the den. “What’s going on?”

“I’m in the middle of sorting my shit out. You know, getting ready to downsize. The Rattler thing took a lot of time though, and even though the realtor keeps sending emails of houses, I haven’t had the time to think seriously about it. Now that the tour is over until the Christmas shows, though, it’s a priority.”

“But why? I thought Fire Flight wasn’t your main income…” She trailed off. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s a legit question. I don’t mind talking about anything with you.”

She was his best friend. Did she know that? Always. Even in the years apart. Even in this last time apart. Whether he’d realized it or not. Always his best friend since the night they’d suspiciously watched one another across the table of the restaurant where their parents had introduced them over dinner.

Gage, I want you to meet your new sister.

And Scarlette Rose, this is your brother.

We were married in Vegas over the weekend!

Their parents had unanimously announced the news, leaving the two tweens to take in that their lives had just drastically changed. He and Scar had gotten through it and more together.

He kicked at the corner of a box as he walked by. “I guess it’s mostly a precaution. I don’t need this much space. I still want to live in the canyon. But I was thinking of a more practical place.” They migrated to the studio, and he watched her pick up a guitar before she sank to the couch. “Long as I have a place to sleep and play music, I’m happy.”
And maybe a pool to watch you swim in…
His eyes went to the glow of the pool beyond the glass wall, and he let himself enjoy the memories.

She seemed to have a practice routine, and meticulously went through it before setting the instrument aside when their Pace delivery arrived. They carried the food upstairs to the sitting area of his bedroom, eating in front of the TV. Using two forks, they passed the containers back and forth, sharing the food. Scar scarfed down mostly linguini and occasionally stole from the side of fried ravioli. They both tossed random scraps to Rascal.

“I’m getting a shower,” she declared, sitting back with a pat to her full stomach.

He left her to his bathroom, while he carried their mess downstairs to the kitchen and checked Rascal’s feeding station. From the fridge, he grabbed a few drinks in case the morning bar in his bedroom wasn’t stocked. At the top of the stairs, he acknowledged how right it felt to know the light spilling into the hall from his bedroom included the presence of Scar just beyond.

The bathroom door was still closed, and the shower still running. He closed the drinks into the mini fridge, and called Rascal down off the bed long enough to turn it back properly. By his estimate, she’d been showering for over forty-five minutes.

Something felt off. Had her quick bounce back, hours after her ordeal, been deceptive, and she was now melting down? She’d eaten a lot and so fast. Was she sick?

“Hey, Scar?” Curling his hand, he lightly rapped his knuckles to a door panel. Several seconds ticked by, and then multiplied, becoming a minute. “Scar? You okay?”

Twisting the latch, he pushed the door open. Beyond the glass doors, the shower stall was steamy, but not too steamy to see that Scar was on the floor, rather than standing, or seated on the tiled bench.

Son of a bitch!

He should have forced her to go to the ER, to stay overnight in the hospital as the attending paramedics had advised. There had been picture after picture taken of every bruise for evidence. But what if the contusions on her neck, the scrapes on her head had only been the exterior indication of a concussion or worse?

In the back recesses of his mind, he recognized she must have felt this same terror when she’d found him on the shower floor. A few large strides carried him across the room, and he ripped open the door. He almost fell back in relief when she looked up in surprise. The redness and puffiness in and around her eyes were an indication that she’d been crying.

“What?” She wiped at her face, and leaned slightly, retrieving the cap to the marker in her hand.

“Didn’t you hear me? I thought something was wrong…”
Obviously something was wrong
. But it was mental. Not physical. “I knocked and called and…” He knelt to her level when she remained on the floor, her knees drawn up, the water swirling about her feet. “Are you gonna be okay, Scar?”

“Yeah. I was just… I had a tune in my head and… I was humming. I didn’t hear you. Sorry.”

His eyes went to the bench. She’d been using the flat top of it as a desk. Across it, were several lines of roughly penned guitar tabs.

She seemed absorbed with the scrawling, but he soon found her focus was no longer on her creation. “Why do you think he did that? Kept at me for the money even when his blackmail plan was ruined?” Rivulets from the continuing spray ran down her face, her body. “Why go to that extreme? Hurting someone to get into my house and…” A hiccup shook her chest. The aftermath of what had been a long sob.

“Who knows why people do the shit they do? I just thank God it’s over, darlin’, and you came through it.” Reaching out, he stroked a strand of her wet hair. Her irritation with his placating words was plain on her face, so he blew out a breath and gave her the no-bullshit version of his theory. “Probably he thought you were an easy mark since your mother was.”

Nodding, she conceded and fiddled with the marker in her hand. “I figured as much. I was about to, you know. Give him the money if I couldn’t get away. And hope he didn’t kill me or Mom before he was caught.”

He leaned in, putting his forehead to hers. “That’s the smartest thing you could have done under the circumstances. Well, other than that badass escape from bondage and knockout swing.”

She smiled, the barest twitch of her lips.