Last Breath (2 page)

Tom, my closest friend on tour, had been murdered two days ago.

Mom, Ross, Rich, and I sank down on the blue couch—one of the furniture pieces Mom requested in every dressing room. This one was extra large, with a high back and thick arms. To our left stood a table with lots of catered food, but no one was hungry. I'd hardly eaten in the last day and a half and knew I should have something. But no way, not now.

Stan, Morrey, and Kim drew up chairs to form a circle.

“All right.” Ross sat with his short, fat legs apart, hands on his thighs. The huge diamond ring on his right hand was turned to one side. He straightened it with his pinky finger. “I've checked outside past the guarded area. The zoo's double what it usually is. The news has already hit and every reporter and his brother are waiting for us. Some paparazzi are already there, and others have probably hopped planes and will show up by the time we leave.”

Is Cat here?
I shuddered. The slinky-looking photographer had pulled a fire alarm in our San Jose hotel the night before just to force us out of our rooms. The police told him not to get within five hundred feet of us. Like he'd care.

My eyes burned, and I was so tired. I slumped down in the couch and laid my head back.

Ross ran a hand through his scraggly brown hair. “Fans out there are gonna be talking about what they heard on the news before the concert. Rayne, you should say something about it.”

“Yeah.” Mom sighed.

Rich frowned. He was moving his shaved head from side to side, stretching his neck. His piercing gray eyes looked my way, and his face softened. I looked away.

Everyone was being so nice. Still, it was hard to know three people had died because of me.

Ross scratched his chin. “We got extra coverage from the Denver police at the hotel tonight. Tomorrow we head for Albuquerque. It's close enough for Vance to drive the main bus without a switchoff driver, and the next two venues are close too. But we've all been through a lot. Can you guys keep performing?” He looked around, eyebrows raised.

“Man.” Morrey raked back his shoulder-length black hair. “If three deaths in two days aren't enough to make us quit …” His full lips pressed together.

I glanced hopefully at Mom.
Yeah, let's go home!
I could sleep in my own bed, hide from the paparazzi and reporters, and hang out with my best friend, Brittany.

But canceling concerts would mean losing
a lot
of money. The Rayne tour was supposed to continue another four weeks.

Mom leaned forward, elbows on her knees and one hand to her cheek. Her long red fingernails matched the color of her lips. “I almost lost my daughter tonight.” Her voice was tight. “I don't care if I
never
tour again—Shaley's got to be protected, that's the number one thing.”

I want you protected too, Mom.

“Absolutely,” Morrey said, “but at least the threat to Shaley is gone now that Jerry's dead.”

Kim spread her hands. “I don't know what to say. I'm still reeling. We barely had time to talk about any of this before getting on stage tonight. I feel like my mind's gonna explode. And
Tom …
”

She teared up, and that made me cry. Kim had been like a mother to Tom. Crazy, funny Tom. It was just so hard to believe he was gone.

I wiped my eyes and looked at my lap.

“Anyway.” Kim steadied her voice. “It's so much to deal with. I don't know how we're going to keep up this pace for another month.”

Mom looked at Ross. “We can't keep going very long with only Vance to drive the main bus.”

Ross nodded. “Until Thursday. I'd have to replace him by then.”

“With who?” Mom's voice had an edge.

“I don't know. I'll have to jump on it.”

“You can't just ‘jump on it.' We need time to thoroughly check the new driver out.”

“Rayne.” Ross threw her a look. “I
did
check Jerry out. Completely. He had a false ID, remember? That's what the police said. I couldn't have known that.”

“You might have known if you'd checked harder.”

Ross's face flushed. “I
did
—”

“No you didn't! Or if you did it wasn't good enough!” Mom pushed to her feet and paced a few steps. “Something's mighty wrong if we can't even find out a guy's a convicted felon!”

What?
I stiffened. “How do you know that?”

Mom waved a hand in the air. “The police told me just before we left the hotel.”

I stared at Mom. “When was he in prison?”

Mom threw a hard look at Ross. “He'd barely gotten out when we hired him.”

Heat flushed through my veins. I snapped my gaze toward the floor, Jerry's last words ringing in my head.
Your father sent me.

My father had purposely sent someone who'd been in prison?

“Rayne,” Ross snapped, “I've told you I'm sorry a dozen times—”

“Sorry isn't enough!” Mom whirled toward him. “My daughter was taken hostage. She could have been killed!”

Rich jumped up and put his arms around her. “Come on, Rayne, it's okay now.”

Maybe Jerry had lied. Maybe he'd never even met my father.

Mom leaned against Rich, eyes closed. The anger on her face melted into exhaustion. “It's not okay.” Mom shook her head. “Tom's dead, Bruce is dead. And Shaley—”

Her words broke off. Mom pulled away from Rich and took a deep breath. “We can't decide this now. It's only fifteen minutes before we have to be back on stage. I still need to change.”

Stan stood. “I say we figure on doing Albuquerque, and then we can decide about the rest.”

“Yeah, me too.” Rich got up, along with everyone else. I could see the business-like attitude settle on all their faces. Soon they had to perform again. Every other concern had to be pushed aside. In the entertainment world the saying was true:
the show must go on.

Within a minute everyone had left except Mom, Marshall, and me. Mom threw herself into a chair by the bright mirrors so Marshall could adjust her makeup. When he left, she changed into a steel-blue top and skinny-legged black pants.

I sat numbly on the couch, four words running through my mind.
Your father sent me.

Mom didn't know what Jerry had whispered to me as he died. I needed to tell her. But how? Like me, she was running on empty. It would be one more shock, another scare. I wasn't sure she could take any more and still perform.

Had
Jerry told me the truth? Had the father I'd never known—the man my mother refused to talk about—purposely sent a killer to join our tour?

I needed to know. I needed to find out. Because if it
was
true—the danger was far from over.

2

A
final encore song, and the concert would be over.

My stomach had started to growl fifteen minutes ago. Not that I could hear it over the music. But I felt it. I'd run to Mom's dressing room and scarfed down sliced meats and cheeses, some pasta salad. My body wasn't quite so weak anymore.

Now for some sleep.

“Thank you, Denver, you've been great!” Mom's voice blared through the arena. The crowd roared back.

“Now,” Mom held up a hand, “I need to tell you something.”

Everybody kept screaming. It's hard to quiet fans down, especially before an encore.

“Listen up, folks!”

Slowly the noise died down. A few catcalls rang out here and there.

“Thanks.” Mom walked down to the edge of the stage. “You all really have been awesome tonight.”

More yells. Mom waited them out.

“Okay. I'm sure you all know we've had some trouble the last few days. Tonight, just before the concert, a few more difficult things happened. No doubt you'll be hearing about it on the news when you go home, if you haven't already. We all just want you to know that the band members are fine, my daughter, Shaley, is fine. And that your love and devotion to our music is what keeps us going.”

“We love you, Rayne!” a man yelled, and the crowd was off again, screaming.

Mom raised her hand, palm out, for silence. She had to wait a long time.

“The next few days of touring are going to be hard for us. But, as they say, the show must go on. We'd appreciate your prayers.”

The fans roared once more.

Prayers?
I'd never heard my mom ask anyone for that. But after what we'd lived through in the past two days, I was all for it.

I focused on Carly, my favorite backup singer. An African American with warm eyes and a caring heart, she was the one who'd prayed for me. She was the one who'd told me God was “always watching.”

“And now,” Mom cried over the noise, “let's have some
music!
”

Stan's guitar struck a chord, and the last song blasted. The fans shrieked.

Ten minutes later, the concert over, Mom and I were back in her dressing room. She looked so tired as we gathered our purses and headed down the hall with Mick and Wendell. Outside, the limos waited to take us to the hotel. Ross had gone ahead and checked us all in. Our suitcases waited for us there, watched over by the bellmen.

From the arena filtered the after-concert sounds of chairs being taken down, the stage being struck. Rayne's own roadies, plus local hired hands, would be at work for hours, packing everything away. Vance would pull out with the bus tonight, along with all the trucks. They'd drive all night and be waiting for us in Albuquerque when we flew in tomorrow.

“Sleep.” Mom ran a hand across her forehead as we hit the back private exit. “I just need sleep.”

“Yeah. Me too.” But she had to be way more tired than I was. At least I didn't have to perform.

Outside, Mom took a deep breath of the night air and put an arm around my shoulder. “You okay, Shaley?”

“I'm fine.”

Your father sent me.

The band members, plus back-up singers Carly, Lois, and Melissa, divided into two limos. Tall, skinny Lois hunched down to get into the limo with me and Mom. Carly and Melissa followed.

“Hey, girl, how are you doing?” Carly gave me that wide, easy smile of hers, but her brown eyes searched mine for more than a surface answer.

“I'm doing okay. I just want to get to bed.”

Lois shook her head. “Don't we all.”

Three Denver police cars escorted us as we headed out of the parking lot, following the lead limo. Up ahead, where our privately guarded area ended, I spotted the paparazzi and reporters. Local security members lined our path, arms out and facing the crowd to keep them back from the cars.

I cringed. Here it came. The cameras, the shouting. Everyone fighting to get around security. I hated it. Especially now. People we knew and loved had been
murdered
. We were still in shock. Why couldn't everyone just leave us alone?

We reached the mob. Flashes glittered the night. Sudden light from movie cameras shot through the window.

“Rayne!” someone yelled. “What happened to Bruce?”

“Why did Jerry shoot him?”

“Why did your bus driver want Shaley?”

“Shaley, talk to us!”

“Tell us about Tom!”

“Shaley! Shaley!”

I scrunched down in my seat and covered my ears. Mom drew me to her chest. “Hang in there, honey. We'll be at the hotel soon. Then nobody's going to bother you.”

Until tomorrow when we'd have to go out and do this all over again.

Tears burned my eyes. I longed for Brittany. If only she was still with me. But that very afternoon her mom had insisted she cut her visit short and return home—our tour wasn't a safe place for her to be.

I couldn't really blame a mother for that.

The noise passed. I blinked hard and sat up. Took a deep breath. “Sorry. They just … get to me sometimes.”

“After all you've been through?” Carly shook her head. “Little wonder.”

Yesterday in a mall Brittany and I had been nearly trampled by reporters and photographers who'd rushed us out of nowhere. Bruce was with us. He'd fought to keep them back.

Bruce
. I pictured him lying on the hotel hall floor, blood seeping from his chest and gurgling from his mouth.

Suddenly it all hit—memories of the terror and grief. I leaned back in the seat and closed my eyes, fighting tears.

We needed time to mourn and heal, Mom and me. And we wouldn't get it, not as long as we stayed on tour. It was just go, go, go. Fight the paparazzi. And it would only get worse. The news stories of the murders on our tour would be on every TV station, in every newspaper.

I just wanted to crawl into a cave. But I couldn't. I had to find out about my father.

We pulled into our hotel, following the lead limo. At least here it would be a quick trip up to our rooms, then into bed for me. I couldn't wait to close out the world.

“Oh, no.” Mom peered out the window to our right. Her voice dropped low. “They've found us.”

No
. I leaned toward the glass. Under the shimmering lights of the wide, covered hotel entrance, dozens more reporters, photographers, and camera men milled. The minute we got out of our limo, they'd descend on us like rabid dogs.

Some staff member at the hotel must have talked.

My veins went cold. This was never going to end. Suddenly that walk to the privacy of my room seemed a million miles long.

3

I
searched deep inside myself for flecks of energy, sweeping them together into a meager pile.

“Wait.” Carly craned her short neck to look out the limo window. “At least I see policemen out there.”

“Yeah.” Mom sighed. “The manager probably called when they saw this crowd. But it's too little, too late.”

Bruce
, I thought. We needed him. Two bodyguards weren't enough.

As the first limo edged up and aligned with the door, police and hotel security moved the mob back on both sides. Mick and Wendell got out of the limo door nearest the hotel. The photographers and reporters surged toward them.