The Farther I Fall (17 page)

Gwen's pulse started beating in her temples. “Cathy?” Cathy shook her head.

She fought to keep from running to the office. “Hey again.” She managed a smile. “So . . . I've just checked with my lot, and none of them came by. You're sure someone was here?”

Jeff frowned. “Let me check the receipt book . . .” He flipped it open. “See, right here—” His finger paused on the entry. “Gwen Tennison signed for it. Wait, that's you, isn't it?”

She wondered just how sleep deprived she was. Not only was it her name, it was her signature. “But I didn't—” She pointed at the initials at the bottom. “Who is E.J.?”

“Edgar Jackson, he's the owner. He was covering for me earlier.”

“Is he still here?” She forced her voice to remain even, calm.

“Probably in the bar.” Jeff was starting to look worried. “Listen, are you sure you didn't—I mean—” The look Gwen leveled at him stopped him mid-sentence. “Right.”

“I'll check the bar.”

Lucas was in the lobby waiting for her. “Gwen, what's wrong?”

She tightened her mouth. “The money's gone.”

“What?”

“Tonight's take. It's gone. Whoever did it did a damn good job signing my name too.” She crossed the lobby to the bar, where she found a small, weaselly man smoking a cigarette and flirting with the bartender, who was in the middle of shutting down for the night. Gwen smiled. “Mr. Jackson?” He turned, irritated. She extended her hand. “Hi, I'm Gwen Tennison, the tour manager. I don't believe we've met yet.”

Jackson's face tightened, then fell. “Tennison. But you're not—”

“No,” she said. “I'm not.”

“Fuck.”

“What did she look like, the woman who said she was me?”

Jackson actually looked nervous. “She, uh, I don't know, she had ID with your name. I wasn't really paying that much attention. I thought I'd seen her around all night with your crew, so I just assumed . . .”

“Thanks,” Gwen said.

“We can stop payment on the check for the door take,” Jackson said. “I can issue another one. The bar though . . .”

“Cash,” Gwen said.

Jackson nodded. “About five thousand, if I remember.”

She rubbed the bridge of her nose against the incipient headache. “And you don't remember what the woman looked like. You just
handed
her five thousand dollars, and you can't give me so much as her hair color?”

“Blond. Like yours,” he said. “Cut short. She sounded a lot like you.”

Something cold wrapped around her heart. “She sounded British?”

Jackson nodded.

“I—I'll be back.”

“I'll be in the office,” Jackson said to Gwen's back as she left the bar. Lucas trailed in her wake.

She pulled Craig out of the green room. “Craig, how screwed are we?”

“What? What's going on?”

“The money's missing. Someone signed for it with my name and the dolt of an owner handed it over to her.” She ran her hand over her hair. “How screwed are we with this?”

Craig sucked in air through his teeth. “How much are we talking?”

She could feel Lucas hovering behind her, could feel his hand at the small of her back. “Jackson says he'll reissue the check for the door. I'm assuming Sally still has the merch money. So we're looking at the bar take. Five thousand in cash.”

“Christ,” Craig said. “We've gotta find it.”

“That bad?”

“. . . I don't know if they could fire you fast enough.”

***

“Gwen! I wasn't expecting to hear from you until tomorrow. Aren't you supposed to be asleep right now?”

Gwen and Lucas were in their hotel room, waiting for the police to arrive. Lucas was packing for the next tour stop, and Gwen couldn't stop pacing.

“We, ah, had another incident tonight.” She had thought this conversation out completely, starting with how she'd convince Sam not to sack her on the spot.

“Oh God. Is everyone all right?”

“We're fine,” Gwen said. “We're all fine. It wasn't like that.”

“What happened?”

“Sam . . . There's been a miscommunication.” Gwen licked her lips and glanced at Lucas, who had stopped packing and was watching her steadily.

“Gwen, you're freaking me out. Just tell me.”

“Someone stole the money from tonight's show.” She took a deep breath and plunged on before Sam could respond. “The merch money is fine. And the theater owner says he'll reissue the check for the bulk of it, but . . . our part of the bar take is gone. The police are on their way. We've got a few ideas of our own too. We'll get it back. We just need . . . time.”

There was silence for a long moment—long enough that Gwen fought the urge to squirm.

“Christ,” Sam said. “How bad? How much did we lose?”

“. . . Just over five thousand dollars.”

Sam whistled. “Ah, Gwen. I can't cover that up.”

“I know. I'd never ask you to.”

“We've sacked tour managers for less,” she said.

“I know. I've heard.”

Sam was quiet again. “I'm going to ask you this, and I want you to think before you answer.”

Gwen frowned. “Okay . . .”

“I know you've been keeping Lucas on a pretty close watch. How close—well, we've heard a few rumors seeping out. Which is fine, honestly. I'm not surprised if they're true. You're my sister and I love you. But I have to ask: is there any chance he's slipping? I mean, he let us cut his per diem to next to nothing, he froze his accounts; he's deliberately short on cash this trip. Is there
any
chance, any at all, that he's desperate enough to—”

“What? No! No, of course not.” Gwen refused to look at Lucas, instead chewing her bottom lip. “No, there are witnesses.”

Sam sighed. “How much time do you need?”

“A day or two?” Gwen said.

“I can give you twenty-four hours, then I have to tell my boss. I'm sorry, Gwen, but if it's not back by then . . .”

“I know. I'm sorry. I hope none of this comes back to bite you.” And that was the hell of it, really: this didn't just affect Gwen. Who knew what it might do to Sam's career?

“Me too,” Sam said. “Call me tomorrow. Let me know what's going on.” She rang off, leaving Gwen looking at her phone.

“She thinks I took it, doesn't she?” Lucas was folding a pair of jeans for his suitcase.

“What? No.”

“That's the same thing you just said to her,” Lucas said, one corner of his mouth twitching. “You're a horrible liar.”

“Well, you didn't take it. I know that much, unless you've got someone else who looks like me working for you.” A small cynical part of her brain wondered if he could—an eager-to-please groupie, a dealer looking for some easy money. She'd have said he wasn't away from her long enough to manage it, but that was before finding the vial that morning.

“I don't blame her for not trusting me,” he said. He was smiling, but there was an edge to it. “She knew me then, Gwen.”

And I know you now. I think.
“Hey.” Gwen tossed her mobile onto the bed and went to him, putting her arms around his waist. “I'll ask just the once: was it you?” Lucas was tense at first, then relaxed, wrapping his arms around Gwen in return.

“No.” They were quiet, breathing together. “I threw out the vial. I'm sorry, Gwen, I—”

“Shh. We'll talk about it later.” He probably had, in a fit of guilt. It was the sort of thing Sam would have done. It didn't make things all better, but made them good enough for now.

“Thank you,” he said.

“For what?”

“Believing me.” He pressed his lips to her forehead in a gesture so uncharacteristic that Gwen frowned. “I love you,” Lucas said.

“You all right?”

He chuckled. “I believe the usual response is ‘I love you too.'”

“Lucas.”

He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “This is just—what the hell is this anyway?”

“It could be her,” she said. “By taking the money, she can cast suspicion on all of us—”

“You and I, mostly.”

“—if she wants, or she can make sure I get fired and sent back to Britain.”

“So we find her and get the money back.”

“If it was her. I don't know if it will be that easy,” she said.

“We need to figure out what her endgame is,” Lucas said.

“You know what her endgame is, Lucas. It's you.”

***

Gwen was well and truly tired of being questioned by American police. They were unfailingly polite, of course, and efficient, but she couldn't miss where their interest lay. She was the very first person they spoke to once they asked everyone to come down to the police station. She was grateful she'd had the presence of mind to tuck the Sig away into one of the equipment cases before they'd arrived on the scene. Legal or no, it would have been a pain to try and explain it.

“Are you sure you didn't sign for the money and then forget?” That was the older of the two, a tough-looking middle-aged woman with pale brown skin and eyes.

“I'm sure,” Gwen said. “Jackson told you it wasn't me.”

“Mistakes happen. I'm sure if the money were to reappear, there'd be no questions asked.”

“Believe me, I would be thrilled if it did,” she said. “Look, we've told you who probably has the money. We've had an issue for the entire tour with a stalker following Mr. Wheeler. That has to be who it is.”

“We've seen the notes,” the detective said. “Mr. Wheeler let us make copies. The two of you seem close.”

Gwen fought to keep from rolling her eyes. She just had to think of this as a grilling from a superior officer, keep her cool, and get out of here. “He's my boyfriend.” She couldn't say it without a skip in her heartbeat.

“He's got an interesting history. Several arrests, a few stints in rehab . . .”

“Yes, I'm aware,” Gwen said.

“Five thousand dollars . . . that'd buy an awful lot of cocaine.” The detective was watching her closely. “Maybe the two of you planned a little party?”

Gwen smiled through gritted teeth. “I don't use drugs. You're welcome to test me. I'm sure Mr. Wheeler would say the same.”

“Oh, we will.”

There was a knock at the door. The detective stepped out to talk to whoever it was, and Gwen waited. God, she was so tired, she was ready to crawl into bed next to Lucas and sleep.

When the detective returned, she looked smug. “We found the bank bag.”

Gwen sat up. “And the money?”

“No, but you knew that. The bag was in yours and Mr. Wheeler's hotel room. We're checking it for prints, but I already know what we'll find.”

“But I didn't sign for the money, you know I didn't!”

The door opened and two uniformed officers came in. “Ms. Tennison, I need you to stand up please.”

When she did, the uniformed officers came over and started handcuffing her.

“Gwen Tennison, you're under arrest for embezzlement and grand theft—”

“What?”

“—you have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law . . .”

The five of them were gathered around the tiny table in the coffee shop next to the hotel, everyone clutching paper cups of caffeinated liquid of some variety. Lucas slumped in his chair, exhausted to the point that his muscles were trembling. Watching Gwen being led past him in handcuffs had been a nightmare. Her back had been straight, her head held high.

“Craig, call Sam,” she'd said. “Tell her to call the British Consulate.” Then she'd looked at Lucas and given him a smile. “We'll sort this. In the meantime, don't go anywhere alone.”

He rubbed his forehead and swallowed more coffee. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so useless. God help him, he was regretting that he'd thrown out the coke after Gwen found it. His phone was heavy in his pocket with the knowledge that one phone call was all it would take to replace it.

“What are we going to do?” Cathy leaned against Craig as she spoke, and he slipped an arm around her. “We can't leave her here.”

“We have to,” said Sally, looking grim.

“But she didn't do it!”

“The police said they found the bank bag with her fingerprints on it,” Craig said. “That's enough for them to hold her.”

“I don't understand,” Lucas said. “The owner told them Gwen wasn't the one who signed for it.”

Craig sighed. “I know. They think that she, or you, or both, had an accomplice. We're lucky they didn't arrest you too.” He gave Lucas an apologetic look. “I talked to Sam first thing this morning. She's going to do what she can to take care of Gwen, but we have to go on with the tour.”

“I still don't understand,” Cathy said. “Why would the stalker do something like this? I mean, wouldn't she want to keep on Lucas's good side?”

“She thinks she's doing me a favor,” Lucas said. “As far as she's concerned, Gwen's a liability, and she's just set me free.” It was ironic, considering that Gwen made him feel not only free, but himself again.

“There has to be something we can do,” said Cathy, sitting up. “Can't we—I don't know—take up a collection for bail money? Something? I have a little bit saved, I could—”

Lucas reached across the table and squeezed her hand. “That's sweet, but—”

“She can't leave the tour,” Cathy said. “We need her here. You're so much
nicer
when you're with her—um, I mean.”

“I know I'm a jerk, Cathy, it's all right.”

Craig leaned back and tossed his empty cup into the trash. “The only thing any of us can do right now is our jobs. It sucks, but that's show biz. Lucas, Gwen's right about one thing—you need to stay with one of us. Now that she's away for now, there's no telling what this woman will try next.” He looked at his watch. “We should be headed to the train station soon. Meet in the hotel lobby in twenty minutes. You're with me, Lucas.” Chairs scraped across wood floors as they stood to go.

Lucas forced a smile. “No offense, but my last bodyguard was much cuter.”

Craig thumped him on the shoulder. “And you used to say I was too cute to be straight. Fickle bastard.”

***

Gwen had seen jail cells before in the UK, mostly from bailing out mates and squad mates who'd got too rowdy, or had thrown a few punches. She'd never seen one from the inside, though, and definitely not for such an extended period of time. According to the clock on the wall outside her cell, Gwen had been in jail for nearly eight hours. She shared her tiny cubicle with two other women, both of whom were sleeping the sleep of the recently drunk or recently high.

The jailhouse smell wasn't great, but it was still better than a desert camp full of grunts who were bathing out of coffee cans every few days. The mattress was thin and lumpy, but she'd still slept on worse. It was ironic that serving in the desert might have in some way prepared her for the discomforts and inconveniences of living in a jail cell.

That included the boredom. Pacing had got old after an hour. Now she amused herself by alternating between eavesdropping on other inmates and pacing, trying to do one or the other for at least ten minutes at a time.

Getting a few minutes to talk to Sam was a welcome break, although it wasn't reassuring.

“Gwennie, oh my God.” Sam hadn't called her Gwennie in probably twenty years. It was almost enough to make her smile. “Are you all right?”

“I'm fine,” Gwen said, conscious of the seconds of her allotted phone time ticking away. “They're saying my arraignment isn't until Monday, so I'm stuck here over the weekend until they can set bail.”

“Shit,” Sam said. “I've got a lawyer coming your way; she's supposed to be very good. Maybe we can get it moved up.”

“Thanks.”

“Gwen—I've asked Craig to fill in for you; we can't cancel any more tour dates.” Gwen could hear the sister and the vice president at war in her sister's voice. “I know you didn't do it,” she said. “But we'll have to at least suspend you until it all gets cleared up. I'm so sorry.”

“It's all right, I get it.” She couldn't blame Sam. Her job—her entire career—was probably at stake over this. The smart move would have been to fire Gwen outright. It only increased the weight of failure on Gwen's back. She'd failed Lucas, and now she was failing Sam too.

“I've called the consulate. They said the police already notified them.” Sam had fallen into sister mode. “The lawyer's supposed to be one of the best criminal lawyers in San Francisco. She should be coming to see you later today. We'll get this straightened out, I promise, Gwennie.”

“I'll be fine,” she said.

“Is there anything else I can do?”

Gwen took a deep breath. “Make sure we have some security for Lucas. With me out of the picture, this woman just got a lot more dangerous.
Please
, Sam. Keep him safe. Talk to Lee; he's arranging something.”

“I promise I'll do everything I can. You stay safe too.”

“I will. Love you.”

Back in her cell, the time went by even slower. Gwen watched the clock as it ticked closer and closer to Lucas's departure time. Once Sam told her the next shows would go on as planned, she'd known that he wouldn't be able to come see her before he and the rest of the crew had to go to San Jose. It didn't make her heart ache any less as the time for him to leave her behind came and went.

The ache was twofold. There was the childish feeling of injustice that the others were leaving without her, leaving her behind to sit in a jail cell. If they'd tried to stay behind, she would have kicked them all in the pants and sent them on, because they all still had a job to do, especially Lucas. Still, it was hard to keep from feeling abandoned.

Worse than that, though, was the feeling that Lucas was alone. He wasn't, of course. He had plenty of people around him. But he also had his demons, and now there was no buffer between him and temptation. It was unbearable to think that someone was out there actively seeking to hurt him while Gwen was locked up and unable to protect him. She couldn't trust anyone to look out for Lucas the way she had. The best she could hope for was that Sam would send in a pro.

Gwen moved herself out of the sight line of the clock face and pulled herself up to sprawl atop the thin, lumpy mattress of her bunk and stare at the ceiling.

***

The hotel in San Jose was in a dingy part of town. There were signs everywhere that the housing bubble had burst with particularly devastating effect in the neighborhood—boarded-up buildings, vacant lots, half-finished housing developments. As the train was passing through to the station, it occurred to Lucas that if he wanted to, this would probably be a very easy place to find a dealer. Oh god, he wanted to. Just to tune everything out for an hour or two. The temptation swelled with an ache, coinciding with the ache that was already there.

Lucas checked in with the others and stayed with the group on the way up to their rooms.

He let Craig unlock the room door and then followed him in. “All right?” Craig asked.

“Yeah, fine.”

Craig started giving the room a thorough inspection; it was nothing like Gwen, the way she'd moved through Maggie's room that night in Detroit. Craig was clumsy, uncertain in comparison. “You're being quiet, is all,” Craig said.

“Enjoy it while it lasts.” In truth, his stomach was in knots and he hadn't slept at all the night before. It wasn't a feeling he was familiar with. As much as he tried to tell himself that Gwen had been in much tougher places than a city jail, it didn't kill the guilt that she was locked up and it was his fault.

“She'll be all right,” Craig said, finishing his sweep of the room. “She's tougher than either of us is.”

Lucas smiled faintly. “Put together, probably.”

“Probably.”

Craig's phone rang. “Davies.” Pause. “Oh hey, Sam. Yeah. He's right here with me. Want me to put you on speaker?” He paused, then pushed a button and put his phone down on the dresser. “You're on.”

“I wanted you both to know that I talked to Gwen this morning.” Sam's voice came through the speaker with a tinny quality. “She's doing okay. She should be able to get out on bail by Monday at the latest.”

“Damn it, that's two days from now,” Lucas said.

“I know, I'm sorry,” Sam said. “I'm sending a lawyer over, and we'll do everything we can to get her out sooner. More than anything, she's worried about Lucas and this stalker. I'm arranging for some additional security for you. It should be in place by after the show tonight.”

“I don't need any—”

“I promised her I would, Lucas,” Sam interrupted. “It's the only thing she's asked for.”

Lucas slumped his shoulders. Ridiculous as it was, if Gwen wanted it, he'd try to give in with good grace. “All right. If you talk to her again, tell her she wins.”

“I will.”

“And tell her—” he stopped, suddenly self-conscious about Craig listening. “Never mind. She'll know.”

All three were quiet, then Sam said, “Craig, I'll be in touch if I hear anything else. We'll try to get Gwen back to take over for you as soon as we can.”

After the call ended, Lucas said, “Well, that didn't sound like they're planning to fire her, at least.”

Craig pocketed his phone and shrugged. “Sam's her sister. She'll stand up for her. If the money doesn't turn up though . . .”

Lucas scrubbed his fingers over his scalp, ruffling his hair. “I know.”

“Just don't get your hopes up,” Craig said. He squeezed Lucas's shoulder. “Come on. We were due at the club half an hour ago. Let's get over there before someone decides the amps need rearranging again.”

***

“Gwen Tennison.”

Gwen leapt off her bunk and went to the cell door. The guard cuffed her through the door, then opened it and let her out. “This way. You've got a visitor.”

Even though logic told her it had to be the lawyer that Sam was sending, Gwen couldn't stop the little rush of hope that maybe Lucas had stayed behind long enough to make visiting hours. The guard opened the door to reveal a sharply dressed woman going through some paperwork. She stood as the door opened, and eyed Gwen's handcuffs. The guard unfastened them. Only then did she offer a hand to Gwen. “Alesha Harrison. I'll be representing you, Ms. Tennison.”

“Nice to meet you,” Gwen said.

Harrison waited until the guard left, then said, “Come sit down.” And then, once they'd sat: “The good news is, their case is largely circumstantial. The bad news, frankly: you're a flight risk when it comes to setting bail. You're a foreign national on leave from the military, with no fixed address. Our only real hope there is that your crime isn't precisely the crime of the century, and your employer is still willing to vouch for your whereabouts. As they're the alleged victim here, that will hold some weight with the judge.”

Gwen let out her breath in a rush. “So I should be able to get out of here on Monday?”

“Hopefully,” Harrison said. “Expect to have to surrender your passport, though. Tell me what happened the night the money disappeared, and tell me the truth. I can't help you unless I know everything.”

“Do you know about Lucas Wheeler's stalker?” Gwen asked.

“I want to hear everything from you,” Harrison said.

Gwen took a deep breath and started to tell the whole story.

“So we know who has the money,” Gwen concluded, “but we don't know how to find her, or even who she is. And in the meantime, she's after Lucas, and I'm stuck here and can't do a bloody thing about it.”

Harrison was impassive as she finished jotting things onto her notepad. “And you say you have documentation about the stalking.”

“Lucas has all of the notes, and I can give you the case numbers of the police we've talked to along the tour.” Gwen rubbed at her forehead, suddenly exhausted beyond belief.

“We'll contact them.” For the first time during the interview, Harrison smiled. “I think we've got a decent case here, even if we can't find this woman.”

“I just want to make sure Lucas is safe,” Gwen said. “I don't care about the rest right now.”

Harrison patted her hand. “Don't worry. I'll let you know when the time for your arraignment is set. We'll get you out as soon as we can.”

***

For an entire evening, Lucas was almost able to forget what was going on offstage. Once the lights went down and the spotlight came on, he was able to go out and do the job he was paid to do. If there was anything missing in his performance, the audience didn't seem to notice, and for that he was grateful.

Rumors had gone around about the tour's missing manager already, so no one was surprised when the usual after-show party didn't materialize. He felt tired enough that he thought he might be able to get some sleep, and he wanted to get back to his bed while that feeling still held on. He convinced one of the techs to go back to the hotel with him, although to be fair, it wasn't difficult. Time spent being Lucas's bodyguard was time he didn't have to spend sweating over heavy equipment.