Wicked Bad Boys (85 page)

F
red had thrown
me for a loop with what was supposed to have been a simple pep-talk for Amanda’s benefit. What he inadvertently did instead was remind me that I had injected Amanda into the equation at possibly the worst time in my career. And now, the question of whether I did the right thing by manufacturing this job assignment for her came full circle again, and could only be answered with a resounding ‘hell no, Johnny’.

There was no time to reflect on it. Fred returned to the room with Kevin and Lady, closely followed by Jenny and Larry. Once everyone took a seat, he got started.

“With just a few hours to the next event, I have a few updates to share about our continuing investigation. After that, I’d like to go over some suggestions regarding the rest of the tour schedule. To start, the results have come back on the basket delivered to Johnny’s room in Greece. Chemical analysis of the items shows evidence of trace amounts of cyanide on the packaging, and in some packets of food. Had anyone eaten anything from it, it would not have been fatal, however there was enough poison to render them unconscious.”

“Good god.” Lady gasped. Her face turned a shade paler. Kevin put an arm around her shoulder to console her.

Fred continued. “We also found partial prints on the basket, however, there were no matches to any of our FBI criminal or young offender databases, or on Interpol. This suggests the stalker has no criminal record. Still, with the partial prints, we now have her in our database. It means her prints will be used as comparators to any new evidence collected across all databases. For example, if she in fact attacked Kevin last night, and left any prints in his car or on his person, we’ll have the partials from the basket to confirm whether she was responsible for both. Any questions on this item?”

It was a lot to sink in. Everyone except Amanda shook their heads.

“Have you shared the photos of the woman who targeted Kevin?” Amanda asked.

“Yes. Local police and our agency have issued all-points bulletins. We’ve also shared it with your grounds security manager, the organizers at all remaining tour stops, and with building security at the recording studio.”

“Thank you. That’s great.”

“Lucas is still at the district office, working on the online monitoring and tracking. So far, there are no new updates. Now, regarding the rest of the tour, we’ve already raised the suggestion of cancelling Johnny’s performances, and I see your reasons for not wanting to respond in that manner. We know the risk of injury is significant, so in light of last night’s incident, I propose that we become unpredictable with activities in between the tour stops.”

“What exactly do you mean?” Kevin asked.

“Let’s go over the schedule. It will be more clear-cut for each specific stop. Let’s start with tonight. First of all, thank you Kevin for putting us in touch with the Disk Spinner Awards organizers. They have provided an overview of their extensive security plans. We agree that they are robust and have sufficiently mitigated the threat risks. Larry, Amanda, you and I will have backstage passes. Amanda will also obviously be going as Johnny’s date for the evening. Also, Amanda, you’ll be on stage with the backup singers, but organizers assure us their security presence is sufficient.”

Amanda shifted in her chair. “Okay. Not a problem.”

“So, moving along, let’s look at after the awards show tonight. We had originally planned to head out immediately after the ceremony. The idea was to take the tour buses to Las Vegas so Johnny could perform at Whiskey River three days from today, and then at the Bellagio two days later. I recommend you send the road crew and private security detail ahead as planned. The first adjustment though, would be for everyone in this room to stay back here in LA for the next two nights. The second variation to the plan is to book hotel rooms at somewhere other than Bellagio when we get out there. Let’s say Wynn Las Vegas. This gives the stalker less awareness of our location, and as such, less time to devise a plan about what they’ll do next.”

“It sounds simple enough,” Kevin said. “If those minor changes make it safer without forcing us to cancel any stops, then I’m game.”

“Perfect. Next are the two final stops. There’s the concert in San Diego in ten days, and then we’re back in Los Angeles for the Rock Hits Video Awards four days after that. The original plan called for using the tour bus to get from Las Vegas to San Diego and then back to LA. I suggest you scrap the plan for Johnny to take the tour bus. Flying will be better. It allows us to return here at Johnny’s house right after the Bellagio performance, and make it an overnight trip to San Diego. So overall, you’re looking at maybe four nights out of town, instead of two weeks. All this unpredictability will force the stalker to focus her efforts on the times you’re performing. That measure gives us an advantage, as opposed to the way she threw us off guard at the recording studio, and possibly when Kevin was targeted.”

Kevin flashed a glance at Fred. “What do you mean by ‘possibly’? She had to be the whacko that put a knife to my throat.”

“We don’t know with certainty whether that was her.”

“Who the hell else could it be?”

“It’s best not to assume so early on. We’ll have a better idea when we get the results from the lab and compare it to what we found on the basket in Greece.”

“Okay. I need to get on top of hotel reservations. Laura is still sick, but maybe I can check on whether the temp agency can find me another personal assistant or VA to take care of the scheduling. Is that all?”

“Almost. The final suggestion is that you bring on some security staff to cover you at your home, Kevin. We’ll also need more coverage at the last four events.”

He looked over at Lady and she nodded. “That’s doable. How many are you suggesting?”

“Ten to fourteen. We can use three or four of them backstage, and the rest spread through the crowd. And they can be stationed at your home in between the events.”

“Done. As you brought it up, we should add another ten on top of that for the show at Whiskey River.”

“Is there a reason for the increase? It seemed to be the smallest event of all the tour stops.”

Kevin let out a scoff of a laugh. “Well, I’ll tell you now. In the case of this particular bar, size means nothing. We need to be prepared. The crowd is expected to get rowdy. It’s frequented by rough-and-tumble bikers for the most part, so we’ll be walking into pre-existing security issues.”

I did not have to ask Kevin why Whiskey River was one of the tour stops. The place belonged to one of Lady’s old band members.

“Noted. We will let your security manager know, and maintain the protocol we established at the last concert. Amanda, this means you’ll be onstage again. Larry and Jenny will be with us backstage, and Lucas needs to stay back here at the district office to continue monitoring the online activity as well as keep us apprised as we receive more results from the evidence gathered.”

Kevin stood up. “I need to get on these itinerary and other changes right away. Is there anything more?”

Fred shook his head. “Not from my team. That sums up the go-forward plan.”

“I do have one,” Amanda said after a slight pause. “Have you planned for after the tour is over? In particular if the stalker does not make an appearance for the rest of the tour, or does not get apprehended.”

In spite of everything I shared with Lady and Kevin less than two hours before this meeting, Kevin replied with, “After the tour, your contract will be fulfilled. I’ll bring in more private security to monitor the house and protect Johnny.”

“Hold on a moment, Kevin,” Fred said. “I think I understand where Amanda is going with this. Once the concerts are over, the risk to the general public will be lower. And I’m afraid my superiors will not keep us assigned to this investigation. The case will be referred back to local police.”

“I hope you catch her and get her off the street before this tour ends,” Kevin answered. He held out a hand for Lady to take it. The two began walking toward the door. “If not, we’ll find a way to be prepared. Johnny, Amanda, you have about three hours before wardrobe, hair and makeup get here to work on you.”

With that, Kevin and Lady left. Fred and his team returned to their office, and Amanda got up and turned to me. “Where to?” She asked.

“What do you mean?”

“It means what are you going to do now? I’m keeping watch over you, if you’ve forgotten.”

“No. I haven’t,” I told her. I crossed the room and put my hands around her waist. “I’m starving. Have you eaten?”

“I did earlier.”

“The housekeeper must have prepared something by now, if Kevin didn’t already pre-arranged some catered food. I need food.”

T
he talk with Fred
—and his debrief with everyone—got me back on track. I chalked up my meltdown to a temporary case of the feels. Like my old MMA trainer would say, ‘there’s no place for emotion in the octagon, Roxy’. The thing was, I did not become emotional until I let Johnny in. I was beginning to relate to why there were policies that took agents, officers and other crime and justice workers off cases where they were related to or involved with the victim, witness or suspect. Getting my emotions involved made me question my ability, and more than that, it made me afraid I could not protect the guy I was also beginning to care for.

The up side for the rest of the day was there was little time to analyze or assess any of it. After lunch and a bit of time in the sun outside on the back deck with Johnny, I barely had an hour before the wardrobe, hair and make-up girls arrived. The three of them arrived together, armed with what I felt were way too many supplies, clothes and equipment. They set up in a guest suite on the main floor behind the kitchen and got to work.

They simultaneously caught up on their usual gossip while showing me, and each other, the three dress options in order to coordinate the look. The first was a black puffy ball gown with feathery accents on the sleeveless bodice. It was an instant no-go. Then, I looked at an ultra-chic, but way-too-sheer cobalt blue jumpsuit. It was gorgeous, but I got the visual of spending the evening using my arms to alternate between covering my chest and my ass. Thankfully, the last dress was workable. It was a close-fitting, floor-length white dress with cutouts in various parts of the bodice, and shimmery pink accents on one side.

Once that was out of the way, the hairstylist insisted on getting me first. She took me to the in-suite bathroom, used a specialty flat iron to get my hair bone straight, and blended in long hair extensions to style it in a high ponytail. All along while she added the extensions, I was thinking, ‘This chick cut off my naturally long hair last week to put in fake extensions this week… smh’. I could admit I was still a tad resentful about that.

The makeup artist got me next. She did a great job, and kept the makeup tones softer, with neutral pink blush, a shimmery pink eye shadow, and a mild, almost-nude lipstick. When she was done, I was impressed—it looked fresh, professional and natural.

The wardrobe stylist had the most time with me. The dress I had picked turned out to be perfect for me once I had it on. It was an edgy, asymmetrical gown with embellished detailing at just the right spots. The dress was sleeveless and open down the back, with a strap on one shoulder, a cutout on the other side at the chest, and a plummeting slit from below the hip right to the floor. According to the ladies, it showed off just enough to be sexy, but not enough to be scandalous or make any of the popular online blogs’ worst-dressed list. The latter meant more to them than anything else.

They debated over the shoes and accessories too, and I was glad there weren’t more options, otherwise I’d have pulled my hair extensions out from sheer boredom, and made more work for myself and the hairstylist. They went with a strappy pair of white stilettos, an elegant pink diamond ring with matching choker necklace, and finished off my look with a boxy but elegant slivery-pink clutch. I would have objected to the clutch, but it was the only purse they brought that had room for my smallest handgun, the Smith & Wesson .38 special revolver.

The ladies would have kept up their coddling for much longer were it not for Kevin’s shout from the other side of the door, telling us we needed to leave in five minutes. I thanked them quickly, rushed to the bathroom and stuffed my phone, wallet, gun and a compact from my purse into the clutch. I couldn’t take the weapon into the event, but it was a good idea to keep it with me for the limo ride. I did a quick once-over in the mirror to check my look, and headed out.

Fred and Larry were standing outside the guest room door, dressed in black suits with black shirts—probably to blend in for the event. I followed them out to the front door, where Johnny and Kevin were waiting. They looked dapper, and surprisingly adorable in their matching black slim-fit satin-trim tuxedo suits, with white dress shirts. The style of shirts was perfect for Kevin—their high-cut collars helped to hide most of his bandages.

Johnny peppered me with compliments all the way from the house to the limos, paying no attention to Kevin or the others, who got into their own limo, and let Johnny and I go with Charles. I expected there would be some conversation about my temporary breakdown, but Johnny was gracious and did not bring it up. He spent most of the time in the car staring at me and reiterating how stunning I looked.

On arrival, Charles stopped at the drop-off point set aside for performing artists and celebrities who would grace the red carpet. I took the handgun from my clutch purse to tuck it in the back seat, and Johnny’s eyes widened.

“That’s so fucking hot.”

“What?” I asked him.

“A sophisticated woman dressed to the nines, with a Smith & Wesson in her hands. That is badass. I should get a picture of you like this.”

“I don’t carry a gun for your amusement, Johnny.”

He pulled out his smartphone from a pocket inside the breast of his jacket. “I know they’re not. But fuck! You look so sexy and dangerous—” I gave him a stern sideways glance, and he stopped. “What’s wrong?”

“I get where you’re coming from, Johnny, but I have a real hang-up about how the media and the entertainment world reduce the use of guns to something glamorous and showy. It’s not. I respect the power of the lethal weapons I’m trained and licensed to carry. Because they can hurt and kill people. That’s not amusing to me.”

He looked embarrassed for a moment, but nodded. “You know what? You’re right. Guns are serious.”

I went back to double-checking to make sure the safety was on before storing it in the built-in rear seat console. Johnny still snapped a shot.

“Sorry. I couldn’t help it,” he said, giving me a sweet pleading look. “I also took the photo to help you.”

I placed the gun in the storage compartment and closed the top before looking up at him. “How exactly can a picture of me with a gun help me?”

He reached across and pulled me in, kissing my cheek. “It’ll remind you how powerful you are against anyone trying to hurt me,” he whispered.

He had a point. Dammit. I had no business doubting myself this morning.

“Okay. You’re probably right. Thanks.”

We waited for Fred, Larry and Kevin, who should be there any minute. While we waited, I observed the area. After all the security planning and anticipation for the Disk Spinner awards show, Kevin’s perspective turned out to be on the money—it was probably the safest place to be for any artist needing protection. There was a significant police presence, with officers lining a broad perimeter around the building. They had also laid out physical barriers to control traffic and the crowd. I also noticed the ballistic-rated vehicular barriers—subtle barricades at key entrances, that limited access to vehicles without hindering pedestrian traffic.

When the men arrived, Johnny’s PR rep joined us, and the six of us walked through the checkpoint to walk the red carpet. As Johnny was on the list of performers, we were earlier than most of the guests. I had no delusions of my obscurity. He was the center of attention, and his PR rep directed him to the media stops where he gave a few soundbites in the micro-interviews normally called for at these events. Fred stayed close at Johnny’s back, and Kevin and the rest of us hung back.

Only one minor incident took place near the end of our run on the red carpet. A new pop artist—who turned out to be Ed Sheerway—made the mistake of extending his arm for a handshake with Johnny. Fred did not recognize him. He blocked Ed’s arm and put him in a kimura-style standing double-wrist lock submission. Kevin cleared it up and apologized to Ed, but the mishap was captured by at least a dozen celebrity news cameramen. It was bound to hit the media gossip sites.

Once in the concourse, Johnny laced my hand into the crook of his arm to go backstage. We were taken for a quick walk-through and given instructions on who would get us from the audience when we needed to return to change for the performance. After the mini-tour, we met with the rest of the group in the concourse. There were private guards wearing suits everywhere. Most celebrities also had their own private bodyguards.

Kevin openly reminded Johnny that this event was a dress rehearsal for the Rock Hits Video Awards, or RHVAs, which were the premiere music award to recognize achievements in the music industry—a phrase he repeated almost verbatim each time. The two left for a while to do some schmoozing with several artist friends, colleagues and any RHVA organizer they could track down. Kevin called it socializing with purpose. I found it admirable—in spite of his temperament, he was always working, always pitching for Johnny. They weren’t gone for long, and when they returned, the PR rep, Fred and Larry were shown to the secondary seating for support personnel. Johnny, Kevin and I were led to our seats inside and the show began.

The rest of the night flew by like a fleeting instant. Johnny’s performance went off without a hitch—I even remembered my lines. He had three nominations, and won one award for Favorite Male Pop/Rock album. He dragged Kevin on stage with him to receive it, and humbly gave him full credit for his mentorship and guidance. They shared a warm hug on stage. It gave me goosebumps. Kevin was not all bad. Quite possibly, his animosity toward me was the natural protective instinct any concerned parent would have. If anything, from this angle, I had much more respect for him—he was nothing like my mother. All the more reason for me to remain objective where he was concerned.

We had been there for almost six hours when the curtains closed. The PR rep had left early to spin a story about the Ed Sheerway incident on the red carpet. We made our way to regroup with Fred and Larry. They left in the other limo to escort Kevin home, with plans to return to Johnny’s place. After performing and receiving an award, Johnny’s spirits were soaring, but he was also wiped for the ride home. At one point, he rested his head in my lap and closed his eyes. I ran my hand through his hair, looking down at his face in the dimness of passing streetlights. God, he was gorgeous. And somewhere along the way, I had been swept right off my feet.