“Hey.”
Cooper shot a look over his shoulder at Zane. “Sorry, buddy.”
“Go on.” Lila’s voice went past frigid to arctic.
“Zane just had one drink last night—other than one, maybe two beers. And I’m sorry, even a lightweight would require more than that to get into the kind of trouble Zane did.”
“I see. It did seem quite out of character for Mr. Landry.”
“Agreed. It seems very suspect.” Cooper glanced at me and shook his head when I opened my mouth.
“I’ll investigate this further. I’ll be in touch.”
Zane looked down at the phone. “Pretty sure she hung up.” He handed me back my phone.
I turned in my seat and leaned against the door. “Why didn’t you tell her about Priscilla?”
The steering wheel squeaked under the pressure of his grip. “I’m hoping I’m wrong, but I also think we should see what she can come up with without our very unsubstantiated detective skills.”
I nibbled on the corner of my thumb. “Do you really think we’re wrong?”
He turned his head and met my gaze. “No.”
I fought down a shiver and shifted to stare out the window. The threat against Ripper Records had suddenly become very personal.
Who would want to hurt us?
Or worse…me?
Thirteen
I resisted the urge to drive immediately to the car wash after we dropped Zane off. I just hopped his stench didn’t sink into the leather for life. I really loved this car and didn’t want to get rid of it because of Zane’s funk.
However, we were headed to another shitstorm, so a full detail wasn’t quite worth it.
We’d dropped Zane at his waterfront barge. Only Zane would buy up three slips and make a floating house. The dude was obsessed with water.
By some miracle, there hadn’t been a pack of reporters or paps waiting for us at his boat. Then again, Zane wasn’t exactly the biggest social media maven. His place was one of the few in our band that didn’t have fans camping out on the sidewalks or lawns.
Or in his case…a boat.
His bodyguard had been waiting for him. And that was one thing off my list to worry about.
Teagan still hadn’t said much, but I didn’t need specialized training to know she was twisted up. A lot of details had been thrown at her in a short amount of time. The most important one was that shit could have been so much worse.
My head pounded at the thought that she could have been the one to be helpless and out of control in the middle of this crazy city. That anyone could have taken advantage of her.
That I could have lost her.
The what ifs had been clanging in my head since our phone call with Lila. I wished I could call it just Zane’s brand of idiocy, but Oz was more likely to binge into destruction than our guitarist. Zane was the one we went to because he had such a calming influence on us.
Now he had a hole in his memory, and our only clues were sensationalized videos.
Yeah, maybe I wasn’t quite done with worrying yet. Not about him or about Teagan.
Even after a shower, my skin was still charged with her scent, and I swore I could feel all the little nail marks embedded in my neck and back. She didn’t hold back, and while she was sweet as candy to the world, for me, she was equally light and dark. The uncertainty of her spot in our band mixed with the pulsing life swirling in her made for such an interesting juxtaposition.
She was so talented, so joyous behind the keys. Her spirit was the soul of the band. Her happiness infused the rest of us with that same excitement. On nights when things went wrong, she was the first to jump in and help with extra piano parts to fill holes, or to banter with Oz to yank him out of the black moods that came upon him so easily. She even had a way with the mercurial Jamie.
And me…
She was my everything. I’d never been the guy to empathize and connect with people beyond a surface level. It was just easier. The last time I’d let anyone that close, I’d watched him die right in front of me, and I hadn’t been able to do a damn thing.
It had nearly ended me.
Only music had saved me. Jamie, of all people, had found me in a bar in West Hollywood. I’d been banging around the country after leaving the Rangers. Shitbox hostels and backbreaking construction jobs had kept me from losing my mind.
When one place got too familiar or too comfortable, I lit out for another. New Zealand, Germany, Italy, Scotland. Anything that didn’t remind me of home. I’d finally landed in Los Angeles when I couldn’t stand the vagabond life any longer.
When I couldn’t resist my mom and sister’s pleas to come home.
I’d flown into LAX and figured I’d thumb my way back to my mom’s homestead in Montana. I didn’t think I’d truly headed for healing until I’d gotten those drumsticks back in my hands. I’d played on and off all my life, but my course had been laid out long ago.
I was Wrecker Dallas’s kid. The Rangers had been his life and was supposed to be mine too. I didn’t even think about fighting it. Not until Benny. Until he’d died needlessly in my arms.
I hadn’t exactly been unhappy with the Rangers. It was a tight brotherhood, and I’d loved my unit. Hell, I’d even lost other friends in missions.
But Benny was different.
We’d come up from basic together. We’d trained together. When I was dragging and ready to quit, he’d convinced me to keep going. When he’d gotten married, I’d stood with him. And when he’d gotten divorced, I’d been the one to return the favor and get him motivated again.
I’d never had a brother until Benny.
Living in the land of estrogen with my mom and sister had
