Addy leaned over the steering wheel and squinted at the gray skies swirling above. “A long weekend in Los Angeles sounds like heaven right now—no rain, no humidity. You sure you don’t want your paycheck before you go? A little extra travel money? I can call the accountant and get the amount.”
That paycheck would make Addy whole for the rent on the apartment, so no, Roxy wouldn’t be taking it. “You’re sweet to offer, but I’m good.”
“Send me pictures of your hotel, the ocean. Gawd, do you think you’ll see the Hollywood sign? Maybe they’ll take you to a hip, trendy Sunset Boulevard club? You know what, just send me pictures of everything! I’m living through you. This is like the vacation I won’t get to take until…I can’t even guess. Probably until I’m too old to enjoy a hip, trendy club. Crying shame West can’t go with you.”
“A shame,” she murmured and turned to face the window, so she could battle back the tears that threatened. “Hopefully…” She swallowed and tried again. “Hopefully, he can join me next time. I mean”—she shrugged and forced the phony words past the lump in her throat—“if there is a next time.”
“Hey.” A hand landed on Roxy’s arm and rubbed gently. “You okay?”
Roxy tried to cover a sob with a cough—which resulted in an unattractive sound—and then stretched her lips into a painful smile and aimed it at Addy. “Never better. I’m just s-super excited.”
Addy slowed the Caravan, pulled to the shoulder, and stopped. With the vehicle in park, she turned to face Roxy. “Super excited for your whirlwind trip to Los Angeles to meet with a big-time music producer?”
“Uh-huh.” The tears wouldn’t stop, and the clog in her throat wouldn’t budge, so she nodded fiercely.
The redhead nodded as well. “That’s understandable. But there are a couple of things I don’t understand. For instance”—she tipped her head toward the backseat—“you packed your big-ass duffel to the seams for a three-day, two-night trip. But more curiously, you’re supposed to meet with people who are interested in your songs, and you’re not bringing your guitar?”
A fresh wave of panic set in now, eroding her composure all the more. “I’m an over-packer. And th-they’re music producers. They’ll have a guitar for me to use.”
“Roxy.” Addy’s voice held a brand of gentle rebuke only she could pull off. “I don’t believe you. I believe in you, always, but I don’t believe you’re going to L.A. for a meeting.”
The struggle to hold back a sob put pressure on her lungs. Dropping her chin to avoid looking her friend in the eye, she whispered, “Don’t tell West. Please.”
“Don’t tell him what, honey? That man adores you. And you adore him. Why are you running away? What’s going on?”
“I c-c-can’t s-s-stay.” The dam in her chest gave way, and a choppy explanation spewed forth in a flood of words and tears.
Addy waited until the flood ebbed to a trickle then handed Roxy a small pack of tissues from her purse and took a deep breath of her own. “Okay, let me see if I’ve got the gist. Some dirtbag passing himself off as a talent manager sank his claws into you, and when you tried to make a clean break, he tracked you down and blackmailed you. And now, on top of giving him a bunch of money you don’t owe, you’re forfeiting your guitar, and leaving a town you love, and a man you love, because you don’t want him to get hurt by the dirtbag’s loan shark uncle?”
“I…” Was it really that simple to summarize? The situation always seemed much more convoluted in her mind. “I signed a contract, and I stole Gibson, and—”
“And nothing.” Addy’s voice held firm. “Granted, this isn’t my wheelhouse—you should definitely talk to Roger—but I know no contract would entitle this dirtbag to swipe your guitar and pawn it in his uncle’s shop. There are legal steps for claiming personal property put up as collateral for a debt. He’d have to have lien or a mortgage, or something along those lines, and then get a court order to enforce it. He did none of those things, which makes him a criminal, not you. He backed you into a corner you couldn’t get out of without doing something that felt wrong to you. Now he’s trying to use that misplaced guilt, plus big, bad Uncle Buddy to scare you into doing what he wants.”
“Uncle Billy.” Roxy dried her cheeks with the heels of her hands and then dabbed her nose with a wilted tissue.
“Whatever. Have you ever met this Uncle Billy? Does he actually exist? And if he does, what makes you think someone that badass is going to take time away from his own dirty business to do his dirtbag nephew’s bidding?”
“He exists. I’ve never met him, but he’s real. He’s got a reputation in Nashville as the kind of man you don’t mess with.”
“You haven’t messed with him. His nephew messed with him. Again, not my area of expertise, but Music City Pawn & Loan could get in big trouble for fencing stolen property.”
“I can’t know if the man would see it that way. Blood is thicker than water, right? Yes, Randy threatened to sic Uncle Billy on West to scare me, and it does scare me. It terrifies me. Maybe he’s bluffing, maybe he’s not. I refuse to stick around and find out. I can’t take that risk.”
“Shouldn’t West get a say in this, Roxy? I mean, he’s not exactly a timid soul in need of protection. He risked his highly trained butt for Uncle Sam, and the NYPD, not to mention the grateful citizens of Bluelick. Maybe you’re worth a little risk, too?”
She shook her head. “He’s a good
