Code blue, p.13
Code Blue, page 13
He held my gaze but raised his chin, just slightly. So that was a yes.
Jeremy was suddenly standing beside me. “Is this her? The one that was questioned and released?”
Zielinski looked at Jeremy, then back at me. His expression was stoic while he clearly weighed what to say. Then he relaxed, decision made. “It’s not the woman we questioned,” he said quietly.
Hmm. “It’s not?”
He shook his head and glanced at the screen like he needed to confirm something in his mind. When he turned to us, he looked right at Jeremy. “It’s the sister.”
The sister . . .
A shiver ran down my spine. “The sister of the woman you questioned? That spilled all the details about the superfan with the crazy wallpaper of Jeremy?”
Zielinski gave a hard nod. “I’ll be asking surveillance for a formal identification, but I’m sure it’s her.”
CHAPTER NINE
I’d received a phone call from Gerald Dubrowski to let me know the security cameras he’d ordered had arrived. It was a good excuse to leave early, and when I told Jeremy, he stood up and said his goodbyes.
The meeting with Zielinski seemed to put Jeremy in a weird mood. Well, he was weird during the meeting with Zielinski. And afterwards, after the revelation that the face I’d spotted in the crowd was known to the FBI, he was quiet. Pissed off, even.
He was quiet in the van, choosing to scroll on his phone for a while, and when that pissed him off too, he huffed.
“You okay?” I asked, knowing he wasn’t, but giving him an opening.
“Agent fuckwit,” he said. “Sorry, Special Agent fuckwit. He corrected you. I thought you might’ve at least given him the death stare.”
“I misaddressed him. If he’s earned that rank, then—”
“He’s fucking useless.”
Okay, wow. He was pissed off.
“He would’ve had no idea that woman followed us around the fucking world if you hadn’t pointed it out. You found her. Not him. Not the FBI.”
“It was luck on my part,” I said, trying to play it down. “They would have found it. I just helped.”
He glared at me and clenched his jaw shut. He was clearly really pissed about something.
“Jeremy, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Okay.”
He huffed. “What do you mean, okay?”
“You clearly don’t want to talk about it and I’m not going to push. You want to talk about it, I’ll listen. If you don’t want to tell me, in particular, then maybe I’m better off not hearing it.”
He glared. “The fuck, Steve?”
I took a deep breath and tried for some patience. “I know everything is stressful right now, but I think your anger directed at the FBI agent trying to help—”
“Special agent,” Jeremy snapped. “Don’t forget the special. Apparently it’s important. More like nothing-special agent.”
Okay, so Jeremy was in a mood. And maybe he was entitled to be. His entire life was under a microscope and someone was fixated on him, and not in a good way.
I could give him a little grace. I was happy to let this go and give him some time to cool down.
“Have you eaten?” I asked, changing the topic. “I packed some trail mix for you as a snack, in case your blood sugar got low.”
He rolled his eyes and sighed. “I feel fine.”
Okay then.
“Riko will be back around six,” I said. “He said he’s happy to stay on instead of rotating out, but he wanted to surprise his girlfriend at work, take her some flowers or something, then grab some clean clothes on his way to your place.”
Jeremy mumbled something under his breath, then he growled, “Fucking hell.”
“Jeremy,” I tried.
“I don’t need a babysitter. And can you stop doing thoughtful shit when I’m trying to be mad at you?”
“Mad at me? What did I do?”
“Nothing-special agent Zielinski was checking you out. That’s what you did.”
I had to replay that over a few times in my head to try and make sense of it.
What the actual fuck?
“Okay, one—no, he wasn’t. Two—even if he was, what someone else may or may not have done has nothing to do with me. I’m not responsible for that. And three—I’m not interested in him. And four.” I held up four fingers. “And this is the really important one. What the actual fuck, Jeremy?”
“I don’t know!” he yelled.
“I don’t know either! What the hell am I in trouble for?”
“Because I . . .” He groaned and ran his hands through his hair. “I don’t fucking know. I don’t . . . Gawd!”
Okay, so this was new.
Was he jealous?
Roscoe’s words came back to me . . .
“I’ve never seen him with anyone like he is with you. He laughs a lot with you, and he’s a bit touchy-feely with you . . .
“I’m just telling you what I see. And if he is truly straight, then maybe he’s caught some feelings that might freak him out at some point? I don’t know. I guess I’m just saying with everything that’s going on, with the stalker and the FBI, and now maybe this? He’s dealing with a lot. Just if you weren’t aware, now you are.”
Maybe he’d caught some feelings . . .
Christ.
It was the worst possible time for this. Then again, if there was no stalker and I wasn’t spending every second of every day with him, he wouldn’t be catching feelings and quite possibly questioning his sexuality.
Fucking hell.
“Jeremy,” I murmured.
“Forget about it. I don’t know what’s fucking wrong with me.”
“Nothing’s wrong with you,” I said. “Nothing at all.”
He dug the heels of his hands into his eyes and scrubbed over his face, clearly agitated. So I took his hand and gave it a squeeze.
“You’re allowed to be stressed and all out of sorts, Jeremy. We’ll get this stalker shit all squared away and life’ll return to normal.”
He played with my fingers. “I don’t even know what normal is anymore.”
“Making music and writing songs, hanging out with the guys, that kind of thing.”
“Hmm.”
I knew the changing dynamics of the band bothered him. Maddox had Roscoe, Wes had Amy, and Luke and Blake were still the partying, sex-crazed guys they were eight years ago. They had so many women they could honestly install a deli ticket dispenser at their front door.
But not Jeremy. It used to be him and Maddox. And they still were best friends, but that dynamic had changed too.
Everything was changing for Jeremy, and that had to be rough.
“You know, you should invite Maddox over. Or all the guys,” I said.
“Hmm.”
“For dinner. Have a few beers, grill some steaks.” I shrugged, not sure what else to suggest. “Or order the entire menu from that Korean BBQ place you like.”
He almost smiled. “Maybe. I miss the studio days. Sitting around, writing songs, lyrics, melodies.”
“When this stalker shit is over, you should go up to the ranch for a bit. All of you. Get out of this city, away from it all. Sit around the campfire with your guitars and do what you love.”
He let his head fall back with a groan. “Can we go now?”
I rubbed my thumb over the back of his hand. “Not sure. We should ask. Your schedule next week is pretty tight. The week after that is prep for the award show next month, is it not?”
He mumbled something under his breath that ended with a resigned, “Don’t fucking know.”
“Maybe after the award show, you could all take a week.”
“They’re probably busy,” he murmured.
“They will cancel anything for you.” I threaded our fingers. “They would do anything you ask, anything you need.”
He sighed and put his head on my shoulder, like he had this morning. “I’m not mad at you anymore.”
I snorted. “Glad to hear that. Considering I did nothing wrong.”
“But that nothing-special agent can go fuck himself. He can find himself his own Steve. This one’s busy.”
Warmth bloomed from my heart, in my blood, along my veins.
He was jealous.
I liked that way, way more than I should have.
“I am busy,” I murmured.
And in relation to Agent Zielinski, by busy, I meant not interested. I certainly didn’t notice him eyeing me, not that I was looking. I was more caught off guard by Jeremy’s weird reaction to him. Which even Maddox thought was odd.
Jeremy was freaking jealous.
I was trying to figure out what to say next, without making it weird, without scaring him even more, when his hand relaxed in mine and his head felt a little heavier.
He’d fallen asleep on me again, still holding my hand. It made me stupidly happy and it did crazy things to my heart, not to mention my head.
I committed every second of it to memory—the feel of his fingers, the weight of him leaning against me, knowing he was doing this because I made him feel safe.
When this was all over, I’d have moments like this to look back on. I was half tempted to tell Sayed to keep driving, take the scenic route, just to keep the van moving so Jeremy could get some sleep, but we had to get back to his house for the security upgrade.
When we finally pulled up at his house, I squeezed his hand and nudged the top of his head with my chin. “Jeremy,” I murmured. “You’re home.”
He stirred awake and looked around, confused. “Shit. Did I fall asleep?”
“Go get some rest,” I suggested, “while I meet with the security camera guy.”
“Hmm.”
I led the way inside his house and he headed straight toward his room. He was out of my sight for all of five seconds when he let out a yelp, followed by, “Argh, fuck!”
I dropped my backpack and raced up the stairs to his room, bursting in, ready for anything. Jeremy was standing by the wall, leaning against it but bent over.
There was no obvious threat. Certainly no one else in his room—the glass doors were still locked.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, possibly too close, crowding him against the wall. “Jeremy, are you hurt?”
“Yes!” he cried. “I kicked my fucking toe.” He was trying to stand up, trying to hold his foot. “Ow.”
I almost laughed but managed not to. “Come here,” I said, putting my arm around his shoulder and helping him to his bed. He sat down and lifted his left foot, and honestly, if it had been anyone else, I’d have probably called them an idiot and left them to it. But this wasn’t anyone else. So I kneeled down and examined his foot.
His two smallest toes looked a little red and even a bit scratched. “How’d you do it?”
“Door.”
“Can you move your toes?” He wiggled all his toes. “You’re fine.”
He pouted. “It hurt like a bitch.”
“Did you want me to get you an ice pack?”
He shook his head. And it was not lost on me, the position we were in right now. He was sitting on the edge of his bed and I was on my knees at his feet. Between his legs . . .
I stood up and was half tempted to assist him in lying down, but that would have been weird. It was already weird that I was in his room with him.
“Have a nap,” I said instead.
“A nap? Am I five?”
“Do you know how many adults would kill to be able to take a nap during the day?”
He smiled and fell back on the bed, his arms wide, his feet still on the floor. “I am fucking tired, though.”
God, his thighs, his slim waist, his arms out in a ‘have me however you want’ kind of way.
Fucking hell. I needed to not be here.
“Rest, nap, sleep, whatever,” I said, walking toward the door. “But you’re still making dinner tonight.”
As I went down the stairs from his room, I heard his whiny, “But Steeeeve.” It made me smile but I didn’t go back.
I met with Gerald Dubrowski and his team that were doing the install of the upgraded security cameras, and by the time that was done and he’d shown me the computer software and we’d sorted out access codes to the footage, it was getting late.
I hadn’t seen Jeremy in a few hours and I assumed he’d taken that nap, but then I heard music drifting from the living room. Or, more specifically, coming from the grand piano.
I left the laptop and followed the sound, and sure enough, Jeremy was sitting at the piano. He was skimming his fingers across the keys so effortlessly, the music complex and soulful.
I stood, leaning against the doorway, and watched him play. His profile, the afternoon sunlight, the music. It was something I hadn’t heard before, certainly nothing of theirs. Something he was working on?
“Is that new?” I asked quietly.
His fingers stilled, the music jarred to a stop. “Sorry. I forgot—”
“Don’t apologize. It was beautiful.”
He looked at me then, with an odd expression. Something a mix of awkward and painful. “It’s new. Something I’ve had in my head for a while. Decided to try it today.”
“Then I’m honored to be the first to hear it.”
He put his hands back on the keys but was reluctant to keep playing.
“Did you want me to go?” I asked. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
He shook his head. “Come and sit here.” He scooted to one side and patted the seat next to him.
I did as he asked, though I was so nervous, I was surprised my feet carried me. I sat beside him, our sides touching. He put his hands back on the keys, took a deep breath, and began to play.
It was soulful, yes. But there was a torment to it, a sadness. Uncertainty, even.
The way he moved his body when he played, I could tell he felt every note. It came from inside him, from his bones and his heart, somewhere deep. From something he’d experienced, something that left a scar.
Every note rang in the quiet of the house, reverberating and echoing, like a private concert just for me.
His long, elegant fingers caressed the piano like a well-practiced lover, and his body moved as he played. He was lost in this song.
Sitting right there beside him in the fading sunlight, being witness to such a personal thing, I fell in love with him a little more.
It struck something in me I couldn’t explain.
When the final note rang out, he lowered his hands to his lap and waited for me to speak.
I had to swallow the lump in my throat. “You know when you miss something you never had? When you feel like you’ve lost something you can’t explain?”
Jeremy’s eyes met mine.
“That’s what that music feels like.”
He gasped out a breath. His eyes were glassy. Christ, was he about to cry? “Steve.” Then he shook his head and laughed at himself. “That’s exactly what it is. How did you know to say that? I thought you were going to say it was nice or lovely.”
“Jeremy, I’ve been with you guys now for a lot of years. I know when you like the songs you sing. Some songs, some music you sing, you perform, and you do it perfectly. But then there are some songs that you love, that you feel, and it shows.”
He stared at me, his eyes darting between mine, like he was trying to tell if I was serious or not.
“And you feel this song.”
He quickly turned back to the keys, as if looking at me was too much. “I do.”
“What’s it called?”
“It doesn’t have a name,” he whispered. “I don’t know what to call it.”
“Well, thank you for playing it for me.”
And then, whether it was because of how close we were sitting or everything that’d happened these last few days—the hand-holding, his head on my shoulder, his jealousy—or how personal this moment was, I murmured, “I don’t know who you wrote it for, but you should tell them.”
His gaze shot to mine, blue eyes piercing, searching. He opened his mouth . . .
And my phone rang.
Fucking hell.
Fuck!
Jeremy startled and put his hands back to the keys, but then shoved them in his lap, clearly nervous. The connection, the moment we’d just had was lost, so I pulled out my phone.
It was Riko, needing to be let in. I didn’t want to walk away from Jeremy right that second but had little choice. After I’d let Riko in, I went back to the piano room to find Jeremy gone.
I didn’t want things to be awkward between us, and I certainly didn’t want him to feel he had to hide from me in his own house. So I had a choice—I could let him hide, I could hide from him, or I could make it not awkward. I opted for the last one.
I knocked on his door. “Jeremy?”
It took a second for his door to open. He chewed on the inside of his lip. “Yeah? Wassup?”
“Dinner, and you’re cooking.”
He stared, and I grinned and eventually he smiled back. “You are a pain in the ass,” he said flatly. “Can I swap security with Robbie or Zoe? They don’t make anyone cook.”
“Nope. You’re stuck with me. Ever made tacos before?”
He made a face. “Not very well. And at the risk of sounding very privileged, why would I try something that I will undoubtedly fuck up when the very good folks at any Mexican place do it all so exceptionally well?”
I nodded toward the stairs. “Come on, it’s dinnertime.”
He whined but he followed me down to the kitchen where, for the next hour, we made tacos. And a huge mess. But being with him in the kitchen was fun. It was so easy to be with him like that. We stood close, touching some of the time, almost touching most of the time, and we laughed a lot.
He asked how to slice most things and I had to help him with the fish because he flat-out refused, but as we got it done, all awkwardness between us was gone.
And the tacos were good!
“You know, these aren’t bad,” Riko said after he’d eaten his fourth one.
“He can actually cook,” I added, giving Jeremy a smile. “He’s good at it too.”
Jeremy glowered at me. “I’m actually disappointed in myself for enjoying cooking. And if you tell anyone that I just said I enjoy cooking, I’ll deny everything and request you do security detail with Luke and Blake.”
