Code blue, p.9
Code Blue, page 9
I nodded. “Yeah. It’s fine. Pretty sure my team is trying to catch up on some sleep in the lounge. I’ll be in my office.”
His phone rang again, though this time he answered immediately. “Arlo.”
Ugh. Good luck with that. I waved him off and left him to it. I didn’t envy his job. I liked Ambrose. He straddled that line of trying to keep everyone happy pretty damn well, though after the whole ordeal with Maddox a few years ago, he really made all the band members his first priority.
Where Arlo Kim was driven by numbers, Ambrose would put people over budgets. I respected him for that.
I went down to my office and flipped on the lights. It felt like an age since I’d been in here. I sat in my chair and fired up my computer. While I waited for it to boot up, I checked the news on my phone.
Jeremy Dalton . . .
Atrous singer, composer, and producer, Jeremy Dalton . . .
Atrous stalker . . .
Atrous. FBI. Police.
Jeremy . . .
Jeremy . . .
Jeremy . . .
I sighed and slid my phone onto my desk, having seen enough. I logged into my computer, followed the link Peter had given me, and entered the code.
Sure enough, it opened to a screen that showed . . . Christ. Fifteen hours of footage.
And this was just the footage I’d requested. Crowds at airports, interviews, in front of stadiums, outside TV studios, outside hotels.
I hit Play.
The footage naturally started with the beginning of the tour in LA. Interviews, a performance on Late Nights, photoshoots. The footage panned across the crowds, lines of people, hundreds, thousands of faces.
Clapping, cheering, screaming, excited fans who would go ballistic at the mere sight of the band. Maddox and Jeremy, mostly, but Wes, Luke, and Blake too. Though they had made a deliberate effort to share the question seat in all the interviews, Jeremy and Maddox were still fan-favorites.
My stomach and its stupid butterflies would betray me every time Jeremy would appear or give that high-wattage grin as he waved. Which was stupid because in the footage, I was never far from him. Walking beside him, in front of him, behind him, a few feet at most.
It was disconcerting to see us interact like that.
Had he really smiled at me like that when he got out of the van at the TV studio?
I tried to think if we’d joked about something, but it was so many weeks ago. So many cities and tour-stops ago.
I couldn’t think of anything in particular, but there he was, smiling at me, and there I was, smiling right back at him. Well, it was more of a smirk, but still . . .
Caught in 4K.
But then my smile faded as we made our way past the wall of screaming fans. Jeremy waved at them all and I kept myself in between him and the police, who were holding the line.
It wasn’t until the footage cut to after the interview that I realized I hadn’t even been watching the crowd. I’d been too busy watching Jeremy.
Christ.
So I hit Rewind and, this time, focused only on the crowds. The faces, the demeanor, the stances, the expressions.
Thirty-five minutes into the footage, I saw something that made me sit up and hit Pause.
Still in LA, the hotel we were all staying in at the beginning of the tour. We always stayed together on tour, even when in LA. Yes, we all lived here, but it was a security thing, a logistical thing.
There was a decent crowd on the street at the hotel. There always was. Mostly women, but not always, holding signs and banners, posters, pictures. Yelling, singing Atrous songs, laughing. Mostly overly excited at the possibility of seeing the band.
Except for one person.
A woman stood at the edge of the crowd. She had brown hair, a round, pale face. She wore a black long-sleeved shirt and jeans when everyone else wore T-shirts and shorts, like that didn’t make her stand out enough.
But it was her demeanor that I noticed.
She stood still with her arms down. Where everyone else waved or danced, she never moved. There was no smile, no excitement. If anything, she looked mad. Confused, even.
I jotted down the timestamp and took a screenshot and kept watching.
Next stop was New York City. It was just a two-day stop on the way from LA to London. No concert, but there were interviews and publicity stints that were a necessary evil on a tour.
The guys were excited to be heading overseas again. It’d been a while between tours, and given their last tour was stateside, it was time to go back to Europe and Asia.
The tour was going to be another long one, but they’d prepared and trained well, and they had a whole new album of songs to sing live for the first time.
The American media was hyped, but nothing compared to the overseas markets, who had anticipated the tour and all the hype and profit that came with it.
I scanned every inch of the New York crowds at every event but found nothing that stood out.
The footage then skipped to London. We’d flown in privately, of course, and avoided the crazy mayhem of Heathrow. But the crowd at the hotel was scarily large. The fact the public had known which hotel we were staying at was a concern, but the local security and police had managed the whole thing very well.
Cameras panned across the screaming crowds, and though it was dark and wet, I could see faces clear enough.
None stood out.
But then the camera cast away from the crowd before they’d cut the footage, and the screen froze for half a second before it went to the boys leaving the hotel the next morning.
It was just a flash. A tiny moment. But I saw something . . .
I hit Pause and went back a few frames.
And there, at the edge of the crowd, was a brown-haired woman with a pale, round face. Not smiling. Even a bit angry.
I brought up the screenshot I’d taken and put the images side by side.
I couldn’t be one hundred percent sure. And I wasn’t a gambling man, but if I was . . .
I just think they might be the same person.
But two possible sightings were maybe a coincidence. And a maybe coincidence wasn’t enough. I needed more. So I screenshot the footage and wrote down the timestamp.
Fans can follow a band on tour. Groupies follow bands around the world all the time.
I told myself it doesn’t prove anything.
So I kept watching. The London schedule was full. I remembered how hectic it was, how big the crowds were at every turn. Interviews, photoshoots, press conferences. Eating out at restaurants was out of the question, and sight-seeing was also a hard no.
But the London security crew that Platinum had hired was the best, and they stuck with us for most of the European tour. They were a capable unit, very professional, and took our lead without fault or question. They managed the crowds and even security for our stage crew and backstage staff. I remember thinking in London how there was never a person out of place, despite the massive numbers we dealt with every day.
The interviews and publicity gigs were crazy enough, but the three concerts at the O2 were sold out. People lined up for hours. Merch stalls had nothing left.
I slowed the footage down of the crowds. Masses of people, thousands of faces.
No one caught my attention.
London.
Dublin.
Paris.
Berlin.
I was beginning to think I was imagining things.
A knock at my office door surprised me. I shut my laptop just as Jeremy poked his head in. “Here you are.”
I got to my feet and checked my watch. “Shit. I’m sorry. Lost track of time.”
“Relax. It’s not that late.” He pushed the door open wide and came in. “Whatcha doing in here anyway?”
“This is my office.”
He looked around. “I’ve never been in here.” Then he frowned. “It’s kinda small.”
“Has no one told you size doesn’t matter?”
Christ. Why was I nervous about him being in my space?
Jeremy burst out laughing and put his hand to his chest. “No one has told me that, Steve. Anyone told you that?”
“Uh, no. Sorry, that just came out.” I pretended I wasn’t embarrassed. “And anyway, I don’t need a big office, and I don’t care about the view.”
He peered out the blinds on the window. “Probably just as well. Because you didn’t get one.”
“I’m only in here to work on rosters and schedules,” I said.
He gasped very loudly, startling me. But when I realized what he was looking at, I groaned.
“Is this Cyko?” He snatched the calendar off my desk and his blue eyes shot to mine, wide and disbelieving. “You have a Cyko calendar on your desk?”
Cyko was an all-girl band that Platinum had put together a few years ago. They’d had some success, but nothing compared to Atrous.
He was still holding the calendar, like it was evidence of a serious misdemeanor. He even looked offended.
“They were giving them out,” I explained. “If Atrous gave me a calendar, I’d have yours here. But you didn’t, so I don’t.”
His mouth fell open. He really was offended. “This won’t do.” He took his phone out and thumbed out a contact and pressed his phone to his ear. “Ryan, I need an Atrous calendar. Actually, all the Atrous merch we have. . . . Yes, I know that. This is very important. And have it delivered to Steve’s office. . . . That is correct, yes. And while we’re on the subject of Steve’s office, we need to discuss why his office is so small and it doesn’t have a view.”
“No, we don’t. I like my office just fine,” I said, hoping Ryan would hear.
Jeremy just laughed. “Well, that’s a shame. . . . Yes, thank you.”
He ended the call, sighed, and pocketed his phone, then leaned his ass against my desk. He was still holding the damn calendar. “He said office allocation isn’t really his call, but he’d see what he could do.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m not moving offices.”
“It took me twenty minutes to find you. What if it was an emergency?”
“Then I would find you.” I stood and walked around the desk to take the calendar from him, but he held it away from me.
“No, this is evidence,” he said, grinning.
I considered making a reach for it but we were already close enough. Our feet and legs almost touching as it was. If I reached, I’d be between his legs, and that wouldn’t be a good idea.
I crossed my arms and pretended that I hadn’t just imagined being between his legs. “Evidence of what?”
“Your treachery.”
“Treachery? Really?”
He held the calendar to his chest. “Exhibit A. Of you having the merch of another band on your desk.” Then he paused and raised an eyebrow. “Oh. Do you like one of the girls? Which one? God, you like Jessie, don’t you?”
Sure, she had blonde hair, blue eyes, and a killer smile. But I preferred Jeremy’s blond hair, blue eyes, and killer smile. “God, no,” I mumbled. “Are you done here?”
“Yes!” He shot off the desk. “It’s home time. What are you cooking me for dinner?”
“I’m not cooking dinner,” I replied. “You are.”
“But Steeeeve,” he whined.
I packed up my laptop and notepad and slid them into my backpack. “Quit your bitching.”
“I’m going to undercook your chicken.”
“You’re going to do what to his chicken?” a familiar voice asked.
Jeremy and I both spun around to find Maddox watching us from the doorway. He wore an odd expression: half amused, half WTF.
“Uh,” I began, not really sure how much he’d heard.
Jeremy pointed at me. “He is a bigger pain in my ass than you are. And that’s saying a lot.” Then he held up the calendar. “And he has a Cyko calendar on his desk.”
Maddox’s gaze went to me. “You a fan?”
I groaned and slipped the backpack over my shoulder. “Not really.”
Jeremy walked behind my desk and held the calendar over the wastepaper. “I’m hurt. Wounded, even.” Then he proceeded to look me right in the eye and drop it into the trash. “I’m not sure how you could ever make it up to me.”
I sighed. “I’m guessing it has something to do with dinner.”
Jeremy grinned. “And me not cooking it.”
I walked to the door and hit the lights. “Is he always like this?” I asked Maddox.
“You gave in too easily,” he deadpanned. “I thought you were stronger than that.”
“Hey,” Jeremy said, following us out. “I’m right the fuck here.”
Maddox linked his arm with mine as we began to walk. “You need to be firm with him so he knows his boundaries. Kinda like a puppy. Oh, and if you’re cooking, make it tofu.”
Jeremy came up between us and shoved Maddox away. “He’s my Steve. You get your own Steve.” He linked his arm with mine like Maddox had done. “And I fucking hate tofu.”
He’s my Steve.
His arm hooked with mine, his hand on my arm.
It all felt surreal. And far too good. Obviously it meant something different to Jeremy, but it made my heart skip a few beats and my stomach tied itself in knots.
“I think you hating tofu was the very reason he suggested it,” I managed to say.
“What is for dinner anyway?” Jeremy asked.
“What about steak and salad?”
“You said burgers and fries wrong.”
I couldn’t help but laugh just as the elevator doors opened and Roscoe, Riko, and Robbie walked out. They stopped when they saw us approaching. I avoided Roscoe’s gaze. I knew he’d read too much into the way Jeremy was touching me.
“Oh look, it’s the three R’s,” Jeremy said, taking his arm back. “Reading, ’riting, and ’rithmatic. Hey Riko, want In-N-Out for dinner? Steve’s buying.”
“Steve’s not buying,” I said flatly. “Steve is begrudgingly cooking dinner.”
Riko wasn’t sure who to agree with. “Uh, I’m easy.”
I looked at Roscoe then and to Robbie too. “Are you guy’s done for the day?”
“Yep. Did you get far?” Roscoe asked. “Ambrose told us what you’d requested. It was a good idea.”
“Requested?” Jeremy asked me. “What did you request? I asked you what you were doing in your office and you didn’t answer me.”
“Because you were too busy complaining about my calendar.”
Jeremy turned to Roscoe. “What kind of calendar do you have?”
Roscoe looked a little concerned, but before he could answer, Maddox hit the elevator button. “Can we just go already?”
I looked to Robbie and Riko. “Has downstairs cleared?” I felt bad for being holed up in my office all day.
“Yeah, almost all. Majority left a few hours ago. Got sick of waiting, I guess. Cops are still there, though,” Robbie said with a smile. The elevator chimed and the doors opened. Thankfully, it was empty.
“Uh, I use my phone calendar and the scheduling app,” Roscoe answered as we all stepped into the elevator. “Oh, and we have that artsy one in the office at home. Maddox’s Mom gave it to us. Ah, why?”
“Artsy one?” Maddox replied. “It’s a calendar of naked male statues. Like David and shit.”
Jeremy laughed.
“Never mind.” I sighed. “Christ. I won’t use the Cyko calendar anymore. Happy now?”
“Cyko?” Roscoe asked.
“You can’t use it anymore,” Jeremy said. “I threw it out.”
The elevator doors opened to the parking garage and Riko stepped out first. Then as Robbie was stepping out, a loud bang echoed through the garage.
Robbie jumped back, blocking the elevator entrance. He slammed the Close Door button, and I grabbed Jeremy and threw him against the wall, pinning him into the corner with my body.
The doors finally shut, and my heart finally beat again.
“Fucking hell,” Jeremy breathed.
I didn’t dare move. I was pressing him against the wall, my body flush with his, every groove, every plane. Our chests rose and fell, our faces so, so close. His blue eyes searched mine.
“You okay?” I managed to ask.
He gave the slightest of nods, then he looked at my lips.
At my lips?
He gripped my waist.
“What the fuck was that?” Roscoe asked.
I spun then, remembering everyone else in the elevator with us. Robbie still stood in front of the now-closed door. Roscoe had Maddox in the opposite corner from us.
God, Riko was still out there.
My phone rang in my pocket. I snatched it out and saw Riko’s name on-screen. “Report? Are you okay?”
“Yeah, boss. I’m fine,” he replied. “It was a fucking table. Some idiot,” he yelled, I could only assume so the idiot could hear. “Some idiot dropped a folding table.”
“So we’re all clear?”
“Yes, all clear.”
I disconnected the call. “We’re all clear.” I forced myself to take a step back from Jeremy. Not far, but we were no longer pressed together. I put my hand on his face and lightly tapped his cheek. “You okay?”
He nodded woodenly.
“What was it?” Robbie asked.
“Some idiot dropped a folding table or something,” I said. I pressed the button to our parking garage and gave Roscoe and Maddox a nod. “You guys okay?”
They both nodded. “Yeah,” Roscoe replied, his breathing heavy.
The truth was, they weren’t okay. And neither was Jeremy. We’d gone from joking to dead serious in a split second, and Jeremy was rattled. Justifiably so.
I’d gotten complacent. Distracted.
The elevator doors opened, and again, Robbie stood front and center. His huge frame took up most of the entrance. The only thing that greeted us was Riko. He was pissed off, a hard edge to his eyes. “It’s all clear. Transport’s ready to go.”
Robbie took Maddox and Roscoe to their waiting van and I took Jeremy’s arm. “Ready?”
He gave a nod and I ushered him to the van. Riko stood by us and I risked a glance toward the security booth. There was indeed a guard in uniform standing by the booth with a folded metal table leaning against the pylon. He gave an apologetic wave and I glared at him as I climbed in after Jeremy and sat beside him and put my backpack between my feet.
