“I’m never letting anyone near you again.”
“Good.”
He turns his head and blows out a long breath. “Dawson’s revamping his security team. Calling in some heavy-hitting experts. They do a training class and he offered it to me last night. I told him Jiggy and I would sign up.”
“Wow. Really?” Somehow I don’t picture the two of them in a classroom letting a stranger tell them how to provide protection. Rooster already has a bossy, vigilant protector personality in spades.
His lips twitch as if he senses my surprise. “If it were simple bar fights I was protecting you from, I could handle it fine. But this is so much more. Your career is only going to get bigger and more complicated. Until you can afford to hire professionals—”
I cut him off with a kiss. “I love you so dang much.”
His mouth curves up and his hand absently rubs the top of my scalp. “Dawson’s gonna help me set up a small team for you.”
“Wait, why’s he getting so involved?”
“I think he feels bad about all this.”
“Why? It’s not his fault.”
His mouth twists as if he disagrees but doesn’t want to say it out loud. “It happened on his tour.”
“Yeah, but that creep had been following me since my Redneck Roadhouse days.”
“The tour gave him the opportunity,” Rooster says carefully.
I wrinkle my nose, thinking that through. What if Martin tried tracking me down in Texas? That could’ve been worse. But maybe he wouldn’t have bothered if I hadn’t come so close to him. “I guess so.”
“He fired Bane.”
“Shoot, really? Poor Bane.”
“Poor Bane my ass,” he growls. “That fucker should’ve been doing what he was told to do—watch your door. Not running off to live out his fireman fantasies.”
I chuckle at that last part but Rooster doesn’t so much as crack a hint of a smile.
“Great, now there’s someone else out there who probably hates me.”
“Fuck him.” Even though his words are harsh, Rooster gently strokes his hand over my cheek. “I need to tell you something else.”
My heart rate kicks up at his serious tone. “What?”
“We strongly think Glenna Wilson was involved. Actually, we know she was.”
I shoot straight up, my head spinning so I hard, I wince in pain. “What? Why? How?”
“Shh.” He pulls me back down next to him. “She denies it of course. But when I had my little interrogation session with Suggs, he named her.”
“Wait, you did what?” My harsh voice bounces off the walls. How did Rooster accomplish so much and manage to be there when I needed him in the hospital? Good Lord, how long was I out? Flipping through my thoughts, I realize I don’t even know what day it is.
“I shouldn’t have turned him over to Jackson. But I wanted it on record she was involved.”
“Why would she do that?”
“Sounds like she was jealous.” He shrugs. “Thought you were having an affair with Dawson. Poor bastard. She really screwed him every which way,” he says in a flat tone that suggests he doesn’t give a fuck one way or another about Dawson’s feelings.
“So that’s why he’s trying to fix things?”
“It’s the least he can do,” he grumbles. “Chaser got me the name of a PR person. She’s supposed to call and—”
“What? You called Chaser? He knows now too?”
“He called me,” Rooster says gently. “Your kidnapping has been all over the news.”
“Oh my God.” I squeeze my eyes shut. Country music’s bimbo Barbie is going to feel like a delightful compliment compared to all the poor victim stories people will write.
“It’s gonna be fine. I just want to prepare you for what’s coming.”
“Yeah. Guess no one else was gonna bother to tell me,” I grumble.
“I asked Greg not to say anything. I wanted you to rest before being bombarded with all this stuff.”
Waves of other people’s deceit and jealousy continue to toss me around, spinning my world out of control.
But Rooster’s my steady constant, anchoring me to sanity.
“What’s gonna happen to Glenna now?” I ask.
“Don’t know. Probably not much. She fed Suggs some info about the tour, venues, schedules, stuff like that. Not very hands on, but enough to give Suggs the insight to put things in motion.”
“He said something about a ‘source.’ I wondered who he was talking about.” I peer up at Rooster. “Do you think Dawson was involved too?” It would kill me if the man I’d been touring with for months participated in this madness.
He considers my question for a few seconds before answering. “I wondered that too. But he let me listen in when he called Glenna. I don’t think he would’ve done that if there was a chance she’d rat him out. He was pretty shaken up.” He strokes his hand down my arm. “She…threatened to smear you in the press if he made any allegations that she was involved in the kidnapping.”
“What the—are you joking me? Smear me? She’s the one who helped get me captured by some crazy psycho who stored me in a fucking box under his bed!”
“I don’t think she had details of Suggs’ plans.”
“What’d she think he was gonna do with me? Play dress-up and hold tea parties for my dollies? I never did nothing to her, and she helped set me up to be some crazy man’s baby-making machine!”
He winces. “Shh. I know. I agree. That’s why we’re going to talk to the PR woman. She’s supposedly the best at this sort of thing.”
“Psycho exes and kidnappings?” I snort. “Seems like a niche market.”
He rumbles with laughter. “Yeah.”
“I don’t have money for the best.” No, what I have now, courtesy of Martin Suggs, and apparently Glenna Wilson, is a mountain of hospital bills and a lifetime of fear to sort through.
“We’re…working it out. I don’t need you to worry about that right now. You’re going to meet with her and see what she has to say, then we’ll go from there.”
“Jesus, Rooster. This isn’t what you signed up for. At all.” I snort out a sad laugh and cover my face with my hands. “This isn’t the ride-the-wind, open-road adventure you thought it would be. I might as well fire Greg and have you be my manager.”
“I know dick about the management and entertainment stuff. And even less about country music,” he says, his voice hoarse with emotion. “My only concern is the keeping-Shelby-safe side of the business.”
What did I do to deserve this man?
He rolls over and checks his phone, growling before tossing it back on the nightstand.
“Is Greg looking for me?” I ask.
“Are you up to rehearsal?” he counters, indirectly answering my suspicion. “Be honest.”
“I don’t know.” I shrug, feeling prickly all over. “Normally, I wake up with music or notes floating around in my head. Ideas I can’t wait to write down or try out…Even when I’m tired or nervous, I’m usually excited to go to practice.”