Susan Andersen - Coming Undone

"I'm not a Wild Wind employee. I'm a partner in Semper Fi Investigations, the agency that Wild Wind hired for this job." He slid the blade tip under the sealed flap.

"Semper Fi, huh? You were a Marine?"

He nodded, clearly intent on his mission to open the envelope with as little contact as possible, and P.J. jerked her gaze away from his hands to stare at him in surprise.

"You were?"

"Yeah. Not a lifer like Rocket, but I put in my four years." He sliced the blade along the envelope's fold. Glancing over his shoulder at Hank, he said, "Semper Fi specializes in investigations and security." Then he turned his attention back to the job at hand and extracted his blade from the now-slit mailer. "Let's see what we've got."

Carefully he tipped out the contents, which turned out to be a single sheet of glossy magazine paper.

Tilting her head to one side, she realized it was a half-page photo that had been taken of her for an article inCountry Connection magazine several months ago. For a second she merely stared down at it without understanding.

"Aw, shit!" Hank growled, and it was then that horror began to seep through her incomprehension.

For where her photographed eyes had been were blank holes. And printed across her chest in more of those block letters were the wordsIF THINE EYE OFFEND THEE, PLUCK IT OUT.

LOUNGING AT THE TABLE in the galley, Jared watched P.J. exit her sleeping quarters at the back of the bus the following morning and stumble down the hallway to the coffeepot in the galley. "So," he informed the back of her head. "It turns out I'm not leaving after all." Even as he braced for an argument, he couldn't prevent the faint smile that tugged up the corners of his lips. She had one helluva case of bedhead.

They'd spent what remained of last night at a Bakersfield police station and hadn't hit the road to L.A. until well after three a.m. He'd set his alarm for four hours later in order to talk to Croffut at Wild Wind Records in Nashville. Following that conversation he'd sat in the galley drinking coffee and making notes until P.J. finally emerged from her room.

She turned to give him an owlish blink, her face still blurry with sleep. "Wha?"

A bifold rustled open down the hall and Hank rolled out of his sleeper, wearing a pair of unzipped jeans and nothing else-not even the bush hat that Jared had never seen him without. "He said he's back on the job."

"Which I'm sure thrills the hell out of you." He hung on to his cool because that's what he did. But, dammit to hell. If Peej had objections he'd counter them. It would be a lot easier, however, if he wasn't being double-teamed.

"I don't know if thrilled is the word I'd use," Hank said mildly. "But to my surprise I actually think it's a good idea."

Jared stared. "You:what?"

"I know, who'da thunk it, huh?" Zipping up his jeans, Hank, too, ambled over to the coffeepot. Giving his bare stomach an absent-minded scratch, he poured himself a cup. He swallowed a sip, finger-combed his hair, which Jared noted was receding slightly, into a rough sort of order and gave Jared a level look over the cup's rim. "You looked like you knew what you were doing last night and that's more than any of the rest of us can say. For instance, sick as that note to P.J. was, I probably would have blown off taking it to the cops since our schedule gave us no choice but to turn right around and leave town the minute they were through with us."

"But we needed to have the incident on record in case she-you-" he turned to include P.J. in the conversation since this concerned her most of all "-receive anything else like it. Not to mention that cops have the juice to check for fingerprints."

"So you said," Hank agreed. "And you were right. You were also right to make sure we handled that piece-of-shit correspondence as little as possible to give the cops a better chance of getting usable prints from it-another detail that never would've occurred to me. And you exhibited a cool head under pressure at sound check. Your actions saved Nell one helluva knock off her feet. So I think you're probably our best bet for keeping P.J. safe."

"I agree."

Jared's head whipped around at P.J.'s raspy voice. "You do?"

"Yeah. Having someone who knew what to do last night was the only thing that kept me from freaking. And like Hank, I was blown away by the way you rescued Nell."

"Me, too," Nell said, entering the galley. Unlike the other two, she was dressed and her hair was neatly braided. She seemed to falter for a second when her gaze touched on Hank, but either that was his imagination or she had an immediate recovery. Stopping in front of Jared, she looked up at him with solemn blue eyes. "Things happened so fast and furiously yesterday I didn't even thank you for getting me out of the light's way." Rising onto her toes, she kissed his cheek, then settled back on her heels. "Thank you. I shudder to think of the damage it could have done if you hadn't intervened."

It wasn't often he was caught flatfooted, but he was staggered by their responses. He'd prepared himself to fight them all if necessary and instead they made him feel:welcome. "Yes, well." He rolled his shoulders uncomfortably, then squared them with an impatient snap. For God's sake, he was a professional. "I'm glad you're okay, but it was nothing. I was just doing my job." He turned to P.J. and said briskly, "I'll need to know your schedule from now on. What's on your agenda today?"

"I have a radio interview at one. Then sound check at four."

He made a notation in his notebook then glanced up at her. "Is this another of those satellite interviews that you conduct over the phone?"

"No." She shoved a hank of her bed-messy hair behind her ear. "From now on they're all live."

"In that case, plan on me accompanying you."

"All right."

"Don't plan on goinganywhere by yourself from this point forward. That means either me, Hank, Nell or someone else you trust is to be with you when you're around the arena areas. And I'm with you when you go out in public."

She grimaced, but nodded gamely. "Gotcha."

Seeing her put a brave face on, he relented. "That letter might have been a one-shot deal and it might not even have anything to do with the incident with the light. But we don't bet your safety on it. Until we know otherwise we treat everything as connected and we stay vigilant. Where's Eddie?"

"Still in bed," Hank said. "Want me to roust him?"

"No. He's hardly ever around, so his part in this isn't as crucial as yours and Nell's. But fill him in when he gets up, will you? Because when he is here he has to be every bit as watchful as the rest of you."

P.J. looked up at him. "Should I be afraid, J?"

His stomach tightening at hearing the diminutive she'd given his name years ago, he reached without thinking to touch a gentle fingertip to the point of her chin. "No, just aware. Just stay aware, Peej."

P.J. didn't think that would be a problem. She hadn't been kidding about being freaked last night and she had every intention of keeping her eyes peeled from now on. Nothing was going to get past her.

But later that afternoon as she discussed her career on the air with a Los Angeles DJ called Lonesome Jack, the thought of Jared not leaving the tour after all kept scratching at the back of her mind-and her emotions vacillated wildly.

On the one hand, her inner little girl, who'd once given him a leading role in her most heartfelt dreams, still lingered in some of the more shadowy corners of her psyche. And Jared's take-charge attitude last night had played right into those fantasies. He'd known exactly what should be done and had organized her, Nell and Hank with a competent lack of fuss into doing it. It had been enormously comforting.

"We've talked about the success of 'Crying Myself to Sleep' and 'Let the Party Begin,'" Lonesome Jack interrupted her thoughts. "Did you write those songs yourself?"

"Just 'Crying Myself to Sleep.'" On the other hand, she wasn't a little girl anymore. And if she'd had any idea Jared would be hanging around instead of leaving, she never would have kissed him the way she had. How was she supposed to deal with him withthat forever in the back of her mind?

Then she shoved the ping-ponging viewpoints aside and concentrated on her interview. "That one came from moving around a lot as a kid and feeling like an outsider every time I landed in a new town."

"How much of your own music do you write?"

"I probably pen about a third of my songs."

"What's your favorite?"

She laughed. "I don't know this from firsthand experience, mind you, but I gotta imagine picking just one song from all the ones I dragged kicking and screaming from my soul must be a little like having to name your favorite child." Then she gave Lonesome Jack a grin. "Still, that said, I have a sneaking fondness for 'Designated Driver.'"

"The one about drinking and not driving."

She gave him a wry smile. "Bless you-you've obviously listened to the entire CD. But yes. I doubt I lived in a town growing up that had a population of more than two thousand souls. And a common denominator with hick towns everywhere is teenage drinking."

"You think that's due to a lack of other available entertainment?"

"Probably. Boondock towns rarely have a movie theater, let alone the type of underage, liquor-free clubs where kids can go to party. You can always find a beer blast somewhere, though. And in at least six of the towns I lived in, students died or were seriously injured in alcohol-related accidents. That makes this subject close to my heart. So if even one kid takes my song to heart and picks a designated driver before he or she goes out to party in the woods or at the lake I'll be one happy woman."