“Roadblock,” Mark said over the little speaker, “looks like state troopers.”
Billie sucked in a gasp, and my immediate instinct was to protect her. “Wait here,” I muttered, pushing up from my seat. They wouldn’t be able to see her through the window, the tint was dark enough, but I had to stop them getting onto the bus.
Slipping out of the door, I closed it quickly behind myself, just in case the open door was seen as some kind of invitation. Mark was right about it being a roadblock. Barricades closed the road entirely, and several State Trooper cars lined the shoulders, lights turned on.
We were within eyesight of the state border on a quiet road, not the main highway. Our buses typically took “scenic routes” to avoid traffic jams and paparazzi, so these guys looked bored, to say the least.
“What’s the problem, officer?” I asked as politely as possible when one of the uniformed cops strode toward us. Mark had come out of the bus, too, but was content to let me do the talking. A glance over my shoulder told me the rest of our entourage had caught up and were waiting behind our bus.
“Apologies for the delay, sir,” the officer replied with a yawn. “We’re looking for a person that is suspected to be trying to skip state lines.” He plucked a photo from his pocket and held it out. “Have you seen this woman?”
Maintaining my expressionless face, I reached out to take the photo from him. It was taken from a CCTV camera, showing Billie in a white blouse with a black apron tied around her waist. She carried several plates of food expertly stacked up her forearm, clearly in the middle of a waitressing shift. The capture from the video had grabbed her when she’d tipped her head toward the camera, almost like she was looking right out of the photo at me.
“Nope,” I lied, handing the picture back. “She a fugitive or something?” I was curious what bullshit the Ricci family was disguising this as. The fact that the cops weren’t immediately searching our bus for Billie said that Rogerhadn’tcalled in before trying to take her. They weren’t aware that she was being sheltered under the Bellerose entourage. That was good.
The cop huffed a laugh. “Or something. Don’t be fooled by her pretty face; this woman is the lead suspect in a restaurant shooting two nights ago.”
My brows hitched with legitimate shock. “She’s wanted for murder? Of who?” I was pushing the line, but my curiosity was burning hot.
The officer was bored enough that he didn’t seem to mind my question. “Couple of nobodies,” he shrugged, hitching his utility belt under a heavy gut. “Waitress and a restaurant manager. Problem was, it was a Ricci restaurant. They want herfoundif you catch my meaning.” He leaned in to tell me this in a conspiratorial tone, and I forced a shocked look on my face.
“So they want this girl found but not arrested?” That probably meant they wanted her dead. Why, though? Why did the Riccis care if Billie had seen them shoot some waitstaff? It wasn’t adding up. One girl’s word against a mafia family surely wasn’t a threat.
The cop gave another shrug. “They deal with shit their own way. Anyway, you mind if my guys check your buses? Just in case she stowed away or something.” He had to be some kind of hardcore Bellerose fan to be spilling this sort of info. He also wrongly assumed I gave zero shits about the police corruption he was so blatantly admitting to.
I ground my teeth with irritation. “Check the next two, but not this one.” I jerked a thumb to our main bus. “The band is asleep. You don’t want to be blamed for Bellerose putting on a shitty show, do you”—I squinted at his badge—“Officer Smithers?”
One of the younger officers hurried over with a hesitant smile on his face. “Are you Grayson Taylor? Holy shit, man, you’re my idol. Could I get your autograph?”
I twitched a brow at the paunchy cop in charge, Officer Smithers, and he gave a sigh. “Yeah, alright I doubt she’d be dumb enough to hide out with a high-profile tour like yours.” He huffed a wheezing laugh, and I forced myself to join in.
The younger cop pulled out a marker pen and had me sign a notebook that he pulled from his belt, then we were free to go. They moved the barricades to allow our buses through, and I watched from a window as we passed.
Only once the lights of the cop cars had faded behind us and we crossed the border into Ohio did I release my pent-up breath and relax. Only then did I realize Billie was still sitting exactly where I’d told her to stay, her face so pale she was ghostly. It made the small sprinkling of freckles over her nose stand out more prominently.
“You okay?” I grunted, returning to the table with her half-eaten charcuterie.
She shook her head, wetting her lips. Damn, she had great lips.
Ah shit. Now I was thinking dirty things about little Billie Bellerose again. What was it about this girl?
“Did that cop say they thinkImurdered Liz and Gary?” Her voice was husky and panicked, and I finally clicked that she’d been listening in while I spoke with Officer Smithers.
I wasn’t one for sugar-coating shit, so I just sat back down and grabbed a piece of salami. “Yep.”
Her sharp inhale startled me, and her eyes swam with wetness. “I didn’t!” she protested, shaking her head, “Angelo and his guys did! I saw them do it and they were going to kill me too and then—”
“Chill, little hedgehog,” I cut her off, trying not to laugh while she was clearly so panicked. “No one is buying their bullshit.” I needed to change the subject before she started crying. “Are you coming to the show tonight?”
Her mouth opened and closed a couple of times, her brow furrowed like she was trying to catch up with my question. “Um, do I have to?” She winced slightly as she said that, and I bit back a grin.
“I think Rhett will want you there,” I murmured, focusing on my food. “For safety.”
Right.Rhettwanted her there forsafety.
Since when was I such a blatant liar? I mean, sure, that wasn’t untrue… but it wasn’t why I was asking. But she really didn’t seem excited by the idea of a side-stage view of Bellerose in concert, and that threw me off my game.
Not that I had much game. Chicks threw themselves—and their fucking underwear—at me; I never needed to work for it. Even more so now, thanks to my resemblance to the new Aquaman.
