Erin and I have different body shapes, but with her mostly hidden by the car and dressed in a massive, ruffled maxi dress reminiscent of a tiered cake, nobody seems to notice.
She waves. Fans squeal. A young woman holds out a life-sized cardboard cutout of me. As if I didn’t teach her my autograph signature a few hours ago in a downtown motel room, Erin confidently grabs the black marker.
I’m genuinely impressed. She has a talent for acting.
One fan gets overzealous and tries to climb the limo. Caleb yanks the man down, shaking his head no. Erin continues signing merch and posing for pictures while her bodyguard keeps the growing crowd under control. But that won’t work forever.
I turn off my phone, stuff it into my purse and grab my brand new guitar case with my instrument in it. “Showtime.”
My heart pounds as Rust and I walk across the road toward the side of the venue. Adrenaline demands that I run like the wind, but that would draw attention.
When we pass the sea of people lapping like living waves against the limo, I hold my breath. Any moment, I expect someone to spot me and blow my cover, but nobody spares me a single look.
My hands won’t stop trembling as we sliparound the corner of the building and approach a security guard by the stage entrance. He’s built like a brick wall and just as grumpy.
Great, I was hoping for an intern. By his practiced scowl, this guy is a fucking veteran in the security business.
“Special last-minute delivery for Miss Creed!” I squeak.
The broad man doesn’t acknowledge me. He sighs and pushes a button on his earpiece. “Code thirty-one. Code thirty-one. Need a six-four stat.”
Shit, that sounds serious!
“I-I got the signed receipt from Miss Creed.” I shove a hand into my skirt pocket and take out the fake bill with my very real signature, presenting it to him.
He huffs like a bull about to attack before his eyes gloss over again.
Now he’s gonna ignore me? How rude! What the fuck will it take for this stubborn idiot to let me through?
Rust clicks his tongue. “They don’t pay you enough for a speakin’ role?”
The guard grunts.
Rust crosses his arms. “If we don’t get this guitar inside the venue in time for the concert, you’re gonna be in a world of trouble, man. We’ve been working with Miss Creed for years and she’s a real sweetheart. But you don’t wanna get on her manager’s bad side.”
The security guy glances impassively at him.
“Have you ever met Rex Dalton?” Rust asks.
The man’s head jerks. I see something I’d describe as primal terror in his eyes and hold back a laugh. It seems my soon-to-be-ex-manager has a reputation here, too.
The guard grunts and presses on his earpiece. “Scratch that. One-two. One-two. Sending through an urgent delivery for Miss Creed. Eight-Nine-Fiver out.” He uses akeycard from his pocket to open the stage entrance and steps aside.
I wobble into the corridor and the metal door shuts loudly behind us.
“Pshhh, I bet he made those codes and numbers up,” Rust says as staff members rush past us like worker ants.
I jump out of the way of a guy carrying a roll of cable. “That terror in his eyes when you mentioned Rex was real though. Quick thinking on your part.”
“Havin’ the misfortune of Dalton’s acquaintance gotta be good for something.”
Instead of following the sign toward the VIP dressing rooms, I tug Rust into a smaller, quiet hallway off to the side. I’ve played in this venue many times and could navigate its bowels with my eyes closed.
This is the storage area and the last place anybody’s gonna search for the superstar of the night.
Praying, I try every door handle until I find an unlocked room and we hurry inside. Costume racks covered in plastic and crates take up most of the space. Spare vanities line the opposite wall. I uncover one and set down my guitar case to wipe the dusty mirror with a tissue from my purse.
Rust takes out the ancient relic he calls a smartphone and taps away on the cracked screen. “I sent Caleb instructions how to find us.”
