What? Everything Mike had seen or heard of Killian Desmond was gruff and brash, yet he was putty in this woman’s hands.
Mike glanced from her to the keyring and back. Killy had a problem, Annie dealt with it. She’d earned Killy’s trust.
One day Mike hoped to as well.
“C’mon,” Killy said, waving a “let’s go” gesture to Mike. “We need to move. Thanks, Annie.”
“Don’t mention it.” She rushed forward, rose on her tiptoes, and bussed her lips against Killian’s cheek. Tears gleamed in her eyes. “I’m so glad you’re back. But I miss Elliot.”
Killy held her until she stepped back, wiping her eyes. “Go. The team will be here soon.”
“What did she mean by team?” Mike asked when they’d made it out of Annie’s earshot. Together they traipsed through the house and into the garage. He didn’t see a Toyota.
“The security company will clear out the reporters, make sure they don’t come back. They kept the wolves at bay while I recovered from the accident.”
“So, people knew you were alive?”
Killy nodded. “A few. Those who did signed non-disclosure agreements.”
“Annie too?”
“Nah, she loves me too much to throw me under a bus. I’m not sure why, but I’m glad. She makes my life easier.”
Anyone who made Killy’s life easier was gold in Mike’s book.
They slipped out a back door to the garage, Killian leading the way down a privacy fence and opening a door Mike would have missed.
They passed through and Killy grabbed Mike’s arm, breaking into a jog. “Normally Annie parks in the garage, but if she thinks there’s going to be trouble, she parks here.” He waved to an older woman standing on a porch. “Hey, Mrs. Robinson.”
The woman cocked her head to the side, and slowly returned the wave. She must not have been one who knew Killian still lived.
The Prius sat in her driveway. “My next house is gonna have a sturdier wall and gate,” Killian grumbled.
“What about the cabin in the mountains?”
“Okay, no wall or gate, but a pair of trained attack grizzlies.”
After this morning, Mike would rather deal with attack grizzlies than reporters.
* * *
Killian sat next to Mike in the studio’s control room. He’d never seen the band in the live room play before, but had met, and worked with, some of the studio musicians in the past.
The soloist had a decent voice, but might benefit from a few singing lessons, especially on vocal projection. Not a bad bassist, and the drummer’d been around for years, playing with some of the biggest names in the industry, but also rumored to be retiring.
The woman on keyboards launched into a solo, fingers flying over the keys, brows wrinkled in concentration. Tall, she stood six feet or more, and had adjusted her instrument’s height accordingly.
Colored artwork graced both of Valerie “Valkyrie” Stewart’s arms, even covering her neck, and she’d buzzed her hair down to a short blue crop. She’d filled in for Ace a few times back when he’d broken his arm riding dirt bikes.
Ace. Damn, how Killy missed him. A friend, no, a brother, who’d been there with him from the start of Trickster, when he and Elliot still mourned and dealt with the fallout from their mother’s death.
He’d deserved a whole lot better than to die so young. Mike’s hand on his knee pulled him out of his thoughts. “She’s good.”
“I knew you’d like her. Good people, too. Quiet, but when she talks, you’d damned well better listen.” Yes, she’d given him good advice in the past, like dumping Rob Cassen. Too bad he hadn’t listened.
She’d also held her own in more than a few bar fights, while still managing to keep a low profile. Though she wasn’t adventurous and didn’t add vocals, she’d be one hell of an addition to a band.
The fact some idiots didn’t want to hire a woman meant she could join any band she wanted with no notice.
