palms sweated just from the smoldering way he looked at her. What would it be like to have him touching her as he murmured in her ear with his deep, raspy voice?
Sheer. Fucking. Heaven.
She managed to toss off a breezy “Guess we’ll see, won’t we?”
He grinned, well aware that he’d gotten to her. “First off, as my personal assistant, you should know that my legal name is Devin McClain Hollister. When I started out, there was an artist with the name Gavin Hollister, so we used my middle name.”
“It’ll be easiest if I stick to calling you McClain. Finish the story.”
“I’d written all my own songs on my first album. I had finished maybe . . . four during that yearlong tour. So the label handpicked another half a dozen songs from other songwriters for me. I didn’t like a single one of them. But I was new to the business and the label, which had successfully put out hundreds of records, had to know what they were doin’, right? Rather than delay the release of a new record, I fell in line—against my gut instinct—and recorded those shitty, clichéd songs.”
“What happened?”
“The album tanked. Big-time. Only one song cracked the top hundred—a song I’d written. I still went on tour to promote the album, but wasn’t part of the primo gigs. I wasn’t a failure, but I’d slipped a notch.” He popped an orange segment in his mouth and chewed. “That slip gave me some clarity. I understood there’d be an ebb and flow to my career, no matter if I hit that upper level of megastar success that so few do. I needed to be prepared for when I started the descent back down because it would happen at some point—it happens to everyone.”
That was way more insightful than she’d expected.
“I realized two things. First off, for me it was about putting out music I was proud of—no more slapping crap on a record just to make someone else’s deadline. I needed to surround myself with other musicians who had the same vision, which is why my band has stayed together. The music we create in the studio and on the road is because we gel as a group. I retained control of the only part of the business to me that matters, and that’s the music.
“Second, I had to make my time on the road productive. The best thing I ever did was learn to write music anywhere—on the bus, in a restaurant or in a hotel. I stopped limiting myself to havin’ the perfect conditions, and the result was the music became . . . truer somehow. But at the end of the day, I’m an entertainer. I’m not curing cancer. I hope I’m providing songs that hit home for people, make them think or laugh or cry, or just provide them with a catchy chorus they can sing along to. I’m lucky I get to do what I love every damn night. And I’m gonna enjoy the hell outta this journey while I can.”
Liberty let that sink in. It didn’t sound like Devin was repeating a PR company’s suggestion, but rather his true thoughts.
“You’re awful quiet over there, G.I. Jane. Whatcha thinkin’ about?”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “Honestly? I get the life is a journey, not a destination mind-set, but when did your fans start thinking you belonged to them? I read the case reports, and you’ve had some crazy things happen over the years that would’ve made me hire a full-time bodyguard a long damn time ago.”
“Which incident?”
“Inez Vanderpol.”
He sighed. “My first superfan.”
“Didn’t she stalk you too?”
“As much as a sixty-six-year-old woman can stalk someone, yeah. She ended up in a mental hospital in Ohio.”
“What happened?”
“It’s really fuckin’ bizarre. After my third album, she joined my fan group. When she learned that I’d been born on the same day her first husband had died, she was convinced he’d been reincarnated in me.”
Her mouth dropped open. “No way.”
“Yep. And get this: Her husband had also been a musician. So she started following me on tour. I saw her at every concert. She left flowers, and, uh, inappropriate gifts for me at every stop. I was new to that sort of attention, so I thought it was harmless.”
“Meaning that she was harmless.”
“Exactly. Then, when I had my final fan meet and greet for the year in Nashville, she literally tackled a woman I was talkin’ to—just for talkin’ to me. She was hitting her, screaming at her to keep her hands off me—her husband. Big public mess. I had to get a restraining order. Then I didn’t hear anything from her until my next album came out. She showed up at concerts again and wrote me really long, really sexually explicit letters.”
“What format did she send them in?”
Devin looked uncomfortable. “She e-mailed some to the contact e-mail on my Web site. The ones she handwrote?” His gaze met hers. “She stuffed them under the door at my house.”
“Jesus.”
“Then the letters took an even more bizarre turn toward crazy town. She threatened to kidnap me so she could help me remember my previous life.”
“As her husband.”
He nodded. “I had a two-week break from touring, came home and found her in my house.”
Liberty’s stomach pitched. “Did she hurt you?”
“No. She tripped the alarm when she broke in and evidently she hid in my closet when the cops came. They didn’t find her and locked up the house. When I got home later that night, she was waitin’, naked, in my bed.”
“Oh, Devin.”
“It was so fuckin’ sad. I felt bad for her, but at the same time, it pissed me off she’d gotten into my private space and was snooping through my stuff. It bugged me so much I sold that house and bought one with a gate around the entire property. I also purchased a cabin and some land up by Flathead Lake in Montana.” He offered a sad smile. “I figured if I ever needed total privacy, no one would find me there.”
“What happened to the woman?”
“The cops came and took her in. Her grown children were shocked by her delusions and got her psychiatric help. I didn’t follow up on her. I haven’t seen her since.”
Liberty got up and grabbed a bottle of water.
“Is there something you’re not tellin’ me? Has she been released or something?”
“No. But Garrett did have GSC follow up on her. Just to see if there was a link to the attack on your bus driver. But she’s been in an Alzheimer’s care facility since two weeks after the incident at your house.”
“So there’s no connection.”
“Nope.”
“I think the attack on JT was random. Some meth-heads breaking into a fancy bus, lookin’ for cash or drugs or something to pawn. Not some psycho fan wantin’ to harm me,” he stated flatly.
They were back to this again. The promotion company is overly paranoid and I don’t need you argument.
Liberty stared at him suspiciously. “I might believe that if the reincarnation lady was the only example. But we’ve seen the files, Devin. There have been lots of other incidents. Even paternity cases.”
“One paternity case three years ago. I knew the woman in question would be a problem because she showed up at rehearsal the day after I banged her, claiming I’d proposed to her. She even wore a big fake diamond. After security threw her out for trespassing, she swore she’d get even with me.”
“Is she the one—”
“Who sent her two brothers to my next gig so they could beat the fuck outta me? Yeah.”
She frowned. “I don’t remember a report like that.”
Devin drained his soda. “Because I didn’t report it. Her puny brothers cornered me and had me on the ground when Crash and Sarge, the head of my road crew, intervened. I was so fuckin’ embarrassed about it that I told them if they ever told a soul I’d fire them both.”
“Save me from the fragile male ego,” she muttered.
“After everything I’ve told you, you’re actually surprised I have an ego?”
“No. You have to have some ego in your business.” She leaned forward. “Hiding something like that is due solely to wounded male pride and doesn
’t help someone like me who’s protecting you. How many other unreported incidents are there?”
He shrugged. “I haven’t read your reports, so I don’t know.” A challenge lit his eyes. “Which incident were you referring to when you said, Is she the one?”
“The woman who said she cowrote one of your songs. Then, when you wouldn’t meet with her, she would stand outside your bus and throw rocks at you?”
“Another delusional person. She ambushed me at five concerts before we caught her.”
“Getting hit with a rock is better than a bullet.”
Devin lifted a brow. “Ever been beaned in the back of the head with a rock?”
“Yes, and I’ve been shot, so I can say that taking a bullet hurts much worse than getting stoned.”
“Shit. Sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”
“What about your relationship with China Marquette?”
He groaned. “Mistake. Big mistake. I’d never dated an actress and had no fuckin’ idea the media shitstorm I was in for when I broke up with her. The woman is psychotic.”
All guys thought their exes were psycho. “She’s the wholesome girl-next-door star on the Disney Channel’s most popular family show. How psychotic could she be?”
Devin leaned forward. “She blew up my car.”
Liberty’s jaw dropped.
“That incident didn’t make the papers. Neither did the one where she unloaded two hundred live chickens in my garage and let them die while I was away on tour for a month. Can you imagine the smell? Of course, there was no way to prove it. There were a dozen other things she did that no one would believe. She only ended her smear campaign when I threatened to release a sex tape we’d made. The raunchy things that girl begged me to do to her would’ve destroyed her career. And no, I don’t feel a damn bit guilty because she was out to destroy me.”
“Nice world you live in,” she mumbled. “Are the other incidents I read about easily explained away too?”
He bristled. “Probably. To be honest, there’ve been so damn many I’ve forgotten some. But I won’t be a prisoner to fame, Liberty. I won’t let the couple of nut jobs out there have power over me and how I live my life.” He stood. “Anything else about me that you wanna pick apart?”
Pick apart? He’d freely offered up the information. “I’m just preparing myself for what I might run into over the next few months.”
“There’s no way you can prepare for it because when the weird shit happens to me, I’m never prepared. Even if it’s similar to something I’ve faced before.” He disappeared down the hallway without another word.
And he called her prickly? Sheesh.
Looking out the window didn’t give her any idea where they were. She hit the intercom. “Reg? How far are we from Salt Lake City?”
“An hour and a half.”
“Cool. Thanks.”
She watched another episode of Dexter. Then she checked to make sure she could get online so she could log onto Call of Duty during her downtime. She so rarely got to play during the day. It’d be interesting to see the difference between daytime and nighttime gamers.
She ate a protein bar and double-checked her hair and makeup. Maintaining her new style hadn’t been as time-consuming as she’d imagined. Plus, she did look more professional. Just wearing a little lip color softened her mouth, which she’d always thought was too harsh looking. Spike and Zeke—Joe’s brothers who’d dropped her off—had even whistled upon seeing her feminine side. Of course, she’d immediately threatened to knock them on their asses if they believed girly clothes had changed her.
The look on Devin’s face when he caught sight of her? Priceless.
The bedroom door opened, and he walked past the bathroom and down the hall.
After slipping her gun in her waistband holster, she went to the front of the bus.
Devin had draped a suit bag across the bench seat.
When she glanced over at him, he was blatantly checking her out. She could blush and ignore it or call him on it. “Do I pass inspection?”
“More than pass. Good enough that I’d make a pass at you, but I suspect you’re armed.” His dark gaze swept over her again. “You carrying right now?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
She lifted her blouse and showed him a modified holster that stayed snug against her body but gave her easy access to her weapon.
“I’ll be damned. Sometime you’ll have to show me how fast you can pull.”
Her gaze never wavered when she said, “I sincerely hope that’s something you’ll never see.”
Properly chastised, he said, “What kind of gun is that? It looks small.”
“It’s a Kahr Arms PM45. It’s compact with the stopping power of a forty-five.” Liberty changed the subject. “What do you usually do first when you get off the bus?”
“Track down Crash and Sarge and see if there were any problems with setup. Then the event staff shows up.”
“Event staff. Who is that?”
“The head honcho responsible for bringing acts like mine into the venue. His or her assistants.”
“And your security.”
“They take me backstage. Show me the food service room and my ready room.” At her blank look, he said, “A ready room is just my private room. I require one at every venue—regardless of the size of the venue. The room can be decked out like a five-star hotel room or a canvas tent, or anything in between.” He pointed to the suit bag and the duffel. “Since I can’t send my guitar guru, Check, to the bus anymore to get things I’ll need in my room, that’s my clothing for tonight and tomorrow night.”
The bus slowed down. While Liberty was taking in the sights of Salt Lake City, Devin leaned back with his eyes closed. She couldn’t imagine how much pressure he was under, playing to a sold-out crowd two nights in a row. She wanted to ask him if he ever got nervous before going onstage, but he radiated that “back off” vibe, so she stayed quiet.
Once they’d parked in the back of the lot between the other two tour buses, Devin stood and put on his cowboy hat. “You ready for this?”
“Not really. How about you?”
He bestowed that million-dollar grin on her. “Darlin’, I was born ready. I live for this. Come on, let’s hit it.”
Chapter Six
Liberty acted cool, like being backstage at a Devin McClain show was no big deal. But secretly she was as excited as the first time she shot a grenade launcher.
The preshow activity had put her on edge. Luckily, Devin had two escorts as he entered the back door of the event center and two more inside. She didn’t think the big events would be the problem anyway, but the smaller county fair venues. When Garrett had suggested canceling the preshow or the aftershow party, the promoter had refused. Devin agreed. Interactions with his fans were a big part of the tour. He wouldn’t disappoint people who had paid extra for their tickets for a chance to meet him.
Devin had a no-contact rule prior to the performance. When she’d asked him about it, he said he needed time to get his head on straight and warm up before he walked onstage. So tonight he’d shooed her out of his ready room and she’d prowled the halls, watching the multitude of people it took to put on a show this size. From the catering staff to the media personnel, the roadies, the tech guys, the crew who traveled with the opening act.
She finally understood why he needed solitude. He had to be overwhelmed by everyone who wanted a piece of him. She wondered if it’d be a zoo tonight at the after-party that kicked off his headlining gig.
The crew removed the last of the opening act’s equipment, and Devin’s roadies had the switchover completed in ten minutes. The arena went dark. The crowd started chanting, “Devin, Devin, Devin.”
Devin’s band took the stage under the cover of darkness. Liberty peeked around the corner and saw the two security guards escorting him.
He’d changed into tight jeans with a metallic sheen and a black and silver button-up shirt open to his sternu
m, revealing a gray tank top. He’d rolled up his sleeves and donned a black cowboy hat. Those tempting curls ringed his face when he put on his hat. She smiled when she saw the same pair of scuffed-up boots he’d been wearing since this morning.
He adjusted his microphone, his earpiece and the strap on his guitar before he said, “Hello, Salt Lake City!” and moseyed to the center of the stage.
The roar of the crowd was deafening. Their reaction gave her goose bumps.
The lead guitar played a riff, the drums joined in and the show got under way.
And what a show it was.
No wonder his concerts sold out. The man was electric onstage. He had a great rapport with his band, making sure they got time in the spotlight. He danced a little. Male strippers had nothing on him—he knew exactly how to move that very fine body for maximum effect. He played a rock cover tune, all his biggest hits, and at one point he stripped it down to him and his guitar, with Tay on background vocals.
In that moment, she understood it wasn’t the spectacle of his stage