Parker sipped in a breath as her brothers and father began to play "Inscribed." She walked out to the stage. As the crowd applauded expectantly, she took her place at the grand piano. A light came on directly over her, casting a glow on the keyboard ... and lighting her up like a star.
Serene disappeared off-stage into the darkness as Parker began to sing.
Three songs later, Parker played the last note, and sat silent for a second. Tears stained her face. She hadn't expected that, but as she'd sung, she'd felt the Holy Spirit taking over. Calm had enabled her to do her best.
For seconds after the note stopped resonating through the arena, she heard silence. Then, a smattering of applause that seemed to be contagious. It spread across the arena, growing slowly. Not wild applause, demanding an encore, but the kind of applause that happened after a passionate performance in church, when people were caught in prayer that they didn't want to end.
Serene's band members came back on stage, her keyboarder playing the transitioning chords. As Daniel walked past her, she saw tears on his face. He mouthed the word "Perfect."
And it had been--as perfect as she could do with what she'd been given. Floating on gratitude, she went off the stage as Serene came back out, dressed differently for her second set. Now the crowd went wild.
Pete lifted her up in his arms. "That was fabulous, baby!"
LesPaul and Gibson hugged her, too, and she could see the joy on their faces.
"That was awesome," Gibson shouted, punching the air.
"All the hard work," LesPaul said. "It paid off. Now go find your table and autograph your heart out."
CHAPTER
FORTY-FIVE
Parker's nerves took a rest the following day as they hit I-20 and made their way to Jackson, Mississippi. Her mother had sold three hundred CDs the night before, and Parker had autographed dozens. While she'd hoped to sell more, it had been a good start. Three hundred people had found her worthy of shelling out fifteen bucks for their musical pleasure.
The fact that Jeff Standard was coming to the Jackson Coliseum to watch the show made Parker nervous all over again. She told herself the tycoon wasn't here to see her, but Serene.
But that night, before she played, he stood backstage, watching without emotion as Serene blew out all the stops. Parker felt his censure as she sat down at her piano to do her part of the show.
But like the night before, she felt the Holy Spirit's presence as she performed her three songs. Again, there was a moment of silence after she played her last note, then a crescendo of applause.
When Serene took back the stage, Parker floated off. Jeff Standard stood in her way. She decided not to try to dodge him, and stuck out her hand. "Mr. Standard, I'm Parker James. Nice to meet you."
His smile was cool. "Good show," he said. "You have a real way about you."
She didn't know if that was a compliment. Somehow it had the ring of George's comment about her "different" sound. But she thanked him and pushed past to her father and brothers, who were celebrating again. Then she hurried toward her table to sign autographs. As she walked the perimeter of the coliseum, she basked in the sounds of her songs coming from Serene's gifted pipes. There weren't many people trolling around on the concourse. They were all in their seats, hanging on Serene's every note.
Parker glanced through the door and caught a glimpse of Sereneat her best. She stepped inside and observed the audience from the last row, saw the joy on the faces of those whose rapt attention Serene held. Her gaze swept out over the backs of the heads in the crowd.
And then she saw him.
One man, looking back at her. He looked like Mick Evans.
She sucked in a breath and backed away from the door. Her heart slammed against her ribcage. Stepping outside into the concourse, she tried to catch her breath. Was that Mick? She had to know.
She stepped back in the doorway and looked in the section where she'd seen him. Her eyes scanned the backs of the heads. She couldn't find him. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe the pattern of lights and shadows had created an illusion.
She backed out again and ran back around the way she'd come, down the steps to the backstage area.
She'd forgotten her access badge, so the bouncer standing there wouldn't let her past.
"I'm sorry, you have to have a badge."
"I'm Parker James. I just performed. Didn't you see me?"
"Sorry, ma'am. No badge, no access."
She didn't have time to change his mind. "Could you please radio security in the backstage area and get someone to come and clear me? I have to get in touch with my brother. He's a cop."
She waited as the security guard made a call, then decided to let her through. She ran into the area behind the stage, searching for her brothers. She found Gibson back in their dressing room.
She bolted in and leaned back against the door. "Mick Evans might be here!"
Gibson sprang to his feet. "Where?"
"I thought I saw him in Section 14C. I'm not sure it was him, but is there some way you could find out?"
Gibson bolted out to talk to security. After a moment, someone who looked in charge appeared. She couldn't hear what Gibson was saying to him, but they motioned for Parker. "Come with us, Parker. Show us where you saw him."
She led them up the stairs to the concourse and out into the hall. She ran around the building, seeing Serene and the crowd every few yards as the hall opened into the auditorium. She took them to 14C, and pointed to where she'd seen him.
Gibson went in and walked, unnoticed, down the steps, pausing at the section Parker had pointed to.
The lights were down, and it was difficult to see. Parker began to despair. She must have been mistaken. Why would he be here, when the police in Nashville were searching for him? Why would he come out in public when his face had been flashed on the national news in connection with two murders?
Gibson came back shaking his head. "He may have seen you and left."
She felt like an idiot. "I'm probably wrong. The lights were low. It probably wasn't even him; just someone who looked like him." She sighed. "Should I go ahead to my table?"
Gibson looked unsure. "I'll come with you."
"Don't tell Mom. No need to get her all upset." She led him around the concourse, glancing inside to the people at every openingin to the concert hall.
"I won't. But I'm going to go talk to security."
By the time they reached her table, Parker was certain she'd made a mistake. It would make no sense for Mick to come out in public when he was wanted for two murders. That would be ridiculous.
She stepped behind the table and plastered on her smile for the people waiting for her autograph. Her mother was jubilant and threw her arms around her. "Great show, honey. I've never been prouder!"
CHAPTER
FORTY-SIX
Gibson withdrew the weapon from his ankle holster. He'd thought of leaving it in his hotel room and leaving security to those who knew their way around the Jackson Coliseum. But he'd been right to bring it.
He hoped Parker had made a mistake, that the lights had distorted her vision, that she really hadn't seen the killer in the crowd. Still, he followed the security director back to his office, where screens lined the walls with camera shots of various angles of the building.
"Like finding a needle in a haystack," Roy, the director, said. "Short of locking the place down, I don't see how we'd ever find him if he was here."
"Can you just show me the exits?" Gibson asked. "And rewind it about ten minutes. Maybe he left after Parker spotted him."
Roy pointed out the screens with those shots, rewound, then sped through the footage. Only a handful of people were leaving. A woman with two children. Four kids who looked like they were middle-school aged, probably sneaking out for some mischief before their parents picked them up. Several scattered couples and small groups.
If Mick was among them, Gibson couldn't spot him. He stood there with Roy, watching the screens capturing acti
vity in every part of the coliseum. Mick could have blended into the crowd, and they'd never see him. If he left when the crowd flowed out, it would be almost impossible to see him.
"Any way we can lock all but one exit so I can watch as people leave?"
Roy gave him a look like he was deluded. "No, man! I can't do that without orders from our police department. We got over ten thousand people in there who'll be trying to get out all at the same time. No way I'm blocking the exits."
Gibson knew he couldn't convince them to do that. Knowing it was a long shot, he left Security and went to the front exit himself, hoping that if Mick Evans were here, he'd come out this way.
CHAPTER
FORTY-SEVEN
When the concert ended and the crowd thinned out, and she'd sold all the CDs she was going to sell, Parker helped her mother pack up the boxes. When Gibson showed back up at the table and told her they hadn't been able to find Mick, she decided to venture back to her dressing room to get her things. Gibson went with her, eyes scanning the dark corners, his gun tucked into his jeans under his untucked shirt.
"I'm sure I made a mistake," she said. "He wouldn't come here. I'm just jumpy, that's all. I shouldn't have said anything."
"Yes, you should have. You did the right thing. If it had been him, we might have caught him. I'm still not convinced you didn't see him."
She went into her dressing room, gathered her things, and loaded them into a duffel bag. She slung the bag over her shoulder. "What about your guitars?"
Gibson shook his head. "We'll get them after we help break down the set. Just leave them here for now. Listen, I don't want you and Mom alone. Ride the shuttle bus back to the hotel." He opened the door and looked out into the hall. "Daniel."
Parker looked past him and saw Daniel Walker coming toward them, guitar case in hand. "There you are," he said when he saw her. "My favorite part of the concert."
She managed a smile. "Your favorite part? Don't lie, Daniel."
"I'm not lying," he said with a laugh. "There's something about the way you perform. You can just feel the Holy Spirit all over the place. I hope you sold a ton of CDs."
Warmth flushed through her face. "I sold a few. I was a little distracted, though, because right after I performed I thought I saw Mick Evans in the crowd." She told him about her close encounter.
Daniel looked concerned. "Serene wanted me to ask you to come to her dressing room. But if you want to get out of here, I can tell her you had to leave. She was crying, though, so it must be kind of important."
"Crying? You don't know why?"
"No. She was talking to Butch and Jeff Standard, so I guess it could have been anything."
Parker glanced at Gibson. "Guess I'd better go see what it is."
"We'll walk with you," Gibson said.
Daniel walked beside them as they headed back to Serene's dressing room. When she reached it, she saw Jeff Standard and Butch standing outside it, talking to several other men she didn't know. None of them looked her way. She reached the door and gave her familiar knock, and heard Serene call, "Come in."
She opened the door and leaned in. "Hey, it's me. The show was fabulous.
"Parker, I have to talk to you." Daniel was right. Serene had tears on her face, mascara dripping like some teenaged Goth. "Come in and close the door."
Parker glanced back at Daniel and Gibson. Frowning, Gibson said, "I'll wait here for you."
"Me, too," Daniel said.
She stepped inside and closed the door. "What's wrong? Didn't Jeff like the concert?"
Serene ripped a tissue out of its box, dabbed at her eyes. "Yeah, he liked it. It's just ... he wants to make some changes."
Parker's throat tightened like a fist.
"Parker, this is hard."
She could already guess what the change would be. "Tell me."
"Oh, Parker, I'm so sorry. He wants you out of the show."
Was that her heart beating in her ears? Parker tried to breathe. "He just thinks that your part brings the mood down. That it's too Christian--too serious. He doesn't get it. He says that your style and mine aren't compatible."
Parker finally found her voice. "Not compatible? I wrote your songs. That's not compatible?"
"I know. I told him that it was a worship thing, the mood that you bring, but he's not a Chris Christian. That doesn't even make sense to him."
"But don't you get any say at all?"
"No, I don't." She sucked in a sob. "You don't argue with him. My contract gives him a lot of authority."
Bottle rockets seemed to flare in Parker's head. "So that's it? I'm out, just like that?"
"Please don't hate me."
She couldn't hear her heart anymore, and her lungs were shut tight. She'd spent her mother's money ... her grandmother's property had been sold. There was no way to recoup that investment if she didn't finish the tour and sell out of her CDs ...
Her dreams of a record deal spun to the earth. She could almost hear them splat. Parker felt the blood draining from her face, pooling down in her fingertips, her toes. "I don't care what your stupid contract says. You should have fought for me. He's not going to cancel the tour over it. He has too much invested."
"What do you expect me to do?" Serene grabbed another tissue. "Walk? Threaten him? My career's on the line. I have to do what he says." She pressed the tissues against her eyes. "I was so up after the concert. It was so great. I thought it had gone off perfectly. And then this."
Did Serene expect her to comfort her? Setting he jaw, she went to Serene's chair, leaned over it. "You can't do this to me. Do you know how much money I've invested? I pressed enough CDs for the whole tour. If I don't have the opportunity to sell them, I'm sunk. What about the contract you have with me?"
"There was an escape clause, Parker. It said that you were on the tour unless things didn't work out--"
"They did work out."
"Jeff doesn't think so."
Parker hated the tears rushing to her eyes. She pursed her lips, trying not to blubber like a child. How would she tell her family?
"I told him it would ruin our friendship. He didn't care."
"And you didn't care, either?"
Serene grabbed her hands. "It won't, will it, Parker? If I succeed, you will, too, as my songwriter."
Parker jerked away from her. "It wasn't about fame, Serene!" But even as she said it, she knew it wasn't true. It was all about fame. Parker wanted to follow Serene's rising star. She wanted to be one, too.
"If you need a loan to pay all this back, I'll help."
Now she offered. Where had she been before? If Serene had invested her own money in Parker's part of the tour, this wouldn't be happening. "I don't want your money!" she shouted. "I want you to honor your commitment. I signed a contract, trusting you. I rewrote the songs! My brothers took leaves from work. My mother gave me all her savings!"
A knock sounded on the door, and Parker wanted to scream that they were busy, to leave them alone. They had things to work out.
But she was kidding herself. Nothing was going to be worked out. Serene was cutting her loose. It was a done deal. They might as well end this conversation with an interruption, rather than an explosion.
She went to the door, flung it open.
Butch stood there with a copy of the New York Times, opened to Nigel Hughes's column. A picture of Serene in her hospital bed, with Parker beside her, filled the top half of the page. Butch's over-whiteteeth were set together. "Why wasn't I told about this?"
Parker had nothing to say to him. She bit her lip so hard she thought it might bleed.
"Oh, no." Serene took the newspaper and read the headline. "Anorexic Chris Christian Star Serene Stevens Collapses."
Parker couldn't help the spontaneous indignation firing in her chest at Nigel's audacity. But then a small, distant voice whispered that Serene deserved it.
Anger propelled her out of the room.
Daniel was waiting, a look of concern on his face. Gibso
n was gone. "Everything okay?" Daniel asked.
She didn't want him to see her cry. "Did you know about this?" "About the article? No, I just saw it when someone brought it to Jeff."
She stormed up the hall. "Not the article. The tour!"
He was right behind her. "What about it?"
He would know soon enough. The whole world would know. The humiliation would bleed far and wide. She swung around to face him. "I got cut from the tour."
His jaw dropped. "No way! Why?"
"I'm not good enough," she said through her tears. "I'm bringing the crowd down. Jeff Standard hates me." Her voice broke and she swallowed. "Where's Gibson?"
"Talking to the stage manager. He's decided not to help with the set tonight. He's afraid to leave you alone."
More breached contracts. She wanted to get out of here but didn't dare leave without Gibson's protection. "I have to finish helpingmy mom pack up the CDs." She sniffed. "Maybe we should just leave them. Maybe the janitorial staff will enjoy them." What would she ever do with that many CDs she couldn't sell? All the money spent ...
Daniel touched her arm and stopped her. "Parker, what happened? What did she say?"
"I told you."
"That Jeff hates you? That's impossible. You were phenomenal. I wasn't just saying that."
"What Jeff thinks is all that matters. He's calling the shots now. Some guy who doesn't understand a thing about glorifying or praising God. How ironic that he'd sign a Chris Christian star and then make judgments about the spiritual content of her show!"
She didn't want to be near him with tears staining her face. Her mascara was probably smeared like Serene's. That's what she got for wearing so much makeup, thinking she was somebody. Why had she ever wanted to put herself out there for everyone to judge?