Double Minds

  "Why? He's not going to drop you, Serene. He has way too much money invested in this tour."

  Serene grabbed one of Parker's pillows and rammed her fist into it. "I'm a coward. I want to succeed so I can show my father and all those people who thought I'd never amount to anything ..."

  That was the one thing she could have said to soften Parker's heart. Parker met Lynn's eyes. "You don't have to prove anything to them."

  "You don't know what it's like," Serene cried. "You have this great mother, and a family that would drop everything to support you in your dream. I have nobody. Nothing but my talent. If my careeris pulled out from under me, what will I do? Who will I be?"

  Parker sat back down next to her. "You were successful without Jeff Standard."

  "But now I'm legally bound. There's no turning back."

  Lynn sat down on the other side of Serene. "Isn't there, sweetie?"

  "No. I'm stuck. And I'm confused. I don't want out of my contract. Part of me likes where he's going to take me. I've never played to such huge crowds."

  "He didn't get you those crowds, Serene. You got them because you have a hit song!"

  "But he's taking me to the next level. Soon I'll have a bunch of hit songs, and not just on the Chris Christian charts. Is it wrong to want that? I mean, I've been working at this my whole life."

  Parker stared at her friend. She thought of finding the passage in the Bible about being unequally yoked, and pointing out that going to the "next level" for Jeff Standard might strip away who Serene was. But was it Parker's own bitterness leading her to those conclusions?

  She lay back on the bed, wishing she could hold onto her bitternessa little longer. But her love for her friend had melted it away. "I don't think it's wrong to play music outside the Chris Christian arena, Serene. Heaven knows, not everybody in the Chris Christian music industry is authentic. There are people in it for money, and some are using it as a stepping stone. I've seen egos gone wild at Dove Award shows, and concerts where musicians stand up and trumpet the cause of Christ, then get drunk or high in their buses on the way to the next stop."

  "That's the thing," Serene said, wiping her tears. "Singing to only Chris Christian crowds doesn't mean I'm all that spiritual. But to sing on stage in arenas where not everyone is a Chris Christian--isn't that a truer test of my faith?"

  "Of course it is, sweetie," Lynn said. "You just have to make sure your faith is solid enough to deal with Jeff Standard and others like him. People will be watching you especially hard. They'll want to see you shaken from your faith."

  "But there are people on your tour who can help," Parker said. "Like Daniel Walker. He can help you keep your focus."

  A smile broke through Serene's tears. "Yeah, Daniel's great. Did you know that yesterday he went to a local homeless shelter and played a private concert?"

  Parker smiled. "He did? He didn't say anything about it."

  "He wouldn't. He's not doing it for anyone's approval but God's."

  Parker was glad Daniel would be an influence for Serene. She just hoped Serene didn't fall in love with him.

  "Serene, you get to decide how you conduct yourself. Jeff may make decisions about your career, but he's not in charge of your life ... or your soul. You have to make sure that the choices you make are God's choices, not Jeff's."

  Serene stretched out on the bed and balled up Parker's pillow. "Do you think I can have a secular career and live a Christian life?"

  "Of course you can," Parker said. "Normal, nonmusical people do it all the time."

  Tears again. "Remember the first song of yours I recorded? How fun it was the first time we heard it on the radio?"

  Parker didn't want to remember. Her own eyes misted, and she looked at the ceiling. They had been a good team. She didn't want it to come to an end.

  "Parker, I don't know if I can do any of this without you there.

  " "I'm not your keeper, Serene. Like you've said, you can glorify him from the stage in front of fifteen thousand fans, whether Jeff likes it or not. If you make him enough money, he'll have to accept it."

  "And if I don't?"

  "Then he'll cut you loose. It's a tough business."

  "Maybe I don't belong here. Maybe I'm in over my head."

  Parker sighed and lay down next to her. "No, Serene. I want you to have your dream. You've worked hard for it, sacrificed a lot."

  "But not my best friend. I don't want to sacrifice you."

  Parker wiped a tear gathering in her eye. "All right, Serene. I'll talk to you on the phone every day, on one condition."

  "What?"

  "That you get even with Jeff Standard by proving the anorexia story wrong. You eat, and gain some weight, and that story will dissolve. And Nigel Hughes will look like an idiot."

  "That's a great idea," Lynn said. "And honey, if you can't bring yourself to do that, then you need to take some time off the tour and get help."

  Serene sat up. "Okay, let's start right now. I'm starving. Let's order room service."

  "Room service?" Parker gave her a smirk. "You're thinking of your hotel. Ours has a vending machine down by the stairs."

  Serene went to the door, leaned out, and asked the bodyguard to get her some things from the vending machine. He came back with an armload of potato chips and Cheetos, peanuts and pretzels, and several cans of soda. Serene brought them all to the center of the bed and began reading the labels.

  "No calorie checks," Parker said. "I mean it!"

  "Okay." Serene took a bag of pretzels and tore the bag open.

  "And you can eat on my bed, on one condition."

  "What?"

  "You will not throw up in my bathroom. Do you understand that? Whatever you eat, you're going to keep down."

  Serene nodded. "If I don't, you have my permission to call that Nigel guy."

  As Serene ate and drank, Parker could see that she was beginning to feel better. They turned on the television and leaned back against the headboard. Lynn channel-surfed until they found a black-and-white Cary Grant movie. They lay on the bed like girls at a sleepover, watching until the very last lines. Finally, Serene fell asleep next to Parker.

  Lynn smiled and covered her up. "Well, we might as well get some sleep," she whispered.

  Parker met her mother's eyes. "She has no intentions of getting help for her anorexia, does she?"

  Her mother's smile faded, and she shook her head. "I doubt it. Not yet."

  Parker turned on her side and looked at Serene, out like a child. Her hand lay open under her chin, and Parker could see the burn scars on her palms from her father's grill. Serene had other scars, too. Some external, others not so visible.

  Parker turned off the lamp. "Good night, Mom."

  "Night, honey. You did good, sweetheart. I'm so proud of you."

  Parker knew she wasn't talking about her performance on the stage, but her performance just now. She lay in the dark next to Serene, listening to the gentle sound of her friend's breathing.

  She'd always had trouble holding a grudge against Serene. If she'd had the same father, the same horrors in her childhood, she might be as clueless as Serene was.

  Before she fell asleep, she prayed that the residual traces of her own resentment would go away. Silently, she interceded for her friend, asking that the scars of Serene's youth would be completely erased and that everything good God had planned for her would be fulfilled. Even if it meant leaving Parker behind.

  The prayer gave her more forgiveness for the wounded star beside her, and finally, she fell into a restful sleep.

  CHAPTER

  FIFTY

  The Memphis concert was sold out the next night. Parker stood backstage as Serene sang in front of the crowd that wouldn't hear Parker's name or buy her CDs. Serene wasn't quite as "on" tonight as she'd been at the past two venues, but her fans didn't seem to know it.

  Daniel seemed at his best, however. He got better with every show. She watched him for a few minutes, saw how adept he was at moving
from one song to the next, allowing Serene the time she needed to speak to the crowd. Though the pianist seemed to lead the band, Daniel worked in perfect harmony with the others.

  And he didn't look too shabby. Playing at homeless shelters had a way of making a man even more attractive, Parker thought. The memory of his comforting words last night helped soothe the pain of being cut from the tour. He didn't see her as a loser. Daniel had different benchmarks for success than Jeff Standard did.

  Too bad she wouldn't be able to get to know him better on the tour. But he did live in Nashville.

  Watching the concert was torture, so she ambled through the backstage area. It was filled with people helping in various capacities--stage hands, sound engineers, the makeup lady, a hair stylist, spouses or significant others of band members, local radio people, a caterer, and a number of VIPs who'd been given backstage access. She went back to the dressing room with the star on it and slipped inside.

  Serene's casual clothes were wadded and hanging over a chair. Parker lifted her jeans, smoothed out the wrinkles, and folded them neatly. She got her blouse and hung it up.

  What was she doing? She was supposed to be one of the performers tonight, yet here she was cleaning up after her friend. She sat down on the couch, looking up at the ceiling and wishing she wasn't here.

  God, where will I go from here? I thought I knew your plan, but now I'm so confused.

  She should never have thought she could be more than a receptionist. Who was she to think she could pull off a major concert tour?

  A force as strong as gravity dragged her mind down a destructive path. She had to fight it. Maybe she'd just go sit with her parents in the audience and watch the concert.

  She stepped outside the dressing room and was enveloped by the booming chords on stage. The dressing room wasn't far from the backstage area, but the corridor, which had been lit up moments earlier, was dark. Some building maintenance guy had probably turned the light off to save on electricity. But Serene would soon be coming off the stage for her costume change. She would need light.

  Parker felt her way down the hallway toward the backstage area, looking for a light switch.

  Then someone touched her shoulder. She jumped, pivoted ...

  ... and came face to face with Mick Evans.

  CHAPTER

  FIFTY-ONE

  Parker screamed, but Mick threw his hand over her mouth, muffling her. He spun her around, pulling her back against him. "I'm not gonna hurt you!"

  She fought him, trying to break free, but he was bigger and stronger. Her muffled screams blended with the music blaring from the stage.

  "Please, calm down," he said into her ear. "I just want to talk to you."

  She knew if he got her into one of the dark, vacant rooms, he would kill her. He would end her life without thinking twice and leave her bleeding on the floor. She thought of those pictures of Brenna in her own blood, imagined Tiffany dead on her own bed.

  There would be crime-scene photographs of her own body, from every possible angle.

  She couldn't let that happen. She threw her head back, butting his chin, then elbowed him in the stomach and lifted her feet so she would fall out of his grip.

  He lost his hold, and she screeched out her terror as she stumbled away.

  "I don't want to hurt you!" he said. "Parker, just listen!"

  If she could just get upstairs into the light of the concourse, she could get help. Someone ... anyone ... would hear her screams.

  She stumbled and righted herself, reached the stairs. He was right behind her. "Parker, I'm trying to save your life. Stop fighting and listen! I know what you think of me, but you're wrong."

  She rammed herself into the door, but it wouldn't open. He grabbed her as she pulled it. She slipped free again and got it open, slid out into the lighted hallway.

  "Help me! Somebody help me!" she screamed.

  "You'll get us both killed!" he shouted.

  She turned and headed toward the merchant tables, searching, hoping, praying for someone to come into sight.

  A gun fired. The bullet whizzed past her and she dropped, throwing her hands over her head. He had a gun! Frantic prayers rolled through her mind. God, help me. I don't want to die!

  Then Mick was on her again. "Don't shoot!" he yelled.

  Confusion sliced through her terror.

  "You'll kill me, too," he said. "Drop the gun!"

  His words didn't compute in her mind. The music coming from the auditorium now only crescendoed, masking the sound.

  "Get her up!" Another voice ...

  Mick whispered into her ear, "Do as I say, and nobody has to die."

  Trembling, Parker got to her knees and let him pull her to her feet. As she did, she saw someone up ahead, standing in the shadows of another dark hallway.

  In a blurry rush of understanding, Parker realized that Mick wasn't the one with the gun. He was shielding her.

  "Be still and quiet." His whisper was damp against her hair. "We're safe if I'm between you."

  The shooter stepped into the light ...

  Parker gasped. It was Marta.

  CHAPTER

  FIFTY-TWO

  The security room at the Memphis Coliseum held a bank of screens on one wall that flashed video of key areas inside the building. Gibson and LesPaul sat scanning the screens, watching for any sign that Mick Evans had shown up again.

  Gibson had had a talk with Vince, the security director, when they'd arrived to set up for the concert that morning. After checking with Nashville PD, Vince had agreed to allow Gibson and Les-Paul to provide more eyes on the monitors as they sat the concert out with him.

  So far, they hadn't seen Mick. They'd given pictures of him to all the security personnel in the building, and no one else had seen him. But Gibson knew it would be difficult to spot him in such a large crowd, even under the best of circumstances. If he'd cut his hair or changed his look in any way, he would be able to slip right past them.

  Mostly, the cameras taped the comings and goings at entrances or exits within the building. There was some coverage around the concourse and some of the corridors. But the cameras weren't sufficiently spaced to show everything that went on in the building.

  The phone rang, and Vince picked it up, mumbled something into it, then said, "Where?"

  He gestured to Gibson and pointed to the screen illuminating the west side of the building, concourse level. "Probably something in the air conditioning system, but we'll check on it."

  Gibson watched that area, trying to orient himself. As Vince hung up, he asked, "What is it?"

  "Janitor says he heard something that sounded like a gunshot in that area."

  Gibson came out of his seat. He looked at that screen and those around it with more focus. "Can you move those cameras?"

  Vince flicked a few things on his control board, and the pictures slid a little farther along the concourse. They showed nothing. He bent down and got the gun out of his ankle holster.

  LesPaul was on his feet now, watching the screens that showed the backstage area. "Where's Parker?"

  "Probably in Serene's dressing room."

  There were no cameras in there. Gibson's pulse pounded in his head. "I'm going to find my sister while you check out that sound. You have an extra radio?"

  Vince grabbed one, checked that it was working, and tossed it to him. Then he radioed for the security detail on that side of the building to check out the area from which the sound had come.

  LesPaul followed Gibson around the building and down one of the staircases that led into the backstage area, on the ground floor. He went down the hall toward Serene's dressing room. Why had the lights gone out in that area? He radioed Vince and asked him where the light controls were. Vince told him, and Gibson turned them back on. No one lurked in the hallway.

  He reached the star's dressing room and opened the door. "Parker?"

  No answer. He went in, checked the bathroom. No one was here.

  LesPaul
stood in the doorway. "These stairs over here lead up to the area where the janitor heard the sound."

  It could be nothing, Gibson told himself. But where was his sister?

  He pushed past LesPaul and went up the stairs. He pulled open the door at the top and looked both ways, then slipped into the brighter corridor. He turned to his right, toward the stage.

  A security guard was stooping with his radio at his ear. A spent cartridge lay at his feet. Gibson's face went white. "The janitor heard right."

  The security guard pointed up to the wall. "There's your bullet."

  Gibson wiped sweat from his forehead. Thankfully, there was no blood. He spoke into the radio. "There's an armed gunman somewhere in this building. We have to find him. And I don't know where my sister is. Rewind some of the tape and see if you can locate her."

  He turned and looked in both directions, then ran toward the merchant tables. No, this was wrong. No one holding a hostage would have come this way. He turned back, ran to the quieter end of the hall. Nothing.

  "Call Mom and Dad. See if Parker's with them."

  Their parents were sitting in the audience, watching the show. LesPaul pulled his phone out and pressed his mother's number on speed dial. "Mom, is Parker with you?" He put his hand over the phone and said, "She's not."

  "Where are they?"

  "In the C section, back row."

  "Tell them to get out of the building. Tell them to wait in the van."

  CHAPTER

  FIFTY-THREE

  Parker's breath came in gasps. Mick kept his arm clamped around her stomach, as if he were the hostage-taker. At gunpoint, Marta had moved them into a dimly lit equipment room.

  The machinery in the room, probably meant to cool the coliseum, roared with the potential to mask voices and gunfire. Blue-paintedpipes snaked around the room with words like Chilled Water Return and Condenser written on the sides. Parker scanned the room for a way out--or a weapon.

  A spiral staircase went down a flight. She didn't know where it led, but if she could get to it, maybe she could escape.