The Complete Rockstar Series

  “Christ,” I mutter under my breath.

  I follow them inside and lock the deadbolt just in time to hear an upstairs door slam shut.

  Fucking celebrities. This is why I don’t do this shit. Corporate bigwigs have more sense of self-preservation than spoiled rotten rock stars.

  May as well finish my sweep of the house before settling in for a long night of babysitting.

  First, I take off my jacket and hang it on a chair. Then I pull the knot out of my tie and slip it off, folding it up and sticking it in the jacket pocket. After loosening the top few buttons of my shirt, I still feel restricted, but less than before.

  I move through the house to the back windows, looking out over the dark, deserted beach. Despite the lack of privacy, it’s beautiful. The moon is three-quarters full, so the sand and the waves glisten an eerie grey under the light. There’s not a soul to be seen. Not unexpected seeing as it’s—I pull out my phone and check the time—three-thirty in the morning.

  Exhausted, I drag a hand down my face wondering if Gavin’s friend is going to stay all night. Something outside catches my eye. A faint shadow cast across the sand flickers.

  Using small movements, I reach for my Glock. Thank god I haven’t turned any inside lights on yet. Hopefully, whoever is out there can’t see me. I turn the lock on the back door and slip outside, soundlessly closing it once I’m on the deck.

  Sticking to dark shadows and corners, I creep down the stairs that separate the house from the sand. The back gate is locked and I realize I don’t have the key.

  Bollocks!

  I have to holster my weapon so I can climb over the six-foot privacy fence. When I drop to the other side, the soft sand makes a lot more noise than one would think. The shadow bolts.

  “Hey!” I shout. “Stop!”

  I give chase, following the black-clad figure down the paved path that parallels the shoreline. He’s too far ahead. He reaches a gap between two houses and ducks through and is gone by the time I catch up. I hurl myself down the narrow alley, coming out on the other side and darting into the street. All I see when I get there are the taillights of the fleeing car.

  “Son of a bitch!” I put my hands on my hips, pissed that I let him get away.

  When I realize that I left the back door to Gavin’s house unlocked, I hurry back the way I came. When I make my way back over the fence, I land hard on my knee, nearly busting my ass.

  Standing, I wince in pain from the inevitable bruise that’s sure to form. My knee is going to hurt like hell for a few days.

  I slide the Glock back out of its holster and hobble up the stairs of the deck. The lights are still off, so I can’t see much. I open the back door and peek inside, not seeing anything out of the ordinary. A quick sweep of downstairs proves futile.

  Sighing, I realize I’ll have to check the upstairs as well. Where Gavin and his boy toy are currently getting it on. I pull at the neck of my shirt again. Jesus, it’s tight. I return the Glock and undo another button.

  I bite the proverbial bullet and limp up the stairs, glancing around when I reach the landing. About half of the doors in the hall are open. Starting furthest from the master bedroom, I clear every room.

  When I stop outside the final door, I hear moaning.

  And grunting.

  And slapping of flesh.

  Wide eyed, I hurry back down the stairs as fast as my aching knee will allow, fleeing to the safety of the kitchen. I grab a Coke out of the fridge to keep me awake and an icepack out of the freezer and settle into one of the kitchen chairs with the ice balanced on my knee. It’s going to be a long night.

  Gavin

  “Bye. Thanks. You were amazing.” Ron or Rob or whoever he is says, giving me a kiss before disappearing out the front door into the darkness. I watch as he climbs into the waiting cab.

  “Date over so soon?”

  I let out a terrified yelp and spin around to face a furious Mitch Hale.

  “Jesus, Hale. What the fuck?” I clutch at my chest, only remembering that I’m not wearing a shirt when my hand hits bare skin.

  I don’t miss the quick sweep of Mitch’s eyes over my torso, lingering a little too long on the silver hoops threaded through my nipples, before his face twists into an expression of both pure rage and disbelief.

  “What the fuck? What the fuck?” His deep voice gets louder and louder as he crowds me against the front door.

  I realize I haven’t heard him curse until now. It sounds strange coming from his rather uptight, fidgety persona in his odd, barely-there accent.

  I step back, pressing my palms flat against the wood. If I wasn’t so shocked, I’d find this incredibly erotic. Mitch’s steely eyes focus on mine. His tempting red mouth is only inches away. He’s so close I can smell a tantalizing combination of both his cologne and sweat…his sweat. It takes all of my willpower not to lean in and inhale.

  “I’ll tell you what the fuck!” he continues ranting. “While you were upstairs with a complete fucking stranger, I chased your stalker down the beach! That’s what the fuck!”

  I blink as I try to process this information. What was I expecting? For him to be jealous? I’m not sure, but I sure as fuck didn’t expect him to tell me he pursued my stalker—that the psycho was right outside my house.

  “What?” I whisper.

  “You heard me,” Mitch growls, moving even closer. I can feel the heat radiating off of his body, searing my skin. A large palm slams down on the door next to my head, rattling the door on its hinges. “While you were being a drunken, spoiled brat, I was busy protecting you!” His breath caresses my face. It’s sweet, intoxicating.

  My eyes flutter shut. I can’t look anymore. It’s too heady, too erotic. Instinctually, I lean forward.

  A gust of cold air brushes across my naked torso. When I open my eyes, Mitch is across the room, gathering up his coat and tie.

  “I’m staying the night. Tomorrow we’ll discuss this and where we go from here.”

  I swallow loudly, still pressed against the door. “Where we go from here?”

  Mitch gives me an incredulous look. “We need a plan. The guy knows where you live. This is a game changer, Gavin.” He shakes his head. Then he limps over to stand in front of me again, his face twisted with rage and pain. “Do you even want me here? To protect you? To investigate this?”

  “Yes,” I respond without hesitation, wondering what happened to his leg but deciding it’s not the time to ask.

  Mitch moves towards the stairs, climbing slowly as he speaks. “Then act like it and help me out.” The click of a bedroom door closing signals the end of the conversation.

  I sag against the door. My heart is still pounding a hundred miles an hour—from Mitch being so damn sexy and from knowing the stalker was right outside my house while I was busy getting my rocks off.

  I trudge up the stairs, mentally berating myself for being so irresponsible. Mitch is right, Rob or Ron or whoever that trick was, could have been the psycho. He could have been the one we’ve been looking for. I could have invited him right into my bedroom.

  A full-body shiver gives me goose bumps at the thought.

  Light from one of the guest rooms seeps out under the closed door. The faint sounds of the shower running in the en suite bath can be heard from the hall.

  I close my eyes and picture Mitch naked, running soapy hands all over his body. I shiver again, and this time not from fear.

  Damn. I’ve got it bad. Shaking my head, I return to my room. The messy state of the bed and the scent of sex remind me of my foolishness. Getting laid is not worth getting killed.

  In that case, I guess I’d better get used to celibacy.

  This is going to be torture.

  * * *

  The next morning Mitch’s mood hasn’t improved at all. In fact, he’s even grouchier than the night before. Wearing his rumpled dress shirt and suit pants, a cup of coffee in hand, he keeps glaring like he wants to punch me.

  Hell, he probably
does after last night. I want to punch me.

  “What now?” I question, sitting down at the table with my own coffee and a bowl of fruit.

  Mitch raises an eyebrow from where he’s leaning against the granite countertop. He puts down his mug and glances out the windows at the beach.

  “Now I have to figure out what to do with you,” he replies.

  I freeze, a spoonful of fruit halfway to my mouth. “Do with me? What do you mean?”

  Mitch sighs and rubs his bloodshot eyes with the heels of his hands. He speaks slowly and enunciates each word as if I’m a toddler and he’s the exhausted parent who’s tired of having to explain.

  “He knows where you live, Gavin. You can’t stay here. And since he was able to get into your hotel room I’d say checking into a hotel isn’t a great idea either.”

  “Oh.” That does seem obvious now that he’s said it.

  “Yeah, oh,” he mocks.

  I bristle at his attitude. “You don’t have to be an asshole about it.”

  Mitch scowls right back at me. “Obviously, I do, because you have absolutely no common sense when it comes to your own safety!”

  I stand up, shoving the chair back. It tips back and clatters to the floor. “One mistake! One! I’m not fucking perfect, okay?”

  Mitch shakes his head, laughing sarcastically. “One mistake? You ditched me at the club last night. Have you forgotten that already?”

  My mouth opens to say something then I snap it shut. God, I want to scream and rant and slap that stupid smug look off of his face. But he’s right. I did disregard his advice.

  The reality of my behavior settles over me and the fight bleeds out. I pick up the chair and sink back down. “You’re right.” I catch his surprised look and laugh to myself. “What? I can admit when I’m wrong.”

  Mitch Hale, stunned into silence. That’s a first.

  “So, what do we do now?” I question.

  “You’ll do whatever I say?” he asks. There’s that damn twitch in his eye again.

  I nod. “As long as it’s necessary, yes.” Mitch picks up his coffee and limps over to take the seat across from me. I hold up a finger. “And as long as you keep me informed.”

  “I have no problem with telling you what’s going on. You’re not a delicate flower that needs to be lied to,” Mitch states.

  I choke on my breakfast. Mitch watches in amusement as I struggle to swallow. Once I’m able to breathe, I poke fun. “I thought I was a spoiled brat?”

  He gives me a sexy, lopsided grin and my stomach does a backflip. “You are a spoiled brat. That doesn’t mean you’re not tough.”

  “Oh, so now I’m tough?” I joke. “Your opinions of me are giving me whiplash.”

  Mitch chuckles. “Maybe your behavior gives me whiplash.”

  I point at his knee. “With the injured knee, you really are Johnny Utah.”

  “I have no idea what that means.” He scowls, but I can tell it’s fake. We laugh together for a minute. I think I see a flicker of fondness in his eyes before it disappears. Mitch’s face suddenly becomes serious.

  “This guy isn’t an amateur, Gavin. He’s dangerous and he seems to know what he’s doing.”

  I put down my spoon and push the half-eaten food away. “Will you tell me what you’ve found so far?” My hands have nothing to do and my lucky stone is upstairs. I have to rub my fingers together to keep them occupied.

  Mitch nods. “Keep in mind this is a very basic profile. I’m still going through the evidence. The original notes and gifts weren’t kept. That means I have to interview everyone involved to gather the threats and exact wordings, or as close as can be remembered.”

  “Yeah. We didn’t think it was a big deal. Ross said they didn’t want to worry me so they didn’t even tell me about the threats until I discovered one myself. It freaked me out.”

  “The one at the recording studio, right?” Mitch clarifies.

  “Yeah.”

  “This guy, he’s…inconsistent,” Mitch explains. “Sometimes, like yesterday, he’s very basic. A note telling you to stop being a—” Mitch clears his throat. The tips of his ears turn bright pink.

  “You can say it. I’ve heard worse. And I’ve seen some of the notes.”

  “Alright. He threatens you for being gay. Which, considering very few people know this,” his gaze meets mine and I shrug. “Since we’re assuming very few people know this, it’s disturbing just from that basic fact. It points to an ex-lover, most likely.”

  “Except I’ve never had a boyfriend,” I admit. “The studio… forget it.” I wave him off, not wanting to discuss the studio giving me constant grief over my public image. “And lots of people suspect I’m gay. There are a ton of articles and discussions about it. All you have to do is Google ‘Gavin Walker gay’.”

  Mitch blushes again. My guess is he already looked me up and discovered this.

  “Well, that’s the other part. The studio, in particular, doesn’t want you to come out. Am I right?”

  I nod.

  “Is it possible this guy is taking care of a problem for them?”

  An icy tendril grips the back of my neck. “What are you saying, Mitch? That the studio is threatening me in hopes of keeping me in the closet?” The thought is sobering, and one that’s occurred to me before.

  “Maybe. But that’s where the inconsistency comes in. The anti-gay threats are one part. The other stuff is more…I guess I’d say more typical of a true psychopath.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Psychopaths don’t have empathy. They simply do whatever they want to do to get their desired result. We’re all lesser beings to them and in their minds we’re most definitely not as smart. They’re the cats and we’re just the mice to play around with until the day they get tired of the game and finish us off.”

  “That’s horrible.” I shudder at the thought of people acting like animals.

  “It’s what I did for years,” Mitch reveals.

  “How did you end up doing that? Serial killers, I mean. You have to admit it’s kind of gruesome.”

  Mitch leans back in his chair until the front legs leave the ground. He scratches his fingers through his thick morning stubble. “I received a dual degree in behavioral science and forensic science thinking I’d be a police detective. There were FBI recruiters on campus one day…” He looks at me. “I lived and went to school in D.C. Anyway, they described their career track and it sounded interesting. I joined the bureau right after graduation.”

  “Why law enforcement, then? It seems you were always drawn to it.” I don’t know why I keep asking questions. But as long as Mitch is willing to answer them, I’m not stopping. He’s fascinating. And it gives me a legitimate reason to stare at his perfect face.

  “I’m not sure, exactly. My dad worked security at the embassy in London. I learned a lot about crime from him. I was originally going to study psychology. When I got to college the psychology of criminals interested me, so I pursued it.” Something tells me this isn’t the reason for his chosen profession, but I let it go to ask something more interesting.

  “You lived in London?”

  “My mom is British. I was born in London, lived there for eight years, and had dual citizenship until I joined the bureau. They made me surrender my U.K. passport.”

  “That explains a few things.”

  “Like what?” Mitch is looking at me expectantly.

  I smirk. “Sometimes you have a slight accent. I couldn’t place it. It makes sense now, Utah.”

  “Hmph,” he grunts. “Most people don’t notice.”

  “My mom is from London, so I grew up with it. I also spent a year there after getting out of the inst—I mean after getting out of high school. That’s where I met Adam and Dax.”

  “Interesting.” Mitch slugs back the rest of his coffee, gets up, and rinses the mug in the sink. He winces as he shuffles across the kitchen. “We should get going.”

  “Going where?”


  “I told you, we can’t stay here. It’s too open, too accessible, and this guy knows where you are.”

  At least Mitch isn’t talking to me like I’m a kindergartner this time. I wash my bowl and put it on the counter to dry. “I guess I should pack.”

  “I’ll wait here.”

  “Where are we going? I have to be close enough to work. A new album is about to launch so there are tons of parties and interviews scheduled.”

  Mitch sighs. “I still have to work that part out, but you’ll be able to work.”

  Great. I guess I should just trust Mitch. After last night, I have no intention of making that mistake again.

  Mitch

  This is dumb. Right up there with the dumbest ideas I’ve ever had. If I made a list, it would be at the top. But until a better option comes up, it’s the best I can do.

  “So, uh, this is it,” I mumble as Gavin looks around my tiny kitchen.

  “It’s nice,” he observes.

  “I’ll talk to Ross later about renting a house.” I stare at the worn tile floor. Why the fuck did I bring him here?

  A warm hand wraps around my wrist. Until now, I never knew my wrist had a line directly to my dick, but apparently it does. My eyes dart up to find Gavin giving me a small smile. “It’s fine. I can prove to you that I’m not the spoiled brat you think I am.” His eyes sparkle with mischief.

  “Okay.”

  I stand there, mesmerized, as subtle changes happen to Gavin’s gorgeous face. The smile fades and he swipes his tongue out to wet his lips. His pupils enlarge and his eyes drop to my mouth. When his lids lower, I notice how long and dark his eyelashes are. Christ, he really is good-looking—like grace the cover of magazines and sell designer underwear good-looking.

  A rosy flush speads up his neck to his defined cheekbones, cutting deep red slashes across the tan skin. I try to swallow but my own tongue is too thick and too dry all of a sudden. Gavin leans in a little closer. Close enough for me to get a whiff of coconut, sending even more blood rushing to my dick.

  I swear I’d think Gavin is about to kiss me.