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on to recite the little statement we’d hashed out, but then he added, “When we decided
to beef up security on this tour we went for the best and Roper Protective Services is it.
As I’m sure any of you who cover the circuit would know. A very fortunate decision. It
gave Charley and me the chance to reconnect after a long time.”
Then the reporters almost stepped on each other trying to get their questions out.
“Are you engaged?”
“When’s the wedding?”
“Is that why no groupies are allowed backstage anymore? The band can’t be too
happy about that.”
More of the same, and I let Dallas field all of them with practiced ease. But then
voices began to call for comments from me. Dallas looked at me and after a moment I
nodded and moved up to the microphone.
“I’m sure you all have every detail of my history by this time,” I began, and an easy
laugh ran through the crowd. “And some of you know me because you’ve covered
clients of mine. You’ve always been respectful and I hope you’ll do the same today.”
“Are you guarding his body yourself, honey?” one reporter joked.
Dallas’ fingers dug into me and I knew he was ready to bite back, so I nudged him
to keep quiet.
“I’d say that’s the best way to do it,” I laughed. “Wouldn’t you?”
“You can come guard my body any time,” the reporter laughed back.
A murmur rose in the crowd as others added to the joke.
Sawyer insinuated himself in front of Dallas. “You might also want to know about
the new CD and the single from it that debuted at Billboard’s Number One Hot Shot.
Oh, and Take Me Home is steadily climbing the charts again. It night hit number one for
a second time.”
“Still going strong for an old man,” Dallas told them.
I was thrilled for him. Number One Hot Shot meant the song had hit the top spot
right out of the gate. That spectacular sales were expected.
They asked about the releases and the rest of the tour. New songs Dallas might be
writing. How much longer he planned to tour. Dallas fielded all the questions expertly,
standing there relaxed, his arm still around me. Sawyer Black stood on the other side of
him with his artificial smile firmly in place.
Then, as smoothly as if they’d rehearsed it hundreds of times—which actually they
had—Mike, his team and some of Matt Genaro’s men began ushering the reporters out
of the room. They did it so smoothly no one could even become offended.
Mike and Morgan positioned themselves on either side of Dallas and me and stayed
that way until we reached the dressing room. Sawyer was right behind me, ushering the
record label folks inside.
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Desiree Holt
“Come into the dressing room with me,” Dallas whispered, bending down to my
ear. “I want to introduce you to these guys.”
“Give me one minute. I need to check with Mike about something.”
Morgan disappeared into the room with Dallas and the others and I pulled Mike
back into the corridor.
“What’s up?” he asked.
“The food for the dressing room after the show. I want someone to eyeball it.
Jacquie spoke to the caterers and made sure they knew about the peanuts but I want all
food checked before it’s served.”
“What about before the show?”
“I want you to send out whoever you trust the most to get dinner for Dallas and the
rest of us. You know he doesn’t eat much before a performance. The other night he had
a club sandwich. His favorite. That’ll do again. And have someone watch when the
caterer gets here and unloads the trays for afterward.”
Mike raised an eyebrow. “Still keeping an eye out for peanuts?”
I nodded. “Until the tour is over or the killer’s caught. Whichever comes first. All
the other attempts have failed so he—or she—is going to have to get creative. Someone
close to Dallas is doing this and they’d know about his allergy. If it’s not Randy we’re
flying blind.” I filled him in on everything I’d learned so far. “Share this with Chase but
no one else, okay?”
“Fine. I’ll take care of it. But let us know the minute you hear any more from Rick.”
“And don’t forget the little cooler with his juice.”
Then I stepped into the dressing room to meet the crowd.
“There she is.” Dallas moved forward and reached for my hand again. “Charley,
these are the folks from Azimuth Records. We’ve been together a very long time.”
One of the men stepped forward and shook my hand. “David Olsen, vice president
of marketing.” He introduced the others.
“We’ve had a good relationship since I negotiated that first contract.” Sawyer,
insinuating himself into the mix.
That would have been okay with me under normal circumstances. And Dallas had
agreed to let him handle this part of the tour for the remaining dates. But Dallas didn’t
know what I’d just learned about the man. It took every bit of self-control to maintain a
pleasant exterior.
I was doing the polite thing with one of the Azimuth men when my BlackBerry
signaled an incoming call. Rick. Oh god. I excused myself and stepped out into the
corridor again.
“Tell me you have something,” I said urgently.
“I’m here with Lynette,” he said. “We’re putting you on speakerphone.”
“Okay. Let’s have it.”
182
Downstroke
“Charley…”
My stomach cramped. Rick was using the tone of voice he always used to deliver
very bad news. A client was dirty. Someone had punched out the wrong person.
Whatever.
“Just tell me what it is,” I said, hearing how weary I sounded.
“I wanted to wait until everything was in motion so here it is. Straight out. We’re
pretty sure the Dallas Creed merchandise is the conduit being used to smuggle the
drugs from Bolivia into the States, and distributed from there.”
“Even the CDs?” I asked, astonished. “I thought they’d go right to the stores for
distribution.”
“We’re just talking about the stuff for the concerts,” Lynette explained.
I didn’t want to believe what I was hearing. “But I’ve had someone check every
shipment when it arrives at the arena, just to cover all bases. We never turned up a
thing. How did you find out all this?”
“A good snitch is worth his weight in gold,” Lynette broke in. “Lane Hallowell has
a source who confirmed that Sawyer Black makes the arrangements with Angel de la
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