Going Deep (Alpha Ops #5)
Anne Calhoun
For Jeffe Kennedy. Thanks for the brainstorming session. Sorry about the lemon drop martini!
For Robin Rotham, who read the early draft and knew exactly how to fix it.
And for Eileen Rothschild, who polished out the rough spots.
As always, for Mark.
CHAPTER ONE
It was good to be home.
Cady Ward stood under the spotlight, the crowd’s manic, vibrant energy rolling at her in waves, all but lifting her off her feet with the surging roar and applause. She smiled, lifted a hand in acknowledgment. The clapping and whistles tick up again. Sweat trickled down her ribs and spine. Her silk tank top clung to her skin as she shifted her guitar to her back, put her hands together, and bowed her appreciation to the crowd. Some of them were still singing the refrain to “Love-Crossed Stars,” her biggest hit, the final song of her encore set.
“Thank you,” she murmured, not sure if the sound engineer had cut her mic feed or not. Though they echoed back into her earpiece, the spoken words were lost in the din inside Lancaster’s Field Energy Center.
Hometown crowds were always generous. By this time in the show, after two encores and several minutes of applause, people started to trickle out, maybe making one last stop at the merchandise table for a T-shirt or a magnet or a CD. But these folks showed no signs of dispersing. Just as reluctant to leave the high behind, Cady bent over and made her way along the edge of the stage, high-fiving and clasping hands with the people in the front rows. Her Nana’s bracelet, a cherished keepsake she always wore when she performed, nearly clonked a girl on the forehead as Cady swept by. “We love you, Maud!” she cried out, borderline hysterical as she waved her homemade poster.
Maud was Cady’s stage name, borrowed from her grandmother back when she needed a persona to work up the courage to put her voice out there, back when all she wanted was to be Beyoncé, Sia, Adele, a one-name wonder with multiple hits, Grammys, platinum albums. But after eight months of touring as Maud, she was back in her hometown, able to spend a few weeks being herself. Ordinary Cady Ward.
“I love you too!” she called back, vaguely aware that lurking behind the adrenaline rush of performing was the knowledge that tomorrow she’d feel like someone had taken a stick to her legs and back. Out of the corner of her eye she saw her manager, Chris Wellendorf, standing in the wings, tight shoulders and unsmiling face telegraphing his nervous tension. He didn’t like it when she got too close to the fans without security personnel at hand. All it took was one crazy person to break a finger or stab her with something, one interaction gone wrong to spread all over social media.
She straightened and stepped back, automatically adjusting both bracelet and guitar, then held up her hands. “Thanks for coming, everyone. Happy holidays. Drive safely, and good night!”
The wave of applause carried her offstage, and continued until the lighting engineer cut the stage lights and turned up the house lights. Breathing hard, Cady washed up against the wall. Around her, the band was efficiently packing away their instruments. Next, the road crew would take down the set, then the stage. By the end of the night, the auditorium would be empty, waiting silently for the next event. Given the time of year—early December—probably a Lancaster College basketball game.
“I can’t sing it again.” She turned to look at Chris. “I can’t. If I have to sing ‘Love-Crossed Stars’ one more time, I will go out of my mind.”
“That’s the end of the tour talking. ‘Love-Crossed Stars’ will be your cash cow for the rest of your life. Besides, you think Paul Simon doesn’t roll out ‘Sounds of Silence’ or ‘Graceland’ or ‘Mrs. Robinson’ at every show?”
“Paul Simon has dozens of songs he can use for a final encore,” Cady said. “Dozens. All of them brilliant. All of them telling profound stories about the human condition. Are any of them love songs? No.”
“Paul Simon is Paul Simon, with fifty years of singing and songwriting behind him. You are just starting out. Be happy. It was a good show,” Chris said.
“You always say that,” Cady replied, looking around for her water bottle.