Overture (North Security, #1)

I come to him from behind. As far as I can tell, I haven’t made a sound, but he can sense my presence.

“Congratulations,” he says without turning.

“Thank you,” I say, feeling cautious. There’s a strange energy in the room, a kind of electric current, as if a thousand bolts of lightning spread out in infinite fractals, Liam at the center of the storm.

He reaches toward the globe. The blunt of his finger brushes Tanglewood, which is only a few hours from where we’re standing. And the place where the tour will begin. “In a few months you’ll be here. Practicing with Harry March. Performing in front of thousands of people.”

My throat clenches around anxiety—and around grief. I’ll start my life in Tanglewood, but before that I’ll have to say goodbye to the one I have now. No matter where I go in the world, Liam will be here running North Security.

“Will you miss me?” I venture to ask.

He moves his finger up to New York City, where we’ll play Carnegie Hall, one of the most prestigious venues for classical music. Rumor is that a pedestrian on Fifty-seventh Street, Manhattan, stopped the violinist and composer Heifetz and inquired, Could you tell me how to get to Carnegie Hall?

Yes, said Heifetz. Practice!

The story has become part of the lore around Carnegie Hall—and around classical music itself. All that practice must have paid off, because I’m heading there. It will be the culmination of a dream.

And the end of a childhood marked by loneliness and tenuous hope.

Hope that came from Liam North.

“Miss you?” he says, almost tasting the words, as if they’re foreign to him. Maybe for a man like him they are foreign, the whole idea of needing someone else. Of longing for them. He’s so strong. So self-contained. Is that something I’ll find as I get older? Or is it unique to him, forever out of my reach?

His hand falls away, and I replace it with mine, touching New York City and then Boston and then Chicago. Vancouver and then Seattle. Los Angeles. That will be the last stop on the US tour.

I lift my finger so it hovers over the globe, the metal landscape apart from me.

Liam spins the globe lightly, until I’m holding my finger over Tokyo. The first stop on the Asia tour. Then there will be the European tour. And South America.

A major record label put together the tour. They’re going to record the first concert, the one in Tanglewood, and release it as an album titled Concerto. Its release will be staggered across the globe to coincide with our tour.

“I won’t miss you,” he says, his tone soft and final.

My breath catches. Don’t cry, I order myself. I swallow down the lump in my throat. Is there something wrong with me? Am I inherently unlovable? “I’ll miss you,” I say, not caring if it makes me weak.

“I can’t miss you,” he says, placing his hand over mine, moving our fingers back to the hill country of Texas, where Kingston nestles among the land and the lakes. “I wouldn’t survive it.”

“I’ll come back,” I promise, breathless. “After the tour. I’ll visit—”

“Do you want to kill me, Samantha?”

I break off, uncertain whether he wants me to leave or stay here forever. Not knowing whether he hates me or loves me. “I want to please you.”

“Then go away from here. Leave and don’t come back.”





CHAPTER NINETEEN





The most expensive opera costume of all time was worn by Adelina Patti at Covent Garden in 1895. It was worth ￡15 million.


SAMANTHA

A row of shops along South Congress carry only the unique and eclectic and antique. There’s a flower shop with a sofa and chair and coffee table molded from the ground and then grown over with super soft grass. An old record shop with cats that sleep in the dusty trays, shooting a dirty look if you try to shift the vinyl around them.

A whimsical toy shop that sells an action figure of Jane Austen.

Our goal is a large vintage clothing shop that takes up three stories. It’s the kind of place where you have to look through a hundred racks of clothing to find one thing to buy. The smell of mothballs and incense fills the air. I didn’t really feel like shopping, but poor Laney needs the distraction. Her mother has been gone a long time, and even for the daughter of a mercenary, someone used to absences, she must be getting nervous.

And maybe I’ll find something special to wear on the tour.

Laney holds up a bright purple dress with puffy sleeves that could only have come from the eighties. “What do you think? It would be like that girl from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, except instead of a giant blueberry I could be a giant grape.”

“Knowing you, you’d probably bring the style back.”

She shudders in mock agreement and shoves the dress back onto the rack. “You’re probably right.” After a short pause of moving hangers, she sighs. “I wish I could actually see the clothes that are right in front of me, but my mind keeps wandering. Next thing I know I’m looking at a lace cocktail dress in army green.”

“Oh, that sounds nice actually,” I say, peering around the thick rack of clothes. She swats me away, determined as ever to make me wear something that will actually attract attention instead of hide me. “Did you talk to Liam about it?”

“Yes,” she says glumly. “He says they’re safe and sound in Germany, resting before they come back. That’s what he said—resting. Like what, are they taking a nap or something?”

“I’m sure they have a good reason,” I say, keeping my voice free of the worry twisting my stomach. I’m not sure how she’s managed to stay as calm and cool, but then again, she’s had plenty of practice.

“Of course they have a good reason,” she says. “Like the fact that they’re not safe and sound. How do we feel about plaid? I mean in a short skirt—obviously yes. But what about this beret?”

I give her a dubious look. “Where would you wear a beret?”

“In Paris, when I have a torrid love affair with a moody musician. Oh by the way, I’m going to need you to introduce me to some moody musicians.”

“Okay, well, first I’ll have to meet some myself.”

“You’ll meet plenty on the tour. Starting with Harry March.”

I make a face. “He’s probably not even going to talk to me. I’ll be like the stagehand, except less important, because I won’t know where his microphone is.”

“Whatever. You’re going to wear something fabulous and you’re going to play that way you do where everyone starts crying, and then he’s going to fall madly in love with you.”

“Speaking of madly in love, how is Cody?”

“Why would that be speaking of madly in love?”

Because he’s been in love with Laney since they were children. “No reason.”

She sighs. “He’s glad that Coach Price is gone, obviously. But he didn’t exactly bounce back from the experience. The school counselor tried to talk to him, but he shut her down.”

“I’m sorry,” I say, squeezing her hand. “He’ll work through it in his own time.”

“But my timeline is so much faster,” she says, plaintive.

My hands pause in their path through the clothes. I pull out the black dress, a flush warming me. The fabric hangs awkwardly on the hanger, but there’s something about it…

I wander over to one of the standing mirrors and hold the gown against me. It’s an asymmetrical line, sloping down across my body. Ruffles of black silk line the top. It’s simple and dramatic all at once, and the way it’s cut will emphasize the violin I’ll hold. It falls to the floor, approximating the more formal gown that a classical musician would wear, but with a high slit, befitting a popular music stage.

“Perfect,” Laney breathes. “You have to get it.”

“For the tour, right?”

“Well, sure, but you should wear it where Liam can see you. Maybe tomorrow.”