He stutter-stepped, nearly tripping. Did he just hear that right? Code Delta?
He knew what it meant. His security detail thought he didn’t understand their secret lingo, but he’d been through enough drills to figure most of it out by now. Alpha, Bravo, Charlie, Delta…
At least they hadn’t said Code Alpha—not that he’d be around to hear that one. Code Alpha meant he’d been killed. Delta, as he recalled, referred to a breach of the perimeter.
The stream of chatter continued in his ear. Eric’s own voice faltered, distracted by the growing urgency he heard in their clipped phrases.
“Unit 32, report to your station. Come in, Unit 32. Code Delta. Unit 32, please come in. Code Del—correction. Code Charlie. Code Beta.”
Beta? Which one was that?
“Code Beta. I repeat. Code Beta. Unit 32, do you copy? Unit 32—Shit. Eric! ERIC! ERIC, TURN AROUND!”
? ? ?
And coming up at the top of the hour: It’s normally home to the NFL’s Seattle Seahawks, but this was no defensive lineman who jumped offside last night. Scary moments at Seattle’s CenturyLink Field…
Tessa’s head swiveled at the newscaster’s words. She had her back to the TV, and she’d missed whatever image they’d broadcast to go along with their cryptic teaser. But the Seattle football stadium? It had to be the Eric Thorn concert.
The Today Show went to commercial without explaining further. Tessa dropped to her knees in front of the screen and clapped a hand over her thudding heart as she waited for the segment to continue.
She’d only switched on the TV a few moments earlier—a mindless distraction to occupy her time as she prepared for the day’s activities. She’d awoken this morning relaxed and refreshed, with a sliver of bright sunlight penetrating through a crack in the horizontal blinds, and the sight of it had filled her with an irrational sense of optimism.
She’d felt so certain that today would go without a hitch. She’d forced herself to turn in early last night, and she’d set her phone to silent mode to ensure a peaceful night’s sleep. Today was a big day. Probably the most important therapy exercise Tessa had yet attempted under Dr. Regan’s careful guidance. Today, with her mother at her side, Tessa would set foot outside the house for the first time since she moved back home.
At least, that was the plan until a few moments ago. She was supposed to be relaxed for this. She’d purposely avoided Twitter this morning, just to be on the safe side. Calm. She was supposed to be calm! Not sitting in front of the TV at 8:59 a.m. with her heart in her throat.
The show resumed, but Tessa could barely follow what the news anchors were saying—not over the sound of her own pulse rushing in her ears. At last, a blurry image splashed across the screen. A concert. A circular stage, surrounded by fans. And there was Eric. Shirtless. Standing in the center, all alone.
Tessa hastily read the caption at the bottom of the screen:
Eric Thorn attacked onstage by fan.
“Oh my God,” she breathed. “Oh no! No, no, no, no, no…”
The image began to move. A video clip but not professional quality. It had the jerky, pixelated look of a cell phone video, taken by someone in the crowd. Tessa watched in horror as a second figure appeared at the edge of the screen, running full speed in Eric’s direction.
The fan looked tall for a girl, only a few inches shorter than Eric himself, with long, brown hair that streamed behind her as she sprinted up the lighted runway. Eric stood with his back to her. He sang into his microphone, completely unaware of her presence.
There was no sound from the clip—only the drone of a female reporter’s voice in the background. “A fan from the general admission section climbed over the railing and evaded security long enough to—”
“Eric, look out!” Tessa whispered at the TV screen. “Someone stop her!”
The picture wasn’t clear enough to get a good look at the girl’s face, but Tessa could see something clutched in one of her hands. What was that? Something long and metallic, glinting beneath the concert spotlights as she came up behind Eric’s back.
“What’s that in her hand?” a TV cohost interrupted. “Is that what I think it is?”
The fan took a flying leap at Eric’s back and managed to wrap both arms around his neck. His face was out of focus—too fuzzy to make out his expression, but Tessa could see his whole body jerk backward in surprise. He dropped his microphone and side-stepped, grabbing at the girl’s wrists. The shiny object went tumbling to the ground.
“What exactly was that thing in her hand?” the host’s voice asked again. “Do we have any word on that?”
“In the official statement from Thorn’s spokespeople, they say there was no weapon. It was apparently a metallic glitter pen. The whole incident appears to be nothing more than a fan trying to get an autograph…”
The video paused for a moment and then skipped forward. Eric had broken the girl’s grip around his neck. He managed to turn to face her. He had one arm wrapped around her waist as the girl clawed wildly at his bare chest. Tessa saw him cock back his free arm and clench a fist. For a moment, it looked like he might hit her. Instead, he dipped one shoulder and grabbed the girl’s right hand, scooping her gracefully into a ballroom dance position.
“Wow.” The newscaster chuckled in admiration. “Smooth move. I can see why the ladies go for this guy.”
The image froze and then switched angles—this time to a video taken from closer range. Eric’s face appeared more clearly now: calm and serious, looking deep into the fangirl’s eyes. She’d stopped thrashing around. Eric’s lips were moving, but only a lip reader could have interpreted what he said.
“Just look what he does now,” the reporter’s voice buzzed from the TV. “This part is so adorable!”
The video zoomed out as Eric whisked the girl into motion, whirling her round and round in a fast waltz. The girl broke into a beaming smile as the pair of them made a full circuit around the circumference of the stage. Then, at last, a pair of burly men with walkie-talkies stepped into the frame, and Eric danced the girl straight into the waiting arms of his security guards.
“Such a class act. That could have turned ugly so easily.”
“A genuinely nice guy,” the cohost agreed. “You can tell he’s had his fair share of run-ins with overeager fans.”
“And he’s funny too!” the reporter added. “Look how he had the whole crowd laughing afterward.”
A new clip began to roll: Eric, alone again onstage. He held a white towel in his hands and dabbed with it at his chest. The girl must have scratched him deeply enough to draw blood. He knelt to pick up his microphone, and Tessa pressed a clammy palm over her mouth as she watched him address the crowd.