Spellbinder (Moonshadow #2)

How was she supposed to respond to Vincent’s question? You know nothing, her mother would have said. So don’t complain. Say nothing.

Before she could overthink her impulse, she forced herself to confess, “I think I’ve got another stalker.”

His gaze snapped to her face. “Why?” he asked. “You get any mail? See anything?”

“No. And no, or Julie would have told us.” Julie, Sid’s publicist back in New York and her best friend, handled all her email and mail.

“Then what happened?”

Giving up on the morning jog, she sighed, turned, and started walking back to the hotel. Smoothly, the men changed direction and kept pace with her. “You’re going to call me neurotic or crazy, but nothing has happened. I just feel it in my gut. I can sense eyes watching me, when nobody should be watching. I’m not talking about the concerts—everybody’s watching me at the concerts.” She groaned. Maybe she should have listened to her mother’s voice in her head. “I sound crazy even to myself. Forget it.”

“No way,” Tony said, taking a step closer as he flanked her side. “We take instinct seriously.”

“How long have you felt this way?” Vincent asked.

She glanced from one man to the other. It rattled her that she had voiced her concern and they were treating it like a real threat.

She had to think back. Had she sensed anything while they were in Glasgow? She couldn’t remember. Hesitantly, she replied, “Since we got to London, I think.”

“Okay.” Vincent paused, thinking. “Tonight’s your last performance in the UK. Instead of leaving for Paris in the morning, why don’t we leave after the concert? We can slip away from the arena when you’re done and let the rest of the band drive to Paris tomorrow as planned. Maybe this one is geographically focused, and we’ll shake him off when we get to France.”

She frowned. She tried not to travel separately from her band. It was hard enough for her to build a rapport, and traveling separately could create distance between them and cause unnecessary tension, but she couldn’t see how it would hurt this once.

“Sure,” she said. “Let’s do it.”

“I’ll see if I can get us flights. Better yet, maybe I can charter a plane. Tony will slip your bags out of the hotel this afternoon.” Vincent smiled at her. “It’s going to be okay.”

Sidonie smiled back, feeling a brief twinge at the wedding ring he wore. If Vince hadn’t been married, she would have been interested in him, but his wife, Terri, ran the security agency and was the nicest, most genuine person, just as he was. They were the real deal too, happily married and utterly devoted to each other.

“Thanks, Vince,” she said.

“You bet.” He gave her an easy smile. “I’m glad you said something.”

She hesitated. “You haven’t noticed anything, have you?”

“No, but as Tony said, we take instinct seriously, and you’re not emotionally needy. You’re not trying to draw attention to yourself. We’ve worked together for quite a while, and this is the first time you’ve ever said anything like this to me.”

“Okay, good.” Having gotten that off her chest, she picked up the pace again, and they finished the rest of the route back to the hotel at an easy jog. She might not get a full three-mile run that morning, but at least she did feel better.

Successful concert tours took hard work, determination, and stamina, and they were only a third of the way through this one. That was just long enough for her to start questioning her life choices.

Still, after finishing in the UK, the rhythm would break for a short time. They had a few days’ rest planned in Paris, then the requisite three rehearsals in the new venue before starting the next round of performances. She couldn’t wait to get the next leg in the journey behind her and arrive in Paris so she could relish those few days off.

After Tony and Vincent left her at the door of her suite, she had lunch delivered, ate, and packed. Then she called Julie while she lay facedown on the bed. When Julie picked up, Sid asked, “What are you doing?”

“I just ate a big breakfast of bacon and waffles with whipped cream and strawberries,” Julie told her. “I’ve got this huge pile of work I need to do, but I can’t move. I needed someone to wheelbarrow me into the office.”

“I want bacon and waffles with whipped cream and strawberries.” Sid sighed. “Or a giant bowl of pho.”

“So order takeout,” Julie told her unsympathetically. “You’ve got two huge strapping guys at your beck and call. Make one of them run out and get you some pho.”

“I can’t,” she groaned. “I’m performing tonight. If I get too full, I won’t have any energy onstage.”

She could hear a smile in Julie’s voice. “I bet you ate your oatmeal like a good girl this morning, didn’t you?”

“Of course I did. I’m telling you, I have to eat exactly the same thing every morning,” Sid told her. “It drives me crazy.”

“One of these days I’m going to come join you,” Julie warned. “I’ll drag you out to breakfast, and make you eat something shocking, like scrambled eggs.”

“Yes!” Sid exclaimed. “Break me out of this nonsense… as long as I can eat oatmeal.”

“You’re hopeless! Listen, I’ve got to go. I need to, I don’t know, make calls and answer emails or sleep off this breakfast coma.”

“Okay.” Sid flopped over to stare at the ceiling. “You could always fly out to Paris for a day or two. We’ve got that short break coming up.”

Julie’s voice warmed. “That’s a great idea! I’ll check flights. It would be so much fun to hassle you into trying a different breakfast in person. Listen, I know you don’t like to read reviews, so I want to tell you—you’re doing good, kiddo. Really, really good. I’m reading all of them, and there’s nothing but rave reviews. They’re loving this new album.”

Pleasure felt light and warm, like sunshine on her skin. She smiled. “Thanks.”

Shortly after she hung up, Vince texted to let her know he had chartered a plane that would be waiting for them after the concert. They would travel by car to a small, business-oriented airport called London Biggin Hill.

She chewed her lip as she read the text. The only airports she knew in the greater London area were Gatwick and Heathrow, but she was well acquainted with using smaller airports that ran private charters. The arrangement wasn’t unusual, just more expensive, but Vincent wouldn’t have booked it if there had been any commercial flights available.

She sent a reply approving the plan, and then she took a few minutes to text her band to tell them she would be going ahead to take care of a few business matters, and she would see them in Paris. The texts they sent back were easygoing and untroubled, and she smiled as she read them. The group she had gathered for this tour was a solid one.