Echo: A Linear Tactical Romantic Suspense Standalone Read online

  He would survive. Somehow. But there was no way in hell he was going to pressure her.

  “What if that’s not all I want to do tonight?”

  Then he would get on his knees and thank his lucky stars. “Then I’d say to put your arms around my shoulders and hold on tight.”

  She immediately did just that and he couldn’t stop his smile. Thunder crashed overhead. He stood up, her slight weight barely registering as she locked her legs around his waist, and he walked them towards the door. “How about we make our own storm that lasts all night?”

  He growled, hands tightening on her hips as she reached over and nibbled on his earlobe then whispered, “There’s nothing I could want more.”

  Three months later, Peyton sat on the hood of her car and forced herself to watch the small commuter plane take off from the Sublette County airfield.

  The plane she should’ve been on to take her to Denver, then on to London.

  She had a letter in one hand and a check for an obscene amount of money in the other.

  They each broke her heart equally.

  Every bit as much as watching that plane leave without her.

  When the tiny aircraft was finally well beyond anyone’s sight on the ground, she got back into her car. She didn’t want to be any later for her Gas and Go shift than she already was.

  The new Cade Conner song came on the radio.

  Peyton reached over and turned it off.

  Chapter 4

  Present

  Cade stared at himself in the hallway mirror.

  Bloodshot eyes. Three days’ worth of beard. A disheveled mop of hair that badly needed cutting. Every part of his body hurt like hell. He hardly recognized the haggard face looking back at him.

  His stomach took that moment to growl loudly enough to actually startle him.

  Everett Templeton handed him a cup of coffee and a plate with a sandwich on it. He’d been one of the first people Cade had met on the Nashville scene five years ago when his debut song released. Over the years, Everett had become Cade’s writing partner, opening act, and close friend.

  “You’re a god among men, Ev.” Cade took a sip of the brew, ignoring the fact that it was almost too hot to tolerate.

  Everett shook his head. “You look like you’re coming off a bender.”

  “Apt enough, I guess.” Although this bender hadn’t involved alcohol. Cade scrubbed a hand through his hair and glanced at the mirror again before quickly looking away.

  “Get what you needed?”

  Cade sat on the couch and took a bite of his sandwich. “Four solid songs. Good ones.”

  God knew it had been a while since that had happened.

  A couple of years.

  Everett sat in the overstuffed chair across from the couch and put his feet up on the coffee table. What would Aunt Cecelia say if she could see boots on the antique mahogany table?

  Thankfully, she wasn’t here. She was back in Oak Creek.

  “Songs are good,” Everett said. “But what about you, C? Did you get what you needed? Forget the music.”

  Cade put the sandwich down, his appetite gone. “Does it matter if I got what I needed? Doug ended up in the hospital.”

  He’d gotten hit in the head when a small lighting rig collapsed as he was walking backstage at a potential tour site.

  “That very well could’ve been an accident.”

  “Maybe. But we both know it should’ve been me back there and Doug out front.” If it hadn’t been for a last-minute phone call from the label, that’s how it would’ve happened—the rig would’ve collapsed on Cade.

  Both of them looked up as Mark Outlawson, Cade’s head of security, walked into the room.

  “Mark, tell Cade the lighting rig situation with Doug was an accident. That would make my life so much easier.”

  Mark shrugged one of his linebacker-sized shoulders. “It’s possible.”

  “But not likely.” Cade ran a hand over his face. He definitely needed a shave.

  “I looked over the rigging myself. It’s possible it was an accident. But given the incidents we’ve been dealing with and the fact that you should’ve been the one who got hurt, I would say this looks like an escalation.”

  Incidents like a broken window at Cade’s house, graffiti on the front gate, the shrubbery and trees along his property being poisoned and dying.

  All had seemed like random or accidental acts. But Mark was looking deep—especially now that someone had gotten hurt.

  The quiet, burly man had been with Cade for six months as head of his personal security. Cade had always needed security during big concerts and tours, but he’d sure as hell never thought he’d need security during his downtime. Mark had come highly recommended from the people he trusted most: his friends at Linear Tactical.

  Cade rubbed his eyes. “So you think all this stuff is some sort of threat?”

  The big man leaned up against the wall. “Absolutely a threat. To what degree, I’m not sure. Except for what happened to Doug, which honestly could have been unintentional, it doesn’t look like the perp actually means harm.”

  Everett leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Are we talking some sort of stalker here?”

  Mark shrugged. “There haven’t been any letters or any identifying patterns, so if it is a stalker, it’s not one who’s seeking attention. We’re not to the point where I would suggest getting law enforcement involved, but we could bring on some extra security guys if you want.”

  Cade leaned back onto the couch and forced himself to grab the sandwich and take a bite. “I really don’t want. I like having as few people living in my personal space as possible.”

  Mark nodded. “I don’t think added security is necessary. Right now, we’re probably dealing with a run-of-the-mill disturbed person. Or hell, it could be a couple of teenagers just trying to make trouble for one of the local celebrities. But all that can change, so we need to keep our guards up.”

  Cade took another bite of his sandwich. “Roger that.”

  “You’re sure we don’t need more security?” Everett asked.

  “Cade’s a lot better than most of my clients. He’s aware of what’s going on around him and doesn’t have his head up his ass like a lot of singers do.”

  Everett chuckled. Cade just took another bite of the sandwich. He wasn’t offended. Being told by a former Navy SEAL that he didn’t have his head up his ass was high praise indeed.

  “I learned survival skills and situational awareness from some of the best in the business. I don’t spend all my time strumming a guitar.”

  Mark nodded. “The Linear guys are definitely the best when it comes to those types of skills.”

  “Those are your Oak Creek people, right?” Everett asked.

  “Yeah. My family.”

  Although the one he’d wanted most to be close to wasn’t there. She’d taken off to London nearly five years ago and had completely ghosted him.

  That still stung. After that night at the lake house with her, he’d been all but ready to propose. He’d forced himself to leave while Peyton was still sleeping so that he wouldn’t do something stupid like ask her to go to a film school in the US.

  Or pull up roots himself and try to build his career in London.

  He’d left her a note with damn near every telephone number he had. His email address. All his social media handles.

  And he’d never heard one fucking word from her.

  He would’ve thought he’d learned his lesson, but even now he still scoured through independent film trade magazines and websites—anything coming out of London—to look for her name.

  Damn it, if she was going to throw away what they could’ve had, he wanted it to be because her passion for film had overwhelmed her.

  Because anything else was unbearable to think about. Hell, it was all unbearable to think about.

  “If it’s okay, I’d like to dig a little deeper into everyone who’s on your payroll.” Mark’s words dragged Cade out of the foggy Peyton past. “Whoever’s doing this, even if we’re dealing more with mischief and less with hostile intent, has a little bit too much access to you. Granted, you’re not exactly stealthy about your schedule and activities, but I’d like to poke around a little bit.”

  Cade nodded. His inner circle was pretty small. Trusted friends like Everett, Mark, Mrs. Hollister, his housekeeper, and Lance, his record company liaison/personal assistant. Cade could vouch for all of them, and wouldn’t hesitate to do so, but the other dozens of people he employed on a full- or part-time basis? Some of them Cade wouldn’t recognize if he met them on the street.

  Everett let out a sigh. “Why couldn’t you get yourself a nice, average twenty-year-old college girl stalker who mailed you her panties every week? I heard that’s what happened to Lowell Thaxton.”

  “I have it on good authority that Thaxton is in big trouble with his girlfriend about those panties!” Lance’s voice called out from the kitchen.

  “I’d still take that over dead plants and head injuries,” Cade shot back.

  “Don’t blame you!” Lance was generally excited about everything. “You know the label will pay for extra security if you don’t want to pay for it.”

  It wasn’t a matter of who would pay for it. Cade had more money than he was ever going to spend in this lifetime. “We’ll deal with that if we get to that point.”

  Mark nodded. “Hopefully, it’s not going to come to that.”

  “Do you think this is some sort of weird attempt to get us to call off or postpone the tour?” Everett asked.

  It was a reasonable question, and it affected Everett too. Not only was Everett Cade’s occasional writing partner, he would also be the co-act for the untraditional tour they were conceptualizing for next spring and summer. Everett was putting it all together. He was the details man. Everyone called him that.

  Smaller venues. More intimate shows. Like what Cade used to play when he was first starting out. Cade missed that. Missed the music. The intimacy.

  Cade shook his head. “No. I won’t be dictated to. I’m not going to be scared off the tour.”

  Mark pushed off from the wall. “I agree, if only on sheer principle. We’ve got a few months. I’ll make sure the security for the tour is sound. Meanwhile, I’m going to start my search.”

  With a brisk nod, Mark was gone.

  “That dude is scary focused,” Everett said.

  Cade finished off the sandwich. “Scary focused is what you want as long as he’s on our side.”

  Everett grinned. “True that.”

  “I need to shower. And a break from inside my head. Then maybe we can go over those songs I scratched out while I was in the writing cave.”

  The angst over Doug’s accident had been good fodder for writing. Angst always was.

  Everett stood up. “Deal. Also, you got an email from someone in Oak Creek. Lance and I went through your email, trying to keep you unburied when you resurfaced.”

  For just a second, Cade’s heart leapt at the thought of an email from Oak Creek. He immediately tamped that down. If Peyton was going to contact him, she would’ve done it long before now. And if she did, it wouldn’t be from Oak Creek.

  “Baby?” He and Baby Bollinger still kept in touch regularly, although Baby tended to call.

  “No, one of your Linear Tactical people. Something about a company picnic this weekend. They wanted to make sure you knew you were invited.”

  Cade nodded and headed toward the shower as Everett turned to the kitchen.

  Maybe he should go to the picnic. Get away from all of this for awhile. He loved Nashville, the literal hustle of the city. Everyone here had a plan: one day, one month, five year. It had an energy and desperation that he hadn’t experienced anywhere else except maybe Los Angeles. Cade’s creative energy had thrived on it at first.

  But now…except for the past couple of days, where anger and fear had fueled his writing process, his creative energy hadn’t been much of anything lately.

  He turned on the hot water in his walk-in shower and peeled off the clothes he’d been wearing for the past seventy-two hours straight. He stepped in, not even attempting to hold back his moan as the water cascaded down on him.

  He needed a change. Maybe long term. He couldn’t always wait for something bad to happen in order to spark his creative instincts.

  Maybe being outside in the crisp Wyoming air, around people he’d known his whole life, would give him the refresher he needed. And it wasn’t like he’d have to worry about a stalker there—his best friends were some of the most highly trained former soldiers in the world.

  For five years, he’d only gone back to Oak Creek on rare occasions. He’d tried to tell himself it was because his career had taken off and he needed to be close to where the action was.

  But he couldn’t lie to himself. Part of the reason he hadn’t spent much time there was because the memories of Peyton still haunted him.

  She’d left him behind without a word and taken his heart with her.

  But it was beyond time to face that. The Linear picnic would give him as good an excuse as any to go.

  It would be good to be around people without an agenda. People whose handshakes were nothing more than a friendly gesture, not the start of a proposition.

  Cade needed time. Needed wide-open spaces. Needed friends.

  Cade needed to go home.

  Chapter 5

  Peyton shot out the back door of Fancy Pants bakery and dashed for her car.

  Mother fracker. Son of a biscuit.

  She was going to be late again.

  Even worse, she was using her there’s-a-four-year-old-with-big-ears-and-a-bigger-mouth-living-with-me language even inside her own head.

  But shit. She was going to be late and have to listen to another lecture from Cecelia O’Conner on the importance of punctuality and diligence in one’s work.

  As if it made such a huge difference whether Peyton cleaned the O’Conner house bathrooms at 3:30 or 3:37.

  And all because she’d gotten caught up in capturing her friends Violet and Jordan developing a new recipe in the bakery’s kitchen. The two had been having such a good time trying different flavors and textures in the pastry even though Jordan owned her own technology company now and no longer worked at Fancy Pants. Peyton hadn’t been able to stop herself from grabbing her phone, regardless of it being an older smartphone model she’d bought used, and recorded as many clips as she could. She’d cut them together later for a mini-documentary.

  Sigh.

  Peyton refused to focus on that jagged little wound in her heart that never quite healed.

  The what-ifs. The what-could-have-beens.

  She had a house to clean. Job number three.

  Peyton would’ve told Cecelia where she could stick her job and her lectures—would’ve stayed far, far away from anything having to do with the O’Conner family—but the pay was fantastic.

  She was almost to the point where she was out from under her debt and able to make the exorbitant payments for Jess’s school each month without having to buy the reduced-price meat at the supermarket.

  Multiple part-time jobs: janitor for Linear Tactical, shop help at Fancy Pants, and housecleaner for the O’Conner family, as well as occasional waitress at the local bar, kept Peyton pretty busy. Plus, her most important and full-time job: mom to the best kid on the planet.

  She loved that job but needed the other three pretty badly. Including cleaning the O’Conner mansion.

  Peyton had history with the O’Conner family, including the nondisclosure agreement she’d signed five years ago involving Cecelia’s nephew. If it was weird that Cecelia had hired her now, Peyton had decided not to look the gift horse too hard in the mouth.

  Maybe Cecelia didn’t know who she was. God knew, she and the older woman didn’t tend to run in the same circles.

  It was only by sheer happenstance that they’d even come face to face when Cecelia had picked up an order from Fancy Pants. Peyton had been working, Jess coloring at one of the nearby tables.

  For a few minutes, Peyton hadn’t even realized who Cecelia was, and once she had, she’d forced herself not to panic and do what she wanted to.

  Take her daughter and run away as quickly as possible.

  But she needn’t have worried. Cecelia hadn’t recognized Peyton either.

  Peyton didn’t know if that made it better or worse.

  She only knew Cecelia had seen her cleaning service advertisement and offered her a job cleaning that giant house of hers a couple of weeks later. Offered too much for Peyton to dismiss it out of hand.

  The money from working relatively few hours a week was paying for Brearley Academy, Jess’s private school—one of the most sought-after and rigorous programs in the country. Peyton had been amazed when Jess had received an invitation to apply, even more so when she’d been accepted.

  Of course, Jess was basically a four-year-old genius, so Peyton shouldn’t have been surprised.

  She pulled up to the O’Conner estate, a few miles out of Oak Creek proper, and used her security code—which only worked on certain days at certain times—to let herself in, dragging her cleaning supplies with her.

  No sign of Cecelia. That was good. Get in, get out, move on.

  Peyton hoisted her bag of supplies over one shoulder and made her way upstairs into one of the many bedrooms. There were six bedrooms, and seven baths, but since Cecelia lived in the house alone, there was mostly only basic cleaning to be done each week. That still took several hours.

  And she still spent almost all of that time specifically not thinking about the fact that Cade had grown up in this house.

  Not thinking about Cade at all. Which was what she should be doing right now.

  She turned to the work at hand, digging out her dust cloth and furniture polish and wiping down the formal, expensive furniture, shelves and molding. Peyton could never live here. Jess would destroy the place in minutes with just her grubby fingerprints.