Page 27 of Knox
She cut through the shadowed path of the stock barn, and it came to her that if Tate were trouble, she’d just led him down the perfect path to assault her. Her hand closed around her phone.
But he walked with his hands in his pockets, as if he might be aware of her tension. “Where are we going?”
“The tour bus. And…thanks.”
He glanced at her, raised an eyebrow. “For what?”
“Coming with me. It was a…” She swallowed. “A little tense back there.” She looked away but felt his gaze on her. “We’re all pretty shaken up.”
“You don’t seem shaken up.”
She lifted a shoulder. “Years of training.”
“What, are you with the CIA?”
She tucked a smile away. “Close. My mother is a senator. Years of bodyguards and press prowling around our house.”
“Ah, that’s where the claws came from.”
“Ouch.”
“Sorry. But I might need medical attention.”
She glanced at him—oh, bad idea. The shadows and moonlight turned the planes of his body into a work of art. But he shot her a grin.
She swallowed, looked away. “Sorry. I was just…”
“Why does your friend need protecting?”
She shook her head. “It’s not my story to tell. We just need to figure out what’s going on. If someone is trying to hurt us.”
“Why do you think it’s about you? Could be a political statement, or even someone angry at NBR-X.”
“Probably, but…” She took a breath. “Okay, listen. If you are a reporter and you betray me, I will personally find you and kill you in your sleep.”
He blinked at her, his mouth opening. “Really?”
“I’m kidding.” She shook her head. “I just—”
“You can trust me, Glo.”
And it was his low tone that found her bones, as if a warm hand curled around her. Hmm.
“Okay, so, Kelsey has a reason to think someone might want to hurt her. A history. And maybe that’s just paranoia talking—probably it is, but if I were Kelsey, that’s the first thing I’d be thinking. And that’s why maybe having someone around who could give her a sense that she isn’t on her own might keep her from…”
She paused.
“From…?”
They came out of the path and headed toward the RV park. Their tour bus wasn’t fancy—an old 1992 remodeled Greyhound that now hosted six bunks in the back, a tiny kitchen, a couple sofas, a television, and a storage area for their equipment. They’d pooled their cash and bought it for $40K.
Her mother hated it. Which was yet another selling point.
“Kelsey has the occasional, um, panic attack.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“She’s amazing onstage. Turns into this confident, breathtaking performer—I’m sure she’s the reason we’re still getting gigs. But offstage, crowds freak her out, and she’s been known to—”