Even on that thought, I answered. I couldn’t help myself and, again, didn’t try.

“My life was black. My Dad didn’t love me. My Mom used me as a shield against his abuse. I didn’t have any brothers or sisters and I didn’t share anything with friends. I was too young, I didn’t know how. I needed to turn black, my life, into something beautiful or good or cool. Those songs are al good, some of them beautiful, some of them just cool.” I felt a change in his body which translated into a change in the air. It made no sense to me except that I felt different somehow, warmer.

“Does that make sense?” I whispered, for some reason wanting to make certain he understood.

He didn’t answer.

I tried again, I didn’t know why, but I did.

“In Pearl Jam’s “Black”, Eddie Vedder sings…” Then I sang the five most important verses of perhaps the greatest rock bal ad in history then I whispered, “Wel …” I hesitated then in a low, soft whisper, “That’s me.” He moved, disconnected from me but stayed close and somehow, got closer.

“You aren’t black.”

“My world is.”

He was silent for a beat then he asked, “You ever see any light?”

When I was with you, my brain answered.

“When I met Floyd,” I said. “When The Gypsies came together.”

“Me?” He went direct to the point I was hiding from him.

“You,” I replied honestly.

“Now?”

“We’re black,” I replied dishonestly, we were as black as the sun and this conversation proved it.

“You real y believe that?”

“Yes,” I lied.

“You want me to go?”

“Yes,” I lied again and it was hard. My heart was beating and my breath was packing up, enjoying its travels, it was ready to explore Texas.

“You’re under my skin,” he shared.

There it went, my breath, sitting in first class drinking champagne, straight flight to Texas.

Kai Mason was not a sharing type of guy.

Kai Mason had never shared anything with me, except his presence, his body and his ability to post bond for Pong on occasion.

Who was this guy?

No, no, I didn’t want to know. I didn’t even care.

“Eventual y I’l work my way out,” I assured him but I didn’t ever want that to happen. I knew it. I just wasn’t going to admit it, especial y not to him.

“I like you there.”

Oh lordy be.

“Mace.”

“I’m keepin’ you there.”

“I don’t want to be there.”

“You wanna be there.”

“I don’t.”

“You’re lyin’ to yourself and you’re lyin’ to me.”

“I’m not.”

He kissed the side of my neck.

“You are,” he said against my neck. “And, Kitten, you should know, I’m good with that. I’l be here when you stop.” Effing hel .

“I’l walk Juno,” he offered, clearly done with the conversation.

“Fine.” I was done with the conversation too and I couldn’t walk Juno without a Kevlar vest and a crash helmet, and, possibly, total body armor.

“Make room for my shit in your closet.”

I careful y pul ed up my panties as I twisted to look at him.

“Not fine.”

His eyes were warm, soft and smiling which made me feel warm, soft and smiley (luckily, I kept this on the inside).

Damn his f**king eyes.

“Make lotsa room, babe, even after this is over, I’m stayin’ awhile.”

“Piss off,” I mumbled and turned back around.

His hand came to the side of my face that was on the pil ow. He twisted me to face him again, his head descended and he touched my lips lightly with his.

“I’l be back,” he whispered.

Effing, bloody hel .

Chapter Eight

This One’s for Linnie

Stella

“This is like, ‘Beam me up, Scottie’. Fuckin’ cool!” Leo shouted.

Leo was staring at my alarm panel and video monitor as if the concept of home security had been invented twelve seconds ago and I was on the cutting edge.

“Gee-zus, but Mace sure don’t mess around,” Pong added, flipping the door down on the panel and starting to press buttons randomly.

Visions of a dozen police cars and shiny black Explorers screeching to a halt in the driveway, spraying gravel, officers and hot Nightingale Investigation Team members alighting with guns drawn and shooting everything that moved flashed through my head.

I leaped forward and slapped Pong’s hand.

“Pong, don’t do that!” I snapped.

“What?” Pong asked, looking innocent (or trying and failing).

“No pressing buttons on the state of the art alarm system that cost Mace the moon and the stars and the promised enslavement of his firstborn children,” I answered. “Clue in, Pong, this is serious business.”

“Jeez, take a chil pil , Stel a Bel a,” Leo said, laidback even in the face of imminent danger (likely because he’d just smoked a doobie) which the band had its share of even before Linnie was murdered and I was scratched onto a hit list. We could just say that we’d seen more than our quota of bar brawls, we’d broken up way too many possible statutory rape scenarios between Pong and/or Hugo and underage groupies and Leo had been found in possession of il egal substances on more than one occasion.

I looked at the ceiling briefly. When I noted that instructions on how to deal with idiot band members were not written by the hand of God in fancy gold script on my ceiling (as they never were), my gaze shifted to Floyd.

Floyd grinned, knowing my thoughts instantly (as was his way) and shook his head. “Whatever the time, you don’t want to do it.”

Floyd was probably right. Perhaps I shouldn’t kil Pong and Leo.

Stil , maybe I wouldn’t get into too much trouble if I roughed them up a bit. Anyone would understand. I was under a lot of pressure and my defense attorney could make the jury sit in a room with Pong and Leo for an hour.

After that, they’d let me off, no doubt.

The entire band was over to pick up the equipment for the gig that night. Swen and Ulrika let us keep it in an unused room on the second floor. Usual y I helped with the lugging and lifting but seeing as I was on some faceless crazy criminal’s hit list for once I was going to be saved this chore.

“Al right, boys. Let’s get loaded up so we can set up.” Floyd, thankful y, decided it was time to get down to business.