Sarah Armstrong: Blood Lines Part 13

"Wish I did," she said. "Ca.s.sies hard enough to work with on a good day. All this going on, shes a volcano."

"Have you ever heard his voice? Seen any of the text messages or e-mails?"

"Never heard him, but Rick showed the e-mails to me," she said. "At first I wasnt too worried. I figured he was just another kook. But the guy hasnt given up. Hes obsessed with her."

"Whered Ca.s.sidy grow up?" I asked.

"Somewhere in northern California, I think," Dunn said. "She told me once that when her mom died, she took the little money they had and grabbed a bus for L.A., figuring shed get a job singing. She was eleven. Somehow she made it to the city with a couple of hundred bucks, but some teenage thug stole from her. She lived on the street until a woman figured out the kid didnt have a home and took her to CPS. From there, she went to her first foster home, and then on to the next. Thats pretty much the whole story."

Listening to Dunn, I was starting to feel my disdain for the kid melt away. Maybe I was being too harsh. Still, shed do well to work on her att.i.tude.

About then, there was a knock at the door and Barron came in. "Looks good out there," he said to me, and then he turned to Dunn. "Germaine, weve got a group of kids from one of those special schools who want to see Ca.s.sie. Five girls, oldest about fourteen. Im going to keep them outside. When shes up, shout at me."

"Will do," Dunn agreed.

Barron left, and I picked up a magazine and leafed through it. I called home and checked on everyone at the ranch. So far, so good. Warrior was eating well and Emma Lou had calmed down now that she had her foal close. Strings was over with his guitar, and he and Maggie were in the shed singing for the horses. Wish Id been there. That must have been a sight.

Ninety minutes before the concert, a delivery service brought Ca.s.sies hamburger and fries, and Dunn knocked on the kids bedroom door. She did that twice, then went in and woke her, reminding me of trying to get Maggie up on a Sat.u.r.day morning, when she figured she could sleep in.

Ca.s.sidy came out with her long blond hair piled on top of her head wearing a torn-off T-shirt and jeans, and plopped down in an armchair. She said nothing, just tore into the burger and fries like she hadnt had a meal in a month.

"Have a good nap?" I asked.

"Sarah, I dont really like to talk when Im just waking up," she said. "So cool the questions, okay?"

"We discussed this. I prefer being called Lieutenant Armstrong," I said, giving the kid one of my narrow-eyed stares.

"Yeah," she said, with a disinterested shrug. "I remember you said something about that, Sarah."

Figuring it was a lost cause, I let it go. Id be on my way soon and the kid would be someone elses problem. No percentage in arguing. As soon as the hamburger was devoured, Germaine went to the door and called out for Rick Barron. The kids had been waiting outside, on a cool day, two of them without jackets, for nearly an hour. They were so excited that I bet they hadnt even felt the chill. One of the girls appeared to have Downs syndrome, and the others looked as if they had various degrees of cerebral palsy. I thought maybe there was hope for Ca.s.sidy Collins when she got up to greet them, an Im-excited-to-see-you grin spread across her face.

"Im so, so sorry I kept you waiting. You need to come inside where its warm," she said, and the girls did, climbing into the bus, where they stood shyly, most with hands folded behind their backs. One of the girls tried to talk, but her speech was too broken to understand. The woman who accompanied them translated: "Shed like you to know that theyre all big fans, Miss Collins."

"Im so honored that they like my music," Ca.s.sie said. "I dont get a lot of chances to meet other kids. Its really fun to have them here."

"Fun for us, too," the girl with Downs syndrome said. "Wait til we tell our friends. They wont believe us."

"I can take care of that," Ca.s.sie said, winking conspiratorially. As if on cue, Dunn handed Ca.s.sie five copies of the same head shot Barron had sent me with her file. She asked each girls name, and wrote a personal message, finishing off with swirled autographs and hand-drawn b.u.t.terflies. When they left, Ca.s.sie stood at the doorway and waved at them. I thought maybe she wasnt such a bad kid after all, until the door slammed behind her and she stalked back onto the bus.

"Glad the freak shows over," she said. "Okay, Germaine. Im ready for hair and makeup."

If Id had any right to, any at all, at that point I would have straightened that kid out. A month or two on house arrest, time to reconsider her att.i.tude, would have done wonders for her.

"Great," Dunn said. "Take your shower, and Ill get everything ready."

______.

For the next hour, Ca.s.sidy Collins was the center of everyones attention, especially Germaine and a clutch of a.s.sistants. Once the kid emerged from the shower, she was powdered and dressed, her hair curled and arranged.

"How do we get into the arena?" Dunn asked me.

"Ive arranged to have a Dallas P.D. officer in a limo drive us through the freight entrance and up to the gangway," I explained. "Even though this is a secure area, we cant take any chances."

Dunn nodded. "Thatll help with the paparazzi, too. They swarm around Ca.s.sie like mosquitoes sucking blood. But when the right photo or video, especially one embarra.s.sing to the kid, can fetch up to a million bucks, you cant keep them away. Sometimes I think every minute of that kids life is recorded by someone for a fast buck."

"A million bucks?" I repeated.

Dunn nodded and her chemically enhanced mop bobbed with her.

Everything from that point went off as scripted. The limo showed up with an officer who immediately asked for Ca.s.sidys autograph for his daughter. Smiling sweetly, she complied, and we were escorted into the arena. We headed to the sound tent where David waited. He handed me my headset, and we listened, while on the stage, fireworks exploded and Ca.s.sie sang her opening song dressed in a pink sequined minidress, black boots, and leggings.

In the audience, young girls, a smattering accompanied by one parent or another, screamed, some crying, dancing and singing along. Others reached out toward their idol. The stage rotated, giving everyone a view of the superstar, and Ca.s.sie sang and danced, accompanied by three backup singers and four male dancers. Every couple of numbers she rushed back down the ramp past us and into the wardrobe tent, and while the band covered for her, the dressers swarmed around her. She emerged once dressed like a cheerleader and another time a hippie from the seventies, in a flowered minidress and platforms. An hour into the show, David and I hadnt heard or seen anything alarming. Then, while Ca.s.sie was singing a pop ballad with the verse "livin the dream aint all it seems, when at heart youre a regular girl," the sound system in the entire arena died.

"Whats up?" David asked.

"Jake?" I said, turning to the sound guy.

Panicking as he looked at his dark panel, not a single light glowing, Jake shrugged.

I turned back to find Collins peering down at me, trembling with fear and looking as vulnerable as a little kid. I motioned for her to come down, but she stood there, frozen. I ran up the ramp, and, just as I reached the edge of the stage, a mans voice boomed throughout the arena. Without hesitation, I grabbed Collins by the arm and pulled her toward me.

"Ca.s.sidy, Im here," the voice said, sounding tinny, unnatural. "I promised Id come for you, and I have."

She stopped, searched the auditorium, staring out into the crowd.

"Come on," I screamed, urging her forward. "Lets go! Now!"

The audience laughed and twittered. Few appeared frightened, and I saw no panic, no one running. The girls in the front rows reached out, grabbed at us and screamed out Ca.s.sies name.

"Im here for you, Ca.s.sidy," the mans voice warned, booming through the stadium sound system, and then a horrible, taunting laugh. "You know what Ill do."

I yanked Ca.s.sie harder, this time getting enough of her attention to force her down off the stage. We ran toward the gangway where the limo waited as the horrible voice jeered, "Youre mine, Ca.s.sidy Collins. Anytime I want you, youre mine."

David followed. He pushed Ca.s.sidy into the limo, while I watched, gun drawn. We jumped in with her, and the limo took off, gunning the engine to speed us away from the arena. When the driver started to circle back to Ca.s.sies bus, she panicked. "Thats the first place h.e.l.l look for me. Get me out of here."

"Ms. Collins, were here to protect you, until we can get you to the airport," I started.

"No!" she screamed. "Hes here. Get me out of here, now!"

"Drive us downtown, to the convention center," I told the uniformed officer behind the wheel.

"Where are we going?" he asked.

"The heliport," I said, as David shot me a questioning glance. "We have a helicopter waiting."

At the convention center, we drove into the back service entrance and then ran inside where we took an elevator to the roof. We jumped aboard the chopper, and the pilot started the engine. Within minutes we hovered over Dallas, the vast city lights glowing beneath us.

"Where now?" David asked, looking more than a little concerned that Id taken an unwise detour. "You do realize that we cant fly her to Los Angeles?"

"Im not going home," she said. "I cant. He knows where I live. h.e.l.l be there."

"You have a whole security force to protect you," I said.

"Yeah, and it hasnt helped. That guy knows where I am every minute. He knows who Im with, even if the drapes are closed on my bedroom at night. He knows how to find me, anytime he wants me," she said. "Im not going back there. I need to disappear. Sarah, Im staying with you until you cops make sure Im safe. Im not leaving your side, until that guys in jail or better yet dead."

"Whoa, now. Lets take some time and figure this out," I said. Having the superstar attached to my hip didnt sound like a particularly good idea. Id been looking forward to our parting. "While were thinking, well head to the airport in Houston. Youre safe for now. The best option is for us to get you a private plane, or wait with you there for yours to fly in."

"No!" she screamed, tears streaming from her eyes. "Im telling you, Im not going home. I wont be safe. I wont."

This wasnt going particularly well, not as Id envisioned it. I was up for getting the kid out of Dallas, but not for living with her for the duration.

"We could bring her to a hotel room, keep her there," I suggested.

"Too many people," David said. "Youve got desk clerks, maids, waiters, probably a hundred employees, plus all the guests in a big hotel. Everyone knows her face. Word will be out in no time."

"We need someplace secluded," I said. "Quiet. Someplace we can keep her while we figure out where to stash her and give ourselves time to catch this guy."

"Thats what Im saying," Collins pleaded. "Just until Im safe. I cant go home. I really cant. I dont know who this creep is. Maybe its that Peterson dude, but maybe its not. Argus could even be someone on my crew. All I know is he wants to kill me."

I thought about it, but I didnt want to. Wed been through enough, and I didnt need to drop this mixed-up teenager with the big mouth on Mom and Maggie. But I honestly didnt know where else to go. "Okay, give me everything electronic you have on you," I said, holding out my hand.

"Why?" she asked.

"Because this guy is into technology. Thats how hes stalking you, and maybe thats how hes tracking you."

She took off her earphones and mike and handed them to me. She wore her getup from the last number, a skimpy white gauze top and skintight jeans, yet shed somehow managed to conceal an envelope-thin cell phone in a belt.

"You carry a phone on stage?" David asked.

"Just since that schizo started stalking me," she answered. "I thought, well, I was afraid I might need it."

"Anything else?" I asked.

From another pocket, she pulled out a small device with a keypad. "For text messages," she said. "I figured it was backup, in case I didnt have the phone or he found someway to make it not work."

I nudged the pilots shoulders, and he looked back. He worked for the department of public safety, and hed flown me before. My guess is he was used to my bizarre requests. "Can I open a door or window?" I asked. "I need to dump these, in case were being tracked."

He nodded. "But were going to have to slow way down. We dont want anything sucked into one of the rotors."

"Okay," I said. "Tell us when."

We were south of Dallas, traveling about a hundred mph, and the pilot pulled back until we hovered over the lights of what appeared to be a small town, and then over near-total darkness, most likely a farmers field.

"Okay, quick, or Ill lose lift," the pilot said. "Seat belts on?"

We all double-checked. "Yeah," I said. "All buckled in."

He hit a b.u.t.ton, and the window on the door next to me eased open, stopping when I had a clearance of a few inches. The cold night air swept through the choppers cabin. Winter cold. I dropped Ca.s.sies phone, text device, and everything else out the window, but one earpiece flew back in. I threw it out again and watched it fall, disappearing in the shadows.

"Hang on," the pilot said. The window shut, and he built up speed, pulling up.

"Okay. Now, where are we going?" he asked.

"My ranch," I said. "Its north of Houston. Ill give you directions when we get close."

"Sarah, Im not sure thats a good idea," David said, shooting me one of his worried glances.

"Unless youve got another idea, I cant think of anyplace else," I said. "Lets just keep her there overnight. Well figure out what to do and have her out by morning. Ill call the captain and have the ranch flooded with state troopers and rangers before we set down."

"Okay," David said, still looking uncertain. "But just until morning."

The kid, uncharacteristically, said nothing, only stared out into the night, perhaps wondering where Argus was and if hed find a way to follow.

I called the captain at home, woke him up out of a dead sleep to fill him in, and he said hed get right on it, sending three of my fellow rangers and a squad of DPS troopers out to the ranch to guard us for the night. By morning, he promised, hed figure out another plan and make the spoiled superstar someone elses problem.

Two hours later, we circled over the Rocking Horses back pasture, the pilot looking for a place to put down. When we finally landed, he turned off the engine, and made us wait until the blades stopped before opening the door. Once he did, David jumped out, and then I did. We turned to help Collins from the helicopter, while the small crowd that peered at us from the dark perimeter ran toward us. Mom, Maggie, our stable hand, Frieda, the captain, and three rangers, including Buckshot, quickly surrounded us.

"Sarah, whats going on?" Mom asked. "The captain only told us you were on your way, not why."

"Ca.s.sidy Collins?" Maggie shrieked, her face a mixture of shock and excitement. "Is that Ca.s.sidy Collins?"

I braced myself for the kid to spout a smart retort, figuring that her brain had to be flipping through a list of tart comebacks, but all she did was nod at Maggie, and then start to cry, the tears flooding her cheeks. I put my arm around her, and we all walked back to the house together. It had been one heck of a night. All I kept telling myself was that the morning would be better.

Twenty-two.

I fell asleep on the living room couch and woke up at daybreak to find David and the captain on their cell phones pacing Moms dining room, the scent of jasmine in the air and her white lace curtains fluttering in the breeze from an open window. I ran my hands through my hair, wiped the sleep out of my eyes, thought about a shower but hung around long enough for the captain to get off the telephone to ask, "What do we know about where Justin Peterson was last night?"

"Hes not our guy," he said. "We had him under surveillance all night long. He did his usual, dinner at a place near the university and then home early. His lights went out about ten-thirty, and we had two cars on him the whole time. Neither saw him leave. Of course, by then the concert was over anyway."

"What did Dallas P.D. and our guys find at the American Airlines Center? What kind of clues do we have?"

"Struck out there, too," David said. "The sound folks insist Argus had to be in the arena to do what he did. He had to cut into the frequency to take over the sound system. But anyone who looked the least bit suspicious was searched exiting. Nothing was found. And his voice was electronically distorted. Its useless."

"Great," I said. "Any more good news?"

"Your moms baking," David said. "It was a rough night."

Sighing, I shrugged and shook my head. I stumbled like the living dead to the kitchen where I found Mom, just as David described, wrist deep in bread dough, kneading it like she could beat down all our problems. Every inch of counter was covered with cake pans, m.u.f.fin tins, cookie sheets, and all manner of fresh baked goods. If Bobby Barker calmed Mom down enough to keep her from heading to the ovens, my shenanigans had driven her to the spatulas, eggs, nonstick baking spray, and flour. Luckily, I wasnt the only one on the premises to feed. We had a battalion of cops patrolling the property, all dressed in civvies and acting like ranch hands, tending to the stock. Still, if anyone looked too closely they might see gun bulges under their work shirts.

"I have blueberry, cranberry, and banana-nut m.u.f.fins, iced coffee cake, and four kinds of bread, including your favorite cheese and jalapeno," Mom said, whacking the ball of dough in her hands back down onto the wooden cutting board. "You can have any and all for breakfast. Right now, Im working on braided egg bread for lunch. Im thinking chicken salad sandwiches."