Playing Dirty (Stargazer #2)(88)
Author: Jennifer Echols

Quentin winced at the pain in his hip as he hit the stage. That was his plastic asthma inhaler breaking in his pocket. He was flat on his back, looking up at Erin high on the speaker with her eyes closed, blissfully fiddling “The Star-Spangled Banner.” Several booms sounded. The fireworks were starting.

He pulled himself out from under the unconscious goon and scrambled up just in time to see Martin and the other goon fall off the back of the stage. Maybe Quentin could reach Sarah now that more people were comatose. He punched and got punched, punched and got punched, homing in on her as he went.

The syringe was out of her shoulder. She’d kneed Nine Lives in the groin and elbowed him in the eye. Nine Lives kept coming after her. He pinned her facedown on the stage. Then he put his arm around her throat, jerked her up, and backed her down the stairs, toward the open door of the limo.

Quentin rushed for her. He had to grab her before Nine Lives disappeared with her again. He’d almost reached her when Owen tackled him. No!

A shot rang out, high and sharp, separate from the fireworks.

“Dumbass!” Quentin yelled, tossing Owen off him. Sarah was gone.

He found her crumpled at the foot of the stairs.

Pulling her high-heeled shoe free of Nine Lives’ grip, Quentin picked her up off the ground and sat down on the stairs with her. “Where are you hit?” he coughed, looking desperately at her arms, pulling up her shirt.

“Everything is fine, I’m fine, everything is okay,” she recited. “It’s not me. It’s him.” She pointed to Nine Lives howling on the ground.

Martin, hunched over, walked toward them under the stage. He shoved his gun into his pocket and pulled at Nine Lives’ arm to flatten him on the asphalt. A hole in the thigh of Nine Lives’ black jeans oozed dark blood.

Martin pressed his hands over the wound. He said over his shoulder, “Q, you’re wheezing.”

“Where’s your inhaler?” Sarah breathed.

Quentin pulled it out of his pocket and showed her the broken plastic. He bulleted it at Nine Lives, who screamed, “Ow!”

Between fireworks blasts, running footsteps sounded behind Quentin on the stage. He started around, ready for another wrestler, but it was only Erin. “Q,” she cried desperately, “Owen’s stitches came out.”

“Put pressure on it,” Quentin called as best he could. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

Erin bent down and handed a plastic-wrapped inhaler to Sarah. “Wedding present,” she said. “You owe me.” She ran away again.

While Quentin inhaled the meds, Sarah climbed off his lap and descended the stairs. She bent over Nine Lives, whispering in his ear. He spoke back to her, too low for Quentin to hear over the fireworks finale. Apparently Nine Lives said the wrong thing, because Sarah slapped his face hard and whispered to him again.

Pocketing the inhaler, Quentin stood behind Martin and snapped his fingers. Martin handed him the gun. Quentin shoved it in his waistband and headed behind the dressing room trailer. He motioned for Sarah to follow him.

He looked around to make sure they were alone. The huge crowd sounded distant, and the only witness to their conversation was Vulcan himself. “Do you think any TV cameras caught Martin shooting Nine Lives?” he asked Sarah hoarsely.

“There’s no way,” she said. “The cameras were all in front. Martin was on the ground behind. He shot Nine Lives through the skirt at the base of the stage.”

“How about people in the audience filming with phones?”

“No. Wrong angle.”

“Good. You didn’t see anything,” he instructed her. “I’ve got the gun. If you have to tell the cops something, tell them I shot Nine Lives.”

“I can’t do that to you,” she said, looking up at him with her big brown eyes. “Even for Martin.”

“You have to,” he insisted. “If they take Martin to jail and test him right now, they’ll find the junk. That will ruin a self-defense plea.”

“No, it—”

“It was my fight,” he insisted, taking in her mussed hair and a small scrape on her cheek.

“Maybe it won’t come to that,” she said. “I told Nine Lives to blame it on his bodyguard. They won’t be able to prosecute the bodyguard, because they won’t find the gun on him, but at least that will keep them off Martin’s trail. And I told Nine Lives that all of them have to go to rehab and make it stick. My job is safe after this hullaballoo, and I’ll have more clout with Manhattan Music to get him dropped from the label if he crosses me again.”

“You’re good at this.” He chuckled. “You’re better at this than I am.” He stepped close to her and took her hands. His fingers hit diamond. “You found the ring!” he exclaimed. “You’re wearing the ring.”

He traced his thumb down his fiancée’s cheek, across the scar below her chin, and back into her soft, crazy hair. He kissed her, then kissed her harder, amazed all over again at the force of the longing and the love that had overcome him in ten days. The way she responded had him wondering how soon he could possibly do her.

He broke the kiss reluctantly at the wail of sirens. “I forgot about Owen’s stitches.”

Sarah squeezed his hand. “I’d better go help Rachel and the art school girls. It’s going to be another long night.”

“Whatever time we get through, meet me back at Owen’s big-ass truck,” Quentin told her. “We’re not sleeping. Not tonight.”

18

I accept your resignation. Archie is not going to like this after the Nationally Televised Holiday Concert Debacle. I hear online sales for the Cheatin’ Hearts AND Nine Lives are through the roof already, and Manhattan Music is going to be upset that Stargazer let you get away. But working for the Cheatin’ Hearts will be a good fit for you, if you know what I mean. Tell your green-eyed hick-hunk—Well, never mind. You don’t have to tell him anything. Now that things are settling down with the baby, I have some work at home to keep me busy. If you know what I mean. ?

Wendy Mann

Senior Consultant

Stargazer Public Relations

Vulcan’s butt glowed majestically in the orange light of sunrise. Sarah would have thought any view was picturesque from a blanket in the back of Owen’s truck, with Quentin’s arms wrapped protectively around her. Even the trash littering the empty park looked quaint. The police had finally given up and gone home. She and Quentin had the park, the trash, the sunrise, and Vulcan’s butt all to themselves.