Shaking off the uncomfortable memory of how that unhealthy relationship came to a close, Lita turned her focus to step one in tracking down James. And she would track his sexy backside down, even if it were just to give him hell. But she hoped it would end in more. It had to.
Sarge Purcell was the lead singer of Old News and the closest thing resembling a friend to James. Which is why Lita was stomping up the driveway of his newly purchased beach house at eight o’clock in the morning. If anyone knew where their manager had gone, it would be Sarge. She felt a tad guilty for interrupting his first official week in Los Angeles since returning from New Jersey with his girlfriend, Jasmine, but hey. Desperate times.
Lita rapped on the fogged glass front door and waited. The sound of crashing waves from behind the house should have been soothing, but they only sounded like bombs going off in her ears, exacerbating the headache pumping behind her eyes for days without pause. Just focus on this one thing.
The lead singer opened the door in a pair of gray boxer briefs, but Lita didn’t even blink. When you’ve lived on a tour bus with someone, modesty goes extinct with a quickness. Sarge’s hair was finger-raked and haphazard as usual, but Lita had a feeling it was Jasmine’s fingers that had been doing the raking. Lita’s theory was confirmed when Jasmine stumbled through the living room behind Sarge, wearing nothing but a white sheet.
“Hey, Jasmine,” Lita called, but her voice came out sounding thready, since she hadn’t spoken since…when? Since James left? “Sorry to have interrupted the sexing.”
Sarge grinned, displaying the reason his face ended up on countless magazine covers. “Ah, it’s fine. You’d be interrupting that no matter when you showed up.”
“Don’t take this the wrong way, Sargeant, but you’ve turned into a smug bastard.”
He threw a proud look over his shoulder, sending a smiling Jasmine snuggling into the couch cushions. “If a man wasn’t smug over landing that woman, he’d be an idiot.”
An ache formed so quickly in Lita’s chest, she sucked in a breath. “Yeah, well. I’m trying to make my own bastard look smug. You want to help me out with that?”
Sarge’s expression lost its humor. “I don’t know where James is, if that’s why you’re here.” He crossed his arms and leaned on the doorframe. “What happened between you two?”
Lita’s laugh sounded full of liquid. “I wouldn’t even tell you after a bottle of tequila.” She pushed past her bandmate into the house, heading straight for the kitchen. “Speaking of tequila, where is yours?”
“Cabinet above the toaster,” Jasmine said, her voice muffled.
“Thanks.”
Lita busied herself pouring the golden liquor into a coffee cup while Sarge went and put on a T-shirt. When he joined her in the kitchen, she’d already knocked back two shots. Sarge took a seat on a barstool, while watching her with obvious concern. “So it’s true. He’s stepping down as manager. I honestly thought he was screwing with me.”
“So you have talked to him.”
Sarge shook his head. “Voicemail. He doesn’t answer when I call back.”
Tears pressed behind Lita’s eyelids, pissing her off. Goddammit. She’d never cried this many days in a row, including the week she’d binged on Grey’s Anatomy while driving through Europe on the tour bus. “Do you know where his family lives?”
“I don’t even know if he has any family.”
Lita tossed back another two fingers of tequila. “How do we know exactly nothing about him after four years?”
Sarge scrubbed a hand over his face. “Maybe that’s how he wants it, Lita.”
“That’s not how I want it.” When her voice broke, she closed her eyes. “Please, you have to help me find his big, dumb face. I can fix this.”
Her bandmate reached out, setting his big hand atop her head. “You know we’ll do everything we can.”
“Thanks,” Lita mumbled, shrugging free of her friend’s comforting gesture. She didn’t want to be comforted or soothed. It would only be temporary until she found James and filled in the massive crater he’d left gaping in her middle.
Jasmine came into the kitchen, walking right into the crook of Sarge’s outstretched arm, as if they’d been apart way too long. “Don’t you have security guards who travel with Old News to shows?” The gorgeous ex-factory worker split a look between them. “A lot of those guys are ex-cops. Maybe they can help?”
For the first time in days, Lita felt the blessed spark of hope. “That might actually work. If someone else does that favor asking.” She plunked the empty coffee mug into the sink. “They all hate me because I’m always ordering the crowd to mosh for their lives. Doesn’t exactly make their job easy.”