Her reaction was one approaching panic but, with a brow furrowed in sympathy, the man said, “Hey, there, Kayleigh, it’s okay. Don’t you worry.”
“But …” Her eyes were zipping to the door, on the other side of which was Darthur Morgan and, if Dance was right, his own pistol.
Dance tried to piece it together. Couldn’t be a former boyfriend; she’d have recognized him earlier. Must be an inappropriate fan. Kayleigh was just the sort of performer—beautiful, single, talented—to have stalker problems.
“No embarrassment you didn’t recognize me,” Edwin said, bizarrely reassuring her and oblivious to her distress. “Since I sent you that last picture of me I lost a bit of weight. Yep, seventy-three pounds.” He tapped his belly. “I didn’t write you about it. Wanted it to be a surprise. I read Country Week and EW, see the pictures of you with some of those boys. I know you like the slimmer builds. Didn’t think you’d appreciate a chubby. And got myself a twenty-five-dollar haircut. You know how men are always talking about changing but they never do. Like your song. I wasn’t going to give you a Mr. Tomorrow. I’m a Mr. Today.”
Kayleigh was speechless. Nearly hyperventilating.
From some angles Edwin would be good-looking—full head of black hair trimmed conservatively like a politician’s and sprayed firmly into place, keen, deep brown eyes, smooth complexion, if a bit pale. But that face was also very long, angular, with heavy, protruding eyebrows, like soot. He was trim, yes, but big—larger than she’d noticed at first, easily six-two or -three, and despite the weight loss he was probably two hundred pounds. His rangy arms were long, and his hands massive but curiously—and unsettlingly—pink.
Instantly Bobby Prescott was on his feet and stepping in front of the man. Bobby was large too but wide, not tall, and Edwin towered over him. “Hey,” Edwin said cheerfully, “Bobby. The roadie. Excuse me, chief of the road crew.”
And then his eyes returned to Kayleigh, staring at her adoringly. “I’d be honored if you’d have some iced tea with me. Just over there in the corner. I’ve got a few things to show you.”
“How did you—”
“Know you’d be here? Hell, everybody knows that this is your favorite place. Just look at the blogs. It’s where you wrote ‘Me, I’m Not a Cowgirl.’” He nodded at the jukebox, from which that very song was playing—now for the second time, Dance noted.
The suburbs and the cities, that’s what I’m about.
Me, I’m not a cowgirl, unless maybe you count:
Looking people in the eye and talking to them straight.
Not putting up with bigots or cheaters or with hate.
Remembering everything my mom and daddy said
About how to treat my family, my country and my friends.
Didn’t think I was a cowgirl, but I guess that all depends.
“Love that song,” he gushed. “Just love it. Well, you know that. I told you must be a hundred times.”
“I really …” Kayleigh was a deer in the middle of the road.
Bobby put his hand on Edwin’s shoulder. Not quite hostile, not quite friendly. Dance wondered if this would be the start of a fight and she reached for the only weapon she had—her mobile—to dial 911 if need be. But Edwin simply stepped back a few inches, ignoring Bobby. “Come on, let’s get that iced tea. I know you think theirs here is the best in town. I’ll treat. Mr. Today, remember? Hey, your hair’s really beautiful. Ten years, four months.”
Dance had no idea what that meant but the comment clearly upset Kayleigh even more. Her jaw trembled.
“Kayleigh’d like to be left alone,” Alicia said firmly. The woman seemed to be just as strong as Bobby Prescott and her glare was more fierce.
“You enjoying working for the band, Alicia?” he asked her as if making conversation at a cocktail party. “You’ve been with ’em about, what? Five, six months, right? You’re talented too. I’ve seen you on YouTube. You surely can sing. Wow.”
Alicia leaned forward ominously. “What the hell is this? How do you know me?”
“Listen, friend,” Bobby said. “Time for you to leave.”
Then Tye Slocum slowly pushed back in his chair and strode to the door. Edwin’s eyes followed and on his face was welded the same smile that had been there from the moment he’d stepped to the table. But something had changed; it was as if he actually expected Kayleigh to join him for tea and was perplexed she wasn’t. Tye’s mission to summon the security guard seemed to irritate him. “Kayleigh. Please. I didn’t want to bother you here but you never got back to me on email. I just want to visit for a bit. We’ve got a lot to talk about.”
“I really can’t.”
Bobby took Edwin’s arm once more before Dance could intervene. But again the man simply stood back. He didn’t seem to have any interest in a confrontation, much less a physical fight.
There was a blinding flash and the table was immersed in light as the door opened, then the illumination was blocked. Removing his aviator shades, Darthur Morgan moved in fast. He looked at Edwin’s face and Dance could see the muscles around his mouth tighten, a sign of displeasure at himself for missing the slimmed-down stalker.
“You’re Edwin Sharp?”
“That’s right, Mr. Morgan.”
It wasn’t hard to get information about people nowadays, especially those connected with a very public person like Kayleigh Towne. But learning the name of her security guard?
“I’m going to ask you to leave Ms. Towne alone now. She wants you to leave. You’re becoming a security threat.”
“Well, under Giles versus Lohan, I’m really not, Mr. Morgan. There’s not even an implied threat. Anyway, the last thing that I want is to hurt or threaten anybody. I’m just here offering my friend some sympathy over something that happened to her, something traumatic. And seeing if she’d like some tea. Happy to buy you some too.”