Deception at Castle Rock (Amelia Grace Rock 'n' Roll Mysteries Book 2) Read online

  "What is going on with you?" I asked him when Bronwyn was gone.

  "Me?" Emmett's dark brows lifted. "What about you, Amelia?" He scowled. "It's like you go looking for trouble."

  "That's not fair," I said stiffly. "I didn't ask to find a freaking dead body again. All I wanted to do was surprise you with breakfast, but I had to stop by the office on the way home. I was just trying to do something nice, and then—" My lip began to quiver, and a lone tear slid down my right cheek.

  Emmett saw the pain on my face, and his own expression softened. "I'm sorry." He sighed. "I'm just a little worked up. The job has been wearing me down lately, and then this morning when I got up, you were just gone. No note, no text—nothing. The next thing I know, Kat is calling to tell me you've been arrested." Emmett lifted his hand from the table, tightening it into a fist. He relaxed his grip a few seconds later and met my gaze. "I was really worried about you."

  "I'm sorry too," I murmured. "I should've called as soon as I found Sid's body, to let you know what happened and that I was all right." I squeezed his hand. "I don't want to fight." My voice was soft, barely above a whisper.

  "Me neither." Emmett leaned over to plant a light kiss on my lips. When he pulled away, his mouth stretched in a wide grin. "So, I guess I'll take a rain check on that surprise breakfast," he said, his emerald eyes twinkling.

  I chuckled. "It's still in my car, if you want it—that is, if you like stale chocolate raspberry scones and—" I checked my watch—"six-hour-old coffee."

  Emmett snorted. "I think I'll pass."

  "Speaking of my car." I uncrossed my legs under the booth and reached for my purse. "It's still parked at Castle Rock. I should go get it before the media storm hits our block."

  Emmett gently grabbed my wrist as I retrieved a few bills from my wallet. "Lunch is on me," he said. "And I'll drive you to your car."

  "I think I'd like to walk there, if you don't mind." I gave him an apologetic smile. "It's only a couple of blocks away, and I need to walk off that whiskey sour before I get behind the wheel."

  "Then let me drive you home. We can get your car later."

  I bit my lip. "Actually, if it's all the same to you, I'd rather just go ahead and do it now. I could use a little alone time to process everything that happened today."

  "Oh." Emmett's smile faded. "Sure." He nodded as if he understood, but I could tell my request for some space had wounded him a little.

  I rose from the booth and leaned down to kiss his forehead. "I'll be fine. I'll meet you back at the apartment. We can take it easy tonight and go see the band tomorrow at the hotel. I imagine they're going to want a little privacy while they process the news about Sid and Mickey and sort out the next several tour dates." With Kat already on her way over to see the guys, I didn't want to crowd them.

  "Great." Emmett avoided my gaze. "Hey," he said, his voice growing softer. "Are we okay?"

  His words tugged at my heartstrings. "Better than okay." I gave him another kiss and flashed my best Everything is fine! smile. "We're great, I promise. In fact," I added shyly, feeling my cheeks grow warm, "I was sort of wondering if there was any way that you could stay in Atlanta a little longer. Just for a few more days, until the worst of this blows over." I gave him a meaningful look. "I need you."

  Emmett reached up and stroked my hair. "Of course. I'll call Gavin and let the Bureau know I'm extending my leave."

  Though it was exactly what I'd just asked him to do, a feeling of unease prickled my skin. "Will that be all right?" I asked, unable to mask my concern. "With the search for Stone still underway?"

  "I'll handle it." Emmett gave me a reassuring smile. "Besides, you'll be safer with me here to protect you."

  My face relaxed. "Thanks, babe," I said warmly.

  "My pleasure." He beamed up at me. "Anything for the woman I love."

  * * *

  What the hell is wrong with me? I wiped the sweat from my brow and trudged onward up North Avenue on the two-block walk to Castle Rock, sifting through my tangled mess of thoughts. My charming, gorgeous, gainfully-employed boyfriend had just dropped the L word for the first time, and like the true freak of nature that I was, I'd all but bolted out of the restaurant.

  I chewed my lip, picturing the look of thinly-veiled disappointment that had flickered behind Emmett's eyes at my lack of response. He put his life on hold to come down to Atlanta and see me—and I'd just asked him to stay even longer. I told him I needed him—why couldn't I also tell him I loved him?

  Because I'm not sure if I do. The thought made me queasy. We'd been together for more than half a year—by this point, I should know the full scope of my feelings for him, in theory. The problem was, we'd only gotten real face time (the video calls on our smart phones didn't count) on half a dozen occasions at most. My romantic side wanted to believe that was enough time with Emmett to know in my heart if he was the one, but the realist in me begged for more time to make up my mind. Rather than be honest with him about my relationship bipolarity, I'd hauled ass out of the restaurant.

  "He could've had better timing," I muttered under my breath, as if blaming him for sharing his feelings was a perfectly rational thing to do. After all, in less than twenty-four hours, I'd been punched in the face, found a dead body, was arrested and released from jail, was briefly suspected of murder, became an internet sensation, and was told by my adorable man that he was in love with me. Not to mention that my first love had returned to town and was, at that very moment, sitting in jail on suspected murder charges. It was enough to make a girl's head spin and not in a good way. All aboard the Amelia Grace Emotional Rollercoaster—must be this screwed up to ride.

  I kicked a rock up the sidewalk as my thoughts shifted back to Mickey and his current predicament. Despite Emmett's warning about butting in on the investigation, I couldn't help but wonder who else might want Sid Malone dead. Speculation certainly wouldn't get me arrested again, so long as I didn't act on it. Plus the puzzle was a welcome distraction from my guilt over leaving Emmett hanging back at Camila's. I promised myself I'd sit down and talk things through with him later and then forced him out of my mind, shifting my focus toward making a mental list of people who might have wanted Sid dead.

  Bronwyn had been right—Dillon Green was an obvious choice. Kat and I were somewhat close with Dillon before he was booted from the band. He'd always been a nice, down-to-earth guy before. Missing out on his shot at fame had clearly changed him, judging from his behavior the previous night. Dillon came to Castle Rock to pick a fight—but would his beef with Sid drive him to murder? And if not, who else might have it out for the arrogant bass guitarist?

  Chad would know, I thought. Given his gossipy nature, Chad was sure to know if there was bad blood between Sid and anyone else on the tour. Maybe he'd mouthed off at a roadie one too many times. I decided that I would pull Chad aside tomorrow and see if he had any insight on a motive for Sid's untimely demise.

  Sweat poured down my back as I began my trek up the steepest slope of North Avenue. My limbs felt heavy and stiff, and I was bone-tired from the day's stress. I pushed on, trudging underneath the overpass of the East Atlanta Belt Line and finally cresting the large hill. My relief at finally reaching Castle Rock evaporated when the entrance came into view. The whole area was already teeming with activity. Three news vans were parked in the gravel below the marquee, and several reporters stood in front, using the venue as a backdrop for their broadcasts. A dozen or more people were gathered on the street corner beside the building, some dressed all in black and others wearing Royal Flush T-shirts and hats. They huddled together, solemn-faced and grasping candles, flowers, and magazine covers with Sid's image. I blinked at the fans, surprised. They're holding a vigil. That this might happen hadn't even occurred to me.

  A black cargo van rolled up to the building, blocking the mourning Royal Flush fans from view as it came to a stop in front of the venue. A flash of rage burned through me at the sight of the familiar red and black 95Rox st
ation logo on the side panel. Tim Scott climbed out of the driver's side, dressed in jeans and a baseball T-shirt bearing the same logo. Oh, hell no. I gritted my teeth. My hands balled into fists at my sides, and I quickened my pace. I wanted to march up to Tim and kick him in the crotch for setting Sid up to fight with Dillon for the sake of entertaining his dim-witted listeners.

  Rational thought caught up with me after a few steps, halting me in my tracks. What am I doing? Even though he'd probably orchestrated Dillon's and Sid's showdown and had immortalized my knockout punch on the internet, I didn't have the energy to pick a fight with Tim right now. Plus there were news cameras everywhere and a crowd. I'd have to confront the jerk another day.

  Of course, no sooner had I changed my mind than Tim started to turn in my direction. Shit! I panicked, not wanting to be spotted, and dove into the bushes at the edge of the overpass. "Ow!" I yelped as I tumbled to the ground. Branches raked at my face and arms along the way, and I twisted around, landing squarely on my butt. I ignored the sharp pain that shot through my tail bone and froze, listening intently. A couple of cars rolled by on North Avenue, and the chatter in front of Castle Rock continued, but no footsteps approached. No one seemed to have noticed me or my quick disappearing act. Still, there was no way I could get back out of the bushes—much less to my car, behind the venue—without attracting attention. I was stuck.

  Just when I thought this day couldn't get any worse. I blew my tangled, leaf-and-twig-filled hair out of my face and chewed my lower lip. By now I regretted the decision to walk back to Castle Rock rather than catch a ride with Emmett. I could try to wait for the news crews and crowds to disperse, but that could take hours. Plus it would be dark soon, and I'd heard some pretty sketchy stories about things that went on under the overpass late at night. I scanned the dirt around me and wrinkled my nose. A used condom lay a foot or so to my left. Next to it were a hypodermic needle and a little baggie caked with white residue. Great, I'm trapped in a crackhead's love nest. I shuddered and scooted away from the pile of paraphernalia.

  My hand grazed something plastic in the dirt, and I jerked back, stifling a disgusted squeal. I peered down at the clear cocktail cup I'd nearly crushed. The letters R and F were etched into the plastic. This cup came from the tour bus! I realized, my pulse quickening. I leaned down to get a closer look. The cup was speckled with dark, reddish brown spots. Wine? I frowned, wondering why a drink from Royal Flush's bus would be all the way over here in the bushes. Maybe a bum had wandered onto the tour bus last night after all and helped himself to the minibar. Or a call girl, I thought, taking in the bright pink lipstick that stained the rim in several places. Could Sid have brought a groupie or an escort on board?

  I reached down to pick up the drink for a better look but froze as my gaze settled on another item in the bushes. The silver handle of a pocketknife stuck out of the ground a few inches away from the cup. Its blade was half-buried in the dirt. Looking from the knife back to the cup, I noted the matching rust-colored stains. Despite the Georgia summer heat, a shiver worked its way down my spine and arms. It's not wine…it's blood. I recalled how Detective Dixon had ignored my question when I'd asked if the murder weapon had been found. Could this be it?

  Riffling through my purse, I produced a package of Kleenex and grabbed one of the tissues. Don't do it, a voice in my head pleaded, sounding a lot like Emmett. I paused, my tissue-filled hand hovering just above the knife handle.

  "It's not like I'm actually going to touch it," I muttered under my breath. Even I knew better than to get my prints on the knife. Pinching the tissue between my fingers, I slid it around the hilt and pulled the blade out of the dirt, lifting it to get a better look. A sick feeling ran through me as I inspected the silver handle with the familiar lightning bolt etched on the side. It looked eerily similar to one I'd given Mickey on our one-year anniversary. Please be a coincidence, I thought, afraid to turn it over.

  With a shaky breath, I flipped the knife around to see the other side and promptly dropped it to the ground as if it had burned me. Two letters were engraved on the handle.

  M.W.

  Mickey Ward.

  CHAPTER NINE

  After waiting nearly an hour for the news crews and mourning fans to disperse, I was finally able to come out of my hiding spot in the bushes. I'd let Emmett know that I would be a little late coming home, texting him that I needed to wait longer to sober up before driving. I don't think he bought it—especially when I walked through my apartment door that evening looking visibly shaken and with a few leaves and twigs still stuck in my hair.

  "Are you all right?" he'd demanded, leaping from the couch to inspect me for injuries. Emmett gripped my shoulders and held me at arm's length as he looked me over, concern etched on his handsome face.

  I gently pulled myself out of his grip. "I'm fine," I said, avoiding his gaze. The truth was, I wasn't fine—I'd just found what I believed to be Mickey's bloody pocketknife in the bushes near the crime scene. A knife that I had given him. I felt nauseous at the thought that I'd unwittingly played a part in this by gifting Mickey the potential murder weapon.

  Torn between turning it over to the police and keeping it in the apartment where Emmett might see, I'd finally decided to leave both the knife and the stained cup right where I'd found them. For now, at least. I'd snapped a few pictures of both pieces of evidence on my cell phone and then used the Kleenex to move them deeper into the bushes. I would return for them when I had a plan—and a better idea of who had left lipstick stains on the rim of the cup.

  "You don't look fine." Emmett pulled a leaf from my hair and held it up, his brow creased. "What happened?"

  "I tripped," I lied, trying to ignore the sour feeling of guilt that pooled in my belly. "On my way up the hill, by the overpass. I fell into one of the bushes." I tucked my chin and dropped my gaze to the floor, trying to look appropriately embarrassed. It did sound like something I'd do. Good ol' Amelia Graceless.

  Emmett's green eyes went dark as he squinted at me. "So, that's it? Nothing else you want to tell me?" The shift in his tone made my blood run cold. It reminded me of the way Detective Dixon sounded when he was pumping me for an alibi. This must be the side of Special Agent Emmett Larson that most people only encountered across the table in an interrogation room.

  "Nope," I squeaked, feeling tiny beads of sweat form along my forehead. He knows I'm lying. He's going to torture me until I tell him everything. I frowned—I couldn't help it. Fear was an odd reaction to have toward a man who'd just told me he loved me a couple of hours ago. Quit being ridiculous. He's just worried about me is all.

  "Okay, fine," I said with a sigh, deciding that telling him most of the truth would get him off my back. I'd just leave out the part about discovering potential evidence. "I might have hidden in the bushes for a bit to avoid confronting Tim Scott." My cheeks felt hot. "As much as I'd have liked to tear that jerk a new one, I wasn't ready to star in another viral video clip. There were three other news crews there and a bunch of Royal Flush fans."

  "Too many witnesses," Emmett remarked. His stony expression cracked, and his mouth quirked up at the corners. "You know, you could've just called me to come pick you up rather than playing hide-and-seek for an hour."

  "Thanks, Captain Hindsight," I deadpanned. I reached out and touched his arm, my mood softening. "About before, at Camila's," I began, but Emmett shook his head.

  "It's okay. Don't worry about it." His cheeks colored. "Like you said, you've had a hell of a day. I shouldn't have dropped even more heavy stuff on you." He grimaced. "I've never had the best timing with this sort of thing."

  "Please don't say that." I stepped closer and leaned against his chest, tilting my head to gaze up at him. "You know I care about you."

  "You just need to be able to say it back on your own time," he finished for me. "I get it." Emmett wrapped his arms around me and squeezed. "I can be patient."

  A sweet, cool wave of relief washed through me. "Thank you," I whis
pered. I stood on tiptoe to press my lips against his. Just as our kiss began to deepen, he pulled away.

  "I do have some bad news," he said, his expression turning guilty.

  "I don't think I can handle any more bad news today," I muttered. I blew out a breath and mentally prepared myself. "What's up?"

  "Well, I know I promised I could stay around a bit longer," he began, and my heart thumped. "But I got a call an hour ago. The Bureau needs me back in the Las Vegas office tomorrow. Just for a couple of days—I can be in Atlanta again by Friday, if not sooner."

  "When do you leave?" I tried not to sound disappointed.

  "Six forty-five tomorrow morning, bright and early."

  Yuck. I grimaced. Glancing at the clock on the kitchen stove, I saw it was barely eight in the evening. As far as I was concerned, it might as well be past midnight. "You couldn't pay me to be up that early for a flight."

  "Good thing I've got my rental car." He grinned. "I'll let myself out so you can get your beauty sleep."

  I let out a long yawn and blinked up at Emmett. "Would you hate me if I started that beauty sleep now? I'm exhausted."

  Emmett chuckled and placed his arms behind my back and knees, scooping me off the ground. "Come on," he said, turning to carry me to my room. "Let's put you to bed. Just promise me something," he added, his expression turning serious. "Don't get yourself into any more trouble while I'm gone, okay?"

  "I won't," I mumbled drowsily. I was out before my head hit the pillow.

  * * *

  Emmett was already gone when I awoke around nine on Monday morning. While part of me was sad to see the empty space next to me in the bed, I was also relieved that he'd be away for at least a few days. That would give me time to do some digging into Sid's murder without causing any more tension between us. I quickly showered and got dressed and was happy to see that the bruise on my temple was nearly gone. After feeding my three little pals their morning bowl of Kitty Chow, I dropped by a nearby donut shop to pick up breakfast for the band on my way to the Georgian Terrace Hotel.