When Stars Collide (Chicago Stars #9) - Susan Elizabeth Phillips Page 0,79

she were handling a snake. Not far off.

It was the newspaper photo of the two of them kissing on Michigan Avenue. Except someone had ripped a hole in the paper where her head had been and written a note in red ink across the bottom.

You destroyed me and now I’m destroying you, my love. Think of me with every note you try to sing.

“This was delivered to your room at the hotel an hour ago,” he said gently.

She snatched the paper from his hand, ripped it, and shoved the pieces into the wastebasket by the couch. “I’m not letting this get to me. I’m absolutely not.”

“You already have, and ripping it up won’t make the threat go away.”

She sank into the couch, dropped her head, and rubbed her temples. “I hate this.”

He sat next to her and took one of her silver rings between his fingers. “The message says, ‘Think of me with every note you try to sing.’ What does that mean to you?”

“It doesn’t mean anything. It means—” Her head came up. “I don’t know.”

“Whoever is sending you these messages knows you’re having trouble with your voice and is capitalizing on it. Someone wants you to stop singing.”

“That’s impossible. No one knows about my voice except you.”

“And Rachel, right? The best friend you tell everything to.”

“I’d trust Rachel!” she exclaimed. “Besides, I haven’t told her all of it. She has no idea how bad it’s gotten.”

He knew she didn’t want to hear this, but he had to say it anyway. “The two of you are in competition for the same roles. You told me she also sings Amneris, right?”

“So do dozens of other performers!” she exclaimed. “Rachel and I are on different career paths.”

“But maybe Rachel wants to be on the same path.”

She jumped up. “I won’t hear another word. I mean it, Thad. I’d trust Rachel with my life.”

Which might be exactly what she was doing, but he knew better than to say that. “Regardless of who’s behind this, someone is threatening you, and you can’t stay here.” He rose and cupped her shoulders. “We’ve been traveling together for almost a month. We know how to share space. This doesn’t have to be complicated. You can go your way. I’ll go mine.”

She looked away. “You know it won’t be that easy.”

“It’ll be as easy as we make it.”

She turned from him. “I don’t want to do this.”

“I understand.”

“I’ll . . . rent another apartment.”

“That’ll take some time.”

Her shoulders slumped in defeat. “This isn’t the way it was supposed to be.”

“I know,” he said. “We’ll figure it out as we go along.”

* * *

If the Lyric Opera’s baronial, throne-shaped, art deco building was the grand dame of Chicago opera, the Chicago Municipal Opera was its stylish, sassy granddaughter. In the chilly, midmorning sunshine, the Muni’s flowing, contemporary glass-and-concrete curves were perfectly reflected in the Chicago River.

“I went here once,” Clint said, as they pulled into the parking lot.

“Your audition for The Bachelor?” Thad chimed in from the back seat where Clint and Olivia had exiled him.

Clint grinned. “Dude, I haven’t been to one of those since you made me hold your hand when you auditioned. Remember how hard you cried when they said you were too old?”

Thad snorted, and Olivia smiled, her first of the morning. Watching the two of them spar was her brightest moment since she’d gotten out of Thad’s bed that morning.

Thad had insisted on driving her to the Muni, even though her beloved old red BMW M2 waited patiently in the garage. He’d shrugged off her reminder that his license had been stolen, along with his wallet. “When you’re playing for a Chicago sports team, the cops tend to overlook crap like driver’s licenses.”

“Not all of them, I’m sure,” she’d said. “And the last thing you need is to be picked up for driving without a license.”

So he’d put in a phone call to Clint, and now here she was—with an unsteady voice and the ominous mental image of her headless body in the newspaper photo—being driven to her first day back at work with two of the city’s most famous jocks. Her life had shot so far from its orbit she’d entered a different universe.

Clint parked by the rear entrance, close to the spot that had been reserved for her. Her costume fitting came first, then the meeting she dreaded with the maestro, Sergio Tinari, and then a full afternoon of blocking rehearsals. Her stomach had already been in knots before Thad had