her, it wasn’t obvious. Her voice vibrated through the Perth night, and had the punters dancing in their seats, screaming for more, and getting it with a third encore.
“What’s going on between Rand and Stu?” he asked Bodge as they commenced striking the stage for the move to Brisbane.
“Dunno, Reedy. But they sure as hell were different tonight.”
“I heard someone crying in the dressing room tunnel,” said Teflon.
“Who?”
Tef shrugged. “All girls’ wailing sounds the same to me. I’m not a CSI tech. Didn’t do a forensic of it you know.”
Jake filed that away. He’d need to find out what was going on. The green room was filled with the smell of trouble brewing. Rand was with Rielle, Ceedee and two journos at one end of the room. Stu was holding court with a bunch of radio station promo winners at the other. Roley was nowhere to be seen and Brendan, Jeremy and How were stationed in a nowhere land between the two camps.
Jake figured he’d find an answer to things in the demilitarised zone. “Fellas, what’s going on?”
How scratched his nose. “Just the usual, Jake.”
“It’ll blow over,” said Jeremy.
“It usually does,” said Brendan.
He frowned at them. “Are you guys sworn to secrecy or something?”
“Something,” said How. He was watching Stu pose for photos with a fan girl whose silicon attributes were like a free try-before-you-buy advertisement. Stu was hugging her and letting her play her hands all over his body.
Jake looked across the room at Ceedee. She was glaring at Stu, her jaw set, lips compressed. Rielle was trying unsuccessfully to get her to look away.
“You could be more helpful,” he said.
“We could, but it’s against our code,” said How, eyes never leaving Stu’s corner.
“Oh yeah, what code is that?”
“The everyone against management code. You’d be aware of that one, Jake.”
“Intimately.”
Jake knew he wasn’t going to get any further with this tonight, but he was dead sure whatever was going on wasn’t over.
It was just a big tin can with wings. It was a wonder more people weren’t terrified of flying. Jake pressed into his seat. His fear was still there, cramping his guts, clamping his temples in a vice. But it was dulled by his last Zanect and somehow he had a better handle on it. Perhaps it was the reading on acrophobia he’d been doing, the more rarefied atmosphere of business class, or Rielle’s hand in his. Her insistence and Rand’s charm and money ensured Jake had a plush, wide seat and a better class of meal to reject, for fear of throwing it up, on the trip to Brisbane.
He was hoping to sleep for the four hour flight, knowing they had another couple of days off in Brisbane waiting for the road train, and that Sharon would have everything well in hand.
So far, he was doing a good job of trying, but the feel of Rielle’s fingers threaded through his was distracting. She seemed to be doing everything she could to make him feel comfortable, or at least not to aggravate him. It was an unexpected kindness. It made him wary.
Since the episode in her dressing room, he couldn’t think about her the same way. He couldn’t look at her the same way. She’d shown him someone different. A softer version of herself, less rock and roll and more real, less aggressive and more tortured. More like the Rielle of the bike rides, less like the smart-mouthed lone wolf, unafraid to punch a man.
That kiss on the Hand had been a shock, something desperate and dirty, fraught and life saving. But the ones in her dressing room—he couldn’t pretend they hadn’t been almost more excitement than he could take. He’d forgotten who she was, who he was and everything else in the known world but for the feel of her on his tongue. And still it was wrong. Standing in for words neither of them knew how to say, emotions not meant to be shared.
He’d tried to stay out of her way since then. It seemed the smartest move, given what he most wanted was to have her repeat that private performance. From the slinky robe and skimpy underwear, to the way she kissed him, rimming his lips with her tongue, and shifting her pelvis way up close to grind against his; and later at the hospital, how she held his hand and rested on his shoulder.
All that next day, thoughts of her half-naked in his arms chased him across the stage, sat on his lap in