each city. I’ll set up some cameras and we’ll record everyone who stops by. We’ll keep a log and be able to check them against each location. See who shows up over and over. You know this guy won’t be able to resist.”
“Shoot, that’s brilliant,” Dawson says. “I should have you running my security team.”
“Shelby’s my priority,” I say without looking at him. “We’ll work out the details.” I slap Jigsaw’s back. “And one of us will review the footage each night.” Jiggy’s annoying attention to small details is about to come in handy.
Greg rubs his hand over his chin for a few seconds. “I don’t know if the venue will allow—”
“It’s not their fuckin’ business,” I growl. “This is a huge place. There’s no reasonable expectation of privacy at a merchandise booth. And we’re not cops.” Nor are we going to turn the stalker over to the cops, but mentioning that won’t help Greg accept my plan, so I don’t bother saying it.
“Furthest thing from cops,” Jigsaw adds.
“There’s no issue.” I ignore Jiggy’s contribution. “If you ask their permission, they might stall us, and I’m not in the mood to deal with any bullshit. Not when these letters are escalating in the sicko factor.”
Dawson slaps Greg’s shoulder. “Ask forgiveness, not permission, buddy.”
“Will you still be saying that next year when they won’t let us book a show here?” Greg asks.
Dawson busts out laughing. “Please. We sold out two nights in a row. It’s not an issue.”
Greg knows he’s lost this battle but he still needs me to give him an extra push. “It’s not much different than having cameras to stop people from boosting her T-shirts.”
“All right. I’ll get you the space. What footage of Shelby are you going to use as your bait?”
“I’ll think of an angle. It’ll have to be video they can’t find anywhere else. Something cute and personal her fans don’t know about her maybe.”
“Where are you going to get equipment like that on such short notice? We don’t have that kind of money in the budget.”
“Don’t worry about it.” I glance over at Jigsaw. “I know where I can get everything I need.”
Chapter Fifty-Six
Shelby
Guilt washes over me with the lukewarm water in the dressing room shower.
Maybe this is what my momma wanted me to avoid. A man coming in and controlling my business. My father did something similar, taking over bits and pieces of her life until he finally knocked her up and bye-bye, singing career.
At least, that’s her version of the story. Dad’s not exactly around to give me his side.
I’m five years older than she was when she quit singing. Made it a hell of a lot further too. Rooster is nothing like my dad. Then again, my memories could be tainted with my mother’s bitterness and my own heartbreak.
Rooster’s not taking over. He’s trying to help me—that’s another important difference.
But what’s it look like to Dawson? To have my boyfriend handle things? Is he going to think I’m weak and pathetic? This business is hard enough. I want to gain respect from my peers, not pity.
All the men are out there discussing me and I’m in here hiding in the shower.
There’s some creep on the loose who thinks I’m going to have his babies.
My stomach twists. So gross. What kind of sicko thinks like that, let alone puts it in a letter and gives it to another human being? Oh, right. A man like that only sees me as a cute little blonde baby-making machine.
The tap squeaks as I twist it off. I snag my towel from the hook and wrap it around myself.
What are they talking about? Poor Shelby. She really attracts the weirdos? Is Rooster thinking this is too much and he shouldn’t have gotten involved with me? Or maybe he really has some white knight complex and—
Shoot. I need to calm the hell down.
Leaning against the sink, I swipe my hand over the foggy mirror and study my face. I’m so dang pale. Spending way too much time inside.
Quit stalling. Get your ass out there, Shelby Morgan.
I shake my jeans and wiggle into them. They stick in weird spots where my skin’s still damp. I braid my wet hair out of my face and slip on a T-shirt, then flip flop my way to the door. A cloud of steam follows me.
“Feel better?” Rooster asks.
My gaze darts around the room. “Where’d everyone go?”
Jigsaw spreads his hands in front of him. “The most important person is still here.”
That actually