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“Val.” My brother crossed the hotel lobby from the stairs, his gaze troubled and his fists bunched.
I gestured at the windows. “It’s been building for at least half an hour and is getting thicker. The hotel only has a single doorman on duty.”
Ben took in the scene. In a different city, a few days ago, we’d had fans chase the tour bus. In another, they’d hung out around the back of the venue in a crowd so thick we’d needed the police to move them on before we could drive out.
“How many?” he asked.
“Not sure. I’ll go check it out. The doorman, too.”
A jerk of his head released me from my unofficial lobby guarding. Through the rotating door, I emerged into the night air.
“Banks!” Someone screamed.
Leo’s surname. No doubt this was a fan mob.
I sought the person out—a teenager braced by his parents. The lad’s expression dropped when he realised I wasn’t his idol.
People around him muttered, jockeying for position, only held back by a line of potted trees that marked the hotel’s entrance. Most of them were adults.
“What’s going to happen for all the fans who couldn’t get tickets?” someone else bellowed.
Excited voices took up the call, energy high on the mild night.
The sense of threat built in me.
I’d heard Leo talking on the phone to his record company about issues with this gig. There had been a problem with the online sales platform where it had crashed and dumped out all the people queueing for tickets. A large number had been bought by ticket touts instead and resold at an extortionate figure. There was nothing Leo could do about it, but I knew he’d felt bad.
Apparently the crowd did, too.
Using a block-counting technique, I estimated the size. Fifty, sixty, shite, close to eighty people were cramming into the medieval cobbled alley. We were in Barcelona’s Gothic Quarter, with narrow pedestrian-only streets lined with high-walled buildings. Access was tricky. We couldn’t bring a car outside, but there was a private square on the other side of the building.
Down the alley, a covered bridge spanned the street, leading from one building to another. Old stone, like the rest of the buildings, and with open sides.
I’d noted it earlier but now took a good look then turned to the door guard I’d already introduced myself to at check-in. “How’s it going, brother?”
The man’s eyes focused over my shoulder. His fingers fluttered over his smart uniform. “They keep asking if your rock star is staying here. I’ve told them no, but more are arriving by the second. Someone must’ve put it online.”
I squinted around to make sure he hadn’t just outed me to anyone listening. Luckily, no one seemed to have heard. “Where’s your team?”
“It’s just me on the door until ten when my shift ends.”
In other words, only here to make the place appear smart. No chance of him being able to disperse them. “You’re doing great. Keep them out, aye?”
His gaze clung to me. “I’m new to this job. What do I do if they rush me?”
For fuck’s sake. I clapped his elbow. “Call the cops and don’t get trampled. Now let me back in so we can work out what to do.”
He activated the turning door so I could re-enter. Behind the reception desk, Ben clicked a mouse, a low monitor displaying the other exit to the hotel—a gated archway that led to the square they used for deliveries. A few people had gathered there, too.
My stomach tightened.
I relayed what I’d discovered.
“There’s a risk of mob action,” I concluded. “We need the cops to handle that crowd. Getting out tomorrow for the gig is going to be a ballache, too. Who the fuck picked out this hotel? Security’s a joke.”
I didn’t temper my complaint for the sake of the receptionist perched at the far end of the counter. She watched us with unabashed curiosity.
My brother drew me away a few steps so our conversation wasn’t earwigged. “The record company changed the plan last minute so Luke was closer to the place they’re meeting him this evening.”
