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“Is everything all right?” I ask Greg.

“It’ll be fine.”

Once Shelby’s satisfied, we head back to her dressing room. Outside her door, she stops to talk to Greg and Trent.

While the hallway’s busy enough, no one watched Shelby’s room while we were gone. Since she’s occupied, I slip inside and do a quick sweep. Everything seems fine. Untouched.

Until my gaze lands on a black envelope with silver writing waiting on her makeup chair.

“Motherfucker.”

I open the letter carefully.Dearest Shelby,

I was so relieved to learn of your charity work with Dream Makers. I will admit that I had my doubts after all your indiscriminate behavior. Now I feel reassured that you will be an appropriate mother for our children.

See you soon.

M“Fuck!” I drop the letter and storm out of Shelby’s dressing room, on the hunt for someone to fucking murder.

“What’s wrong?” Greg raises his hand in a ‘stop’ motion.

Shelby’s bottom lip trembles, fear dancing in her eyes. “There’s another letter, isn’t there?”

Shit. I need to control myself. She still has a show. I pull her into my arms and kiss the top of her head, then motion for Greg and Bane to follow us into the room.

“How the fuck did this get in here?” I point to the letter I’d left on the makeup table.

Greg leans over and scans the note. “Shit.”

“Yeah. What the fuck? Can anyone just walk around backstage?”

“They shouldn’t be able to,” Greg says.

Bane studies the letter for a second. “Where was it?”

“On her chair.”

He turns to Greg. “It could’ve been like before. Someone might have left it up front and one of the employees dropped it off.”

“You’re going to need to start calling ahead to each place and give them a heads-up,” I say to Greg.

“Heads-up to what?”

“To be on the lookout for anyone dropping off fan mail for Shelby. Detain them or get a name. Something.” Why is he so slow to see this as a problem?

“Detain them for what?” Greg places his hands on his hips. “They’re creepy, sure. But there’s no threat.”

Shelby raises her hand. “Uh, the ‘see you soon’ feels like a threat to me. Not to mention this letter reeks of reproductive coercion.” She hugs herself and shudders.

I squeeze her tighter. Forget my whole caveman brain shorting out over some psycho thinking he’s going to have babies with my woman—I know how much the subject freaks her out in general and that’s way more important than my inner barbarian’s instincts. “I’m gonna kill this motherfucker.”

“That’s not helpful.” Greg wags his finger at me.

“Sorry, Greg.” Bane snorts. “I’m with Logan.”

Behind us, there’s a knock and Dawson pushes the door open. “What’s everyone doing in here?”

“Just admiring the latest missive Mr. Creepy left for me,” Shelby mutters.

“Shit.” Dawson closes the door behind him. “Are you serious? How the fuck are they getting to her, Greg?”

Greg backs up at the accusatory tone in Dawson’s voice. “I’m not responsible for what the venue does.”

“Where were you?” Dawson slaps Bane’s shoulder.

“With her at sound check.”

“Oh. Sorry.” He lifts his chin at me. “You sticking around tonight?”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“Where you taking her after the show? I’m thinking she shouldn’t stay at the same hotel as the rest of the band and crew.”

“My club has a charter not far from here. She’ll be safe there.”

Dawson nods. “Good.” He focuses on Greg. “I need a word with you.”

Bane follows Greg and Dawson out, promising to remain outside the door. Finally, it’s just the two of us. Shelby sags buries her face against my shirt.

I curl my arm around her. “Come here.”

“I’m so creeped out that this guy was in here.”

I sit in the corner of the couch and pull her into my lap. “We don’t know that. It could’ve been staff who dropped it off.”

“I guess.” She drapes her arms around my neck and rests her head on my chest. I hook my arm under her knees, pulling her legs up.

“Thank you,” she murmurs. “For being here.”

“Nowhere else I wanna be, chickadee.”

“Don’t feel…obligated to come on tour with me because of this.”

“Hey.” I pull back and wait for her to look at me. “We talked about this. I was already planning to come with you.” I tickle her side. “Remember? You were hiding this from me and I didn’t know until this morning.”

“I wasn’t hiding—stop, that tickles!”

“Why do you have such a hard time believing me when I tell you stuff?”

She shrugs and glances away. “There haven’t been a lot of people in my life I could depend on.”

“I get that, but—”

Someone knocks and Shelby jumps.

“It’s me!” Cindy calls as she opens the door. “Ready?”

“Shoot. Yeah. Sorry.”

Cindy’s gaze pings between us. “Everything okay?”

“I got another letter,” Shelby mumbles.

“Oh my God, are you serious?” Cindy sets her case next to the dresser. “Shoot, honey. I’m really worried about you.”

“I’ll be fine.” Shelby forces a bright smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

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