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Chapter 8
Maria caught a ride to the hospital with the detective sent to take the band members’ statements. She’d texted Tank, who directed them to a private waiting room in the surgical wing. When she walked through the door, Fiona leapt up and covered her face with her hands. Maria pulled Fiona’s shaking body into a hug.
“Any news?” Maria asked, noting Fiona’s tear-stained cheeks and red rimmed eyes.
“He’s still in surgery,” Fiona answered.
“Did anyone call his family?” she asked.
“His sister Annabelle will be here tomorrow, and his mom is driving down now. She’s only in Orlando, so I think she’ll arrive anytime.”
“Okay, good.” Maria said, stepping back and squeezing Fiona’s hand.
“Do you know what happened?” Fiona asked, her bottom lip trembling.
Maria now had the attention of the band and her security team, all of whom looked alert and tense. Shaking her head, she gestured to the man who’d thoughtfully given them a quiet moment. “This is Detective Lane. He needs to ask you all a few questions.”
Maria appreciated Lane’s ability to keep any feelings he may have had about meeting arguably one of the most famous singers in the world to himself. He spent an extra few minutes with Julian, who Maria knew had met one of the dead women earlier in the day. Yesterday, actually, she corrected, glancing at her watch. It was nearly five am. The shooting had taken place at approximately one-fifteen am—at least, that’s when the noise complaint had come in at the security desk.
A wave of exhaustion crashed over Maria. She dragged herself to the coffee pot, poured a cup. Cringing at the bitter swill, she nonetheless trusted the jolt of caffeine to do its job and race through her veins to give her a burst of energy. She sipped the scalding liquid and leaned against the wall next to Tank. The giant of a man had his arms crossed over his chest and a scowl on his face.
“Jennings said he walked Teagan and the women to 1510 and left them there with the door locked. What the fuck happened?” Tank hissed.
“I don’t know. Do you think the band is being targeted? Were you followed?” Maria asked.
“We definitely weren’t followed,” Tank said.
“Who would want Teag dead?” Maria asked, airing her thoughts in a hushed whisper. “There’s been no sign of a stalker or even any over-the-top fan mail.”
“Could someone be after Fiona?” Tank asked, his voice just as soft. He glanced at the petite singer, who now sat curled against Diego on the ugly, green waiting room couch.
That didn’t sit right with Maria. “The Director is dead,” she said, referring to the serial killer who’d abducted Fiona years ago. “She hasn’t had any weirdo stalkers since, at least none that seemed legit. I guess it’s a possibility, but I don’t think so.”
Tank exhaled and shook his head. “Yeah, that theory doesn’t feel right to me either.”
“What if Teag wasn’t the target?” Maria asked, giving Tank a sideways glance.
“You think someone was after one of the women?”
“I don’t know. Nothing popped when the venue ran their IDs to get their backstage passes, but that’s hardly a thorough background check.”
It had bothered Maria from the start of the tour that members of the public had access to the band after the show, but it was something the musicians enjoyed, and it was a pretty typical practice, so Maria didn’t balk. Guests were searched, their IDs checked, and their bags run through a scanner. The system wasn’t infallible, but they’d never had trouble before.
“Something else, and it may not mean anything, but the women were killed with shots to the head. It looked almost execution style, whereas Teag was shot in the chest, like maybe he surprised the killer, or he wasn’t the target, so the killer wasn’t as exacting, even if it was only a subconscious thing.”
“Huh. Interesting. Are the cops going to share their findings with us?” Tank asked.
Maria shrugged. “The lead detective said he’d keep me informed, but I don’t think that means much. Cam will be here later this morning. He has a way of getting intel.”
Tank chuckled. “Yeah, he does, and I suspect he’ll want to put TSI’s resources behind figuring this out, with or without help from the local PD.”
“Good,” Maria said.
She closed her eyes and leaned her head against the wall, the coffee turning to acid in her gut. Her mind sifted through images from the crime scene, trying to catalog every piece of information so it wouldn’t be lost as the memories eroded with time. When she envisioned Teag on the floor, pale, still, and bleeding out, her breath hitched, and a lone tear trickled down her cheek.
Lost in thought, Maria jumped when the door to the waiting room flew open. A fit, attractive, fifty-something woman with dark pixie-cut hair and stunning blue eyes rushed inside. Fiona jumped off the couch once again and flung her arms around the woman.
“Is my boy still alive?” the woman asked, her voice tight with fear.
