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“Icing doesn’t come with spellcheck. Too bad. It would have caught Guitard Club for sure.” Her guffaw was a true delight. “So tell me what’s going on?”
I filled her in, which was a short description, since nothing new had developed on the internet, or with the paparazzi. “In other words, a whole lot of nothing.”
“Well, you do get to pass the time with Callan Wilder. You know, the guy you’re in love with? How is that bad?”
“It isn’t. It’s good. We played strip Name That Tune last night.” I recalled losing when I couldn’t name one of his songs. I paid dearly for that. Twice. A smile cracked across my face.
“Way to get creative. So much better than playing Scrabble.”
“Oh, we played dirty word Scrabble the night before last.” James had played with us, so that game had been a little more PG-rated.
We chatted a little longer, then I let her go.
I saw a text notification from my unknown number had arrived while I was talking to Naomi. I hadn’t gotten one in a couple days, so my heart sort of leaped. As I opened the message, I said a little prayer that whatever bad stuff had happened to the sender, it had been resolved. It was weird to think that person was in a similar situation to ours.
Unknown Number: Hey Dad. Been in a holding pattern here with all this shit. But everything is on track for the release and tour. Once all this other shit blows over, my life will change. Just wish you were here to see this. Love you, Dad. Miss you every day.
My breathing shallowed out. All this shit? Release and tour? This went way beyond similar. My unknown caller’s life seemed to be an exact replica of… What were the chances? I typed in my first reply since I’d started getting the texts.
Me: Callan?
I held my breath and my finger hovered over the send button. If it wasn’t Callan, then I’d be letting the person on the other end know they weren’t texting their dad. They’d lose him all over again. And that would be awful. I started to backspace over the message, erasing my reply.
But Elvis barked wildly, his fur bristling. I grabbed his collar. “What’s up, buddy?”
“Hey, Miss? Catie Brinker? Over here.” A man called and I spun my head to the right in time to see some asshole in a red T-shirt wading through the shallows, a camera pressed to his face.
“That’s your name, right? Are you Callan’s new squeeze? How’d you meet? How long have you been together?” he badgered as he kept advancing.
That flash of red, what I’d thought was a cardinal, appeared to be this guy. His finger pressed repeatedly on the shutter button. He was taking my picture as he slogged through the charming lake. Not so charming with him in it.
To my left, a shout rang out. “Hey! You’re trespassing on private property. I’m calling the police.” The security guard was running pell-mell across the grass. He hollered into his radio, “Intruder on the property.”
Shit! Shit! Shit! That asshole knows who I am.I panicked, held up one hand in front of my face, and ducked my head. Fright bloomed in my chest as I hustled to my feet, trying to keep my back to the camera.
The guard’s boots pounded on the dock, heading toward me. Elvis was still barking like crazy.
The guard raced to the far end as the camera guy stopped snapping pictures and began climbing the ladder on the dock. Elvis alternately snarled, barked, and lunged toward the newcomer. With his leash in a death grip in my fist, I dragged him away. The guard didn’t look at me as he rushed by, knocking into my shoulder. I had to windmill my arms to stay on my feet. Elvis yelped as I jerked on the leash. My left foot skidded forward on the dock and I cried out as a splinter pierced the sole.
“Catie!” Callan shouted as he sprinted across the grass.
I limped his direction, wincing each time my left foot struck the ground. Tears of pain and fright pricked the back of my eyes, but I bit my lip to keep them from falling.
The scene behind me was pandemonium. The second security guard roared from the other side of the dock, bursting through the tree line like he was a freaking T-Rex. James had been two steps behind him, but overtook him before either of them reached the pier. The original guard had the photographer on his belly on the dock and was struggling with the prick to get the camera.
“You okay?” James stopped at my side and shouted the question in my face.
I flinched, then winced as his boot stomped on my right foot. All I could do is nod. He squeezed my shoulder then rushed to where now both guards had jerked the camera man upright between them. Callan was streaking across the lawn, almost to me by now. I focused on him, on getting to him, into his arms.
To safety.
James stomped down the dock, arm extended. The first guard held the camera out, dangling it over the water by its tie-dyed strap.
“Don’t you fucking drop that. I’ll sue. That camera is worth a fortune,” the photographer yelled. “I’ll sue your fucking ass.”
I didn’t wait to see more. I stepped off the dock, knowing immediate relief as my left foot stopped pounding on the hard surface. It still hurt every time I put weight on it, but not as much.
Callan thundered up to my side, caught me in his arms and held me tight.
