Jeffery Deaver - XO

“You do, true.”

“Fact is, they were both teachers and they like the classics.” He lifted his leather-bound book. Dickens. He added, “Malory’s Morte d’Arthur was one of their favorites.”

“The King Arthur stories.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Not a lot of cops know that. But then, you’re not just a cop.”

“Not any more than you’re just a bodyguard.” She didn’t add that she was also a mother who helped her children with their homework. She eyed the book in his hand.

“Great Expectations.”

She asked, “Is Kayleigh handling this okay?”

“Borderline, I’d say. I don’t go way back with her. Her lawyers and her father hired me when that fellow started popping up. She’s the best of the celebrities I’ve ever worked with. Nicest. Polite. I could tell you some stories about clients I’ve had.”

Though he wouldn’t. He was a pro through and through. When this assignment was over, Darthur Morgan would instantly forget everything he knew about Kayleigh Towne, even the fact that he’d worked for her.

“You’re armed?”

“Yes.”

Dance had been pretty sure but she was glad to hear the confirmation. And glad to hear too that Morgan didn’t continue to chat about his weapon or how proficient he was, much less whether he’d ever used it.

Professional…

“It could be that Edwin’s stolen a Glock.”

“I know. I talked to Chief Madigan.”

The big man retired to the front door, sat down in a chair challenged by his weight.

Dance sipped the iced tea that Kayleigh had brought her. She looked around the room at the many awards and gold and platinum records hanging on the walls. There was a framed picture from the cover of Country Times and Dance had to laugh. It was a picture of Kayleigh holding the Country Music Association’s Singer of the Year award. As she’d been accepting it, a young man, a country singer with a self-polished reputation for being a bad boy had leapt onto the stage and taken the microphone away, berating her for being too young to win and not true to traditional country roots. He railed that another singer should have won.

Kayleigh had let him finish and then pulled the microphone out of his hand and said if he was such a supporter of traditional country, then name the top-five lifetime hits of George Jones, Loretta Lynn and Patsy Cline. “Or name any five of them,” Kayleigh had challenged.

He did a deer in the headlights thing for a long ten seconds, in front of a live TV audience of millions, and then slunk off the stage, his arm raised, for some reason, like a heavy metal rocker’s. Kayleigh finished her acceptance speech and, to a standing ovation, concluded by naming all the hits she’d asked him to recite.

Kayleigh now joined them, wearing blue jeans and a thick dark gray blouse, untucked and concealing as if Edwin were observing her from the distance through high-powered binoculars.

And who’s to say he wasn’t?

The singer sighed and sat on a floral sofa in the middle of the spacious room.

Dance said, “I just talked to the deputy at the convention center. All of the crew are accounted for except Tye and Alicia.”

“Oh, she called ten minutes ago. I told her about the second verse and made sure she was looking out for herself.” Kayleigh smiled. “She almost sounded like she was hoping Edwin’d try something with her. She’s pretty tough. And’s got a temper.” She called Tye Slocum and left a message. “I don’t know why he left.”

And all the while Darthur Morgan said nothing and didn’t even seem to hear the conversation. He simply scanned the house, the windows. He took a phone call and put the mobile away. Then stiffened.

The big man was on his feet, looking out the front window. “Visitors.” He paused. “Hm. Whole entourage. And it looks official.”

“ENTOURAGE” DESCRIBED IT pretty well, Kayleigh Towne decided.

Two SUVs-one dusty white Lexus, Bishop’s, and a big black Lincoln Navigator.

Bishop and Sheri climbed out and turned to the other vehicle.

Four passengers. First was security, it was easy to tell. A solid, sunglassed man, well over six feet, a pale complexion. He looked around and then leaned into the SUV and whispered something. The next to climb out was a slim, thoughtful-looking man with thinning hair. The third, also in a dark suit, white shirt and tie, was much taller and had a politician’s head of hair.

Which made sense, because, Kayleigh realized, that’s exactly who he was: one of California’s star congressmen, William Davis, a two-term Democrat.

Kayleigh glanced at Dance, who observed this all with a careful gaze.

A woman was the last to climb out of the Navigator, dressed also in a conservative matching navy jacket and skirt, flesh-colored stockings.

The guard stayed with the SUV and the others followed Bishop and his wife into the house.

Inside, Bishop hugged his daughter and as if in an afterthought asked how she was holding up. Kayleigh thought it was the way he’d ask a gaffer whose name he didn’t know how he was weathering the loss of an elderly parent. He also didn’t seem to remember that he’d been here just a few hours ago.

What on earth were they doing here, anyway?

Bishop examined Dance as if he’d never met her and he ignored Darthur Morgan completely.

He said to his daughter, “This here’s Congressman Davis. And his aides, Peter Simesky. And…”

“Myra Babbage.” The slim, unsmiling woman, with square-cut, brunette hair, nodded formally. She seemed a bit star-struck to be in Kayleigh’s presence.

“Ms. Towne, it’s an honor,” the congressman said.

“Hey, call me Kayleigh. You’re making me older than I want to be.”

Davis laughed. “And I’m Bill. It’s easy to remember. I’ve sponsored a few of them in congress.”

Kayleigh gave a brief smile. And she introduced Dance and Morgan.

“We just flew into San Francisco a few days ago and have been making our way south. I was in touch with your father, asking about getting to your concert. Oh, I’m paying for tickets, don’t you worry. I’m afraid we just need a little extra security.”

Bishop said, “We’ve got it all taken care of.”

“I was hoping for a chance to meet you and to say hi in person. Your father suggested bringing me along today, before the concert.”

So, that was it. Kayleigh understood. Dammit. Her father had said they’d think about canceling the show and yet he was going to do whatever he needed to make sure it went forward. Anything to edge her career in the right direction. He’d be thinking that her knowing that the congressman-and accordingly more reporters-would be in the audience would pressure her not to cancel.

Kayleigh fumed but smiled pleasantly, or tried to, as Davis rambled like a schoolboy, talking about songs of hers he particularly loved. He really was quite a fan. He knew every word of every tune, it seemed.

Myra Babbage said, “I can’t thank you enough for letting us use ‘Leaving Home’ on the website. It’s really become an anthem for Bill’s campaign.”

Kathryn Dance said, “I heard you on the radio, Congressman. On the drive over here-that debate on immigration issues. That was some heated discussion.”

“Oh, it sure was.”

“I think you won, by the way. You drove ’em into the ground.”

“Thanks. It was a lot of fun,” Davis said with a gleam in his eye. “I love debates. That was my, quote, ‘sport’ at school. Less painful to talk than getting run into on the football field. Not necessarily safer, though.”

Kayleigh didn’t follow politics much. Some of her fellow performers were active in campaigns and causes but she’d known them before they’d hit it big and they hadn’t seemed particularly interested in animal rights or hunger before they started drawing the public limelight. She suspected that a number had been tapped by their public relations firms or their record company publicity departments to take up a cause because it would look good in the press.