muscle in her cousin’s jaw, Ana chided herself for mentioning the telephone conversation between herself and the CEO of Slow Wyne. “He said I would pay for stealing Justin away from him.”
“Pay how, Ana?”
She forced a brittle smile. “I don’t know. He didn’t go into detail.”
“Aren’t you concerned that he threatened you?” Tyler asked.
“Not really. He was just acting like a little boy who couldn’t get his way. Basil Irvine doesn’t have the best reputation when it comes to his artists. He will throw a few dollars at them—more money than they’ve ever seen to win them over. He also has a reputation for hosting elaborate parties for his artists complete with beautiful women, premium champagne and I suspect drugs, and in the end he’ll own their souls. His performers make a lot of money, but unfortunately too many of them die before they’re able to get what’s coming to them. If they’re not involved in some feud or have beef with another performer, then it’s a drug overdose.”
“I want you to be careful, because this clown sounds like he’s going to be trouble,” Tyler warned softly.
“If he wants trouble, then he’ll get it,” Ana countered. “As soon as he issued the threat I told him I was going to tape all of our conversations. I suppose it was enough for him to back off. He sent me a letter last month congratulating Serenity after Justin’s album debuted at number one.”
“What was your response?”
“I called and thanked him personally. He mentioned something about sharing drinks at the next Grammy awards, and I told him I would make certain to set aside time to meet with him.”
“So, you’ve kissed and made up?”
Ana’s mouth twisted. “We’re more like fremenies.”
“Friend or enemy, you still should watch him.”
Waving her hand in a dismissive gesture, Ana affected a bored expression. “I try not to give him a passing thought.”
Tyler glanced at his watch, touched the napkin to the corners of his mouth and then placed it beside his plate. “I hate to eat and run, but I want to go back to my hotel and unwind before I go over my notes for tomorrow’s presentation.”
Ana realized her cousin must have gotten up early to fly in from Mississippi. She’d offered to have him stay in her condo, but Tyler said it was more convenient to check into the hotel where the conference was to take place. Reaching into her handbag, she took out her wallet and placed enough money on the table to cover their meal and a generous tip.
“Thanks for sharing lunch.”
Tyler winked at her. “Thanks for inviting me and next time it’s on me.” Pushing back his chair, he stood up and came around the table to ease back Ana’s chair. “Are you coming to Hillsboro for Thanksgiving?”
She looked at him. “Are you sure Dana’s going to be up to hosting Thanksgiving so soon after giving birth?”
“We’re having it catered.”
She nodded. Although she wasn’t married and had no children Ana always got together with her cousins and their families for Thanksgiving. Their parents had complained that Thanksgiving was a family holiday, but the younger generation stood firm when they’d decided to exercise a modicum of independence. The result was a livelier and unrestrained gathering with an ever-increasing number of children running around in abandon.
Arm in arm they left the restaurant and walked out into the brilliant late-spring Florida sunshine. Ana placed a pair of sunglasses on the bridge of her nose, Tyler following suit. “Where are you parked?”
He pointed to a late-model silver sedan. “I’m right here. Where are you parked?”
“I’m around on the other side.”
“I’ll walk you to your car.”
“That’s all right.” Going on tiptoe, Ana pressed a kiss to Tyler’s cheek. “If I don’t see you before you go back to Mississippi I’ll definitely see you for Thanksgiving.”
Winding his arms around Ana’s waist, Tyler pulled her close. Dipping his head, he whispered in her ear. “Stay out of trouble.”
“What are you—” Her words stopped when a sharp sound pierced the humid air. Tyler’s arms fell away as he crumbled to the ground in slow-motion like fluttering confetti. All warmth fled from her body, replaced by an icy-coldness that wouldn’t permit Ana to move. It seemed like an eternity where it was only seconds before she was able to scream when she sank to the ground beside her cousin’s body. The screams kept coming until people in the parking lot raced over to see what the commotion was about.
Her eyes wide with fear and panic, Ana screamed, “Help me!” She cradled Tyler to her bosom, her white blouse stained red with the warm blood seeping from his chest wound. His eyes were closed and his breathing shallow. The wait seemed interminable, but off in the distance she heard the sound of wailing sirens.
“Let me have a look at him.”
She glanced up to find an elderly man kneeling beside her. Her brain refused to process what had just happened. How could someone shoot Tyler and she not see them? She hadn’t noticed anyone close to them in the parking lot. Ana tightened her hold on her cousin’s neck. “No.”
“Please, miss. I’m a doctor.”
“No!” She screamed again, this time when a pair of strong hands pulled her up and held her fast. Ana fought like a cat, crying and clawing, but she wasn’t able to free herself from the arms that held her like manacles.
Some of the fight went out of her, and she slumped against the wide chest of a man who towered above her by a full head. The wail of sirens came closer and closer and within minutes first responders and police officers filled the restaurant’s parking lot. She was barely coherent when she gave an officer the account of what she didn’t see.
Working quickly, the paramedics stabilized Tyler, placing him on a gurney as she stood numbly by. A crime-scene unit had arrived as Ana was helped into the rear of the ambulance. Reaching for Tyler’s hand, she closed her eyes and prayed.
* * *
Ana sat in the family room at her parents’ house, reacting like an automaton. She’d become a prisoner. Easygoing, laidback David Claridge Cole had turned into a tyrant, taking the keys to her car and condo, while declaring he had no intention of burying any of his children and if he had to shackle her to keep her from leaving, then he would. Ana knew her father was incensed because she hadn’t divulged the details of the negotiations to sign Justin Glover, and she’d argued because he was no longer involved with the day-to-day operation of the recording label she wasn’t obligated to apprise him of the proceedings.
And the media had exacerbated the situation when headlines blared about the attempted murder of a member of one of Florida’s most prominent families. An undisclosed source told a reporter at The Miami Herald about the alleged ongoing feud between Slow Wyne Records and Serenity Records, and that Dr. Tyler Cole unintentionally had become collateral damage. Ana prayed the source hadn’t come from Serenity, because all the employees had signed a confidentiality agreement as a condition to employment. And if not them, the rumors had to come from someone in the Slow Wyne camp.
Reporters had also attempted to interview Jason, but his ‘no comment’ left them searching for other leads. Basil Irvine did agree to be interviewed, stating emphatically that there was no bad blood between his L.A.-based company and Serenity. He did admit he’d wanted to sign Justin Glover, but conceded when the singing phenom said the music produced by Serenity was better-suited for his singing style and vocal range. His Cheshire cat grin and velvety smooth voice had Ana screaming at the television that he was lying; she was incensed because she wasn’t able to rebut his allegation.
It’d been three days since someone had gunned down Tyler and instead of fading, the image of her cradling