“And how’d that go over?”

“I received four more pictures. All of them in pretty intimate positions with you and this woman. They’re not  p**n  by any stretch, but the shots were taken by someone who has close access to you, Devin.”

He closed his eyes against the rage churning inside him. “What’d this person want?”

“A hundred thousand dollars. With more exclusive photos. Not only of you with her, but the inside story about how this woman has ruined the tour. She turned your bandmates against you; she made ridiculous demands at venues; she’s keeping you from your fans and is manipulating the media. This person said your bus was shot up and broken into and your bus driver beaten—in three separate incidents. And she’s put so much stress on Tay, your keyboard player, that she was rushed to the emergency room for stress-related seizures?”

“Are you f**king kiddin’ me?” he shouted. “That’s so far from the truth, it’s . . .” He inhaled a deep breath. “Shit. Sorry. I didn’t mean to yell at you. But this is just insane, mostly because there is a kernel of truth to some of it.”

“That’s what I suspected. Because we’re friends, I have to ask if this new woman you’re involved with is some kind of Svengali?”

Wasn’t it ironic that he’d kept most the important people in his life in the dark about Liberty’s true purpose on this tour and he was about to tell a tabloid reporter? “Chels, I gotta know we’re one hundred percent off the record right now.”

“We are.”

“The woman in those photos is my bodyguard. I’ve had some f**ked-up stuff happen to me over the last two years. The tour promotion company insisted I have protection twenty-four hours a day. She’s former military, and our cover story is she’s my personal assistant. But if her picture gets out, with all the ‘who is this mysterious woman’ bullshit, it might ruin her career. I won’t let that happen. The woman has saved my ass a couple of times.”

Chelsea was quiet for a moment. “So who do you think is doing this? Any jealous ex-girlfriends on tour with you?”

“Jealous ex? No. Odette is my ex, but she’s got no beef with me.” She did have opportunity, but Devin refused to consider that. Odette was his songwriting partner. He trusted her.

“What about your tour manager? No offense, but he’s a little gruff and kinda shifty.”

“Only because he doesn’t want me talkin’ to reporters. So Crash would be last on my list of suspects. Besides, he’s the only one on tour with me who knows she’s really my bodyguard.”

“Oh. From the e-mail, this person isn’t aware of that. Doesn’t sound like that narrows the list of suspects very much.”

“No. But I will figure out who is involved.” Devin couldn’t come up with a delicate way to word his question, so he just asked it straight out. “I have to ask what you’re doin’ with all of this?”

“Nothing. I’d never run this story, Devin. And not because it wouldn’t sell magazines, because it would. It’s just . . . I owe you. You gave me the time of day when no one else would during my cub reporter days. You’ve proven yourself to be a good guy time and time again. You don’t deserve this kind of press. That said . . .”

Devin knew his laugh had a bitter edge. “When this is all said and done, you want a story or an exclusive interview, right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Fine. But I need to ask you a favor. If you haven’t offered to pay this person, is there any way you can stall? Make ’em think you’re getting approval for funds and editorial and all that? My gut feeling is this person doesn’t know how tabloid journalism works.”

“No problem. I already laid the groundwork for that so I could contact you.”

“Good. What I don’t want to have happen is this person takes it to your competitor and then it’s out of my control. If you hint that the payday could be even bigger if they get more proof, I’m hopin’ I can catch whoever is doin’ this in the act.”

“I’ll pass that along too. I haven’t responded after the second batch of photos. I’m assuming you’ll make your bodyguard aware of this situation?”

Hell no. Liberty was already on double alert because of all the shit that’d gone down. He’d handle this one on his own. Maybe bring Crash in on it—if his manager promised not to go running straight to Liberty with the information.

“I’m sure it’s no surprise the pictures were taken with a cell phone. Where do you want me to e-mail what I’ve got?”

Devin had one private e-mail account that wasn’t associated with any of his social media. Since he rarely used it, he had to look it up on his phone. He rattled it off and then ended the call.

He flopped back onto the bed and closed his eyes. Getting more pissed off wouldn’t be productive. There were ten days left on the tour. Maybe this person would be careless since the opportunity to cash in was nearing the end. He tried to look at the situation logically, not emotionally. But Christ. Who worked for him that he’d pissed off to the point they’d look for such extreme payback?

Two knocks sounded on the door and he said, “Come in.”

Liberty came in and locked the door. The mattress moved and then she curled into him. “Hey.”

“Hey, yourself. What’s up?”