“Not a surprise to her. She knew about the money when she signed on. In fact, she insisted the bonus be paid within three days of the end of the tour.”

The truth sent his stomach churning even worse than the idea of a bribe to stay with him. “How much was I worth?”

“A hundred thousand dollars. I was willing to double that, but GSC didn’t counter for more for her and I wasn’t gonna offer.”

That was a lot of money. Now he knew why she’d been looking at property in Denver. A hundred K was a hefty down payment on any house.

Had she only pretended to be in love with him?

Fuck that. She loved him. She loved him so much she was running scared.

Or had she run away, laughing, with dollar signs in her eyes?

You’re just a commodity to most people. Money, sex, publicity—if you don’t provide it, they don’t want you.

“Hi, Devin. You’re looking good.”

Devin was tempted to sprint toward the door at the simpering voice of his ex, China. Of course he’d see her when he was all pent up, wondering if Liberty loved him, or if she’d merely played him.

“Hey, China. Surprised to see you.”

She stuck out her lower, heavily Botoxed lip in a fake pout. “I remember when you used to call me China doll.” She put her hand on his chest and leaned close. “Can we let bygones be bygones?”

“Really?” he said in a hoarse tone, trying not to breathe in the artificial smell of her. And did she really think he’d just forget about all the crap she’d put him through? Not f**king likely.

“Seeing you onstage tonight got me all hot for you again.”

“How about if I do something to put out that heat?”

She dug her nails into his chest and purred, “Now we’re talking, lover.”

Devin stepped back. “I’ll get you a drink.” He headed for the bar, snagged another bottle of Coors and walked right out the door.

Ten minutes later, he’d tracked down his tour manager, who was glugging down a bottle of Jack.

They sat side by side on the cement ledge of the docking bay watching the roadies load equipment. “I’m starting to feel the booze.”

“Getting shitfaced is unlike you, Crash.”

“This has been a tour unlike any other.” He swigged from the bottle. “I’m getting too old for this shit.”

Devin sent Crash a hard look. “Jesus. Don’t tell me you plan to quit. I’ve already had one person leave me today.”

“Liberty didn’t leave you. She finished her job and returned home.”

“That ain’t helping.”

“Come on. How else did you expect it to play out?”

“I didn’t expect her to take off without a f**king word.” He drained his beer and was tempted to throw the bottle just to hear the angry sound of crashing glass. “But I imagine she’s gotta be in Denver, at her bank Monday morning, to cash that big f**king check.”

Crash frowned. “What check?”

“The big fat bonus check from Big Sky for makin’ it through the whole tour.” He looked at him. “You didn’t know?”

“No. But it’s not like that’s something new.”

Startled, he said, “What do you mean?”

“You’ve never been interested in the nuts and bolts of the tour side beyond the venues, but almost everyone associated with the tour, even the roadies, get a performance bonus if they finish the tour.”

“Even you?”

“Even me. So see, it’s nothin’ personal. From what I’ve seen of Liberty, as much as she earned that money, I imagine she feels guilty for keeping it.”

“Because she had to pretend to be in love with me for four f**king months?”

Crash laughed. “You are an idiot. The woman is in love with you for real. Goddammit, Devin. How many other women would’ve taken a bullet for you? How many other women really, truly don’t give a good goddamn about your celebrity? Or your money? She doesn’t. You were more open with her than I’ve ever seen you with anyone, including people who’ve worked for you for years, including your own family.”

Really tempting to throw that bottle now—except right at Crash’s drunken head.

But he’s not telling you anything you don’t already know.

“I know you don’t like me nagging, but did you see your family when you followed Liberty to Wyoming during the break?”

He shook his head.

“Why not? And don’t tell me it’s too hard.”

“It’s not that.”

“Then what is it?” Crash demanded.

Devin snagged the bottle and knocked back a slug of whiskey. “It’s like we’re not even family—just strangers who survived a tragedy with nothin’ else in common now that the crisis is over.”

“Your family never talks about Michelle? Or you never talk about her with them?”

“I talked about Michelle with Liberty.”

“Did it help?”

He sighed. “Yes. And no. It stirred up all that shit I’ve been avoiding.”

Crash snatched the bottle back. “Tried to tell ya at the Cheyenne show that your folks and your sister and her family were disappointed you didn’t hang out with them. They saw you with your hometown friends, so it wasn’t like you didn’t have the time. You just didn’t choose to spend time with them. I imagine that’s a little hard to swallow.”