Always Watching Read Free Page A

and Stan, lead guitarist, hugged Mom and me both. With his shaved head, square jaw, and piercing gray eyes, Rich had played small bad-boy parts in various movies. But I knew his heart.
    “Sorry, Kitten,” he whispered, his muscular arms around me. “I’m just so sorry.”
    I couldn’t speak.
    He pulled back, a strand of my hair catching on one of his huge diamond earrings. With a humorless smile, he untangled it.
    Stan, born in America of African parents, gripped my shoulders and studied me with his coal-dark eyes. “We’ll all be here for you, you know that.”
    My throat tightened. “Thanks.”
    Ross and two uniformed policemen came to our suite to talk to the band. Mom looked at me, one hand pressed against her cheek. “Let’s go into one of the other rooms.” She laid a hand on my head. “Shaley, stay here, okay? I’ll be back soon.”
    I nodded.
    After they all filed out, wooden and grim-faced, I closed the door. Like a lost child, I wandered a few steps toward the center of the room, then just stood there, hugging myself. Shivering.
    My tears wouldn’t stop.
    Tom. On the carpet. His eye … gone.
    I couldn’t grasp it. Couldn’t believe it. My body was here, butmy mind hovered, seeking a safe place to land. Just minutes before, Tom had been singing one of his crazy rap songs. I was talking to him, laughing with him. How could someone
die
—just like that?
    Who would do this?
Why?
Everybody loved Tom.
    In my confused brain, Brittany’s name suddenly surfaced. Oh, no! Somebody needed to go in the limo to pick her up at the airport. The police didn’t want me to leave since I had found Tom. One of them would soon come to question me.
    What happened to the limo, anyway?
    I blinked at my watch. After eleven. Brittany’s plane should have landed. Why hadn’t she called?
    Choking back my tears, I pulled my cell from my pocket and punched in her number.
    Her voice mail immediately answered. Her phone was off.
    Fresh panic gripped me. Had something happened to
her
too?
    Maybe her plane was late.
    With shaking fingers I pressed in her number again, praying she would answer. Telling myself this was stupid; planes were never on time these days.
    The phone started to ring. I hunched over, smashing the phone against my ear. “Come on, Brittany, come on.”
    “Hey, you’ve reached Brittany. Call me ba —”
    I choked out a sob. Snapped the phone shut.
    My knees weakened. I stumbled over to a chair and fell into it.
    A new kind of grief surged through me. I bent my head, shoulders shaking as I cried. Brittany
had
to be okay. I
needed
her now—so much. She’d been my best friend since second grade. Way before my mom and the band ever became famous. Way before
I
hit celebrity status as Mom’s daughter. Now Brittany was the only friend I could talk to about certain things — like my deep yearning to know about my father and my resentment that Mom would never speak of him. Fame carried a heavy price. Now if I spoke of my unknown father with some other “friend,” my intimate feelings just might end up on the cover of some national tabloid.
    My nose started to clog, and my head ached. I tipped my chin up, brushing away tears, swiping hair from my face. I flipped my cell open, dialed 4 – 1 – 1 for the number to Southwest Airlines. Impatiently I listened to the company’s automated answering system. I pushed the button to check arrival times.
    What was her flight number?
    I dug in my purse for the piece of paper with her flight and scheduled arrival, then pressed in the numbers, following the automated voice’s instructions. Stupid thing. Why couldn’t you talk to a real person?
    Finally I heard my answer. Her plane was just landing.
    Relief flowed through my veins, cold and biting. And right behind it — more pain over Tom.
    I pushed off the couch. I had to find someone to ride in the limo and pick up Brittany. I didn’t want some unknown driver doing it. Brittany would be upset enough when she heard