Page 15

Ethan

Night four of Nova’s tour, and we’d found our rhythm.

Chattanooga’s venue—a restored historic theater with ornate ceilings and decent sight lines—was proving to be a welcome change from last night’s nightmare in Asheville. The head of security here actually understood the concept of perimeter control, unlike that jackass in North Carolina who’d acted like I was personally insulting his ancestors when I pointed out the six different ways someone could bypass his checkpoint system.

The Asheville security chief had puffed out his chest like a peacock. “I’ve been doing this for twenty years.”

I’d walked him to the service entrance, where one of my guys was waiting, dressed as catering staff with a fake ID that wouldn’t have fooled a half-blind bouncer at a college bar.

“Then explain to me how Ty got backstage without anyone checking his credentials.” I held up the counterfeit badge we’d created in under an hour. “He could have been carrying a weapon. An explosive device.”

The security chief’s face had turned an interesting shade of purple. I’d taken over after that, shuffling his team around, implementing our own protocols at every entry point. He hadn’t spoken another word to me all night.

Tonight was smoother. The venue’s security team had actually read our advance briefing, implemented the requested changes, and seemed to understand that keeping Nova Rivers alive was more important than protecting their professional pride.

I completed my last sweep of the backstage area, checking in with each member of my team through the comms system nestled in my ear.

“Logan, status?”

“Stage left secure. Crowd’s energetic but controlled.”

“Ty?”

“Main floor and front section clear. About eight superfans in the front row who keep trying to touch the stage, but nothing concerning.”

“Jace?”

“All systems operational. Cameras covering every angle. No suspicious activity on the monitors.”

I nodded to myself, satisfied. This was how it was supposed to work—seamless, professional, thorough. The typical security routine for a performance night had three distinct phases: preshow lockdown, show monitoring, and postshow extraction. We were currently in phase two, my least favorite part. Too much waiting, too many variables, too many people.

Dozens of security guards patrolled the venue—a handful directly hired by Citadel for specialized positions, but most employed by the theater itself. I’d personally briefed them all before the show, making sure they understood our protocols even if they didn’t technically report to me. So far, they were doing their jobs well.

I made my way down the narrow corridor that led to the backstage green room. The walls vibrated with bass as Nova’s voice soared through the theater, the crowd responding with deafening cheers. Four shows in, and she hadn’t lost any of her energy—still hitting every note, still captivating the audience like she was born to do it.

I found Logan standing near the coffee station, tablet in hand.

“Anything?” I asked.

He shook his head, then gestured toward his screen. “Not here. I’m looking at those dolls again while I have a down second.”

I moved beside him, looking at the photos displayed on his tablet. Two Barbie dolls in their original packaging, delivered to Nova’s hotel room in Atlanta—the first stop on the tour.

The first doll would have been right at home in a horror movie: a plastic knife jammed through its head, ketchup that looked like blood splattered across its frozen smile, and a note taped to the box: “ I’m not toying with you. Cancel the tour. ”

The second doll was untouched, pristine in its pink box. Its note was simpler but somehow more disturbing: “ I’m never far. ”

“Package was clean?” I asked, though I already knew the answer.

“Completely. Generic box, prepaid shipping label purchased with cash, no prints, no DNA, no traces of anything. Whoever sent it knew what they were doing.” Logan scrolled through the images. “The whole thing is disturbing. Two dolls. The knife and fake blood. Definitely escalating.”

“Have we identified any of the hard-core fans from Roger Harrison’s online groups?”

“Jace is still sifting through that data. So far, nothing that connects directly to these dolls or the flowers. ”

We’d decided not to tell Mel or Nova about the dolls yet. The package had arrived literally as they were leaving for Atlanta. Showing it would’ve done nothing but cause stress. The package had been intercepted by our team before it reached Nova’s room, and we’d found no evidence of a legitimate threat beyond the dolls themselves.

But the more I thought about it, the more I wondered if that had been the right call.

“We should tell Mel,” I said, voicing the thought that had been nagging at me. “She has a right to know, even if we’re handling it.”

Logan nodded slowly. “Probably. Though, if we tell her, then Nova finds out. You know how that’ll go.”

I did know. Nova would either brush it off completely or use it as content for her social media. Neither option would help us keep her safe.

“Let’s give it another day,” I decided. “If nothing else comes in, we’ll brief Mel tomorrow.”

Logan closed the images and slipped the tablet into his jacket pocket. “She’s been holding up well, all things considered. Must be the company she’s keeping.”

I ignored the knowing look he gave me. The team had definitely picked up on the shift in my interactions with Mel, though none of them had the balls to say anything directly. Except Ty, who’d made a crack about me “finding The Bodyguard soundtrack” that earned him a week of early-morning shifts.

“Get back to your post,” I told Logan, keeping my expression neutral. “I’ll check in with Jace later.”

He gave me a mock salute and headed for the door, his mouth curving into a barely suppressed smile.

Once alone, I rolled my shoulders, trying to release some of the tension that had built up. Four shows down, thirteen more to go before we got a week-long break. We could handle it. We’d handled worse .

I exited the green room and made my way toward the backstage area, passing venue security guards who nodded in acknowledgment. The rhythm of the music changed, signaling one of Nova’s slower songs—the part of the show where she sat on a piano bench while some ethereal lighting effect made it look like she was floating in space.

And there was Mel, exactly where I knew she’d be.

She stood in the wings, close enough to see her sister perform but far enough back to remain invisible to the crowd. She wore dark jeans and a simple black top—her standard backstage uniform, professional but comfortable. Nova hadn’t demanded heels and a suit for Mel while backstage, which I would’ve overruled as a safety concern anyway.

Mel’s hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail, revealing the elegant curve of her neck. I could barely tear my eyes away from the flesh that I pretty desperately wanted to press my mouth against.

This had become my favorite part of each show—these quiet moments backstage with Mel, watching her watch Nova. She always had such pride in her eyes, such genuine joy at seeing her sister succeed, despite all the madness and stress that came with it.

I stepped up beside her, maintaining a professional distance even as my body hummed with awareness of her presence.

“How’s it going?” I asked, keeping my voice low.

She turned, a smile lighting up her face when she saw me. “Good. I don’t know why she insists on wearing that wig for these slow songs. This is the most authentic part of her show.”

The rainbow wig sparkled in the lights shining down on her. “Maybe that’s what scares her and is why she wears it. She’s not ready to show the world her true self in a vulnerable state.”

Mel nodded slowly as she took in my words. “That would make a lot of sense, actually.”

“Or…maybe she just likes sparkly rainbows. ”

Mel slapped my arm playfully with a quiet laugh. “Probably much more accurate.”

“The masks are a crowd favorite too.” The opening number, when Nova, her backup singers and the dancers came out, all with different styles of masquerade masks, had sent the audience through the roof every night.

She nodded. “I have to admit, Dexter knocked it out of the park with that idea and choreography. I’m almost willing to forgive him for leaking that the tour was canceled.”

Whether Dexter should be called out on that had been a source of discussion between our team and Mel before the tour started. Jace had found proof it had been Dexter. Ultimately, we’d finally decided it would do more harm than good to disrupt Nova’s inner circle this late in the game.

But you could believe my team was watching Dexter Deeds like a hawk.

“How’s everything going for you?” Mel asked.

“All clear so far. How are you holding up?”

She turned back toward the stage where Nova was hitting a particularly impressive high note. “Four for four on sold-out shows. The reviews have been amazing. Nova’s on cloud nine.”

“And her manager?”

Mel’s smile turned wry. “Her manager is running on coffee and adrenaline, but hanging in there.”

I studied her profile, noting the faint shadows under her eyes. “You look tired.”

“Gee, thanks.” She bumped my shoulder lightly with hers. “Just what every woman wants to hear.”

“I didn’t mean?—”

“I know what you meant.” Her smile softened the words. “And yes, I am tired. But it’s a good tired. We’re actually ahead of schedule on most things, which is unheard of for a Nova Rivers production. ”

“Credit to the manager.”

“And the security team.” She glanced up at me. “Having you guys handle all the venue coordination has been a game-changer. I usually spend half my time arguing with local security about their protocols.”

“Like our friend in Asheville last night?”

“Exactly like him. Total nightmare.”

I’d been keeping our private channel open during these backstage conversations, turning down the main security frequency to create the illusion of privacy. It wasn’t exactly standard protocol, but these moments with Mel had become something I looked forward to each night.

We hadn’t talked about the kiss. There hadn’t been time. Between final tour preparations, the chaos of opening night, and the constant movement from city to city, we’d barely had five minutes alone together outside of these backstage moments. But I caught her looking at me sometimes, a flush coloring her cheeks when our eyes met, and I knew she was thinking about it too.

“We should have a proper conversation sometime,” I said, keeping my voice low. “Maybe dinner, when things calm down a bit.”

Her eyebrows rose slightly. “Are you asking me on a date, Mr. Cross?”

“I’m suggesting a security briefing with refreshments.”

She laughed, the sound barely audible over the music but no less affecting. “Smooth.”

“I try.”

Nova hit the final note of her ballad, and the theater erupted in cheers. The lighting shifted, signaling a transition to one of her more upbeat numbers.

“I’ll need to check on the quick-change in a minute,” Mel said, glancing at her watch. “But yes. ”

“Yes?”

“To dinner. Or whatever you want to call it.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, a gesture I’d come to recognize as a sign of nervousness. “When things calm down.”

Something warm unfurled in my chest. “I’ll hold you to that.”

“I’m counting on it.”

My earpiece crackled to life, Jace’s voice cutting through the moment. “Ethan, we’ve got a situation at the north entrance. Need you to check it out.”

I pressed my finger to the comms unit. “Details?”

“Guy trying to get backstage, says he’s friends with one of the dancers. Security has him detained, but he’s making a scene. Claims he knows Nova personally.”

I sighed. “On my way.” I turned back to Mel. “Duty calls.”

She nodded, understanding in her eyes. “Go. I’ll be here.”

“We’ll continue this tomorrow night?”

“It’s a date,” she said, her smile making the words feel like a promise.

I held her gaze for a moment longer than necessary, then turned and headed toward the north entrance, already shifting back into security mode.

This—whatever was developing between Mel and me—was unconventional, almost old-fashioned in its pace. No rushing into bed, no hasty declarations. Just these quiet moments, stolen between security checks and venue changes. Getting to know each other a piece at a time, building something slowly against the chaotic backdrop of the tour.

I couldn’t remember the last time I’d courted a woman like this, taking my time, savoring the anticipation. But there was something about Melanie Rivers that made me want to do this right.

Even if I did wake up most nights aching for her, remembering the softness of her lips against mine, the way she’d melted into me that night in her suite. Even if I wanted nothing more than to take her to bed and lose myself in her for hours.

Some things were worth waiting for.