2 Chapter 2

Simon glared. They’d been working together for so long Jo didn’t need to hear him speak to understand what was going through his head. This is not what we agreed to.

She shrugged. He would know she meant, No, but what are we going to do? People were staring, and it was only a matter of time before someone recognized her. Westchester Airport wasn’t equipped for a repeat of the mob scenes that had sprung up at some of the sites where they’d been. She just wanted to get out of here. She gestured toward the front seat, with the implication that Simon could have it with all of its extra legroom.

After a long and tense moment, Simon rolled his eyes and slid into the passenger seat. “Fine,” he growled. “But we’re going to have to have a little chat with your sister-in-law about re-arranging travel plans without permission, do you understand me?”

“Oh, I understand.” Jo rubbed the back of her neck and moved toward the back of the car. After a second, Valeria remembered herself and popped the hatchback. “Isn’t he going to help you put your bags away?” she whispered, loading Jo’s suitcase into the car.

“He doesn’t, usually. The limo driver does.” Jo stuffed her laptop into the vehicle, and then her acoustic guitar. Her carryon came next. The electric would ride with her. “He has to keep his hands free. Plus, he’s in a snit. Please don’t take it personally. The last time someone changed travel plans on our security team like this, they tried to kidnap our drummer.”

“Oh my God!” Valeria gasped as she shut the trunk. “Does that kind of thing really happen?” She opened the rear passenger door for Jo and closed it behind her once she was inside.

Something warm sparked in Jo’s chest. She tried to push it down. It didn’t make sense. There was no way, no way in hell, that Isabelle’s sister was into women. Even if she was into women, Jo was going to be here for two weeks. She didn’t even stay in New York City for more than a short stretch at a time anymore. They weren’t going to start anything up. That just didn’t happen.

“Unfortunately, kidnappings and worse do happen. All the time.” Simon tightened his jaw and glanced back at Jo. “Jo wasn’t kidding. The drummer’s family had gotten caught up in something back in her country. They were criticizing the occupying forces, and so the regime decided they wanted to send somepeople after her. It, ah, it didn’t go so well.”

Jo looked out the window. That had been a terrifying incident, and she wouldn’t forget it soon. She figured Simon would remember it a little longer than she would. He’d been the one who’d had to fire his gun.

“So why were you okay with just yelling at me a little?” Valeria changed lanes and cut a taxi off as she spoke. Jo hugged her guitar a little tighter as the taxi honked at her.

“A real assassin wouldn’t have referred to Ms. Tremblay as Izzy.” Simon paused before answering, buthe was honest with her. “Also, no assassin would drive a Prius.” Jo caught a little bit of his smirk ashe stared out the windshield.

“Excuse me? It’s a perfectly sustainable, sensible choice.” Valeria frowned at him, just a little bit.

Simon gripped onto the handle and clenched his jaw. “It also can’t get out of its own way, the styling is too unique to blend in with a crowd, and it doesn’t have enough space to bring your gear or hide a body. It’s a perfectly practical city car, don’t get me wrong. It’s just not a good car for an assassin or someone like that.” He turned to look at her. “I was with the FBI for ten years chasing down people exactly like that. The ones who picked cars like this? They made it easy.”

Valeria puckered her lips, just like she’d bitten into a lemon. “Now I have to rewrite something like fifteen scenes. Maybe more.” She glared at him, almost hitting a town car but swerving just in time. “I’ll be grateful after I’ve gotten some sleep, you know. I don’t suppose you’d be willing to sit down with me and talk about that a little? I’ll buy you a drink for your time.”

“I guess I could.” Simon tilted his head to the side and frowned. “Is body guarding rock stars reallyall that exciting?”

“I’m an author. I write mysteries. I can imagine some things, but some things I clearly have no clue about.” She sighed. “Like the fact that my main antagonist in my work in progress drives a Prius. I thought his concern for the environment would humanize him.”

“In this case it’ll just annoy other drivers and drive them to homicide.” Simon chuckled. “I’d be glad to help you out with whatever you need, though. Just as long as it doesn’t get in the way of my job. Are you published?”

She chuckled and swerved around a slow-moving taxi. “I’ve got a book or two out, yeah. I use a pen name, though. You know how my mother is about some things.”

Jo grimaced. She didn’t want to say anything against Valeria’s mother, but she could hardly be expected to be unbiased. Sarah Tremblay had built her fame and fortune on bashing people like Jo, and sometimes actually Jo herself. “So do you feel comfortable sharing the name you use?”

“Err, V.T. Saller.”

Jo blushed. She couldn’t help it. “Wow. I’ve got, like, three of your books on my e-reader right now.”

She saw Valeria’s eyes widen in the rearview mirror. “Wait, really? No way.”

“Yeah. I’ve got Colonial Horror, Back to Basic, and Earning Her Wings. I don’t sleep easily, so I read to calm me down. I love—I just love—the way your characters look like the real world, you know? You’ve got characters with addictions, characters who aren’t white, characters who are gay and bi andlesbian—it’s like the real world, but with satisfying conclusions.” Jo couldn’t stay quiet. The words came bubbling up out of her, like guitar riffs. “Sorry. Remind me to be nicer to babbling fans.”

“You’re too nice to babbling fans,” Simon told her with a teasing grin.