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The guards pushed the crowds back to make room so the town car could approach the high, wrought iron gates. All of the guards were carrying guns—and not just polite police issue handguns beneath smooth jackets either. Those were semiautomatic weapons cradled in their beefy arms, right out in the open like in some gangster film. Joley's stomach lurched as she observed the guards through the tinted glass. These weren't rented security—these men were the real deal—professionals every last one of them. They didn't wear boredom on their faces, they wore masks and their eyes were flat and cold. She knew if she were to reach out and touch one of them, even lightly, she'd feel the chill of death.

Her cell phone went off interrupting her train of thought. Flipping it open with a little grimace she answered. "Gloria, I told you I'd take care of it. I'm getting Logan now. You dragged me out of bed and I said I'd do it, so give me some time and I'll have him there." She knew she sounded bitchy, but really. Gloria Brady, the mother of Lucy Brady, psycho-stalker from hell, every band's worst nightmare come true, was once again demanding to speak with her sax player, Logan Voight. He'd had a brief encounter with Gloria's daughter, making the mistake in seeing her more than once, and now Lucy and her demented ways would haunt him forever.

Joley snapped the phone closed and shoved it into her pocket. She'd been pacing her hotel room when the first frantic call from Gloria had come in. Joley had latched onto the excuse, dragging her driver out in the middle of the night lying to herself that she was coming to the party to deliver the message to Logan and see to it personally that he took care of the problem. Now that she was here, she realized how utterly stupid she'd been. Others might look at the guards and think they were cool, she looked at them and wondered how many people they'd killed.

A guard tapped her window, making her jump, motioning for her to let him see her. Her driver objected, but she rolled down the window and peered at the guard so he could visually identify her. She saw the instant flash of recognition. Joley Drake, legendary singer known simply as Joley. For one brief moment she thought he might ask for her autograph, but he recovered and waved her through the gates.

Sergei Nikitin had been inviting her to parties for months, but she always made excuses not to go. Sergei was a wealthy man who ran in the 'in' circles. He knew politicians and celebrities of every kind. He maintained a public image of a charming businessman who liked the good life and surrounded himself with household names, movie stars, race car drivers, sports figures, models, public figures and of course the most famous bands.

Very few people knew he was reputed to be a Russian mobster with a violent bloody past and a penchant for making his enemies disappear. Most of those who had heard the rumors thought it only added to his mystique. It seemed inconceivable that the suave charming businessman might actually order vicious sadistic deaths to further his already abundant wealth—nobody but those in law enforcement—and Joley—thanks to her brother-in-law who was a sheriff.

"Just stop here," she instructed and waited until Steve had pulled to the side of the drive, still a distance from the house, before opening the door. She remained in the seat, hesitating.

The party was in full swing. Music blasted from the house, filling the air around it. Joley could almost feel the building expanding and contracting with every boom of the bass. Even the windows vibrated. She sat in the car with the door open and studied the house. Nikitin would know she'd come. His security people would have radioed the house immediately so Nikitin could be ready to greet her. It would be a victory of sorts for him. Finally. Joley Drake. He'd been pursuing her for months. Another celebrity he could be photographed with.

"Are you getting out, Joley?" Steve asked.

She met the driver's eyes in the rear view mirror and made a face. "I don't know. Maybe. Do you mind just waiting, Steve? I feel bad for dragging you out tonight."

"That's what you pay me for," he reassured. "If you want to sit here for awhile, it's fine by me. I was surprised you wanted to come," he added, a note of worry in his voice.

It had surprised her too, but she'd lain awake staring at the ceiling until she'd wanted to scream in frustration. She rarely slept, was a total insomniac, and she couldn't do anything but pace back and forth in her hotel room. The frantic call from Gloria begging her to find Logan had been all the excuse she'd needed. Gloria's daughter was in the hospital having Logan's baby and had already called the media and was making a scene, threatening to kill herself if Logan didn't show up.

Joley told herself she'd come to make certain Logan knew what he was doing, to send lawyers and security as well as her manager, but she could have done it all with a phone call or two. Lucy had already agreed to turn over the baby to him and the papers had been drawn up, but everyone knew, Lucy wouldn't go away that easily. There would be one scene after another.

Joley shook her head as she turned her attention to Nikitin's grounds. There were people everywhere. They milled around the rolling grass, some making certain to be seen by the mob at the fence. A few hopeful starlets and male models even signed autographs through the gate. Cries and pleas and drunken laughter were every bit as loud as the booming music.

She spotted Denny Simmons, her drummer walking in the distance with a blonde, not his current girlfriend. She bit her lip hard. She didn't want to know any of them cheated. "Men are dogs, Steve. That's why I don't date anymore. Hound dogs."

He sighed, watching Simmons. "They have too much, Joley. You know they drink too much or do a few drugs and they don't have a clue what they're doing."

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