Total pages in book: 25
Estimated words: 24156 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 121(@200wpm)___ 97(@250wpm)___ 81(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24156 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 121(@200wpm)___ 97(@250wpm)___ 81(@300wpm)
“Yes.”
Clearly, he isn’t a talker.
“Good. Anything else I should know?”
“No.”
Damn it, Rand is the most attractive man I’ve ever met—and he has zero interest in interacting with me. Between the people I meet in day-to-day business and the internet, I get propositioned a lot. I’m never interested. And now that I might be…he’s not. Just my luck.
It doesn’t matter. After today, I’ll never see this guy again. I just need to perform for the couple of hours so I can get on with my life.
“I’m sorry you have to bother with me today. I’m sure you have more important things to worry about.”
The crowd thickens around us as more people finish the last-minute details for their floats and the accompanying performances. Rand turns watchful. Tense. He looks at everything and everyone with suspicion. “I don’t.”
He’s on the job, and he takes work seriously. I get it. I remember when I felt that way about every gig, too… But he acts as if every minute could be life or death. Then again, in his world it is.
“I appreciate you putting up with me in the crowd and this heat.”
He doesn’t reply until we reach the float. Then he fits his hands around my waist as if I’m no bigger than a doll and lifts me onto it. “You making it to the end in one piece is thanks enough.”
Suddenly, he’s beside me on the float, a red, white, and blue spectacular celebrating America’s past and future with a pair of flags and a stage between them. Once he hands me up to the platform, I’m surrounded by a troupe of dancers in patriotic costumes.
Rand positions himself behind them, doing his best to blend into the background, but he still stands out.
This dress leaves no room for my phone, and I can’t wear a watch with this getup, but from the crowd and the flurry of activity, I surmise it’s nearly time.
Frowning, I glance around for the microphone prop that’s supposed to be waiting for me. Finally I spot it, then take the familiar shape in hand.
A middle-aged woman dashes by then and looks up at me, clipboard in one hand, phone pressed to her ear with the other. “Thanks for joining us today, Ms. Larsen. It’s an honor. Are you ready?”
“Thanks for inviting me. I am.”
“Don’t forget, when you cross that intersection there”—she points—“your music will begin. You’ll sing for that block and part of the next, then your music will drop off. All you have to do after that is smile and wave until your float rounds the last corner.”
I haven’t done a ton of parades, but I’ve played arenas all over the world. This should be a piece of cake. “I understand.”
The woman stops looking harried long enough to smile at me. “Really, thanks for doing this. Our parade is always popular, but you coming back to your hometown today with us has probably tripled the crowds. We’re so excited!”
“I’m happy to be here.” The good food, the community atmosphere, and the friendly people all remind me why I miss Texas.
The organizer moves on, and the humid air stands absolutely still as I wait, wishing I could get my long hair off my shoulders and claw off at least half the makeup the stylist put on me less than an hour ago.
It seems like forever before the parade begins and the floats in front of me lurch forward, crawling down the parade route. Then mine follows suit, dragging across the black asphalt. The heat is oppressive, shimmering off the road in waves under the pounding sun.
I look down at Rand, standing silent and stoic, feet apart, hands at his sides. I feel the coiled tension coming off of him. There’s nothing restful about the man.
It’s almost as if he’s expecting trouble.
But I can’t ask because the crowd is too loud and we’re quickly approaching the intersection that will mark the beginning of my music piped through the overhead speakers. So I try to quell my worry, grip the microphone, smile for the thick crowd, and get ready to look like I’m giving the performance of my life.
Everything is great as the float creeps through the intersection. The intro to my latest single cues up. My stomach tenses; it always does before a performance. Then I’m dancing my way through the opening bars of the song and enjoying the crowd’s enthusiasm.
Until gunshots erupt and all hell breaks loose.
Rand
At the blast of the first gunshot, I grab Sophie Larsen and tug her off the platform before shielding her with my body. Around me, people scream. I draw my weapon. Pandemonium ensues as people run everywhere. Parents grab their children and dash away. Others, especially those less mobile, either drop to the pavement or scramble toward the nearest doorframe, looking for some semblance of protection.