Page 18 of Guarding the Rock Star
Beyonce changed to Taylor Swift.
“Oh no!” Wanda slammed her hand against the volume button. “Even I know who Taylor Swift is. We’re not listening to this. Hey Siri!” she called.
Her phone chirped.
“Play Strauss.”
I heard the unmistakable sounds of the “Blue Danube Waltz” start to play and decided to let her have this one. As it happened, I liked this song as well.
“Next we’re going to listen to some John Hiatt,” I told her. “Have you heard ‘Perfectly Good Guitar’? It’s a masterpiece.”
Wanda sighed again but didn’t answer. After that, we switched back and forth between my favorite songs and hers, a good compromise.
We made the two hour trip up to my cabin in good time. Traffic was pretty light, and the farther we got away from Seattle, the more relaxed I felt. I hadn’t realized how much the stalker situation was bothering me. Sure, I’d pretended like it wasn’t anything to take seriously, but I’d spent enough time in this industry to know how quickly some crazy person could escalate from weird letters to trying to kidnap someone. Or worse.
Also, I was just having fun hanging out with Wanda. Not as much fun as I’d had kissing her of course, but chatting and arguing over music was fun too.
I directed Wanda to the private road that led to my place, then gave her the security code to open the wrought iron gate that surrounded my property on three sides. The fourth side was a pretty fast moving river that separated my land from the Olympic national forest. I knew from personal experience it was damn near impossible to get across that river without being swept away.
We drove up the long road to the house, then my house came into site as we rounded a bend. I owned several properties, but this one was by far my favorite.
“Nice cabin,” Wanda said, emphasizing the last word.
“What?” I asked.
“What, what?” she responded.
“Why did you say ‘nice cabin’ like that?” I demanded, dropping my voice in an imitation of her voice.
“Because when someone says ‘cabin’ a person visualizes a rustic little structure made out of wood. Not a freaking mansion on several acres of land.”
“This place is made out of wood,” I protested. “It’s modeled on the Steiner cabins they have in Oregon.”
“The Steiner cabins are small, with one or two rooms,” she said. “How many rooms does this place have?”
I looked up at the giant wooden house and tried to remember.
“Um, well, there are five bedrooms, and the living room, kitchen, sunroom, dining room, a few bathrooms and...oh, there’s a home theater room.”
Wanda shook her head. “Glad we’ll be roughing it while we’re here, Princess.”
“I wish you’d stop calling me that.” My protest was automatic. I secretly liked that Wanda had a pet name for me, but I didn’t want to let her know.
“And I wish I could go on one of those beach vacations where people bring you drinks with umbrellas in them without worrying about burning to a crisp, but we all have things in life we don’t get.”
“Wait, does the sun really turn you into dust?” I asked. “I assumed that was a myth.”
“It is, but I sunburn more easily than an Irish baby. You see how pale I am. Now stay in the car while I do a perimeter check. The bears won’t be here for a few hours.”
“A perimeter check?” I asked.
“Yeah, I’m going to look for signs of forced entry to the property, footprints, things out of place, anything that might suggest someone is here – or has been here – who’s not supposed to be.”
She pointed to the ignition. “I’m leaving you the keys. If I’m not back in fifteen minutes or if you realize something bad is happening, I want you to drive away as fast as you can and don’t look back. Get to the closest town, stay in the car, and call Lois from your cell phone. It’s phone number one on the car’s speed dial.”
“I’m not going to leave you behind if something bad happens,” I protested.
Wanda shifted in her seat, then grabbed a hunk of my hair in her hand, tugging me closer. I met her in the middle and she gave me a rough, claiming kiss that left me with wet panties and a racing heart.
