Page 52 of Thirsty Bodyguard Summer

“I know what I saw.”

I scanned the stage-access corridor. “What you’re going to see next is your artist suite.”

“Are you offering privacy?”

“I’m offering lunch, water, and ninety minutes before wardrobe call.”

“That’s nearly romantic.”

“You’re eating before you perform.”

His smile softened. “I know.”

The crew reset around us as I escorted him from the platform.

Rafi waited in the corridor. “The suite and immediate route remain clear. Isabel still doesn’t have the final check-in sheet.”

“Has anyone left the media section without an escort?”

“No.”

“Any credential problem?”

“Nothing reported.”

Melanie Keene remained a likely threat with potential access. We still didn’t know whether she was inside the venue.

Shane followed me into the artist suite.

The room had a lighted mirror, a padded chair, a narrow sofa, garment racks, and a long dressing counter beneath the mirror. A private bathroom opened near the rear wall. Sealed catering containers covered a small table beside water, electrolyte drinks, fruit, grilled chicken, rice, and wraps.

His performance clothes waited on the rack under clear garment covers.

I made another pass through the bathroom and closet while Shane washed his hands.

“You watched three agents search this room,” he said.

“I’m supporting their excellent work.”

“You’re checking it again.”

“I’m still responsible for the room.”

“Is that why you’ve become very interested in the closet?”

I closed the closet door. “Eat.”

He uncovered a chicken-and-rice bowl. “You’ve been quieter since the piano.”

“I’ve been working.”

“You were working when you informed an entire stage that I can’t count.”

“You couldn’t.”

“I was half a beat early.”

“That’s another way to describe counting wrong.”