Page 3 of Ashes to Ashes

ChapterTwo

Rae

** Two Years Later **

My hands shookas I re-read the letter that had come in today’s mail. I’d received hate mail before, but this was entirely different. This one actually scaredme.

While my latest album had achieved critical acclaim, public reception had been mixed. My fans—those who’d been with me since the very beginning and had stood by my side during my divorce from Ford—loved how open and honest my lyrics were. I knew it was only because of them the record had charted atall.

Ford and Belinda’s fans had been far less kind. At first, my record label’s PR team had provided weekly updates about what was being said about the record, but eventually my manager Rocky asked them to stop. No matter what else had changed in my life, I was still a glutton for punishment, and if I knew he received the updates, I’d ask to see them. Rocky hadn’t outright said anything, but I got the impression he thought the comments would have me reaching for a bottle again after 18 months of sobriety.

Eighteen long months.

But Rocky couldn’t keep me away from Google. A couple of months ago I’d stumbled on a “Crawshinda” fan site that contained a disturbing number of photos my eyes blacked out and the word “whore” written across my forehead. I’d also learned there were CD burning parties the night of my latest release. Personally, I didn’t care what these whack jobs did with my CDs, as long as they’d paid for them first. More than once I’d wondered if my label wasn’t secretly thrilled with all the hate the album incited because the head of promotions firmly believed there was no such thing as bad press.

But this letter? This went waybeyondthat.

“You’re white as a sheet,” my assistant Charlotte remarked when she entered the room carrying a steaming mug of chamomile tea and a plate of cookies.

She sat down across from me and we exchanged the items we’d been holding. Her eyes scanned the first few lines of the letter before her jaw dropped and her eyes went wide. “What the hell?” Fearful eyes flicked to mine. “You have to call the police, Rae.” She dropped the vicious mail to her side. “This is serious.”

That was the understatement of theyear.

With teary eyes, I stared at one of my best friends in the entire world. One of my only friends, actually.

“I can’t.” I took a deep breath. “I don’t know that I can keep my composure when I explain it. Can you do it forme?”

Charlotte slid the paper back inside its envelope and stuck it in her back pocket. “Tell you what, let’s go see Rocky and we’ll do it together.” She pushed out of her chair and stood, looking around my office. “We can’t stay here. Whoever this is knows where youlive.”

I chewed my lip. She wasn’t saying anything I hadn’t already thought myself. “Yeah. But where do wego?”

Charotted shoved her hands through her hair. “Let me think. In the meantime, pack what you need for the next couple of days. I should have something figured out bythen.”

I nodded and tried to tamp down my chokingfear.

After rehab, I’d gotten pretty good at dealing with my triggers, but knowing someone had been lurking outside my house watching me—taking pictures of me in my pajamas as I crawled into bed at night—made the darkness come roaring back. I’d mistakenly thought buying a gated estate on five wooded acres in the middle of nowhere would keep me safe from prying eyes, but clearly I’d been wrong.

I placed my hand in Charlotte’s and a wave of nausea rolled through me as my adrenaline spiked as my fight or flight response kickedin.

Charlotte squeezed my fingers and spoke in calm, dulcet tones. “You’re going to be okay, Rae. I promise. We won’t let anything bad happen toyou.”

I smiled back wanly. “Iknow.”

I knew she’d try to prevent anything bad from happening to me—that she and Rocky would work their asses off to keep me from harm’s way—but my stalker wasn’t the only scary thing out there. As much as this person had infiltrated my life, they’d also opened the door to my demons … and I’d learned the only person who could truly protect me from thosewasme.

She and Rocky could call the police and set up a watch on my house, but they couldn’t force me not to drink. And right now, I really wanted a taste of whiskey.

The need must have shown on my face because she asked, “Do you want to call Monty?”

My sponsor Monty was one of the few people who knew just how bleak things had gotten before Charlotte and Rocky forced my ass into rehab after finding me face down in a pool of my own vomit while two men were tangled up in each other in my bed down the hall. There’d been needles on the nightstand and I hadn’t been able to remember if I’d shot up with them. It had taken a blood test at the hospital to confirm the only thing in my system had been copious amounts of booze. That test had kicked off several additional tests over the coming weeks to ensure I hadn’t picked up some disease during my long spiral downward.

Charlotte led me to the edge of my bed, and then ran back to my office to grab my phone. When she came back, it was already ringing on the other end. As I waited for Monty to pick up, Charlotte pulled out two suitcases and started throwing clothes haphazardly into the them. I watched, mesmerized by the whirlwind of her activity, as the call went to voicemail.

“Monty, it’s Rae. I could really use some whiskey rightnow.”

* * *

Three hours later, Charlotte, Rocky, and I sat around a conference room table in his office while a plain clothes detective explained how their investigation would work. They’d taken ownership of the letter and planned to test it for traces of DNA to see if they could link it back to anyone who was already in the system. I didn’t have high hopes they’d find the culprit that way. I’d seen enough serial killer movies to know these sort of people didn’t just slap together their death threats willy-nilly. I’d bet good money there’d been latex gloves and tweezers involved in its construction.

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