Page 50 of Duty Unbound

I found Logan standing near the coffee station, tablet in hand.

“Anything?” I asked.

He shook his head, then gestured toward his screen. “Not here. I’m looking at those dolls again while I have a down second.”

I moved beside him, looking at the photos displayed on his tablet. Two Barbie dolls in their original packaging, delivered to Nova’s hotel room in Atlanta—the first stop on the tour.

The first doll would have been right at home in a horror movie: a plastic knife jammed through its head, ketchup that looked like blood splattered across its frozen smile, and a note taped to the box: “I’m not toying with you. Cancel the tour.”

The second doll was untouched, pristine in its pink box. Its note was simpler but somehow more disturbing: “I’m never far.”

“Package was clean?” I asked, though I already knew the answer.

“Completely. Generic box, prepaid shipping label purchased with cash, no prints, no DNA, no traces of anything. Whoever sent it knew what they were doing.” Logan scrolled through the images. “The whole thing is disturbing. Two dolls. The knife and fake blood. Definitely escalating.”

“Have we identified any of the hard-core fans from Roger Harrison’s online groups?”

“Jace is still sifting through that data. So far, nothing that connects directly to these dolls or the flowers.”

We’d decided not to tell Mel or Nova about the dolls yet. The package had arrived literally as they were leaving for Atlanta. Showing it would’ve done nothing but cause stress. The package had been intercepted by our team before it reached Nova’s room, and we’d found no evidence of a legitimate threat beyond the dolls themselves.

But the more I thought about it, the more I wondered if that had been the right call.

“We should tell Mel,” I said, voicing the thought that had been nagging at me. “She has a right to know, even if we’re handling it.”

Logan nodded slowly. “Probably. Though, if we tell her, then Nova finds out. You know how that’ll go.”

I did know. Nova would either brush it off completely or use it as content for her social media. Neither option would help us keep her safe.

“Let’s give it another day,” I decided. “If nothing else comes in, we’ll brief Mel tomorrow.”

Logan closed the images and slipped the tablet into his jacket pocket. “She’s been holding up well, all things considered. Must be the company she’s keeping.”

I ignored the knowing look he gave me. The team had definitely picked up on the shift in my interactions with Mel, though none of them had the balls to say anything directly. Except Ty, who’d made a crack about me “findingThe Bodyguardsoundtrack” that earned him a week of early-morning shifts.

“Get back to your post,” I told Logan, keeping my expression neutral. “I’ll check in with Jace later.”

He gave me a mock salute and headed for the door, his mouth curving into a barely suppressed smile.

Once alone, I rolled my shoulders, trying to release some of the tension that had built up. Four shows down, thirteen more to go before we got a week-long break. We could handle it. We’d handled worse.

I exited the green room and made my way toward the backstage area, passing venue security guards who nodded in acknowledgment. The rhythm of the music changed, signaling one of Nova’s slower songs—the part of the show where she sat on a piano bench while some ethereal lighting effect made it look like she was floating in space.

And there was Mel, exactly where I knew she’d be.

She stood in the wings, close enough to see her sister perform but far enough back to remain invisible to the crowd. She wore dark jeans and a simple black top—her standard backstage uniform, professional but comfortable. Nova hadn’t demanded heels and a suit for Mel while backstage, which I would’ve overruled as a safety concern anyway.

Mel’s hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail, revealing the elegant curve of her neck. I could barely tear my eyes away from the flesh that I pretty desperately wanted to press my mouth against.

This had become my favorite part of each show—these quiet moments backstage with Mel, watching her watch Nova. She always had such pride in her eyes, such genuine joy at seeing her sister succeed, despite all the madness and stress that came with it.

I stepped up beside her, maintaining a professional distance even as my body hummed with awareness of her presence.

“How’s it going?” I asked, keeping my voice low.

She turned, a smile lighting up her face when she saw me. “Good. I don’t know why she insists on wearing that wig for these slow songs. This is the most authentic part of her show.”

The rainbow wig sparkled in the lights shining down on her. “Maybe that’s what scares her and is why she wears it. She’s not ready to show the world her true self in a vulnerable state.”

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