Page 53 of Duty Unbound

Dexter rushed in, holding up Nova’s elaborate opening number costume, which now had a visible tear along one side.

“The seam split during final adjustments!” His voice was three octaves higher than usual. “We have fifteen minutes before she needs to be in this!”

I squeezed my eyes shut for a fraction of a second, summoning energy I didn’t have. “Find Marina from wardrobe. Tell her we need an emergency repair. If she can’t fix it, we’ll go with the backup from Atlanta.”

“But that makes her look boxy!”

Damn it, why would Dexter say that within hearing distance of Nova?

“Then Marina better work some magic.” I was already texting the wardrobe master as I spoke.

Nova, predictably, slipped into full meltdown mode. “I can’t go on in the backup! The lighting is all wrong for that fabric!”

“It won’t come to that,” I assured her, though I had no idea if that was true. “Just focus on your warm-up, and everybody get your masks ready for the opening number.”

As Nova’s vocal coach arrived to run her through exercises, I slipped out to check on a dozen other crises brewing throughout the arena. The pyrotechnics team needed approvals for tonight’s show, the lighting director was fighting with the venue’s electrical team about power requirements, and one of the backup dancers had sprained an ankle during the last show.

This tour was supposed to be Nova’s triumphant arrival as a major artist. Instead, it felt like being trapped in a pressure cooker, with the temperature rising every day.

The only bright spot had been Ethan and his team. They handled security with military precision, giving me one less thing to worry about. But even that silver lining had been tarnished two days ago when Jace had pulled me into a private meeting to show me the freaky Barbie dolls that had been sent to Nova.

I’d felt physically ill looking at the first doll with the knife through its head and the note demanding Nova cancel the tour. The second doll—pristine in its pink box with the note “I’m never far”—had somehow been even more disturbing.

Those dolls had dredged up one of the few happy childhood memories I had with Nova. When we were little, before dance lessons and vocal coaches consumed our lives, we’d spent hours playing with our Barbie collection. Nova would create elaborate stories for them, always casting her dolls as the famous singers, while mine were the adoring fans or devoted assistants.

Even then, the pattern was set.

My memories hadn’t done anything to help figure out who had sent the disturbing toys. I’d been no help at all in that department.

I’d agreed with Ethan and his team that telling Nova aboutthe dolls would only make things worse overall. She’d either completely freak out or use the situation for social media content. We didn’t need to borrow that kind of trouble.

I rounded a corner, narrowly avoiding a collision with two crew members carrying equipment. My phone buzzed with a text from Marina:

Fixed the costume. Crisis averted.

One problem down. Fifty-six to go.

I stopped by the security command center where Ty was monitoring the surveillance feeds. “Everything good out there?”

“All clear so far,” he confirmed. “Logan’s running the perimeter check, and Jace is verifying credentials at the VIP entrance.”

“And Ethan?” I tried to sound casual, but Ty’s knowing smile told me I’d failed.

“Boss is doing a walk-through with venue security. Should be back soon.”

“Right. Tell him—” My words were cut short by raised voices coming from the hallway leading to the green room.

“This is complete bullshit, and you know it!” a male voice shouted, loud enough to carry over the preshow music.

I hurried toward the commotion, finding a tense standoff between Nova’s publicist, Vanessa, and a man I recognized as Adam Foster—the ambitious young manager of Brooklyn Reid, one of the opening acts.

“Mr. Foster, I understand your frustration, but as I explained—” Vanessa began in her professional crisis-management voice.

“You’re not explaining anything! You’re just making excuses!” Adam’s face was flushed with anger. His expensive suit and slicked-back hair couldn’t hide the rage bubbling beneath his polished surface. He jabbed a finger toward Vanessa. “Your client is deliberately sabotaging mine!”

I stepped between them. “What’s going on here?”

Adam’s furious gaze locked on me. “Oh look, if it isn’t Nova’s puppet master. Maybe you can explain why Brooklyn’s meet-and-greet was canceled, while Nova’s getting the full VIP treatment.”

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