Page 19 of Protect Your Queen

Christ, she reminded me of Elyse when she was four years old, stomping her little feet because she didn’t want to take piano lessons anymore. Elyse had outgrown it, of course. But Miss Jestiny was, most definitely, still well into that angry toddler stage of life. She might be their Queen, but she sure looked more like a brat to me.

“Do you understand that Dryden might drop you if your album is anything less than a hit?” Her brother was talking to her like she was a particularly stupid child. One that needed everything laid out and explained before they would cooperate.

I knew the name Dryden. Anyone in music did. His wife owned one of the biggest record labels in existence. She came from money and brought that label up from nothing. As her husband, he managed to ride her coattails until he became the second-biggest music exec there was.

Being dropped by him was a one-way ticket to obscurity. That would be like having the goose that laid the golden egg and eating it for dinner.

“He would never drop me.” Her words surprised the fuck out of me.

Execs were ruthless. Hell, theindustrywas ruthless. Unless she had some kind of bizarre contract,no onewas immune from getting dropped. Was she his mistress? Was she his illegitimate daughter? What kind of hold could she possibly have on that man?

Then I felt the burn of her stare. The light from the window slanted towards her, placing her soft features into a harsh light. The sun in her irises made them glow a deep brown, almost red. The color of it reminded me of ripe apple orchards in the fall. I was about to get lost in them, like a mouse before it was swallowed by a snake.

At least, until she spoke… that broke the spellrealquick.

“Why do we have to discuss this in front of thehelp?” she grumbled. “I bet he wouldn’t know good music if it bit him in the ass.” She looked me up and down with a sneer. “Lemme guess, your Karaoke go-to is Journey?”

Actually, my Karaoke go-to was “As Time Goes By” by Dooley Wilson. But I wasn’t above singing Journey if the crowd was into it. My most crowd-pleasing moment in a Karaoke bar was “Iris” by the Goo Goo Dolls.

Still, she was funny. I’d give her that. She almost made me laugh, but because I was a professional, I refrained.

I was glad for it, because if I had taken my eyes off of her for just a second, I would have missed a little flash of…something.

Her eyes turned to the side, grew distant, and she bit the corner of her thick, lower lip. In small, almost unnoticeable ways, her brattiness gave way to a look of complete and total anguish.

There was a wound there that ran deep. One that she didn’t even know she had. I wanted to reach out and turn her head, so I could look into those fiery eyes and pluck out a song from the deep, tumultuous calm behind her mask. I wanted to look into those irises and see if I could decipher the darkness that lurked beneath.

Christ, whathappenedto her? More importantly, with a brother and family as protective as hers,howdid it happen? I had a hunch that whatever it was, it could break my heart.

Still, I refused to feel down. I was going to the Black Bird, which was the most famous jazz club on this coast. Every music legend had touched that immaculate, 1910 Steinway Baby Grand on the stage, and it would be an honor to breathe the air that was in its presence.

Hell, there was a photo of Charlie Chaplin at that piano, plucking away at the keys. The place was a legend, and it would be a better reward than the paycheck from Caledonia Security.

I excused myself to change, trying to forget the distress in Jestiny’s eyes and focus on the night ahead. When I came back to the living room, Jareth stood alone, staring at the instrument I had so coveted, his hands in his pockets, and his lips in a stern line. He was looking at it as if it owed him money.

“Who is Mario Pesci?” I asked, casually.

It was anything but a casual question, though, since he had almost curb stomped him in front of a murder of photographers.

Jareth’s head popped up, as if he had been dreaming until I woke him.

“He’s a vulture of the worst kind.” Jareth looked me up and down. Unlike my Caledonia colleagues, he wasn’t judging my clothes. He was judging my character in a glance. Whatever he concluded must have been in my favor because he gave me a morsel of truth. “He was the first man to point a camera up Jestiny’s skirt thedayshe turned eighteen.”

There was a creeping, sickening anger that came over me. Sothatwas the bastard that did it. His anger was perfectly justifiable then.

“The man earned millions of dollars for that cheap trick.” He turned back to the piano and scowled. “The guy has since pissed it away on alimony, and parties, thinking that a million dollars would last him forever. Now he’s back, trying to recreate his former glory by going after my sister again. The man will stop at nothing to get a salacious image of her.”

He walked into the kitchen of the open common area, heading to a wet bar behind the counter. I watched him, wondering what he was doing.

“Fucking asshole…” I said through my teeth, wondering what I would do if someone went aftermysister that way. I’d probably murder him with my bare hands. They’d never find a body.

Jareth took out a plain glass tumbler, then opened a fresh bottle of Don Papa Rum before giving himself a generous pour.

“Those Paparazzi won’t stop until they’ve killed her like Princess Diana.” Jareth’s fist clenched around the glass so tightly that I could hear it crack under the pressure. “Then they’ll photograph her corpse and put it on the front page.” He swallowed the drink in one gulp, and looked at me, pursing his thick lips to the side. “I’d offer you one but…”

He nodded towards the bottle of rum.

“I don’t drink while on duty,” I confirmed.

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