Page 8 of Rhythm Of Redemption

“I don’t know.”

“For fuck’s sake Matti, you’re supposed to know this stuff. That’s what I pay you for.”

“I’ll ask around.” He got to his feet. “Is there anything else, boss?”

Logan shook his head and Matti turned to leave; his head bowed. “Wait … Whose name did she drop?”

“Vic Hargreaves.”

“The prick who fancies himself as a bit of a gangster? Runs that overpriced restaurant … what’s it called? Stephanie’s? Sophie’s?”

“Yeah, that’s the one. Anything else?”

Logan shook his head again, his mind elsewhere. How on earth were Lou and her daughter mixed up with a scumbag like Vic Hargreaves?

Matti hesitated in the doorway. “There was something,” he said. “One of the girls behind the bar said she recognised the girl from one of the other clubs she used to work at.”

“Which one?”

“I’m not sure. I could ask.”

“You do that.” Obviously, this wasn’t the first time Dani and her friend had sneaked into a nightclub. Maybe she wasn’t the goody two shoes her mother thought she was. Why was it bothering him so much? He didn’t know this girl or her family. She was nothing to him, and yet, there was something heartbreakingly familiar about her and the path her life seemed to be heading down.

An image of Amberlene popped into his head. She was sitting cross-legged on their living room floor, playing with the puppy he’d bought her for her birthday. Makeup-free with her hair hanging loosely over her shoulder in a thick plait, she looked a world away from her alter ego, who packed out stadiums and graced the covers of countless magazines.

The image faded, replaced by a memory of his fiancée backstage. Her eyes were glassy and her smile overly bright. “Hey, baby,” she’d drawled in her southern belle accent, slinking toward him like a predatory jungle cat. “You want a little sugar?” He’d had to turn away when she’d wrapped her arms around his neck and gone to kiss him, her stale whisky breath turning his stomach.

It was stupid, he knew, and this girl had nothing in common with Amberlene, but for some reason, he couldn’t just sit back and watch history repeat itself, for his own sake, as well as the girl’s.

Twenty minutes later, Logan found himself navigating the hairpin bends and single-track lanes that led to Lou’s house. It hadn’t been difficult to get hold of her address. All it had taken was a few phone calls, and he’d had no qualms about oiling the information wheels by dropping his name. He was, after all, a double celebrity. A former, he didn’t like to use the word retired, it made him feel old, rock star, which was impressive enough on its own, but he also owned a very successful nightclub often frequented by A-listers when they were in town.

He turned off the road as instructed by his sat-nav and followed the dirt track towards the house, some way down the drive. He cursed the dusty whirlpool skimming over the once gleaming bodywork and plush interior of his car. Half blind, he reached for the window controls, not daring to take his eyes off the dirt track, in the vain hope that the glass might protect his lungs and the luxe interior of his car against the gritty powder flying around him. Coughing and spluttering, he proceeded at a little more than a snail’s pace until he reached the gravel courtyard in front of the house.

He’d barely set foot on the front porch when he heard shouting. He hovered uncertainly. Should he go? He cast a despondent eye over his car, caked in dirt and grime. It was a far cry from when it had been delivered two days ago, glistening and gleaming beneath the May sunshine. Now it looked like something from a drag race. He decided to wait, there was no way he was coming back here again, if only for the sake of his car.

“You can’t suspend her.” He could only hear one side of the conversation, and that sounded pretty much like Lou’s voice. “Argh, it wasn’t anything to do with drugs. Fine. Okay, just let me know when the meeting is—please.”

Lou appeared in the doorway, taking him by surprise. Great, now she was going to think he’d been eavesdropping. A pink flush crept up her cheeks. “I suppose you heard that.” She slipped her phone into the back pocket of her shorts.

“Hard not to, I’m afraid.” He gave an awkward smile. “Bad time?”

She puffed out a long breath, sweeping the escaped wisps of hair off her face. “It’s always a bad time around here lately.”

“I know the feeling.” He nodded sympathetically.

She cocked a questioning brow at him. “Really?” She folded her arms across her chest. “So, you’ve also got a fifteen-year-old daughter who hates you and has just been suspended from school weeks before her exams, do you?”

“Well … no, but-”

“No? I thought not.” She stared at him triumphantly.

Why did people always assume he didn’t have any problems just because he was rich and didn’t have any kids? There were other things in life that could be a pain in the arse. “You’re right, I don’t have a daughter, or any other kids for that matter giving me a headache right now, but I’ve had less than three hours of sleep because the police were still crawling all over my club at four-thirty this morning. And I’ve had the mayor on the phone threatening to revoke my licence and shut me down. And it’s not even—” He checked his watch. “Ten forty-five yet. So, as you can see, it’s not just you who’s having a shit day.”

“Hey, the fact that you’re having a bad day is your own fault.”

“How the hell is it my fault? If your daughter … ” He paused and took a deep breath; this was getting them nowhere.

“If my daughter what? If my daughter hadn’t been at your club. Is that what you were going to say?”

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