Page 9 of The Encore Effect

Kat rolled her eyes and pushed open the car door. “I’ve had enough of the Hayes men lying to me for one night, thank you very much.”

The car door closed in his face and Nico swallowed a laugh, turning the outburst into an unconvincing cough.

“You have something to say?” Beckett barked.

Nico’s grin contradicted the conciliatory way he held up his hands. “I didn’t say anything. But we’d better get moving. If Kat finds Jackson first, it’s not going to be pretty.”

Beckett swore and climbed out of the car into the dry July heat. Why anyone would choose to live in a place that was this hot in the middle of the night, Beckett would never understand.

A wave of longing for his house on the quiet cul-de-sac in the small Rhode Island town of Aster Bay washed over him. He and his bandmates had each built a house on the private street over a year ago with dreams of staying put for a while, writing a new album, living the simple life—well, as simple as men of their celebrity could manage. The kind of simple that came with every comfort money could buy. But he hadn’t spent more than a few nights in his new house, too busy with touring.

This year I’m going to watch the leaves change from my back porch, he promised himself.

“Are you coming?” Nico whisper-shouted from the edge of the hedgerow. Kat was already mostly through the narrow passage, the greenery bending to make room for her as she shimmied through the space.

Beckett closed the car door and raised his hood against any potential onlookers. As he followed Nico and Kat through the bushes, he dialed Jackson’s cell.

They emerged at the back of the property’s expansive lawn, a large pool complete with a water slide and swim-up bar between them and the well-lit mansion. Guests spilled out of the oversized sliding glass doors at the back of the house onto the lawn. No one seemed to notice the three trespassers making their way towards the house.

“Is that what I think it is?” Kat pointed to an oddly shaped topiary not far from the pool.

“If you think it’s a life-sized bush shaped like our host, then yes,” Nico said. “Rumor has it Whit’s got plans for a whole series of them, one for every Super Bowl he wins. I heard he even posed for pictures for the gardeners to work from.”

“Rich people are wild,” Kat said.

Beckett didn’t know why the comment bothered him, but it scraped along his spine nonetheless. He stared at the phone in his hand as his call to Jackson went to voicemail. Again. “He’s not answering.”

“Then we’ll split up and find him,” Kat said.

Beckett shoved his phone into his pocket. “You two take the first floor. I’ll take the second.”

“You take the first floor and we’ll take the second,” Kat argued. “The last thing we need is for you to fall down the stairs.”

“I’m not going to—”

“You’re already limping. You’re pushing yourself too hard.”

“I’m fine,” he grated out, swearing as he put his foot down wrong and lost his balance for a second on the uneven grass.

Kat pressed her lips together in a hard line. “Yeah, you really seem fine.”

“Enough,” Nico said. “I will take the second floor. You two sweep the first. I’ll meet you back at the weird football bush when one of us finds him.” He turned and stalked off into the crowd of party-goers, leaving Kat and Beckett alone together just inside the circle of light spilling from the mansion.

The golden glow gilded her profile, caressing the slope of her nose, the full pout of her lips. She was always beautiful—lush curves, bright green eyes, and hair that fell like water through his hands. But standing there in a t-shirt and jeans that hugged her generous hips, her usual heels traded for sneakers, and those earrings—his earrings—peeking through her hair, taunting him—

He scrubbed his hand over his mouth and looked away. “Let’s go.”

If anyone realized that Beckett and Kat weren’t on the guest list, they didn’t say anything, or even seem to care. A perk of being famous. He could walk into pretty much any room and no one questioned if he belonged there—especially not a room that included half the starting line of last year’s Super Bowl champions, at least a dozen Hollywood starlets, and all the nominees for best album at this year’s Grammy’s.

They’d been searching unsuccessfully for at least ten minutes when someone called his name.

“Beckett Hayes? Holy shit, man, how’ve you been?”

Beckett turned to find a glassy-eyed twenty-something in an open zebra-print button-up shirt and a fedora. He vaguely recognized him from one of those reality TV shows Logan was always watching.

“Do I know you?” Beckett asked, irritated by the interruption.

“Nah, man, but I know you.” The kid chortled and took another gulp from his red party cup. “Didn’t think I’d see an old-timer like you here.”