Book 5: Bone Cold-Alive Series
It was almost comical, Ian mused, as he waited to leave the bus in the Portland terminal, how people will behave when they think they’re seeing someone they’re not supposed to be seeing where said person is not supposed to be. Like, why should Ian Murray, bassist to Bone Cold—Alive, be on a commuter bus to Portland, Maine, before most of them had their second cup of coffee? Why, indeed, he wanted to answer from his position in the last row of seats. He’d snugged up in the corner and tilted his body so no one would sit with him unless there were no more seats available, and as the bus was half-empty, that was a moot point. But still, the sly looks, the slight grins, the sneaky laugh a college girl kept casting his way… well, that had possibilities, and just before he’d dozed off, he’d actually entertained the notion of making room for her on his bench. But he thought better of it and she was gracious enough not to pursue him.
Graciousness had seldom had anything to do with Bone Cold—Alive. On their rise to the top, they’d employed serious-looking security men. The stage had been ringed with police at one point in London. Ringed with them. What a high—to be so damned important the police would protect you no matter the lyrics or innuendoes, no matter the shocking behavior in the public eye. But the adoration had quickly turned sour—at least to him it had. T and C reveled in it; Bo was all about front page time and Ron just wanted to play in bigger and bolder poker games, all things that notoriety provided. To be honest, he’d enjoyed his share—but it was actually a pleasure to be able to stand in the bus terminal in his hometown and not be mobbed.
He was looking about for the local bus schedule—might as well play this charade to the hilt—when the college girl approached him. “Ian?”
Anyone else would have been Mr. Murray. Had he at last joined the ranks of the one-names? Elvis. Madonna. Brad. Ian?
“Yes?” There wasn’t any use denying his identity, just smile through the photo, be grateful she’d left him alone thus far, and be on his way.
“Do you need a ride?” She tossed her head in the direction of a long-legged young man who stood by the glass doors. Beyond him was a clunker of a car. “My boyfriend and I would be glad to drop you wherever you wish.”
And kidnap him in the interim? Now there was a thought worthy of Fletch. Just exactly what was the going ransom on a soon-to-be-retired bass player? Not as much as this girl was thinking, he’d wager.
“Thank you for the offer, but no.” He hoped the smile he was flashing was a pleasant version of not-on-your-life. “I’ve business to attend to before I get where I’m really going.”
“Oh. Okay.” She had been so sure of his acceptance that she seemed at a loss for words. Casting another look at the boyfriend, she shrugged and backed away. “Maybe another time.”
“Maybe.”
He watched them go and turned his attention to the schedule.