Chapter Five

Chase kept his eyes on the road and sighed inwardly. He hated lying, and yet he'd spent a whole two days with Skylar. Intense days that, when he touched her, seemed to wash away the years.

But she had turned away from him. And he wasn't in a position now to bare his heart—and his life—to her.

"Call from a friend," he said.

"And?"

"They had a death down by the river," he said. "A kid...it was just marijuana. College kid, with friends, took a few puffs...seized and was dead. The only good thing is that watching him freaked out his friends and none of them touched the stuff after that... It's headed to a lab. But sounds like the weed had been contaminated with fentanyl. Apparently, it's a huge problem now, pills, uppers, downers, weed, cocaine...tons of drugs contaminated."

"Wow. That's horrible. And your friend called you?"

"It's all over the news."

"Right. But the friend called you," she pressed.

He turned to look at her briefly and then quickly returned his attention to the road. He didn't have to look at Sky to see her face in his mind's eye. Eyes bluer than the bluest sky, hair like her dad's, dark as ink, flowing around her shoulders. He'd fallen in love with her when he was young. And in all the years that had gone by...

He'd been practical. She was gone. He'd met people. But he hadn't had a real relationship since they'd been together. Young Chase had believed they'd eventually marry, that some people were lucky in life and they met someone who was there for them for the rest of their lives.

"Chase?"

"Yeah?"

She let out a loud sigh of exasperation. "Chase! Friends call you to report the news? Why? What is going on?"

He shrugged. "Hey. We're with a rock band. Everyone knows rock and roll may lead us all to some kind of excess," he said sarcastically.

"Chase—"

"Oh, come on! You know what? I'm scared to death for you, and I need to trust you right now. And I'm not really sure how to deal with either."

"Why wouldn't you trust me?"

"Oh, I don't know. Never returning a call, email or text. Pretending as if I'd fallen off the face of the earth—"

"Chase, I couldn't deal! I just couldn't deal, and I... Look, I'm sorry! But you're the one scared to death for me, so please, let me in on whatever the hell it is that's going on," she pleaded.

"You know what's going on," he said quietly. "This whole thing has to do with drugs. And I think someone involved—close, at the very least—has been involved with some very bad drugs that have been going around. Yeah, I have friends. You do, too. The old couple next to you with the dog—Tim Hanson and his wife, Liz. I know you are friends with them. Oh, I also know you like to sing sometimes at Jazz Mass."

"What? Wait! Have you been—"

"Did I try to follow you a bit and make sure you were moving on all right with your life? Yeah, I did. I cared. Sue me. But now..."

"Now, yeah, I got it. Bad drugs are out there. My father might have known something. And so he died, because he wouldn't let innocent people be harmed by others. And despite being clean, he didn't care if someone had a joint or a beer, but he would have been furious if—"

"If," Chase finished, "someone was out there purposely trying to addict the youth of America or, worse, to kill innocents, your dad would have acted. Because the big players out there up the profits in drugs by cutting them big-time. As in with fentanyl."

"So," she said slowly, "someone out there knows you believe someone in or around Skyhawk is doing this? You have some interesting friends."

"Well, of course I do!" he said. "You know I've worked in labs, and I've taken all kinds of classes in criminology."

"Are you sure they are all friends?" she asked.

He groaned. "I got a call from a friend, yes. A trusted friend."

"How do you know them?" she asked.

He was going to have to tell her at least something of the truth. But first, they had reached the bar where they were supposed to meet the others. He found street parking, turned off the car and sat for a minute.

"Because my friend is someone I met at a lecture. And he's with the FBI."

"Oh," she said simply. "Well, that's good, right? Is this friend going to be coming to the concert?"

"Yes," he admitted.

"That's cool," she murmured, looking down at her hands. Then she turned to him. "Though, neither of us is going to be electrocuted. The guys made a point of saying anything to do with electric or sound or even lights, they'd be handling it."

He nodded and turned and said fiercely, "And that's for real. You don't touch anything. Anything at all. Promise!"

"Of course. But you have to promise me the same."

"I do, of course. But the drummer isn't the front man—or woman. You are."

"I promise. Should we go in?" Sky asked.

He nodded. "Yeah. But..."

"But?"

"You don't drink anything that I don't give you, okay?"

"Now you want me to worry about drinks? In a bar that's been here forever?"

Chase didn't get a chance to answer. He saw Joe Garcia was on the sidewalk, hurrying toward them and tapping at Sky's window.

He indicated that they were getting out, and he and Sky exited from their respective sides of the car.

"Chase, Sky," Joe said excitedly, "this is a cool happenstance. A reporter from the major music magazine is in the bar—recognized me and Mark—and is dying to interview Sky!"

"Oh, well, I'm not—"

"Honey, please. No, it's not like we're hurting, like we won't survive, but anytime something like that goes around, songs are played and played on the radio and... Please, it will only take a few minutes, I promise!"

Sky glanced over at Chase and he nodded. "I'll be right there," he promised.

"Okay, um, sure, if it helps everyone, then...sure."

They headed back in together. It was a neighborhood kind of place—not like a bar on Bourbon Street, blasting music and catering to tourists. It was somewhat surprising that a reporter had made his way here, but when Joe introduced him and Sky to the man, it turned out his name was Jimmy Broussard. He had been born in New Orleans but headed out to California for work. Naturally, he latched on anytime he could when a known band was playing in the vicinity.

Broussard was maybe in his late thirties, and despite the fact he'd probably interviewed dozens of music celebrities, he seemed in awe of Sky. He shook her hand, telling her she looked like her father and added quickly, "A beautiful, feminine version of your dad, of course."

She thanked him and glanced a little nervously at Chase.

"The two of them are a thing," Joe said. "If you want Sky—"

"Please, Chase, join us!" Broussard said. He pointed to a table at the back of the bar. It was quiet there; music was playing, but it wasn't a live band. It was controlled from behind the bar and was kept at a volume that allowed for conversation.

"Sky, Chase, what would you like—" Joe began.

"No, not to worry. I know what she likes," Chase said. "Mr. Broussard?"

"I'm good, got a beer," Broussard said.

Chase hurried to the bar himself and asked for two beers—in bottles. He brought them back to the table where Broussard was smiling at Sky as they waited.

"Thanks," Sky murmured.

"Broussard, you're sure—"

"Got my beer right here, never go for more than one. Anyway..." he turned to Sky as Chase took a seat at the table "...I just loved your dad's work," he told her. "You know, some songs are catchy just because you've got a beat that people can't resist. Words don't even matter—it's the tune. A tune that makes you move, that is just peppy. But so many of the groups from decades past had some real songwriters in them, too," he told her.

She smiled at him in turn. She seemed okay with the reporter, which was good on many fronts.

"Yeah," she said. "My dad loved what he called the storytellers. He was a big fan of Roger Waters and Pink Floyd. The Who and Pete Townshend with Tommy , the rock opera...there were a lot of great writers out there, really. And there still are! Music keeps growing. Oh, that was something else my dad taught me. Every genre has good music, just as every genre has music that will fade. He told me one time that rap really wasn't his favorite form of music but that there was good rap and that you could combine all kinds of music. He and my mom got to see Hamilton , and he fell in love with it and Lin-Manuel Miranda. He was one of those guys who truly appreciated the talents of others."

"So I heard," Broussard said. "He's also known for helping young musicians—and anyone who needed help, really."

"He had a lot of pet charities. I try to keep up with them, as does my mom."

"That's great. I mean, growing up with that kind of a rock legend..."

"He was a great father. He taught me good lessons for life. I didn't get away with anything—"

Broussard laughed. "Can't imagine Jake Ferguson spanking his kid. Did you spend a lot of time in time-out?"

She shook her head. "I was a good kid. There was something about him and my mom. I wasn't afraid of horrible things happening if I misbehaved, I just didn't want to disappoint anyone."

"Wow. Great. And what about you?"

"What about me?"

"Sorry. I'm usually a great interviewer, right on with questions. I'm in awe. Anyway, what about you? Favorite group, singer—"

"I couldn't pick a favorite. If I'm looking to some of the artists from past decades... Freddie Mercury, amazing vocals. Roy Orbison! Hmm, oh, wow, Nancy Wilson from Heart. My God, what a voice! There are others, of course, so many...and..."

Broussard laughed. "It's an amazing world. Glad to be on the sidelines, though..." He paused, grinning. "My dad was an attorney. Loved boats, and we took a lot of holidays down in the Caribbean. He ran into a fellow at a local place where people just sat all together. Started talking to the fellow next to him who said he was a guitarist. My dad told him that he could help him get a real job. Turned out the fellow was Eric Clapton, possibly the best guitarist out there!" He turned to Chase suddenly. "Wow. I'm sorry, didn't mean to be ignoring you. You are...Hank McCoy's grandson, right?"

"I am," Chase said. "And don't worry about ignoring me at all. No problem."

"Hey, drums are a big deal. And I've heard you. This is off the record—better vocals from you than your granddad, but...hey, who am I to judge?"

Sky was gazing at Chase, and he caught her eyes, and they both laughed. "A guy who has listened to more rock bands than anyone can possibly imagine?" Chase said lightly. "Anyway, I take any and all compliments. Back to Sky."

"You still play. You still sing."

"I like life low-key," she told him.

"So—kids and Jazz Mass."

"You do your homework," Chase told him.

"It's my life!" Broussard said lightly. "Anyway, Sky, thank you. I was in love with your father's talent. I think this is going to be an amazing gig."

"You'll be there?" Sky asked him.

"Oh, you bet. Hey, can I get a shot of the two of you together?"

Chase noticed Sky seemed to miss a beat, but she was quickly back with the plan.

"Of course!" Chase said quickly.

"Of course," she echoed.

They'd been sitting in chairs at a square table. Chase stood and walked around behind Sky, ducking down with an arm around her and his head by hers.

Broussard said, "Well, should have had my photographer here, but this was truly happenstance, so... Well, they say phones take incredible pictures these days."

"Any device can only take what it sees," Sky murmured.

"It sees pure beauty!" Broussard said, snapping his pic. "And handsomeness, of course," he told Chase.

Chase laughed aloud at that one. "Hey, how about ‘the group at play at home'—This is where Skyhawk began years ago in a little garage," he reminded Broussard.

"Yeah, cool!" Broussard said.

The others—including roadies Nathan, Justin and Charlie—were at one of the long plank tables. Chase motioned to them and they scrambled, half the table heading to stand behind the other half, allowing room at one end for Chase and Sky.

The picture was taken.

When several backup shots had been made, Broussard thanked them all, as they did him and he was gone and the bartender-owner, Danny Murphy, came over to express his appreciation.

"The real deal. You guys are the real deal!" he told them. "And Sky...wow. Thanks. I mean, thanks. What that will do for this place... Major league!"

"Yeah, but keep it real, okay, huh?" Joe Garcia begged. "That's why we love to come here, it's just...real. Not a gig, just a beer!"

"Oh, always," Murphy promised.

"Anyway, we're going to get home—" Chase began.

"No! Hey, we're all just finally together!" Brandon protested. He went silent, though, suddenly. There was a TV screen behind the bar. A twenty-four hour news show was on and the headlines were running.

"Oh, my God!" Joe said.

"Another one," Mark added, shaking his head. "Man, am I glad I'm not young anymore."

"You'd think, too, that kids would cool it right now! I mean that poor kid, from what I'm seeing, he was just going to have few tokes!" Chris Wiley said. He looked at Brandon. "Don't even think about buying any weed right now!"

"I'm here, with you, drinking a near beer, Pops!" Brandon protested. "Not to worry. What the hell kind of a dealer does that?" he added. "Kills their customers?"

"Some ass who doesn't know that overcutting stuff to make bigger bucks doesn't do the trick. Man, that's right...poor kid," Mark said. "We haven't had trouble like this in a while now. What a...well, what a mess and a tragedy."

"Absolute tragedy," Charlie agreed, standing. He shook his head. "What is the matter with people? I'm almost glad Jake isn't here. He'd be so upset over..."

His voice trailed, and he looked at Sky. "I'm so sorry."

"It's okay. My dad would be furious, you're right," Sky said. She looked around at them all. "Everyone should be furious. This is random murder for profit. But the cops get on to people eventually. And I hope whoever did this is charged with murder."

"They'll get them. They always do," Joe said, nodding his head sagely.

"But they don't, do they?" Brandon asked, looking at Chase. "Hey, you're the guy who has taken all the classes. They don't get them all the time, do they? I mean, look at the serial killers who were out there for years and years—and those who were never caught."

"Most of the time, from the lectures I've heard, criminals eventually make mistakes," Chase said. "Any of us who might want to take a puff now and then...wouldn't be doing it right now! Hey, one more round of bottled beers. We'll play everything safe!"

He headed to the bar, keeping his eye on the table. They all seemed perplexed, horrified by what they had seen on the news.

And yet one of them...

He snatched a tray off the bar to carry the beers back, placing them in front of everyone.

"Hey, cool," Chris Wiley said, smiling at Chase. "When all else fails, you can be a bartender!"

"Aw, he's aiming higher than that!" Mark said. "What are you going to do with all these classes? You know, I just never saw you working in a basement lab, kid!"

Chase shrugged. "Thanks to you guys, I get to be whatever I want." He laughed. "Never worked in a basement. Most labs would be underwater soon in this area!"

They all laughed. Mark, Joe and Chris, the remaining original members of Skyhawk, all seemed to be at ease. Older men, those who might have retired in another life, but all still strong and vibrant. Chase was grateful his grandfather, Hank, would soon regain his strength, and he would still be part of what he had loved all his life again. And still...

Brandon? Wild child? Sometimes what was in plain sight was the simple answer.

But for some reason, Chase just didn't think it could be that easy. Gut reaction. A man's gut could be wrong.

But it could also be right.

Then...the roadies. Charlie, like Brandon, the wild child in the group. Justin, a man who by all appearances loved his wife of years and years and his sons, both in college, one headed for a career in medicine, the other in banking.

Nathan...divorced. A few times. But a man who coached his one son's team, a guy who seemed to love his children...

"I think it's time, children, that we do get back. Last tech tomorrow, and then show goes up at eight!" Mark said. He looked around the table, grimacing. "I am the oldest dude in this fizzy party now, so children, all of you—off to bed for a good night tomorrow!"

They all stood and headed out. Chase paused on the sidewalk.

"Chase?" Sky asked softly.

"Such a beautiful night!" he said.

"Yes, it is," she agreed. "For...for most of us."

"Let's get to the car. Get some sleep."

He nodded. The street here, off the tourist path and in a neighborhood section of the city, was quiet. His car was just down a block or so, and they started for it in silence.

Maybe it was the quiet, maybe it was his training, but he heard someone slip almost silently down the street toward them just as he opened the driver's door to his car.

He spun around, almost reaching for the small sidearm in its holster at his waistband which was hidden by the jacket he was wearing.

But again, gut sense had kicked in.

It was Brandon Wiley, looking at him anxiously.

"Brandon?"

"Sorry, sorry, I didn't mean to sneak up on you. I mean, I wanted to get to you without anyone else seeing... I, man, I don't know. Well, I mean, you do know. I swear, no hard drugs, but I do some weed now and then, and now..."

"Do you have something on you?" Chase asked. "Brandon—"

"Yes, yes, I do. And I don't know, Chase, I mean no one really understands what you're up to all the time, but I thought that—"

"Brandon, yeah, I know some people, and I can—"

"Please, please, please, I'm going to be sitting in for many of the numbers tomorrow night, and it all means a lot to me. I don't want to get in any trouble—"

"Brandon," Chase promised, "I'm not going to get you into any trouble. I'm going to be grateful as all hell you came to me if the stuff you have turns out to be tainted. Thing is, if there is something... Brandon, we have to know where you got it."

Brandon nodded. "I didn't buy it. There's a guy who works the spotlights over the audience at the arena. I gave him a few joints a few years ago, he caught up with me after today's rehearsal and gave me these."

He produced two joints, handing them to Chase.

"I'm going to need to know this guy's name," Chase told him.

"But if there's nothing wrong with these—"

"Look, laws about pot have changed. Possessing a couple of joints is nothing. Let me find out what the story is with this. First off, you no longer possess it, I do. And as for anyone else...at tops, small amounts are a fine and a few days in jail. But I'm not after you or anyone else just smoking a joint—we need the source."

Brandon nodded seriously. "Don't worry. Nothing for me in the next days except for a beer—in a bottle that's sealed when I get it!"

"Good thinking. Okay, I'll get this somewhere. I promise. And I'll let you know what's up in the morning. And if there is something in this..."

"I know, I know, I know. I got it from a guy named Bobby Sacks. He works lights."

"Thanks. Let's keep Bobby alive, okay?" Chase said.

"Thanks," Brandon told him. "Okay, uh, see you lovebirds tomorrow, huh?"

"Yep, good night."

Brandon walked away. Knowing Sky was watching him, Chase still knew he had no choice.

"Just a sec," he told her, dialing Wellington's number. "Hey, um, a friend of mine got panicked when he saw the news. I have a couple of joints...um, yeah. I'll give you an address. You can pick them up from me there? I mean, I know you're a lecturer, but with what's going on... Great. I thought you might know what to do."

He hung up. "A friend who knows everyone in every lab from here to the ocean."

"Chase, my God, do you think—"

"I don't think anything right now. Let's let my friend get these to a lab, huh?"

She nodded and crawled into the car. They were silent on the way to the house. When they arrived, Larry was overjoyed to see them.

Sky might have said she didn't want a dog. But Larry evidently loved her.

And she loved Larry, it seemed.

"He's been sleeping on the couch, you know. And there are guest bedrooms here—"

"I guarantee you, when you go to bed, Larry will park himself in front of your door," Chase told her dryly. "I have to wait for my friend."

"I'll wait with you."

Before long, there was a buzz at the door. Chase looked out—Wellington had come straight to Sky's house when he had called him.

"That's him?" Sky asked.

He nodded, hitting the release for the gate and the door. A minute later, he opened it to meet Wellington on the porch.

"Don't be rude—invite him in," Skylar said.

Larry woofed; she set a hand on his head, telling him that it was all right.

Chase had no choice. He stepped aside as he greeted Andy Wellington and introduced him to Sky as one of his lecturers.

"Sky Ferguson, what a pleasure!" Andy told her.

"And so nice to meet you, too. Brandon is a dear friend of ours, and we're so grateful he came to Chase and that Chase...knows people. Can we get you anything?" Sky said pleasantly.

"No, it's late, I'm just going to get these joints to friends I've met along the way," Wellington said politely. "But... Chase scored me some tickets for tomorrow night. I can't wait—you mostly disappeared, Miss Ferguson, and like me, tons of people out there are anxious to see you step into your father's shoes."

She shook her head. "I can't step into his shoes. I can only hope to honor him."

"I'm sure you will. He had an excellent reputation, and Chase tells me that all the amazing things written about him being an incredible human being are true."

Sky smiled and nodded. Wellington asked if he could pet the dog, and Sky assured him it was fine because he'd been identified as a friend.

Andy's eyes locked with Chase's for just a moment, and then he was gone.

"We'd really best get some sleep," Chase said.

"What did you think about Brandon? And...do you know this guy he was talking about? Bobby, who works lights?"

"I don't know Bobby. But—"

"Chase, if this stuff is laced, more people could die!"

"Wellington will get back to us as soon as possible and..." he shrugged "... I already told him Brandon got the stuff from Bobby Sacks."

She arched a brow at him.

"A little note I passed to him along with the joints."

She stared at him suspiciously. "Hey, let it get to the right people! If it was no big deal, it was no big deal. Well, hopefully, some lives will be saved."

"Shower," she said.

"Pardon?"

"There are three guest rooms upstairs and two more bathrooms. I'm for a shower and bed. Sleep wherever you like. I mean, we do have a dog now—one that your friend very specifically picked out for me. I'm going to assume he's an exceptional guard dog. Good night."

She turned and disappeared up the stairs. He watched her go and winced. There were moments when...

Time. Time could have gone away. He'd be holding her, just as he had those many years ago, he'd almost feel the softness of her flesh, the look in her eyes when...

First things first.

Keep them all alive.

Hell, they did have a big dog. He'd take a shower. And his firearm would be on the sink, right next to the shower. No chances could be taken now.

A SHOWER FELT GOOD . Delicious. Hot water, and then, as it sluiced over her and she felt the steam and replayed the day in her mind, the day, and Chase...

Cold water.

Didn't help a lot.

He was there. There in her house. Close. She was standing in the shower, naked. He was probably in a shower, too...

Maybe. Maybe not. He seemed...

Well, he was paranoid about her, but with all his so-called friends, she couldn't tell what was really going on with him.

What the hell was he really doing for a living? He did love his grandfather, he'd always seemed to care about everyone involved with Skyhawk...

Impatiently, she turned off the water, stepped out and dried off, wrapping the towel securely around her. She stepped from her bathroom into the bedroom area, opened the door to the hallway cautiously and looked out.

Larry had indeed taken up a position right outside her door.

One room down, the door was closed.

She smiled. With Larry in the house, it seemed Chase had chosen to make use of an actual bed. As she stood there, she heard the faint sound of water going off.

Chase had opted for a shower and a bed.

She petted Larry's head, closed the door and headed for her dresser, seeking one of the oversize soft cotton T-shirts she liked to sleep in.

And then she had no idea of what really happened next. The show was coming up tomorrow—or later today, since it was after midnight.

Life...

Life was so fragile.

And at this moment her mind was, too.

And people in one's life were unique and rare, and she knew that and she'd never understood herself why she'd had to learn to live with loss on her own, why she hadn't clung to others who had cared.

She didn't know what she was thinking. No, she wasn't thinking. But she found herself stepping back out into the hall, heading to the door to the guest room that was closed, and opening it.

Chase was there, wrapped in a towel as she was, sorting through the clothing he had discarded but stopping dead as he saw her there.

"Sky?"

She shook her head. "Shut up. Please, just shut up."

She walked over to him, putting her arms around him, and drawing him into a deep, long kiss. And as she had hoped, prayed and maybe imagined, he pulled her closer to him, his arms wrapping around her, both towels slipping and falling away, and then their flesh, flesh touching, flesh, melding...

Time. Gone. An amazing burst of diamond and crystal light, the world exploding around them as they fell together onto the bed.

Touch came so easily, sweet, soaring sensuality as kisses roamed intimately between them, as the need and urgency grew, and they were together again...

Soaring, sweet ecstasy, excitement and the comfort of...

Love and security that had always been there, waiting.

As if they'd never been apart.