Chapter Seven

Bobby Sacks was awake and aware, but just barely.

Chase should have felt relief, grateful when he spoke with the man's doctor and was told that his arrival and quick action had saved Bobby's life.

The doctor himself had been the one to summon Chase; there was an officer from NOPD just outside his door. Another officer had just gone downstairs with Bobby's wife so she could take a break and get something to eat in the cafeteria.

"Also figured you might want a minute—just a minute, he's not very strong—to speak with him alone," the doctor had said.

Chase had appreciated his help: naturally, it was imperative to save a life first. And sometimes, law enforcement really had to wait to question a suspect or a witness.

This man had seen to it that he'd get a few minutes immediately.

Bobby opened his eyes as the doctor left and Chase stood by his bed. He winced and tried to smile. "You're supposed to be a drummer. My wife said you're known for taking forensics classes and that...you saved my life when she didn't know what to do. Thank you."

"I'm glad you're alive," Chase assured him. "But, Bobby—"

"Yeah, I know. I saw a guy briefly when I wasn't really...well, aware enough to say much. I know. I don't want others to die."

"But you gave Brandon some weed."

"Different lots."

"Where did you get your drops of the drugs? Different drops?"

"I...I don't know."

"How can you not know?"

"I leave the money wherever I'm told to leave it. Then I get a message back. I...well, I meant to be generous with friends. I made a buy twice."

"How do you make the buy?" Chase asked.

"The web." He hesitated. "The dark web."

"So you make arrangements online—on the dark web—and someone tells you where to leave money and then where to pick up the stash?"

Bobby Sacks winced as he nodded. "I never thought... I mean, I'd heard about drugs that were laced, but I never thought... It's been a long time... When Skyhawk is playing..." He shrugged weakly. "Maybe some other times. I don't... I don't know. I guess that sometimes when other groups or acts are performing..."

"I'm glad you're going to be okay, Bobby, really. Thing is, what happened to you could happen to someone else. I mean, I'm not up on the dark web, but I'll let the cops or whoever know, and they'll get someone to you with a computer, and you can help them find the source of whatever is going on here. I've got to do that."

"I know!" he said, wincing. "Chase, believe me, I don't want anyone dying! I don't want anyone hurt or dying because of me!"

"Right. I'll—"

A male nurse was coming into the room, carrying a tray with a shot of medicine to be added to Bobby's IV.

"Hey," he said, greeting them both. "Doc just ordered this for you. It will take me two seconds. Oh, I've been asked to tell your visitor he's been here long enough. You need to get some rest."

Chase glanced at the needle. There seemed to be something off. It should have been an ordinary procedure; he'd seen the staff add medications to his grandfather's IV often enough.

But something looked different. The man was dressed in the same scrubs as the other nurses, but something didn't seem right.

"What is that?" Chase asked him.

"Oh, uh, just a little more saline, get him better hydrated," the nurse said.

He looked to be a man in his late thirties or early forties. And if he was a nurse, he shouldn't have suggested that a shot so small was but saline.

"You're not putting that in his arm," Chase said.

"What? I just told you—"

"No. Step away from him," Chase said.

He saw the man reach behind his back and knew that he was reaching for a weapon. He could have pulled his own. Instead, he made a flying leap, bringing the man down to the floor before he could draw his gun.

The weapon went flying across the floor.

The ostensible nurse went for it, stretching to retrieve it.

Chase caught him by the ankle, shouting for one of the cops.

In two seconds, NOPD's finest were in the room with him. He explained quickly that the man had tried to put something in Bobby's IV then gone to draw his weapon. He needed to give this one to the cops; he didn't want to have to show the credentials he kept but never used.

The officers quickly had the guy cuffed and up. He stared at Chase with loathing and then started to laugh. "Hotshot drummer. Think you're tough 'cause you got the money for hours at the gym, huh? You'll get yours—trust me. You'll get yours!"

"We've got him, Mr. McCoy. We've got him," one of the cops assured him.

"Thanks!" Chase said.

They dragged the suspect out of the room, aggravated that they hadn't seen that something was wrong when he'd gone in.

Chase made a mental note to tell Wellington they needed someone in the hospital who knew something about medicine—either that or make sure nothing went into Bobby's IV unless the doctor himself administered it.

"Man, wow, you are...well, one hell of a drummer," Bobby said, looked at him in despair and shaking his head. "You did it again—you saved my life again. How the hell..."

"I knew that wasn't saline. I've had my share of family in the hospital," Chase said, shrugging. "And what the hell, I haven't even done any drumming here. Listen, I'm going to see to it that the people who matter know what happened and make sure you're safe. I'll take care of that right now. Your wife will be back up in a minute, and they'll let her stay—but I'm going to see to it that someone who knows what's up is here, too. At all times."

"Man, thank you. Thank you, thank you!" he said softly.

Chase nodded, heading for Bobby's door. As he set his hand on it, he heard a sound that could only be that of a shot, explosive, painfully loud in the peace and quiet of the hospital floor.

S KY DIDN ' T MEAN to scream; the sound of the shot was so startling, so loud, she let out a gasp that was part squeak and part scream.

"It's all right, it's all right!" the man in Hank's room quickly informed them. "I'm Luke Watson, NOPD. There's—I don't know what—but you're safe, my job is to stand right here and shoot anyone who tries to come near either of you," he assured them.

Sky swallowed hard and said the only thing that came to mind.

"Thank you, thank you. But Chase—"

"Chase will be fine. There are cops all over this place. Whatever is going on, we all have our assignments, and you are mine," Watson said.

Sky nodded, hoping against hope he was for real, because he wasn't wearing a uniform.

As if he could sense her thoughts, the man turned, still keeping his peripheral vision on the door but reaching into his pocket.

Not for a gun, she prayed.

His credentials.

"Thank you," she whispered again, gripping Hank's hand tightly.

She had wanted to find the truth. Now, she was sure she knew it. Her father had seen something, known something, and he had died for it.

Just as someone was apparently trying to kill others now.

Fear seemed to grip her like chilled and bony fingers around the heart.

She needed to know. She needed to know so badly. And yet...she had never imagined this kind of danger, a killer slipping into a hospital, shots fired in a hospital !

She thought about being on stage that night but remembered there would be security stations and security guards. Bags would be checked and arrivals would go through metal detectors.

What had happened with Jake had been far more subtle.

Whoever was doing this didn't want to get caught. But then...

The man drew the door open, letting Chase enter. He was anxious and tense, asking quickly, "You're all right? Everything is all right?"

"We're good. Officer Watson here is great," Hank assured him quickly.

Chase stared at Watson and gave him a nod of thanks.

Then Chase was gone again.

"Where... He needs to be here!" Sky whispered.

"Trust him!" Hank whispered.

"Trust is a two-way street!" she whispered in return. But she realized she was afraid.

Afraid for herself. And worse.

She was afraid for Chase.

"S TAIRWELL !" ONE OF the uniformed cops in the hall shouted. "Headed down the stairwell!"

He was moving quickly, racing to the stairs.

Chase hurried behind him, drawing his weapon and assuring him, "I have a permit! I can help, I swear, I've worked with lots of cops, and I am not at all trigger-happy."

The cop nodded as they headed in the direction of the gunfire.

They almost tripped over one of the police officers who had just been in Bobby Sacks's room, one who had cuffed the fake nurse.

He groaned; the man was shot but still alive.

"LeBlanc!" the officer with Chase cried, hunkering down by the fallen man.

"Stay with him—get help!" Chase ordered, knowing he needed to move fast.

"He got Harvey's gun...he's got Harvey!" the man on the floor moaned.

"I'll get him!" Chase promised, hurrying down the stairs. He didn't hear the explosion of another shot. He did hear scuffling and then a whisper that was oddly echoed in the stairwell.

"Move, move, move...and you may live!"

Despite his speed, Chase forced himself to move as quietly as possible, finally seeing the nurse and the cop as he rounded one turn. He took aim at the nurse's head, shouting out, "Stop now! Lower the gun!"

Instead, the nurse laughed and took aim, pointing his weapon directly at him. But Chase was ready, sliding back to avoid the bullet that plowed into the wall while carefully returning fire.

The nurse didn't let out a peep.

Chase had caught him squarely in the forehead. He fell, rolling down the last few stairs to the first-floor landing.

Chase cursed himself as he hurried down to reach the officer—Harvey as the other man had called him. He was staring at Chase with gratitude.

"He was going to kill me. He shot my partner—he was just using me to get out of the hospital. He would have killed me. How..."

"I've worked with law enforcement and have the proper credentials to carry, and he was after people in this hospital. My grandfather is here," Chase said.

The cop looked at him. "You're one hell of an interesting drummer, Mr. McCoy."

"Um, yeah, I've heard that."

"Thank you. I need to see to my partner—"

"He was talking, and being in a hospital, he'll get immediate help."

"And...well, we'll need your weapon, and you'll have to make a statement. I mean, you saved my life, but the world runs on paperwork. Real paper, sometimes."

Chase nodded, looking at the dead suspect.

Was he the pusher? He'd never seen the man before.

"Well, I guess you have to call someone, but I'd like to get back to my grandfather," Chase said. "If that's okay. I'll be here... I am due at our tech rehearsal at four, but—"

To his relief, Chase saw that Wellington had arrived with the captain of the local PD.

"Mr. McCoy, the police need your weapon, and they'll be asking you to sign a statement. We need to do this quickly. Captain Hughes and I both have tickets for tonight's event—we can't have you missing anything and we don't want to miss anything, either!"

"I need to see my grandfather and Sky," Chase said.

"Of course. You are something, Mr. McCoy. Johnny-on-the-spot, and a big show tonight! Grateful you were here," Wellington said. "Come on, son, we'll head on back up, I'll get you onto the paperwork, and then we'll get you to the show!"

O F COURSE , Sky figured, Wellington had all kinds of strings he could pull. He left Hank's room again with Chase, but the two returned within a few minutes—paperwork all done.

Even for Wellington, that must have been quite a feat. But then, from what she began to understand, Chase had now saved the life of a cop as well, and that had to sit well with whoever pulled all the strings.

They finally bade Hank goodbye with Chase warning him to do everything the doctors told him to do—and Hank warning Chase to be careful.

"Always careful," Chase told him.

"I didn't see today as—"

"That's because you weren't looking. I am always careful," Chase assured him.

Hank's face—half smile and half frown—showed his pride in his grandson. Sky, of course, was grateful. Chase did seem to have a knack for getting the bad guys.

Her father had given him that determination.

Of course, she was proud, too. And still a little bit scared. She'd been angry that he hadn't trusted her. But inwardly, she could admit she now understood. He was undercover. Undercover...as himself. And all his classes had been real—apparently, he'd learned a great deal about drugs, drug overdoses and how to reverse them.

He also seemed to have instinct, something one probably couldn't get in any class, more likely something that was basic to certain people.

She was quiet as they headed to the last rehearsal before the concert.

She was surprised when Chase spoke, his voice pained. "I'm thinking we should cancel the show. Wellington even mentioned it to me."

"What?" she demanded.

He shook his head. "It's one thing for me to step into something that could turn very bad—I made that choice. But after the events at the hospital, I don't know what we're looking at."

"I put me in it—I'm choosing to do so."

"It's a concert. No one should die over a concert."

"People are dying without the concert. The concert is your way of finding out what is really going on, just how deep it all runs. Chase, I want to do it. Not just for...not just for one reason. I want to do it for my father. Hank reminded me of something today. My dad loved the band—he created it. He truly believed in that saying, that music could soothe the savage beast. And I've got it—someone is using Skyhawk events for something so bad it's pure evil. But this is the chance to stop it. To save lives. You got to do that today. Chase, I want my chance to be a part of something bigger, too."

He was silent.

"Wellington would understand. Oh, and Wellington will make sure the metal detectors are working overtime, and the audience is half cops and agents, probably, Louisiana State Police, you name it."

Again, he was silent.

"I'm right, aren't I?"

"You'll be center stage," he said quietly.

"You betcha!" she said determinedly. "Chase, people have seen on the news that drugs have been laced and contaminated, that people are dying. I don't think so many will be wanting to buy stuff. But I do think that whoever was doing what—the person my father knew was involved—is going to be there. And under these circumstances..."

"Yeah, he could slip up," Chase admitted. "Still—"

"I'm going to be all right. Chase, Charlie made a point—none of us touches equipment. If something is going to happen, it will be to one of them. Not that I want anything to happen, I don't mean it that way, but—"

"I don't think whoever from our group is involved is the kingpin—but if we can get someone who can talk—"

"Bobby didn't help any?"

"I think he will help. Wellington is getting a computer whiz in there with him." He hesitated and shrugged. "Bobby knows he almost died. And he has a great wife, a good job."

"So what did he tell you?"

"The dark web."

"It is real," she murmured.

"Very real."

"I mean, I knew that, I just..."

"We'll see," he said. They'd reached parking for the performers, and he turned to her again. "Sky, if anything was to happen to you—"

"And if anything was to happen to you," she interrupted.

He nodded slowly. She set her hands on his. "Okay, seriously, I know you think you're stronger, that some machismo is kicking in—"

"No. Honestly. Training. Sky, you know I've been to a million classes—"

"That won't stop a bullet."

"No. But I know how to watch and hit a fly at a hundred yards when I need to. But I don't think there are going to be firearms at the concert—"

"Then, you don't need to be worried that I'll be a target."

He was silent. She knew he really didn't think firearms were something they needed to concerned about.

But he was still worried.

"I'm not going to touch any equipment, Chase," she told him. "I'm just going to be there—drawing out whoever might be doing something, or not even drawing them out. I'll just be making sure the show goes on so they can do whatever it is they do."

He nodded. "Yep, right. Okay then, shall we?"

The exited the car and headed in. Chris Wiley and Brandon were there, checking mics and instruments with Justin, Nathan and Charlie.

Charlie, naturally, looked at them anxiously. Chase clapped him on the back, and Sky knew he was hoping Charlie would act normally.

She assumed, however, that Chase had gotten with him. He knew about Bobby Sacks. He would have made sure, too, that Charlie was all right.

And that he should keep quiet.

"Hey!" Chris called, greeting them. He hurried over and gave Chase a pat on the back and hugged Sky.

"This is going to be amazing! Sky, so cool," he said softly.

"Thanks. Of course."

"Mark has the set list. Sound checks..."

"Wait, wait!" Mark came hurrying in from the stage-right wing. "Sky, we've another reporter who wants to speak with you before we get started. Obviously, we want the best tech we can get, but I also know that you knew your dad, you'll play it by ear and audience cue once we get going—"

"Mark, yes, I'll be fine." She smiled and added sincerely, "I'm happy to be here. And I will be my dad to the very best of my ability."

Mark Reynolds smiled at her. "No, Sky. Honor your dad, but be you. This band, the group of us, we're his legacy in a way. But you're his real legacy. Be you!"

Joe Garcia had followed Mark in. "Be you, Sky," he echoed. But then he grimaced and added, "But you might tell the reporter you think we're ultracool."

Sky laughed. "Joe, I've got it. No worries," she assured him.

"Hey!"

She turned around. Charlie was attaching a wire to an amp.

"Hey, Charlie."

"You're all here. No one, and I mean no one but Nathan, Justin or me, is to touch anything electric or electronic, got it?" he demanded.

"You got it!" Mark assured him, glancing worriedly at Sky.

She set a hand on his arm. "It's okay." She turned, smiling. "Not to worry, Charlie. I won't even fool with my own fuse box!"

He looked at her and nodded. She smiled. He was definitely looking worried. She decided it was a good thing Chase was the one working undercover and not Charlie.

"I've got the reporter just back there. Her name is Marci Simmons. Seems nice and already told me she loves her job because she loves rock bands," Mark said.

"Great. I'll go talk to her." She turned and almost tripped over one of the workers she didn't know.

"Sorry, sorry!" he said. "I'm, uh, Noah. Noah Lawson. I'm kind of new. But I'm super happy to be here, and I didn't mean to be in your way!"

"No, no, it's fine!" she reassured him.

Smiling, she headed into the stage-right wing. A woman was waiting for her by the dressing rooms.

"Hi, I'm Marci!" she said, offering Sky a hand. "I realize you guys want to get to it, but I'd love to ask you a few questions. This is a really special occasion. Chase McCoy sitting in for Hank—and you, which is truly rare, taking your dad's place."

"I'm happy to be here," she said.

"Even though..."

"My father loved the band. He loved music. All forms of music. And he was from New Orleans, fell in love with street musicians, Frenchmen Street and all the venues. Dad loved his songs. I'm happy to do his songs."

"He was all about the music, right?"

"And people," Sky said. "He truly enjoyed other musicians. Oh, and musical theater! He told me he'd been crazy about Godspell and Jesus Christ Superstar when he'd been young. He loved Tommy , and then, coming up to closer decades, Hamilton and Next to Normal . He appreciated so many of his fellow performers."

"They say he admired others. Some rock stars want it to be all about them and don't really care to watch other—"

Sky interrupted her with an honest laugh. "Trust me! My dad wanted to go to just about any concert—he loved his old friends and acquaintances and new talent. And then again, any musical theater anywhere near him."

"His songs—"

"Tended to reflect his life."

"Well, here's an important question for you. We understand you use music to teach, often with those who are having difficulty with behavioral problems or fitting in—kids maybe even at risk. Will you keep doing that, or will you be with Skyhawk full-time now?"

"I love what I do. But I'm not saying I won't be with Skyhawk again. On the one hand, I was my father's baby. On the other hand, the band was equally his creation. I'd like to honor music in the way that he loved it and the band."

"That's great, and thank you so much!" the young woman said. "I am truly anxious to see the show and equally grateful for this chance to chat briefly with you."

"My pleasure," Sky assured her.

She left Marci, aware that activity was already happening on the stage, with sound and mic checks. They'd be ready for her.

She paused. Brandon was next to Chris, listening to all last-minute instructions from his father. Nathan was working on something with the keyboard. Joe and Mark were both strumming guitars, talking about chords. Charlie and Justin were working on something with an amplifier and the drums.

But she wasn't the only one who hadn't been on stage.

Chase wasn't there.

Frowning, she looked around and saw he was in the audience. He was engaged in conversation with an audience member.

Andy Wellington. She knew Chase: while it might appear the two men were having a casual conversation, she could tell he had just learned something. Something that brought a furrow to his brow. But Brandon approached the two of them, and Chase quickly smiled and introduced the two men.

"Sky?"

She spun around. Nathan was there. "Mic check?" he asked her.

"Um, yeah, sure, of course!" she replied.

She went through the motions. And she hoped she'd get a private minute with Chase again before they plowed straight into tech...

And the performance.

One that might be far more than anyone involved had begun to imagine.

"B OBBY HAS BEEN GREAT , amazing, really," Wellington told Chase. "Of course, we have some great people working for us who can crack almost anything ever done on or with a computer."

"They found the source?" Chase said.

Wellington nodded, smiling, as if they were speaking about songs or the weather. "The signal bounced all over, from here to Asia, Europe, Africa...South America, and back here. But in the end, the origin was right here, in Orleans Parish. Finding the actual physical place where the initial site was created is proving a bit difficult—personal computers move all over the place, and registrations can be as false as anything else. But someone here is being played by someone bigger. What I'm trying to figure is why? We've checked the financials on the band. You know yourself every member does well enough. No one is in this for the money, so..."

"But you think it is someone with the band."

"Someone close. The band or the roadies."

Chase had nodded, then lowered and shook his head.

Who? Why? None of them needed money.

"So," he said, "no one with a gambling problem, no one who lost big in cryptocurrency or anything of the sort?"

"We have truly had people all over this. I'm convinced they are working through one of the cartels. But again, why is a mystery. These guys don't need money."

Chase knew they didn't have much time for a private conversation. As others moved near them or passed by, he introduced Wellington, who behaved like the perfect—if slightly reserved—fan.

He glanced on stage, wishing that his heart didn't skip a beat as he watched Sky at the mic.

She wasn't touching it, she was standing back, singing a few bars, doing a sound check. They were testing just her mic, she was singing a cappella, and he was touched by the song she had chosen, her dad's ode to the beauty of life once one learned how to live it.

"The sun so bright, such a promise, beauty and light,

Yet those same lights can turn to night,

Darkness deep, with just a blaze, one that burns,

While it promises to amaze,

But the pain sets in, and there seems no hope,

Tangled there in a million ropes,

Just broken bits and pieces of me

Pieces longing again to see...

Find the freedom in true light,

Seek the stars in the darkness of night,

And finding the light is hard, so hard,

But it can be captured if you fight the fight,

And once again, you'll find true light,

Hold it loose and hold it dear,

and you'll discover that the light is near..."

There were choruses that came in, harmonies, and it was an amazing song, both beautiful and with a rock beat that had made it an instant success. But that day, listening to Sky, knowing what it had meant to her because of what it had meant to Jake, was beautiful.

Jake had found the true light. He'd battled hard, he'd tortured his parents and others who had loved him, but he'd proved himself in the end.

And then he'd died, determined that he would do what was right for others.

They were doing a sound check, just a sound check, and yet when Sky finished, there was silence in the room. Then applause.

Applause...

Except Chase noticed Justin. He wasn't applauding. He was staring at Sky. Staring at her...as if something inside of him was broken and burning as well.

He felt his phone buzz.

He glanced down.

Dark web encrypted but the source—here.

He closed his phone and looked at Justin again. He had to get the man alone.