Disclaimer: Not mine.
Author's Note: Thanks to all for the absolutely wonderful feedback. Admitedly, I lost a little momentum while I was working on this chapter. So, for the sake of the story, I moved things forward a little bit with my plot. This chapter is a little shorter than most, but definitely ...very important. Please review! It certainly makes my day.
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Tonight was the first concert. I hadn't seen Miley since last night, mostly because my top priority was securing the theater. I arrived there at around 8AM, and there were already Hannah Montana fans waiting outside. My men had done a good job of roping off areas for the rabid fans to wait, and for the most part they were relatively quiet.
I parked my car close to the exit and strode up to meet John, the officer I had put in charge of corralling the fans. "Wow," I said, looking at the long row of girls in sleeping bags, tents, chairs, and some just sitting cross-legged on the cement. "How long have they been there?"
John yawned. "Since about four am, Detective," he replied, giving the girls a wary look. "They're insane."
I shrugged, giving him a small smile. "They're kids, and she's their idol. If I thought getting up at four am would secure me a front-row seat, I'd do it, too." With that I went inside, where roadies were bustling about, setting up for Miley's final dress rehearsal. The show was to begin at 6pm sharp, with no opening act. Miley was doing two forty-five minute sets, with one fifteen minute intermission for a small break, set and costume change, and a security reorganization.
While Miley was getting dressed, I called a briefing of for all of her closest staff. Her two personal assistants, Kim and Perry, her father, and her two former bodyguards. Each person filed into the green room, sitting down in various places throughout the room.
"Morning, everyone," I greeted, receiving no response other than a cough or two. "I called you all here to discuss a matter of utmost importance." I glanced around the room, making sure I had everyone's attention. "Miley received a threat, typed on a piece of paper and left in her dressing room." I put a hand up to silence the uproar of voices. "Quiet," I ordered in my most stern tone. "Now, I have sent the paper to my forensics team to be analyzed, and I'm waiting on the results. Now, I am informing you all because if I am not around Miley, she needs to be supervised. Everyone allowed backstage is wearing one of the lanyards you all have on. If you see someone without the pass, stop them immediately and escort them to an officer. We cannot take any chances. If you think you see something suspicious, tell me or any officer. I have a radio," I produced the radio from my holster, "so I can be in contact with any guard or officer at all times. Should you need me, I will be off to stage right as Miley performs."
Robbie shook his head. "How long have you known?" He looked slightly hurt, betrayed.
"Two days," I informed quickly. "I have no time to explain the note. You all just need to know that I do believe Miley may be in danger. So it's is up to all of you," I scanned the room with my eyes, "to protect her. It is your job, it is your obligation. If you fail to do this, I will personally have you removed from not only the theater, but Miley's staff as well. Am I clear?"
The heads in the room nodded, looking bewildered by my speech. Kim, Miley's closest assistant, spoke up. "Are we in danger, too?"
I shook my head. "I doubt it. I think whoever is doing this has a personal vendetta against Miley. And that's why it's of paramount importance to protect her." Once again, all heads nodded. "Good. Now that we're on the same page, everyone go back to doing what it is you're being paid to do. Thank you."
Everyone filed out slowly, making conversation with one another. Robbie stopped in front of me, his face etched with worry. "Tell it to me straight, Lilly, is my baby girl in real danger? Does this have to do with the guy who brought that gun in here? 'Cos if I have to sit on the stage with a shot-gun, by golly I will."
I smiled at Robbie's solution, more than a little amused at the image of a Robbie Ray sitting off to the side of the stage, shotgun resting on his lap. "Miley is in real danger. But no, I don't believe it has anything to do with Ilya bringing a gun in here. I think that was either some sort of distraction, or an unfortunate coincidence. But it's been my experience that coincidences do not exist."
Robbie's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "I'm confused. So..you do think they're connected, or you don't?"
"I think if they are connected, he was a hired goon, and not anywhere near the actual culprits. He is not what worries me." I sighed, looking up at the handsome, worried father of two. "I'm worried about the enemy I can't see."
--
Miley was phenomenal. I watched her from the wings of the stage, my eyes glued to her bouncing form for the good portion of her concert. I stayed vigilant, my eyes scanning the crowds, even somewhat backstage, just to make sure nothing looked out of place. But Miley...she was born to do this. There are just moments in your life where you know that you are absolutely supposed to be in your situation. The second I put away my first perp as a deputy, I knew that exacting justice was what I was born to do. I felt high as a kite, but as serene as the most placid of lakes.
Miley had that look about her when she paraded around the stage. That look of pure, unadulterated exhilaration. I couldn't help but smile as I watched her end the first act to riotous applause. Miley disappeared into the labyrinth beneath the stage to begin her costume change.
I began to radio some of the officers, explaining their next moves. The next forty-five minutes were crucial to helping ease the end-of-concert traffic that would inevitably occur. Miley was scheduled to re-emerge from under the stage ten minutes later, then take the next five minutes to have a breather. I checked my watch. Eleven minutes.
A small wave of panic crept into my heart, and I pushed it out. I did a rapid sweep of the backstage area, and found no trace of Miley. My heart pounded loudly in my ears. I used a small staircase and descended downstairs. I had only been down here a few times to map it out. A few lights were out, making the winding hallways difficult to see in. I drew my gun, criss-crossed my wrists to hold my flashlight below my piece. I heard nothing. No scramble of footsteps, no voices, nothing. There should have been people down here.
The hairs on the back of my neck stood. Something was wrong. I checked my watch; sixteen minutes. I could hear the roar of the crowd above my head. I heard a shuffle to my right. I turned slowly, aiming my flashlight at a small stage door. I tried to remember what this room was. I was almost positive it had been a janitorial closet.
With great care, I slowly pushed the creaking door open, immediately pushing my gun forward into the room. My flashlight's beam met four panicked faces, all of whom had been gagged. Each were bound to a chair, their hands and feet tied. There was no time. I ripped the gag off one of them -- Miley's hairdresser, if I had remembered correctly. "Where did she go?"
The scared man shook, trying to stammer out an answer. "They took her. They went to the back exit." I left immediately in that direction, ignoring the shout of "help us!" that resounded behind me. I pulled out my radio. "All units, all units, emergency. Lock all exits, turn on all house lights. I repeat, this is an emergency. Miley has been --"
My words were cut off by a hand snatching my radio. It fell to the floor. I pointed my flashlight and saw the masked man who had taken it. "LA County Sheriff's department," I announced, and the man began to flee. I ran after him. "Stop!" I followed him out to an exit I had never seen before.
We emerged somewhere behind the theater, and I immediately felt sick. Miley was bound, being roughhoused by some goon. She was struggling against him, but my the torn parts of her outfit, and her wig that was now crumpled on the pavement, it was obvious she wasn't going anywhere. I leveled my gun at the man holding Miley, but my gun was immediately kicked from my grasp.
Three men tackled me from behind, and I fell unceremoniously to the ground, the force of their weight pressing my face hard into the gravel. I could feel the hot stickiness of blood pooling on my cheek. I was yanked up, then stripped of my holster. The men never spoke a word. I wrenched against them, only to be pistol-whipped in the cheek. Somewhere, I heard Miley scream. Part of the gun hit my temple, and I felt myself getting dizzy. In my weakened state, I couldn't struggle as one of them bound my hands behind my back with the plastic quasi-handcuffs we sometimes used at the station.
No, I needed to protect Miley. I tried forcing them to walk toward her, but I was then met with a hard fist to my jaw. I spat blood onto the ground. "Let me fucking go!" I screamed, only to my cold-cocked on the jaw once more. I spewed blood once more from my mouth.
"Please, stop!" Miley begged, and I looked up. She was screaming at my captors, not at hers. For her shout she was knocked out cold. Anger flooded my senses. With this new shot of adrenaline I wrenched myself away from my captors. As they pushed Miley into the car, I lifted my foot, slamming it into the crotch of the man who had punched her.
"Bitch," was the only word I heard before I too was struck hard, and tossed into the back of the unmarked black vehicle. One of two such vehicles, I had noticed.
I could feel her presence, smell her, from where I was on the seat. As I sat up in my seat, trying to gain my bearings, I realized the car was moving. I heard Miley moan beside me, and I felt a small spark of hope.
"Miley?" I whispered. I could barely see her; the windows were tinted, and there were no lights on in the car. There also must have been some kind of divider between the front and backseat, because there was no residual light from a radio dial, or speedometer. The air was also hot, and not being circulated properly.
After a few moments, I felt Miley sit up beside me. Her weight was fully resting on my shoulder. "Lilly?" I heard, in the smallest voice imaginable.
I breathed a sigh of relief. "Miley, are you okay? Are you bleeding?" My hands were still bound behind me, and I couldn't check her for cuts. Instead, I used my lips and traced from her chin to her temple, and I felt only a small swell on her cheekbone. "You're not cut. You've just got a little bump."
"I'm fine," Miley said, her voice somewhat normal, but still very low. "They hit you," Miley said, as if just remembering only moments ago. "Are you okay?"
I nodded. "I'm pretty sure I'm bleeding, but I don't have a concussion, so it's fine." I began to shift my weight, and eventually brought my hands from underneath my butt, around my legs, to in front of me. They were still bound, but at least I could touch things.
Miley tried to do the same, but getting yourself into the position I did took training. It was part of my training as a Marine. Getting kidnaped is always a possibility, so I knew almost every way imaginable to break free. "How did you do that?"
"Years of practice," I replied quickly, as my hands tried to pull at the car's handle. The locks had been removed from near the window, now only accessible from the outside of the car. I grunted in frustration. "What happened back there?"
Either by accident or intentionally, the window behind Miley slid open just a crack. Just enough for the dim light of a passing street lamp to briefly illuminate inside the back of the car. I saw Miley, her face twisted in panic. Her hair was disheveled, a far cry from the usually well-manicured Miley of only a few hours ago. Her bump was bruising slightly, but she would live. I watched as her eyes widened in horror. "Lilly...your face."
I scrunched my nose, unable to feel any pain as I did so. I looked at Miley. "What?"
"You're...all scratched up..and your lip is bleeding." I darted my tongue out and felt the tangy, metallic taste of blood. She was right. I watched as tears began to well in the pop star's eyes. "What's going to happen to us?"
I shook my head. "I don't know, Miley, I really don't," I admitted, hanging my head. I had failed her. My eyes fluttered closed. This was the exact thing I had been working so hard to prevent, and yet even I had become a victim to whoever had decided to kidnap Miley.
I suddenly felt a warmth on my chest. Miley had shifted to sit next to me, her head now buried in the crook of my neck. I could feel her hot tears as they wet my shirt. "I'm so sorry," Miley whispered. Despite the extremity of the situation, I still felt the small stir of arousal as she placed her head on my shoulder, her lips now pressed against the side of my neck.
I furrowed my eyebrows. How could this possibly be her fault? "Shh," I cooed, kissing the top of her head. "We're going to be okay. I'm not going to let them hurt you." And I wasn't. Even if it meant bringing down every last one of those assholes, and myself, I wasn't going to let them touch her again.
Miley pushed herself further into my shoulder. I felt her tongue sweep across her lips, then the firm pressure of those same lips against my neck. I couldn't help an involuntary shudder at the quite intimate gesture. "Keep me safe," Miley asked in a whisper, her breath hot against my neck.
"I promise," I assured her, my eyes now fixed on the crack in the window. I was going to get us out of this situation, one way or the other. I didn't know what this meant for Miley and I, but I forced those thoughts from my mind. Right now, I couldn't entertain my more selfish desires. I had a task at hand. I began to mentally prepare myself for the mission ahead: Escape.