Love in Tune by Caitie Quinn Page A

Anything I actually needed Dalton to do—like show up on time for an interview—Kyle was more than willing to distract him from.
    And he did it all with a wink and a charming smile.  
    The worst part? No matter how crazy he drove me, my knees still got a wee bit wobbly when he pointed that charm my way—no matter how infrequently that was. I’d noticed him as soon as I’d joined the Naked Prozac tour. He’d stood out even lounging in the background. But, that had gone sour about ten minutes later and I’d been cursing his name seventy-two times a day since.
    But, right now, Kyle was my ace in the hole. My blessing in disguise. My GPS tracking device.
    Basically, just like any good Naked Prozac staffer, he was on our phone system. Just like I was. And, because I’d actually read my contract before signing it, I knew about their ability to track me. They’d tried to tell me it was for my own safety…but, again. Do I look stupid?  
    Also, when was the last time you’d heard of a Tour Logistics Manager being kidnapped?
    I rest my case.
    I dialed Lenny back and jumped in before the demands could start. “Could you get me Kyle’s location?”
    “Is he with Kyle?”
    And this is where my job got sticky. Technically I reported to His Majesty. But, for all intents and purposes I worked for Lenny. One made my day long, the other made it hell.
    “I just need to ask Kyle some questions.” Next I’d be talking about clues and perps.  
    This is what my life had become.
    I was the Nancy Drew of the music scene.
    “Oh, okay.” He didn’t bother to hide his disappointment.
    The thing was, if I told Lenny that His Majesty was with Kyle, he’d race to wherever they’d escaped to with a police escort, create a scene, get us on the front page of every website in the free world. Basically, he’d give me more sleepless nights of PR twerking.  
    Subtlety . Not in Lenny’s vocabulary.
    Great for putting a show on…horrible for not putting a show on.
    I grabbed the keys to the Jag and waited for Kyle’s location to load to my GPS. They’d been gone about forty-five minutes. Who knew what kind of trouble those two could get into?
    When the location came up, I hit the reset button. But, there it was again. What in the world were those two doing in The Village?  
    Ten minutes later, I pulled up in front of the most adorable café I’d ever seen. It looked like someone had planted a little bit of Ireland just off the main drag. I glanced toward the sign swinging from a gas lantern. The Brew Ha Ha.
    It was quaint and adorable and absolutely not a rock god hangout.
    This couldn’t be right.  
    With my luck, Kyle had given his cell to some kid before heading off to buy drugs and hookers and illegal handguns and off-market Twinkies.
    On top of that, the place didn’t even look open. The outside lights were dimmed and the shades were down. I found a space a few doors down and headed up the sidewalk. I wasn’t even to the door when I heard the acoustic guitar.
    Weirder and weirder.
    I pulled the door open and came right into the back of a huge guy. Definitely not one of ours.
    “Sorry, ma’am. Café’s closed.”
    “Doesn’t look closed.”
    “Yup. It’s closed.”
    “Door’s unlocked.”
    “And yet, since it’s a private establishment, it’s closed.”
    I peeked around him and caught my prey up on stage singing his latest hit. Acoustic. I’d had no idea the noise he made could be done unplugged.
    I took a deep breath and uttered the thing most girls love to say but I tried to avoid like a bad dye job.
    “I’m with the band.”
    “Sure you are, darling.”
    “No. Unfortunately, it’s true.”
    The doorman just stared down at me. I stared right back at him, giving him my most intimidating look.
    “Do I look like a groupie?”
    “In the eight years I’ve been covering the asses of musicians I’ve found one thing is true. Groupies come in all shapes, sizes, and…” He gave my worn off makeup and sloppy