Sing You Home by Ava Hunter

The next morning, Luke makes Sal stay in bed. He props her up against the pillow in an exalted position, gives her a laptop and a book, and brings her a breakfast fit for a queen. Amused, Sal watches as Luke sets a cup of coffee on her nightstand. He’s fussing. He hasn’t left her side, hasn’t let her lift a finger since last night.

“I’ll be fine, Luke,” Sal says, glancing at the open window where sunlight ripples like water. A light breeze ruffles her hair and she stretches out in the cool sheets. “There’s a small army posted outside.”

Luke, who’s sitting down in the corner chair to tug on his boots, glances up. His handsome face creases. “That don’t make no difference. I still hate leavin’ you.”

Sal gives him a cajoling smile. “I could go, you know.”

If she can talk her way out of bed, she’ll damn sure do it. She hates the thought of missing out on a day in Nashville. On missing the Brothers Kincaid’s last practice before their showcase next week.

And though the thought of staying home alone unnerves her slightly, they don’t have a choice. Practice is mandatory at their label.

Luke arches a no-nonsense brow. “Keep fightin’ me and you can spend tomorrow in bed too.”

Sal scoffs, although she doesn’t want to call his bluff.

He both pisses Sal off and makes her love him even more. It’s not fair. It’s frustratingly adorable. She has a feeling this is why they’re good for each other. They make each other behave when the other one digs in their stubborn heels.

Sal tilts her head to the side. “You have to go today.” Her previously lighthearted tone turns serious. “I don’t want you missing things on my account.”

Pushing out of his chair, Luke joins her on the bed. “I’ll miss everything on your account.” He takes her hand in his. “Say the words. Stay.”

“No. Go.” She socks him in the shoulder. “You go and tell the boys good fucking luck.”

He lets out a soft laugh. Then his face turns serious. “I want you to rest, you hear me? If Lacey comes by, you tell her to take a hike.”

Sal’s mouth flattens into a straight line. She’s trying not to laugh at Luke and all of his hovering. Although, she won’t argue with rest. There’s still a blurriness around her edges, the borders of her mind dull with the fog and forgetfulness of a migraine hangover.

“Relax. I am well stocked with granola bars and water. I’m just gonna curl up here with a book and wait for you to get home.”

A shadow of worry crosses his face. She knows he’s thinking of Roy. Of the cops posted outside. Of her having another fainting fit and him not being around.

“Luke,” she urges gently.

One last kiss and then Luke’s standing. He pats his pockets for his keys, grabs his wallet and phone off the dresser. “I won’t be gone long. Call me if you need anything.”

“I will.” She narrows her eyes. “Go.”

“I love you.”

“I love you,” Sal echoes softly, watching as Luke makes a quick exit.

She doesn’t know if she could love a man more.

Seth spots who he’s looking for the second he walks into the bar. Sitting in a dingy corner booth is that dirty rat bastard, Clive Jasper, on what looks like his second drink of the morning.

Seth’s getting answers today. He ain’t saying a word to Luke until he gets confirmation for himself.

He slips into the booth.

Jasper’s eyes narrow, then widen when he realizes who’s sitting across from him. He allows himself a few seconds of surprise before his features settle back into their typical smarmy expression.

“Seth Kincaid.” Clive Jasper straightens the collar on his cheap tan suit. “You here to pose for a photo?” He lifts a hand. An eyebrow. “Or wait. On second thought, maybe you’re here to attack me like your brother did.”

Seth shrugs. “You cornered his wife. He could have done a lot worse than break your camera.” Squaring his shoulders, he leans in. “I want to talk to you.”

“What’s in it for me?”

“I don’t know. How about me not taking you out back and kickin’ the livin’ shit out of you?”

With a sneer, Jasper nips his scotch. “Then talk.”

“You took the photo of Luke and Alabama.”

“I did. And damn if it wasn’t a perfect photo. Should’ve been nominated for a Pulitzer.”

Seth rolls his eyes. “And why’s that?”

“You’re already here. You know the answer.” Pausing for effect, Jasper says, “It was set up. That’s why.”

Seth starts. This. This is what he’s been waiting for.

“And you sent it to Sal.”

Jasper shakes his head, adamant. “No. I did a job. I deal in photos. Someone hired me to take that photo. That someone sent it to Sal.”

“Who?”

Jasper’s expression turns evasive. “No one could’ve known how that night would’ve shook out. She wasn’t supposed to get hurt.”

Seth growls. “But she did get hurt. That baby she was carryin’ died.” He drills a finger on the tabletop. He keeps his voice calm, trying to chase away some of the old anger that’s blurred his vision. “Sal could’ve died.”

Unmoved, Jasper says, “I get paid a lot of money to keep quiet.”

“Is it worth it? Hell, we’re poised to become one of the biggest acts again and you can’t even get a good picture. My brother hates your fuckin’ guts. You think he’ll let you get close to Sal, you got another thing comin’.”

Jasper looks like he’s ready to leave, but Seth keeps talking. “Let me break it down for you. Give this person up, and I might, in good faith, think about tellin’ Luke. And my brother can be mighty generous to the people he likes.”

Seth lets the offer hang in the whiskey-drenched air between them. He has no idea what it’ll entail, probably more like Luke’s boot in Jasper’s ass instead of a photo exclusive, but Jasper doesn’t have to know that.

Intrigued, Jasper nods slow. Even a shyster like him can’t resist the dangle of a good deal.

Seth eyes Jasper. “What happened that night? Who told you to take the photo? Why?”

“I don’t know the why.” Clive’s voice drops, but he looks back up at Seth. “But I know the who.”

“Tell me.”

“Mort Stein.”

Seth curses as blood thunders in his ears. He didn’t want to believe, didn’t think it possible, but it’s true.

It was Mort.

Jasper licks chapped lips. “Mort hired me to take that photo. He set the whole thing up. Alabama was in on it. She owed him a favor for representing her. After I took the photo, I sent it to him. And he sent it to Sal from a blocked number.”

“Sal knew it was Mort, too. Was that you?”

“No.” Jasper scoffs as if human decency’s beneath him. “Alabama. She reached out to Sal. Told her the truth. Guilty conscience, I guess.”

“Oh, you guess. Who else has the photo?” he asks impatiently.

“Mort. Probably.” Jasper smirks, proud of himself. “I’m not stupid. I got it too. And then some. All of Mort’s original texts backed up and archived. Like I said, I’m in it for the money.”

Seth grins. “Jasper, that’s some fuckin’ handy information right there.”

“What’re you gonna do with it?”

“None of your goddamn business.”

Seth’s gaze shifts to the clock on the wall. He’s already late. He wonders how he’ll make it through practice without throwing a wicked right hook Mort’s way.

Sick of looking at Jasper, he snarls, “You should get the hell outta here. Now.”

Jasper scurries away from the booth. Nearly trips over his own feet as he bolts out the back door of the bar.

Seth sits back and exhales. Reaches out to finish the rest of Jasper’s scotch.

It’s Mort. Mort Goddamn Stein.

But why?

He can’t answer that.

Because this time Seth knows Luke’s got to be the one to get answers.