The story is old
Has often been told
Of a rich city boy and a poor country girl
She sang through their duet—she had the high harmony, and Ruthanna the lower melody—and then she walked out onto the balcony to feel the sun on her face. She could see a turquoise pool glimmering a block away, and beyond that, the tip of the fake Eiffel Tower and the High Roller observation wheel. Somewhere even farther out lay the wide, flat desert—and, nearly two thousand miles beyond that, her little cottage in Nashville, Tennessee.
As wonderful as her tour had been, she wouldn’t be sorry to get back to normal life, where she could take walks and write new songs and make plans for what would come next. She had an entire album to make, after all. And what if ACD wanted her to do music videos? Or perform on SNL? Or tour with Luke Combs? It was too much to think about now.
She went into the suite’s bedroom and turned on the TV. Half listening to a young couple trying to decide which McMansion to buy, she finally opened the box that Ruthanna had sent to her room earlier that morning.
Inside blush-colored tissue paper was a halter-neck Proenza Schouler dress in a black metallic knit, with a fitted bodice and a tiered, ruffled skirt. “Ohhh,” she breathed, lifting the dress to her shoulders and looking in the gilded mirror. It was a far cry from her usual jeans and boots, but tonight was a special occasion, wasn’t it? Certainly Ruthanna would be dressed to the elevens, and it wouldn’t do for AnnieLee to swagger onstage looking as though she’d outfitted herself at the nearest Goodwill.
You know what I say about “too much”… Ruthanna had written on the front of a little card that had been affixed to the box.
“What?” AnnieLee said out loud to the empty room, and then she looked inside the card. Out fell five crisp one-hundred-dollar bills.
I say I never, ever heard of such a thing! Break a leg tonight, kid. And then buy us ten rounds of drinks. Love, Ruthanna
Grinning, AnnieLee tucked the money into her robe and then reached into the tissue paper again. She pulled out a pair of black six-inch stilettos with sparkling rhinestone heels.
“Shoot, I probably will break a leg if I wear these,” she said. She dropped the shoes onto the bed and picked up the dress again. She was about to slip off her robe and try it on when she heard a noise that made her freeze.
A low thud. It had been faint, but close by. Had it come from the TV? From a neighboring room?
Slowly, she reached for the remote and hit Mute; now the young couple on-screen debated kitchen design in silence.
The thudding sound came again, and then one more time.
It was coming from the hallway, AnnieLee realized, sighing with relief. People were walking by and brushing against the wall outside her door.
She was way too jumpy today—that was for sure. She flopped onto the bed and stared up at the crystal chandelier. You just need to calm down for a minute, she told herself.
She was counting her slow exhales when out of the corner of her eye she caught sight of movement. A flash of dark clothing, a gleam of metal. She barely had time to form the thought Someone’s here before he was on top of her.
His legs straddled her midsection, his weight pressed her breathless. And he was holding a gun.
Her gun.
Chapter
72
For an instant, fear blinded her. But then she recognized that cruel, hated face. She knew that heavy brow and those hard blue eyes. She could smell him, too, a familiar, bitter smell of sweat and cigarette smoke.
“You,” he spat, stabbing her in the chest with the muzzle of the gun. “You dumb hick, you thought you could run.”
“Get off me!” AnnieLee yelled.
He clapped his hand roughly over her mouth. “Rose,” he said, shaking his head. “Rose.”
“I don’t know any Rose.” She spoke into his fat, hot fingers.
“Is that what you say these days?” he hissed.
She could feel her panic rising, threatening to overwhelm her. “I was never,” she said desperately. “I wasn’t—” Her thoughts raced and her heart hammered against her ribs. She didn’t know what she could say to stop him from hurting her. Her breath was coming in sharp pants.
“You wasn’t what, you skinny piece of trailer trash?” He sneered at her. “I took care of you—and this is how you repay me.”
AnnieLee’s eyes were wide above his sweaty palm. She tried to shake her head, but his hand was pressing down hard. She wanted to bite him so he’d take his hand away. But then he’d hit her.
Or else he’ll just shoot me, she thought.