“What’s wrong with it? Your arms look superhero huge and impressive.” She grinned. “Just don’t breathe out or all your buttons will pop.”
“Ha-ha.” He gave her a once-over. Her feed store shirt was on the snug side, so were her jeans. Then again, she was his little sister and he wasn’t ready to accept that she wasn’t all that little anymore. She wore sparkling hoops, a long, fringed leather necklace, and her boots. “You look nice, kiddo.”
“Great.” Her sigh was telling.
“What?” He tugged on the sleeves of his shirt.
“I’m almost nineteen. The kiddo thing is getting old.” She shrugged.
“I hate to break it to you, Heather, but you’re always going to be my kid sister.” He kissed her forehead. “Always.”
Heather’s phone went off; she pulled it out. “Brenna. I sent her a picture of what I was wearing, too. And tonight’s program—” She stopped talking, her smile fading. “Wait.” She picked up the remote on the counter and stared at the buttons. “How do you work your television?”
“Might not even be hooked up—”
The screen came to life. “Guess you don’t know what channel TNM is?”
He shook his head and headed back into the bathroom for his phone. “What sort of moron rolls up their sleeves this high?” he asked.
“Jace?” Heather called.
He headed back into his bedroom. “We need to leave pretty quick.”
“Look.” She pointed at the television, grabbing his arm. “Jace, I’m serious. Look.”
He did.
“An eyewitness says the altercation took place in the bus behind me. Miss King was taken by an ambulance to a nearby hospital, but details are still coming in.” The reporter turned to her coanchor.
Footage of the Kings Coach II appeared, several police cars parked at angles, forming a perimeter around it. He waited, the unease he’d been grappling with all night grabbing hold.
The footage cut to a reporter, standing beside one of the police cars. “Yes, that’s right,” he said. “The Austin Country Music Festival was slated to kick off tonight but things have come to a screeching halt until law enforcement can confirm the threat is contained.” He paused, glancing over his shoulder. “The only thing we can confirm is that Krystal King was attacked in her bus by an unidentified assailant earlier this evening. We’re waiting for more information—”
Jace was running out the front door, boots in one hand, keys in the other. “Heather,” he called. He needed to see Krystal, to know she was okay. Be okay. Please, please, be okay. She had to be.
Chapter 16
Her head hurt. A pulse in her eyes. The whole side of her face, really. She lay there, trying to make sense of the strange beeps and low voices, and why the hell was it was so cold? The hard, mean reality of what had happened came slamming to the forefront of her brain.
Where the hell was she? More importantly, where was he?
The spindly fingers of dread were working their nasty fingers around her lungs, the beginning flutter and press of anxiety setting in. That tremor along her spine. Clammy palms. That odd sense that time was speeding up. Out of control. Her hands fisted.
No more freaking fear. No more. If she let this go on, she was giving him control—letting him win. It wasn’t just her in this beyond fucked up situation. It was up to her to try to end it. If she didn’t try, there could be others like her. And that was sad, wrong, devastating.
Reaching up, her fingers encounter a well-padded gauze wrap around her head. “My head hurts,” she managed.
“Krystal?” Emmy. “Hey, Sissy. Are you okay?”
She forced her eyes open. “I’m not sure.” Hospital. Hospital room. Hospital bed. The cold made sense. “People.” Not just people. Police. All her empowerment self-talk was getting an immediate challenge. Holding off the whole panic attack was going to be harder than she’d expected.
“People on your side.” Her father’s voice was gruff. Damn, he looked old. Worn out and shell-shocked.
“Okay.” Her attempt at a smile ended in a wobbly wince. Her fingers lightly traced over her temple, eyes, and cheek. “Bad?” Her gaze shifted from her daddy to Travis.
“Sure as hell isn’t good.” Travis was red-faced and stony. Something about her jovial, teasing, ass of a brother strung tighter than a guitar string hurt. It wouldn’t take much to trigger a full-on explosion. He couldn’t be here for what was about to happen.
“Okay.” She didn’t try to smile this time.