Everything Pales in Comparision Read online

  The thought of playing caused a sudden sharp pang deep inside of her. Her guitar was like an extension of herself. She missed the feel of the wooden body against her own, missed its curves, and missed the strong, smooth feel of its neck, the steel strings beneath her fingertips. She missed the sound of its voice, which called to her even now, a voice that was for her and her alone. And she knew, right then, that she’d have to buy another guitar, today, if at all possible. She’d lost two the night of the concert, and the two she had at the house in Nashville she doubted she’d be seeing anytime soon. There were some things she was willing to do without in her life. A guitar was not one of them.

  A manager, on the other hand, she was certain she could do without, at least for a while. It was the least of her concerns. She hadn’t really given much consideration to the fact that Kendra was out of the picture. The woman’s absence, either professionally or personally, wasn’t going to affect her all that much. Kendra was not irreplaceable. She would do the footwork herself. She had in the past. She could do so again.

  She wondered at the ease with which she’d let Kendra go. All it had taken was one show of disloyalty for her to cut Kendra loose. It occurred to her that Kendra, herself, could not have been too deeply invested in the relationship either, or she wouldn’t have, couldn’t have left while Daina had been in a coma. The thought that the two of them had been merely going through the motions for who knew how long was not a pleasant one. Nor was the realization that neither of them had ever bothered to acknowledge that there was even a problem with their relationship.

  Okay, so we both suck. That was pretty much all the solicitude she could summon up. It was done, it was over, she couldn’t fix it and she didn’t want to even if she could. What she wanted to do was learn from her mistakes, and widen her pencil-thin beam of focus to take in every aspect of her life. She could no longer continue concentrating on her career to the exclusion of all else. She needed to be realistic and open-minded, and face the new challenges that had been set before her.

  She leaned against the window frame and crossed her arms. She felt better, stronger, now that she’d cried. Finding out on the day of her release that she was still in danger, that things were seemingly going to get worse instead of better, had been just a little too much for her. She had crumbled, but who wouldn’t have? Now she felt steady and clear-headed, able to actually look at the predicament she was in and ask point-blank, Who in the hell is trying to kill me?

  She knew she had to consider what Detective James had said, that they not rule anyone out. She knew that haters existed, and that over the years a smattering of gay-bashings had occurred in Winnipeg, yet she had lived her entire life here. She had come out at the age of nineteen, and been out and visible ever since. She had never experienced any negative attention, unless you considered someone not liking her music. The city was mostly gay-friendly; the prevailing attitude was one of acceptance, not intolerance. Granted she’d been away for a good portion of the last three years, but during that time nothing much had changed.

  The why of it really didn’t matter to her. People had their own reasons for doing things. And sometimes those reasons were baseless or just plain off-kilter. So who mattered more to her than why. And now the detective wanted a list? She really had to laugh at that. She couldn’t even think of who might want to do such a thing, let alone compile a list. And she had given it some thought. But each and every time, she drew a blank. There was no one in her past or present that she could think of who would do such a thing. And so she had to think it was someone she didn’t know, some crazy person who had a hate on for her for their own reasons.

  And what the hell am I supposed to do with that? she wondered, not for the first time. Because this person had gone to great lengths to try and take her life. Surely there were easier ways to kill someone. Why a bomb on the night of a well-publicized event? Had it been for recognition? Maybe, except that the attempt had pretty much failed. Which could explain why no one had claimed responsibility.

  Her mind kept returning to the night of the bombing. She couldn’t recall much of it, but it wasn’t that which troubled her. It was the fact that, not only had she been injured, but dozens of other people had been as well. No one had been killed (that honor was to have been mine alone, she thought grimly), but that wasn’t the point. Whoever had done it, whoever was after her, had no qualms whatsoever about anyone else who might get in the way. What did it mean? Why an attempt so spectacular, yet so singular in its purpose?

  For the first time in days, she found herself craving a cigarette; she’d smoked for the better part of ten years. But her doctors had forbidden it. No smoking now or, quite possibly, ever. And while there was no obvious damage to her heart, she had suffered cardiac arrest. So, no smoking.

  Ah, well, the head rush from the first drag would probably drop me to the floor, anyway.

  Feeling more clear-headed than she had in days, she hoped she would feel less like a prisoner at home under police guard than she did in the hospital. Having the door closed at all times, while certainly conducive to her safety, had left her feeling claustrophobic. Complaining about it would accomplish nothing, and so she had kept silent on the matter.

  Shaking herself out of her reverie, she glanced around the room, not really seeing anything, until her gaze skipped past the bedside table. Her attention was caught by a small flash of white peeking out from beneath a Time magazine. She lifted the magazine to reveal Emma Kirby’s business card, back facing up, with Emma’s number and the word HOME in neat black handwriting.

  “Oh, wow,” she said softly, raising her eyebrows.

  I almost left that behind. She stared at it, rereading the word and numbers, aware once more of that feeling of security and comfort, of a sense of calm whenever she thought of the officer. She didn’t know if she would ever see Emma Kirby again. And that would be a shame. She still felt that she would like to get to know her, beyond the original circumstances which had brought them together. If only to get beyond that, which was a fair enough reason in her mind.

  There was a knock on the door. She slipped the business card into her pocket.

  “Yeah,” she called out.

  The door opened and Detective James walked in, followed by a serious-looking older uniformed officer.

  “Daina, sorry to barge in like this,” James said, “but we need to talk to you.”

  It was the first time he’d used her first name. And it should have gotten her attention. But it didn’t. Her attention had been caught, and was now held, by the entrance of Constable Emma Kirby, who came in right behind them.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Emma was aware of Daina’s eyes on her the second she walked into the room. She was also aware that she was in a state of low-grade anxiety. But she gave Daina a small smile and a single nod in greeting while trying to ignore the slow tumble her belly took at the sight of her.

  Looking more than a little perplexed, Daina gave a small nod in return, and then cast her eyes back to the detective and the sergeant. “What the hell is going on?” she asked, a definite edge to her voice.

  Emma came to a stop just to the left of Sergeant Michaels and assumed a relaxed but alert at ease position. She noted the edge in Daina’s voice, but it sounded more annoyed than alarmed. She hoped that what was about to be presented to the singer would go over well.

  When they’d arrived at the hospital, Michaels had touched her arm and asked, “What exactly are you thinking of telling her?”

  She’d shaken her head, shrugged. “Honestly? I really don’t know. I just know that she should know what’s going on, that it’s not just her anymore. Then maybe we can find a connection that much quicker.”

  “Will whatever you tell her make her think or feel differently toward you?”

  “Possibly.” She hesitated, then added, “Okay, yes, most likely.”

  “Do you know how she thinks or feels toward you?” His eyes bored into hers.

  “I have a s
ense,” she answered carefully.

  “Does she know you’re gay?” he asked bluntly.

  “I don’t believe so,” was Emma’s immediate reply. She shook her head. “Honestly, that’s not the impression that I get.”

  As they stepped out of the elevator, Michaels took her by the elbow, turning her in the direction of the hallway. “I know you trust your instincts, Emma,” he said. “And I trust your instincts as well. But I had an idea on the way over here and I want to present it to both you and Detective James, before we go any further. If she loses her objectivity, this idea won’t work.”

  “Okay, I’m willing to listen.”

  Just ahead was the nurse’s station where Detective James stood. He started walking toward them. Beyond him, farther down the hall, two uniformed officers were standing outside what she assumed was Daina’s room. She turned her attention back to the detective who was just coming abreast of them.

  He said, without preamble, “I just found out she’s being released in a couple of hours.”

  “Okay then, let me tell you both what I have in mind.” Michaels looked at Emma. “Remember I mentioned the safe house to you?”

  She nodded.

  “Well, it occurred to me that Daina will need to be relocated as well. We have to get her and you somewhere he can’t find either of you.”

  He looked at James, then back at her. “So I was thinking, it makes sense to have you both in one place, house the two of you together.”

  Emma’s immediate response was complete rebellion. “Oh, no, now wait just a minute—” she began heatedly.

  “Just hear me out, Emma,” Michaels said, putting his hands out to forestall her protests. “I’m thinking of a more professional setup, as opposed to two women targeted by a madman stuck in a house together.”

  “Okay, go on,” she said, a bit tightly. She was still willing to listen, but her tension level had just increased tenfold.

  Detective James chose that moment to jump in. “Are you thinking more along the lines of, say, a bodyguard approach?”

  “Yes, exactly.” Michaels looked back at Emma, whose mouth had thinned to a straight line. “The idea is that she shouldn’t be alone, and neither should you. So we assign one of our officers to stay with her, kind of like a bodyguard. That would be you, obviously. This way, neither of you is alone. And it’s easier for us to keep an eye on the two of you, if you’re not spread out.”

  Michaels and James looked at her, and she looked back and forth between the two of them, arms crossed, completely unhappy and not at all convinced.

  “Look,” Michaels went on, his tone somewhat more mollifying, “this makes sense and it saves time, energy and manpower. I understand you’re not completely comfortable with it, and maybe I even understand why, to an extent. But she doesn’t have to know why you’re really there. I need the two of you comfortable with each other. Which is why you can’t just waltz right in and tell her whatever you’re thinking of telling her. I know I can count on your professionalism. I need to be able to count on her objectivity.” He paused, and then added quietly, “And I need to know that I can keep the two of you safe. That is my job.”

  Emma again looked back and forth between the two of them. She could not ignore her misgivings about the idea, but she couldn’t discount the logic of it, either.

  “Just keep in mind,” Michaels added, “that this is for your protection, as well. I need to keep you safe as well, because he will kill you to get to her.”

  “He’ll kill anyone to get to her,” was her grim response. “And I’m already on his list, remember?” She gave a heavy sigh and shook her head tiredly. “Okay, fine, if she goes for it, I will. But if she—”

  “I know, I know,” he said, hands raised in a calming gesture. “Let’s just see how it goes, okay?”

  Emma had grudgingly quieted then, and the three of them headed down the hall to Daina’s room.

  Now, in response to Daina’s question, Detective James answered, “There’s been a change in plans, a drastic change.”

  Daina looked at him with an expression that was either disgust or exasperation, or a combination of both. “Are you ever going to bring me good news?” she asked him.

  Emma quickly repressed a grin. Michaels’ voice, when he responded, was tinged with a lightness that could have been amusement as he answered, “Well, that is my goal.”

  “Well, that’s good to hear.” Daina’s eyes then darted between the three of them, as she asked, “So, what is this ‘drastic change’?”

  Michaels took a couple of steps forward. “Ms. Buchanan, I’m Sergeant Michaels. I’m in charge of this—your case and the investigation.”

  Daina glanced down at the bed that separated them, then leaned slightly forward, her right hand extended. “Nice to meet you,” she said with a curt nod as they shook hands.

  “You know Constable Emma Kirby?” he asked, looking over his shoulder to nod in Emma’s direction.

  Daina’s eyes flashed to Emma’s and then, somewhat disconcertingly, did a quick up and down, before locking eyes with her once more. “Yeah, we’ve met,” was all she said.

  The once-over caused Emma to stiffen minutely. No one seemed to notice, least of all Daina, and for that she was grateful.

  “We’ve come to let you know,” Michaels continued, “that the individual who’s threatening you is becoming more…direct in his threats. He’s now indicated—”

  “Wait a second,” Daina interrupted him. “‘He’?”

  “Yes,” Michaels said. “We’ve discovered that it is a male, that’s all we know. And we just found that out.”

  “Okay,” Daina said levelly, “go on.”

  “He’s indicated that the minute you leave this hospital, he…intends to take your life.”

  Daina’s eyes once more jumped between the three of them, her eyebrows raised. “So…what, you mean I have to stay here?”

  “No, no, not at all.” Michaels shook his head. “It just means the original idea of you staying with your parents is no longer feasible. That, and when we do move you, it has to be done in complete secrecy.”

  Daina just stared at him, frowning, as if he’d spoken in a foreign language. Emma noticed how tired she looked, that her eyes appeared red and puffy as if she’d been crying recently.

  Jesus, this can’t be easy on her. It said a lot about Daina’s character that she still had fight and fire in her.

  “What we’re proposing is setting you up in one of our safe houses. We have a few of them in various parts of the city. They’re not fancy, but they are inconspicuous and comfort is key. Since you might be there awhile, you’ll understand why we stress that. Everything is provided, except whatever clothing you need or have. Obviously, the main feature is security. These houses are highly secure, with alarm systems and cameras, all monitored twenty-four/seven by an independent security company.”

  Michaels continued in a slower, more cautious manner. “Even with those security features in place, we still believe you shouldn’t be alone. So what we’ll do is…assign one of our officers to you, so you aren’t alone—”

  “What, you mean like a bodyguard?” the singer broke in.

  “If you care to look at it like that,” Michaels allowed.

  Daina gave him a look of near-disgust. “How else should I look at it? We’re not talking pajama parties here.”

  Once more, Emma had to repress her grin.

  From across the bed, Daina suddenly pinned her with an intense look, and for the first time Emma noticed that Daina’s eyes were a clear, almost impossibly brilliant shade of blue. Nailed in place by the intensity of the look, her amusement evaporated. A moment later, Daina shifted her gaze to Michaels.

  “Okay, fine,” she said, decisively crossing her arms. Shooting another quick glance and a nod at Emma, she looked back at Michaels and said, “I want her.”

  Emma blinked and stiffened at the blunt, unexpected statement. Still somewhat transfixed by those eyes, she had been r
ight in the middle of thinking How did I miss that? She made an effort to gather her thoughts.

  Michaels, sounding surprised himself, said, “Excuse me?”

  Daina inclined her head in Detective James’ direction, speaking calmly but firmly. “The detective here gave me a choice once before, which I didn’t take. If you’re giving me a choice now, that is my choice.” Again the glance and nod at Emma. “Constable Kirby.”

  Michaels said, almost casually, “Um, okay.” He shrugged and nodded. “Sure. Of course you have a choice.” He turned to look at Emma. “How do you feel about that, Constable?”

  Emma returned his look with a dark and thoughtful one of her own. She knew she was not the only one to catch the irony of what had just transpired, nor was the implication lost on her that she no longer had a case to argue. Daina had neatly swept aside the one issue that might have kept Emma out of the situation entirely. How convenient.

  “Oh, shit,” Daina suddenly uttered. Emma quickly looked back at her.

  “I’m sorry,” the singer said, her eyes on Emma, looking and sounding puzzled, “I thought—isn’t that why you’re here? I hope I wasn’t out of line with that request.”

  Emma made a supreme effort to quell her emotions and hide her discontent. “No, not at all,” she responded, with a coolness she did not feel. “It’s fine, not a problem.”

  “Are you sure?” Daina pressed, her expression now troubled. “I don’t want—”

  “Yes, really, I’m sure.” Emma adopted a kinder tone and expression of her own. “It’s fine.”

  Daina stared at her as if she expected her to say more. But words eluded Emma, and so she kept her silence, all the while meeting those ocean-blue eyes steadily with her own.

  Daina finally blinked. “Okay,” she said simply, and looked at Michaels. “Okay,” she said again, more firmly this time. “Because it’s her,” and she inclined her head toward Emma, “I’ll go along with it. But only because it’s her. And, I want my parents to know what’s going on. I want them to know everything.”