backstage while the moon outside the open hangar door competed with the dome of runway lights. She held her arms up while a costume mistress repaired a loose string of sequins.
They’d spent most of the day sleeping in their new quarters at the NATO base in southern Turkey, east of Adana, in the middle of farmland, farmland, and more farmland that they’d flown over in Jimmy Gage’s airplane. She still couldn’t believe the luck. Or bad luck rather.
After the performance on the aircraft carrier, she’d found someone else to locate the ship’s doctor and felt quite proud of herself for avoiding more conflict with Jimmy. Then she’d been escorted back to Jimmy Gage’s plane, which made total sense now that she thought about it, since their boat had blown up. Still, she’d managed to avoid seeing him for the whole flight.
Or had he been avoiding her?
And why was she still ruminating over one bristly exchange? Starting now, she was done thinking about Jimmy Gage and instead focusing on the scheduling changes.
The USO cast and crew wouldn’t be staying in the historic accommodations in nearby Adana after all. They would be lodging on base where their security could be better monitored. After all, they’d been reassured, the Turkish Armed Forces were the second largest in NATO, after the U.S.
In all likelihood, the boat had simply suffered a regrettable malfunction. However, extra precautions needed to be made, including delaying their departure to Iraq.
Huge—freaking huge—military planes roared overhead, almost drowning out the comedian onstage. Her info packet told her that C-17s transported cargo in and out of Iraq. One of the crews originally from South Carolina would be taking the USO troupe the rest of the way, once they received the security thumbs-up. A seven-day tour now stretched to at least ten days. One television comic had already begged off the remainder of the tour, citing scheduling conflicts.
A double fence surrounded the base with American guards on the inside and Turkish guards on the outside. Even this far from an obvious threat, they prepared for anything. Normal? Or had the boat incident propelled the military to beef up the security force? And if so, that made Jimmy’s words about the danger in this area sting all the more.
Livia Cicero hooked arms with her just offstage while the comic finished up his routine. “ Mia cara , you need to relax. We are all okay. Threats on our lives are part of show business. I’m actually more concerned about the acoustical nightmare of performing in that metal warehouse.”
“It’s called a hangar. And thanks, but you’re not helping.” Chloe inched closer to accommodate the lighting guys hoisting heavy equipment to make way for the next act while the stage manager, Greg, called directions into his headset.
“I had this stalker once who was obsessed with collecting my leftover latte cups and matching my lipstick shades.” She shuddered, gathering her sleek black hair into a barrette. “I don’t even want to think about what he did with all those tubes of Pouty Pink the police found on him.”
Chloe admired the woman’s gutsy ability to shrug off something so scary. “Definitely creepy. But honestly, I’m over what happened earlier.” Mostly, anyway. It was probably just mechanical failure, but she still wouldn’t be opening any unmarked packages. “It’s the performing part. It wasn’t as easy as I expected on the aircraft carrier. I have a performance background from childhood, so it should have been a cakewalk.”
“It is . . . how do you say it?” She gestured with long fingers tipped by a French manicure that had somehow survived their impromptu swim yesterday. “Apples and pears.”
“Apples and oranges.”
“Right. Different fruits, whatever.” She tapped her Roman nose. “My point is that this is a different arena, and you are a bit more out there physically than when it is just your music. Loosen up. You will find
They’d spent most of the day sleeping in their new quarters at the NATO base in southern Turkey, east of Adana, in the middle of farmland, farmland, and more farmland that they’d flown over in Jimmy Gage’s airplane. She still couldn’t believe the luck. Or bad luck rather.
After the performance on the aircraft carrier, she’d found someone else to locate the ship’s doctor and felt quite proud of herself for avoiding more conflict with Jimmy. Then she’d been escorted back to Jimmy Gage’s plane, which made total sense now that she thought about it, since their boat had blown up. Still, she’d managed to avoid seeing him for the whole flight.
Or had he been avoiding her?
And why was she still ruminating over one bristly exchange? Starting now, she was done thinking about Jimmy Gage and instead focusing on the scheduling changes.
The USO cast and crew wouldn’t be staying in the historic accommodations in nearby Adana after all. They would be lodging on base where their security could be better monitored. After all, they’d been reassured, the Turkish Armed Forces were the second largest in NATO, after the U.S.
In all likelihood, the boat had simply suffered a regrettable malfunction. However, extra precautions needed to be made, including delaying their departure to Iraq.
Huge—freaking huge—military planes roared overhead, almost drowning out the comedian onstage. Her info packet told her that C-17s transported cargo in and out of Iraq. One of the crews originally from South Carolina would be taking the USO troupe the rest of the way, once they received the security thumbs-up. A seven-day tour now stretched to at least ten days. One television comic had already begged off the remainder of the tour, citing scheduling conflicts.
A double fence surrounded the base with American guards on the inside and Turkish guards on the outside. Even this far from an obvious threat, they prepared for anything. Normal? Or had the boat incident propelled the military to beef up the security force? And if so, that made Jimmy’s words about the danger in this area sting all the more.
Livia Cicero hooked arms with her just offstage while the comic finished up his routine. “ Mia cara , you need to relax. We are all okay. Threats on our lives are part of show business. I’m actually more concerned about the acoustical nightmare of performing in that metal warehouse.”
“It’s called a hangar. And thanks, but you’re not helping.” Chloe inched closer to accommodate the lighting guys hoisting heavy equipment to make way for the next act while the stage manager, Greg, called directions into his headset.
“I had this stalker once who was obsessed with collecting my leftover latte cups and matching my lipstick shades.” She shuddered, gathering her sleek black hair into a barrette. “I don’t even want to think about what he did with all those tubes of Pouty Pink the police found on him.”
Chloe admired the woman’s gutsy ability to shrug off something so scary. “Definitely creepy. But honestly, I’m over what happened earlier.” Mostly, anyway. It was probably just mechanical failure, but she still wouldn’t be opening any unmarked packages. “It’s the performing part. It wasn’t as easy as I expected on the aircraft carrier. I have a performance background from childhood, so it should have been a cakewalk.”
“It is . . . how do you say it?” She gestured with long fingers tipped by a French manicure that had somehow survived their impromptu swim yesterday. “Apples and pears.”
“Apples and oranges.”
“Right. Different fruits, whatever.” She tapped her Roman nose. “My point is that this is a different arena, and you are a bit more out there physically than when it is just your music. Loosen up. You will find
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