Forsaken by James David Jordan Page B

on her plane. My sister, Meg, is meeting her at the airport in Dallas.”
    I didn’t like the arrangement, but I would have to address Kacey’s security later. Right now I had my hands full with Simon and the “celebration.”
    “Are you the one who used to be a Secret Service agent?” Kacey said.
    I smiled. “That’s me.”
    “That is so cool. I wish we could talk sometime when you’re not too busy. I’ll bet you’ve got some great stories.”
    “I’d love to talk sometime.”
    Simon put his hand on her shoulder. “Kacey has always been a bit of a tomboy. She played basketball and soccer in high school.”
    She rolled her eyes. “Didn’t the word tomboy go out about twenty years ago?”
    “It’s okay,” I said. “I played sports in high school— basketball and softball. My dad used to call me a tomboy too. It bugged me to death.”
    Elise stepped toward Kacey and raised her hand. “I was a pom-pom girl in high school.”
    Kacey just looked at her. Simon lowered his eyes and studied the worn cover of the Bible he was holding. I wouldn’t have wished that moment of silence on my worst enemy.
    “Pom-pomming requires skills I’ve always admired,” I said. Sheesh! ‘Skills I’ve always admired.’ And was there even such a word as ‘pom-pomming’?
    The base of Elise’s neck reddened. “Well, I’ve got a lot of work to do.” The color spread into her cheeks as she spoke. “If you’ll excuse me.” She walked over to Kacey, put her arm around her and squeezed. “Have fun back at school. Maybe you and I can have a girl talk when we get back to Dallas.”
    Kacey stood stiffly but smiled. “Sure thing. See you, Elise.”
    Elise straightened her headset and strode away.
    “Let me walk you to the limo, Kace,” Simon said. “Taylor, I’ll see you after the show.” I noted that he used Elise’s forbidden word to refer to the event.
    Being dropped into someone else’s mess is a difficult thing, and the security situation for this event was definitely a mess. It occurred to me that no one had even officially told me I was hired. Nevertheless, I decided to do what I could before Simon took the stage.
    If I had known what the next twenty-four hours would be like, I probably would never have stayed. Or maybe I would have been more determined to stay. I suppose it doesn’t matter, because I did stay. One thing was clear: Simon Mason needed me.
    What I didn’t know yet was that I needed him even more.

CHAPTER

SEVEN
     
    SINCE ALL OF THE action would be on the stage, I started there and worked from the bottom up. Although the stage was huge, the underbelly was not complex. A stage for a rock concert needs all kinds of hidden bells and whistles. But Simon was not going to rise through a trap door in a cloud of orange smoke. Beneath this stage was nothing but a labyrinth of metal supports. It only took ten minutes to check out the whole thing.
    The stage itself was more of a challenge for the simple reason that there were so many things on it: two pianos; an electronic keyboard; a drum set; speakers and amplifiers; two sets of bleachers on which the choirs would stand; a glass pulpit; and twenty or so microphones,some standing, some dangling. The worst part, though, was the landscaping. There must have been a hundred potted trees and plants, and an artificial river wound across the stage. The place looked like Costa Rica.
    The musical instruments and bleachers were easy to check. It was the speakers and plants that gave me heartburn. Since I couldn’t dump all of the potting soil out on the stage or tear apart a gazillion dollars worth of speakers, I tried to get comfortable with the people who brought them. One of them happened to be pulling two eight-foot palms onto the stage on a cart as I inspected the back of a giant amplifier. He was young and red and doughy—an Irish potato with acne scars. Dried mud flaked off his tennis shoes as he walked. A rusty trowel jutted from his back pocket.
    I