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  If anyone tried to enter Ash’s room while they were away, she’d be the first to know about it.

  6

  “Awesome gig!” Jessie gushed as Ash came offstage following his second encore at the Miami arena. “I especially liked the moment when you pulled that girl from the audience. She almost fainted in your arms.”

  Jessie gazed longingly at her idol, clearly wishing she’d been that girl. Charley didn’t blame her. Almost every girl in the arena must have wanted to be serenaded in Ash’s arms like that.

  “Thanks,” said Ash, swigging from a water bottle. “What did you think, Charley?”

  “Probably your best gig yet,” she agreed, though she knew from the sudden burst of radio chatter on her earpiece that the unplanned invitation of the fan onto the stage had thrown the security team into a minor panic.

  As the road crew set to work packing away the instruments and dismantling the stage, Big T escorted Ash to his dressing room. Charley followed close behind and stationed herself outside his door. Once Ash had showered and changed, they prepared to leave the venue.

  “Okay, scrum time!” Big T announced, then opened the stage doors.

  Outside, hundreds upon hundreds of fans were packed like cattle behind metal barriers. They shrieked in ecstasy when Ash emerged, the noise louder than a dozen amusement parks. Charley stayed close with Big T, her eyes scanning the crowd as Ash worked his way along the line signing the fans’ programs and smiling for countless selfies.

  By now Charley was accustomed to the deafening screams and crazed antics of Wildling fans. But the task of protecting Ash in that earsplitting chaos had not become any easier with so many new faces. And every one had the potential to be the maniac who’d promised Ash no more encores.

  One face did stand out in the crowd, though. One that was both a familiar and frequent presence in the signing line after gigs.

  “Hey, Ash, over here! It’s me, Pete!”

  A few fans gazed curiously at the Ash Wild look-alike. But the rock star himself didn’t hear the boy over the cacophony of screams. The superfan waved his program in a desperate bid to get Ash’s attention, but they were already moving on. Charley felt a little sorry for Pete as his expectant smile slumped into a wounded sulk.

  Then a pack of photographers, including Gonzo, vaulted the barriers and rushed toward Ash and his entourage. They scuttled around the rock star with their cameras clicking and flashing, a constant strobe of white lightning. As the pack pushed and shoved for prime position, a telephoto lens hit Ash in the head.

  “Ow! Watch it,” he cried as his baseball hat went flying.

  “Keep back!” Big T growled, using his bulk to shift the cameramen out of their way.

  A loud metallic clang caused Charley to turn on her heel. A barrier had toppled over, and the fans spilled onto the walkway, all madly trying to get their hands on Ash’s lost hat. And when the rest of the barriers collapsed, hordes more fans surged forward.

  “Time to make like a shepherd and get the flock outta here!” said Big T, his voice harsh in the security team’s earpieces.

  The PES team closed ranks and spearheaded Ash through the crowd toward the waiting SUV. But with every step, the crush of fans grew greater and the determination of the paparazzi intensified.

  “Ash, look this way!” called a photographer, half blinding him with a blaze of flash shots.

  Ash shielded his eyes and kept his head down.

  “Why are you running, Ash? Scared of your own fans?” taunted another pap.

  Gonzo bobbed up, his finger pressed on Auto-Shoot. “Any more accidents?”

  Ash glared at the rat-faced photographer. “Stop bugging me!” he cried, flinging his water bottle at the man. The bottle struck the telephoto lens, spraying water everywhere. Paparazzi cameras flashed, capturing the moment.

  “Hey! That’s assault!” snarled Gonzo, unable to suppress his triumph at having antagonized the rock star. “That’s assault with a weapon!”

  “That’s a good joke, Gonzo,” said Big T. “Ash was being nice. Thought you could use a drink.”

  “I’ll sue you for damages, Ash!” Gonzo shouted, ignoring the bodyguard.

  Big T blocked the pap’s path, then bent down to his ear level. “And I’ll have you arrested for trespassing and illegal bugging,” he hissed.

  “Don’t know what you’re talking about,” snapped Gonzo, waving his camera in Big T’s face. “Look at this. It’s ruined. Are you gonna pay for it?”

  The bodyguard laughed. “Hope you’ve got insurance!”

  Big T and his team fended off Gonzo and the rest of the paparazzi, insults flying thick and fast, while Charley continued to escort Ash toward the SUV. But more and more fans pressed in, slowing their progress to a crawl.

  Charley’s phone pinged and vibrated. Her first thought was the Intruder. Had it caught someone sneaking into Ash’s suite? Despite the crush, she managed to slip the phone from her pocket and glance at the screen.

  But it was just a text message from Blake.

  Too busy with Ash to call?

  Charley swore under her breath. She’d forgotten to call him back! And he’d sent just one accusatory question, no hey, how are you doing? That didn’t bode well. But she was in no position to reply to him now.

  When Charley looked up, a tall boy had blocked Ash’s path. With a cutoff T-shirt and gold chain, a buzz haircut and shadow of a mustache, he didn’t look like the typical Ash Wild fan.

  “You were eyeing up my girl,” he accused.

  Ash looked perplexed. “Sorry, was I?”

  The boy nodded. “Pulled her onstage. You pumped-up little jerk!”

  Without warning, the jealous boyfriend launched a fist at Ash’s face. Ash stared at the approaching knuckles, frozen like a rabbit in headlights. A millisecond before the fist struck its target, Charley shoved Ash aside and deflected the punch with her forearm.

  The boy glared at her. “Out of my way!”

  As he tussled with her, he attempted to throw another wild punch at Ash. Left with no choice, Charley palm-struck him in the face. There was a crunch of bone and a spurt of blood as his nose broke under the impact. The boy staggered backward to the horrified squeals of the fans and the inevitable flash of the paps’ cameras.

  Stun, then run, thought Charley.

  “Come on!” she said, hustling a shocked Ash into the SUV before it sped away.

  7

  How I’d like to shake that boy’s hand. He attempted what I’m dying to do . . . punch Ash Wild’s lights out!

  I’d love to bust his perfect nose. Flatten it across his perfect face. Pound it until the blood flows freely over his perfect lips and dimpled chin.

  Instead that boy got what Ash deserves. A broken nose!

  Where’s the justice in that?

  And where did that blond girl suddenly spring from?

  I’ve seen her around, of course. But I just thought she was a hanger-on. Another doe-eyed Wildling that had somehow wheedled her way onto the tour. A daddy’s girl with connections in the music business.

  But the speed at which she reacted to the attack on Ash was remarkable! Almost as if she’d been trained for it.

  The boy had to be a head taller and twice as strong. Yet she took him down as if he were little more than a twig on legs. I mean, she blocked not just one, but two of his punches in quick succession. Then she floored him with a palm strike to the face like she was Bruce Lee’s daughter!

  Ash’s bumbling bodyguard had barely turned around before the whole incident was over.

  There’s something odd about this girl. Dangerous, even. I’ll have to keep an eye on her. She could be a complication to my plans. She’s already gotten in the way once. I can’t let that happen again.

  Still, the boy’s attack must’ve been a shock to Ash. I can take pleasure in that. His face
was definitely pale. He may have even peed himself with fright!

  Of course, he’ll get over it. Unfortunately.

  But he’ll get a bigger shock soon enough.

  One that he won’t recover from.

  8

  WILDCAT!

  Fan Lashes Out to Save Rock Star

  Many pop idols inspire devotion from their fans, but the followers of teen sensation Ash Wild take their duties to the max. When the English rock star was allegedly attacked by Miami resident Carlos Sanchez, 16, following a sold-out gig, a mystery blond-haired girl stepped to his defense.

  Emma Hills, 15, saw the whole incident. “The girl came out of nowhere. She was like a ninja. Before you knew it, the boy was on the ground, crying about his nose being broken.”

  Sanchez insists, “I was the victim of a misunderstanding. The girl just lashed out at me.”

  But several eyewitnesses said that Carlos threw the first punch. According to Kelly Jackson, 14, “He was jealous that his girlfriend had been onstage with Ash and the idiot thought he was making a move on her. He went to punch Ash, but this girl stopped him. Never mess with a Wildling, that’s what I say!”

  The anonymous girl who came to Ash’s rescue was seen disappearing into a vehicle with the grateful rock star. CelebrityStarz.net has contacted Ash Wild’s management about the incident, but they’ve so far declined to comment.

  Who is the mysterious Wildcat? And will she make another appearance?

  A picture of Charley in midstrike accompanied the feature. It didn’t show her face completely, her hair getting in the way, but it did illustrate the devastating impact of her palm strike. The boy’s head was rocked back like a PEZ dispenser, with blood flying from his nose. The surrounding witnesses all wore stunned expressions, in particular Ash, who was staring at her in openmouthed astonishment.

  More pictures and amateur video clips capturing the moment followed the article posted on the celebrity news site. The Internet was literally exploding with the story, and #Wildcat was topping the social media trends. Charley couldn’t have drawn any more attention to herself if she’d tried.

  As she sat alone in the rear lounge of the tour bus on its way toward their next destination, her phone rang.

  “Charley, it’s Colonel Black,” spoke the terse voice.

  She closed her eyes and braced herself for the reprimand. “You’ve seen the coverage, then?”

  “Hard to miss,” said the colonel. “You’ve done exactly what Steve warned you not to—gotten your face splashed all across the tabloid news! Need I remind you that any self-defense must be necessary, reasonable and proportional? That boy could have you arrested for assault.”

  “But he attacked first,” protested Charley.

  “That may be the case. But there’s a fine line between acting in self-defense and breaking the law. What is deemed ‘reasonable’ in the eyes of the law is a matter of opinion. You must be seen to use the minimum force necessary. Busting a guy’s nose with a palm strike is not the most subtle response.”

  “At least I didn’t punch him,” she responded tartly.

  “I appreciate that you did what you considered necessary to protect Ash, but your actions have not only reflected badly on his public image, they’ve threatened to expose the whole Guardian organization. In future, I expect your responses to be low profile.”

  “Yes, Colonel,” she muttered before signing off.

  Charley put down the phone and held her head in her hands. She couldn’t believe the colonel’s reaction. What was she supposed to have done—sweet-talk the guy?

  “Hey, Charley, don’t sweat it,” said Big T, lumbering into the lounge. “The colonel wasn’t in your shoes at the time. He didn’t have to make the snap decision that you did. Besides, the boy isn’t pressing charges. Too many witnesses saw him strike first. And he’s too ashamed to admit a girl decked him.”

  Charley sighed. “But I’ve blown my cover.”

  “No, you haven’t. Everyone thinks you’re just a fan. But you did step up to the plate. And that’s what counts. I despise people who talk the talk but don’t walk the walk when the time comes. You learn who’s who in your own journey of life. And you’re the real deal.”

  Charley was surprised and heartened by his support. “But the colonel’s right,” she admitted. “I should have put him in an armlock, stunned him, anything but hit him in the face in front of the press.”

  “You reacted on instinct. There wasn’t time to think. If you had, Ash would have suffered a painful and embarrassing attack—one that could have damaged his rock-star looks permanently. That would have been a lot worse for his public image.”

  Big T pulled back the sleeve of his T-shirt and flexed the massive biceps of his right arm. A tattoo of a cruise missile bulged on his weathered skin. The words DANGER: WEAPON OF MASS DESTRUCTION were etched inside the body of the missile.

  “In my days as a bouncer, my right hook ended many arguments,” he explained. “At one stage, this arm was so legendary, people called it TNT. I only ever needed to land one punch in a fight.”

  He unflexed his arm and rolled down the sleeve.

  “But, over the years of facing violence, I’ve learned that size means nothing and that your voice is the greatest weapon. It can control a situation, it can calm a person down or it can incite a riot. You can throw an opponent off guard by speaking softly. Your voice can charm and persuade, threaten or placate. It’s the solution to most problems we face as bodyguards. Only bring out the big guns as a last resort”—he cracked a smile—“like you did.”

  9

  “They’re still following us!” said Charley as their blacked-out SUV raced through the streets of downtown New Orleans. They’d barely made it to their vehicle after the sold-out concert at the Superdome. Some eighty-five thousand fans had crammed in to see Ash perform, and seemingly almost as many had waited to catch a glimpse of him leaving with the now-infamous “Wildcat.”

  “Can’t you go any faster?” asked Ash, peering through the rear window at the eleven cars, three scooters and two motorbikes that pursued them.

  “I have to obey the speed limit,” replied Shane, their driver, gritting his teeth in concentration.

  “They’re not!”

  From the front passenger seat, Big T eyed their pursuers in the wing mirror. “Paparazzi pay no regard to road rules.”

  As if to confirm this, a rented SUV sped up the wrong side of the street as the cameraman jockeyed with the other pap vehicles for the best position. A car coming the opposite way blared its horn and the cameraman swerved at the last second to avoid a head-on collision.

  “Isn’t this how Princess Diana died?” exclaimed Ash, clinging to his seat as their SUV rounded a corner at speed.

  “Buckle up, and you’ll be fine,” Big T told him.

  Behind, the paparazzi motorcade scrambled to follow them—overtaking and swerving, speeding and blocking one another, anything to stay close.

  Coming to a stop at a junction, their SUV was swamped by vehicles and was almost boxed in. Photographers leaned out of their windows and filmed and photographed whatever they could. The lights changed. Shane forced his way through the blockade, and the chase resumed.

  Ash sighed. “Don’t they ever give up?”

  “They’re like vampires,” grunted Big T. “Whatever they get is never enough.”

  Their SUV passed through an intersection just as the traffic lights turned red. Behind them car horns blared and there was a screeching of tires. As the convoy of paparazzi ran the red light, two vehicles collided, blocking the junction.

  Charley had never experienced anything like it. The chase was straight out of a Hollywood movie, except that real lives were at stake. And all for a sleazy celebrity photo!

  Turning onto the freeway, Shane was able to put his foot down on the accelerator at last. He weaved in between
the traffic, trying to put some distance between them and the relentless paparazzi. But it was futile. Without breaking the speed limit and risking the lives of his passengers, Shane was limited in what he could do to shake off their pursuers.

  At the last possible moment, he took the off-ramp to their hotel. Three vehicles in the outside lane were too late to make the exit, but the remainder of the unwanted motorcade funneled down the ramp and back into the city.

  As they neared their hotel, a motorbike came up alongside, the rider brandishing a camera. Hardly looking where he was going, he pressed the lens to the front windshield and ran it on full auto. The multiple flashes lit up the darkened interior of the car like a magnesium flare.

  The driver instinctively held up his arm to shield his eyes, but he was already blinded by the glare. He swerved, hit the curb, bounced back into the road, then veered off.

  Big T had just enough time to shout, “Brace yours—” before the SUV hit a lamp post. Ash and Charley were flung forward, their seat belts jerking them to a violent stop. The airbags in the front saved the driver and Big T.

  For a moment just the hiss of the SUV’s radiator could be heard. Then Big T broke the silence: “Everyone all right?”

  Charley’s heart was pounding hard, her hands trembling. She felt bruising where the belt had dug into her ribs, and it hurt to breathe, but she didn’t think anything was broken. She gave Big T a thumbs-up, then looked over at Ash. He appeared dazed, and blood was running from a cut above his left eye.

  “You okay?” she asked.

  Ash met her gaze and nodded. She quickly inspected the cut. It was superficial, caused by a glancing blow to the side window. She noticed some bruising, indicating a chance of concussion, but Ash’s eyes were focused and he seemed only to be in shock.

  Through the windshield, Charley spotted the helmeted motorcyclist responsible for their crash. To her disgust, he took several photos of their disabled SUV before racing away from the scene. Around them, the other paparazzi discarded their vehicles on the roadway and swooped like vultures on the accident.