“Bane decided to play fireman. I got held up by security. And some motherfucker stuffed Shelby in her trunk and took off.” I jerk my thumb in Jigsaw’s direction. “We went after him but lost sight of the van out on the highway.”
“Jesus Christ.” Greg stabs his fingers through his hair and yanks. “I knew something wasn’t—”
“Save it. Who’s here?”
“Local PD and an FBI agent. No one’s called it a kidnapping yet, but the FBI showed up pretty quick.”
Next to me, Pants shifts on his feet but neither of us say a word.
“Trent supplied them with the info he had, which wasn’t much,” Greg continues. “We were waiting for you to get back. What the hell happened?”
“Let’s go.” I push past him, marching toward the loading dock.
“Uh. Yeah.” Greg hurries to catch up. Guess he expected me to balk at speaking to the cops. Normally, I would. But Z’s right. I need every person possible searching for Shelby. Killing the fucker who took her will come later. Her safety is my first concern. Revenge can wait.
Greg wasn’t quite accurate. The cops are waiting outside Shelby’s dressing room.
A guy in a black suit and shiny loafers steps away from the uniformed officers. His gaze flicks to Pants and T-Bone briefly before settling on me. “Logan Randall?”
“Yes.” I shake his hand quickly.
“Agent Adam Jackson with the FBI.”
“Thank you for arriving so fast.”
Even though my greeting was sincere, the corners of his mouth twitch in annoyance. Maybe he doesn’t enjoy taking orders from Ice. “Before we process her dressing room, can you relay what happened?”
I blow out a breath and organize my thoughts. No point in mentioning the viewing booth I’d set up to monitor Shelby’s fans. It’ll just distract the cops, and I don’t think any of the footage will be useful to their investigation. Then again, Greg and Trent might have already spilled that whole story.
“I was checking on something at her merchandise booth.” I shift my gaze down the hallway where two security guards are talking to another set of cops. “Security guards stopped Jensen and me on our way back to Shelby’s dressing room.” I jerk my thumb in Jigsaw’s direction. “I’m pretty sure whoever took her set that up to keep us distracted.”
The agent flips to a clean page in a small notebook and scratches out a few words.
“Bane was supposed to be watching Shelby’s room,” I continue. “She sent me a text that the door was locked and to knock three times while we were getting hassled by security.”
“Was the door locked when you got to the room?” He doesn’t seem interested in our tangle with the arena’s security or its possible connection to Shelby’s abduction.
“No, it was ajar. Shelby never leaves it open when she’s inside. She would’ve been changing out of her stage outfit and packing up her things.”
“How long have you known Shelby?” he asks without looking up at me.
“A few months.”
“And she’s your…?” This time he meets my stare and raises his eyebrows.
“Girlfriend.” Old lady. Biggest fucking piece of my heart. My whole world.
His gaze flicks to Greg. “I took a look at the letters she’s been receiving. You believe she has a stalker?”
“That’s why someone was supposed to be watching her at all times.” I glance at the local cops behind the agent. “Local police didn’t seem to think it was their problem.”
One of the cops shifts and opens his mouth. Agent Jackson shoots a stern glare his way. The officer’s mouth snaps shut.
“Mr. Anderson has already forwarded the letters to my office. We’ll be reviewing them at length.” The agent tucks his notepad away in his pocket and snaps on a pair of thin latex gloves. “Mr. Randall, follow me inside but don’t touch anything. Everyone else, wait out here.”
The “everyone else” apparently doesn’t include the local cops because they trail us into the room. I swallow hard, surveying the mess. Shelby must’ve fought back. Did he hurt her? Threaten her? She had to have been knocked out or she would’ve been kicking and screaming the whole way.
Fear and anger drum a steady beat in my chest.
“Her bandmate says you think she was loaded into a trunk? What kind of trunk?”
I hold my arms out wide. “A huge old black trunk. Like something you would’ve seen on the Titanic.” It’s always amused me Shelby uses something so ancient-looking to carry all her stage stuff. “Brass locks.” I point to the mess of clothes, shoes, and other stuff carelessly dumped into a heap by the couch. “Everything in that pile was inside of the trunk. She never empties it out like that and she wouldn’t leave her stuff all over the place. That’s why I think he used the trunk to smuggle her out of here.”
Jackson nods slowly. “The young man said he thought something was off when he saw someone he didn’t recognize with the trunk.”