The blood rushed in her ears and a moan tore from her throat as she jumped up, tipping the piano bench. The swirl of her skirt caught in the adjuster knob and she heard it tear as she ripped free and fled the burning spotlight. The bench fell with an echoing thud, punctuated by the staccato clattering of her heels as she ran from the stage, leaving the shreds of her comeback performance drifting like the tatters of her silk dress.
CHAPTER TWO
“I’M NOT A groupie, I’m his wife.”
Detective Nate Quentin eyed the woman who claimed she was married to Coby Waters, bygone rock star and notorious bachelor. He pressed his palm against the air as if activating a giant pause button.
“Phoebe?” He tossed his voice to the fingerprint tech but his gaze never left the witness. “What do you know, Feebs?
