Fic: Ready Now (If You Can Wait a Little More) 3/6
Title: Ready Now (If You Can Wait a Little More)
Fandom: American Idol (Adam/Kris)
Word Count: 44,500 [complete]
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: No infringement on the rights of real people intended. Not profiting in any way.
Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI
Kris took a cab to the FBI building and waited in the lobby while they paged Agent Foltz for him. Two men in suits escorted him up to the 11th floor, where Foltz met him with a smile, a firm handshake, and a polite "What can I do for you, Mr. Allen," towering over him, at least 5'9" in 3" heels.
He proffered the creepy fan letters and she tucked them under her arm and escorted him to another small room, this one less like a doctor's office and more like a holding room at airport security. Maybe it was all the glass and metal.
"I'm glad you came," she said, placing the letters next to her.
"Has there been any news?"
She shook her head slightly. "You know I can't discuss-"
"What about the blood? Was it Adam's?"
"You're not supposed to know about that."
"I talked to his mom yesterday. Can you at least say how much they're asking for?"
Foltz held her smile for a long moment and then said nonchalantly, "See, Mr. Allen, that's the funny thing. Nobody's made a ransom demand yet."
"Really?" That didn't sound very funny at all.
"And that's unusual. Generally, these calls come within the first 24 hours. It's been almost 36."
"What does that mean?"
"It means that either something went wrong with the kidnapping-in which case it doesn't look good for Lambert-or there are no kidnappers, and this disappearing act is just that."
"Wait, you're saying Adam's dead?"
"I'm saying it seems far more likely that he's staged this disappearance as some kind of publicity stunt. It's not uncommon for celebrities; we see at least two of these a year. And I'll tell you, we really hate wasting our time like this."
"No," Kris rejected the possibility flat out. "Adam wouldn't do that."
Her smile faded away. "Mr. Allen, based on what we've discovered so far, calling your friend's behavior on December 26th 'suspicious' would be putting it mildly."
"Just because he went to a club with his friends?"
"We took your advice and questioned Shep Lonnagan; Lambert paid him $5,000 to lure the other paparazzi to a false location that night. He left his bodyguards at the hotel. He parked a luxury car in a part of town known for violent carjackings, and he left the key in the ignition-"
"That's not what happened!"
"These behaviors don't paint a flattering portrait."
"He just wanted a low-key night. For a friend."
"Or for himself?" she challenged. "He left the party early and alone-no one was on that street with him. For someone under as much media scrutiny as he was, it would be the perfect opportunity to slip away."
"He was going back to his hotel. I know he was."
She quirked a skeptical eyebrow. "According to the statements you and your friends gave, he told you he had to rest for an early rehearsal?"
"No, that was…that was just an excuse. That's not why he left."
Foltz leaned forward, her arms crossed on the table, propping up her D cups. "Why did he leave, Mr. Allen?"
The voice in the back of Kris's head that feared his label, feared losing his fans and disappointing his family, was telling him to shut up. But the rest of him was sick of hiding who he was and whom he loved. "He was meeting me. I was supposed to follow him, join him at his hotel."
"Why?"
He squared his shoulders. "For sex."
Her other eyebrow joined the first. "You were having a relationship with Lambert?"
"No. Well yes; we were gonna start one."
"And was anyone else aware of this?"
"Just our friends at the club. I showed them the hotel key he gave me. So he wouldn't have taken off. He would've gone straight back to his hotel."
She leaned back. "You seem very sure."
"I know Adam. He's wanted this for too long." Wanted me, he almost said.
"By your own admission, Mr. Allen, you weren't supposed to be there that night."
"No, I flew back early-"
"And surprised everyone; you said. Don't you think it's possible that Mr. Lambert had other plans for his evening?"
"I…."
"And that your sudden arrival was a disruption to those plans?"
"It was just a party."
"You assume that Mr. Lambert would have changed all his plans the second you showed up. What if-and I want you to hear me out on this-what if he'd already set something important in motion, like a label-orchestrated publicity stunt? Would he have scrapped those plans for you?"
Kris's head swam as disparate comments fitted together like puzzle pieces. Ted had just revealed 19 Entertainment's "emergency" plan to make the New Year's Eve show the most important of Adam's career. And wasn't that what Adam had called it last month? This is the most important show I've ever done.
She couldn't be right. He and Adam-they'd connected, understood each other on Sunday. Even without talking about it, they were on the same page.
Except Adam had had Kris right there in front of him, panting and eager, and Adam hadn't even kissed him, hadn't offered to take Kris home himself. He'd given Kris a key and a pat on the head and asked him to follow at a discreet distance….
"I want to assure you that we're still considering this a criminal case. We're doing everything we can to find Mr. Lambert; we're working some other possible leads. But you should be aware that if this is part of some scheme to sell records, believe me, we will get to the bottom of it."
Her smile was long gone, and Kris didn't like what she'd been hiding underneath.
"And when we do, we'll be looking at pressing charges for conspiracy and filing false reports. And your name and Cale Mills's name are on that police report."
"I'm helping! I told you to find the photographer-"
"You've been very helpful in the investigation so far," she cut him off. "And we want that to continue. I encourage you to keep your eyes and ears open around Adam's business contacts and share with us anything that sounds suspicious." Or else, her scowl implied. "Here's my card again. Use it." Foltz stood up and reached for the envelopes. "Thank you for the fan mail. I'm sure it'll be a big help." She gestured toward the door, and he jumped at the chance to flee the interrogation room.
Five minutes later, Kris sat on a bench in the sunlight just outside the front doors trying to wrap his brain around what'd happened inside. He'd just been threatened by the FBI. Foltz was convinced Adam was hiding somewhere, deliberately making everyone think he'd been kidnapped. And she hadn't been impressed with Kris's motive for Adam sticking around. He couldn't fault her reasoning; if he didn't know Adam, he might be suspicious himself.
But he wasn't.
Because Kris knew everything that Adam had done or thought for the last two years. They talked about everything. From the messy fights that had marred Adam's relationship with Drake to the play by play on Kris's divorce negotiations with 19E. Kris knew Adam; knew him from the soles of his favorite boots to the feathers on his false eyelashes. There was no way Adam could have hidden anything that big from him.
Unless Kris hadn't wanted to see it.
And suddenly the familiar doubt crawled out of its blind spot and waved at Kris, reminding him of the gaping hole in their history, the root of all Kris's procrastination and worry. The one thing they'd never said a word about.
Kansas City.
It was hot on the stages, stifling on the buses, and beyond-suffocating outside. By the end of August, sweating had become a full-time occupation for the Idols. The transfers in the Midwest were twice as long as the East Coast, and the sleepless nights driving between cities in grinding, cramped quarters were wearing everyone down. Tempers were near boiling by the time they rolled into the Kansas City Sprint Center, and the only reason Matt and Mike didn't come to blows was the promise of a rare hotel night after.
The first thing Kris did when he got to his private room at the KC Ramada post-show was crank up the air conditioning and strip down to his boxers. He pushed and pulled the couch until it was directly under the air vent and sprawled out with a bottle of water from the mini-fridge, gasping out the heat and exhaustion of the summer, breathing in the gusts of cool, recirculated air.
Kris lay awake, staring at the ceiling, just enjoying the calm and the steadily dropping temperature for a good minute until someone knocked on the door. Reluctantly, he pried himself off the scratchy corduroy couch and lurched to the door, sweat still slick under his armpits.
"What's the password?" he asked, hand on the doorknob.
"Baby," Adam said loudly, just begging to be overheard by anyone in the hall, "I'm gonna lick every inch of your sweet Southern-"
Kris jerked the door open and stuck a mortified finger in Adam's face. "Don't say it!" A blush made his skin burn uncomfortably hotter, but he grinned anyway.
Adam slid his gaze down and up, eyes widening as he took in Kris's beat-the-heat-with-nudity strategy. "Wow. Uh, I was only joking about that…."
"Get in here," Kris laughed. He let Adam in and locked the door, throwing the deadbolt like security had reminded them to do every day since the tour kicked off. "Did you get it?"
Adam headed straight for the TV cabinet, pushed the sliding doors aside until the screen and DVD player were exposed. "Brad FedExed it to the front desk." He made a happy sound as he pulled a Season Two Robot Chicken DVD from its plastic case. "I keep asking myself what I did to deserve an ex this nice. Maybe it was all the rimming?"
Kris pictured Adam's tongue doing exactly that and quickly blinked the image away. He flopped down on the couch, only taking up half this time. "Less talking, more clucking."
"Bok bok bok," Adam obeyed, fiddling with the DVD tray. He sat down next to Kris and sagged against the pillows, groaning and throwing his arms out across the back of the couch, head tipped back, throat exposed. "Oh my god that AC feels good. Is this as cold as it goes?"
"Yeah."
"Nnrgh." Adam grabbed the neck of his t-shirt and pulled it up, then froze and mumbled, "You don't mind…." with the shirt half-off, covering his face.
Kris took a moment to remember how to move his mouth, transfixed by the sight of all that skin bronzed by the light of the side table lamp. Adam's arms sparkled, and a V of glitter pointed down from his throat where the vest costume had exposed his chest.
"Go ahead," Kris stammered. He blinked at the remote for a few flushed seconds before he figured out how to change the input and get the DVD menu up.
Adam spread out again-Kris could feel the brush of his forearm against the back of his head. He could smell Adam, too, the cologne he layered on to cover the stink of sweat and makeup and...ew, that was actually Adam's armpit right next to his head, and Adam definitely hadn't showered since getting off stage. Kris wrinkled his nose but relaxed a little, glad for the mood-killer. He'd been getting worked up way too easily around Adam lately. He pushed Play All and leaned his head back against Adam's arm.
By the end of the first episode, Kris was shivering, his core temperature finally dropped enough to feel the chill in the room. But getting a blanket-or even clothes-would be admitting defeat to the humid hell outside, so he stubbornly stayed on the couch. Adam was radiating warmth, and Kris gravitated toward him, shifting closer until Adam had an arm wrapped around his bare shoulders and Kris was half-leaning against his chest.
He was so tired from the last three nights on the bus with a broken air conditioning unit-too hot to sleep deeply, and then waking up from fever dreams with the sheets soaked through. Now he was finally cool, comfortable, but his eyes wouldn't shut. He wasn't actually watching the show anymore, letting his thoughts drift away from the action figures on the screen. It felt like he'd been touring for a lifetime already. Idols Live was almost done, just two weeks left: 12 more shows, and 12 more nights on the bus. This last week had been the most grueling yet; the good times were still good, but the hard parts kept getting harder, and picturing another two weeks made him even more exhausted.
Under his cheek, Adam was laughing, and his hand rubbed absently on Kris's upper arm, nails scritching the short hairs and raising goose bumps. Kris let the feeling take his mind off the exhaustion. He was supposed to call Katy…but Katy would only reassure him that it would be over soon; Adam could actually distract him-find him a party, track down copies of Kris's favorite movies, or just put an arm around him and endure the suffering with him. There was something about being near Adam-and not just the erections he hated telling Katy about-the comfort in the simplest touch, like the warmth and pleasant chills Adam was giving him right now….
As soon as he realized he was getting hard, Kris automatically moved to put space between them. He'd had to do that more and more often; between the harmless flirting and easy friendship, their bodies had developed a kind of unconscious magnetism, always pulling toward each other. Without even thinking about it, he put his hand down for leverage and pushed away, but Adam jerked under him, arm gripping suddenly tight around his shoulders, body going tense.
Because Kris's hand was…his hand was in Adam's lap, his palm pressing down on the hard cock straining under the zipper of Adam's tight jeans. Kris was groping Adam's cock, and he'd just meant to get a little space, to move away from Adam's overwhelming presence, but he was….
Adam's arm lifted off him and his hips squirmed. Kris couldn't tell if Adam was moving toward or away from his hand. Adam was hard-had been hard while Kris cuddled against him. And Kris was getting harder, and he still wasn't pulling off and away.
Kris looked up to make some sort of apology for his inexplicable behavior-he knew it wasn't fair to push Adam so far, not with the open crush Adam had on him-but Adam's eyes were huge in the flickering light of the TV, thin blue bands around wide pupils, breath coming a little ragged, and when Kris carefully eased his hand off, Adam gasped and stared at him like he couldn't help it-not the gasp or the staring.
And he'd done that, made Adam look at him that way. The intense wave of satisfaction at that sent a thrill through him. It was dizzying and empowering, the rush of mutual desire, and Kris leaned up and pressed his lips to Adam's, opened his mouth and breathed hot against Adam's cool lips. Adam kissed back, a cautious press of lips brushed side to side, nothing more. Kris twisted impatiently on the cushions for a better angle, managed it without pulling away, so he could lean against Adam properly and kiss him again. And then there were two hands on the back of his head, Adam holding him there, kissing him with open mouth and tongue, meeting him halfway, Adam making desperate, high-pitched noises in the back of his throat that Kris understood somewhere down low, felt that same yearning of "please, finally, please."
Heat licked into his mouth, warming him from the inside. A cold nose rubbed against his, and hot skin dragged under his chest, and he wasn't cold anymore, not anywhere. Kris clutched at Adam, hands sliding across his broad shoulders, nails scratching down Adam's chest, flaking off rough bits of glitter like sand after a day at the beach.
Adam was under him, and then over him, tipping Kris back against the cushions, mouth on his jaw, his ear, sucking and tugging on the lobe, and Kris gasped and writhed at the big hands that ran over his nipples and pinched until Adam's mouth could take over. He dragged his tongue across Kris's chest, licked at one nub and then the other, bit and sucked until Kris's back arched and he begged for Adam to move on. Adam obliged and slid further down the couch, his tongue trailing down the short hairs under his belly button, his hands holding Kris's hips down when he panted and tried to grind the air. And then Adam's fingers were on him, on his cock, and Kris didn't know where his boxers had gone, didn't miss them when Adam breathed over the tip of his cock and then swallowed him down.
He bucked and arched, cursed and grabbed for something to hold on to, found Adam's hand on his hip and tugged it up, desperate to smother the noises he was making. He sucked Adam's fingers into his mouth, bit and licked and sucked in counterpoint to Adam's mouth on his cock, Adam alternating teasing kisses and hard sucks, swirling his amazing tongue and humming, overloading Kris's synapses with pleasure. All the while, Adam fucked his mouth, pressed two fingers against Kris's tongue, rubbed them against the roof of his mouth, the insides of his teeth, half exploration, half mindless pushing. Kris held on to his wrist and groaned, thrusting his cock helplessly into Adam's mouth.
And then Adam took his hand away, rubbed one of those saliva-wet fingers just behind Kris's balls, making something throb inside, sweet and sharp, and he squirmed against it, up into Adam's mouth and back against the finger, feeling too hot, hotter than outside, even. His thighs were slippery with sweat against Adam's arms and he held on to the cushions for purchase.
Adam drew back, breathed deep and said, "Kris, I-I want you to-"
Kris's hips thrust again and he whimpered, "Adam," desperately, until Adam took the head of his cock back in his mouth, so wet, and dragged his finger back further, to a place that made Kris shiver, and then pressed inside, in and in and Kris didn't stop him, threw his head back and gasped his name, every muscle in his body contracting and tingling around that finger, against Adam's tongue and lips sucking him hard and tight.
He came apart with a shout, and Adam flicked his finger again, forced the aftershocks higher, fiercer for a long moment, licking his cock as it softened before taking his finger back despite Kris's body's best efforts to clutch that, too. Kris rode it out, eyes closed, listening to Adam breathe as he came down. Adam finally let his cock go, crawled over him and kissed him, sucking on Kris's tongue like it was another cock, as if Kris had any more to give. Kris groaned and bit his own tongue, rubbed his thumb behind Adam's ear and tugged at his hair, pleading wordlessly for a chance to breathe.
The Robot Chicken theme song was playing on the TV again and Kris reached his other arm up, groped for the remote control on the armrest behind him. Adam found it first, pressed it into Kris's palm and kissed his eyebrows, his temple, his cheek.
Kris found the power button without looking, got the damn TV to shut the hell up, and turned his head to find Adam's mouth again. Jeans scraped the insides of Kris's thighs and he groped at Adam's oversized belt buckle, helping Adam unclip it and get his jeans open, his pants shoved down below his hips. And then Kris sprawled back, got a knee hooked behind Adam's thigh and dragged him down to lie on him, nothing between them this time, Adam's leaking cock thrusting against Kris's pelvis.
Adam's neck arched, taking his lips away, so Kris followed, latching onto his throat, kissing and sucking to counterbalance the slip-rocking of their hips, the unpredictable spikes of electric pleasure as Adam ground against him. Adam was already shaking, moaning and panting-he wasn't going to last long. Kris sucked harder, wanting to take Adam into him-his blood, his sweat, his saliva-to somehow absorb Adam through his skin like holy oil or baptismal water.
Adam choked and froze, shuddering over him as his cock jerked and spattered hot over Kris's stomach. He braced his arms on either side of Kris's shoulders and gulped huge breaths like he'd just held the high note at the end of Starlight long after the rest of the music had cut out.
Kris stared up at Adam's face, naked and slack and achingly precious to him. Adam's cum was cooling on his stomach, and Kris slid a hand down, rubbed his fingers through it, feeling the lingering heat, the slick-stickiness. Awed, he brought his hand up to his mouth, but Adam caught his wrist and stopped him, dark eyes blinking heavily.
Kris wouldn't be denied.
When he leaned up to taste, Adam met him there, their tongues dueling between his fingers in a filthy and intimate kiss like nothing he'd ever experienced. It only intensified the irrational craving, the desperate desire to absorb, to possess, and Kris gripped Adam's hair with both hands and licked into his mouth, bit Adam's lips swollen and bruised, and held on until exhaustion loosened their limbs and they stumbled to the bed in each other's arms.
When he opened his eyes it was morning. Sunlight played through the blinds, painting vertical stripes on Adam's skin and hair. Kris blinked, focused on Adam's blue eyes, wide and watching with some expression he couldn't decipher. The bed was comfortable and warm, his bare arm freezing above the covers. He pulled his arm under the comforter and rubbed it against his stomach to warm it up. But he jolted a little more awake when his wrist brushed his bare cock and it all came back. The kisses. The couch. The blowjob and the cum and. Katy. And God.
And what had he done?
Kris bolted upright, his toes bumping against hairy legs under the sheets. He jerked his feet away, piled blankets in his lap to cover his nudity.
Adam sat up, too, and the look on his face mirrored what was on Kris's, because Adam's said "never again" with a vehemence that made Kris tremble.
Kris crawled backward off the bed and stumbled into the bathroom, fighting back tears of confusion and anger. He looked in the mirror and didn't even recognize himself. Because yesterday he'd been a man who loved his wife and God, a man who would never have broken his marital vows. Yesterday….
Today, he didn't know what kind of man he was.
He rang Katy's doorbell just past 6 p.m. after walking around for hours, trying to lose himself in the backstreets of Hollywood. She opened the door wearing a half-sleeved cashmere sweater and jeans, and he blinked, realizing he'd expected a sundress, flip-flops, loose blonde hair curling past her shoulders.
Those days-and that Katy-were far behind him now.
"Hey," she said, propping the screen door open with a knee. "You look terrible."
"You look good," he said and put his hand out to hold the door for her.
"Come on in. How're the folks?" she asked over her shoulder, heading for what used to be their kitchen.
"They're good. They seem happy. Aunt Jillian brought her whole family up, and Mom made enough food to feed an army."
"She loves a full house."
"That she does. How was Christmas with your folks?"
"Oh, same old. They complained about the smog and the traffic and the prices, but you just know they're gonna get back to Conway and brag all about the great time they had in Los Angeles."
He smiled. "Never happy, and always have to be the center of attention. I'd say it runs in the family, but you'd probably kill me."
"With a greasy frying pan," she agreed, jerking a thumb toward the pots and pans stacked in and around the sink.
Kris gaped. "Wow, I didn't even know we had that many dishes."
"I know. I've been staring at 'em for three days, hoping they'll magically wash themselves. If they're still there next week I'll probably end up hiring a cleaning service."
The two of them had been terrible about cleaning. His mother had always hoped he'd settle down with a sensible girl who would keep the house tidy, but he and Katy had been content to live like bachelors, washing their bowls as they needed them, out of the sink or the dishwashing machine they never ran. Being back here with Katy, in what used to be their home, it was almost as though they were still…not married, because they'd only been that for a couple years, but still together. And when she found someone new to share her life with, he hoped they'd still fit together just like this.
His smile turned nostalgic, and she saw it, leaned against the kitchen counter and bit her lip before asking, "Any news?"
The frustration and doubt came back to him in a rush. He sank down in his old chair at the table and shook his head. "They still don't know where he is or who took him. And now the FBI think it's all a stunt cooked up by the label, and that Adam's hiding out somewhere to collect on the publicity."
"Oh. No. No way, that is such a crock of shit." The ugly words jarred against her pretty mouth, another change since they'd moved to L.A.
"I know, but. Babe?" he held out his hand and she took it, sat in the chair next to him. "The things they have on him…. They're right; it looks bad. The way he set up the party, the way the label's handling the show…. If I didn't know him…."
"But you do," Katy reassured him.
"But what if I don't?"
"Kris, don't-"
"I keep going over and over it in my head; he would've told me, you know? He wouldn't have let me worry like this. But then I end up back in Kansas City, and I never asked his forgiveness. I never even apologized for it. I just used him and then rejected him, and what if he's never forgiven me?"
"He wouldn't've stayed your friend if he hadn't."
"But what if-"
"If you'd just talked to him about this," she sighed, her impatience rising to the surface. "How many times did I tell you?"
"I know…."
"At this rate, the two of you are gonna need more couples counseling than we did."
He almost managed to laugh, because he didn't deserve how much Katy was pulling for him-for them. She was still his best friend even after the way he'd let her down, been unable to fall out of love with Adam despite months of trying.
She got up and pulled two beers from the fridge, brought them to the table and let him uncap each bottle with his bare hands. "Alright. Give me specifics. What's the FBI have on him that's so bad it's got your head screwed on wrong?"
So he told her. He laid out all the facts for her, like he'd always done when something was wrong. Like he'd done that morning in Kansas City, called and told his wife of less than a year that he'd cheated on her, listened to her heart break from across the country, matching his own. This time, at least, he wasn't hurting her.
"She's completely wrong," Katy said when he'd finished, dismissing Foltz with a wave of her hand.
"That's what I told her."
"You obviously don't buy any of that bull. So what is it? There's something else that's got you worked up."
That was the question he'd spent the whole afternoon working on. But he had an answer now. "It's everything with the label. They're completely changing Adam's show."
"I thought it was cancelled."
"No, I…. It's important to Adam so I…volunteered to perform. They're bringing in Allison and some of the other Idols and we're gonna cover Adam's songs…. What?"
Her eyes had gone wide. "Oh my God, Kris. You're gonna do Adam's show?"
He shrugged, "I just couldn't let them cancel it."
"Oh my God, that's so romantic. You don't even know…." She fluttered an apologetic hand in front of her face and wiped at her suddenly wet eyes. "I'm sorry. That's just. You know how I am."
"Yeah," he agreed, used to it after six years dating her. Katy was such a sap.
"Okay, I'm sorry, go on."
He sighed. "So we're doing the show, but 19E's turning it into an A-list event, with the Beckhams and a red carpet and everything. They're calling it a 'vigil' so the fan club won't demand refunds, but really it's just about next year's profits. At this point, they're not even interested in getting Adam back in time; they've got a bigger plan all worked out."
Katy made a growling sound. "I can't wait 'til your contract is up, and we can get you away from those backstabbing bastards."
Kris nodded and pressed on. "So Foltz's theory-that 19 could have planned something like this-I can kinda see that. As long as Adam's back and performing next year, they're gonna rake it in. And there's been no ransom demand, so the kidnappers have to be planning to get their money from somewhere else. 19E…it makes sense."
"No," Katy said firmly, "it doesn't. Because they'd need Adam to go along with it, and he wouldn't. He would never do that to his fans; he treats them like gold. And he wouldn't do that to you."
"I believe that, I do, but then all the other stuff gets so loud, and I can't think straight."
"Hush. You know Adam wouldn't be a part of anything like that. Just hold onto that fact, and everything else is just a bunch of lame theories the FBI made up. They don't have any proof-that's why they want you to do the investigating, to dig up something they can actually use. And that's not gonna work, because 19E can't be responsible for this."
It sounded so convincing when she put it that way.
"Ignore everything Foltz said, because she's obviously missing something."
"Like where Adam is."
"Right. Bitch is barking up the wrong tree. There's been no ransom demand; if no one's asked for a ransom, then they took Adam 'cause he's all they wanted."
Kris's shoulders tensed up at the thought of Leila Lambert's obsessed-fan theory.
"Or they're after 19E's reward money," she added.
He shook his head. "19E wasn't even gonna- I mean, I don't think they were. I offered my own reward and Robert said I'd backed them into a corner where they had to offer one…."
"No, they've got insurance that covers rewards; I remember it from your label contract."
Kris could suddenly picture the very clause in his head. He'd read that thing cover to cover before he signed it, and he was ashamed to admit it had been the last of his contracts he'd bothered even glancing at. "Then why the hell'd he give me such a hard time about it yesterday?"
Katy sipped her beer and considered for a long moment. "You were stealing their spotlight?"
"Hmm. Maybe," Kris said, getting confused all over again. Why would his label deliberately jerk his chain about something like that?
"Hey, when's the last time you ate? And before you say it, no, that beer in your hand doesn't count."
Kris picked at the label on the bottle and didn't meet her eyes.
"Okay then," she announced, standing up. "You're staying for dinner. I'm gonna heat up some of my mom's leftovers. You thought you'd escaped the O'Connell Christmas dinner this year; ah ah, not so fast. We've got," she pulled open the door to the fridge, "honey-glazed carrots and parsnips, green beans with rosemary and thyme, her famous mashed sweet potatoes, and some rack of lamb." She loaded her arms with Tupperware and dumped it all on the countertop. "And for dessert, blueberry pie."
Kris's stomach growled and he came closer to the counter, trying to smell the plastic-sealed food. "I love your mom's pie."
She smiled and pulled a big metal serving spoon out of the drawer. "I'm gonna make you a plate, and I'm not letting you leave until you've eaten the whole thing."
"Thanks," he said, knowing it was inadequate to cover all the things she did for him. He walked around the island and pulled her into a tight hug, her small body feeling stronger and more stable than his own. "Thanks so much."
"Don't get used to this," she said, slapping his ass so he took a step back. "I'm just fattening you up so Adam has something worth squeezing when he gets home."
Kris blushed faintly.
"Now, you sit down and start brainstorming who-besides your label-could benefit by taking Adam."
It didn't feel like they made any progress in the 10 minutes it took to reheat everything, and then Kris was so hungry he didn't bother talking while he ate. Katy picked at her green beans and made a moat with her potatoes and gravy until Kris looked up, halfway done, and noticed.
"Not hungry?"
"I'm kind of burned out on leftovers," she said, but Kris could tell that wasn't it.
"I'll make you a sandwich…."
"No thanks. I'm just." She rubbed her palms over her bare forearms.
His heart twisted painfully. "It gets to you," he said quietly.
She nodded. "Now that you're here, it's all I can think about. I'm really, really worried about him."
Kris put down his fork and closed his eyes. "We have to have faith."
"Yes."
Katy's hand reached out for his, and he bowed his head, let the prayers in his heart lift up to God.
Even after they'd given up on their dinners, he couldn't bring himself to leave. He tried tackling the dishes, but it was an unwinnable battle against the solidified grease and baked-on sauces. He finally threw in the towel and told Katy her manicurist would never forgive her if she didn't hire a cleaning service.
He hung around the living room for a while, distracting himself by playing what's-wrong-with-this-picture, trying to identify all the things that had changed in the room since he'd moved out two months ago. It didn't hurt like he'd expected; it actually felt good to know that Katy was moving on, continuing her life just like he was. He'd sat down at his piano and was running his fingers over the keys when Katy came in, her face freshly washed, and sat next to him on the bench.
"So tell me about the show. What're you doing?"
"You mean aside from being 19E's performing monkey?"
"Yes. Besides that."
"I'm supposed to perform some of Adam's songs. We split them up between the four of us; Vanessa made sure I got first dibs."
"Which ones did you pick?"
"Guess."
She rose to the challenge. "Music Again."
He shook his head.
"Aftermath."
"That's one," he smiled.
"Mad World."
"Good thought, but no."
She got a wicked twinkle in her eyes. "Strut."
He snorted, "No."
"For Your Entertainment."
"God, no!"
Katy smiled evilly. "No Boundaries?"
"Just stop," he protested, "I'll tell you."
She smirked.
His fingers slotted into position for a D Major chord and he pumped the right pedal, feeling the confidence he always found at a piano. "Aftermath. Whataya Want from Me. Time for Miracles. Can't Let You Go."
He held his breath, but her expression melted, going all dreamy. "That's good."
"Yeah? I mean, I have to work out some arrangements, 'cause I can't sing them in Adam's range, but…."
"No, it's great."
"I tried to think what I would wanna say to him right now, wherever he is."
Katy smiled at him for a long, gentle moment. And then she blinked a few times and looked down at the piano keys, "Do you wanna do that here? She's missed you, you know."
He caressed the keys and repositioned for A minor. "If it wouldn't bother you?"
"Nah." She leaned in and kissed his cheek and left him there to work.
He was tapping his feet to the track playing on Katy's iPod when his cell phone vibrated across the glossy black piano lid.
It was his agent's number, and he picked it up reluctantly.
"Hey, Vanessa."
"Hey, honey. Have you been watching the news?"
"No, why?" he asked, heart suddenly leaping into his throat.
"Robert did the press conference about the show. I wanted to let you know that everything's going great-all the channels are carrying it, and public reaction's been really positive."
"Oh."
"So it's time to get moving on rehearsals. You're meeting with Adam's band on Thursday, so you only have one day to work on those new arrangements."
"I'm already-"
She continued on like she wasn't listening. "We've got everybody's picks now and we're almost settled on that, except-and I can't believe I was wrong about this, but-you're not the only one who wants Time for Miracles. Carrie Underwood sounds ready to cut a bitch to perform that song. She thinks she can make it the next How Do I Live or something. So if you'll take Sleepwalker or Music Again, I'll let her know so she can start practicing, too."
There was no way he was giving up that song to anybody else. "No."
"Honey, come on. She's country's female vocalist of the year for three years running; I think she'll do it justice. Let her have it and we can put something faster in the mix."
"I said no, and I meant it," he snapped. "Carrie Underwood can go hang."
"Rrgh," she groaned. "Fine. Don't be surprised if she poisons your water backstage."
"I'll take my chances."
"Anyway, we have to pad out the show for another 45 minutes. Adam had a whole bunch of covers rehearsed, so I'll email you the set list and you pick a couple. And his band's gonna learn one new song for each of you, so you can do one of your singles. I already put you down for Live Like We're Dying. It's a little faster, and…honestly, it was either that or The Truth, and I can't even tell you how inappropriate that would be."
We gotta tell 'em that we love 'em while we got the chance to say…. Kris's throat closed up. "That's fine, that's the right one," he choked.
"I figured; it fits into your whole 'coming out, love confessional' theme," she said, and he could hear the rolling eyes in her snippy tone.
"Vanessa," he said, belatedly worried that he'd pushed her too far, "you're okay with this, right?"
"Don't even sound like that," she tutted. "I'm sorry about earlier; you just surprised me, that's all. And you're gonna be okay as far as 19E, too. I did some digging-okay, Mechelle did the digging. That girl's amazing. I told you she was wasted driving you around and organizing your schedule-"
"No," he corrected her, "you told me I couldn't have attractive girls working for me in the middle of a divorce."
"Well. That, too. Anyway, she got one of the accountants to dish about what it would've cost them to cancel the show. Whether they're in the red or not, 19E would've been paying way more if you hadn't stepped up with this idea. If they ever give you a hard time about coming out, we can throw this in their faces."
His shoulders relaxed and he breathed a little easier. Going to war with his label was not something he ever wanted to do again.
"It'd be better if we cleared it with them first, though; give them some advance notice so they can plan the media response. Maybe work out something like we did with the divorce."
Kris's optimism fell flat on its face. "And end up missing the spring tours, too," he guessed.
"No way," Vanessa said forcefully. "I won't let that happen. Just…maybe do the talk show circuit for a few weeks, give the right interviews to the right reporters…. As long as you're not throwing it in everybody's faces all the time, they can probably cope."
Those actually sounded like compromises he could live with. But. "I already told the FBI," he warned her, in case he'd maybe shot her efforts in the foot already.
There was a beat of silence. "You told the FBI? That you're gay for Adam?"
"Yeah."
She took a deep breath. "Okay, okay, there's a good chance that'll stay confidential. Who'd you tell?-I'll make a phone call, try to make sure it doesn't leak out."
"Agent Foltz. I have her card-"
"Good. Women are way more sympathetic about this kind of thing."
"You haven't met this one."
He gave her Diana Foltz's phone number and hung up, then noticed Katy standing in the doorway.
"Everything alright?" she asked.
"Yeah. Vanessa's taking care of 19E for me." He looked at the scribbled arrangement notes he'd made on a collection of napkins and played through the transposed opening chords of Can't Let You Go, not meaning to ignore Katy, just needing that connection with Adam all of a sudden. Because something felt wrong, like an earthquake under him, and he couldn't put his finger on the source.
"How's it coming?" Her frown was sympathetic when he looked up, like she thought that's what was troubling him.
Kris turned around on the bench, putting his back to the keys. "It's fine. I'm just…. Vanessa said something and it's got me thinking," he realized.
"Yeah?"
"She said I'm saving 19E money, 'cause they would've lost a fortune if the show were canceled."
"Sure, all that money down the drain," Katy nodded.
"It didn't sound like that." He rubbed his thumb between his eyebrows. "Robert mentioned a penalty clause yesterday."
"Penalty clause?" She sounded slightly alarmed.
"It's nothing bad." The few business courses Kris had bothered attending in college came back in a cloudy fog, along with a few lingering self-doubts. If he hadn't been so stupidly idealistic and dropped out to make music, if he'd actually stuck it out and gotten that degree, maybe he wouldn't have to rely so heavily on Vanessa to handle his music contracts. He concentrated, tried to remember the right vocabulary. "Whoever forfeits the contract has to…indemnify, yeah. They have to repay the other party for the inconvenience and lost opportunity for revenue. So it's a question of who 19E would have to pay if the show got canceled."
"All the performers, right? Adam and his band, the dancers…"
"That's part of 19's contract with Adam. But I think Robert was talking about the venue contract. If 19E canceled the contract with the venue, The Crystal Club would get the penalty clause payout." Kris got up and paced around the room, unable to hold still now that he could see a bigger picture.
"Which is a lot?"
"It could be. It definitely puts them in a position of power over the label."
"So the club gets paid just because Adam disappears?"
"Yeah. Legally."
"Then they wouldn't need a ransom," Katy said.
"Yeah, that's just business. Nobody would question it."
"But why wouldn't they want the concert to go on? They'd make more money putting on the show."
"Maybe not. I've met 19E's top shark-Ted's brutal in negotiations. Maybe they could've gotten more money off somebody else's event, or off their own. Hell, it's New Year's Eve; they could probably throw a party with a DJ or something, charge a fortune at the door and make a ton of cash."
"Plus the penalty money," she realized.
"Yeah."
"So they could…they could kidnap Adam to make sure the concert got canceled, and collect their money legally. That sounds crazy."
Kris pursed his lips. "It could work. But 19E are too tight-assed to give away money like that."
"And you single-handedly saved the show."
He ducked his head, not ready to accept that much credit. Robert was a smart guy-he'd probably have thought of a way to keep the event alive with or without Kris.
"You're gonna tell the FBI right?"
"It's just a theory," he hedged, despite the adrenaline surging under his skin.
"But it's the only good one we've had. You have to call them."
"Yeah," Kris agreed. He didn't care if it was after 11 p.m. If this was the right lead, the FBI needed to know about it as soon as possible. He fished Foltz's card out of his pocket again and dropped it on the piano, along with the plastic hotel key.
"What's that?"
He froze.
As a rule, Kris didn't lie to Katy. He never had: not when they were dating, not when they were married, not even after the divorce. All through counseling, he'd told her whenever he felt tempted by Adam again. And that was how they'd finally determined there was no moving past it. Not when he couldn't stop wanting him. They both knew she deserved better than that.
So she'd become his best friend instead of his wife, head cheerleader in his pursuit of Adam. But as supportive as she was in theory, he didn't think it was fair to force the details of their hookup on her. He didn't know what that would do to her.
He quickly shoved the key back in his pants and cursed himself for still carrying it around. "Nothing." Flushed with guilt, he dialed the number before Katy could ask again.
The phone rang four times and then forwarded to voice mail. "She's not answering," he whispered to Katy.
"Why not?" she demanded, impatient.
After the beep, Kris laid it all out: "Hi, Agent Foltz, this is Kris Allen. I did some thinking like you asked, and I think you should look at the owner of The Crystal Club. There's a clause in his contract where he gets a big payout if the show gets canceled." He suddenly paused, realizing the crucial flaw in his reasoning. "Um. Not that I've seen the contract or anything. So you should probably check that that's right."
He covered the receiver and mouthed 'shit' at Katy. She made urgent shooing motions back at him.
"But, uh, if he does get a big payout, I think it might be him: the bad guy. Um. That's it, good night."
He hung up and buried his face in his palm. "Could I have sounded any more stupid?" he moaned.
Katy rubbed a hand on his back. "I've heard you worse. Come on. I'll cut you some pie."
Wednesday
"Wake up! Kris, wake up! They found him! Wake up!"
Kris sat up on Katy's sofa and blinked in the darkness. She was tugging on his shoulder, it was still dark out, and she'd said- "What?"
He could hear sounds from the bedroom down the hall, the TV she couldn't sleep without. Katy was poking around his feet and legs, yanking the tangled blanket off. She was hunting for the remote, he realized, and scooped it up off the floor, turned the TV on and flipped straight to CNN.
The images on the screen were blurry-or maybe that was Kris's eyes reacting to the sudden light in the room-but CNN was airing footage of someone with black hair, wrapped in a blanket, being helped out of an ambulance. The news scroll at the bottom of the screen announced that pop superstar Adam Lambert, kidnapped two nights ago outside a bar downtown, had been found less than an hour ago in Pasadena. The FBI weren't releasing any details yet, but Lambert had been taken to the hospital.
"Oh thank God," he gasped, leaning his head against Katy's hip. She reached for his hand and squeezed it. "Is he okay?"
"I don't know; I woke you up as soon as I saw him."
The clock in the top right corner of the screen said it was just past 4 a.m., and the morning announcers were calling it a Christmas miracle, talking about the New Year's Eve vigil Adam's fans had planned and wondering if all those prayers had something to do with his speedy rescue. But they didn't have any actual news, like how Adam was, who had held him, how they'd found him, or where they'd taken him.
"I have to get to the hospital," Kris announced.
Katy nodded and squeezed his hand again. "Which one?"
There were at least a dozen options. He hesitated a moment and then said, "I'll call Donald." It wouldn't be the first time he'd called Adam's agent in the middle of the night, but hopefully it would be the last.
Donald didn't sound tired when he answered this time. He didn't even sound surprised. "Allen. I guess you heard?"
"Yeah, is he okay? Where is he?"
"He's alright. They took him to Ronald Reagan to check him out, but there's nothing to worry about, he seems fine."
Kris knew better than to believe Donald's spin. "Okay, I'm heading over there now. Should I call his mom? Does she need a ride-"
"I sent a car for her already. Allen, the hospital's for family only-"
Kris hung up and dug under the couch for his shoes.
Part IV
Fandom: American Idol (Adam/Kris)
Word Count: 44,500 [complete]
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: No infringement on the rights of real people intended. Not profiting in any way.
Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI
Kris took a cab to the FBI building and waited in the lobby while they paged Agent Foltz for him. Two men in suits escorted him up to the 11th floor, where Foltz met him with a smile, a firm handshake, and a polite "What can I do for you, Mr. Allen," towering over him, at least 5'9" in 3" heels.
He proffered the creepy fan letters and she tucked them under her arm and escorted him to another small room, this one less like a doctor's office and more like a holding room at airport security. Maybe it was all the glass and metal.
"I'm glad you came," she said, placing the letters next to her.
"Has there been any news?"
She shook her head slightly. "You know I can't discuss-"
"What about the blood? Was it Adam's?"
"You're not supposed to know about that."
"I talked to his mom yesterday. Can you at least say how much they're asking for?"
Foltz held her smile for a long moment and then said nonchalantly, "See, Mr. Allen, that's the funny thing. Nobody's made a ransom demand yet."
"Really?" That didn't sound very funny at all.
"And that's unusual. Generally, these calls come within the first 24 hours. It's been almost 36."
"What does that mean?"
"It means that either something went wrong with the kidnapping-in which case it doesn't look good for Lambert-or there are no kidnappers, and this disappearing act is just that."
"Wait, you're saying Adam's dead?"
"I'm saying it seems far more likely that he's staged this disappearance as some kind of publicity stunt. It's not uncommon for celebrities; we see at least two of these a year. And I'll tell you, we really hate wasting our time like this."
"No," Kris rejected the possibility flat out. "Adam wouldn't do that."
Her smile faded away. "Mr. Allen, based on what we've discovered so far, calling your friend's behavior on December 26th 'suspicious' would be putting it mildly."
"Just because he went to a club with his friends?"
"We took your advice and questioned Shep Lonnagan; Lambert paid him $5,000 to lure the other paparazzi to a false location that night. He left his bodyguards at the hotel. He parked a luxury car in a part of town known for violent carjackings, and he left the key in the ignition-"
"That's not what happened!"
"These behaviors don't paint a flattering portrait."
"He just wanted a low-key night. For a friend."
"Or for himself?" she challenged. "He left the party early and alone-no one was on that street with him. For someone under as much media scrutiny as he was, it would be the perfect opportunity to slip away."
"He was going back to his hotel. I know he was."
She quirked a skeptical eyebrow. "According to the statements you and your friends gave, he told you he had to rest for an early rehearsal?"
"No, that was…that was just an excuse. That's not why he left."
Foltz leaned forward, her arms crossed on the table, propping up her D cups. "Why did he leave, Mr. Allen?"
The voice in the back of Kris's head that feared his label, feared losing his fans and disappointing his family, was telling him to shut up. But the rest of him was sick of hiding who he was and whom he loved. "He was meeting me. I was supposed to follow him, join him at his hotel."
"Why?"
He squared his shoulders. "For sex."
Her other eyebrow joined the first. "You were having a relationship with Lambert?"
"No. Well yes; we were gonna start one."
"And was anyone else aware of this?"
"Just our friends at the club. I showed them the hotel key he gave me. So he wouldn't have taken off. He would've gone straight back to his hotel."
She leaned back. "You seem very sure."
"I know Adam. He's wanted this for too long." Wanted me, he almost said.
"By your own admission, Mr. Allen, you weren't supposed to be there that night."
"No, I flew back early-"
"And surprised everyone; you said. Don't you think it's possible that Mr. Lambert had other plans for his evening?"
"I…."
"And that your sudden arrival was a disruption to those plans?"
"It was just a party."
"You assume that Mr. Lambert would have changed all his plans the second you showed up. What if-and I want you to hear me out on this-what if he'd already set something important in motion, like a label-orchestrated publicity stunt? Would he have scrapped those plans for you?"
Kris's head swam as disparate comments fitted together like puzzle pieces. Ted had just revealed 19 Entertainment's "emergency" plan to make the New Year's Eve show the most important of Adam's career. And wasn't that what Adam had called it last month? This is the most important show I've ever done.
She couldn't be right. He and Adam-they'd connected, understood each other on Sunday. Even without talking about it, they were on the same page.
Except Adam had had Kris right there in front of him, panting and eager, and Adam hadn't even kissed him, hadn't offered to take Kris home himself. He'd given Kris a key and a pat on the head and asked him to follow at a discreet distance….
"I want to assure you that we're still considering this a criminal case. We're doing everything we can to find Mr. Lambert; we're working some other possible leads. But you should be aware that if this is part of some scheme to sell records, believe me, we will get to the bottom of it."
Her smile was long gone, and Kris didn't like what she'd been hiding underneath.
"And when we do, we'll be looking at pressing charges for conspiracy and filing false reports. And your name and Cale Mills's name are on that police report."
"I'm helping! I told you to find the photographer-"
"You've been very helpful in the investigation so far," she cut him off. "And we want that to continue. I encourage you to keep your eyes and ears open around Adam's business contacts and share with us anything that sounds suspicious." Or else, her scowl implied. "Here's my card again. Use it." Foltz stood up and reached for the envelopes. "Thank you for the fan mail. I'm sure it'll be a big help." She gestured toward the door, and he jumped at the chance to flee the interrogation room.
Five minutes later, Kris sat on a bench in the sunlight just outside the front doors trying to wrap his brain around what'd happened inside. He'd just been threatened by the FBI. Foltz was convinced Adam was hiding somewhere, deliberately making everyone think he'd been kidnapped. And she hadn't been impressed with Kris's motive for Adam sticking around. He couldn't fault her reasoning; if he didn't know Adam, he might be suspicious himself.
But he wasn't.
Because Kris knew everything that Adam had done or thought for the last two years. They talked about everything. From the messy fights that had marred Adam's relationship with Drake to the play by play on Kris's divorce negotiations with 19E. Kris knew Adam; knew him from the soles of his favorite boots to the feathers on his false eyelashes. There was no way Adam could have hidden anything that big from him.
Unless Kris hadn't wanted to see it.
And suddenly the familiar doubt crawled out of its blind spot and waved at Kris, reminding him of the gaping hole in their history, the root of all Kris's procrastination and worry. The one thing they'd never said a word about.
Kansas City.
It was hot on the stages, stifling on the buses, and beyond-suffocating outside. By the end of August, sweating had become a full-time occupation for the Idols. The transfers in the Midwest were twice as long as the East Coast, and the sleepless nights driving between cities in grinding, cramped quarters were wearing everyone down. Tempers were near boiling by the time they rolled into the Kansas City Sprint Center, and the only reason Matt and Mike didn't come to blows was the promise of a rare hotel night after.
The first thing Kris did when he got to his private room at the KC Ramada post-show was crank up the air conditioning and strip down to his boxers. He pushed and pulled the couch until it was directly under the air vent and sprawled out with a bottle of water from the mini-fridge, gasping out the heat and exhaustion of the summer, breathing in the gusts of cool, recirculated air.
Kris lay awake, staring at the ceiling, just enjoying the calm and the steadily dropping temperature for a good minute until someone knocked on the door. Reluctantly, he pried himself off the scratchy corduroy couch and lurched to the door, sweat still slick under his armpits.
"What's the password?" he asked, hand on the doorknob.
"Baby," Adam said loudly, just begging to be overheard by anyone in the hall, "I'm gonna lick every inch of your sweet Southern-"
Kris jerked the door open and stuck a mortified finger in Adam's face. "Don't say it!" A blush made his skin burn uncomfortably hotter, but he grinned anyway.
Adam slid his gaze down and up, eyes widening as he took in Kris's beat-the-heat-with-nudity strategy. "Wow. Uh, I was only joking about that…."
"Get in here," Kris laughed. He let Adam in and locked the door, throwing the deadbolt like security had reminded them to do every day since the tour kicked off. "Did you get it?"
Adam headed straight for the TV cabinet, pushed the sliding doors aside until the screen and DVD player were exposed. "Brad FedExed it to the front desk." He made a happy sound as he pulled a Season Two Robot Chicken DVD from its plastic case. "I keep asking myself what I did to deserve an ex this nice. Maybe it was all the rimming?"
Kris pictured Adam's tongue doing exactly that and quickly blinked the image away. He flopped down on the couch, only taking up half this time. "Less talking, more clucking."
"Bok bok bok," Adam obeyed, fiddling with the DVD tray. He sat down next to Kris and sagged against the pillows, groaning and throwing his arms out across the back of the couch, head tipped back, throat exposed. "Oh my god that AC feels good. Is this as cold as it goes?"
"Yeah."
"Nnrgh." Adam grabbed the neck of his t-shirt and pulled it up, then froze and mumbled, "You don't mind…." with the shirt half-off, covering his face.
Kris took a moment to remember how to move his mouth, transfixed by the sight of all that skin bronzed by the light of the side table lamp. Adam's arms sparkled, and a V of glitter pointed down from his throat where the vest costume had exposed his chest.
"Go ahead," Kris stammered. He blinked at the remote for a few flushed seconds before he figured out how to change the input and get the DVD menu up.
Adam spread out again-Kris could feel the brush of his forearm against the back of his head. He could smell Adam, too, the cologne he layered on to cover the stink of sweat and makeup and...ew, that was actually Adam's armpit right next to his head, and Adam definitely hadn't showered since getting off stage. Kris wrinkled his nose but relaxed a little, glad for the mood-killer. He'd been getting worked up way too easily around Adam lately. He pushed Play All and leaned his head back against Adam's arm.
By the end of the first episode, Kris was shivering, his core temperature finally dropped enough to feel the chill in the room. But getting a blanket-or even clothes-would be admitting defeat to the humid hell outside, so he stubbornly stayed on the couch. Adam was radiating warmth, and Kris gravitated toward him, shifting closer until Adam had an arm wrapped around his bare shoulders and Kris was half-leaning against his chest.
He was so tired from the last three nights on the bus with a broken air conditioning unit-too hot to sleep deeply, and then waking up from fever dreams with the sheets soaked through. Now he was finally cool, comfortable, but his eyes wouldn't shut. He wasn't actually watching the show anymore, letting his thoughts drift away from the action figures on the screen. It felt like he'd been touring for a lifetime already. Idols Live was almost done, just two weeks left: 12 more shows, and 12 more nights on the bus. This last week had been the most grueling yet; the good times were still good, but the hard parts kept getting harder, and picturing another two weeks made him even more exhausted.
Under his cheek, Adam was laughing, and his hand rubbed absently on Kris's upper arm, nails scritching the short hairs and raising goose bumps. Kris let the feeling take his mind off the exhaustion. He was supposed to call Katy…but Katy would only reassure him that it would be over soon; Adam could actually distract him-find him a party, track down copies of Kris's favorite movies, or just put an arm around him and endure the suffering with him. There was something about being near Adam-and not just the erections he hated telling Katy about-the comfort in the simplest touch, like the warmth and pleasant chills Adam was giving him right now….
As soon as he realized he was getting hard, Kris automatically moved to put space between them. He'd had to do that more and more often; between the harmless flirting and easy friendship, their bodies had developed a kind of unconscious magnetism, always pulling toward each other. Without even thinking about it, he put his hand down for leverage and pushed away, but Adam jerked under him, arm gripping suddenly tight around his shoulders, body going tense.
Because Kris's hand was…his hand was in Adam's lap, his palm pressing down on the hard cock straining under the zipper of Adam's tight jeans. Kris was groping Adam's cock, and he'd just meant to get a little space, to move away from Adam's overwhelming presence, but he was….
Adam's arm lifted off him and his hips squirmed. Kris couldn't tell if Adam was moving toward or away from his hand. Adam was hard-had been hard while Kris cuddled against him. And Kris was getting harder, and he still wasn't pulling off and away.
Kris looked up to make some sort of apology for his inexplicable behavior-he knew it wasn't fair to push Adam so far, not with the open crush Adam had on him-but Adam's eyes were huge in the flickering light of the TV, thin blue bands around wide pupils, breath coming a little ragged, and when Kris carefully eased his hand off, Adam gasped and stared at him like he couldn't help it-not the gasp or the staring.
And he'd done that, made Adam look at him that way. The intense wave of satisfaction at that sent a thrill through him. It was dizzying and empowering, the rush of mutual desire, and Kris leaned up and pressed his lips to Adam's, opened his mouth and breathed hot against Adam's cool lips. Adam kissed back, a cautious press of lips brushed side to side, nothing more. Kris twisted impatiently on the cushions for a better angle, managed it without pulling away, so he could lean against Adam properly and kiss him again. And then there were two hands on the back of his head, Adam holding him there, kissing him with open mouth and tongue, meeting him halfway, Adam making desperate, high-pitched noises in the back of his throat that Kris understood somewhere down low, felt that same yearning of "please, finally, please."
Heat licked into his mouth, warming him from the inside. A cold nose rubbed against his, and hot skin dragged under his chest, and he wasn't cold anymore, not anywhere. Kris clutched at Adam, hands sliding across his broad shoulders, nails scratching down Adam's chest, flaking off rough bits of glitter like sand after a day at the beach.
Adam was under him, and then over him, tipping Kris back against the cushions, mouth on his jaw, his ear, sucking and tugging on the lobe, and Kris gasped and writhed at the big hands that ran over his nipples and pinched until Adam's mouth could take over. He dragged his tongue across Kris's chest, licked at one nub and then the other, bit and sucked until Kris's back arched and he begged for Adam to move on. Adam obliged and slid further down the couch, his tongue trailing down the short hairs under his belly button, his hands holding Kris's hips down when he panted and tried to grind the air. And then Adam's fingers were on him, on his cock, and Kris didn't know where his boxers had gone, didn't miss them when Adam breathed over the tip of his cock and then swallowed him down.
He bucked and arched, cursed and grabbed for something to hold on to, found Adam's hand on his hip and tugged it up, desperate to smother the noises he was making. He sucked Adam's fingers into his mouth, bit and licked and sucked in counterpoint to Adam's mouth on his cock, Adam alternating teasing kisses and hard sucks, swirling his amazing tongue and humming, overloading Kris's synapses with pleasure. All the while, Adam fucked his mouth, pressed two fingers against Kris's tongue, rubbed them against the roof of his mouth, the insides of his teeth, half exploration, half mindless pushing. Kris held on to his wrist and groaned, thrusting his cock helplessly into Adam's mouth.
And then Adam took his hand away, rubbed one of those saliva-wet fingers just behind Kris's balls, making something throb inside, sweet and sharp, and he squirmed against it, up into Adam's mouth and back against the finger, feeling too hot, hotter than outside, even. His thighs were slippery with sweat against Adam's arms and he held on to the cushions for purchase.
Adam drew back, breathed deep and said, "Kris, I-I want you to-"
Kris's hips thrust again and he whimpered, "Adam," desperately, until Adam took the head of his cock back in his mouth, so wet, and dragged his finger back further, to a place that made Kris shiver, and then pressed inside, in and in and Kris didn't stop him, threw his head back and gasped his name, every muscle in his body contracting and tingling around that finger, against Adam's tongue and lips sucking him hard and tight.
He came apart with a shout, and Adam flicked his finger again, forced the aftershocks higher, fiercer for a long moment, licking his cock as it softened before taking his finger back despite Kris's body's best efforts to clutch that, too. Kris rode it out, eyes closed, listening to Adam breathe as he came down. Adam finally let his cock go, crawled over him and kissed him, sucking on Kris's tongue like it was another cock, as if Kris had any more to give. Kris groaned and bit his own tongue, rubbed his thumb behind Adam's ear and tugged at his hair, pleading wordlessly for a chance to breathe.
The Robot Chicken theme song was playing on the TV again and Kris reached his other arm up, groped for the remote control on the armrest behind him. Adam found it first, pressed it into Kris's palm and kissed his eyebrows, his temple, his cheek.
Kris found the power button without looking, got the damn TV to shut the hell up, and turned his head to find Adam's mouth again. Jeans scraped the insides of Kris's thighs and he groped at Adam's oversized belt buckle, helping Adam unclip it and get his jeans open, his pants shoved down below his hips. And then Kris sprawled back, got a knee hooked behind Adam's thigh and dragged him down to lie on him, nothing between them this time, Adam's leaking cock thrusting against Kris's pelvis.
Adam's neck arched, taking his lips away, so Kris followed, latching onto his throat, kissing and sucking to counterbalance the slip-rocking of their hips, the unpredictable spikes of electric pleasure as Adam ground against him. Adam was already shaking, moaning and panting-he wasn't going to last long. Kris sucked harder, wanting to take Adam into him-his blood, his sweat, his saliva-to somehow absorb Adam through his skin like holy oil or baptismal water.
Adam choked and froze, shuddering over him as his cock jerked and spattered hot over Kris's stomach. He braced his arms on either side of Kris's shoulders and gulped huge breaths like he'd just held the high note at the end of Starlight long after the rest of the music had cut out.
Kris stared up at Adam's face, naked and slack and achingly precious to him. Adam's cum was cooling on his stomach, and Kris slid a hand down, rubbed his fingers through it, feeling the lingering heat, the slick-stickiness. Awed, he brought his hand up to his mouth, but Adam caught his wrist and stopped him, dark eyes blinking heavily.
Kris wouldn't be denied.
When he leaned up to taste, Adam met him there, their tongues dueling between his fingers in a filthy and intimate kiss like nothing he'd ever experienced. It only intensified the irrational craving, the desperate desire to absorb, to possess, and Kris gripped Adam's hair with both hands and licked into his mouth, bit Adam's lips swollen and bruised, and held on until exhaustion loosened their limbs and they stumbled to the bed in each other's arms.
When he opened his eyes it was morning. Sunlight played through the blinds, painting vertical stripes on Adam's skin and hair. Kris blinked, focused on Adam's blue eyes, wide and watching with some expression he couldn't decipher. The bed was comfortable and warm, his bare arm freezing above the covers. He pulled his arm under the comforter and rubbed it against his stomach to warm it up. But he jolted a little more awake when his wrist brushed his bare cock and it all came back. The kisses. The couch. The blowjob and the cum and. Katy. And God.
And what had he done?
Kris bolted upright, his toes bumping against hairy legs under the sheets. He jerked his feet away, piled blankets in his lap to cover his nudity.
Adam sat up, too, and the look on his face mirrored what was on Kris's, because Adam's said "never again" with a vehemence that made Kris tremble.
Kris crawled backward off the bed and stumbled into the bathroom, fighting back tears of confusion and anger. He looked in the mirror and didn't even recognize himself. Because yesterday he'd been a man who loved his wife and God, a man who would never have broken his marital vows. Yesterday….
Today, he didn't know what kind of man he was.
He rang Katy's doorbell just past 6 p.m. after walking around for hours, trying to lose himself in the backstreets of Hollywood. She opened the door wearing a half-sleeved cashmere sweater and jeans, and he blinked, realizing he'd expected a sundress, flip-flops, loose blonde hair curling past her shoulders.
Those days-and that Katy-were far behind him now.
"Hey," she said, propping the screen door open with a knee. "You look terrible."
"You look good," he said and put his hand out to hold the door for her.
"Come on in. How're the folks?" she asked over her shoulder, heading for what used to be their kitchen.
"They're good. They seem happy. Aunt Jillian brought her whole family up, and Mom made enough food to feed an army."
"She loves a full house."
"That she does. How was Christmas with your folks?"
"Oh, same old. They complained about the smog and the traffic and the prices, but you just know they're gonna get back to Conway and brag all about the great time they had in Los Angeles."
He smiled. "Never happy, and always have to be the center of attention. I'd say it runs in the family, but you'd probably kill me."
"With a greasy frying pan," she agreed, jerking a thumb toward the pots and pans stacked in and around the sink.
Kris gaped. "Wow, I didn't even know we had that many dishes."
"I know. I've been staring at 'em for three days, hoping they'll magically wash themselves. If they're still there next week I'll probably end up hiring a cleaning service."
The two of them had been terrible about cleaning. His mother had always hoped he'd settle down with a sensible girl who would keep the house tidy, but he and Katy had been content to live like bachelors, washing their bowls as they needed them, out of the sink or the dishwashing machine they never ran. Being back here with Katy, in what used to be their home, it was almost as though they were still…not married, because they'd only been that for a couple years, but still together. And when she found someone new to share her life with, he hoped they'd still fit together just like this.
His smile turned nostalgic, and she saw it, leaned against the kitchen counter and bit her lip before asking, "Any news?"
The frustration and doubt came back to him in a rush. He sank down in his old chair at the table and shook his head. "They still don't know where he is or who took him. And now the FBI think it's all a stunt cooked up by the label, and that Adam's hiding out somewhere to collect on the publicity."
"Oh. No. No way, that is such a crock of shit." The ugly words jarred against her pretty mouth, another change since they'd moved to L.A.
"I know, but. Babe?" he held out his hand and she took it, sat in the chair next to him. "The things they have on him…. They're right; it looks bad. The way he set up the party, the way the label's handling the show…. If I didn't know him…."
"But you do," Katy reassured him.
"But what if I don't?"
"Kris, don't-"
"I keep going over and over it in my head; he would've told me, you know? He wouldn't have let me worry like this. But then I end up back in Kansas City, and I never asked his forgiveness. I never even apologized for it. I just used him and then rejected him, and what if he's never forgiven me?"
"He wouldn't've stayed your friend if he hadn't."
"But what if-"
"If you'd just talked to him about this," she sighed, her impatience rising to the surface. "How many times did I tell you?"
"I know…."
"At this rate, the two of you are gonna need more couples counseling than we did."
He almost managed to laugh, because he didn't deserve how much Katy was pulling for him-for them. She was still his best friend even after the way he'd let her down, been unable to fall out of love with Adam despite months of trying.
She got up and pulled two beers from the fridge, brought them to the table and let him uncap each bottle with his bare hands. "Alright. Give me specifics. What's the FBI have on him that's so bad it's got your head screwed on wrong?"
So he told her. He laid out all the facts for her, like he'd always done when something was wrong. Like he'd done that morning in Kansas City, called and told his wife of less than a year that he'd cheated on her, listened to her heart break from across the country, matching his own. This time, at least, he wasn't hurting her.
"She's completely wrong," Katy said when he'd finished, dismissing Foltz with a wave of her hand.
"That's what I told her."
"You obviously don't buy any of that bull. So what is it? There's something else that's got you worked up."
That was the question he'd spent the whole afternoon working on. But he had an answer now. "It's everything with the label. They're completely changing Adam's show."
"I thought it was cancelled."
"No, I…. It's important to Adam so I…volunteered to perform. They're bringing in Allison and some of the other Idols and we're gonna cover Adam's songs…. What?"
Her eyes had gone wide. "Oh my God, Kris. You're gonna do Adam's show?"
He shrugged, "I just couldn't let them cancel it."
"Oh my God, that's so romantic. You don't even know…." She fluttered an apologetic hand in front of her face and wiped at her suddenly wet eyes. "I'm sorry. That's just. You know how I am."
"Yeah," he agreed, used to it after six years dating her. Katy was such a sap.
"Okay, I'm sorry, go on."
He sighed. "So we're doing the show, but 19E's turning it into an A-list event, with the Beckhams and a red carpet and everything. They're calling it a 'vigil' so the fan club won't demand refunds, but really it's just about next year's profits. At this point, they're not even interested in getting Adam back in time; they've got a bigger plan all worked out."
Katy made a growling sound. "I can't wait 'til your contract is up, and we can get you away from those backstabbing bastards."
Kris nodded and pressed on. "So Foltz's theory-that 19 could have planned something like this-I can kinda see that. As long as Adam's back and performing next year, they're gonna rake it in. And there's been no ransom demand, so the kidnappers have to be planning to get their money from somewhere else. 19E…it makes sense."
"No," Katy said firmly, "it doesn't. Because they'd need Adam to go along with it, and he wouldn't. He would never do that to his fans; he treats them like gold. And he wouldn't do that to you."
"I believe that, I do, but then all the other stuff gets so loud, and I can't think straight."
"Hush. You know Adam wouldn't be a part of anything like that. Just hold onto that fact, and everything else is just a bunch of lame theories the FBI made up. They don't have any proof-that's why they want you to do the investigating, to dig up something they can actually use. And that's not gonna work, because 19E can't be responsible for this."
It sounded so convincing when she put it that way.
"Ignore everything Foltz said, because she's obviously missing something."
"Like where Adam is."
"Right. Bitch is barking up the wrong tree. There's been no ransom demand; if no one's asked for a ransom, then they took Adam 'cause he's all they wanted."
Kris's shoulders tensed up at the thought of Leila Lambert's obsessed-fan theory.
"Or they're after 19E's reward money," she added.
He shook his head. "19E wasn't even gonna- I mean, I don't think they were. I offered my own reward and Robert said I'd backed them into a corner where they had to offer one…."
"No, they've got insurance that covers rewards; I remember it from your label contract."
Kris could suddenly picture the very clause in his head. He'd read that thing cover to cover before he signed it, and he was ashamed to admit it had been the last of his contracts he'd bothered even glancing at. "Then why the hell'd he give me such a hard time about it yesterday?"
Katy sipped her beer and considered for a long moment. "You were stealing their spotlight?"
"Hmm. Maybe," Kris said, getting confused all over again. Why would his label deliberately jerk his chain about something like that?
"Hey, when's the last time you ate? And before you say it, no, that beer in your hand doesn't count."
Kris picked at the label on the bottle and didn't meet her eyes.
"Okay then," she announced, standing up. "You're staying for dinner. I'm gonna heat up some of my mom's leftovers. You thought you'd escaped the O'Connell Christmas dinner this year; ah ah, not so fast. We've got," she pulled open the door to the fridge, "honey-glazed carrots and parsnips, green beans with rosemary and thyme, her famous mashed sweet potatoes, and some rack of lamb." She loaded her arms with Tupperware and dumped it all on the countertop. "And for dessert, blueberry pie."
Kris's stomach growled and he came closer to the counter, trying to smell the plastic-sealed food. "I love your mom's pie."
She smiled and pulled a big metal serving spoon out of the drawer. "I'm gonna make you a plate, and I'm not letting you leave until you've eaten the whole thing."
"Thanks," he said, knowing it was inadequate to cover all the things she did for him. He walked around the island and pulled her into a tight hug, her small body feeling stronger and more stable than his own. "Thanks so much."
"Don't get used to this," she said, slapping his ass so he took a step back. "I'm just fattening you up so Adam has something worth squeezing when he gets home."
Kris blushed faintly.
"Now, you sit down and start brainstorming who-besides your label-could benefit by taking Adam."
It didn't feel like they made any progress in the 10 minutes it took to reheat everything, and then Kris was so hungry he didn't bother talking while he ate. Katy picked at her green beans and made a moat with her potatoes and gravy until Kris looked up, halfway done, and noticed.
"Not hungry?"
"I'm kind of burned out on leftovers," she said, but Kris could tell that wasn't it.
"I'll make you a sandwich…."
"No thanks. I'm just." She rubbed her palms over her bare forearms.
His heart twisted painfully. "It gets to you," he said quietly.
She nodded. "Now that you're here, it's all I can think about. I'm really, really worried about him."
Kris put down his fork and closed his eyes. "We have to have faith."
"Yes."
Katy's hand reached out for his, and he bowed his head, let the prayers in his heart lift up to God.
Even after they'd given up on their dinners, he couldn't bring himself to leave. He tried tackling the dishes, but it was an unwinnable battle against the solidified grease and baked-on sauces. He finally threw in the towel and told Katy her manicurist would never forgive her if she didn't hire a cleaning service.
He hung around the living room for a while, distracting himself by playing what's-wrong-with-this-picture, trying to identify all the things that had changed in the room since he'd moved out two months ago. It didn't hurt like he'd expected; it actually felt good to know that Katy was moving on, continuing her life just like he was. He'd sat down at his piano and was running his fingers over the keys when Katy came in, her face freshly washed, and sat next to him on the bench.
"So tell me about the show. What're you doing?"
"You mean aside from being 19E's performing monkey?"
"Yes. Besides that."
"I'm supposed to perform some of Adam's songs. We split them up between the four of us; Vanessa made sure I got first dibs."
"Which ones did you pick?"
"Guess."
She rose to the challenge. "Music Again."
He shook his head.
"Aftermath."
"That's one," he smiled.
"Mad World."
"Good thought, but no."
She got a wicked twinkle in her eyes. "Strut."
He snorted, "No."
"For Your Entertainment."
"God, no!"
Katy smiled evilly. "No Boundaries?"
"Just stop," he protested, "I'll tell you."
She smirked.
His fingers slotted into position for a D Major chord and he pumped the right pedal, feeling the confidence he always found at a piano. "Aftermath. Whataya Want from Me. Time for Miracles. Can't Let You Go."
He held his breath, but her expression melted, going all dreamy. "That's good."
"Yeah? I mean, I have to work out some arrangements, 'cause I can't sing them in Adam's range, but…."
"No, it's great."
"I tried to think what I would wanna say to him right now, wherever he is."
Katy smiled at him for a long, gentle moment. And then she blinked a few times and looked down at the piano keys, "Do you wanna do that here? She's missed you, you know."
He caressed the keys and repositioned for A minor. "If it wouldn't bother you?"
"Nah." She leaned in and kissed his cheek and left him there to work.
He was tapping his feet to the track playing on Katy's iPod when his cell phone vibrated across the glossy black piano lid.
It was his agent's number, and he picked it up reluctantly.
"Hey, Vanessa."
"Hey, honey. Have you been watching the news?"
"No, why?" he asked, heart suddenly leaping into his throat.
"Robert did the press conference about the show. I wanted to let you know that everything's going great-all the channels are carrying it, and public reaction's been really positive."
"Oh."
"So it's time to get moving on rehearsals. You're meeting with Adam's band on Thursday, so you only have one day to work on those new arrangements."
"I'm already-"
She continued on like she wasn't listening. "We've got everybody's picks now and we're almost settled on that, except-and I can't believe I was wrong about this, but-you're not the only one who wants Time for Miracles. Carrie Underwood sounds ready to cut a bitch to perform that song. She thinks she can make it the next How Do I Live or something. So if you'll take Sleepwalker or Music Again, I'll let her know so she can start practicing, too."
There was no way he was giving up that song to anybody else. "No."
"Honey, come on. She's country's female vocalist of the year for three years running; I think she'll do it justice. Let her have it and we can put something faster in the mix."
"I said no, and I meant it," he snapped. "Carrie Underwood can go hang."
"Rrgh," she groaned. "Fine. Don't be surprised if she poisons your water backstage."
"I'll take my chances."
"Anyway, we have to pad out the show for another 45 minutes. Adam had a whole bunch of covers rehearsed, so I'll email you the set list and you pick a couple. And his band's gonna learn one new song for each of you, so you can do one of your singles. I already put you down for Live Like We're Dying. It's a little faster, and…honestly, it was either that or The Truth, and I can't even tell you how inappropriate that would be."
We gotta tell 'em that we love 'em while we got the chance to say…. Kris's throat closed up. "That's fine, that's the right one," he choked.
"I figured; it fits into your whole 'coming out, love confessional' theme," she said, and he could hear the rolling eyes in her snippy tone.
"Vanessa," he said, belatedly worried that he'd pushed her too far, "you're okay with this, right?"
"Don't even sound like that," she tutted. "I'm sorry about earlier; you just surprised me, that's all. And you're gonna be okay as far as 19E, too. I did some digging-okay, Mechelle did the digging. That girl's amazing. I told you she was wasted driving you around and organizing your schedule-"
"No," he corrected her, "you told me I couldn't have attractive girls working for me in the middle of a divorce."
"Well. That, too. Anyway, she got one of the accountants to dish about what it would've cost them to cancel the show. Whether they're in the red or not, 19E would've been paying way more if you hadn't stepped up with this idea. If they ever give you a hard time about coming out, we can throw this in their faces."
His shoulders relaxed and he breathed a little easier. Going to war with his label was not something he ever wanted to do again.
"It'd be better if we cleared it with them first, though; give them some advance notice so they can plan the media response. Maybe work out something like we did with the divorce."
Kris's optimism fell flat on its face. "And end up missing the spring tours, too," he guessed.
"No way," Vanessa said forcefully. "I won't let that happen. Just…maybe do the talk show circuit for a few weeks, give the right interviews to the right reporters…. As long as you're not throwing it in everybody's faces all the time, they can probably cope."
Those actually sounded like compromises he could live with. But. "I already told the FBI," he warned her, in case he'd maybe shot her efforts in the foot already.
There was a beat of silence. "You told the FBI? That you're gay for Adam?"
"Yeah."
She took a deep breath. "Okay, okay, there's a good chance that'll stay confidential. Who'd you tell?-I'll make a phone call, try to make sure it doesn't leak out."
"Agent Foltz. I have her card-"
"Good. Women are way more sympathetic about this kind of thing."
"You haven't met this one."
He gave her Diana Foltz's phone number and hung up, then noticed Katy standing in the doorway.
"Everything alright?" she asked.
"Yeah. Vanessa's taking care of 19E for me." He looked at the scribbled arrangement notes he'd made on a collection of napkins and played through the transposed opening chords of Can't Let You Go, not meaning to ignore Katy, just needing that connection with Adam all of a sudden. Because something felt wrong, like an earthquake under him, and he couldn't put his finger on the source.
"How's it coming?" Her frown was sympathetic when he looked up, like she thought that's what was troubling him.
Kris turned around on the bench, putting his back to the keys. "It's fine. I'm just…. Vanessa said something and it's got me thinking," he realized.
"Yeah?"
"She said I'm saving 19E money, 'cause they would've lost a fortune if the show were canceled."
"Sure, all that money down the drain," Katy nodded.
"It didn't sound like that." He rubbed his thumb between his eyebrows. "Robert mentioned a penalty clause yesterday."
"Penalty clause?" She sounded slightly alarmed.
"It's nothing bad." The few business courses Kris had bothered attending in college came back in a cloudy fog, along with a few lingering self-doubts. If he hadn't been so stupidly idealistic and dropped out to make music, if he'd actually stuck it out and gotten that degree, maybe he wouldn't have to rely so heavily on Vanessa to handle his music contracts. He concentrated, tried to remember the right vocabulary. "Whoever forfeits the contract has to…indemnify, yeah. They have to repay the other party for the inconvenience and lost opportunity for revenue. So it's a question of who 19E would have to pay if the show got canceled."
"All the performers, right? Adam and his band, the dancers…"
"That's part of 19's contract with Adam. But I think Robert was talking about the venue contract. If 19E canceled the contract with the venue, The Crystal Club would get the penalty clause payout." Kris got up and paced around the room, unable to hold still now that he could see a bigger picture.
"Which is a lot?"
"It could be. It definitely puts them in a position of power over the label."
"So the club gets paid just because Adam disappears?"
"Yeah. Legally."
"Then they wouldn't need a ransom," Katy said.
"Yeah, that's just business. Nobody would question it."
"But why wouldn't they want the concert to go on? They'd make more money putting on the show."
"Maybe not. I've met 19E's top shark-Ted's brutal in negotiations. Maybe they could've gotten more money off somebody else's event, or off their own. Hell, it's New Year's Eve; they could probably throw a party with a DJ or something, charge a fortune at the door and make a ton of cash."
"Plus the penalty money," she realized.
"Yeah."
"So they could…they could kidnap Adam to make sure the concert got canceled, and collect their money legally. That sounds crazy."
Kris pursed his lips. "It could work. But 19E are too tight-assed to give away money like that."
"And you single-handedly saved the show."
He ducked his head, not ready to accept that much credit. Robert was a smart guy-he'd probably have thought of a way to keep the event alive with or without Kris.
"You're gonna tell the FBI right?"
"It's just a theory," he hedged, despite the adrenaline surging under his skin.
"But it's the only good one we've had. You have to call them."
"Yeah," Kris agreed. He didn't care if it was after 11 p.m. If this was the right lead, the FBI needed to know about it as soon as possible. He fished Foltz's card out of his pocket again and dropped it on the piano, along with the plastic hotel key.
"What's that?"
He froze.
As a rule, Kris didn't lie to Katy. He never had: not when they were dating, not when they were married, not even after the divorce. All through counseling, he'd told her whenever he felt tempted by Adam again. And that was how they'd finally determined there was no moving past it. Not when he couldn't stop wanting him. They both knew she deserved better than that.
So she'd become his best friend instead of his wife, head cheerleader in his pursuit of Adam. But as supportive as she was in theory, he didn't think it was fair to force the details of their hookup on her. He didn't know what that would do to her.
He quickly shoved the key back in his pants and cursed himself for still carrying it around. "Nothing." Flushed with guilt, he dialed the number before Katy could ask again.
The phone rang four times and then forwarded to voice mail. "She's not answering," he whispered to Katy.
"Why not?" she demanded, impatient.
After the beep, Kris laid it all out: "Hi, Agent Foltz, this is Kris Allen. I did some thinking like you asked, and I think you should look at the owner of The Crystal Club. There's a clause in his contract where he gets a big payout if the show gets canceled." He suddenly paused, realizing the crucial flaw in his reasoning. "Um. Not that I've seen the contract or anything. So you should probably check that that's right."
He covered the receiver and mouthed 'shit' at Katy. She made urgent shooing motions back at him.
"But, uh, if he does get a big payout, I think it might be him: the bad guy. Um. That's it, good night."
He hung up and buried his face in his palm. "Could I have sounded any more stupid?" he moaned.
Katy rubbed a hand on his back. "I've heard you worse. Come on. I'll cut you some pie."
Wednesday
"Wake up! Kris, wake up! They found him! Wake up!"
Kris sat up on Katy's sofa and blinked in the darkness. She was tugging on his shoulder, it was still dark out, and she'd said- "What?"
He could hear sounds from the bedroom down the hall, the TV she couldn't sleep without. Katy was poking around his feet and legs, yanking the tangled blanket off. She was hunting for the remote, he realized, and scooped it up off the floor, turned the TV on and flipped straight to CNN.
The images on the screen were blurry-or maybe that was Kris's eyes reacting to the sudden light in the room-but CNN was airing footage of someone with black hair, wrapped in a blanket, being helped out of an ambulance. The news scroll at the bottom of the screen announced that pop superstar Adam Lambert, kidnapped two nights ago outside a bar downtown, had been found less than an hour ago in Pasadena. The FBI weren't releasing any details yet, but Lambert had been taken to the hospital.
"Oh thank God," he gasped, leaning his head against Katy's hip. She reached for his hand and squeezed it. "Is he okay?"
"I don't know; I woke you up as soon as I saw him."
The clock in the top right corner of the screen said it was just past 4 a.m., and the morning announcers were calling it a Christmas miracle, talking about the New Year's Eve vigil Adam's fans had planned and wondering if all those prayers had something to do with his speedy rescue. But they didn't have any actual news, like how Adam was, who had held him, how they'd found him, or where they'd taken him.
"I have to get to the hospital," Kris announced.
Katy nodded and squeezed his hand again. "Which one?"
There were at least a dozen options. He hesitated a moment and then said, "I'll call Donald." It wouldn't be the first time he'd called Adam's agent in the middle of the night, but hopefully it would be the last.
Donald didn't sound tired when he answered this time. He didn't even sound surprised. "Allen. I guess you heard?"
"Yeah, is he okay? Where is he?"
"He's alright. They took him to Ronald Reagan to check him out, but there's nothing to worry about, he seems fine."
Kris knew better than to believe Donald's spin. "Okay, I'm heading over there now. Should I call his mom? Does she need a ride-"
"I sent a car for her already. Allen, the hospital's for family only-"
Kris hung up and dug under the couch for his shoes.
Part IV