Taylor continued rehearsing until eleven-thirty in the morning.
Eventually, she stopped, breathing heavily.
The dancers began to disperse.
Ethan and Megan approached carrying the food they had ordered for everyone.
—Thanks.
Taylor took a bottle of water from Megan, drank several sips, and then looked at the food Ethan was offering her.
She immediately remembered what had happened the night before. At first, that man had not even wanted to pour her a glass of whiskey.
Now he was personally bringing her food.
—Give it to Megan.
Taylor pointed to the bag.
—That's not part of your job.
Ethan smiled and extended his hand again.
—I don't usually wait on anyone like this, so take advantage of it. Take it.
—Hmm... thanks.
Taylor finally accepted the food. She sat cross-legged directly on the stage.
After a few bites, she looked up.
—So, what did you think?
Taylor speared a piece of grilled chicken with her fork.
She looked at Ethan, who had sat down nearby.
—It looks good. It'll be a great show —Ethan commented as he looked out over the enormous empty stands of Soldier Field.
Even though the concert was still hours away, dozens of technicians were moving around the stage. Some checked the lights and giant screens, while others dragged cables or tested instruments. Even empty, the stadium was impressive.
Taylor set her fork down on her plate and studied him with interest.
—I'm curious. I know you're not a fan, so I want an honest opinion —she said, pointing to the phone Ethan had left on the table—. Do you like my music?
Ethan took a moment before answering.
—The songs I heard are good. Not bad.
He gave her a thumbs-up.
—Good music.
Taylor raised an eyebrow.
—Just good?
Before he could say anything else, Megan cut in indignantly.
—That single went five-times platinum! —she exclaimed—. What the hell does a song have to do for you to consider it really good?
—Hey, relax.
Ethan raised both hands as though trying to calm down someone holding a weapon.
—I don't even know what five-times platinum means. But I said I liked it, didn't I?
—It means it sold millions of copies —Megan explained—. Millions.
—That proves it's popular. It doesn't mean I have to drop to my knees every time I hear it.
Taylor covered her mouth with the napkin to hide a smile.
—Megan, leave him alone. I asked him to be honest.
—Fine, but somebody had to explain the seriousness of his ignorance.
Ethan shook his head.
—Now I understand why some fans were looking at me like they wanted to kill me.
—You haven't seen anything yet —Megan warned.
Taylor finished wiping her lips and leaned slightly toward him.
—Now I want to know too.
—Know what?
—What you consider a song worth dropping to your knees for.
Most people capable of reaching the top of an industry shared at least one trait: they were competitive. Taylor was no exception. She could accept that someone was not a fan of hers, but she wanted to understand what a song had to offer to impress a man like Ethan.
He caught the challenge in her eyes and sighed.
—All right, but first I'm making it clear that this is just my opinion. I'm not a critic, producer, or music expert.
Taylor gestured for him to continue.
—I'm listening.
Ethan rested his forearms on the table.
—Yesterday —Ethan replied without needing to think about it.
Taylor blinked.
—The Beatles?
—Exactly. It's my favorite song of all time. I've always been a huge Paul McCartney fan.
Ethan leaned back slightly in his chair as he thought of other choices.
—Billie Jean is also one of my favorites. Although if we move away from pop and into something heavier, I'm a Black Sabbath fan.
Taylor raised an eyebrow, surprised by the combination.
—The Beatles, Michael Jackson, and Black Sabbath.
—I never said I had simple taste.
—You picked one of the most famous songs in history —Megan pointed out—. You didn't exactly take much of a risk.
—You asked what I consider good music, not what obscure song I can brag about knowing.
Megan opened her mouth to respond, but Taylor raised a hand to stop her.
Taylor fell silent, now giving him her full attention.
—What else?
—Hotel California, Dream On, House of the Rising Sun, Paint It Black... That kind of music.
—Classic rock —she deduced.
—Mostly.
Megan took a sip of coffee.
—That explains a lot. Musically, he's trapped several decades in the past.
—Good things don't stop being good just because they get old.
Taylor rested an elbow on the table.
—So, to impress you, a song has to still be played thirty years from now.
—That would help.
—And you don't think any of mine could pull that off?
—I've only heard a few. It would be ridiculous to judge your entire career based on that.
—But you've heard some now —Megan insisted—. So judge them.
Ethan raised his hands again.
—I'm not going to win this argument, am I? —Ethan asked.
—No —Taylor and Megan replied at the same time.
Ethan laughed and raised his hands in surrender.
—Fine. The song is catchy, well written, and I understand why so many people like it. But ask me in thirty years if I still remember it.
Megan stared at him as though he had just committed an unforgivable crime. Taylor, on the other hand, held his gaze for several seconds before smiling.
—Challenge accepted.
—It wasn't a challenge.
—It is now.
Ethan shook his head and looked back out over the stands of Soldier Field.
—That competitiveness must be exhausting.
—It's also the reason I can fill all of this —Taylor replied proudly, gesturing toward the tens of thousands of seats surrounding the stage.
Ethan swept his gaze across the stadium. In a few hours, every one of those seats would be occupied, and the entire place would shake with the screams of the fans.
—Fair point —he admitted.
Megan leaned toward him.
—Does that mean she finally managed to impress you?
Ethan looked at Taylor.
—Your drive and dedication impress me. And I never said your songs were bad. In fact, I think they're very good.
Taylor raised an eyebrow.
—That almost sounded like a compliment.
—It was.
—You're going to have to work on how you give them.
Ethan shrugged.
—I already warned you I'm not a music critic.
Taylor smiled and picked up her glass.
—Either way, even with the experience I have now, I wouldn't try to compare myself to Sir Paul McCartney. Much less the version of me who wrote that song at nineteen.
Ethan blinked and slowly turned his head toward her.
—Wait... you know him?
Taylor looked at him, trying to decide whether he was joking again. Megan, on the other hand, rolled her eyes.
—Yes, Ethan —Taylor replied—. I've met Sir Paul McCartney personally. In fact, you could say we're friends.
—What the hell?
Ethan's eyes widened. He straightened in his seat, and all of his casual attitude disappeared.
For the first time since meeting him, Taylor saw him genuinely impressed.
She nodded with obvious satisfaction.
Finally, she had gotten a reaction.
—I'm not lying.
Ethan leaned forward and rested his arms on his legs.
—Tell me something...
He rubbed his hands together as an eager smile appeared on his face.
—Is there any chance you could get me an autograph?
Taylor's satisfaction disappeared.
—An autograph?
—And if you could help me get a picture with him, that would be even better.
Ethan raised one finger as if he had just come up with a brilliant idea.
—If you get me both, I'll do this job for free.
Taylor stared at him in silence.
She had offered him a hundred thousand dollars without managing to spark his interest, yet simply mentioning Paul McCartney was enough to make him willing to give up all the money.
—You're an idiot...
She rolled her eyes, pushed herself up with one hand, and started walking toward the back of the stage.
Megan covered her mouth, trying to hold back her laughter.
—Hey, don't leave! —Ethan exclaimed as he quickly got up to follow her—. We can negotiate.
Taylor kept walking without looking back.
—There's nothing to negotiate.
—I'm not ruling out throwing in some money on top of working for free.
That only made her angrier.
—Taylor! —Ethan insisted, quickening his pace—. I'm talking about Paul McCartney. Be reasonable.
—You're supposed to be the one following my orders.
—Only when it comes to your safety.
Ethan looked to Megan for help, but she could no longer contain herself and started laughing. With no other option, he adjusted his sunglasses and followed Taylor toward the back of the stage.
She was a global superstar.
Millions of people would pay absurd amounts of money just to meet her. And that bastard was willing to offer extra money just to get a picture with someone else.
—We still have rehearsal this afternoon.
Taylor reached the rest area.
Megan went in behind her.
Taylor slammed the door to her private lounge shut.
Her voice could still be heard from inside.
—Don't bother me. I need to rest.
The door remained closed in Ethan's face.
He scratched his head helplessly. He had no choice but to sit in a chair beside the entrance to the private lounge and continue doing his job.
More than twenty minutes passed.
Ethan was occupied with his phone when, suddenly, he raised his head.
His expression changed.
The radar showed numerous glowing points within his detection range.
That was normal.
There were dozens of people working inside Soldier Field.
But behind him there were only two glowing points.
Parallel to each other.
Megan.
Taylor.
Ethan narrowed his eyes. While he had been looking at his phone, one of those points had changed.
The arrow indicating movement disappeared. The point had gone completely still.
And judging by the distance...
It was inside the room.
Ethan stood up immediately.
—Shit.
He turned toward the door.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
He pounded on it hard.
—Megan!
There was no response.
He knocked again.
—Megan, open the door!
The pounding on the door continued.
Ethan was starting to get desperate.
He couldn't simply kick it down. If he did, there would be no reasonable way to explain how the hell he knew someone had slipped into the private lounge.
Fortunately, as soon as the pounding started, the unknown glowing point stopped moving toward Taylor.
It quickly shifted to one side.
And stopped.
—What are you doing?
Megan's exasperated voice came from inside.
—All this over a picture with an old man?
—Open the door!
Ethan gave no explanation.
He kept pounding.
—What the hell?!
The door finally opened.
Megan appeared in front of him wearing pajamas and looking visibly furious.
Even as Taylor's personal bodyguard, there were limits.
He couldn't interrupt her rest and barge into her private spaces whenever he felt like it.
—Move.
Ethan pushed past her and strode inside.
—Hey!
The interior was fairly spacious.
Near the entrance was a vanity, and beside it, a large sofa.
A blanket hung over one end.
Megan must have been resting there only seconds earlier.
Farther inside was a large bed. Taylor was lying on it and had just pushed her sleep mask up onto her forehead.
Like Megan, she wore an expression of complete irritation.
She hated being disturbed while she rested.
And to make matters worse, a man had just barged into one of her most private spaces without permission. Taylor quickly sat up and pulled the white comforter up over her chest.
—Ethan, what the hell are you doing in here?
Her voice was cold.
—I hope you have a damn good explanation.
Megan slammed the door shut behind them.
She clenched her teeth.
—What the hell are you trying to do?
—It's this.
Ethan approached slowly.
—The department found some leads on your stalker.
Taylor frowned.
—Can't it wait until I'm done resting?
She was about to continue, but something in Ethan's expression stopped her. The relaxed, amused attitude he had shown only moments earlier was gone.
Now he was staring intently toward the back of the lounge.
Without taking his eyes off it, he slowly raised one finger to his lips.
Silence.
—Be careful —he whispered.
His right hand dropped toward his waist.
He drew his weapon.
With his left hand, Ethan made a quick gesture for them to move back.
Those signals immediately erased every trace of anger from Taylor's face.
Fear took its place.
Without caring what she was wearing, she threw aside the comforter, climbed out of bed, and hurried to take cover beside Megan behind the sofa.
At the back of the lounge were several wardrobes and numerous clothing racks covered with the colorful outfits used during performances. The unknown point on his radar remained motionless behind one of them.
Ethan advanced slowly, keeping his weapon close to his body as his eyes swept over every corner. As he drew closer, he slid one foot beneath a chair and kicked it to the side.
Clang!
The chair spun across the floor and crashed into a corner. The noise shattered the silence.
A dark-clad figure burst out from behind the clothing racks and ran desperately toward a window at the back.
Ethan reacted instantly.
He lunged after him and closed the distance in only a few strides. Just as the stranger was about to reach the window, Ethan grabbed him from behind and tackled him.
Both men crashed violently to the floor.
Crash!
Several clothing racks collapsed with them. Dresses, jackets, and expensive performance outfits spilled everywhere, while some of the metal supports bent under the impact.
The intruder reacted quickly and drove an elbow toward Ethan's face. Ethan deflected it with his forearm and answered with a sharp strike that forced the man to curl inward.
Taking advantage of the opening, Ethan climbed on top of him, twisted one arm behind his back, and pinned him against the floor.
The stranger continued struggling.
Ethan raised his knee and drove it hard into his side.
—Ah!
The man cried out, his body contracting in pain.
—Don't fucking move!
Ethan pressed the barrel of the Beretta against his cheek.
—Do you want to die?
—Don't shoot!
The stranger stopped resisting immediately. Despite the pain, he quickly shook his head and kept his hands visible.
Ethan had already confirmed that he apparently wasn't carrying a weapon.
Besides, firing inside that room would have created a much bigger problem for Taylor.
Otherwise, he could have ended things much faster.
He shifted position and kept the man pinned against the floor.
With his free hand, he pulled out a pair of handcuffs.
Click.
Click.
He closed them around the man's wrists with practiced movements.
Only then did Ethan ease the pressure slightly.
He turned his head.
Taylor remained curled up on the sofa. Her arms were wrapped around her legs, her eyes wide open as she watched the scene.
She seemed to have forgotten how to breathe.
Ethan holstered his weapon.
Then he grabbed the intruder by the back of the head and glanced toward the clothes that had fallen nearby.
Taylor took a moment to understand.
Then she suddenly seemed to remember what she was wearing.
She quickly stood and grabbed one of the nearby garments to cover herself.
—I'm Ethan.
He had already looked away.
He pulled out his phone and dialed a number.
—We got him. He's at Soldier Field. Get here as soon as you can.
—All right.
Hank's reply was brief.
The call ended.
Ethan looked back at the handcuffed man.
—Being a fan is one thing.
He slapped the back of his head.
—But did you have to be such a goddamn sick stalker?
The man didn't answer.
He only groaned.
—You broke my ribs...
Ethan ignored the complaint and started searching him.
He searched the intruder quickly.
Pockets.
Waist.
Inside the jacket.
A few seconds later, his fingers found something: a folded envelope.
He pulled it out, opened it with one hand, and examined the contents. His expression changed immediately.
The letter had been made exactly like the previous threats, with words cut from magazines and newspapers and carefully pasted together.
Ethan slowly let out a breath.
They had him.