Daddy's Angel (Montana Daddies 7)

“I don’t know what the problem is here!” Larry yelled as he paced up and down the room. “I made a call and I stick by it. Arianna’s fans deserved to know what happened last night.”

“You don’t know that the fire had anything to do with Arianna.” Dominic was standing across the far end of the room, his arms folded over his chest as he glared at Larry. “And you had no right to talk to the press about those threats. Especially when you didn’t even show us this latest threat first.”

“Oh, so your nose is out of joint because I didn’t come to you first,” Larry sneered. “Or is it because last night just highlighted how incompetent you are! How did you miss whoever set that fire last night? How did that get past your security measures?”

Dominic’s scowl deepened.

“Larry!” she snapped.

He whirled around. “Arianna, darling! There you are! Where have you been?” Larry waved his hand. “That doesn’t matter. Amazing news! Your song sales are through the roof. I’ve had so many calls from people wanting to do interviews with you. Talk show hosts. Don’t worry, I’ll only choose a couple. I know how much you dislike doing that sort of thing. But this is an amazing opportunity, darling.”

Arianna just gaped at him.

“You’re fucking kidding me!” Bain snapped.

She turned to look at him, shocked by the fury in his face.

“You’re happy about the publicity she’s getting because of these threats? Do you not understand that she could be in danger?” Bain demanded.

Larry glared at him. “Arianna needs this. Her sales have been dropping. If she wants to continue making money, we need the publicity.”

“This is a publicity stunt. Was there even another threat?” Bain asked suspiciously.

“Yes! Of course, there is. Do you seriously think I’d make up a threat?” Larry glared at him.

“Where is it?” Bain demanded.

“Here.” Larry pulled a piece of paper from his pocket.

“You’re carrying it around in your fucking pocket?” Bain snapped. “What about fingerprints? Where is the envelope? When did you receive this?”

“It was in Arianna’s dressing room at the venue,” Larry said.

“You got it this morning?” Bain asked.

“Yes. The police let me in early this morning. I thought it was fan mail. Opened it up in my car. The envelope got thrown in a trash can, I’m afraid.”

And he’d immediately contacted the press to arrange an interview.

Bain scowled as he read the note. “Fucking brazen bastard putting it in your dressing room.”

“I’ll get onto the venue to see if we can get hold of any footage of who entered Arianna’s dressing room.” Dominic pointed at Larry. “We warned you not to do this.”

Larry sneered. “I don’t take orders from you.”

“What does it say?” she whispered.

He showed her the note, watching her carefully.

Hello my little songbird. Soon you won’t sing so sweet. When we die everything goes to ash. And so will you.

“E-everything goes to ash? So he set the fire? It was my fault?”

Bain frowned. “Definitely not your fucking fault. Get that out of your mind now.”

“If I hadn’t done the concert. . .” She felt ill.

“Not your fault. His.” Bain glared at Larry. “And this should have gone to the cops straight away. They’ll be pissed.” They’d insisted Arianna give the other notes to the police soon after they’d arrived for this job.