Concerto

By Kerry Share

Elissa Quinn is on the cusp of greatness as a violinist, with an international following and a lucrative career ahead of her. But when she starts receiving creepy letters at her Minneapolis apartment, her world is turned upside down. Too afraid to be alone, she hires bodyguard Noah Kahale to protect her.

Noah is no stranger to dealing with difficult divas, but Elissa is different. He's drawn to her talent and her passion, but their constant companionship starts to wear on them both. As the stalker's threats escalate and the police seem powerless to stop him, tensions rise between Elissa and Noah.

Just as they start to let their guard down, a break-in at Elissa's apartment forces Noah to reevaluate the danger they're both in. But when Elissa fires him and kicks him out, it's just the opportunity the stalker has been waiting for. As the eve of Elissa's biggest concert approaches, Noah must race against the clock to save the woman he's come to love.

With heart-pounding suspense and a love story that will leave you breathless, "Rising Star, Falling Fear" is a must-read for fans of romantic suspense.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bryant Street Shorts
• Release date: Apr 18, 2023
• ISBN: 9781094460024

Kerry Share

N/A

Book preview

1

The pristine, cream-colored envelope was as innocuous to passersby as it was ominous to the one to whom it was addressed.

Elissa Quinn stood in the hallway of her upscale Minneapolis apartment building and stared at the letter lying innocently on her doormat as if it were a bag of dog shit, or perhaps an ex-lover who’d stopped by unannounced for a booty call.

Even from several feet away she could make out her name written in neat cursive across the front. A little heart dotted the I.

And it had been such a good day.

Elissa was just returning home to her new apartment following an exciting and productive meeting with the music director at the Bailey Center of Fine Arts, where she was due to start an acoustic violin residency in a few months. Ten years ago, when Elissa took up the instrument for the first time, playing the concert hall at the Bailey had been near the top of her musician’s bucket list. Earning a residency, at just twenty-three years old and still in the early stages of her professional career, was like a dream come true.

Living in Minneapolis was a treat all its own. The cooler weather was a much welcome break after a long stint in Texas, and the culture of the city matched her vibe perfectly. She’d even thought once or twice in the six weeks she’d been living there of making the move permanent. The Bailey was certainly paying her well enough to maintain a residence there.

The first letter put a hold on that sort of idle fancy. Elissa hadn’t been in the Twin Cities but two weeks when it arrived, the off-white envelope slightly crinkled from being stuffed into the mailbox alongside the myriad of forwarded mail from her last address, in Houston, where her previous residency had been. She paid it no mind at first, thought it was junk or meant for the previous tenant, but the faint smell of lilacs emanating from it — as if it had been spritzed with body spray — drew her interest. It seemed innocent enough, even if there was no return address.

If only she had thrown it out then without reading it, she might have slept easier that night.

Now, to be fair, Elissa had seen her fair share of fan mail. She could even say that she was at the very least aware of the fact that some of it could be a little creepy. She’d been performing on the violin publicly since she was sixteen, and since entering adulthood she had purposefully cultivated an artistry that was often described as sensual, evocative — even intimate. It seemed unavoidable, she thought, that she would attract some admirers who wanted to be closer than the stage allowed. Most of the time, she chose to be flattered by the praise, and she ignored the worst of it when possible.

However, the contents of these cream-colored, floral-scented, unsigned notes were, well, unnerving to say the least.

You’re too beautiful for this world, one said. Bad poetry, Elissa thought at first, until the writer added, I cannot abide it.

Every moment we are apart, my soul is torn asunder, read another, making her wonder how the letter writer even knew her — and how they’d gotten her address.

The missive after that contained the most chilling line of all: One of us will be dead before my passion is assuaged.

That was when she called the police.

Not that it did her any good. A very bored-sounding Detective Whalen took her report but warned her there wasn’t anything they could do unless the letter writer made a direct threat. And when she asked what action they would take then, the answer had been… less than satisfactory.

So Elissa did her best to ignore the letters, which became increasingly difficult as time went on. She stopped reading them — a fact the letter writer bizarrely seemed to know, because the frequency of the notes kicked up to alarming levels. The day she received five new notes, she paid a visit to her local post office and set up a PO box.

That helped… until today.

Elissa drummed her fingers irritably against the wooden handle of her expensive, custom-made violin case while she tried to determine what she should do. For a moment she entertained the notion of calling the police again — the letter writer had been to her physical apartment this time; surely that indicated a worrying escalation — but ultimately, she decided against it. She wasn’t in the mood at the moment for another circular, unhelpful discussion.

After several long moments spent staring silently at her own doormat — and looking like a loon, no doubt — eventually she stepped over the offending envelope and entered her apartment without picking it up.

When the deadbolt was safely engaged once more, Elissa leaned her back against the door and drew a deep, calming breath. So far, she had seen the letters as a nuisance rather than anything really alarming, but there was something about knowing that the writer had actually been there outside her door that gave her a deep sense of unease. For the first time, she felt the acute isolation of living in a new city with no friends or family to call on for comfort.

More than anything, Elissa hated that the letter writer did that to her. She’d always loved the thrill of traveling, and being on her own was nothing new to her. It was her fierce independent streak that led her to quit high school, move across the country, and apply to some of the most prestigious music programs available. It was her tenacity that taught her not to give up even when those programs turned her down. It was her passion that transformed a girl with a little bit of talent and a big dream into a woman living the life she’d always wanted.

And she’d be damned if she let some sexless little twerp take any of that away from her.

Riled, Elissa deposited her violin case in the little nook in the living room by the gorgeous bay windows, where she’d set up her practice space, before retreating to the kitchen. Cooking always seemed to calm her nerves, even when music could not. It was something tangentially creative without being work, strictly speaking. It was only a shame she rarely had someone to share her concoctions with.

Tonight’s dinner, she decided on a whim, would be zucchini pasta and avocado alfredo, and it was almost Pavlovian the way her shoulder blades relaxed as she tied on her apron. Slowly but surely, she forgot all about the cream-colored envelope and the heart over the I in her name. By the time she was loading the zucchini into the spiralizer, her mind was firmly back on her meeting with the director of music at the Bailey Center and the set list they had begun drawing up together.

Elissa really did think her residency at the Bailey would be her best yet. She was planning to debut her newest concerto, cowritten with her friend and mentor, Noreen Bleek. It was a dark, sensuous piece that drew on the deepest depths of her psyche. Its only flaw was that she had yet to decide on a suitable name for it. It was such a personal piece of music that not just any title would satisfy her. Yet she was running out of time — her residency was just two months away.

It was while she was ruminating on this conundrum, preparing her avocado alfredo, that her reverie was interrupted by a smart rapping on her door.

By rote Elissa moved toward the door, but before she pulled it open, she froze.

What if it’s… the stalker? she wondered with a jolt of alarm. Suddenly, she wished she’d brought the knife she’d been using to cut open the avocado with her, just in case, before she realized how stupid she was being. It wasn’t even six o’clock yet. Surely, no stalker worth their crazy would attempt to force their way into her apartment in broad daylight… right?

Holding her breath, Elissa leaned forward and peered through the peephole. Outside stood… a woman, and a woman she thought she recognized at that. Now she felt really stupid.

Hi, she said in an overly bright voice as she pulled open the door, how can I help you?

Oh, hey, hon, the woman, a redheaded lady about ten years older than Elissa, said in a tone just as cheerful, though certainly less fake. I just wanted to let you know you’ve got a letter out here on your doormat. Looks like a card, you know, and I just didn’t want it to get stolen. What if there’s money in it, right? She gave a playful wink.

Elissa, however, cringed internally. Oh, thanks, she replied with a forced smile. Privately she wished the woman hadn’t said anything; now she had to bring the damn thing inside. As she bent to scoop up the envelope, though, she got an idea. Hey, I don’t suppose you saw who dropped it off, did you?

The woman shook her head. Sorry, hon, I only just got back from work. She stuck a hand out for Elissa to shake. I’m Debra, by the way.

Elissa, she replied, hastily wiping the avocado from her hands onto her apron. I, uh, just moved here a few weeks ago.

Oh, yeah! Debra said, recognition overtaking her expression. You’re the musician, right? She grinned at Elissa’s apparent surprise. I hear you playing sometimes; I’m just right next door. You’re really good!

Elissa couldn’t help but beam at the compliment. "Aw, thank you so much. It really means a lot if you think my practicing is good."

"It is good, Debra said. I’m looking forward to not having to hear it through a wall sometime. She gave another wink. Anyway, I can smell your dinner cooking, so I’ll leave you to it. Bye!" And with that she continued on her way down the hall. A moment later, Elissa could hear the click of her own door opening and then closing once more.

She retreated indoors as well, momentarily cheered by the visit — until she remembered what had necessitated it. The letter in her hand. This close, she could once again detect a faint floral scent from the paper. She supposed this was meant to be pleasant, and perhaps it would have been if the actual words on the page were not so unsettling.

Suppressing a shudder, Elissa returned to the kitchen, where she deposited the letter on the bar top. She would compost it later, she decided, and think no more about it. Yet, even as she valiantly attempted to return to her avocado alfredo, her mind continually strayed to that pesky little envelope, as if it were a