Lance Bass ignored the crackling sounds that came from his bodyguard’s headset. With long, smooth strides, he walked down the dimly lit hotel hallway, hands shoved into the pockets of his khakis.

"Bass." The voice behind him was low and gruff, a deep rumble. "Go back to the car."

"Huh?" Lance stopped short and turned around. His right hand impulsively left his pocket and he rubbed at the back of his neck.

"We’re leaving again. There’re some people who need to talk to you. Now." The bodyguard moved to the side of the hallway, giving Lance room to pass.

"There’re lots of people who need to talk to me," Lance said as he started walking back in the direction he had just come from. He smiled in what he hoped was a carefree manner. "Care to be a little more specific?"

"These are detectives," the guard said.

Lance felt himself pale; he physically felt the blood drain from his face. He swallowed and took a deep breath.

"Law enforcement officials," the guard continued. "Someone like that. They’re investigating Tommy."

Lance blinked. "What?" He took a step backwards. "Tommy? For what?"

"We need to go." The guard motioned for Lance to continue to head back to the elevator that they’d just left.

"They didn’t say?" Lance narrowed his eyes. "Or you won’t tell me."

"They didn’t say. Come on, Bass." The guard waited until Lance had walked past him before he moved into his normal spot two steps behind the singer.

"You aren’t supposed to be leaving home yet, Jimmy," Tommy said. He leaned back against the rough bark of the tree. "I mean, who am I going to come visit when I get back home? What am I going to do?"

"Probably the same things that I do when you’re gone for nine months out of the year," Lance said. He took a swig from the coke can fisted in his right hand. "Be bored."

"But you’ve got school here still," Tommy said. He gestured out, away from where they were sitting. "I’ve got school there. You were supposed to go to school at Ol’ Miss and we’d get a house or something."

"I know," Lance said. He shifted his weight around and the leaves underneath him snapped and squished.

"And now you’re going to Florida." Tommy sighed heavily. "Not cool, kid."

"Maybe it won’t work out," Lance said. "Then I’ll be back."

"And maybe you’ll be a star." Tommy sipped at his beer. "But you won’t be here."

"Visits," Lance said quickly. "We’ll coordinate."

"Yuh-huh." Tommy took another sip of beer.

"Our friendships not going to change, you know?" Lance said. "We’ll still be friends. I mean we’ve survived you being at college for a year and a half."

"I know," Tommy said. "But it’s not going to be the same."

"Nothing stays the same, Tom," Lance said slowly. "You know that as well as I do."

The office was sterile: white and a silver metal. The man sitting in front of Lance was stick thin with angular features, graying hair, and a white, short-sleeved button down shirt. The cracked plastic of his pocket protector showed above the worn edge of his pocket.

"Mr. Bass." The voice was hard with just a slight nasal-twinge. "My name is Detective Simon. That’s my partner back there, Detective Bristol."

"Good to meet you," Lance said. He slouched down in his chair.

"You’re probably wondering why we called you in here today," Simon said. Before Lance could nod, he leaned forward and continued. "We called you in here because we’ve been investigating an employee of yours, a Tommy Wright. He is an employee of yours?"

"Yes," Lance said. "He’s my accountant. And my friend."

"Well, he’s a thief," Bristol said. The man crossed his arms across his chest and leaned against the back wall of the room.

"We suspect he’s been embezzling money from your firm FreeLance," Simon said quickly. He reiterated himself: "Suspect."

"Why would you say that?" Lance asked. He narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. "It’s impossible."

"Because it’s happened at every other firm he was employed at. Both of them." Bristol took a step towards Lance.

Lance heard his bodyguard shift behind him and took a deep breath. "You must be mistaken. Tommy wouldn’t do that."

"Go over your records, Mr. Bass," Simon said. "Send your books to an outside accountant. If there’s no evidence of any wrong doing, we’ll apologize. We know he’s been doing it, though. Men like that don’t just stop because they’re suddenly working for their friends."

"I’ll go over the records," Lance said as he stood up and stuck his hands back in his pockets, "but I trust Tommy and I know I won’t find anything out of place. I can almost guarantee it."

"We hope you’re right, Mr. Bass, because if you aren’t, your firm could be in some financial trouble." Simon stood up and held out a hand for Lance to shake.

Lance turned on his heel, ignoring the hand, and walked to the painted white door. He opened it and stepped out into the hallway in one fluid motion. He didn’t wait to see if his guard was following him or not.