Melody Madison stood behind her chair and closed her eyes. She could feel the music that hundreds of musicians played on this stage. She swayed back and forth as she heard Beethoven's 9th symphony played a hundred different ways, by a thousand different people.

Opening her eyes, she looked out over the seating and wondered how well someone could see her seat from the upper balconies--from anywhere really.

The scent of the antique wood, wax and rosin in the concert hall seemed to permeate everything. The glossy wood music stands looked as old as the building, possibly older. She looked out over the empty seats and wondered if the maroon velvet was as soft as it looked. When the new owners remodeled the place, they obviously spared no expense, as well as kept the ambiance of an old-time concert hall.

Gilt trimmed upper balconies sported heavy-looking, deep burgundy velvet curtains and plush sofas and chairs. Gold tasseled lamps stood in every corner and the brass handrails shone bright in the glow of the overhead lights.

She sighed as she turned and stared down at the coveted seat before her. She'd worked long and hard over the years to get this seat. She sat down and looked out over where the audience would sit listening to the symphony play that very night and wondered if he would be there.

She didn't really know who he was, other than he seemed obsessed with her for some reason. She fisted her hands on her knees and thinned her lips. It didn't matter that someone had sent her a threatening letter, Melody had worked too hard to get where she was to back down now.

A noise startled her and she looked up. "Oh, hi, Andrew." She breathed a relieved sigh. "You scared me."

Andrew set his cello down and called across the chairs that separated them," I didn't mean to scare you." He made a face, his blond good looks twisting into a frown. "Though I should have known you'd be jumpy. You've been on edge for the last several weeks."

"You would be too if someone wrote you strange letters that made it sound as though they would rather see you dead than in first chair."

He gave her a lopsided grin that she should have found it easy to fall in love with. "I don't think there's any chance of that happening as long as Michael is still with the symphony."

Probably not. Michael Harmon was the most brilliant cellist she had ever heard. She'd often heard the same said about herself and her violin, but she tried not to let it go to her head. Michael, on the other hand, let it fill his fat head with dreams of grandeur. The man was certain he would play Carnegie. Somehow, Melody didn't see it happening.

He looked at the cello first chair and shrugged. "It's not like I want it anyway. So how's the chair?"

"Huh?"