“Our team is clearing them out, and it’s close to being under control, from what I hear. But I don’t want to risk you being ambushed. Try to push your meeting back an hour.”
I’m already pulling my phone from my purse. “I’ll call on the way there. I can’t risk not reaching them, or him arriving before me to a mess. I can’t lose this client for Riptide, Jacob. I’m not sure Mark would save me over him.”
His jaw clenches and unclenches. “Let’s go, then.” He takes my tote bag. “I’ll ride with you. The Comptons are safe here, and the man on his way will cover them.” He moves ahead of me and pauses at the exit, waiting for me to join him. Then he shoves open the door, cursing under his breath at the cold blast of air. “Sorry. Thin California blood is going to be the death of me.”
I laugh and laugh harder as he looks completely miserable for the short walk to the subway, though he still hovers protectively. When we’re finally on a train, people all around us, the two of us clutching the same pole, Jacob tells me, “He rode the subway this morning. That’s why I wasn’t with him.”
“Who? Mark?”
“That’s right. We were stuck in traffic and he said we weren’t going to make the hospital in time. I stopped at a light and he took off.” He grimaces. “I’ll have a driver and ride in the backseat with that man from now on, I can promise you that.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because you’re caught right in the eye of the storm swallowing that man whole, and probably more capable of influencing him than anyone.”
“Me? I can’t even get him to consistently call me by my first name. I have no control where’s he’s concerned.”
“You know that’s not true, and he needs a voice of reason right now. And I believe you are that voice.”
He’s giving me far more than I expected. “Why would I need to influence him?”
“You know why.”
My stomach rolls. “Please tell me he’s still not talking about vengeance, like he was right after Ava escaped.”
“I had an exchange with him this morning that all but confirmed he is.”
My fingers tighten around the pole. “What did he say?”
“It was inferred, but the look in his eyes said everything. He’s after blood.”
“He’ll destroy his family if he ends up in jail.”
“He could end up dead. We aren’t completely certain Ava is acting alone.”
“Who else is involved?”
“I’m not prepared to say anyone is. We’re exploring options.”
“So you think Mark is after vengeance, and you think someone else is involved. You know nothing.”
“Saving lives means taking preventative actions.”
“But you have no proof Mark is personally after Ava or anyone else,” I state, making sure I understand properly.
“Not yet. But my boss, Blake, lost his fiancée while they were both undercover on an ATF mission. He actively sought vengeance on the man responsible. And despite his brothers being an ex-Navy SEAL and ex-FBI, and both having suspicions, they never knew until he was in the middle of trouble.”
“Again, why are you telling me this?”
“You seem to be able to get through to him.”
I laugh without humor. “He’s an asshole, Jacob, and I told him so this morning. No one gets through to him except maybe his mother, and you can’t tell her. She can’t handle this now.”
“You’ve seen behind that wall, just like I have.”
“I don’t know what’s real with him anymore.”
“Believe me—what’s beneath the surface, good or bad, is always what’s real.” He continues: “I see what you’re doing to help this family. I just want your eyes open.”
We fall into silence. I’ve known a variety of controlling people—some who balance it with compassion like Dana, others with their own variety of poison. Which type is Mark? “I never wanted to see you hurt like this again,” Dana said to him this morning. What happened before?
I’m still pondering that question when Jacob and I exit to the street. While the snow has slowed down, the wind is fierce. We hunch into our coats and travel two blocks with brisk strides. Then we turn right, bringing the gallery into view. I’m relieved to see a walkway roped off with movie-theater-type poles by the front door, with guards on either side. The crush of reporters Jacob mentioned is now gone.
“Your team works fast,” I say approvingly, just as Jacob grabs my arm and a mic is shoved in my face.
“Ms. Smith, we understand Mark Compton is back in town. Do you know what his relationship with Rebecca Mason was?”
Jacob shoves me behind him. “No comment at this time.” He begins a terse exchange with the reporter and his crew.
Worried about what’s behind me, I turn, pressing my back to Jacob’s—and gasp as I find a hooded man standing so close that his hot breath reaches my cold cheeks. His face is partially draped, but I still manage to home in on two things: his hard black eyes, which radiate meanness, and the deep scar down his right cheek.
Five
Crystal . . .
As I stare into the stranger’s eyes I reach behind me and grab Jacob’s coat, as if holding on to him will somehow make this man go away. “Who are you?” I ask, trying to memorize his face. Full lips. Lines by his eyes and sun-darkened skin make him look to be in his late forties though he might be younger.
“Who do you think I am?”
“A reporter?” I ask.
“No. I am not a reporter.”
“Then . . . who?”
“Who indeed.”
“Do you know who I am?”
“Doesn’t everyone who watches the news?”
It’s not a real answer. It’s a cat-and-mouse game. “What do you want?”
“The list is long. But then, isn’t everyone’s?” The stranger’s lips twist in an evil smile and then he just . . . leaves.
I blink, confused.
Jacob suddenly grabs my wrist and pulls me around, starting to walk rapidly toward the door. I dig in my heels. “Wait! There was a man.”
“What man?” He turns to face me. “Where?”
I scan the area, but he’s nowhere to be found despite the sparsely populated sidewalk. “He’s gone.”
Jacob tightens his grip on my wrist, as if he’s afraid to let go of me—and at the moment, maybe I am, too. I double-step, relieved when we enter Riptide. Just inside, Jacob corners me, putting his back to the reception area and several security guards. “Tell me about the man.”
“He came right up to me, right in my face, and stared at me. He was right up on me and we had this odd exchange.” I shove up my sleeve and glance at my watch. “I need to tell you after my meeting.”
He shoves down the hood of his jacket. “Tell me now.”
I sigh, knowing determination when I see it. I repeat the exchange and he shows no reaction.
“He was probably a reporter we pissed off when we cleared the front door,” he says after a short pause.
“No. I don’t think so.”
“Why?”
“Just a gut feeling. I have to get ready for my meeting.”
“Just don’t leave without one of us with you.”
“I don’t plan to.”
He steps back, giving me space to depart. I check in with the receptionist before heading down the hallway to my office, being waylaid by at least four staff members who want to talk about the press disaster and putting off their questions until later.
In my office I quickly hang up my coat, freshen my makeup and hair, and then sit down at my desk. Then, and only then, do I let myself process that last exchange with Jacob. He doesn’t think the man with the scar was a reporter, either.
At eleven o’clock, my file for the meeting is in front of me when my phone buzzes from the front desk. The receptionist announces, “Your father is on line one, and your brother Scottie is on line two.”
I sigh. “Tell my brother I’m
talking to my father and then going into a meeting. And buzz me, please, when Mr. Prescot arrives, no matter what.” I grab line one. “Hi, Dad.”
“What the hell is going on at that place you’re working at? I want you out of there.”
I press my fingers to my temple. “I warned you about all of this.”
“The news is creating a much worse picture than you did.”
“I don’t even want to know what that means right now. I have a meeting I have to be at my best for. I can’t think about anything else right now.”
“I mean it, Crystal. I want you out of there.”
“Be proud of me for managing all of this, instead. I’m managing it with the skills you taught me.”
“To work for me, which ultimately is for you—not for someone else.”
“Dad, please. You know Dana Compton matters to me and that she has cancer. Would you really want me to desert her now?”
He huffs out a breath. “I selfishly want to say ‘yes,’ and if this gets worse, I might just go run that place myself to get you out of there, or send one of your brothers.”
He’s not joking. What was I thinking, when I considered having him provide my security? He’d go nuts if he knew about the hooded man or Mark’s desire for vengeance. “I’m fine,” I say firmly. “This is not some mom-and-pop shop. This is the largest auction house in the world, with world-class security, and I’m gaining invaluable experience here.”
He sighs. “At least while you’re there, your liking for artistic men can be fed with ones who pay their own bills.”
I groan. “Not that again.”
“I can’t take another wannabe starving artist or, Lord forbid, another wannabe rock star, like that Jake fellow you wouldn’t let go of in college.”
“If you continue, I might have a seizure from the repeating conversation my brain can’t take.” My phone sounds again, and the receptionist says, “Mr. Prescot is pulling up to the building now, per the security staff.”
“Thank you,” I say. “I’ll come and get him.”
“Prescot,” my father says. “As in Larry Prescot?”
“The one and only. And he’s no happier about this situation than you are—so let me go prove that I learned from the best, as in you, and save his business. I meant it when I said I was getting invaluable experience here.”
“A far cry from tattooed rock stars, my dear. I owe Dana Compton more than a few favors, starting with this one. Tell Prescot you’re my daughter.”
“You know I don’t like to name-drop.”
“Trust me, baby. Tell him. And call me when you get home tonight.”
“It’ll be late.”
“Text me if I don’t answer, so I know you’re safe.”
“I will,” I promise. “And can you tell the rest of the clan I’m okay? Scottie already tried to call. I’m sure Daniel will be next.”
“I’ll tell them I talked to you. Whether you’re truly okay is up for debate.”
“I am.”
We’ve just said our good-byes when my cell phone buzzes with a message from Mark. Dinner tonight. Eight o’clock at my parents’ house.
I stare at the message. He acted like I didn’t belong at the hospital this morning, and he’s given me no update on his mother. Now he’s demanded, not asked, that I be at dinner. There are so many things I want to reply with—but I want to see Dana. That’s all that matters. I type Okay.
Okay? he replies.
Grimacing, I don’t even try to hold my fingers in check. Sorry, sir. Yes, sir, Mr. Compton, sir.
He doesn’t reply. Perhaps what I see as being a smartass again, he perceives as a real concession. My mind goes back to the restaurant bathroom he’s so focused on and I squeeze my eyes shut, replaying his hands on my waist as he sets me on the counter and spreads my legs before ripping off my panties, teasing me with his fingers but not his tongue. And oh, how I wanted his tongue. He’d made me choose between his fingers, his tongue, or his cock. When I’d chosen his tongue, he’d ordered me to tell him to “lick me.” Then it had been, “Lick me, please.” Then, “Please lick my pussy, Mr. Compton.” I’d tried to resist and failed. I’d said the words, and he rewarded me with an orgasm, leaving me with a satisfied smile on his face and my panties in his pocket.
Something my father often says comes back to me: People who are being manipulated rarely know it until it’s too late. What if Mark’s Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde routine is all a plan to get me where he wants me, tied to a bedpost? I glance down at my reply.
Sorry, sir. Yes, sir, Mr. Compton, sir.
What if that kind of submissive answer is exactly what he wants from me? And not just in the office.
He was right. We need boundaries—and they won’t all be ones that he likes.
Six
Crystal . . .
The day zooms by with one challenge after another, and before I can blink, I’m in an Escalade with Jacob, to drive me to dinner. “Is all well in your neck of the woods?” he asks.
“As well as can be expected,” I say, shrugging out of my coat and setting my tote bag on the floor.
“Did you arrange security through your father?” he asks, moving the gearstick into drive.
“No. I realized that someday, one of you is going to have to protect Mark from me. Since he intentionally provokes me, it seems fair that he should pay for what’s essentially his own protection, not mine.”
Jacob chuckles. “Yes, I suppose he should.” He pulls out onto the street.
“Any news on Ava?” I ask as we reach the stoplight.
“Nothing,” he says. “But since Blake’s working with the police in California, we’ll know if anything turns up on that end.”
“Do you think she’s dead?”
“I really don’t know.”
The frustration in his tone tells me he’s giving me the truth. We fall into silence for the rest of the drive, and I think of the way Mark immediately whisked me to an airport after finding out about Ava’s escape. I also remember the taste of fear, regret, and guilt in his kiss. And I think of how those things must be magnified now that he’s here, with people around him who could be hurt if Ava shows up. It has to be destroying him—yet he couldn’t stay away. Will he ever be able to stop looking over his shoulder if Ava isn’t found?
As Jacob parks in the private garage of the seventeen-story Fifth Avenue building where the Comptons reside, I’ve begun to think about Jacob’s certainty that Mark is after Ava himself. And with my new perspective, I can’t help but wonder if, given the same risks and lack of answers Mark is faced with, my sanity wouldn’t require I look for Ava myself, as well.
Jacob motions to my door. “One of my men is approaching on your right, Crystal. You’re in such deep thought I didn’t want him to scare you.”
“Oh,” I say, not realizing how checked out I’ve been. “Yes. Thanks.”
Jacob exits his side of the vehicle and my door is opened by a tall man with long blond hair tied at his nape. Despite his dark suit, he looks more like a rock star than a lethal weapon. He offers me his hand, his sleeve rising up enough to offer me a glimpse of the tattoo on his wrist. “Asher is my name, Ms. Smith. I’m with Walker Security.”
Jacob rounds the hood to stand beside us, and Asher turns his attention to him. “I’ve let the Comptons know you’ve arrived, the service hallway and elevator have been cleared. No one should know she’s here.”
“Good,” Jacob says, on edge and ready for any problem.
“Why are we taking the service elevator?” I ask. “The building’s security is excellent; no one gets in without invitation.”
“We have reason to believe that someone from the staff gave the press tips the last time Mark was here,” Jacob explains.
“Did the press come here today, too?” I ask.
“Yes,” Asher confirms. “Early this morning.”
My brow furrows. “Then how could the leak come from here? Mark hadn’t shown up yet.”
“
But we had talked to the apartment and arranged security,” Asher replies. “And the word from some of the staff is that there have been issues for other tenants in the building.”
“Asher here has a way of making people drop their guard,” Jacob says. “He’s going to find out who it is.”
Asher smiles. “It’s the tats and ex-rocker background. They think I’m still that guy.”
Jacob points to the door. “Follow Asher. I have your back.”
Does he expect bullets to start flying? All of a sudden, I’m not sure Jacob’s claim of knowing nothing about Ava is true.
The elevator opens and Jacob follows me inside, keying in a security code for the fifteenth floor, which Dana and Steven own. “When you’re done,” he says, “call me and I’ll come up and get you.”
“I will. Any idea who’s going to be my security person?”
“Since you’ll have protection at Riptide, and Mark will have protection both here at his parents’ and while he’s at work, I’ll be able to stay point man for both of you, using backup as needed. At night we’ll have someone see you to your apartment, and we’ll be on call if you need to go out.”
Tension rolls through me. “I really hate every move I make being monitored, but I know it’s necessary. And you’ve already seen the dynamic between me and Mark, which makes you the best one equipped to protect Mark when I snap.”
He doesn’t laugh as I expect him to. The elevator stops and he holds the doors open. “Yes, I know about the two of you, as does Blake, but to every possible extent, we’ll keep the relationship private.”
“It’s not a relationship.”
His eyes narrow slightly and he looks like he wants to say something, but he only pauses before saying, “Call me when you’re ready to leave.”
“I will. Thank you, Jacob.”
“My pleasure,” he says, allowing the door to shut.
The instant that he’s out of sight, I cut to my right and go down a glossy, pale African wood hallway, nerves fluttering in my stomach. At the door I skip the buzzer, in case Dana has fallen asleep, knocking lightly instead. When it opens Mark is standing there, the knot to his red tie several inches down his shirt, his jacket off, his collar loose. I feel a jolt of pure heat as every nerve ending in me comes alive, and I quickly lower my lashes before he notices. Despite my certainty that a man like Mark Compton could never reach me emotionally, despite how he’s behaved in the past twenty-four hours, I am still devastatingly drawn to him. It must be a biological defect that I crave a man who’s destined to shred my heart.