He dipped his head. “And so we shall. I’ll send the driver at ten tonight. Until then, I suggest you rest. You’ll need your strength.” He paused. “And, Mia, don’t be late this time.”
King left my hotel room, but he didn’t leave my head. The rage flowed through me Iike hot shards of glass.
“A tattoo? A tattoo?” What the fuck?
Calm down, Mia. You can get it removed. But what sort of psycho chases a woman in the jungle and then tattoos his initial on her wrist?
The same sort who’s been playing mind games, manipulating you from day one.
The room began to spin, bright colors blotching my vision. I ran into the bathroom and threw up. Luckily, there wasn’t much there.
God, this is so messed up. I hung my head in my hands. I couldn’t allow this to go on; torturing was not part of the deal. And King’s psycho power trips, which he claimed were for my own protection, had gone too far. But the fact was, it was my fault. I’d been allowing all this to go on. I’d been letting him get inside my head and control me.
Dammit! What’s the matter with you, Mia? I knew I’d been in a fragile state when I agreed to this twisted relationship, but how could I have been so completely blind? King wasn’t going to help me nor had he ever intended to. He simply saw me as a desperate woman he could take advantage of to fulfill his demented, sadistic urges.
Why the hell had it taken me so long to see the truth?
I almost laughed. Almost. But I couldn’t. My stupidity wasn’t funny. What was funny was that I’d initially been worried about King being a conman. Right now, I’d almost be grateful if he was. At least conmen ruin your life in the pursuit of something I could understand: they wanted money. But King played with people’s lives just to get off.
And that dream? What was that about? I could never be attracted to a man who wasn’t good or compassionate. King was neither. But that dream…I remember feeling like he was someone completely different. Still powerful, but kind and passionate. Not cold and ruthless.
It was just a dream, Mia. Don’t start hoping the man is something he’s not.
I paced the room several times. What am I going to do? I had to blow the whistle on this insanity immediately, but I couldn’t abandon Justin, so I’d just have to start finding answers on my own. And if King threatened me, then I’d go to the police. That was about all I could do.
“I’m done with you, King. Done,” I mumbled to myself.
I jumped in the shower and washed the mud from my hair and face. I threw on clean jeans and a blue T-shirt, then headed out to grab a cab. I wanted to see what was in my brother’s apartment and, perhaps, get some answers of my own.
I am taking control of this goddamned nightmare.
CHAPTER EIGHT
When the cab pulled up to the stucco building sandwiched between a crowded taquería blaring salsa music and a barbershop, it struck me as odd that I wouldn’t recognize my own brother’s home. The narrow structure had two garage doors on the first floor and two floors of apartments above, each with private balconies overlooking the street.
I walked up the outside stairs to apartment one, my brother’s, and buzzed the door. There was an iron security gate, but it had been left open. After a few seconds, I knocked, too.
No answer.
I crossed my arms and thought for a moment. Perhaps the upstairs neighbor had a key or could put me in touch with the landlord. I marched upstairs, but no one was home there either.
Shit. I’d have to come back later.
I passed Justin’s apartment on the way down, and I don’t know what possessed me, but I jiggled the handle. It was open.
“Hello?” I pushed the door and peeked inside the living room. There were two off-white couches facing a television, and an open kitchen with a breakfast bar. The place was tidy and undisturbed, at least from what I could see of it.
I stepped inside and smelled the air. It was stale and dank, like it hadn’t been aired out in a while.
“Hello?”
I walked through the living room, down a dark hallway leading to three doors. The first was the bathroom, also spotless. The second had to be his roommate’s—the desk was clean, and the bed had a plaid comforter. My brother hated plaid, and he’d never had a clean desk a day in his life. When we were little, it was always littered with his latest dinosaur models or piles of rocks he collected in the yard. To my knowledge, he hadn’t changed that habit.
I opened the final door and tried not to cry. On the nightstand, next to a huge pile of papers and books, sat a photo of Justin and me smiling together at Thanksgiving last year. It was one of those rare occasions in recent years where he and I were both able to make it. One of us was usually halfway across the globe for work. That was why my parents had made such a huge deal and taken the picture.
I grabbed the photo and stared at the thing. “Where in the world are you, baby brother?”
“Who are you?”
I jumped. “Oh, God.” The guy had on a short-sleeved, burgundy and blue plaid shirt and khaki shorts. His brown eyes were the same shade as his short brown hair.
“Not God. Brian,” he said. “And you are?”
“Oh. Sorry.” I extended my hand. “I’m Mia, Justin’s sister.”
His hand was ice cold, like he’d just come from a meat locker, and I noticed a tribal tattoo snaking up his forearm. It was of a pickax and a skull.
“College,” he said.
“Sorry?”
“I got the tattoo in college.” He flashed a goofy smile. Yeah, I could see Justin and him living together.
“It’s an interesting design.” I wasn’t about to show him mine. How could I possibly explain it?
“No, it’s not. I got drunk at a frat party—we were all really into archaeology. That’s how I met Justin and started working with him.”
“You worked with my brother?” Justin had only mentioned sharing an apartment with another American.
“What? Did he fire me?” Brian said jokingly.
“No. I meant—well, I thought his entire crew had been…involved.” I didn’t want to say kidnapped or murdered. I was sure the wounds were still raw. “How did you…avoid—you know?”
Brian frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“The incident at the dig site?”
“Are you sure you’re Justin’s sister?”
“Yeah.” I held up the photo.
Brian crossed his arms. “I’m not aware of any incident.”
“The entire crew is missing.”
He looked at me as if I were completely mad. “No, they’re not. I was just over there. Everything’s fine.”
My head started to spin. “But I got a call from the embassy—wait. When’s the last time you saw Justin?”
Brian’s eyes flashed at the ceiling. “This morning; he said he needed to go Villahermosa to pick up supplies. He’ll be back tomorrow.”
That’s impossible.
“Where did you see him?” My heart pounded ferociously.
“Here.”
“Are you sure?” I asked.
“Someone’s been messing with you, Mia.”
But Justin hadn’t called me in weeks. And the last time we had spoken, he said not to come looking for him.
“You okay?” he asked.
“I just don’t understand,” I mumbled to myself.
“Justin has a pretty twisted sense of humor sometimes.”
No, he didn’t. He was sweet and kind. “He would never play this kind of joke, especially on me.” I paused and mulled it over. Something wasn’t right. I’d had men break into my hotel room. I’d been detained and threatened at the airport. I hadn’t imagined that. “Did Justin mention anything? Problems with the local officials? Threats? Anything?”
Brian shook his head. “Nothing. And we’re always careful when we find something valuable.”
Valuable? “Like what? Gold?”
Brian chuckled. “Not that valuable. But we find some pretty
cool stuff, worth a lot on the black market. The moment we unearth anything, it’s catalogued, registered with the local government and the insurance company, and—if precious enough—placed in a vault at the bank until we know which museum or university it’s going to.”
“So no one’s robbed you guys or threatened anyone?” I asked.
“No. Lucky us, I guess.”
I just couldn’t believe this. I felt like I was in the midst of some bizarre conspiracy.
My wobbly legs were no longer able to hold my weight, so I sat on the bed. “You’re sure Justin is okay? Because I called his cell phone; he’s not answering.”
“Maybe he lost it again. The guy loses everything. Are you sure you’re all right?”
I nodded and willed my legs to stand again. “Yeah. I’m just…” I didn’t know the right word; confused wouldn’t cut it. “Tell Justin I need to talk to him. Immediately.” I jotted down the hotel’s name on a slip of paper from Justin’s desk. “I’m staying here. The moment you see him, have him call my cell.”
“Uh, okay. Are you sure you’re all right?” He looked very uncomfortable.
If Justin’s crew wasn’t missing and Brian had seen my brother only hours ago, then could it be possible? Was someone messing with me? Or was I being scammed? Used? Going mad?
“No. I’m actually not okay. Not even close. Just have him call me.” I headed out to the street to hail a cab back to the hotel. I needed to talk to King.
~ ~ ~
“What do you mean there’s no King?” I fumed at the poor hotel desk clerk. I knew she didn’t deserve to be treated like crap, but I apparently had no other setting than “major bitch” at the moment. “He has to be here.”
She shook her head. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but there’s no one here with that last name.”
“Are you sure?”
“I can check under his first name. What is it?”
I groaned. I’d never even bothered to ask King his full name. “I don’t know. He just goes by…” I threw up my hands, “King. That’s it.”
“I’m sorry, Miss Turner, I cannot help you.”
I was about to shuffle away in defeat but… “He’s paying for my room. Isn’t there a name?”
The woman’s dark brown eyes returned to her screen as she tapped away on the keyboard. “Ummm…no. Your room is being billed to K Enterprises.”
“Do you have any other guests registered under that company?”
She did a quick search. “Only you and another gentleman, but his name is not King.”
“A Mack something?” I guessed. Why didn’t I know his name, either? What was it with me and not knowing names?
She hesitated, then nodded.
“Ugh. Where is that psycho?” I smacked my palm on the counter and realized I was the one who sounded psycho.
I forced a smile onto my lips. “Thank you—I mean…gracias.”
She bowed her head. “Para servirle, señorita.”
I’d have to confront King later. And when I did, I’d tell him our deal was off. He could make any threats he liked, but this sick little game was over. Screw King.
I trudged my way up to my suite to get my stuff. I would just go back to Justin’s and wait for him to show.
Once inside, I grabbed my bag and collected my things from the bathroom, but when I bent over to grab the muddy clothes I’d left on the floor, a dizzy spell nearly toppled me. I stumbled my way to the bed and flopped down, closing my eyes. I hadn’t been eating or taking care of myself. And don’t get me started on the stress.
But you’re fine now, Mia. Just relax. Everything is going to be okay. Justin wasn’t dead or in trouble. Brian had seen my brother only this morning, and there’d been no assault on the crew.
I sighed with relief, because, whatever crap was happening, Justin was okay. The rest would be okay, too.
“Miss Turner, what the fuck are you doing?”
I popped up on my elbows and found King’s large, imposing figure, dressed in that same black tee and jeans, hovering over me.
“How did you get in here?” I asked.
“I have a key,” he growled. “Didn’t I warn you about being late? You think this is some fucking joke?”
Late? I glanced at the clock on the nightstand. 10:02? “I-I don’t know what—”
“Get your ass up, Miss Turner. Naptime is over.”
I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and planted my feet on the floor. How in the world was it already ten at night? When I’d closed my eyes, it couldn’t have been any later than three.
I began massaging my temples to soothe the ache inside my skull.
“Now, Miss Turner,” King commanded in a low, restrained voice.
I held out my hand. “Stop. Okay? Just—”
Before I could say another word, King had me by the shoulders and plastered against the wall. “I’ll stop when I’m damned good and ready.”
“No.” I shook my head. “Whatever game you’re playing ends now. I’m done.”
“You think this is a game, Mia?”
Mia. Why did I feel like he always used my first name as a weapon? Another one of his bullshit, mind-game moves.
“Yeah,” I replied bitterly. “Justin is alive and well. There was no attack on his team.”
King’s brows furrowed. “Where did you go today?”
“Where did you go today?” I asked simply to piss him off.
Rage flickered in his striking silvery eyes, but I didn’t crumble.
“Justin is alive, and our deal is off.” I squirmed against him, but he was just too damned strong.
The hard, angry line of King’s lips suddenly twitched and then softened as if he were listening to a joke. A joke I wasn’t privy to. He placed the barrel of his fist over his mouth and smothered a snide chuckle.
“What’s so funny?”
He released me and backed away. “Once again, you. You, Miss Turner.”
He was insane. Insane and evil. So why did I care so much about what he thought?
“Your brother may be alive, but he is not well. And neither is his crew.”
“I just saw his roommate,” I argued. “I was at his apartment.”
King nodded. “I’m sure you were.”
“And?”
“And we’re leaving,” he said.
“I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“Then I will have Mack fly you back to San Francisco tonight. And when you get there, you will learn the truth.”
“Which is?” I asked.
“I am right. And by the time you realize what a jackass you’ve been, it will be too late for your brother.”
“Justin is here, safe and alive. I’m not leaving without seeing him.”
King grinned once again as if he knew something I didn’t and my behavior was the world’s most amusing joke. “Very well, Miss Turner. I had hoped to do things my way—the easier, less painful way. But I see you’ve made up your mind and any efforts to shield you will only further convince you that I am a,” his smile stretched wider, “demon from hell.” He moved toward the door. “Go see your brother. And once you’ve gotten your pissy little ego under control, we’ll resume.”
I growled at him as he shut the door. Resume? We weren’t resuming anything. As far as I was concerned, my deal with King was null and void. I found Justin, not King. And if King had bothered to lift a finger, he would have known Justin was never missing. That didn’t mean some other weird crap wasn’t going on, but it wasn’t King’s concern. And neither was I. Not anymore.
Less than thirty minutes later, I was back at my brother’s apartment. I knocked on the door, but again, there was no answer. I tried the handle. “Still unlocked?” These guys were begging to get robbed, but when I reached to flip on the lights, nothing happened. I stepped to the side and allowed the light from the outside stairwell to illuminate the entryway. Garbage and broken glass lay everywhere.
“What the hell?” I whispered.
?
??Señorita. Que hace aquí?”
I jumped and clutched the fabric over my chest. “Oh my God. You scared the crap out of me.”
The man, perhaps in his fifties, wearing dark running shorts and a Puma T-shirt, stared at me.
“Do you speak English?” I asked.
“No. No, English. Usted no debe de estar aquí.”
Crap. “Uhhh…” I pointed inside the apartment. “Mi hermano. Justin. Have you seen him?” I pointed to my eyes. “Ver. Mi hermano?” I knew my Spanish sucked, but it was the best I could do.
The man waved both hands in front of me. “No. No lo he visto por un chingo.”
“Chingo?” I didn’t understand. “Uhhh…cuanto?” I tapped my watch. “Cuanto time?”
He nodded. “Más que un mes.”
Un mes. I knew those words. They meant “one month.”
I blinked and felt my blood pressure dropping. This couldn’t be right. “Ummm. How long…cuanto?” I pointed inside. “Cuanto like this? Basura.” Basura meant garbage.
“Un mes, señorita.” He held out his index finger for emphasis.
That couldn’t be right.
“Yo vivo, arriba,” he said and then pointed to the apartment above. He lived upstairs?
Shit. No. “This is wrong. No correcto.”
He held up his finger once again, but to ask me to wait. He slipped his phone from his pocket, tapped away at the screen, and then held it up. “Ya vez. Aquí es el reporte que salió en el periódico.”
I glanced at the tiny screen. It was a photo of this apartment building on the website Noticias De Palenque. The header said Secuestrado, Cinco Arqueólogos Americanos, or Five Archaeologists Kidnapped. There was a tiny photo of each man, including my brother and…
“Fuck.” I nearly fainted. The other face I recognized was Brian’s.
I covered my mouth. What was happening? “Uhhh, gracias.” I stumbled down the steps to the street, and there, waiting, was a black SUV. The rear passenger-side window lowered, and I immediately recognized those thick black lashes and mesmerizing eyes punching through the darkness.
I tried to keep from throwing up.
“Now do you believe me, Miss Turner?”
I couldn’t move. I didn’t know what to believe. I wanted to scream. I wanted to pull my hair out from the roots. This is what it feels like to be in hell, I thought.