I Belong to You (22 page)

My father, the man who taught Daniel how to be a hard-ass, softens instantly. He winks at Anna. “And you did a wonderful job. We’ll go join Daniel and Scottie for a drink so you can’t hear us talking.”

Mark gives me a wink of his own and follows my father.

Great. Now they’ve moved to another room, where I have zero control over where they go with this Paris conversation.

Anna steps to my side. “Mark sure won your father over quickly.”

I cast a suspicious glance at the doorway. “Yes, he did.”

*  *  *

Fifteen minutes later, the table is set and Anna sends me to round up the men for dinner. I walk out toward a double stairwell and head down to the level where the den—and the bar—is located. I’m on the final step, still hidden by the wall, when Daniel’s voice lifts.

“I’m protective and I won’t apologize for it,” he says. “She watched her damn father beat her mother to death. So I’m telling you, man: You hurt her, you’ll live to regret it.”

I suck in air and grab the railing, feeling like I’ve been kicked and betrayed.
Damn you, Daniel!
This isn’t how Mark was supposed to find out about my past!

I turn and run back up the stairs, desperate to get away before someone sees me. I reach the main level of the house and Anna is in my line of sight, headed my way. Needing a few minutes alone, I round the railing and begin climbing the stairs to the next level.

“Crystal!” Anna calls from behind me, but I keep climbing the stairs, fighting the same windstorm of emotions I felt often those few years when Daniel had lived with me. He’d shoved family down my throat, when I’d had one foster family after another take me in and throw me out. Even Angela, Hank’s first wife, had died before the adoption. I’d liked her, and wanted her to love me.

Back then, it seemed like everyone eventually left me. I wasn’t ready to open my heart to have it ripped to pieces all over again, certainly not because Daniel ordered it to happen.

I clear the final step, entering what my father calls the Observatory, where a glass wall and various telescopes offer a view to be envied. Walking to the glass, I press my hands to the surface, knowing that it’s hurricane-proof and I won’t fall. But as a teen I hadn’t known, and there were many times I leaned on it and hoped I’d fall.

Behind me there’s a soft sound and awareness rushes over me, telling me Mark is here. I feel this man in ways I’ve never felt another human being—and never wanted to. I didn’t want to need anyone and end up ripped to pieces again.

He steps behind me, but I can’t look at him yet. I think he knows and understands. He knows what hell feels like.

His hands come down on the glass beside mine, that spicy, masculine scent of him a soothing balm. “You okay?”

“I’m angry that Daniel told you.”

“He spat it out before I could stop him. I didn’t ask, Crystal. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

I turn and flatten my hands on the solid wall of his chest, his warmth radiating into my palms. “I know. Daniel gets in his fierce mode and tries to rule the world, and it’s always his way or no way.”

“Come sit,” he urges, drawing me by the hand.

I nod and he leads me to one of the four oversized chairs in the room, where we squeeze in, facing each other. Mark trails a finger down my cheek. “You didn’t answer my question. Are you okay?”

“I wasn’t ready for this. I’m still not ready.”

His hand rests on my hip. “This doesn’t mean I don’t touch you. We aren’t shut down by this.”

I want to believe him. More than he can possibly know. Cotton forms in my throat and I face forward, staring at the twinkling city lights in the ink-black night. “My father beat my mother often,” I force out, saying what I’ve never said out loud to anyone. “I’d hide in the closet. So . . .” I inhale and let it out, my eyes burning from just thinking about what I’m about to say. “My mother always acted like it didn’t happen the next day—until she couldn’t pretend anymore.” I look at him. “The night she died, he started beating her with a belt, and her screams were bloodcurdling. I was crying, and shouting her name. I think I knew on some level that he was different that night, angrier in some way.”

I face forward again. “My shouting got his attention and he came after me with the belt. He’d never touched me before, but he intended to now. I saw it in his eyes. My mother must have, too, because when I ran and hid in the closet, she attacked him. He turned on her and”—my voice hitches—“he beat her until . . . she died.” Tears flow and I swipe at them. “Sorry. I haven’t let myself think about this in years. And I’ve never told the story to anyone.”

He takes my hand. “Don’t be sorry. Don’t ever be sorry.”

An old ache rips through me and my tears flow more freely. “She lay there limp and pale. And he turned to me and told me it was because of me. Then he left. Walked out of the door and never came back. I mean, they arrested him and he’s in jail, but he just . . . left her like that.”

Mark tilts my chin in his direction, wiping away my tears. “It wasn’t because of you. You know this, right?”

“Yes. But I didn’t know that as a child, or even a young teen. My first couple of foster homes were disasters. The first one, the husband and wife had a fight and I jumped on the husband. The second, pretty much the same story. After that, they wouldn’t let a couple have me. I ended up with an elderly woman for years. She was a sweetheart, but then she had health issues and I was back without a home.”

“Ah, sweetheart. I knew it was bad, but I had no idea how bad.”

I’m suddenly angry at the tears that are making him feel sorry for me. I straighten. “It was bad, but I’m blessed, Mark. I ended up with a wonderful family that many don’t have, and that includes Daniel. He’s a bulldozer but he means well. Even when I’m pissed as hell at him, I love him.”

“And they all love you—especially your father.”

“He likes you, too. How’d you manage that?”

“I’m fairly certain it was when I told him I love you enough to take a bullet for you.”

My eyes burn again. “You said that to my father?”

“Yes. And I meant it.” He brushes hair behind my ear, his look tender—and worried.

I grab his hand, worried about where his mind is going. “He never hit me. My counselor thinks it was the closet that causes my claustrophobia. You’re not going to be afraid to touch me, are you? I
liked
it when you spanked me.”

He wraps his arm around me and pulls me close. “You’re mine, Crystal. I’m going to touch you.”

“You know what I mean.”

“There are all kinds of ways we can get around actual bondage. I’m creative.” He nuzzles my neck, goose bumps lifting as he adds, “If you aren’t convinced, I’ll convince you.”

My lips curve. “I’d like to be convinced.” And I’m only half joking. I do want to be convinced. “I want to defeat the claustrophobia. I don’t want that man to still have that control over me. I want to control me. I want the cuffs. I want you.”

He frames my face. “I don’t need the cuffs. I just need you.”

Mark . . .

When Crystal and I finally return downstairs, Daniel pulls her aside to talk to her, and I walk to the giant stone fireplace in the downstairs den and stare at the flames. I’ve never felt as protective of anyone as I do now of Crystal, and my mind races with ways to make this nightmare end. Ways to lure Ava out of hiding.

“Would you like a drink, son?” Hank asks, coming to my side.

“I’d prefer to stay clearheaded.”

“She told you everything,” he says flatly.

“Yes.”

“And you’re ready to bolt.”

I cut him an irritated look. “Not even close.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

Me. I’m the problem.
I face him, ignoring the question and I change the subject. “We can’t bully her into going to Paris.”

“Why the hell not?”

“She’s a control freak. She needs to know everyone around her is safe. The mercenary or Ava could hurt her, yes—but if they hurt anyone she cares about, it will destroy her. And being in another country, not knowing what is happening—or worse, finding out something has gone wrong—would tear her to pieces. She’d blame me and us.”

“She’d be alive.”

“But would she be living? There’s only one good answer here. Ava and this mercenary have to be captured before they hurt someone else.”

“Yet they are on the loose, and my daughter is evidently on their radar.”

“You think I’m not living that hell right now?” I scrub my jaw. “I need to go make a phone call.”

He studies me a moment. “My office is the first door to the right outside the kitchen.”

I nod but exit the penthouse for the hallway, dialing my “hunter” and repeat the offer of a small fortune to find Jimenez and Ava.

“I’ll happily take your money, man, but Jimenez is a master at staying off the radar. I do have one interesting piece of information, though. I linked Ricco to Jimenez. It took some digging and there were aliases used, but Ricco hired him several years back for a job. I have proof of the transactions. So it’s not Ryan you’re dealing with here. It’s Ricco.”

Alarm bells go off. Ricco has deep, deep pockets, and he controls his funds—not some gangster types we now think Ryan might be associated with. “Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

“Then why is Ava still alive? Ricco was obsessed with Rebecca. He wouldn’t help her killer.”

“Your guess is as good as mine. Maybe Jimenez is amusing himself with her, in which case she’ll end up dead.”

Or Ava did what many think is impossible, and successfully seduced Jimenez. “What job did Ricco hire him for before?”

“No details on the job itself.”

My lips thin. “Get me proof on Ricco, and find Ava and Jimenez. Update me tomorrow.” I end the call and lean against the wall.

If Jimenez is the master of staying off the radar, right now I’m the master of nothing. I’ve only felt this helpless one time before, and it didn’t end well. I can’t sit here like a duck on a pond.

I dial my ex-customer, the head of the television network, and offer him an interview. If I can’t find Ava, I’ll bring her to me.

Next, I dial my attorney. I’m going to need him.

Twenty-three

Crystal . . .

When we arrive home from my birthday celebration, Mark takes me to bed, insisting he’s going to make love to me, not fuck me. Turns out vanilla with Mark is never vanilla, and those hours in bed are some of the most intimate we’ve ever shared.

But in the morning light his mood has changed, leaving him distant and on edge. He’s silent on the ride to work, but his hand is on my leg. Mixed messages—the man is forever confusing. Once we walk inside Riptide he quickly disappears into his office, and I can’t help but worry there’s something going on with the Ava situation that he doesn’t want to tell me.

At nearly lunchtime, I’m in the lobby to greet a customer when I hear Beverly announce my father’s call to Mark. A moment later, Royce Walker walks into the lobby for a scheduled meeting with Mark. Thirty minutes later, I’ve finished with my customer when Beverly calls me to the reception desk, lowering her voice to a hushed whisper. “That TV
network executive you had a run-in with is here again. He’s in with Mark, and so is Royce Walker, as well as some FBI agent.”

I pray this means there’s good news, but the odd way Mark was acting this morning still worries me. “Thanks, Beverly. There’s a Cecelia Mercury coming in. She’s worth millions to Riptide. Buzz me in Mark’s office when she arrives.”

I head toward the hallway, trying to seem calm and cool when there is so much adrenaline pumping through me, I think my heart might explode. I stop at Mark’s door and knock. He doesn’t answer. I knock again, and when there’s still nothing, I peek inside—and find it empty.

The conference room is the only other place he could be, and sure enough, the door is shut. I knock, and almost instantly, Jacob opens the door. A moment later Mark appears, stepping into the hallway and shutting the door rather than inviting me inside.

I hug myself, crossing my arms over my pale pink dress. “What’s going on?” I ask, my stomach in knots.

“I’ll come find you when I’m done.”

“No. You’ll tell me now.”

“Crystal—”

“Don’t shut me out. Don’t do that to me. Has something happened? Is someone hurt?”

His hands come down on my shoulders. “No one is hurt, or in any more danger than they were yesterday or the day before. I’m simply taking steps to end this nightmare once and for all.”

“What steps?”

“I need you to trust me.”

“You say that too often, Mark. If you won’t tell me, I’ll talk to my father. I heard him call you.”

“Damn it, Crystal.” He scrubs a hand over his face and pulls me to the end of the hall, lowering his voice. “Ava’s erratic; she snaps easily. So we’re trying to come up with a way to use the press to bait her.”

“Bait her?”

“Yes. But we can’t figure out how to be sure it’s me she comes after.”

“That’s insanity. You could end up dead. Jimenez is with her.”

“We have to take control, Crystal. Doing nothing isn’t working, and no decisions have been made.”

“And you decided I shouldn’t be a part of those decisions, obviously.”

“I was going to bring you in after I had a solid plan, which isn’t yet.”

“After—right. Because I can’t possibly be your partner. I’m your possession. You’ll tell the woman how things will be after you’ve decided.” I try to step around him.

He catches my arm. “That’s not how this is. The idea of losing you destroys me.” His voice is low, gruff. “I knew it was going to scare you, so I wanted to have a workable plan before I came to you. Right now, I don’t.”

“Crystal.”

Mark steps aside at Beverly’s urgent tone and I bring her into focus. “Ms. Mercury is here, and she’s not in a very pleasant mood.”

“I’m on my way.” I whirl on Mark. “Ms. Mercury is worth millions to Riptide. You go plot our certain destruction. I’ll go try and fund it.”

I leave, knots in my stomach, fear in my heart. He’s going to get hurt—and as furious as I am with that man, I can’t bear the idea of him getting hurt. I turn around, returning to the conference room door and opening it.

I glare at the room that includes Kara, Jacob, Blake, Royce, and a few other men. “I’m the logical target. Ava killed Rebecca. We do an interview and make me the bait. It’s the best way to end this.”

Mark stands up from the conference table. “Actually, that’s an option we’ve talked about,” he shocks me by saying. “But there’s a condition that I told everyone you wouldn’t consider.”

“What’s the condition?”

“You agree to go to Paris, while an FBI agent pretends to be you.”

My heart sinks. How am I supposed to walk away and hope everyone I love is safe? But how do I ignore a chance to end this, when even I’ve said it’s the most logical choice?

“Fine. I’ll do it.”

*  *  *

My meeting is tough but it ends well, and I walk my client to the lobby. As soon as she departs, Beverly flags me down. “Mr. Compton needs you in his office.”

“Thank you, Beverly,” I say, walking toward my office, not Mark’s. I need a minute to process Paris, and his planning all of this behind my back. The instant I walk into my office, my cell phone rings and I don’t even look at the caller ID. Of course it’s Mark. I answer with exaggerated formality, “This is Ms. Smith.”

“Ms. Smith,” says an unfamiliar male voice that sends a chill down my spine. “There is a bomb in your building. Walker Security isn’t as good as they think they are.”

I am instantly reeling, the world spinning under my feet. “Who is this?”

“You have exactly two minutes after we hang up. Exit the building and turn right, then turn into the sandwich shop next door—or the building will be detonated. Do not put on your coat before you leave. Do not carry anything out with you. If you allow anyone to stop you, everyone is dead. If anyone steps into the sandwich shop that we think is following you, everyone is dead. Make sure they don’t. Ready, set—”

“Wait,” I say. “Security will follow me.”

“That’s why you have two minutes, not one. Create a disruption. Use your brain. Go.” The line goes dead.

I stand there in shock. I’m not sure.
Think. Think. Think.
How would a bomb get inside the building? It could be the mail. Or in someone’s purse. Or what if he hired one of our employees? Or it’s on top of or beside the building? Oh, God. The options are too many. I can’t risk thousands of lives for mine. My mind races for a way to warn everyone.

Paper. Pen. I write a note.

Bomb in building. Evacuate now. They made me leave and said if I’m followed everyone will be killed. My mind races. I’m hiding my phone on me so I can be traced. I love you, Mark. Please tell my family how much I love them. And this is NOT your fault. It’s NOT.

I throw down the pencil and look for a place to hide the phone, and decide on my bra. Turning off the volume, I stuff it awkwardly inside.

I dart for the door and try to be calm as I enter the hallway, walking swiftly when I want to run. In the lobby, I make a mad dash for the reception desk. “Is everyone still with Mark?”

“Yes. They’re still in there.”

“Good. Tell Mark I’m headed to my meeting but I left an urgent message on my desk.”

Her brow furrows. “On your desk?”

“Do it
now,
Beverly,” I order harshly, and since I’m never snippy, she jerks into action and punches a button.

I draw a breath and do the only thing I can. I walk toward the exit and act like it’s perfectly reasonable for me to leave without a coat, giving a friendly nod to the two guards inside the doorway. Outside I don’t stop to greet the two guards to my right and left, and they don’t stop me.
Thank you, thank you, thank you.
I make it to the end of the roped-off walkway, and my luck runs out. One of the two guards steps in front of me.

“Where’s Jacob?” I demand, aware my two minutes must be up. “I have a meeting and I’m freezing.” I hug myself. “My coat is inside the Escalade.”

“I haven’t heard anything about this, ma’am.”

I glance at my watch, acting irritated. Riptide pays these guards. They consider me a client, and they’re not ex-FBI or ex-ATF. They are foot soldiers, so to speak. “I have a meeting with a big client in fifteen minutes and I’m late. Please find out where the heck Jacob is, or get someone else to escort me. You know I can’t leave on my own.” I move outside the ropes and give the street my back, facing both guards, looking at them both expectantly, when I’m really preparing to dart away.

The second guard gives me a puzzled look. “Jacob is inside, in a meeting.”

He’s more informed than I thought, but I recover quickly. “He was supposed to leave the meeting to escort me.
Please
tell me he didn’t forget. This meeting is worth millions to Riptide. Mr. Compton will be furious with him, and me.”

“I’ll call Jacob,” the second guard says.

“I’ll get one of the other men to pull up the Escalade,” the first guard offers.

“Thank you,” I reply to both. “Hurry. It’s freezing.”

They both reach for their phones, and the instant I spot a good cluster of people, I dart into the midst of it, hearing their shouts. “Ms. Smith!”

My heart is racing and I can barely catch my breath, but I keep moving, never looking behind me as I enter the restaurant.

The instant I step into the doorway, a jacket is draped over my shoulders from behind, a hood pulled over my head.

A strong male hand closes on my arm, his face covered by the same kind of hoodie as the man on the street had worn.
Jimenez.
I know in my gut this is him, and I’m terrified, certain I’m not making it out of this alive.

“Walk forward,” he commands, and I do as ordered. I remind myself I still have my phone and I left a note. But suddenly I’m trembling, and I can’t stop. I want Jimenez to think it’s because I’m cold, but it’s fear, which I can’t afford. I have to get free. I want to scream for help—but the bomb is still a threat.

We pass the register and go to the back exit onto another street. The instant we’re on the sidewalk, he drags me into the crowd. “Why are you doing this?” I ask.

“I kill people who talk too much,” he murmurs. “And so you know, I’ve never set off a bomb. I want an excuse to do it.” He stares forward, his face still hidden. “Give me one.”

I shut my mouth, but I panic when we head toward the subway. My cell phone can’t be tracked there, and any hope that anyone will find me is about to be lost. We head down the stairs. I consider fighting and yelling for help, but I don’t do it. I’ll wait until we’re out of the subway. I’ll give Riptide time to evacuate and then I’ll scream for help. I’m going to make this work. I’m going to get out of this.

The next few minutes are a blur as we pass through the turnstiles to the trains and I’m pulled onto a car. Still my captor doesn’t look at me. He stares forward, holding on to me with one hand and a pole with the other. Three trains later, nothing has changed. He still holds me and the pole, and we’ve done a circle, looping back to a train station that puts us only a few blocks from Riptide.

It gives me hope. I’m close to help. I just need to get away. And it’s time now.

We clear the platform from the train and he seems to sense my shift in mood, yanking me around to face him, looking at me for the first time, his eyes black, cold, and brutal. The jagged scar down his face is somehow a promise of pain. “You scream,” he murmurs in a soft, lethal hiss, “you do anything I am not happy about, and I will slice Mark Compton’s throat if it’s the last thing I do in this world. Understand?”

I go cold as ice. “Yes. I understand.”

He doesn’t move, staring me down, the crowd bustling round us, and I think he’ll never stop looking at me with those cold, black eyes. Abruptly his hands go to my waist, his lips twisting as he starts caressing my body. While he makes it sexual, his intention is clear. He’s looking for something, and he finds it. He caresses my breast, sickening me with the touch, demolishing me with defeat. He grabs my phone and drops it to the ground.

He leans in close, his hot breath on my cheek. “I’m smarter than that, bitch.” And then he’s dragging me along again. The next few minutes become a blur, my mind going wild. He’s going to rape and kill me. I saw it in his eyes. I have only one way to survive and keep Mark safe. I have to kill him first. It’s a crazy thought that almost has me spurting laughter, like a crazy person. I think I might be crazy right now.

We exit to the street again and walk several blocks, and I try to think of ways to kill him. I took self-defense, but I don’t know how to kill. Survival is all I can think.
Put him down, and then figure out the rest. Survive. Don’t give him a chance to tie you up or you’ll die.

We’re nearing Rockefeller Center, directly across from Riptide, and I start to fear that he wants to be around to enjoy the explosion. But he turns into a pizza joint connected to the subway, and immediately goes to the stairs leading down to the seating area and train tunnel. My heart stops when he heads to a bathroom instead of the exit.

This is it. This is where he’s going to do it. I fight the urge to scream for help, reminding myself about Mark. I have to take this bastard down. I have to be stronger than my fear.

He shoves me inside the small bathroom and leans on the door, holding it shut, holding my arms behind me, taking away my foolish idea that I could defeat him. Panic over the trapped sensation radiating through me is nothing compared to what I feel when a gorgeous brunette steps in front of me. “Ava,” I whisper, though I’ve never seen a picture of her.

“Yes, my sweet. I am Ava.” She cups my cheek, caressing it, sending a shiver through me. “So you’re Mark Compton’s flavor of the month.”

“What do you want?” I ask, trying to buy time, though I don’t know what for. I can’t get out of this. I can’t get away. But still, I try. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because it amuses me to hurt him. And what amuses me, amuses the man holding your arms. That’s real love, darlin’.”

She punches me, sending pain splintering through my head. I gasp and another blow comes. Then everything goes black.