by Susan Ward
The hairs on my arms and the back of my neck shoot warnings through my body. I throw on some clothes, hail a cab, and race into the Crown.
Weaving my way through people, I spot Brayden at the front desk. “I’ve checked every floor, Jake,” he says grimly. “The staff is pulling the security tapes.”
I grab his shirt. “Why the hell didn’t you call me?”
“I didn’t think anything was wrong. Not until—”
“Until what, Bray?”
“How long they’d been in the hotel together. When she didn’t come down to the lobby I panicked. Started searching. She didn’t eat dinner here. Not in any of the restaurants. That’s what she told me they were doing. I’ve brought her here with him before. I should have told you. Krystal asked me not to. It got me thinking maybe…this is something I don’t want you to know—”
“Don’t you fucking say that,” I growl, tightening my hold on him before I toss him back against the counter. “She’s not having an affair with him. It’s not that.”
“I’m sorry.”
I start pacing in small circles. It’s not that, I tell myself again, but everything is churning inside me in a way I can’t process. Apprehension like a jagged knife in a way I’ve never felt before. A sudden coldness rolling across my flesh.
I whirl and stare at the desk clerk. “How long does it take you assholes to get surveillance tapes? My wife is missing.”
Startled, his eyes bug out. “I’m waiting for a call from the manager, sir.”
“Waiting? A woman is missing in your hotel and you’re wasting time for a phone call from the manager?”
“I can’t let you see the security tapes without his authorization unless you’re law enforcement, sir.”
“Where’s your security room?”
“Only security personnel—”
My face contorts with rage. “Don’t give me that shit. We work for Black Star, and our”—the word sticks briefly in my throat—“asset is missing.”
Brayden lays his badge on the polished wood. “You take us to your security headquarters now or a hundred men will be in this hotel in under an hour tearing it apart room by room.”
Flustered, the clerk hurries into the lobby, down a hallway, and then he punches in a code on a panel outside bulletproof metal doors.
Everything inside is high tech, state of the art. Good. It means all the cameras are probably working.
“Let these men view anything they want to,” the clerk says. “Full access to everything.”
“I can’t do that without Mr. Reynold being here,” the guard says.
“They’re with Black Star. Professional courtesy. Give them what they need.”
I drop down on the vacant chair at the control panel.
“Pull up the lobby tapes. 1900 tonight. Every angle you’ve got.”
He starts rapidly clicking away on the keyboard. I look over my shoulder. “Brayden, don’t let him leave,” I say just before the desk clerk reaches the door.
My eyes rapidly move from box to box, scanning the different views of people moving through the lobby. Where is she? Where is she…my stomach clenches as I lock on target. There she is.
Oh God, she’s practically in Milo’s arms.
No, no.
What’s wrong with her?
Focus, Jake. Focus.
Work the problem.
Don’t think of anything else.
“Stop. There. That’s her. Where does that hallway lead to?”
“The elevators, sir.”
“Bring up that video. Start at 1921.”
I try to hold it together, but the sound of the keyboard clicking makes my already raw nerves more ragged.
There she is.
She’s smiling, but she doesn’t look right.
Why does she keep rubbing her face with her palm?
And she’s unsteady on her feet.
“Was she drunk tonight, Bray?”
“Not when I last saw her.”
“But you saw her before she came into the hotel, right? She doesn’t look like herself to me and they didn’t stop in the bar.”
I stare up at him, but his carefully neutral answering expression blasts me with a chill before I turn back to the monitors.
Waiting.
Waiting.
Doors open.
Gone from the frame.
“There she is.” I tap on the screen. “Bring up the video for that elevator.”
Inside the elevator. One floor, two floors. They’re alone. They’re just standing there, backs against opposite walls. No body contact. Not even talking.
Brayden’s wrong about whatever he was thinking. I need to get him out of my head. Fuck, why would she come here with Milo Bassard and not tell me?
I breathe in and breathe out.
The elevator doors open. “What floor is that?”
“The twenty-fourth, sir.”
“Get the video from that floor.”
“He doesn’t have to, sir,” the clerk says. “Mr. Bassard has a room for the night on that floor. 2431. He’s a regular guest. It’s his usual room.”
“You son of a bitch,” I growl, springing from my chair as he stumbles back from me. “Wasting our time looking at surveillance video when you fucking knew where they went all along—”
Brayden shoots his body between us before I hit the miserable weasel. “Jake, no.”
I grab the man’s suit jacket. “You got a pass card?”
He nods.
The guard stands up as I shove the clerk toward the door.
“You don’t want to mix in this,” Brayden says menacingly, using his body to keep the guy from coming after me. “Don’t call anyone. Don’t do anything. Stay put and stay out of it.”
We take a service elevator to the twenty-fourth floor.
Outside room 2431, the clerk rummages in his pockets, hands shaking so badly he can’t get what he’s looking for out of his wallet.
“You better fucking have a master key,” I hiss.
He waves the card and I ease the door open. “Keep him out here, Bray.”
I take a quick glance in.
Empty glasses.
Bottles of booze.
No sound, no bodies.
I step into the suite, rapidly survey the area, and head for the bedroom. Carefully turning the knob, I slowly open it an inch.
Oh, fuck me.
Oh, fuck me.
Discarded lengths of rope on the sheets.
A belt on the floor.
Bed messed.
I’ve seen this before.
Snippets of words rise in my memory to torment me: It’s something I read about and wanted to try. I liked it. It kept sex from being overly emotional and mostly physical…I like sex. Shoot me. Who doesn’t?…I don’t think it would ever be something I’d want with you…
I can’t pull in oxygen; my heart is racing too fast.
My legs give out and I sink to the floor.
Damn you, Krystal.
I turn my ring on my finger, then push it hard into my skin to keep inside me the tears that swell in my throat like acid. Harder. Harder, but when I look at my band, the burn in my eyes lets go like a broken pipe.
Why isn’t this—us—enough for Krystal? Why always more, never enough, never letting perfection simply be? This—her—is everything I’ll ever need. Why can’t she get past the dark inside her with the love I pour into her, the way she’s filled me with light by loving me?
Why did she need this from him?
What did I not give her?
I’ve given all of me, loved her through everything—her eating disorder, the loss of our child because of it, auditions, rehearsals, anything she wants or needs I give.
But it’s not enough.
I’m not enough.
I drop my face into my hands. I can’t look at the room anymore. I wish my legs had the strength to get out of he
re. But I can’t breathe. I can’t think. I can’t command my own body.
Why?
Why would she do this?
And where the hell did she go with him?
“Jake?”
I look up to see Brayden standing above me.
“We need to call this in,” he says frantically.
A hoarse laugh breaks through my tears as I lie my head back on the bed. “Call it in? Call in what? That my wife is having an affair with Milo Bassard because her husband doesn’t do the whip-me shit.”
“What the fuck is the matter with you?” Brayden growls, lowering to eye level with me.
I shove him back from my face. “Look at the goddamn bed. Look familiar, Bray?”
His gaze moves around the room. “No. I see a crime scene.”
He stands up and starts to take photographs. “Don’t let anyone into this room,” he says to the clerk. “Don’t call the police. Black Star is taking control. Post a man outside this room until our team gets here.”
I hear the whoosh of his cell, the pictures being sent.
I run my hand along my dripping nose. “Great, fucking great. You sent those to Jared, didn’t you? This is my personal shit, asshole.”
His harsh stare locks on me. “No, it isn’t. She’s my asset. I make the decisions here. You’re not thinking right. You’re wrong, Jake. We need to start a search for Krystal.”
I let him pull me to my feet. “A search. She’s probably at Milo Bassard’s apartment. That’s where she went, why she didn’t come home. It makes sense. They’re always together. Hell, she has you lying for her so she can be with him. It’s pretty remarkable we lasted as long as we did. She’s always been out of my league and she still is. I think she’s left me for him.”
“You’re fucking crazy,” Brayden growls, brushing past me to leave the room.
Chapter Forty-Four
Brayden shoves me back against the seat. “Stay in the car with the driver. You’re not going in with me. This one I do alone, Jake.”
I open my door. “Fuck you. She’s my wife. Whatever she’s doing in Milo’s apartment I’ve got a right to know.”
I’m almost into the building before I hear rapid footsteps as Brayden runs to catch me.
I bypass the doorman and shove my way through the double glass doors.
Inside the building, a security guard cuts into my path, trying to block me from the elevators. “Excuse me. You can’t go up unless I ring you up.”
“Unlock the elevator and get out of my way, asshole. You don’t want to get in my crosshairs tonight.”
“We’re here to see Mr. Bassard,” Brayden announces, slightly breathless from running.
“Why are you even bothering to talk to him? Grab his fucking master keys, Bray. They’re hanging right there from his belt next to that gun he’s probably never fired.”
“You’re not going up, sir. I’ll arrest you if you don’t leave the building immediately. Mr. Bassard requested not to be disturbed tonight.”
The guard locks my wrist in his hand. I’m not sure if it’s the not be disturbed comment or that I’ve felt ready to explode since we left the Crown Vista Hotel, but I swing with the full force of what’s raging inside me, landing my fist in the sentry’s jaw and sending him flying back to tumble to the tile.
“Well, I’m disturbing him. Stay down, asshole. You don’t want to fuck with me tonight,” I say through gritted teeth before continuing to the elevators.
“Stop,” the guard says.
I turn back.
He’s pulled his gun.
I hold my arms wide. “Go ahead and shoot. Do you think that’s going to stop me? Back off, because if you don’t take me down, even with a bullet in me, I’m coming back to the lobby to kick your ass after I’m done dealing with Mr. Bassard.”
“Fuck, Jake,” Brayden hisses, cautiously moving toward the shaking guard on the floor. “Listen, you can lower your weapon. We’re on the job. Don’t shoot him. I’m just going to reach for my identification. See—reaching slowly into my pocket. There.”
Braden holds out his identification.
Cautiously, the man shifts his gaze to the wallet, then his mouth turns into a tight line before he shoves his gun back into his holster. “Black Star. I should have known. Hey, dipshit, you could have showed me your identification when you got here, instead of trying to muscle your way in like a cowboy. Is being an arrogant prick a job requirement for you guys?”
“Not a requirement. But it helps.” Brayden forces a smile. “We’ve had a long night. We’re a little on edge. Can you unlock the elevator and tell us what apartment Mr. Bassard is in?”
Shaking his head, the guard inserts his security key into the control panel, and presses the button to hold open the door. “That’s no reason for your friend to act like a cowboy. You Black Star guys are worse than the Feds. Go on up. Apartment 9C.”
“Thanks, man.” Brayden pushes me in ahead of him until I’m against the far wall. He stands with his arms crossed, staring at me unwaveringly. Once the doors are closed, he leans into my face. “You simmer down.”
“Fucker, how calm would you be if it were your wife?”
He keeps his eyes locked on me.
My jaw clenches and unclenches.
“You need to pull it together, Jake. You can’t go into Bassard’s apartment the way you stormed this building. If Krystal’s there, you don’t want to handle it the way you’ve handled everything else tonight. I’m being your friend here. You don’t want to be like this with her.”
My gaze narrows on him. “I thought you thought we were looking for a missing asset, or was that just bullshit you gave me to keep you with me when I came here? As for you being my friend, you haven’t been my friend since you started working for Krystal and lying to me about what she’s been doing. What kind of fucking friend are you?”
His features harden.
“I’m a good friend. To both of you.” He looks away. “You should have stayed in the car, Jake. Let me take care of this one. You practically started a shootout with a fucking rent-a-gun in the lobby. You’re not firing on all cylinders right now.”
The raging currents inside me turn into whitewater rapids. “I’m going in. Don’t you try to stop me.”
He shakes his head. The elevator doors open and he stands in the opening and says, “I talk. You watch. That’s it. Are we clear?”
“Fuck you,” I growl.
I follow him down the hallway.
The floor is quiet.
Almost too quiet for New York, even for 4:00 a.m.
It makes my insides jumpier.
Not that they’ve stopped since I saw the hotel bedroom.
I’m not sure which is going to hit me harder.
Finding her in there with Milo or not finding her there.
God, is she in bed with him?
And what if she’s not here? Then what?
I’ve been nothing but warring emotions since Brayden said I see a crime scene here.
I don’t know what to think.
What to feel.
Back and forth like a ping-pong ball, angry and hurt because of her, and in the next moment terrified.
Brayden stops walking and his arms shoot out to keep me from going around him. We’re almost to 9C. Why is he stopping me this time?
I give him a push against his shoulder. “Get out of my way if you don’t want to do this. You’re not keeping me out of there. Stop trying to prevent me from finding my wife.”
“Jake—” he warns on a hushed growl, using his massive body to make me move away from the door as he reaches for his gun “The door’s open, Jake. There’s blood on the floor inside.”
I shift my gaze.
Giant pools of red on the apartment entryway tile. Oh fuck, blood everywhere. Prickles run my skin as Brayden gestures to me to flatten against the wall near the doorway. I grab my gun.
“I’m going in fi
rst. Stay here. Cover me,” he whispers.
We lock eyes, and I nod. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, counts down, and then charges into the room. The second he’s out of my vision, time accelerates. Seconds feels like an eternity. No shots, but there’s blood. The sound of his footsteps inside the eerily quiet apartment zaps my nerves, and the feeling in my gut is unbearable.
I can’t hear him.
Fuck, why doesn’t he say something?
Call “all clear.”
He’s racing through the apartment like a charging bull, footsteps thundering, doors crashing into walls.
I peek inside. Damn it, he’s out of my line of sight. “Bray? I can’t see you, man. You OK? Is Krystal in there?”
“Stay out, Jake. You don’t want to come in.”
Oh shit.
What doesn’t he want me to see?
All that blood.
No, no, don’t let it be her.
I go through the door and it hits me like a brick wall.
“Oh fuck.”
Blood everywhere like someone butchered a cow.
Milo Bassard sitting propped on the floor against a sofa. Decapitated. His head lying between his legs.
No sign of Krystal.
Panic rockets through my veins as I anxiously sweep the rooms. “Is Krystal here? Don’t lie to me, Bray. Did they do this to her, too—”
“There’s no one here except him in the apartment.”
Open door, check.
Open door, check.
Nothing.
Over and over again until I’m back in the living room with Brayden. “I don’t see her. Oh fuck. Jesus Christ, Brayden. Where is she?”
I lean forward, hands on my thighs, fighting against the vomit erupting upward and the crushing weight of what I’m seeing and knowing something has happened to Krystal.
I stare at Brayden. “She’s not here. Where do you think she is?”
“I don’t know. I’m just glad she’s not here.” Brayden’s glazed eyes fix on Milo. “This is as bad as the shit we used to find in the desert. We’re in fucking Manhattan. How could this happen here? What kind of people could do this? What the fuck is going on, Jake?”
Details from the background checks I had Jared run flash in my head. The argument I heard between Milo Bassard and Alberto Ramos. My concerns weren’t nothing. My instincts were right, and the fucking FBI made me sound like a paranoid alarmist.
