My Control (5 page)

He answers on the second ring. “Finally, you’re returning my calls,” he says without preamble.

“Meet me at the club.” I end the call.

Crystal

Mark’s been gone a full hour when I really start to worry. I get dressed and look for my purse to do something about my tear-streaked face, then realize it’s in my room—along with my phone. With Riptide under my care, Mark’s parents counting on me to run the place, his mother ill, and Mark gone, any number of people could be trying to reach me.

I make a quick dash to my room and to my disappointment find no missed calls. After freshening up, I return to Mark’s suite to wait for him. There I turn on the TV and find the news, hoping for some hint of what he might be learning, but I hear nothing helpful.

As tempting as it is, I don’t read more of the journal, though I’m curious to know if Mark left it with the intention of me reading it. The idea that he would is confusing, and even if that was his plan, it feels wrong to read Rebecca’s words. The premise of death erasing our rights to privacy is a grim one for me.
Death.
My hand goes to my throat, hating that I’ve assumed Rebecca to be dead. I really don’t want it to be true.

By 1:15 a.m., I’ve resorted to pacing and studying the fancy interior of the expensive suite that I’ve barely noticed until now, and if not for the circumstances that are unique, I’d be irritated at myself. I try never to take luxury for granted, despite being blessed the past seventeen years with a family that’s more than a little comfortable. But I remember a time when they weren’t in my life, and when my world was hell. A part of me is illogically always afraid I’ll return to that place.

Shaking off the thought, I start flipping channels again when there’s a knock on the door, and my heart sinks to the ground. Mark wouldn’t knock and my stomach rolls at the thought that I’m about to get his bad news from someone else. Unless Mark lost his key—a crazy scenario for such a control freak, but he’s far from himself now. I rush down the hall and have to catch myself as I carelessly reach for the lock without question.

“Who is it?” I call.

“Blake Walker,” I hear. “I’m the—”

I open the door, finding a tall, dark-haired man in jeans and a Walker Security T-shirt, his long hair barely contained by a tie at his nape. “I know who you are. One of your employees drove me here and told me about you. Mark’s not here.”

“I know. I’m here to see you.”

My mouth goes dry with the implication of the bad news to follow. “He told you I was in his room?”

“I put two and two together. Can I come in?”

I step backward with a nod and he walks in, then turns to face me. “Has Mark called you?”

“No. Why? What’s wrong?”

Again he ignores my question. “How much influence do you have over him?”

I scowl at the nosy question that isn’t an answer to mine. “Stop answering my questions with questions. It’s upsetting and makes me nervous. Just tell me what is going on.”

He gives me a three-second deadpan stare before he says, “Obviously you have the balls to speak your mind. That could be a useful quality right now. I’m sure you know the charges related to Rebecca were dropped against Ava Perez.”

“Yes. Yes, I know.”

“There’s enough evidence to charge her again and make an arrest.”

My hand goes to my belly. “Oh. Oh, so that means . . .” I can’t get myself to say the word.

“Rebecca’s dead,” he finishes. “Yes.”

Feeling like I’ve been punched, I sink against the wall and press my fingers to my face, my mind replaying pieces of the journal entry.
One day
 . . . “One day is never going to come,” I whisper, and I can’t seem to help it. My eyes burn. I’m fighting tears for a second time tonight, when I never cry.

“What does that mean?” Blake asks. “One day is never going to come?”

I inhale and drop my hands. “Rebecca. She’s never going to experience things she deserved to experience.”

“Right,” he says, his lips settling into a grim line. “So think about your reaction just now to the news and multiply it by one hundred, and you have Mark’s.”

“I can only imagine. Where is he now?”

“He went after Ava and Ryan, intending to make them pay.”

“Oh, no. No. That’s bad. That’s really bad.” I push off the wall. “He’s not thinking about his mother. She has cancer. She needs him. I have to find him. We have to find him.”

“I have someone following him. Last I heard, he was headed toward either his house or a private club he favors. They’re a few blocks apart.”

“His club,” I say, letting him know that I’m aware of what he’s talking about. “Is Ava or this Ryan person there?”

“No. Ava’s at an undisclosed location that I refused to give him, but he swore he could get it on his own. We aren’t sure about Ryan. We can’t get anyone at the club to talk.”

“Who is Ryan? How is he involved?”

“Someone close to Mark, Ava, and Rebecca. There was a circle.”

A circle,
I repeat in my mind, putting it together. “For sex,” I say, feeling sick at the memory of Rebecca writing about how Mark had pushed her limits by taking her to the club.

“It’s Mark’s place to explain the relationships,” Blake says, avoiding a direct confirmation. “The bottom line is that Mark believes Ryan was involved in Rebecca’s murder, despite his rock solid alibi.” His cell phone rings and he answers it, listening a minute, his eyes finding mine. “Keep your eyes on the gates and make sure Ryan doesn’t enter, too, if he’s not already inside. Stop him if he tries.” He ends the call. “He’s at the club. Call him. Try to get him back here with you.”

I nod. “Yes. Yes, okay.” I press my hand to my forehead. “Yes. Of course.” I cross to the living area and sit on the couch while Blake follows to stand on the opposite side of the coffee table. I dig my cell from my purse and dial the button programmed for Mark. It rings and goes direct to voice mail.

I shake my head. “It’s either turned off or he just dismissed my call.”

He scrubs his jaw and his phone rings again. He answers, listens, then says, “Don’t do that. It’s a mistake.” He pauses. “My man will try, but I won’t let him get arrested.
Fuck.
Okay. I’m on my way.” He ends the call and tells me, “That was the head of security at the club. I warned him about Mark’s state of mind and he had a change of heart about keeping silent. He says Mark just told them to let Ryan through the gates when he arrives. I’m headed there now.”

I stand up. “I’m coming with you.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.

Mark

I’m sitting behind the desk of my office inside the club, post several strong cups of coffee, watching the live security camera. Ryan pull up in his car. I zoom in the camera, watching Ryan curse under his breath as one of Blake’s men approaches his window.

I buzz Kurt in security. “Get Walker Security off Ryan’s ass and get him inside.”

Ten minutes later, Ryan is inside the club and I’m standing behind my desk waiting for him. Behind the desk, because I’ve had time to think about why I can’t just rip his throat out—namely my mother—and I will if I get too close to him. A knock sounds and I grind my teeth, every muscle in my body tensing. I will not kill the son-of-a-bitch. Instead I’ll ruin him, and make his life such hell that he’ll wish he was dead. I hit the buzzer to let him into the office and he enters, dressed casually in slacks and a pullover, his dark hair neatly combed, and I have the impression he’s not been to bed.

He crosses the room to stand behind a leather visitor’s chair. “Is there news on Rebecca?” he asks, sounding urgent. But his eyes don’t quite meet mine, a sure sign that he’s hiding something.

“Why?” I ask, resenting the way he dares to come in here and act like this is some shared journey. “Are you afraid of what it might be?”

“Afraid? Hell yes.” His eyes finally level with mine. “I’m terrified they’ll find her dead.”

My lips thin. “Of course you are.” Sarcasm tinges my tone.

Cocking his head, he frowns. “What does that mean?”

“I’m not playing the games with you that the police have. I know you helped Ava kill Rebecca.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You told the police that Ava brought Rebecca to me the night she arrived back into the city. And yet you never spoke to me about it? Never asked about her? I call bullshit. You know Rebecca never made it to me. You were involved in her disappearance. I don’t know how, or at what level, but you were.”

He grabs the back of the chair. “Telling the truth is all I’m guilty of.”

“You never asked me about her return.”

“You were testy about Rebecca leaving. I wasn’t going to throw her leaving again in your face.”

“Why would you assume she’d be gone again?”

“Because you fucked with her mind too much, Mark. She was done with you.”

I don’t move. If I do, I’ll kill the bastard. Seconds tick by and I’m not counting; I’m imagining my hands on his throat. “I ask myself what Rebecca would want me to do right now.”

“Don’t try to make me the bastard here. I tried to warn her away from you. You’d already ruined her.”

I narrow my gaze. “And I suppose that you were to be her saving grace? Her new Master?”

“When she was the Rebecca I first met, I wanted her.” Barely contained hate radiates from his voice. “I didn’t want the bitch you turned her into.”

Adrenaline surges through me, and I plant my hands on the desk. “So you killed her?”

“No.” He leans on the desk to match my stance, and surprises me by meeting my stare. “I didn’t kill her. I didn’t even see her when she returned.”

I search his unblinking stare and I decide he didn’t kill her. He was involved, though. I have no doubt. I open the desk drawer. “I ask again¸ what would Rebecca want?” I set a Glock on the desk. “She’d want you dead.”

He retreats, hands up in the air stop-sign fashion. “Easy, man. You’re taking this too far. I didn’t kill Rebecca.”

“She was a better person than me,” I say as if he hasn’t spoken. “To me, dead is too easy. It’s over too soon, and I want you to suffer.”

His throat bobs and his hands slowly lower. “What does that mean?”

“I’ll let your imagination run wild. And I suggest you get out of here, before I change my mind and decide to honor what I believe to be her wishes. I can almost hear her shouting in my ear:
Kill him. Kill him.
”

He turns a ghostly white and looks like he’s about to shit his pants. I’d laugh if I wasn’t envisioning my hand on that gun, pulling the trigger while my other hand was on his throat, choking him to death. Another rush of adrenaline surges through me. “Get out!” I shout.

He turns and rushes for the door, bursts into the hallway. The door slams hard behind him and I grab my phone and call my man again. “Screw proving Ryan’s guilt. I want every business contract he owns. Every bank account. Every piece of real estate. And then I want a plan on how to make it all disappear legally.”

“That’s going to be expensive.”

“Which means there are plenty of people who’ll do the job, and do it well—so don’t go getting greedy on me. I want answers this week or I’ll replace you.” I hang up and set the phone on the desk and my hand shakes. My hand never fucking shakes.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I’m sorry, Rebecca.” Suddenly the darkness that had threatened is here, and I’m on my knees. I don’t even know how I got there, or how long I’ve been there, or how long the tears have streaked my cheeks.

The phone on my desk buzzes and my security manager’s voice sounds. “Crystal Smith is here to see you.”

“Send her away,” I all but growl, but then it hits me. “No. Wait.” My mind races and I struggle to my feet.

I didn’t scare Rebecca away, and I cost her her life. I’m repeating the same thing with Crystal. “Send her to my private quarters.” It’s time to end this—and I know just how to make sure she leaves for good.