Behind Closed Doors (Behind Closed Doors #1)(77)

“What?” I gasp. “They’re both dead?”

“You don’t f*ck with our bets,” he says.

“?‘Our’ bets?” Jason asks. “Were you a part of this?”

“I would have endorsed it, but I wasn’t a part of it.”

“Are you telling us this is over?” Daniel asks.

“I can’t say if it is or it is not.” Buddha looks at Jason. “But the mob is in your corner. If anyone else is involved, rest assured they’ll find out. Debt paid, as far as I’m concerned. You’re on your own.” He lifts his hands. “Stop playing charity events.”

He starts walking, and by the time he’s out the door, Jason is at the window, hands pressed to the glass, chin at his chest.

The door shuts, and he shoves away from the window and faces us. “Daniel, call Jack and tell him Skye and I are leaving.”

“I thought this was over,” I say.

“Someone else is involved, and I don’t want to be here when Joe finds them and somehow have this turn on us.”

My hand goes to my neck. “Shouldn’t we go to the police or something?”

“We’ll end up six feet under if we do that.” Jason eyes Daniel. “Tell Jack to find whoever it is before the mob does. That’s the best we can do to help this end less bloodily.”

“I’m on it,” Daniel says.

“You need to get out of town, too,” Jason says. “Meet us in Europe.”

“I need to stay here and clean this up alongside Jack,” Daniel counters. “You two go, but call me before you get in the air.” He turns and leaves.

Jason pulls me to him. “We’re okay. This is basically over.”

“Not if someone close to you was a part of this.”

“The only person who’s going to be close to me the next six weeks is you.” He kisses me. “Let’s get packed and out of here.”

? ? ?

TWO HOURS LATER we’re on a plane waiting to take off, with one of Jack’s men on board and Jack on Skype.

“Here’s what we know,” Jack says. “Stephanie has an odd bank transfer we’ve linked to China. This might not have been anyone close to you.”

“The Chinese?” Jason asks. “Why?”

“There are all kinds of clandestine operations floating around with Chinese interest,” Jack says. “Some small and stupid. Some smart and dangerous. It’s likely an experiment gone bad, and even the mob won’t catch them. But there’s a reason we hadn’t told you yet. We don’t know. We’re working on it. In the meantime, my man is with you and you’re getting the hell out of Dodge.”

“How would Stephanie connect with these people?” Jason asks, reading my mind.

“She was a groupie in the gaming industry,” Jack says. “A prime target. You didn’t do this to her. She did this to herself.”

“What about my parents?”

“They have no idea that we’re watching them, and I have zero fear that they’re in danger,” he assures us. “That said, Jesse, the agent we have staying there undercover, under the guise of writing that book he’s been wanting to write, did say he’s been forced to run five extra miles a day because he can’t say no to your mother’s cooking.”

Jason’s lips curve. “I feel his pain, believe me.”

Jack sobers quickly. “We got this, Jason. You two enjoy Europe, but let me just say one thing. If you get on this flight and start blaming yourself, don’t. If this hadn’t been you, it would have been another player.”

He ends the call and Jason shuts his MacBook, setting it aside, his elbows resting on his knees, hands on his face. He’s fighting for that control he so values, and I have no doubt he craves a release. I could tell him he’s not to blame for any of this, the way Jack did. I could tell him words to make him feel better, but none of that is going to erase the many ways he’ll question himself over the death of two women. So I choose to lay my hand on his back and silently let him know that I’ll ride out the storm with him.

? ? ?

SIX WEEKS PASS QUICKLY, and Jason and I are in a hired car on our way to his Vegas apartment, to fulfill one of three contracted events he has left with the TV show. While all threats to us have been cleared, Jason has decided to maintain Jack’s services for the next six months, which really isn’t surprising. He might be past that first week we were in Europe, when he struggled with self-blame, but the deaths of two women are hard to set aside.

The car stops and the doorman opens our door, but I don’t get out. “It’s kind of surreal, isn’t it?” I ask, glancing at Jason.

“It is,” he says solemnly, and when I start to exit the car, he pulls me to him and kisses me. “Next stop, San Francisco and home. Finally, I get you in my real bed.”

“Yes,” I say, warming to the idea of moving in with him officially, despite the fact that we’ve lived together for weeks now. “Home.”

He kisses me again and helps me out of the car, and once we’re inside the hotel he’s bombarded with greetings, all of which he welcomes graciously. Finally, we make our way to the elevator, and we laugh, because I’ve gotten over this fear, but only after a few intense panic attacks in Europe’s many tiny spaces. Not to mention a whole lot of talking about my father, and every closet I hid in while he abused my mother.