I Belong to You (Inside Out #5)(10)

“Yes, I do. And they do.”

“About damn time you grew some balls.”

“I assure you, Mr. Compton, I have balls the size of Texas when I need them. I can also promise you that, despite downplaying it to you, Walker Security is working every angle that could represent danger to you or your family, or even your reputation. They aren’t ignoring any possibility where Ava is concerned, or taking anything for granted where safety is concerned. They’re damned good—which is why I joined them.”

The elevator doors ding open and we step out, then head toward the lobby doors. “Do you have any new information you should share?”

“Nothing on Ava, Ryan, or Ricco that helps us at all.”

“Would you tell me if you did?”

“Not if I could rip their throats out for you and call it justice, to spare you the aftermath.”

“I’m not sure what to make of that answer.”

His stoic expression doesn’t change. “I do that to people.” He continues: “I don’t like the setup here. There’s only one door in and out of the hotel. If the press gets too heavy, it’ll be a trap. We need to move.”

Just then the hotel manager spots us from the bellman’s desk and rapidly moves in our direction.

“That’s Ralph Reed,” I explain of the forty-something dark-haired man in a brown suit approaching. “The hotel manager. He’s been around for years, and the hard set of his jaw and his brisk stride means there’s a problem.”

“Whatever it is, it just happened—because I met with him about my security concerns earlier this morning.”

Fighting the urge to curse at what’s certain to be a delay, I glance at my watch. “We have less than an hour to get to the hospital.”

“We’ll get there,” Jacob assures me.

“Spoken like a tourist,” I reply. “You don’t know the city at this time of the day and in bad weather.”

“Mr. Compton and Mr. Parker,” Mr. Reed says as we meet mid-lobby. “Excuse me for getting right to the point, but we have a . . . situation.”

Jacob motions to a corner. “Let’s step to the side, where we aren’t as exposed.”

“Of course,” the manager agrees.

I hold up a staying hand. “I have to get to the hospital. What’s the situation?”

“Someone claiming to be with the press was asking for you this morning. I’ve questioned my staff about the leak, but no one is claiming responsibility.”

“Did you get the name of this person, or their press credentials?” Jacob immediately asks.

Mr. Reed’s lips press together. “Unfortunately, no. The doorman did try, as did the bellman’s desk.”

“Did they confirm that Mr. Compton’s staying here?” Jacob asks.

“Absolutely not,” Mr. Reed assures us. “We took great precautions to keep Mr. Compton’s stay as invisible as possible. However, he is quite well known among the staff.”

“Is there security footage of this visitor?” Jacob asks, pounding away at the issue, which is commendable, but the seconds are also pounding away at my watch.

“We have cameras everywhere,” Mr. Reed replies. “I can arrange the footage.”

“Call me when it’s ready,” Jacob instructs. “You have my card. And if it can be emailed, please do so.”

I insert, “Right now, I need to be somewhere.”

“Of course,” Mr. Reed says, sounding apologetic. “I’ll be in contact in the next hour.”

I’m already stepping around him and heading toward the door by the time he’s finished the sentence. Jacob again falls into step with me and I say, “Clearly, you aren’t convinced it’s a member of the press asking around about me.”

“My motto is proof before acceptance.”

I don’t ask where that comes from. I’ve looked in the man’s eyes. I’ve seen the hardness that only going to hell and pulling yourself back gives a person, and I approve. People who’ve been through a bloodbath and survived are the strongest, and I expect nothing less than Hercules by my side when it comes to protecting my family and employees.

We step outside to find the Escalade has been pulled around and is waiting for us, the storm gusting wickedly. I wave away the back door a doorman opens for me, choosing the front instead.

Jacob joins me and glances at me, his face expressionless as he starts the engine.

“You aren’t my driver,” I tell him, answering the question he hasn’t asked. “And I prefer being behind the wheel, especially in the city.” I eye my watch. “Step on it.”

We pull away from the curb to blizzard-like conditions, the traffic as heavy as the snow on the bumpers. I’m not going to make my mother’s treatment by car. When finally we begin to move, I direct Jacob to a subway stop and tell him, “Meet me at the hospital. Tell them your name and I’ll have them bring you to me.” I open my door.

“Wait. Where the hell are you going?”

“I’m taking the subway.”

“That’s risky with someone looking for you,” he points out. “Let me park—”

The light turns and I get out, slamming the door shut as horns start blowing.