I Belong to You (Inside Out #5)(15)

“Not yet. But my boss, Blake, lost his fiancée while they were both undercover on an ATF mission. He actively sought vengeance on the man responsible. And despite his brothers being an ex-Navy SEAL and ex-FBI, and both having suspicions, they never knew until he was in the middle of trouble.”

“Again, why are you telling me this?”

“You seem to be able to get through to him.”

I laugh without humor. “He’s an *, Jacob, and I told him so this morning. No one gets through to him except maybe his mother, and you can’t tell her. She can’t handle this now.”

“You’ve seen behind that wall, just like I have.”

“I don’t know what’s real with him anymore.”

“Believe me—what’s beneath the surface, good or bad, is always what’s real.” He continues: “I see what you’re doing to help this family. I just want your eyes open.”

We fall into silence. I’ve known a variety of controlling people—some who balance it with compassion like Dana, others with their own variety of poison. Which type is Mark? “I never wanted to see you hurt like this again,” Dana said to him this morning. What happened before?

I’m still pondering that question when Jacob and I exit to the street. While the snow has slowed down, the wind is fierce. We hunch into our coats and travel two blocks with brisk strides. Then we turn right, bringing the gallery into view. I’m relieved to see a walkway roped off with movie-theater-type poles by the front door, with guards on either side. The crush of reporters Jacob mentioned is now gone.

“Your team works fast,” I say approvingly, just as Jacob grabs my arm and a mic is shoved in my face.

“Ms. Smith, we understand Mark Compton is back in town. Do you know what his relationship with Rebecca Mason was?”

Jacob shoves me behind him. “No comment at this time.” He begins a terse exchange with the reporter and his crew.

Worried about what’s behind me, I turn, pressing my back to Jacob’s—and gasp as I find a hooded man standing so close that his hot breath reaches my cold cheeks. His face is partially draped, but I still manage to home in on two things: his hard black eyes, which radiate meanness, and the deep scar down his right cheek.





Five

Crystal . . .

As I stare into the stranger’s eyes I reach behind me and grab Jacob’s coat, as if holding on to him will somehow make this man go away. “Who are you?” I ask, trying to memorize his face. Full lips. Lines by his eyes and sun-darkened skin make him look to be in his late forties though he might be younger.

“Who do you think I am?”

“A reporter?” I ask.

“No. I am not a reporter.”

“Then . . . who?”

“Who indeed.”

“Do you know who I am?”

“Doesn’t everyone who watches the news?”

It’s not a real answer. It’s a cat-and-mouse game. “What do you want?”

“The list is long. But then, isn’t everyone’s?” The stranger’s lips twist in an evil smile and then he just . . . leaves.

I blink, confused.

Jacob suddenly grabs my wrist and pulls me around, starting to walk rapidly toward the door. I dig in my heels. “Wait! There was a man.”

“What man?” He turns to face me. “Where?”

I scan the area, but he’s nowhere to be found despite the sparsely populated sidewalk. “He’s gone.”

Jacob tightens his grip on my wrist, as if he’s afraid to let go of me—and at the moment, maybe I am, too. I double-step, relieved when we enter Riptide. Just inside, Jacob corners me, putting his back to the reception area and several security guards. “Tell me about the man.”

“He came right up to me, right in my face, and stared at me. He was right up on me and we had this odd exchange.” I shove up my sleeve and glance at my watch. “I need to tell you after my meeting.”

He shoves down the hood of his jacket. “Tell me now.”

I sigh, knowing determination when I see it. I repeat the exchange and he shows no reaction.

“He was probably a reporter we pissed off when we cleared the front door,” he says after a short pause.

“No. I don’t think so.”

“Why?”

“Just a gut feeling. I have to get ready for my meeting.”

“Just don’t leave without one of us with you.”

“I don’t plan to.”

He steps back, giving me space to depart. I check in with the receptionist before heading down the hallway to my office, being waylaid by at least four staff members who want to talk about the press disaster and putting off their questions until later.

In my office I quickly hang up my coat, freshen my makeup and hair, and then sit down at my desk. Then, and only then, do I let myself process that last exchange with Jacob. He doesn’t think the man with the scar was a reporter, either.

At eleven o’clock, my file for the meeting is in front of me when my phone buzzes from the front desk. The receptionist announces, “Your father is on line one, and your brother Scottie is on line two.”

I sigh. “Tell my brother I’m talking to my father and then going into a meeting. And buzz me, please, when Mr. Prescot arrives, no matter what.” I grab line one. “Hi, Dad.”