The Girl in the Mirror (Sand & Fog #3) (32 page)

Yes, NBBC, that’s when everything started to feel unsettling. Each day a little more strained. And each day Jacob more introspective.

The water shuts off. In a rush I set the phone back where it was. I’m lying back on my pillow when he steps from the bathroom naked and rubbing a towel on his hair.

His eyes widen, surprised to find me awake, and he crosses the room to the bed. “Good morning, sleepyhead.” He drops a kiss on my mouth. “You were really out last night. You didn’t even stir when I carried you in here.”

I manage a smile. “I waited up for you. How late were you out?”

He starts rummaging in a drawer. “Not late.”

Not late, huh? At least three hours by the length of that call. I debate with myself whether to cry bullshit on that, though it’s not much of a debate, because everything in me is simmering upward with rapid force.

“Who did you talk to for three hours last night? And why did you leave the loft to do it?”

He looks at me. “What?”

“What? That’s your response, Jacob? I checked your phone.”

A flush spreads upward from his neck and over his face. “Jared. My boss.”

I sit up, hugging my legs with my arms, and slowly arch a brow. “Why doesn’t it have his name listed? He must be in your contacts.”

His features tighten.

Busted.

“Hit the number. Call him back if you don’t believe me.” He tosses aside the towel and pulls on his briefs. He rakes back his damp hair with his fingers. “What else did you go through on my phone?”

My temper flares. I spring from the bed and cross the room to him.

“Don’t make me sound like I’m being crazy-girl jealous. You’ve been acting weird for weeks. I checked your phone, trying to figure out what’s up with you, and I discover that behind my back you’re arranging for Brayden to come here and telling Jane you want to leave me.”

The color drains from his face as his jaw drops. “Leave you? I don’t know what you read, but that’s the last thing I want to do.”

“It sounds like exactly what you want based on your text messages.”

He sinks down onto a chair. “It’s not that.”

I rapidly search his face. “Explain it, then. Why do you want Brayden here? You’re hiring me a new bodyguard without even talking to me first, and I wouldn’t need one if you were planning to be here.”

“I’d feel more comfortable if Brayden was here with us. I don’t even like leaving you in the apartment alone. Things are getting more intense in the city every day. I didn’t ask Jared to assign Brayden here so I could leave. I asked him to assign him here so I’d have some backup and wouldn’t have to worry every time I leave you alone in the apartment.”

“Not in the apartment alone? We live in a high-security building. What could happen to me here?”

He closes his eyes, and his features tighten. “I don’t know. I like to be cautious, Krystal. You know that. That’s the only reason I want Brayden here.”

I study his face. No. No. No. What isn’t he telling me? This makes no sense and Jacob always makes perfect sense to me. He’s lying. Why is he lying?

“I don’t believe you. I saw the text from Jane. Janie said for you to tell me you want to leave. And that’s why you want Brayden here, isn’t it? So you can leave me.”

“No!” He pulls me against him, surrounding me with arms that quiver. “That’s not what I want. I want us to go back to California together. Us, Krystal. Not me.”

I wiggle free of his embrace. “Go back to California? Why?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t want you associated with NBBC anymore. I don’t want Milo Bassard in our lives. I want to get out of Manhattan. Go somewhere. Anywhere. You and me, babe. Never me without you.”

It feels like the earth has dropped from beneath me.

“I’ve worked my entire life for this and you want me to quit before my New York debut? How could you ask me to do that?”

His expression tightens. “I don’t want you to quit. It’s not like that.”

“Then explain it to me. What are you saying?”

He shakes his head again. “I’m saying that you’re the most important thing in my life and I wouldn’t ask you to leave if I didn’t think it was the best move for us.”

“You’re the most important thing in my life. That’s why I don’t understand this. Why you would ask me to give up something I’ve worked so hard for.”

The tic in his cheek starts to pulse.

My lids fly wide and disbelief rockets through my veins.

I step back from him, stunned.

“I can’t believe you’re asking me to walk out three days before the opening because you can’t deal with Milo Bassard and me working together. I don’t know whether to be furious or insulted that you’d think I’d start anything with him behind your back. You don’t have anything to be jealous about. Why can’t you get that through your head? Milo won’t ever be anything to me. He’s my artist director. What happens in the studio isn’t anything more than how he directs. He’s nothing to us. Nothing to me. And you’re going to have to figure out a way to deal with how it is in a company because I’m not quitting NBBC. You can’t ask me to do that. It’s not fair.”

His tic pulses faster, and neither of us moves or speaks for a very long time. Then he grabs me up against him with a quickness that makes me dizzy, crushing me against him. “You’re right. It’s not fair. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

Jacob’s sudden emotion and his voice send a chill through me. It’s almost like he’s afraid, though I don’t know why he’d be.

“No, you should have talked to me about what was bugging you instead of emoting for weeks. I’ve known something was off with us. That’s why I checked your phone. I couldn’t take it anymore, Jacob. You have nothing to worry about. Nothing to be jealous about. You’re the only man I’ll ever want to be with. But I’m not walking out on my career because you have a problem with Milo Bassard. And if you loved me, you wouldn’t ask me to.”

“Jacob”

I sit in a chair, turning my phone in my hand as I watch Krystal race around the bedroom. We both have a good dose of nerves, but for different reasons. Her because it’s her New York ballet debut. Me because I should have figured out a way to get her to quit NBBC long before this.

Christ, she looks so excited and happy. It tears my heart and the part of me that loves her hurts as much as the part of me afraid that nothing is as it seems with the Nelson Bassard Ballet Company.

True, Jared’s background checks turned up only troubling information but nothing conclusive. Sofia Ramos de Pérez, a prima ballerina of great renown, is also a distant relative to another Ramos who ran a Mexican drug cartel before he was assassinated by a rival cartel. Milo Bassard is in debt up to his eyeballs, personally and with the company, but then the economy has ruined many once-affluent people. Cassandra Mendez is somewhat clean except for two busts for cocaine possession. No surprise there. She’s never shy about packing her nose when she needs an uplift. Xavier Padilla has no record, none, squeaky clean, and in fact so little detail is in the report on him that even that bothers me. The board members, four of them anyway, are reputable, longtime patrons of the ballet and well-known in Manhattan high society. The fifth member of the board is none other than Alberto Ramos, Sofia’s brother, and the man I heard threatening Milo Bassard in the offices of NBBC when I went to collect Krystal’s employment paperwork. Nothing overtly criminal or threatening, nothing tied to an open FBI or law enforcement investigation, and yet I can feel it in my gut things aren’t as they should be with NBBC.

That call to Jared’s contact at the LA headquarters of the FBI—thank God, Krystal hadn’t called my bluff and hit redial on that number after I told her to when she snooped in my phone—provided nothing definitive, but amplified my worries and suspicions nonetheless.

Agent Howard at the Bureau hadn’t concurred with—what I’m sure he considered overly inflated—concerns over Milo Bassard. He dismissed some of my more extreme theories with poorly concealed laughter and said, “Listen, there’ve been criminal elements mixed with the arts as far back as Sinatra. Nothing new and it doesn’t mean anything.”

Some days, like today, it feels as if my nerves are so stretched I’ll snap. The only thing holding me back from telling my suspicions to Krystal is that I haven’t any proof of anything. If I share my concerns now I don’t doubt it will come out sounding like nonsense. Worse, ten percent of me is still unsure she isn’t right: that I have a jealousy problem that prevents me from seeing Milo Bassard clearly.

It’s that damn ten percent that prevents me from confiding in her. I love her so much. I would hate to take her first break as a ballerina from her over fears I can’t substantiate because I am a bit insecure over us and I have a slight issue with being overly possessive and protective.

I’m not sure enough that that isn’t what’s going on to divulge what I fear is going on. Stupid, she’s my wife. I tell her everything. I should tell her this…

“Have my parents landed yet?” she asks.

I lean back in the chair and smile as she darts by me looking for something. “I already answered this five minutes ago. They’re in the air. Scheduled to land in twenty minutes. Calm down. They’re not going to miss your debut. And if you keep running around the room like that you won’t have any energy left for tonight. What are you looking for? Maybe I can help.”

She laughs, excited and nervous, then makes a face. “I don’t remember. That’s why I’m wandering around like a crazy person.”

My eyes settle on her, amused. “Then it must not be anything you need. Besides, you’re cute when you’re frazzled. I could watch you bouncing around our bedroom forever.”

“Forever, huh? You weren’t even supposed to bounce me this morning. No sex ever on a performance night. Men weaken legs.”

I try to look apologetic. “You started it. I just finished it.”

Her teeth sink into her lower lip and bite once hard. She’s trying not to laugh. “Of course, that’s how you’d remember it. In my version I was attacked before I could shake off my grogginess.”

“I remember it that way because that’s how it was. You’re the one who woke heated up today. Not me. I was prepared to settle for alone time in the shower for the sake of the arts.”

She shakes her head at me but her cheeks are pink as she rummages in her gear bag to make sure she has everything to take with her to the theater. She plops down on the bed next to it to zip it closed.

“There. I think I’m finally ready to head out. Have you called the car yet?”

“Yep. Ten minutes ago when you last said you were ready to go.” I cross the room to lean in and kiss her gently. “You really need to stop being so nervous. You’re going to be wonderful, because you’re already wonderful. But I can’t wait to see you on stage.”

She beams, her light blue eyes shimmering, as she stands. “I’m scared to death. Make sure you stay in the wings where I can see you when I need to.”

I ease her against my chest. “I’ll be stage left from curtain rise to curtain close. No one could pry me from my spot if they wanted to.”

She kisses my jaw and steps out of my arms too quickly. “We’re leaving. No more delays. And don’t try anything in the car.”

Laughing, I grab her bag. “Stay on your side of the backseat and you should be safe. But I’m not sure.”

Her features soften, happy. “What’s gotten into you the last two days? Every time I turn around you jump me.”

I open the front door and stare down at her. “I love my wife. What can I say?”

Her smile grows larger. “There you go again, saying something sweet, Jacob. If I didn’t know you better than that, I’d think my guy was feeling guilty about something.”

My insides jump and it feels like a flush runs my body. I hope the red isn’t showing on my face. “I could never do anything to feel guilty about with you,” I say, dropping an affectionate kiss on her nose. “Besides, Cass is right. We’re always together. Even if I had the want, no time. Couldn’t hide a damn thing from you.”

Her gorgeous eyes grow enormous. “Oh, so the truth comes out at last.”

“Stop it,” I chide, swatting her once on the backside. “Don’t gloss over the part where I said that I don’t have a want to do anything. That’s the important part.”

“Neither do I,” she says, making a weirdly droll but loving expression. “Or maybe just no energy.”

She busts up laughing, but I ignore her joke and arm the alarm before locking the door. We take the elevator to the garage. Forty minutes later, we pull up at the theater.

Halfway across the sidewalk to the steps, she stops and stares down the street. “Did you see that? I’ll never get used to seeing pictures of me on cabs and buses.”

She shakes her head and shifts her gaze to the giant glass-encased posters of her on the front of the building.

I slip my arms around her waist, resting my chin on her shoulder. “You should be used to it. Those have been up for weeks. This one’s my favorite.”

She melts back into me. “This one? Really? Why?”

I kiss her shoulder then whisper in her ear. “The way you’re sitting chin up, the arrangement of your legs, in a flowy, sheer costume. That look in your eyes. That’s Krystal in bed in the morning.”

She swats at my arm. “No, it’s not. It’s me being Fiona. Innocent. But, regrettably, also me staring at my husband as he watches me”—she makes a face—“be photographed ten thousand times and wanting to punch the photographer for touching my leg.”

I grimace. “Was it that obvious?”

“You have a very distinct way of staring down other men.”

“I liked it better when I thought that expression on your face was you looking at me because of how we’d spent the morning.”

“Oh, there was a little of that in there.”

“Only a little? Looks like a lot to me.”

Inside the theater is bustling with activities as caterers and decorators prepare the lobby for the private patrons’ gala before the performance.

We head down the long rows of seats to the stage. Most of the corps is already there, lounging on the floor, waiting for Milo Bassard’s grand appearance.

Krystal turns to face me, placing a hand on my chest. “You don’t have to stay, you know. You can take off until curtain time. I know it can’t be fun for you in the theater all day every day with me. Take some downtime.”