The Girl in the Mirror (Sand & Fog #3) (38 page)

“We’re not at the theater.”

“What do you mean not at the theater? I got a text from her.” I poke my head into rooms. Empty. Empty. Empty. “She said rehearsal was running late.”

“Fuck, Jake. Rehearsal ended hours ago. I took her to the Crown Vista for dinner. I lost her in the lobby. And I haven’t seen her since.”

I freeze in the center of the great room.

“What do you mean you took her to the Crown Vista? What are you talking about?”

I hit speaker and tap open my texts. “Running late.” No mention of dinner.

“Krystal left the theater at seven with Milo Bassard.”

My heart jumps against my chest. “You let her leave the theater alone with Milo Bassard?”

A torturously long pause that twists my insides.

“She had me follow behind in her car. She said she wouldn’t be long. I haven’t seen her in six hours. I’ve texted and called and she doesn’t reply.”

My pulse is going so fast I can’t breathe.

“Where are you?”

“The lobby of the Crown.”

“Don’t move. Stay there. I’m coming.”

I rapidly click through the icons on my phone. No texts from her after that one she sent, then I go to the phone log. No calls. She would never stay out this late without sending me something so I wouldn’t worry about her.

The hairs on my arms and the back of my neck shoot warnings through my body. I throw on some clothes, hail a cab, and race into the Crown.

Weaving my way through people, I spot Brayden at the front desk. “I’ve checked every floor, Jake,” he says grimly. “The staff is pulling the security tapes.”

I grab his shirt. “Why the hell didn’t you call me?”

“I didn’t think anything was wrong. Not until—”

“Until what, Bray?”

“How long they’d been in the hotel together. When she didn’t come down to the lobby I panicked. Started searching. She didn’t eat dinner here. Not in any of the restaurants. That’s what she told me they were doing. I’ve brought her here with him before. I should have told you. Krystal asked me not to. It got me thinking maybe…this is something I don’t want you to know—”

“Don’t you fucking say that,” I growl, tightening my hold on him before I toss him back against the counter. “She’s not having an affair with him. It’s not that.”

“I’m sorry.”

I start pacing in small circles. It’s not that, I tell myself again, but everything is churning inside me in a way I can’t process. Apprehension like a jagged knife in a way I’ve never felt before. A sudden coldness rolling across my flesh.

I whirl and stare at the desk clerk. “How long does it take you assholes to get surveillance tapes? My wife is missing.”

Startled, his eyes bug out. “I’m waiting for a call from the manager, sir.”

“Waiting? A woman is missing in your hotel and you’re wasting time for a phone call from the manager?”

“I can’t let you see the security tapes without his authorization unless you’re law enforcement, sir.”

“Where’s your security room?”

“Only security personnel—”

My face contorts with rage. “Don’t give me that shit. We work for Black Star, and our”—the word sticks briefly in my throat—“asset is missing.”

Brayden lays his badge on the polished wood. “You take us to your security headquarters now or a hundred men will be in this hotel in under an hour tearing it apart room by room.”

Flustered, the clerk hurries into the lobby, down a hallway, and then he punches in a code on a panel outside bulletproof metal doors.

Everything inside is high tech, state of the art. Good. It means all the cameras are probably working.

“Let these men view anything they want to,” the clerk says. “Full access to everything.”

“I can’t do that without Mr. Reynold being here,” the guard says.

“They’re with Black Star. Professional courtesy. Give them what they need.”

I drop down on the vacant chair at the control panel.

“Pull up the lobby tapes. 1900 tonight. Every angle you’ve got.”

He starts rapidly clicking away on the keyboard. I look over my shoulder. “Brayden, don’t let him leave,” I say just before the desk clerk reaches the door.

My eyes rapidly move from box to box, scanning the different views of people moving through the lobby. Where is she? Where is she…my stomach clenches as I lock on target. There she is.

Oh God, she’s practically in Milo’s arms.

No, no.

What’s wrong with her?

Focus, Jake. Focus.

Work the problem.

Don’t think of anything else.

“Stop. There. That’s her. Where does that hallway lead to?”

“The elevators, sir.”

“Bring up that video. Start at 1921.”

I try to hold it together, but the sound of the keyboard clicking makes my already raw nerves more ragged.

There she is.

She’s smiling, but she doesn’t look right.

Why does she keep rubbing her face with her palm?

And she’s unsteady on her feet.

“Was she drunk tonight, Bray?”

“Not when I last saw her.”

“But you saw her before she came into the hotel, right? She doesn’t look like herself to me and they didn’t stop in the bar.”

I stare up at him, but his carefully neutral answering expression blasts me with a chill before I turn back to the monitors.

Waiting.

Waiting.

Doors open.

Gone from the frame.

“There she is.” I tap on the screen. “Bring up the video for that elevator.”

Inside the elevator. One floor, two floors. They’re alone. They’re just standing there, backs against opposite walls. No body contact. Not even talking.

Brayden’s wrong about whatever he was thinking. I need to get him out of my head. Fuck, why would she come here with Milo Bassard and not tell me?

I breathe in and breathe out.

The elevator doors open. “What floor is that?”

“The twenty-fourth, sir.”

“Get the video from that floor.”

“He doesn’t have to, sir,” the clerk says. “Mr. Bassard has a room for the night on that floor. 2431. He’s a regular guest. It’s his usual room.”

“You son of a bitch,” I growl, springing from my chair as he stumbles back from me. “Wasting our time looking at surveillance video when you fucking knew where they went all along—”

Brayden shoots his body between us before I hit the miserable weasel. “Jake, no.”

I grab the man’s suit jacket. “You got a pass card?”

He nods.

The guard stands up as I shove the clerk toward the door.

“You don’t want to mix in this,” Brayden says menacingly, using his body to keep the guy from coming after me. “Don’t call anyone. Don’t do anything. Stay put and stay out of it.”

We take a service elevator to the twenty-fourth floor.

Outside room 2431, the clerk rummages in his pockets, hands shaking so badly he can’t get what he’s looking for out of his wallet.

“You better fucking have a master key,” I hiss.

He waves the card and I ease the door open. “Keep him out here, Bray.”

I take a quick glance in.

Empty glasses.

Bottles of booze.

No sound, no bodies.

I step into the suite, rapidly survey the area, and head for the bedroom. Carefully turning the knob, I slowly open it an inch.

Oh, fuck me.

Oh, fuck me.

Discarded lengths of rope on the sheets.

A belt on the floor.

Bed messed.

I’ve seen this before.

Snippets of words rise in my memory to torment me:
It’s something I read about and wanted to try. I liked it. It kept sex from being overly emotional and mostly physical…I like sex. Shoot me. Who doesn’t?…I don’t think it would ever be something I’d want with you…

I can’t pull in oxygen; my heart is racing too fast.

My legs give out and I sink to the floor.

Damn you, Krystal.

I turn my ring on my finger, then push it hard into my skin to keep inside me the tears that swell in my throat like acid. Harder. Harder, but when I look at my band, the burn in my eyes lets go like a broken pipe.

Why isn’t this—us—enough for Krystal? Why always more, never enough, never letting perfection simply be? This—her—is everything I’ll ever need. Why can’t she get past the dark inside her with the love I pour into her, the way she’s filled me with light by loving me?

Why did she need this from him?

What did I not give her?

I’ve given all of me, loved her through everything—her eating disorder, the loss of our child because of it, auditions, rehearsals, anything she wants or needs I give.

But it’s not enough.

I’m not enough.

I drop my face into my hands. I can’t look at the room anymore. I wish my legs had the strength to get out of here. But I can’t breathe. I can’t think. I can’t command my own body.

Why?

Why would she do this?

And where the hell did she go with him?

“Jake?”

I look up to see Brayden standing above me.

“We need to call this in,” he says frantically.

A hoarse laugh breaks through my tears as I lie my head back on the bed. “Call it in? Call in what? That my wife is having an affair with Milo Bassard because her husband doesn’t do the whip-me shit.”

“What the fuck is the matter with you?” Brayden growls, lowering to eye level with me.

I shove him back from my face. “Look at the goddamn bed. Look familiar, Bray?”

His gaze moves around the room. “No. I see a crime scene.”

He stands up and starts to take photographs. “Don’t let anyone into this room,” he says to the clerk. “Don’t call the police. Black Star is taking control. Post a man outside this room until our team gets here.”

I hear the whoosh of his cell, the pictures being sent.

I run my hand along my dripping nose. “Great, fucking great. You sent those to Jared, didn’t you? This is my personal shit, asshole.”

His harsh stare locks on me. “No, it isn’t. She’s my asset. I make the decisions here. You’re not thinking right. You’re wrong, Jake. We need to start a search for Krystal.”

I let him pull me to my feet. “A search. She’s probably at Milo Bassard’s apartment. That’s where she went, why she didn’t come home. It makes sense. They’re always together. Hell, she has you lying for her so she can be with him. It’s pretty remarkable we lasted as long as we did. She’s always been out of my league and she still is. I think she’s left me for him.”

“You’re fucking crazy,” Brayden growls, brushing past me to leave the room.

Brayden shoves me back against the seat. “Stay in the car with the driver. You’re not going in with me. This one I do alone, Jake.”

I open my door. “Fuck you. She’s my wife. Whatever she’s doing in Milo’s apartment I’ve got a right to know.”

I’m almost into the building before I hear rapid footsteps as Brayden runs to catch me.

I bypass the doorman and shove my way through the double glass doors.

Inside the building, a security guard cuts into my path, trying to block me from the elevators. “Excuse me. You can’t go up unless I ring you up.”

“Unlock the elevator and get out of my way, asshole. You don’t want to get in my crosshairs tonight.”

“We’re here to see Mr. Bassard,” Brayden announces, slightly breathless from running.

“Why are you even bothering to talk to him? Grab his fucking master keys, Bray. They’re hanging right there from his belt next to that gun he’s probably never fired.”

“You’re not going up, sir. I’ll arrest you if you don’t leave the building immediately. Mr. Bassard requested not to be disturbed tonight.”

The guard locks my wrist in his hand. I’m not sure if it’s the
not be disturbed
comment or that I’ve felt ready to explode since we left the Crown Vista Hotel, but I swing with the full force of what’s raging inside me, landing my fist in the sentry’s jaw and sending him flying back to tumble to the tile.

“Well, I’m disturbing him. Stay down, asshole. You don’t want to fuck with me tonight,” I say through gritted teeth before continuing to the elevators.

“Stop,” the guard says.

I turn back.

He’s pulled his gun.

I hold my arms wide. “Go ahead and shoot. Do you think that’s going to stop me? Back off, because if you don’t take me down, even with a bullet in me, I’m coming back to the lobby to kick your ass after I’m done dealing with Mr. Bassard.”

“Fuck, Jake,” Brayden hisses, cautiously moving toward the shaking guard on the floor. “Listen, you can lower your weapon. We’re on the job. Don’t shoot him. I’m just going to reach for my identification. See—reaching slowly into my pocket. There.”

Braden holds out his identification.

Cautiously, the man shifts his gaze to the wallet, then his mouth turns into a tight line before he shoves his gun back into his holster. “Black Star. I should have known. Hey, dipshit, you could have showed me your identification when you got here, instead of trying to muscle your way in like a cowboy. Is being an arrogant prick a job requirement for you guys?”

“Not a requirement. But it helps.” Brayden forces a smile. “We’ve had a long night. We’re a little on edge. Can you unlock the elevator and tell us what apartment Mr. Bassard is in?”

Shaking his head, the guard inserts his security key into the control panel, and presses the button to hold open the door. “That’s no reason for your friend to act like a cowboy. You Black Star guys are worse than the Feds. Go on up. Apartment 9C.”

“Thanks, man.” Brayden pushes me in ahead of him until I’m against the far wall. He stands with his arms crossed, staring at me unwaveringly. Once the doors are closed, he leans into my face. “You simmer down.”

“Fucker, how calm would you be if it were your wife?”

He keeps his eyes locked on me.

My jaw clenches and unclenches.

“You need to pull it together, Jake. You can’t go into Bassard’s apartment the way you stormed this building. If Krystal’s there, you don’t want to handle it the way you’ve handled everything else tonight. I’m being your friend here. You don’t want to be like this with her.”

My gaze narrows on him. “I thought you thought we were looking for a missing asset, or was that just bullshit you gave me to keep you with me when I came here? As for you being my friend, you haven’t been my friend since you started working for Krystal and lying to me about what she’s been doing. What kind of fucking friend are you?”