The Girl in the Mirror (Sand & Fog #3) (8 page)

When his fingers touch mine, I close around them in a painful grasp and jerk him to his feet. “Grab the rest of your things and say good night, Daryl. Time to get you home. I don’t ever want to see you near her again. Understood?”

His mouth scrunches up as he nods.

I point at Krystal. “You don’t move. You don’t call anyone. You stay put until I come back from taking Daryl home.”

Those gorgeous eyes widen in alarm.

“What do you mean, coming back?”

“Oh yeah, Krystal. This isn’t over. Not by a long shot. You and me got a few things to talk about.”

I park the car at the curb. “Are you sure you don’t want me to take you to the hospital?”

Daryl shakes his head, but his body language conveys he’s in some pain. “I’m OK.”

I study him. “We’re cool, right?”

I wait for his answer even though I don’t expect one. This must be humiliating for him. He stares out the window, unresponsive—but, oh, his expression speaks volumes:
Fuck you, asshole, did you really ask me if we were cool?

Not that I blame him for thinking that, but no, can’t let him go without making clear my point of view on this night.

Slowly I spread my arm down the back of his seat, turning my body into him and closing a bit of the distance.

“This is one of those defining moments in life,” I remind him. “Do you walk out of this car and be a man, or do you run your mouth and prove you’re a punk so I have to come back here and kick your ass again?”

He opens the door and I grab hold of his arm, preventing him from climbing out. “Fuck, I’m not going to say anything,” he snaps through gritted teeth.

“You hurt that girl, I hurt you. That’s how this works.”

His burning stare narrows. “I would never do anything to harm Krystal. She’s the most amazing girl I’ve ever known.”

Damn, it sounds like he means it. It makes it more difficult to understand. “Dude, you tied her to the bed.”

He puffs up, reddening. “It’s not like that. And, fuck, it’s none of your business anyway.”

My eyes bore into his. “Oh, that’s where you’re wrong. Everything about Krystal is my business.”

“Are you fucking her?” he asks scathingly.

My fingers tighten and he winces. “See, that’s what I’m talking about here. Spewing that kind of shit pisses me off. Fucking her? You don’t talk about a girl that way.”

“Get your hand off me. I’m just wondering what it is to you what we do, and if she’s seeing you and not telling me.”

I remove my hand. “No, kid, I’m not involved with her. I work for her father and I care about the family. And even if I didn’t, I’d still stand up for a girl when something should be stopped.”

“I already told you I won’t ever see her again.”

“Good. And don’t run your mouth, Daryl, because then you’ll be seeing
me
again. Understood?”

His lips harden and he hisses, “Understood.”

Leaning out his open door, I watch as he goes to the walk-through gate, punches in a code, and disappears up the long pavement to his house.

No, it doesn’t surprise me that Daryl boy is a rich, elitist prick. Guys with pockets full of money and empty of morals. That’s all there seems to be in Southern California.

I shut his door, lean back into my seat, and start the car. What is Krystal doing with a guy like that? I still can’t get my head around her part in all this.

I should tell Chrissie. My finger traces the call button on the steering wheel before I pull back my hand.

Tell the mother and I’ll have open war with Krystal once we hit Manhattan. Trust is the cornerstone of any good security team. If she doesn’t trust me, I can’t protect her.

Jesus Christ. Why the hell did I tell her I was coming back to talk to her? That one definitely crosses the professional relationship line and I haven’t got a clue what I should say to her. No, that one isn’t in the training manual.
How to talk to your client after finding her nude and tied to a bed.

What is going on with that girl?

I merge back on Pacific Coast Highway toward Malibu. Something about her has always bothered me—she seemed a little too happy, a little too perfect—but
this
I never expected.

The image of how thin she is rises in my head, bothering me with all the questions swirling in my thoughts. Maybe that discovery is nothing. She is an athlete of sorts. She trains harder than anyone I’ve ever known, in or out of the military.

Morning run.

Hours in the studio.

She looks like an angel every afternoon standing at the rail against the mirror—is that what they call it? No something else—slowly moving her legs and arms over and over again. She dances like an angel.

Her body naked and tied to the bed blots out the picture, making everything inside me kick up again. That wasn’t angelic, and even after an hour it still makes me queasy to think about it. She’s so sweet and beautiful, and Daryl the idiot got one thing right, she is an amazing girl.

True, she does nothing but give me crap and is a little stuck-up, but that doesn’t blind me to the obvious. Her parents are amazing people and they have amazing children.

That thought makes me feel even worse over not calling Chrissie. I stare at the phone again.
Call, Jake. It’s the right thing to do. It’s what you’d want if someone found Jane that way.

Startled, I look up to find I’m back in Malibu, almost to the house. After parking in the driveway, I lean forward to stare through the windshield. It looks quiet, but it looked quiet three hours ago when I first got here.

I’ve got to go in, check on Krystal, and then get out of here with Brayden. But what am I supposed to say to her? That she needs a good talking to is indisputable, but it doesn’t make it easier to figure out the words.

I climb from the driver’s seat.

My muscles tighten with dread each step toward the door. After my Jacob-high-handed-big-brother routine with Krystal, I’ve got to say something. Can’t bug out now.

I go into the foyer.

“You asshole!”

I turn as Madison Parker pounces on me, shoving her face into mine as she repeatedly slaps my chest like an angry bird.

“What did you do to Krystal?”

Quickly dodging her blows, I counter, “Nothing. Stop it. I didn’t do anything to Krystal. I wouldn’t hurt that girl for the world.”

More footsteps.

Brayden, looking grim.

Some other guy, looking like he wants to punch me.

What’s happened now?

Madison’s face contorts as tears pool in her blue eyes. “We get back from the beach to find that person”—her finger wags at Brayden—“standing guard in the living room saying we can’t see Krystal, and when Nick tackles him so I get past him to make sure she’s OK, I find her bleeding and the room busted up. She’s so upset she can’t even talk to me. What did you do to her? Where’s Daryl? You better explain fast,
security person
, or I’m calling her father.”

Oh great.

“Krystal”

I stare at Jacob. “What do you mean, coming back?”

“Oh yeah, Krystal. This isn’t over. Not by a long shot. You and me got a few things to talk about.”

He hauls Daryl from the room as if it’s a decided thing. I count to fifty in my head, just to make sure he’s not coming back and then I scramble from the bed.

Ouch!

My foot makes contact with something sharp. On the ground is my silly jewelry box I’ve had since I was four. The one most girls get as their first, that pink flowery square of wood with the shiny gold latch with the ballerina inside that pops up when you open it and twirls in circles as music plays.

I lift my leg and underneath my toes I see the ballerina on the carpet next to the box.

It’s ruined.

Broken.

Oh crap, what if Jacob lied and tells my parents everything? He could be talking to my mother now. If he breathes a word of this to Chrissie, the ballerina on the floor won’t be the only one he broke tonight because the shit will hit the fan.

I’ll never be able to face my parents again. There’s no chance either of them will let me take off to Juilliard next week. I’ll be lucky if they ever let me out of the house.

Jacob can crush my life with a few words just like he destroyed my pretty box.

Sinking down, I pick up the tiny ballerina, and I don’t know why but my tears give way.

Throughout the awful scene of Jacob busting into the bedroom, the humiliating moment of making contact with his eyes and knowing he’d seen me nude, the terrifying moment when he attacked Daryl, the ghastly sounds of his fist crashing into my boyfriend’s face, somehow I managed to hold it together.

No, I watched it all feeling spacey and almost like I wasn’t really here and none of it was really happening.

Drops of blood drip from the ball of my foot to the floor. My gaze locks on the red.

Real, very real.

Oh fuck.

I hobble into the bathroom, sit on the edge of the tub, and grab a towel, pushing as hard as I can into the cut. What should I do now? I can’t just wait for Jacob, cowering in my bedroom, because if I do it’s a dead giveaway how afraid I am of him telling what happened here tonight.

What if he tries to use it against me?

I don’t know Jacob well enough to be certain he won’t.

He has power over me now.

Damn, damn, damn.

My heart accelerates—does he know that?

My tears turn scalding as they pour down my cheeks.

Frantically, I replay the minutes in my head, hoping to find something to make me less afraid of what he might do. I curl into a tight ball, clutching fiercely on the towel, trying to stop my tears and the bleeding. My gaze darts around the bathroom. Maybe I should dress, pack, and get home before he returns.

Oh crap, I’m too unsure of what he’ll do if I defy him, but I don’t want to stay here, humiliated, to listen to whatever he has to say to me when he returns.

I hear sound from the bedroom, and I toss aside the towel and rush out of the bathroom.

Madison is standing in the center of the room, eyes wide, face alarmed, and she’s visibly shaking.

“Krystal, what the hell happened here?” she exclaims, darting toward me. Her fingers close on my arms. “Who broke all this stuff? Where’s Daryl? Oh God, why are you staring at me that way? Are you OK?”

I quickly assess her expression.

Oh thank God, she doesn’t know what happened here.

She takes me in a tight, protective hug. “Talk to me. You’re scaring the hell out of me. What happened here?”

“Nothing and I’m all right.”

She tenses and jerks back, her gaze searching my face. “Nothing! It looks like there was a brawl here, Daryl’s missing, and you look half out of your mind. Don’t tell me nothing happened here.”

I don’t know what to say.

I can’t tell her the truth.

I sink down on my bed, bury my face in my hands, and start crying again. It’s stupid and pathetic and really wrong, but I can’t think of another way to get her to stop questioning me.

“Oh, Krystal,” she moans, dropping heavily down on the bed beside me and wrapping her arm around my shoulders. “You’ve got to tell me what happened. I’m freaking out here. Did you and Daryl have some kind of a fight? Is that how the room got broken up? Is that why he’s gone and you’re bleeding?”

Bleeding?

I follow the direction of her gaze.

Oh damn, my foot, spilling blood on the carpet.

I shake my head.

She goes into the bathroom. I hear cabinets opening and closing. “Did Daryl do this?” she calls out to me.

“No. Please, Maddy, I can’t talk about it. Not any of it.”

Band-Aid in hand, she returns, drops onto her knees next to the bed, and grabs my leg. As she carefully covers my cut, hurt flashes on her tense features.

“Who’s the guy in the living room?”

Oh no, don’t tell me he’s still here.

“Brayden.”

Her brows hitch up. “OK, but who is he?”

“He works for my dad. He’s from the security company.”

She drops my ankle and sits back on her heels. Her eyes grow huge. “Did he do this? Are you guys involved or is he some kind of crazy stalker guy? Did he find you and Daryl in here and—”

“No,” I say before I can stop myself—or realize she’s weaving a really good story and I should run with it.

“Then what’s he doing here and why wouldn’t he let us come into the bedroom?”

“He’s following orders.”

“Whose orders?”

Oh crap, that sounded dumb. I’m never getting out of this. No way.

“Whose orders?” she repeats fiercely.

“Damn it, Maddy, Jacob Merrick did this and if you tell a soul, I’ll be humiliated for the rest of my life.”

I can feel her heavy stare. “The
security person
? That Jacob?”

I nod. “I can’t talk about it, Maddy.”

“Why would he get into a fight with Daryl? What are you not telling me?”

Crap. Don’t have an answer for that one.

“Krystal Harris, you had better tell me everything right now.” Her voice intensifies like she’s getting even more anxious. “I’m calling my sister.”

“No,” I snap as she swipes on her phone. “If you do that I’ll never talk to you again. I swear. You have to never tell anyone about this.”

My alarm—genuine—stops her.

“OK. OK. OK, I promise.” Her hand starts moving against my back in gentle, comforting motions. “Just explain one thing. Why would Jacob come here and beat up Daryl?”

I blurt out the first words that come to me. “Why do you think?”

Her jaw drops.

“You’ve been seeing him behind Daryl’s back? How could you do that, Krystal? How long? Why didn’t you tell me?” she asks heatedly.

“I didn’t want anyone to know.”

I almost think I’m home free when she frowns.

Oh crap, what’s tripped me up this time?

Her eyes narrow. “Wait. That doesn’t make sense. At lunch you said he hardly talks to you and now you’re trying to make me believe you’ve got something going on with him and that’s why he beat up Daryl.” She shakes her head at me. “No, Krystal, not buying it. Why are you lying?”

“This is the truth. I lied at lunch. I didn’t want my dad to find out I’ve been seeing one of the security guys. He’d explode. Overreact. You know how my dad is, Maddy.”