King's

  “Yes. A little pain is good for the soul. Reminds you you’re alive and you should strive to remain that way. Fucking is also an effective reminder.”

  “Thanks,” I said, “but I don’t think I need to sleep with you to figure out that I don’t want to die.”

  “I said fucking, not sleeping. However, given the men you’ve been with, I’m not surprised by your confusion. I doubt they had the courage to give you what you really wanted.”

  “Whoa. What’s that supposed to mean? And how could you possibly know about the men I’ve slept with?” I seethed.

  “I’ve been inside your head, Mia. I know everything. Even your darkest thoughts and desires.” He scratched his chin as if contemplating. “I must admit, you surprised even me.”

  His words crashed right through me, igniting a painful tug-of-war inside my brain. It was like my mind insisted on pretending that none of these things were possible. People didn’t get inside other people’s heads. But it was possible. King had been there last night. I remember thinking how his being there hurt. I felt him scratching around, digging, like he’d been desperate to find something inside me. I remember silently screaming that what he wanted wasn’t there, that it was tucked safely away inside my heart—a place he’d never enter.

  I winced from the memory. “Don’t, for one moment, mistake me for you, King. I have a soul.”

  “And I do not?” he asked, as if intrigued.

  “Not a good one. I care what happens to people. You use them.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “Must be a sad and lonely place inside that heart of yours.”

  He glanced at me from behind his mirrored lenses. “Perhaps you are right. But at the very least, I know who I am. You, on the other hand, are too frightened to face your true self.” He looked at the road and grinned. “Such a shame because I find those dark bits very intriguing. I think I might like to ask them to come out and play.” His grin grew even wider.

  I hissed out a breath and shook my head. The man was egging me on. Stay focused, Mia. He’d said that he’d found Justin and the Artifact. If this was true, then all this could soon be over.

  “What else did you say last night?” I asked.

  King swerved through an intersection and ran the light.

  I gripped the leather seat. “Shit. You’re going to get us both killed.”

  “Not likely,” he said coolly. “I told you that I learned the Artifact is here with your brother.”

  “How do you know that?” I asked.

  “After we visited Vaughn in London, and I dropped you off at the hotel, I…” He hesitated. “I paid a visit to someone I’ve recently met. She has a particular tool for locating inanimate objects.”

  Did “tool” mean a gift? Damn. That sounded strange, but I didn’t know what else to call it. “So they have a power or whatever?”

  “Yes. The woman has a very special ability.”

  I quickly wondered if this woman could be a way out for me. Why would King need someone like me, who randomly saw crazy colors, when this woman could actually track objects?

  “So you won’t need me anymore,” I said.

  “I would not say that.” Once again, he grinned. “Her abilities are hit and miss. Usually trackers, as we call them, lack any sort of precision. They can point you in a direction, like a compass, but that is all. Last night, she got lucky.”

  He made a turn down a long narrow street lined with warehouses, and I felt my temperature spike. My entire body tingled. “You’re sure Justin is really here?”

  I couldn’t believe it.

  King removed his glasses, and his eyes scanned the seemingly empty buildings with broken or boarded-up windows and covered in spray paint. “He was last night.”

  “Then why didn’t you come last night?”

  “I only knew he was in Edinburgh, so I had people scouring the city all night. I learned his exact location only twenty minutes ago.”

  People scouring the city. I gave that some thought. What sort of power and connections did a person have to have in order to mobilize a group of people large enough to cover an entire city? I guessed the answer was a lot. A lot of fucking power and connections.

  He pulled up behind a broken-down-looking green sedan parked alongside a brick building. He exited the car, and I followed along. The nonstop drizzle immediately coated my hot face. We went down a narrow alley, toward the back of the building. A rusted metal door creaked as the wind nudged it open.

  “Stay behind me, Mia.”

  What was King expecting to find? And why, for the love of God, was Justin hiding out in some abandoned warehouse in Edinburgh?

  He pushed open the door and stepped inside. Dull light seeped inside the vacuous building from windows at the very tops of the high walls. The place looked like an abandoned factory stripped of all its machinery.

  “I don’t see anyone,” I whispered.

  King grabbed my hand, and I had to push myself to ignore how his powerful touch made me feel. He pulled me toward a small door in the far corner. It looked like it had been an office of some sort.

  When we got to the door, he placed his ear against it, then turned and looked at me with those striking eyes. “Mia, this is one of those occasions where you must obey me.” He placed his palm on my face, and his warmth overwhelmed my senses. My body felt the urge to lean into him, to increase the contact. “Do you understand?”

  I didn’t. How could I be so absorbed in him? Now? With one simple touch?

  I shook my head no.

  He frowned. “Close your eyes. And do not open them again until I tell you to.”

  “What’s wrong?” King was about to reach for my wrist, but I yanked my arm away. “Okay. I’m closing my eyes.” I did as he asked, but only a moment passed, the space of three breaths.

  “Fuck. You may open them now,” King said.

  “Why did you make me close them? What’s wrong?” The last time King had me close my eyes, he killed two men.

  King slipped his fingers inside the collar of his starched white shirt and pulled. “Dammit.”

  “What?” King didn’t say anything, so I moved to open the door to the office.

  He pulled me back. “Wait. You need to be prepared. It’s not pleasant in there.”

  Oh no. No. “Please don’t tell me he’s dead.”

  “Your brother is not in there.”

  I didn’t believe him. Why else would he be holding me back?

  “Move, King.” I pushed my way past him and shoved open the door. The muted light from the warehouse barely penetrated the dark, vacated room, but I saw a foot. A woman’s bare foot sitting in a pool of blood.

  Oh my God. “What happened to her?”

  “Do I really need to explain?” King said all too casually.

  I didn’t respond to his snide comment because my thoughts instantly jumped to Justin.

  I covered my mouth. “Is Justin okay? Where is he?”

  “I do not know. But, Miss Turner, you must calm yourself and take a breath. I need you to look inside the room and tell me what you see.” His gaze was intense and exacting.

  “Some poor woman was murdered; we need to call the police.”

  King shook his head. “When are you going to learn, Miss Turner? The police cannot help her; she is dead. And if you’d like to help your brother, then you must step inside and tell me what you see.”

  I pushed out my palms. “Okay. Okay. Just let me catch my breath.”

  King closed his eyes, clearly holding back some sort of disapproval.

  I sucked in a breath. “Okay. Ready.”

  I stepped inside the dark room, just a few inches from the woman’s foot. At first, I could see only the blackness and that faint ray of light coming in through the door, but as I relaxed, the colors began to pop. I saw grays and greens, calm cool colors swirling about the walls.

  “What do you see?” King asked impatiently.

  “Nothing. Just…” My eyes wandered down to the woman. A thick
ring of red encircled her body.

  “Was the Artifact here?” he asked.

  My eyes shifted away from the woman’s torso. Across her palm was that distinct pattern I’d seen at the excavation site in Palenque. It was red and black, crisscrossing together.

  “I think the woman had it,” I said. “And…there are red blotches on the ground. They’re shaped like footprints.” I saw that they led out of the room. I followed them to where they faded into a giant red pool swirling on the ground just outside the door.

  I gasped and held my hand over my face. “No. Please, no.”

  Before I could say another word, King had my hand and was pulling me out of there.

  “Wait! Where are we going?” I pulled back. I wanted to keep looking for some sign of who it belonged to. “What does it mean—the red? Does it always mean somebody died in that spot? Is it Justin?”

  King continued to yank me along, toward the exit.

  “No! Goddammit!” I slipped from King’s grip, and he looked about as surprised as I did. “Is that Justin’s…” Crap. What should I call a pool of red light?

  I wrapped my hands around my waist and took a deep breath. “Just tell me the truth, King. Did Justin die here? Is that what I just saw?” I didn’t know if I could handle the truth or what it might do to me if Justin was dead, but I needed to know. “Please…tell me.”

  King looked down at me, and I think it was the first time I’d seen any sign of compassion touch those distant, cool gray eyes.

  His mouth hardened into a straight line. “It could have been someone else. Justin could’ve run with the Artifact, which is why we must keep looking.”

  I tried to keep breathing, but wasn’t sure I wanted to. “That’s all you care about, isn’t it?”

  “Come. We need to leave before anyone shows up.” King squeezed my shoulder.

  “Why would they leave the woman but take the second body?”

  “I don’t know,” he said quietly. “Whoever was here took the Artifact, and I need to track where it’s going.”

  “The Artifact? The fucking Artifact, King? Are you kidding? My brother is probably dead. And they killed that poor woman in there! Yet, all you care about is some piece for your private collection?”

  King was motionless, and I couldn’t tell if he was about to walk away or do something to shut me up.

  He stroked the short whiskers on the tip of his chin as if struggling with something. “You don’t know that your brother is dead. And that ‘poor woman’ got what she deserved.”

  I blinked at him in shock.

  “That was the woman who was tracking the Artifact for me,” he explained.

  “I don’t understand,” I said.

  “She double-crossed me. I told her that if she located your brother, to stay out of sight. She obviously found your brother and the Artifact. And she obviously tried to make a deal of her own, probably to get the Artifact for herself. I won’t waste my time feeling sorry for her.”

  “You won’t feel sorry for her because she double-crossed you,” I fumed. “You’re serious? You think that’s a reason someone should be murdered? You’re a heartless, greedy son of a bitch.”

  His sublimely masculine face turned a deep shade of blistering red, and he closed the gap between us. “And you, Miss Turner, are a naïve, little girl. That woman is dead because of you. And if your brother was also killed, then his blood is also on your hands.”

  “How can you say that?”

  “If you hadn’t disobeyed me, I wouldn’t have had to spend my time last night tracking you down and putting you somewhere safe instead of locating the Artifact. I would have gotten to your brother first.”

  His words stung. Was it because there was some truth to them?

  “Make no mistake, Mia, if he’s not dead already,” King seethed, “your weakness will be the death of him.”

  I slapped his face, and his head whipped to the side.

  King rubbed the spot on his cheek and smiled as if he’d almost enjoyed it. “You’re lucky I still need you, Miss Turner.”

  “Do you, King? Do you really need me? Or is it want? I see the way you look at me. Is that what all this is about? Your little power trips and games to hurt me? Is it because I rejected you that first night?”

  His nearly translucent eyes narrowed. “You would like to pretend that, now wouldn’t you? But I believe it is the other way around. You’re the one who regrets not getting fucked over that desk. You were too afraid to admit that those dark, uncivilized feelings exist inside you.” His voice lowered to a menacing whisper. “But I know what’s inside your head, Mia. I’ve seen everything.”

  “Then you know I hate you. That I’d rather be Vaughn’s sex slave for the rest of my life than be your desktop fuckbuddy for one night.”

  His face turned into a cold, impenetrable fortress. He dipped his head. “I will try to remember that the next time the opportunity arises for a trade.” He turned toward the door. “In the meantime, I have an artifact to hunt down, and if you want to find out what has happened to your pathetic, thieving brother, I suggest you keep your commitment to assist me.”

  He walked out of the building, and I stood there wanting to throw something at him. “Son of a bitch!” I marched after him, but he was gone. Poof. Not a sign of him in the street or anywhere.

  I spun on my heel. What the hell? Where did he go?

  Thank God his car was still there. I walked over, also grateful to see the keys in the ignition.

  “Great.” Well, he’d left me the car. And it did have GPS. But…I’d have to get back to the hotel on my own, driving on the left side of the road.

  “Thanks, King. You are a real gentleman.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Accepting that Justin might be dead was my last and final mental straw. And perhaps King knew it. Because when I arrived back at the hotel, I had a message. King was sending me home until my services were again needed and to be at the airport in one hour. This time, Mack was waiting for me. Yes, he was alone, and he had a bruise on his cheek. When I asked what happened, he shook his head and simply said, “You. You happened.”

  I tried to ask if King had hit him because I’d gotten away in London, but Mack wouldn’t talk to me. And when we stopped to refuel in New Jersey and present our passports, he barely breathed in my general direction.

  “I’m sorry, Mack. I’m sorry for tricking you.” I’d told him right before we were ready to take off for San Francisco.

  “I’m not,” he said. “King was right about you, and now I see it.”

  “What does that mean?” I asked.

  Mack closed the cockpit door and kept to himself the entire flight.

  Dammit. I felt bad. I really did. But what did Mack, or anyone for that matter, expect me to do? After everything that had happened in Mexico and London, the way I’d been treated, did Mack expect me to roll over and play nice? Seriously? Because clearly everyone was in it for themselves, and I was the only one actually concerned about helping Justin.

  When we landed in San Francisco late Saturday night, I made one last attempt to apologize, but Mack was up and off as soon as the jet was in the hangar.

  I sulked my way to the small private terminal, and then I realized I had no home to go to. I had no job. I had no hope. I had no…brother. I began to sob and dug my cell phone from my pocket. “Becca?”

  “Shit, Mia. Where the hell have you been? Everyone’s been going crazy looking for you.”

  I nodded and wiped the tears away. “I know. I know. I’m sorry. But…can you come and get me?”

  “Where are you?” she asked.

  “I’m at the airport.”

  “Don’t move. I’ll be there in twenty.”

  ~ ~ ~

  That night, I told Becca everything. She’d been my best friend since the second grade, and I thought that if anyone would believe me, Becca would. But when I saw the look in her eyes, I knew she not only questioned my sanity, she was heartbroken. I’d alwa
ys told myself that Justin was the brother Becca never had, but her inconsolable tears told me he’d been much, much more than that. How had I not known? And it didn’t matter if she believed the entire crazy story. Justin was still missing, and that was a fact not even she could argue with after I showed her the newspaper articles from Mexico.

  I made her agree to wait to tell anyone until I dropped the bomb on my parents. Yes, I had to tell them. There was no more hiding. No more running from the horrible news of Justin being gone, perhaps forever.

  Of course, they would get a version of the story that was limited to the tragedy surrounding Justin and his crew. I wouldn’t mention King or the other crazy stuff. The less they knew about him, the better. He was dangerous, and God knew they wouldn’t need any more pain in their lives.

  After spilling my guts to Becca, she’d told me my parents had been calling everyone looking for me. When they learned I quit my job and moved out of my apartment without a word, it nearly sent my mother over the edge. What a shithead I was. How could I not have seen this coming?

  I immediately called my mom, who proceeded to yell at me. I assured her I was fine and on my way back to San Francisco—a lie, to buy me some time—and that I would come to see them Monday night and explain everything. She was furious and relieved.

  As for me, I needed to sleep. I was exhausted both mentally and physically.

  I slept clear through Sunday, lost to the world until Becca woke me Monday morning at 5:30 a.m., making coffee.

  She looked like she’d been hit by the same sad bus that had run me over.

  “Are you sure you want to go to him?” she asked.

  No. I didn’t want to see King or go to his office. I wanted to mourn. I wanted to give in to my dark thoughts of Justin, but I couldn’t allow that to happen. “What choice do I have?”

  “You could call the police,” she suggested.

  “They can’t help me, Becca. No one can. Trust me. I thought of every possible way to fix this, and there’s only one thing I can do: move forward.”

  Becca nodded and sipped her coffee, leaning against the kitchen counter. “But this King guy sounds psycho, Mia. Who’s to say he’s not behind Justin’s disappearance.”