Lance nodded and reached out a hand to shake Dario’s. “You can thank your Mom for that. She practically duct-taped it to me on the way out the door. You going to see them today?”
I nodded, meeting Dario’s eyes. “Yeah. That’s on the list.” I was getting antsy with the need to see them. I had called home yesterday, before Laurent had taken me to the airport, but it hadn’t been enough to calm their fears. And it definitely hadn’t been enough to cure my homesickness. Even though I’d been in Louisiana less than a week, it had felt like a month. I’d narrowly escaped murder, and my parents had watched a news report announcing my death. An in-person visit was in order. Plus, Mom promised me baked macaroni and cheese and had called in sick to work. I wasn’t letting those sacrifices go to waste.
“Both of you going there?” Lance looked between us, and I swear to God, this kitchen couldn’t get any smaller.
“Yeah.” Dario nodded. “We’ll head out to Mohave this afternoon.”
We. The word seemed to be in giant capital letters, a spotlight dancing across it. WE. WE are going to see her parents. My frown deepened, and he tilted his head as if to suggest we continue the conversation outside, which sounded like a great plan. I stepped to the left and Lance blocked my exit.
“Whoa. We just battled Vegas traffic to see you. Spend a few minutes here. Let us soak up the presence of Bell Hartley.”
Dario skirted around the group and headed for the hall. “Take your time. I’ll be in the car, whenever you’re ready.”
I nodded, watched him escape, then was yanked back into the arms of Lance.
“Fuck, girl. This scared the shit out of me,” Lance mumbled.
“Yeah, me too.” Me too.
* * *
“Oh my God, pull away now, before they hang up streamers.” I plopped down into the passenger seat, the leather warm against the back of my legs, and shut the door.
He shifted into reverse, the car growling as it backed up, then purred into drive. I pulled a baseball cap from my bag and put it on, waving to Meredith, who stepped onto the front porch.
“She’s a nice girl. More manageable than the other two.”
I smiled at the word manageable. With any other friends, I might have been offended, but Lydia and Jackie? Tolerable was a more honest way of putting it. “Yeah. She’s my favorite. I think she approves of you, too.”
Dario turned the corner. “I was thinking I’d drop you off at your parents’ house. Give you a chance to spend some time with them. I have some business I can handle while you visit with them.”
My nerves, which had begun to knot up each vertebra, relaxed, one stress point gone. My parent’s reception of Dario was more likely to be hostile than friendly. That dread, paired with my attempt to explain our relationship … I readjusted the seat belt across my shoulder. “That would be great.”
“How long do you want to stay there? A few hours?”
I glanced at the clock. We’d slept in late. That, paired with the morning sex and Eggo feast—it was already one. “Two hours would be fine. I don’t know if I could handle more than that.” I grimaced. “I think it’s going to be a combination of smothering and interrogation.”
He reached over, his hand covering mine and giving it a firm squeeze. “I can be there if that will help.”
Ha. I laughed and shook my head. “No. The only thing more awkward than discussing our relationship with my parents is for me to do it with you.” I peeked at him with a wince. “No offense.”
He smiled. “None taken. To be honest, I don’t have a great track record with fathers.”
I thought of Robert Hawk and felt a little queasy, my concerns about my parents so trivial in comparison to Gwen’s. The car picked up speed and a delicate breeze softly passed over my face. I had the sudden yearning for my old car, a Mustang convertible. When you put the top down on that, a cyclone of wind was created, conversation impossible unless you wanted to chew hair and scream at each other at the top of your lungs. In that, I could have avoided conversation and used the drive to think over what I was going to say to my parents.
Dario cleared his throat. “Just a reminder, tomorrow ... Gwen’s funeral is at one.”
“Oh.” I hadn’t realized, the days running together… I took a deep breath. “I wish I could go with you. Or support you, somehow.”
We had discussed this on the plane. It certainly wasn’t appropriate for me to be there, and honestly, Dario probably needed the time on his own to mourn. Still, I felt like I was abandoning him.
“If you still want to grab lunch with Meredith, maybe that would be a good time.”
“Yeah.” I nodded. “Good idea.” I needed the time with her. Ever since San Diego, things had moved so quickly, and my heart and head hadn’t had time to catch up. I needed to talk through things with a judgment-free third party.
I reached into my bag and pulled out my latest phone. “I’ll text her now and see if she’s free.”
“Just let me know where you’ll be eating so we can arrange security.”
I opened my mouth. Shut it. Abandoned the text and turned to him. “I don’t need security.” The words came out calm and controlled, the statement of a sane individual and not one seconds away from opening the convertible’s door, Evil Knieveling it into the ditch, and then high-tailing it off into the forest.
Dario’s face tightened. “Someone tried to kill you last week.”
“And he’s dead. Which is why you brought me back. So—”
“I’d rather be safe. Just for a few weeks or a couple of months. Just until we figure out everything about Hawk and track down who he hired to kill you.”
He took his eyes off the road and looked over at me. I could see the concern in his eyes, the worry over my safety. I could see it and wasn’t sure if I loved or hated it. That’s why he was taking me to Mohave. He was chaperoning me. I swallowed that immature thought and tried to accept his logic. He was right. It was better to be safe. Still, I hated the idea of security. I thought of someone like Tim and Jim and what it would be like to have them next to me, watching me dip shrimp tempura rolls into soy sauce and wasabi. I thought of them reporting my locations and activities back to Dario, and my vision turned an ugly orange color.
“I don’t like the idea of someone tailing me. You have to understand, you’ve stepped over boundaries at almost every point in our relationship. I can’t give you permission to give me security and not expect you to take it too far.”
He yanked the car across two lanes of traffic, vibrated over the sleep strips and came to a sudden stop on the shoulder, the seatbelt suddenly tight, pinning me in place. I put a hand out, gripping the dash for support, and looked at him.
He jerked the car into park. “Our relationship needs to change, right now, if that’s what you think of me.”
I raised a hand, citing his actions as if I’d been keeping score. “Hiring someone to follow me. Sending a hot guy in with fifty grand to see if I was a prostitute. Finding out my phone number without me giving it to you. Turning my phone off without asking me first. Shoving a suite down my throat that I didn’t want.”
His mouth twitched. “But you’re so good at taking things down that throat.”
I glared at him, and he sobered.
“Okay, yes. I don’t trust people, and I don’t believe in wasting time. I met you and I couldn’t…” He blew out a breath.
“Just stop for a minute.” I held up my hand, thinking. I didn’t need him to rehash and explain every action. Some of them, when examined under a magnifying glass, made sense. Others didn’t. I knew he was different than most men. I understood that a relationship with him wouldn’t be easy, and that he was an alpha male in every good—and bad—sense of the word. I was okay with that, but I needed to know that he respected my decisions and opinions. I needed to know that I was in control of my life, and that felt like a very questionable concept after I’d let him and Laurent control my every action after Gwen’s death.
I
looked up to find him waiting, one hand on the steering wheel, a blur of cars in the background, the Vegas skyline barely visible in the dust. “I’ll take security. But I can’t feel like they are spying on me. I need to have some layer of freedom and privacy.”
He looked away from me, studying the road, the cars whizzing past, a lost Styrofoam cup tumbling across the shoulder. I watched his fingers drum on the steering wheel, then he tightened his grip on the wheel, the cords in his forearm bulging.
“Your safety isn’t something that I want to compromise on. My team can make sure—”
“Okay.” I interrupted him, reaching out and tugging on his shirt, bringing his attention back to me. “But don’t go crazy on covering me. Like this moment, right now. You’re the only one protecting me. And I’m safe. I don’t need a huge protection detail.”
His jaw tightened, and I saw frustration weigh down his features. “Fine. But the minute I feel you’re unprotected, I’m bringing in more. You have to understand; I just lost Gwen. I just failed her. I can’t lose you. Not to some loose end of Hawk’s, not to a random stranger on the street, not to a drunk driver on The Strip. And that brings up a second issue.”
Great. I fought the urge to sigh. “What’s the second issue?”
“Your job. When are you planning on returning to work?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. I haven’t had a chance to talk to Rick or Lance about it. I’m assuming they need me back soon. This weekend or next week.”
He shook his head. “I can’t control the environment there. The entry security protocol is lax. It’d be too easy for someone with talent to get in, get close to you, and hurt you.”
My throat closed. “I can’t quit my job, Dario.”
Out of everything that had happened, this suddenly seemed like the obstacle we couldn’t overcome. Quit The House? Leave Rick and Lance? Give up that income? What would be next? College? If he “couldn’t control” my job, how would he be able to control UNLV? I felt the swell of hysteria build and looked away, blinking rapidly, trying to control the tears that welled, the lump in my throat growing bigger. I inhaled sharply, a shuddering gasp that didn’t give me near enough oxygen.
“Hey.” He reached out, and I turned further away, concentrating on the peak of a faraway mountain, trying to collect my thoughts. How had I not seen this coming? How, in all of those empty hours in Louisiana, had I not understood the aftermath of Gwen’s death? Everything has changed now. He’d said that, and I’d nodded—thinking of the weights that had lifted off of our relationship, not thinking of the chains it had added.
“Bell.” His hand wrapped around my forearm, and he tugged, his voice soft and concerned, its gentleness making everything worse.
“Everything’s changed.” I spoke so softly that I wondered if he heard me. Swallowing hard, I repeated the words, then turned to glare at him. “I’m not giving everything up. Do you understand that? You—”
You aren’t worth that. I almost said it but realized the falsity before it materialized. He was worth it.
Could I take a hiatus from work? Yes.
Could I take classes online? Probably.
Could I pause school for a semester considering I wasn’t even sure what major I wanted? Yeah.
“This is temporary. It won’t be like this forever. We’ll find systems that work for you. I promise.”
I nodded, unwilling to discuss it right now. There was too much to fight about. Security. Work. He hadn’t even brought up school, but it was only a matter of time before he did. We were on the way to my parents’ house. I couldn’t climb up this mountain now.
He studied me, his pupils darting over my features and closing in on my eyes. “Don’t appease me, Bell.”
I closed my eyes and let out a breath. Opened them back up and gave him my best attempt at a smile. “I’m fine. Let’s go before we get slammed from behind by an asshole.”
He didn’t pull out. He waited for a minute, one so long that it almost stretched into two. He waited for me to say something, but I didn’t. I buried my emotions, my fears, my anger. I stuffed it all deep inside me, letting it fester and spoil, and forced my expression to calm, my smile to brighten, my voice to lift. He shifted into drive, and I fiddled with the radio. The car ripped up to speed, and I blared a pop song about kissing boys and spring break. His hand found my knee, and I closed my eyes and fought the urge to vomit.
* * *
THE FBI
The Robert Hawk estate was a monstrosity. Twenty thousand square feet full of locked doors, wall safes and the best security money could buy.
A mobile command center squatted on the manicured front lawn, uniforms swarmed the house, and cadaver dogs sniffed the four-acre property for hours without discovery. It took twenty-seven hours and a comparison of the original architectural plans with the current layout to discover the room. Three hundred unaccounted for square feet in between the study and the master suite. The original floorplan had it as a nursery, the door to which was now a solid wall with a hundred-thousand-dollar oil painting hung in its center. They moved the art and found drywall and wainscoting. Searched every seam for a hidden door and finally went Pablo Escobar on the wall, bringing in sledgehammers and splintering through the construction.
It was worth it. Inside, in the cramped, dust-filled space, they found her.
* * *
BELL
The greeting was awkward. Dario walked me up the steps, introduced himself and extended his hand. Dad stared at it as if it was diseased. Mom invited Dario to come inside. I declined on his behalf, then practically pushed him down the front stairs, giving him an apologetic kiss before I scampered back inside.
That was five minutes ago, and Dad still stood in the doorway, one hand on the frame, and peered through the screen door as if it was a Magic Eye puzzle.
“Stop staring, Dad.”
He sniffed. “Fancy car he’s got. What’d that put him back?”
My mom glared at him from her spot by the stove. “You haven’t seen your daughter in a week, and you’re interested in the man’s car? Get in here.”
He didn’t move. “Bell’s not going anywhere. I think he’s talking to himself.”
I looked past him, watching as Dario slowly reversed, his mouth moving. “He’s on the phone, Dad. It’s called Bluetooth. The car has a microphone that connects to his cell phone.”
Mom let out an exasperated huff. “He knows what Bluetooth is, Bell. He’s just being ornery. Mike, are you gonna eat or gawk? Go wash your hands.”
I popped ice from the trays and filled up the glasses with water, watching as Dad slowly ambled up to the sink, his hip nudging me to the side as he took over, working the bar of soap over his hands. He dried them off on the towel, and I passed him his water, giving him a kiss on the cheek.
Mom set down the plates, and I settled in at my seat. Mother said grace, and I barely had time to grab a napkin before Dad started in on me.
“So… the news first told us that you were dead. But actually…” He jabbed a thumb in the direction that Dario had been. “It was this guy’s wife who died. And now he’s driving you over here. And called us and talked to us about you without telling us anything at all.”
I looked to Mom for help, but she said nothing, her eyebrows rising in their own request for an explanation. I stuck in a giant forkful of mac and cheese and took my dear sweet time chewing it.
He waited, his own plate ignored. Mom waited, her hands clasped together as if still in prayer. Even Rascal, sitting beside me, his tongue lolling out one side of his mouth, let out a whine that seemed to say confess everything, you heathen.
So, I did. I took a deep breath, swallowed the chunk of cheesy goodness, and started at the beginning, skipping over my sexy times with Ian, my slutty texts, and every thrust, moan and naked moment.
I confessed it all and waited for judgment.
* * *
THE FBI
The girl drank, guzzling back the Gatorade, her
throat flexing, eyes closing, both hands cupped around the bottle as if it were gold. Her name was Katy Dunning. Her boyfriend had reported her missing three months ago. She’d come to Vegas for a bachelorette weekend and never came home. Vegas PD hadn’t thought much about it, and her face hadn’t been in Hawk’s file of potential victims. Agent King watched the girl and wondered how many other tourist abductions they’d missed.
She finished the Gatorade and set it carefully down on the table, her swollen wrists catching his eye. They’d found her handcuffed to a concrete wall, her arms stretched out to either side, her legs weak from standing. She’d burst into tears at the sight of them. Now, she blinked and a fresh volley ran down her cheeks.
Agent King waited a beat before speaking. “If you can start at the beginning, we need to know as many details as you can remember.”
She nodded, her fingers carefully passing over an open cut on her wrist, the damage caused by the cuffs. He noticed and motioned to the woman next to him, who rose to fetch a paramedic.
“I was in the bathroom of 44th Broad. Washing my hands at the sink. Someone came up behind me and put something over my eyes, and my mouth. I struggled, I tried to fight, but everything just … went out of me. I couldn’t move, I forgot what I was doing. I got so heavy…” She looked down at the bottle. “Can I have more Gatorade, please? I’m really thirsty.”
He nodded. “Sure. We’ll get you some more. Please keep going.”
She shrugged. “Then I woke up and I was chained up. I struggled, but couldn’t get loose.”
He made a notation on his pad of paper. “And you’ve been in that room ever since? He didn’t move you at all?”