Lisa Jones - Being Me

“Who?” Chris asks sharply.

“He says he doesn’t know,” Blake supplies. “Blind cash by wire and e-mailed instructions from an untraceable location.”

I hug myself and shiver. I was right. I wasn’t alone in the darkness.

Chris takes my hand and squeezes. “You okay?”

“I am,” I reply bleakly. “I’m not so sure about Rebecca, though.” My attention flicks between Kelvin and Blake. “There are no names in the journals. I’ve read them all.”

“Yet someone wants them badly enough to hire Greg,” Blake said. “That means we need to dig for why, and use their resources to look for things we might all miss.”

“Exactly,” Kelvin agrees. “And keep in mind that there could be more journals. We’d like to dig around in the storage unit.”

“We’ll give you the combination before we leave,” Chris says.

My worst fears about Rebecca are taking root. I want these men to do whatever is necessary to find her.

Kelvin slips the picture back inside the folder. “I know how Greg works. If he killed the lights, I’m guessing it was to get the opportunity to replace your lock with one that only he can open. Have you been back since?”

As I shake my head, our food arrives. Once the waitress is gone again, I ask, “What if he did?”

“If that’s the case we’ll cut it off and replace it again,” Kelvin answers, popping a fry in his mouth.

Chris ignores his food, looking as concerned as I feel. “How worried should I be about Sara’s safety?”

I’ve completely lost my appetite. There is no way I’m eating now. I didn’t really want to in the first place.

Blake sighs, and I can tell from his tense expression I am not going to like his answer. “I wouldn’t get paranoid, but on the other hand, someone is desperate enough to hire Greg to find the journals. Add that to Rebecca being MIA . . . I would be cautious.”

“Don’t ask questions about Rebecca,” Kelvin adds. “Let us do it.”

Chris cuts me a look. “You hear that? Let them do it.”

“I’m in a position to find out things they can’t,” I object, remembering my talk with Ralph. “One of the sales reps hates Rebecca.”

This leads into us discussing the entire staff as we finish our meal. By the time we leave the restaurant, I’m eager to get out of the city, where I won’t have to look over my shoulder for a few days.

Chris and I stop back at his apartment and pack a few final things, including my dress. Jacob had already returned the journals and I convinced Chris we should take them. If he reads them maybe he’ll pick up on some clue I have missed.

With both our bags, the 911 is too small, so we call for a car service. Once we’re inside it the freshness of what we’ve learned about Rebecca has me worried about Ella all over again, and I try to call her. After several fruitless attempts to reach her, I give up.

“She’s fine,” Chris assures me, squeezing my leg. “She’s on her honeymoon in Paris.”

I manage a tight smile. “I know.”

“You don’t know. I see it in your face.” He snatches his cell phone from his belt and punches a button. “Blake. Yeah man, you got an extra guy you can have check something else out for me?”

I am beyond touched by Chris doing this for me. I remember the first time, at the wine tasting, when he told me he was protecting me, and I said that I didn’t need protection. I tell myself now I don’t, but it feels good to have a protector in my life. Maybe too good considering how uncertain I feel about our relationship.

“Sara’s friend left on her honeymoon and her phone hasn’t been working,” Chris continues to Blake. “This Rebecca thing has her thinking the worst. Can you check the airlines and make sure she left and see when the ticket says she will return?” He moves the phone from his mouth. “What’s her last name and when did she leave.”

After checking the calendar on my phone, I relay the details he’s requested. He relays them and hangs up. “We’ll have good news by the time we land.”

A small bit of the tension eases from my body. “Thank you, Chris.”

He kisses me. “Anything to keep you from worrying.”

I relax into his arms, and for the short drive I allow myself to let him be my Dark Prince, without worry of what the future holds.

* * *

Almost two hours after our lunch meeting, Chris and I finally board the plane. We stop beside the first-class seats that Chris has purchased for us and I cannot help but think of all the money he’s spent on me today.

He motions for me to claim the window seat. “I’ve had more than my share of good views. You haven’t traveled much.”

I slide into the seat and he follows. Once we’ve buckled up, I turn to him, and I can’t help but stroke a wayward strand of his hair. “Thank you.”

He closes his hand around mine and settles it on the arm on the seat beneath his. “For what?”

“The clothes. First class. Helping with Rebecca and Ella. All of this costs money.”

“Money doesn’t matter to me.” His tone is nonchalant, dismissive.

“What about the teen you once were who wanted money and power?”

“He grew into a man.”

“With money and power.”

He gives me a wry smile. “I’ll rephrase. I don’t mind spending my money because I have plenty of it. I’m not about to give it up. It’s control. I like control.”

“No kidding,” I tease.

He runs his thumb over my bottom lip and follows with his mouth. “You like it when I’m in control.”

“Sometimes,” I agree.

“I’m working on all the time.”

“Don’t hold your breath, or the world will lose a brilliant artist.”

“I’ll have to make you pay for that one,” he taunts as the flight attendant begins standard announcements.

A dart of heat races up my spine. I don’t know where Chris might take me next, but I have no doubt it will be deliciously unforgettable. He leans closer and whispers, “You know, I know a club we could join together.”

I stiffen and his low rumble of laughter fans my neck with seductive promise, before he adds, “The mile-high club.”

I jerk around to face him. “Forget it, and that’s nonnegotiable no matter what you do. There are people everywhere.”

“What if I rent a private plane for our return?”

He can’t be serious. “You’d do that just for us to, ah, get membership?”

His lips curve devilishly. “Without hesitation. In fact, since this trip is one of many I’d like to take you on, I think that might be the way to fly.” A puzzled look slides over his face. “How is it again that you grew up with money and never traveled?”

As if hit by a bullet, I stiffen before I can stop myself. “Busy with childhood and teen activities, I guess.” The plane is taxiing and, afraid he’ll read my panic, I quickly turn to the window and feign interest. Silently, I kick myself for missing an opportunity to begin to share my past with Chris. I just have this unyielding sense that once I open Pandora’s box and let one demon out, even if it’s one of the smaller ones, the bigger, darker ones will escape before I am ready.

Chris’s hand falls away from mine, and I feel his withdrawal reach well beyond a small physical connection. It is all I can do not to drag his hand to my lap. “It looks like it’s going to storm,” I murmur, noting the dark heaviness of the clouds above burdened by a downpour yet to happen, much like the weight of my secret.

“You aren’t afraid, are you?”

I wonder if he’s talking about flying in the storm. With Chris, there is often a double meaning. With effort, I school my features and turn to him and meet his penetrating stare. He knows I was dodging his question; I see it in his eyes.

“I don’t know what to expect. This is new to me,” I say.

“Because your travel has been limited to almost never.”

It’s not a question and this time I’m certain we aren’t talking about the weather. I blink into his unfathomable expression, but there is expectancy in the air. The answer to why I never traveled is on the tip of my tongue, lingering there, but I cannot seem to push it out. “Right. Because I almost never traveled.”

We lift off and the bumps are instantaneous. My fingers curl around the armrest again, but this time with white-knuckle intensity. Chris’s hand comes down on mine as it had before and I sigh inside with the return of his touch. “Just a little turbulence,” he assures me. “It’ll even out when we get to a higher altitude above the clouds.”

As if in defiance of his claim, the plane jerks and we seem to drop. I stiffen and my breath lodges in my throat. “You’re sure this is normal?”

“Very.”

“Okay.” I breathe out. “I’m trusting you on this.”

“But not on everything.”

There is a coolness to his eyes, and I wonder how soon his walls will slam down in front of mine. I’m backed into another corner. If I tell Chris everything I may lose him. If I keep him shut out, he may shut me out, again. It’s time to at least start down a path that leads to my hell.

The plane jolts again and my heart drops to my stomach.

I tug my hand from underneath his and lift the armrest, and hopefully the proverbial wall separating us as well. “We were my father’s pets,” I say, angling in his direction. “He left us at home and ran off to his many mistresses.”

Understanding seeps into his expression and he shifts to face me. “When did you find out about the other women?”

“Once I moved away for college. That’s when my mother’s rose-colored glasses came off me.”

“She knew.” It’s not a question.

“Oh yes,” I confirm. “She knew.” I can’t tame the bitterness seeping into my tone. “If we were his pets, she was his lapdog. She was so in love with him that she’d accept anything she could get from him, which wasn’t much.”

His expression is thoughtful, concerned. “How active was he in your life?”

“He was my idol who was never home. I worshiped the ground he walked on, just like my mother. I had no idea we were his token family to look good for business or whatever his reason was for keeping us around. I think it was about power. Or because he could. Or because he didn’t want my mother to get all his money. I have no clue. I stopped trying to figure it out years ago. There had to be a reason that made sense to him.”

“Do you think your mother knew why?”

“I think she convinced herself he loved her. She was blinded by love.”

“Don’t take this wrong,” he warns gently, “but was it love, or the money?”

I hate the question I’ve asked myself, and rejected, too many times to count. “I don’t know really what was in her head. The mother I thought I knew wasn’t the one I discovered after I took those glasses off.” I shake my head. “But no. I never felt like she was about the money.” My mind travels the past. “She gave up everything she loved but painting. She’d hide her work and supplies when he was home.”

“You said she created your love of art.”

I nod. “Yes. Very much so.” I let out a heavy sigh, trying to escape the tight sensation strangling my airways. “Looking back, it was an abusive relationship, almost like Stockholm syndrome, where the captive adores her captor.”

The plane jumps again and I grab his hand. As his strength and encouragement seep into me, I’m glad I told him.

“Do you have any of her artwork?” he asks after a few moments.

“No. After I left for college she gave it up completely. My father wanted her time spent doing high-profile charity events that made him look good. She was coming home from one of the events organized by the network when she died. He wasn’t even in the country at the time, of course.”

“That’s why you blame him for her death.”

My gaze drops to my hand that has somehow settled on his leg. I relive a searingly vivid memory of the moment I heard my mother was dead. Chris caresses my cheek. “You okay?”

“I just . . . I’m remembering the day she died.” I have to mentally shake myself to continue. “I don’t blame him for her death. I blame him for her miserable life. Though she made her own choices, that doesn’t make his abuse of her acceptable.” An acid burn slides through me just thinking about what I’m about to reveal. “He didn’t even cry at her funeral, Chris. Not a single tear. Not one.”

His hand goes to the back of my head and he rests his forehead on mine. He opens his mouth to speak and I quickly warn him, “Don’t say you’re sorry. You know that doesn’t help.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

Slowly we sink back against our seats and I settle onto his shoulder. He doesn’t say anything else, but he doesn’t have to. He’s here for me yet again, and it’s bittersweet because I know the next few demons will be more than mine. They’ll become his.