Inside Out: Behind Closed Doors

by Lisa Renee Jones

  His eyes light up and I can see he is pleased. “Then I vote we order room service and eat in bed. Sound good?”

  “Sounds perfect.” And it does, like everything this man says and does, while my past keeps trying to demonize him unfairly.

  His cell phone rings, a muffled sound coming from the hallway. “I’m guessing my pants never made it to the bedroom.” He motions me forward. “The room service menu is on the coffee table.”

  I push off the bed and before I know his intent, Jason’s in front of me, pulling me to him, his hand at the back of my head as he gives me a quick, hard kiss. “I’m glad you’re staying,” he says, before releasing me and heading into the hallway.

  Inhaling with the impact of his kiss, I accept my complete, utter inability to resist him. Even more, there’s a bond forming between us, which I’m self-analytical enough to understand is the trigger for all of those broken, sharp edges of my past to jab their way to the surface. Being alone has been my safe place, since relationships have not been kind to me, in any way, shape, or form. But then, fear hasn’t been the kindest of players in this game of life either, as my elevator debacles certainly display quite well.

  “Skye.”

  I glance up to find Jason extending the menu, light brown hair curling at his nape and brow, the phone still at his ear, as he says, “That’s not going to happen,” to whoever he’s talking to.

  Shaking off my thoughts, I hurry forward and accept the menu, while he scowls at whatever is being said to him, and yet still, his fingers snag mine. “No, Davie,” he snaps, leading me down the hallway, and adding, “I’m not coming downstairs to shoot with you.”

  The hall ends and we enter a modern-looking living area with a towering ceiling, a window wrapping the half-moon-shaped room, an oval, tan leather bar in one corner, and a grand piano in the other. Our destination is a leather sectional that matches the bar, where we sit, and Jason seems to have had enough of his conversation. “It’s two o’clock in the morning. Yes, of course, I’ll be at the charity press op in the morning. I’m hanging up.”

  He sets his phone on the table. “He’s just one more reason I won’t re-sign for another season of the show. Ratings are everything to him, which makes him look at the cards as a necessary evil, not the real priority of the players.”

  “I heard that from Abel, when Davie was studying me like I was a science project. Abel seemed to think he was calculating ways I could boost ratings.”

  His brow furrows. “Davie was staring at you?”

  “During the news conference,” I confirm. “It was kind of strange, actually. I’m not talking a glance, either, Jason. I’m talking about him being across the room, with a bull’s-eye lock on me, and when I caught him, he didn’t so much as blink, let alone look away.”

  “Davie’s a strange dude, but did he say anything to you? What interactions did you have with him?”

  “Nothing more than a few lighthearted, joking words while we were with a group of people. He seemed nice then, but when he was staring at me there was something creepy about him. The more I talk about this, and think about it now, it was such a striking contrast to when I talked to him later. If Abel hadn’t seen him too, I could almost convince myself the man staring at me was a Davie look-alike.”

  “Abel saw him staring at you?”

  “Yes. He did.” I narrow my eyes on him. “This is bothering you. What are you thinking?”

  He scrubs his jaw, the light stubble rasping against his palm. “That Davie and I are going to talk, before he sneakily turns a camera on you.”

  “He can’t do that without my signing a contract, can he?”

  “Not for the show. But he looks for ratings boosters in creative ways. For example, a reporter for a gossip rag could suddenly find us and create some kind of media scandal.” He grabs his phone. “I’m going to call him back. Can you order me a cheeseburger, well done, with fries? And get whatever you want.” He leans in and kisses me. “You’re going to need your energy before I let you sleep. The phone’s on the bar.”

  He starts to move away and I grab his arm. “Don’t upset your producer over me.”

  “My producer better think twice about upsetting me over you, or I’ll quit the show before my contract is over. I don’t need the money, and I damn sure don’t need the spotlight on you or me.” He kisses my temple. “Stop worrying. I’m going to the kitchen so I won’t talk over you.” He stands and walks around the couch, disappearing through a massive archway.

  I think about the look on Davie’s face when he was watching me: focused, hard, intense. Maybe it was about money. Probably it was, since that’s what both Jason and Abel assumed. But couldn’t this blackmail threat lead to what could be an ultimate scandal? Even better for ratings, perhaps, than Jason winning?

  I decide that I have to share this thought with Jason.

  I quickly order two cheeseburgers and fries, and then ask what Jason’s regular drink is and add two Dr Peppers to the tab. Once I’m done, I can hear Jason’s muffled tone, picking up a few words here and there, and I stand and walk to the window, the glistening lights of Vegas seeming to make time stand still while the heaviness of my body says it’s late. It’s time for food and sleep.

  The sound of footsteps behind me has me turning to find Jason approaching. “How’d it go with Davie?”

  He steps to me, pressing me against a thick beam running up the window, his hands on my hips, this easy way he touches me something I could too easily get used to. “You personally inspired him to come up with the idea of a behind-the-scenes TV series, diving into the personal lives of the top players in the game.”

  “Me? I’ve been around for all of one tournament.”

  “You intrigued him, it seems. Which I get, since I feel the same. However, I told him if one camera lands on you or me, from him or outside, I’m holding him responsible.”

  “And you think that actually matters?”

  “Believe me, I made sure it matters. Did you order the food?”

  “I did. I’m starving, and honestly exhausted.”

  “You and me both, baby.” His cell phone rings. “Apparently no one cares, though.” He releases me and scoops his phone from his pocket, glancing at it and then me. “Daniel,” he says. “Let’s hope he has good news.”

  He answers the call, and I walk to the couch and settle in a corner, pulling a throw blanket over me.

  Jason joins me on the couch and pulls my legs over his lap. It’s a surreal “maybe this is a real relationship” moment that I don’t have the opportunity to fully comprehend before his phone call is over. “Nothing good or bad,” he tells me. “There’s no sign of Stephanie, and we know who the waitress is, but her last known address is a dead end.”

  “That’s very convenient. That was completely set up to rattle you.”

  “It was bigger than that,” he says. “Stephanie couldn’t have pulled this off tonight on her own. And whoever was behind that note knows that I’ll know that. They wanted me to know they’ve stepped up their game.”

  “What do you think that means? Is a demand for money coming?”

  “I’m not going to speculate,” he says, “but more and more, everything feels like a setup. Even that storage unit going up for auction. That was meant to get me chasing my tail. Stephanie is on someone’s payroll.” He shakes his head. “Why would I think she would leave the evidence she’s blackmailing me with in that unit? They’ve gotten to me because I’m operating with a big dose of stupid.”

  I sit up facing him, one leg on the floor and the other folded in front of me. “I’m not sure it was a setup, Jason.”

  He turns to face me. “What are you saying?”

  “The unit did have all of Stephanie’s personal belongings, which amounted to nowhere near what the unit cost. I was desperate to find a treasure of some sort and break even. I dug and dug until I found a key to a bus station locker.”

  “And you did what with it?”

  “I went t
o the station, which was really creepy—and so was some man hanging out there. But I found the locker. And I found a note to you and a poker chip inside it—as if she left fast, and kept it there, where she could get to it.”

  “Holy fuck. One chip?”

  “Yes. Just one.”

  “Where is it now?”

  “At my town house, along with any personal documents I found in the unit.”

  “Skye, baby, I know you won’t like this, but Daniel is flying back to San Francisco in a couple of hours. I need to send him to your place to pick it up. Is there a door key hidden somewhere he can get to it?”

  “Oh no,” I say quickly. “I don’t want Daniel in my apartment.”

  “Then we need to go back on the first flight I can book in the morning.”

  “But you have a press op tomorrow.”

  “Aside from my fear that the chip will get stolen from your town house as we speak, I need to see it. I’ll know if it’s real.”

  “Would that end this? I mean, can’t they just throw out accusations and damage you?”

  “It’s better than not having it. I need that chip.” He grabs his phone.

  I grab it too. “What are you doing?”

  “Calling Daniel. He’ll want to hear this.”

  “You said you’re playing their game. I say you’re right. Someone in your life is behind this blackmail, Jason. Don’t tell anyone about that chip, or the letter I found with it.”

  His eyes narrow. “Daniel isn’t blackmailing me.”

  “I’m pretty sure the manager is usually the one stealing from all the famous people.” I don’t give him time to argue. “Take a risk and gamble on me one more time.”

  “I’m in all the way with you, Skye, but I’m not betting against Daniel in the process.”

  “I know it’s hard to think someone close to you could hurt you,” I say, the truth of those words hitting close to home. “But you have to consider it.”

  He inhales deeply, standing up and walking to the window, staring out, but I don’t think he sees the Vegas skyline. I think he sees what I already have in my life. Betrayal. And it’s a bitter pill to swallow. I join him but I don’t touch him, just letting him know I’m here. I’m ready to do whatever he needs me to do, and for a full minute, silence is the only reply he gives me.

  “Why a bus station?” he asks.

  “Maybe someone paid her off and put her on a bus?”

  He turns to face me as I do him. “Why leave the chip?”

  I think about that for a few moments. “Maybe it’s leverage to get more money, and she didn’t want to have it on her?”

  “Maybe.”

  “What are you thinking?”

  “That something smells more rotten by the minute. We’ll keep this between us, but I need to see that chip and find out if it’s real. We’ll have to go to San Francisco right after the charity event tomorrow.”

  “I can fly back early and make sure I have it in hand, just for peace of mind.”

  “No, I’d feel better if we retrieved it together. A few hours won’t make that much difference.”

  The doorbell rings. “And that will be the food,” he says, heading in that direction.

  I watch him walk away, worrying about that chip now, when a realization hits me. Oh God—my bra is in the hallway. Dashing forward, I follow him to the hallway, where he’s actually now holding my bra. I grab it from him, and we both start gathering other random garments, and for a moment our worries about blackmail disappear into shared laughter.

  He heads to the door to open it and I make my way to the bedroom, dropping our clothes on the bed, along with my purse, which starts to vibrate. With no idea of who could be texting, I check the screen and find Ella’s message: I know you’re with a hot man, but he’s still a stranger. It’s been three hours. I hope that means you’re having hot sex with the hot man, but how about a reply that tells me you’re okay?

  I laugh at her silliness, and reply: I’m good. Actually … I might not be. Or she might not be. Ella was with me when I bought that unit, and alarm bells go off in my head. What if someone connects her to all of this?

  Jason returns, rolling a room service cart to the sitting area, where he moves the coffee table and positions it in front of the gray leather couch. “Dinner, or breakfast at this point, is served.” He waves at the silver-crowned plates.

  “My friend who was with me when I bought the unit just texted me to check on me, Jason.”

  He straightens, hands on his hips. “At this hour?”

  “She’s been trying to reach me and I wasn’t answering, but that’s not the point. She wasn’t just with me when I bought the unit. She very publicly bid first, for me, and then she was in the unit with me. What if someone comes looking for me this weekend and finds her?”

  “This trip has the attention fully on you, I promise.”

  “Most likely, but don’t you think I need to warn her? I trust her, and I can’t let her end up hurt in some way.”

  He inhales and lets it out. “You’ll scare her.”

  “I’d rather scare her into staying at her boyfriend’s house than have her get surprised and hurt.”

  His jaw clenches but he nods. “Warn her.”

  I don’t immediately call. “Thank you,” I say. “I know you’re worried about her becoming a problem, and yet you put her safety first.” I dial Ella.

  Ten minutes later, I’m on the bedroom couch next to Jason, our food untouched, as I’ve been filling Ella in on the whole situation.

  “Where’s the note and chip now?” she asks.

  “In my bedroom closet.”

  “Oh my God,” she says. “Anyone could get it, and then your new man is screwed. I’ll go get it.”

  “No,” I say, looking at Jason. “No, that isn’t safe.”

  “I have my big, burly man with me. I’ll same-day air the chip to you. I just need details.”

  “Ella, no. Please.”

  “What’s happening?” Jason asks.

  “She wants to get the chip and ship it to us.”

  He reaches for the phone, and I listen as he argues with her. “Holy shit, woman,” he says at one point. “What part of ‘it’s not safe’ do you not understand?” Another five minutes later: “Wait until morning.” Another five minutes later, he hands me the phone. “She’s the most stubborn woman I’ve ever almost met.”

  I press the phone to my ear. “Ella—”

  “I’ll call you when I have the chip, sweetie. You be safe. And I’d say I’m sorry I bid on that damn unit, but I think you’ve got a good man on your hands.” She makes a kiss-kiss sound and hangs up.

  I set the phone down to find Jason stepping onto a balcony I didn’t even know was off the bedroom. I follow him; he’s already pressing his hands on the railing, staring at the skyline, but again, I am certain he’s not seeing it.

  “I have to end this before someone gets hurt,” he says.

  “If the chip is fake, won’t this be over?”

  “In theory. But who goes to these elaborate measures to fuck with someone’s head? And what else are they capable of?”

  Somberly, I nod. And shiver.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Ella

  THE PROBLEM WITH my taking this schoolteacher job, and trying to seem nice and normal, is that I meet nice, normal people like Skye who I can inadvertently lead into trouble, or who get into trouble on their own and need help. And I simply can’t ignore that trouble. Regardless of the order to stay detached by the Powers That Be, I won’t look away from a friend in need.

  Parking next to the curb around the corner from Skye’s town house, I glance at the clock on my Ford Fusion’s dash. Three in the morning. Thank God I didn’t stay the night with the new “boyfriend,” or rather my newest assignment. It kills me to play lovey-dovey with that man, and I needed a break from the way he’s always touching me—and my freedom comes with the added plus of no one knowing where I am right now. If all goes well, I�
�ll be in and out of Skye’s place in fifteen minutes, back home and investigating this blackmail plot in thirty.

  Killing the engine, I slide my keys in my jeans pocket and step out of the car, thankful for the cool night air that hides the shoulder holster I have under my jacket. I start walking, the San Francisco wind whipping my red hair around my face, a few crickets the only sound in the silent night. Obviously, my idea of doing auction hunting to kill the boredom of my filler teaching job has clearly backfired in a big way.

  Forced by the absence of a back entrance to Skye’s place to head to the front door, I round the corner to her street. Overhead lighting illuminates my path down the cookie-cutter rows of side-by-side town homes, and a sense of being watched tingles down my spine. At this hour, no matter how grand the lighting, I shouldn’t be garnering attention. But then, the word blackmail doesn’t exactly come with positive connotations.

  Easing onto the short walkway to Skye’s door, I’m instantly aware of a bulky form at the left of the porch, a male in all black. My lips quirk, a surge of adrenaline and excitement mixing with a little guilt that I find fighting to save Skye from trouble I created exhilarating. It’s just been such a long, quiet stretch with nothing but the “boyfriend” to investigate, and he seems like a story going nowhere.

  I step onto the porch, the soft rasp of clothing telling me my little playmate is following me, and he’s not a very skilled attacker. Which kind of sucks, because I can always use the practice, and the rush, of a good one-on-one matchup. Only the door is very slightly ajar, telling me someone is inside—so it’s more like a two-on-one party, which at least is more challenging. I play my role, pretending to grab the key Ella told me is by the planter. Once I’ve gone through the appropriate motions, I enter the town house, the whisper of a twig telling me the fun is about to start. Once inside the dark foyer, I glance up the dark stairs leading to the main living area, noting a glow from above.

  Rounding the door, I flatten against the wall, cautiously removing the knife hidden at my belt line, which makes for a less noisy, and sometimes less messy, attack. And this isn’t my house to dirty. My visitor seems to take his time following me, driving home how poorly trained he is, but when he finally does appear, giving me his back as he looks up the stairwell, it’s clear that he’s really damn big. And big guys fall hard.