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

by Susan Ward

  God, I love her…

  A rap on the bar makes me look up. “Are you going to order, Jake, or just sit there all day?”

  Crap, how long has Wally been staring at me? Quite a while if his expression is any indication. “How about a pale ale on tap to start?”

  “Sixteen or twenty ounces?”

  “Twenty. It’s opening night. You’re going to be stuck with me parked on a stool for a while.”

  Wally laughs as he fills a glass. “You’re not the first ballet spouse I’ve had to take care of on opening night.” He sets down the beer on a coaster and places a shot beside it. “Trust me, you need the whiskey.”

  I chuckle, shaking my head. “No, man, just the beer, but thanks.” I scan the menu as I savor the taste of a cold one. What’s here to order that I haven’t felt right eating in front of Krystal? Oh yeah. “Wally, can I also get a cheeseburger with fries and a side of onion rings?”

  “Sure, coming right up.”

  Two hours later, I’m chomping away on the last of my onion rings, shooting the shit with some of the patrons, and watching golf on TV. Most boring sport in the world, but it’s the closest I’ve been to watching sports in three years. Fuck, we’re even betting on this, strokes per hole. It makes it sort of fun.

  “Damn,” I groan, pulling a five from my stack of bills and dropping it in front of the guy next to me. “He had that putt. He blew it just to screw me.”

  Laughter.

  “You want to bet again?” Mark asks me.

  I scoop up my money and tap it on the counter. “Better not. My wife is going to be pissed if I keep losing to you jerks.”

  Not.

  Everyone laughs anyway.

  My phone vibrates and I reach into my pocket. Crap, how long have I been here? I swipe and unlock.

  Brayden: What the hell are you doing getting drunk in the middle of the afternoon in a bar? I think Jared should have sent someone out here a long time ago to ride your ass. We don’t drink on the job at Black Star.

  I look over my shoulder. I start laughing. Brayden is sitting in a booth shaking his head at me. Leaving my stool, I cross the bar as he stands.

  “Jesus Christ. Why didn’t you tell me you were making this hop with the family?”

  He wraps an arm around me and gives a hard pat. “Didn’t know until last night. Wanted to surprise you, fucker. Good thing I did. Getting sloppy on the job without me.”

  We settle into the booth, and I lean back, smiling. “It’s good to see you. How long you out for?”

  His gaze roams around the sparsely filled bar. “Where’s Krystal?”

  “At the theater. It’s all good, man, so don’t give me shit about leaving her alone there. Wouldn’t do it if it wasn’t safe. Security at every door. Theater locked up. Taking a break before tonight.”

  “Hey, I didn’t say a word. Everyone deserves a lunch hour.”

  “How long you here for?” I ask again.

  He shrugs. “Permanently. Didn’t Jared tell you?”

  My brows lift, surprised. “Yeah, but I thought you were coming out in two weeks?”

  “No…” He breaks off when Wally comes to the table.

  “Want another beer, Jake?”

  “No. Just the one’s good.”

  He looks at Brayden. “What’ll you have?”

  “Coffee. Black. Working late or I’d take his beer.”

  Wally chuckles and moves off.

  I frown. “How’d you find me?”

  He stares at me, amused. “Yep, getting sloppy working on your own. Black Star app. GPS on every one of us. You used to know that.”

  I grimace. “Sort of forgot a few things being out of the loop so long.”

  His brows shoot up. “Yeah, boy, I think you did.”

  I tense.

  “What’s going on, Bray? You’re not here two weeks early without a call first from anyone unless there’s a reason for it.”

  He rolls his eyes and waits until Wally sets down his coffee. “I’m here early because I got told to report to the airport and fly with the family. Nothing else to tell.”

  Bullshit. I can tell when he’s lying.

  They must have landed. “So they’re here? Krystal’s parents.”

  “Oh yeah, not only Alan and Chrissie. All of them. Fucking loudest flight I’ve ever been on. That is one out of control family. Got to love them, though. And all the big dogs from Black Star did this hop with Alan. Dillon Warrick. Graham Carson—there’s a blast from the past no one ever sees anymore— and Jared. That guy who always says fuck you instead of hello…what’s his name? Oh yeah, Jamal. Alan’s A-Team.”

  Oh fuck me.

  He nods and I realize I said that out loud. Grimacing, I ask, “They’re out here because of me, aren’t they? What do they know?”

  “I told you. I don’t know what’s up. The guys know we’re tight. They don’t tell me anything. But it can’t be good. The entire family. And I mean all of them with the four fucking horsemen of the apocalypse doing their security. I’d watch out if I were you.”

  Yeah, like that’s going to help.

  Brayden rakes back his hair. “What the fuck you do to piss everyone off so much?”

  I married Alan’s daughter.

  I shrug. “Nothing.”

  “Hey, bring my friend a shot of something,” Brayden calls out.

  That cheap-ass son of a bitch is buying a drink in the middle of the afternoon while I’m on the job. Yep, I’m fired. Shit, I’ve already quit, but it still feels awful. Christ, why are they all here? Seems a little overkill for standard employment termination.

  Brayden laughs. “Settle down. Why are you so spooked? There are worse things in life than getting fired.”

  He’s right. Telling Alan after becoming officially unemployed that I married his daughter over a year ago. Oh yeah, that one’s going to be worse.

  I stare at the shot Wally sets in front of me. No point not drinking it. Alan has replaced me with a security detail that rivals the president’s. I’ll be lucky if I get near my wife again after they’re through dealing with me.

  “How have things been with Shanna?” I ask, changing the subject, even to that, so as not to talk about my sorry-ass state.

  “Still busting my balls and taking my money.”

  “You get to see your daughter?”

  “Twice a year for one week.” He spins his finger in the air. “That’s what an attorney I can’t afford and battling in family court got me. You were smart never to have kids or marry. Family court can cut off your balls quicker than a Ginzu knife. Hit it and quit it always with a condom now. I’ve learned my lesson.”

  I lower my left hand beneath table. I forgot about my ring until Bray said that part about not being married. Maybe I should take it off until things get resolved with Krystal’s family.

  My heart twists.

  Fuck no.

  She put it there; it’s staying there.

  Brayden looks toward the bar. “Hey, get him another shot. My friend’s not looking good.”

  I wave my hand toward Wally. “No, I’m good.”

  The door opens and a burst of light causes my gaze to shift. Dillon Warrick, head of security at Alan’s Pacific Palisades estate, and the only member of the team who lives on the property with them.

  My heart stops.

  Oh, this can’t be good.

  I’ve never met the guy next to him, but no one needs to tell me who he is. He’s a fucking legend. War hero. Congressional Medal of Honor recipient. If the rumors are to be believed, he single-handedly took out a terrorist cell. Now I get the joke— “the manny”—why the guys laugh about our toddler division of security being headed by none other than him. Oh fuck, he’s the best of the best in security and a killing machine when provoked.

  Six foot four inch body of iron even in his forties, black hair, piercing gray eyes, still stands and walks like an officer in the military. H
e’s probably got a weapon strapped on every limb. Not that he needs one. This is the kind of guy who can kill you with his bare hands before you even know he’s moved.

  It’s him.

  Graham Carson.

  Great, they’ve popped in for a private chat before the theater.

  I’m a dead man.

  They hover above the table and stare down at me. Fuck, I’m sweating like a pig and whatever this is about hasn’t even started yet because Alan and Jared aren’t here.

  “You all caught up on everything?” Dillon says to me and it’s not lost that it was without a greeting first.

  “Oh, I think we’ve got his attention,” Brayden says because my mouth has deserted me.

  Graham Carson crosses his tree-trunk-sized arms on his chest. “Then let’s roll. What the fuck are you peckers doing still here? Family is already at the theater with Jamal and Jared. You’ve got the back of the theater, Brayden.” Those cold gray eyes shift to me and he takes a headset from his pocket, the kind we wear at the house, and sets it front of me. “No one gives a fuck where you are, kid. But keep that on. You don’t want me to have to look for you twice.”

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  The guys peel off from me as I cross the lobby, and I feel a wave of near crippling relief. Fuck, it’s practically empty and the house lights are flashing. It’s too late to go to Krystal’s dressing room.

  I make my way down the left side aisle, brushing past the usher there and weaving my way through the crowded concrete corridor before taking the short flight of steps two at a time to backstage left.

  I spot Krystal in her foamy ice blue form-fitting costume, dark curls loose around her sultry made-up face, watching from the barre as she moves and stretches to keep her limbs warm.

  Modern ballet.

  Sexy as hell.

  Well, sexy when it’s my wife.

  She looks stunning.

  I hear the music—shit, the curtain’s going up, and anything I was going to say to her is going to have to wait until after the performance. At least I get a few moments with her before she goes on stage. Her first appearance is five minutes into the production.

  The dancers race in front of me onto the lighted stage, and I wait until a pathway clears to get to where Krystal is watching excitedly.

  She stands just out of view, tucked behind the curtains, hands on hips, and foot moving in a ritual I know well. Heel-to-toe circle on floor, stretch, land, then other leg.

  Coming up behind her, I place my hands on her shoulders and do a gentle glide down her arms.

  “Relax. You’re going to do wonderfully.”

  She looks over her shoulder at me, a nervous crinkle in her dark brows. “My parents are here, right?”

  “Yes, babe. Your entire family. Box on the right.”

  “My dad?” she asks anxiously.

  “Yes, I saw Alan. I’m so proud of you. You’re going to blow them away.”

  She beams. “I love you, baby.”

  “I love you, too.”

  She nods, letting out a slow breath before shifting her focus back to the stage, and I hear, “I love you, Jake,” in Brayden’s moronic voice from my earpiece and fucking laughter, though I’m not sure which guys are adding their two cents on this. Probably all of them. Assholes. I forgot they can hear me and I can hear them.

  Chatter. Chatter. Why don’t they shut up?

  They’ve made their point.

  I know why they’re here.

  No need to ruin this night for me.

  Krystal’s worked so hard for this.

  Damn it, she’s my wife. Have some respect here.

  The second she’s on stage, I whisper into the microphone on my wrist, “Can’t you just leave me alone and be quiet until this is over?”

  “Sorry. I didn’t know you were such a fan of ballet.”

  “Fuck you, Bray.”

  More laughter, but it melts, and thankfully, there’s silence after that. Slowly, I release my tension and am held captive by the mesmerizing picture that is my wife on stage.

  Oh God, Krystal is killing it.

  I’ve never seen her look more beautiful, more self-possessed or seductive than she does now. I’ve never seen her dance this way. The tech week performances can’t compare to this. Maybe it’s having a live audience. Maybe it’s her family being here, but she’s leaving it all on the stage.

  Transfixed, the minutes pass, hover filled only with her, then the thunderous applause pulls me from my stupor right before she flings herself into my arms for a fast embrace.

  “Did you see me?”

  “Oh, babe, I couldn’t see anything else.”

  She kisses me, fast and passionately, before fluttering away back onto the stage. I peek out at the audience. On their feet. Deafening applause.

  Milo—fuck him—goes out onto the stage, the clapping intensifies, and he kisses Krystal’s hand as he sets a large bouquet of roses in her arms.

  Leg stretch, toe point, and in graceful elegant moves he guides her off stage as the curtain lowers.

  Fuck, they exited stage right.

  When the hell did they make this change?

  I hightail it down to the hallway behind the stage packed with dancers, weaving through them toward her dressing room. I hear applause from the corps. I spot Krystal moving quickly twenty feet ahead of me.

  I race to catch her.

  Door closes.

  Oh fuck, Graham Carson sidesteps to stand in front of the door, blocking my entrance.

  “The family’s in there,” he says. “You can give them a moment alone, can’t you? It’s a big night for them. She is their daughter.”

  It’s a big night for my family—but I don’t say it.

  No point.

  They’re going to fuck with me until they deal with me.

  I get it.

  It’s how these guys operated in Pacific Palisades.

  I know I deserve it.

  I collapse back against the wall. Damn it, I want only a few minutes alone with my wife, to tell her how spectacular she was and to say “I love you.” This is ridiculous.

  I shift my gaze to Graham.

  Who does he think he is?

  One of Alan’s four horsemen of the apocalypse; stupid question.

  I face Graham. “Listen—”

  Those steely gray eyes silence me.

  “Did you know when Alan first started taking the kids on the road, he entrusted his daughters to me to protect? An enormous compliment. He trusted me with the most important people in his life. Those girls are like my own daughters. I’ve known Krystal since she was this high.” He slowly lowers his palm, facing the floor, to mid-thigh level. “Duty. Loyalty. Service and family aren’t just words for me. They’re the tenets I live by. They’re Alan’s, too. You’re not needed here, kid. Go to the lobby. Dillon’s waiting for you.”

  I stare at him, mouth gaping.

  Like that, he thinks he’s going to give me the brush-off and order me away. Family? Whether the Black Star employees like it or not—whether Alan likes it or not—I’m family.

  I have every right to be in Krystal’s dressing room.

  Why the hell am I walking in the direction Graham instructed me to?

  The second I step into the theater lobby, Dillon and Brayden intercept me.

  “You’re riding in my car,” Dillon announces bluntly.

  I shove my hands deep into my pockets and count to ten in my head. I slowly exhale. “Am I allowed to ask where?”

  Dillon chuckles lightheartedly. “Central Park West.”

  The location of Alan’s New York penthouse.

  OK, not with my wife, but along for the ride.

  I can put up with this a little while longer.

  Brayden frowns. “Jeez, you’re jumpy. Where did you think we were going?”

  I shrug. “I don’t know. A deserted spot on the Hudson.”

  They bot
h erupt in laughter.

  I shake my head, a reluctant smile rising. Crap, that sounded idiotic. I need to get a grip. They’re only messing with me.

  “She nailed it, didn’t she?” I ask, my pride over her fighting to get out, even here, with them.

  “I don’t know anything about ballet, but she was pretty incredible to me,” Dillon says, surprisingly affable.

  I smile. “You wouldn’t believe how hard she works. Ten hours a day, minimum, seven days a week to make that look effortless. Her parents have a lot to be proud of.”

  “Extraordinary girl,” Brayden replies with uncustomary seriousness.

  “Most amazing woman I’ve ever known,” I say before I can stop myself. Out of the corner of my eye I see Dillon shake his head, and I tense again.

  We stay in the lobby, making idle chitchat until there’s no one left in the building. In my ear, I hear, “We’re moving,” from Graham Carson.

  I rapidly scan the room. No sight of Krystal. Moving. Where are they moving her to?

  A slap on my back.

  I turn and find Dillon. “Come on. Let’s head for the car.”

  Car? But she’s not here yet.

  Fuck.

  I follow them out.

  Dillon points. “You’re riding in the back with me.”

  He disappears inside the vehicle and I climb into the SUV as Brayden takes shotgun next to the driver. Three cars. One ahead. One that must be intended for the family. And the one I’m in to follow.

  Great, fucking great.

  I ignore the talk in the car as I rapidly search the pavement from the theater doors to the waiting limo. The doors open. Graham Carson followed by Krystal’s enormous family. Camera flashes from every direction from the waiting press. Hell, I can’t even see her in the pack moving toward the street.

  Jackson Parker and his wife, Linda.

  Alan.

  Chrissie.

  Kaley.

  Bobby.

  The twins.

  My eyes lock on Krystal smiling at her sister Khloe, then she’s gone into the waiting SUV.

  The vehicles merge into the slow-moving traffic. Thirty minutes of weaving streets later, we’re in Central Park West. The SUV stops parallel to an opening to an underground garage.