by Stasia Black
But with The Orphan had come AJ, and that was one nasty surprise Marcus could do without. He was handling the situation, but he didn’t like it. Not one damn bit.
The elevator opened to chaos on the lobby floor. Cops were everywhere, questioning people and checking their IDs before letting them up to their hotel rooms. Outside, the blues and reds of police lights flashed. And the roar of the crowd outside. Marcus’s hands unconsciously closed into fists.
AJ had set the mob on his home by moving The Orphan here, to a private floor. The fans found out, no doubt tipped off by AJ himself. And now he and his wife would be stuck in this mess any time they wanted to come or go.
Marcus turned on his heel and headed for the Southeast entrance. It was around the back of the building, near the gym and should be less crowded. By the time he got there, Lorenzo and Stan were already ushering Cora through the doors. She looked harried but not scared. His strong, beautiful wife. For a moment, all he could see was her. So fucking beautiful even after working with smelly animals all day.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
Her question immediately brought back Marcus’s sour mood. “The Orphan moved in,” he snapped.
“He’s here? Don’t they have to ask you before they do that sort of thing? Move in such a high-profile client?”
Marcus’s eyebrows went up. “I’m flattered you think my sway extends so far, but no.” He glared as they rounded the corner to the main lobby. “If I had any say, this debacle would never have happened.”
Cora looked confused. “But don’t you own the hotel?”
Marcus laughed out loud at that. “What gave you that idea?”
Her mouth dropped open. “I don’t know, I just assumed… Since you live in the penthouse suite permanently. After a while I guess I thought this was just another of your businesses.”
“No, I don’t own the Crown.”
Her brow furrowed. “Then why do you live here? You own so much real estate in the city.”
Marcus smiled at that because this was one of his favorite triumphs. “A man owed my father a favor; I called it in. He owns the hotel, but the penthouse is mine for as long as I want. And as long as I live here, he’ll never forget what he owed my family.”
He chuckled grimly. “He hates me. Wishes he could throw me out, but he can’t without everyone knowing he goes back on his word. But whenever he thinks of his pride and joy of a hotel, he grinds his teeth because he thinks of me, living in the penthouse he designed for himself.”
Cora looked appalled but Marcus would never apologize for who he was. Like everything in his life, Marcus’s residence sent a message.
And now his castle was under siege. His bad mood came thundering back. Especially when two police officers came toward him like they intended to question his credentials.
Marcus immediately locked eyes with his man, who came forward and cut the other two off at the pass. Good.
When he looked back to Cora, he saw her watching the whole exchange with curious eyes.
“Upstairs,” he commanded her. He’d intended another long, slow night of reminding his wife exactly where her place was in their marriage—underneath him—but dammit, he was letting her get underneath his skin again.
He’d been spending time with her when he needed to be focused on the business at hand.
The shipment.
Nothing could go wrong this time. The mob would be appeased for only so long by side shows. If everything went as planned, then he would have the monopoly on the next hottest commodity the crowd would be slathering over. Which meant crushing the Titans and bleeding them dry of every tyrant’s greatest source of power—money.
“Lorenzo will keep watch outside the door while I’m gone until they get this mess settled. I have to go out.” Marcus’s features hardened as he looked around. No more distractions, not until the shipment had been delivered and distribution was going smoothly.
He turned away from his wife. “I’ve got business to attend to tonight.”
Twelve
The next morning after a restless night, Cora met Olivia for a shopping excursion.
Cora had almost cancelled their plans, except her new friend had been so excited when she’d promised. And Marcus wasn’t home when she woke up. He’d stayed out all night again. Doing his business, whatever that was. Or whomever. The thought was acid in Cora’s brain.
And it wasn’t like she had any more leads on Iris. She thought about calling the police. “Excuse me, I’d like to report a missing person. I have a picture of her but we’ve never met. Oh, and please don’t tell my husband I’m asking; his men might have abducted her.”
Sure. That would go over well.
Cora was waiting on the curb, deep in thought, when a latte appeared in front of her face. Olivia stood grinning at her.
“Oh, you’re an angel.” Cora took the proffered cup and sipped it. Perfect. “Thank you.”
“Least I could do, considering the Herculean task before us.”
“Shopping?”
Olivia grimaced. “I hate clothes. If I ever move somewhere warm, I’m not going to wear them.”
Cora sputtered a little. “That should go over well at work.”
“It’s my company.” Olivia sipped a coffee of her own. “They’ll get over it.”
Cora paused. “Wait, you own your own company?”
“Aurum? Yeah, it’s mine.”
“Aurum? Like the mobile apps and devices?”
“Yep.”
“Holy crap.” Cora stared at the shorter woman drinking coffee in faded black jeans and a turtleneck.
“What?”
“I’ve read about you, in the papers. You’re like a super genius.” Aurum was one of the fastest growing companies in New Olympus.
“Told you,” Olivia said smugly.
“You were at Armand’s show, doing his website?”
“I like to get out among the commoners once and awhile.” Olivia shrugged. “Besides, I love Fortune jeans. They’re pretty much all I wear.”
“Well, we’re going to change that.”
“Bring it on.”
As they started walking, Olivia’s eyes immediately shot to Sharo, large and hulking in a black suit, who’d started following them. Cora’s shadow for the day.
“Ignore him,” Cora whispered.
Olivia just raised an eyebrow. “Not sure I want to. That man is one hunk of gorgeous beefsteak.”
Cora laughed out loud at Sharo being described that way, then shook her head.
Cora started with the shop she used to always walk by her first weeks in the city. Back then she could only gaze longingly but it had become one of her favorite haunts after marrying Marcus. Olivia followed her around obediently, only fussing when the shop manager approached. “Back off. I’m with her.”
Cora’s head flew up to see the manager’s startled face. She always helped Cora and she was actually really nice. “Sorry,” Cora mouthed and hurried to get Olivia into a dressing room.
In the next few hours, Cora kept Olivia busy trying on new outfits. Olivia didn’t want anything but black, and the color suited her all right so Cora went with it, picking out different fabrics to lend a little richness to Olivia’s monochromatic look.
“This looks like crap,” Olivia announced, pointing at a display of dresses. The shop manager’s eyebrows shot up to her hairline.
“Time for the dressing room,” Cora sang, pushing her friend inside the room and shutting the door behind her. Cora continued looking and flipped a few clothes over the door, ignoring Olivia’s muffled curses from inside.
“She’s...prickly,” Cora told the manager. “I’ll take care of her.”
As the clothes mounded up beside the register in a “To Buy” pile, the manager’s expression changed.
“She owns a really successful company,” Cora told the manager and cashier. “The tech company working on the phone you can fold in half.”
“Oh wow,” the cashier b
reathed.
“Perhaps you’d like to open a personal shopper’s account? That way you can conduct in-office sessions for your client.”
“That’s a great idea,” Cora said as Olivia’s voice rang out in the back of the store—“This is crap!”—accompanied by gasps from the store personnel.
“Ring up everything,” Cora instructed, and ran to rescue the poor saleswomen from Olivia’s blunt barrage.
In the end Olivia paid without comment, and the entire store’s staff sighed in relief when Cora pushed her friend out the door.
They lunched at a popular curry house.
“Well, that wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be.”
Cora smiled quietly into her mango lassi.
“Seriously, after the fashion show and party, I’m surprised I didn’t wind up getting fitted for bunny ears.”
Cora nearly choked, remembering Armand’s arm candy at the party. “Oh, that’s the next stop,” she teased. “I’m just giving you a break before more torture.”
“That’s what you think. All I have to do is call that giant you call a bodyguard over and he’ll be ready to carry you away if you push me.”
Cora stilled. “You mean Sharo?” He was sitting in the corner far enough away to give them their privacy but he was far too big to be unobtrusive in the busy restaurant.
Olivia shrugged. “Is that his name? Who is he anyway?”
“Just one of my husband’s colleagues,” Cora said, gnawing on her lip.
“He doesn’t look like a colleague, looks more like a… I don’t know. A wise guy or something.” Olivia laughed and for once Cora wished her new friend wasn’t so blunt.
Cora honestly didn’t know what to say, and it seemed impossible to talk about her husband’s business here, in a restaurant, in broad daylight. This was why she didn’t have friends. She hadn’t realized it until now. They’d ask uncomfortable questions and she’d retreat into the safety of her husband’s penthouse.
Olivia pushed around her rice, obviously noting Cora’s silence. “So, what’s the deal—I can’t imagine you get into too much trouble.” Olivia was studying her; Cora could almost see her calculating how much to pry.
Time for a topic change. And, considering what Olivia did for a living…
Cora hesitated, then put her drink down. “Olivia, if you suspected someone was missing, and you needed to look for them without anyone else knowing, how would you do it?”
“Ping their phone,” Olivia answered immediately, her eyes lighting up. “There’s technology that allows you to pinpoint a device. Like a trace.”
“Is it legal?”
“Not really. But where’s the fun in that?”
The rest of the lunch turned into a technology lesson. Olivia showed Cora some of her hacks and some of her company’s apps. Cora’s phone got an update and a few new downloads, with Olivia’s promise to show Cora how to use them.
“Thanks for all the help, I really appreciate it.” If Cora could get a hold of Iris’s phone number, then maybe she could figure out this phone pinging thing and get another lead. Once she found out where Iris was being held, she could send the cops in. Marcus never had to know she was involved and Iris would be safe.
“No problem.” The bill came by and Cora reached for it, but Olivia grabbed her hand. “Cora, you’d tell me if you were in trouble?”
Cora nodded.
“I know we just met but…I’d like to help.”
Cora bit her lip but then took a chance. Like Anna, Olivia seemed genuine. “I may need to take you up on that.”
“Anytime, bitch,” Olivia said affectionately. “Except for the shopping part.”
Cora laughed. “I guess I can’t convince you to visit one more shop, then, for shoes?”
“Hell, no. I’m more interested in your other…project.”
“I’ll keep you posted,” Cora promised. “And will hopefully have something to you soon.”
An idea was budding, but first Cora needed to get home. Cora hugged Olivia goodbye and then signaled Sharo she was ready to leave.
Thirteen
Back at the Crown, Cora pressed the up button to the private floor on the elevator and punched in the code. The police had the horde of fans well in control outside, finally, and once Sharo saw her get in the elevator, he didn’t follow. He’d gotten a call right before, so she guessed that Marcus needed him more than she did.
She’d gotten used to living in the high-end hotel, in the section that was more of a palace of suites. Who owned the hotel? Who had owed Marcus’s father the favor?
She shook her head. She had more important fish to fry. Like getting Iris’s phone number.
She had to go see Chris. And he now stayed in a suite one floor below where she lived. A private floor that required a key, just like her floor. The same key worked for the top floor with the pool…so maybe she’d luck out?
Cora held her breath until the door slid open to the requested floor. Yes. Her intuition had been right. The key worked for the Orphan’s floor, too.
The door to the private floor opened and she walked in. A hallway held a series of doors that must lead to suites. Two thugs lounged on either side of the nearest doors.
Surprisingly low security, considering the night before. Something was up. Was Marcus involved? He’d been so upset about the invasion into their privacy last night. He might not own the Crown but his power and influence everywhere throughout the city was undeniable.
The men stood up and came to attention as she approached. AJ’s men. Gods, Cora hoped their boss wasn’t anywhere nearby.
“Hey, lady, you need to leave.” One of the men held out a meaty hand to stop her from going further down the hall.
Taking a deep breath, she channeled her inner Ice Queen. She wore nice jeans and a sweater along with a string of pearls around her neck. They probably thought she was just another hotel guest. Maybe some rabid fan.
Cora looked at them coolly, her chin notched up. “Do you recognize me?”
“Woman, you could be the queen of England, you can’t be here.”
“I’m Mrs. Ubeli. As in, Marcus Ubeli’s wife.”
The two men didn’t budge.
“I’m here to see Christopher. My husband wants me to make sure he’s comfortable.”
“No one gets in. Boss’s orders.” The larger one folded his arms across his chest.
“Just go tell him I’m here to see him.” Cora tried to channel Marcus’s authority. “If he doesn’t want to see me, I’ll leave.”
The one with his arms folded leaned forward, getting into her space. “We don’t take orders from you.”
Cora didn’t back down, she just lifted an eyebrow as if to say, oh really? A classic Marcus move.
“Wait,” the other said, looking a little nervous. “Let me check something.” He went inside the room, closing the door behind him.
The other stared hard at her. She ignored him. The types Marcus associated with usually studied her like she was a threat or a piece of meat. When he finally looked away and leaned against the wall, she memorized his face, from the blunt features to the little gold ring in his ear.
Meanwhile, the other guard came back out, holding his phone like he’d just taken a call. “He wants to talk to you. Says he knows ya.”
Cora started forward and the thug with the earring put his arm out to stop her. “Wait,” he started but she cut him off.
“Touch me and my husband will hear about it.” The two men stiffened. “You two have been nothing but perfect gentlemen so far,” she continued, with a sweeter tone. “I’ll only be a minute.”
She flashed a smile. The first guard settled back on his heels. The one with the earring looked like he wanted to kill her.
“Only a minute,” she sang as she entered the apartment. And stopped.
The room was trashed. A room service cart lay on its side at her feet. The food from the tray was all over the ground. In the suite itself, a chair lay on its side, leadi
ng her eye to the brocade curtains hanging askew on their rod.
Across from the bedroom, lovely white and gold wallpaper was stained with ribbons of red liquid, as if someone had picked up wine delivered on the cart and thrown it. The rest of the room’s décor, with Victorian chairs, was largely untouched, but it was shocking, this scene of obvious violence.
Cora was about to call out Chris’s name to ask if he was all right when the guard with the little earring stuck his head in and laughed, not a nice sound. “He’s temperamental.”
Cora swallowed, and didn’t let them see her flinch. She wouldn’t show weakness to them.
She turned and stepped carefully, hearing broken glass under her boots. The doorway to the bedroom gaped.
“Chris?” she finally called. “It’s Cora. Marcus Ubeli’s wife.”
A slight noise drew her to investigate. Once her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she saw Chris’s curly head jutting over the bedcovers.
“Chris, are you ok? Did something happen?”
“It was me.” The rock star’s voice came weakly. “I did it.”
“You did this?” She picked her way carefully into the room, stopping at the foot of the bed. Gods, he looked terrible. His hair was dirty. The room stank. She didn’t know when he’d last showered but it couldn’t have been recently.
He drew a raspy breath. “She left me. She didn’t love me anymore. They showed me a note she wrote. I sort of freaked out and…trashed the place.”
Cora squinted at him. “They showed you a note? What did they say?”
“They said they went to look for her.” He stretched a hand over to the bedside table, knocking another bottle onto the floor. Cora darted forward to help him. Grunting softly, as if the movements were painful, he handed her his phone.
Cora turned it to see the picture. A woman lay sleeping, her face wan on the dirty pillow. Iris. Even Cora understood what the needle in her arm meant.
“She’s using again. She doesn’t want me anymore.”