Shark’s Rise: Shark’s Edge: Book Three

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Shark’s Rise: Shark’s Edge: Book Three Page 2

by ANGEL PAYNE


  It felt so good. Damn good. To finally relax a bit…if only for a few minutes…

  “Times up,” said a deep voice right behind me, making me yip as I whirled around on Elijah. He held out his hand for me to give the phone back. “Tell Grant to get back on the line.”

  “I’m not finished talking yet. I’ll let you know when I am.” I turned my back to him and gritted my teeth instead of punching him in the face.

  “Holy shit. All of them have this bossy bullshit down to a science, don’t they?” Rio asked me with a giggle.

  “Oh, shit, you don’t even know. I think they must jerk each other off with it.”

  And just like that, the phone was plucked from my hand. I was left gaping at my empty palm. Elijah only raised his eyebrow while I spluttered to say something.

  “Mrs. Gibson? Please put Mr. Twombley back on the line. Yes, thank you.” More of the silky-smooth voice. Crap, he was even being kind and considerate with Rio. I narrowed my eyes as he waited for a moment, presumably while Grant came to the phone. There was a slight-yet-annoying smirk on his lips.

  “Hey, man,” he murmured, presumably to Grant. “Give me one second.” He covered the phone with his broad palm. “If you’ll excuse me, Abbigail, I have to take this call.” He gestured to the phone with his chin.

  I’d been dismissed.

  And was furious about it.

  While my follow-up action wouldn’t be considered my most mature moment, I’d had all I could take of his smug attitude. I decided to hit the bastard where it hurt. Without giving my moves a ton of thought, I detoured right to the lounge chair he had been occupying and scooped up his book, shirt, and shoes. Yes, the shoes he’d likely spent a few thousand dollars on. I didn’t know everything about Elijah, but the man’s high-end shoe habit was damn near legend. I’d heard Bas and Grant tease him about it on more than one occasion.

  I swung around and threw the whole bundle into the pool with so much force, they splashed like cannonballs.

  “Abbigail!”

  I kept on walking as though he hadn’t bellowed my name like calling a hit on me from the hounds of hell. If that was the case, let the dogs come. I was over his bullshit, and if Sebastian didn’t come here or call soon, I was packing my lone suitcase and leaving.

  Safety be damned.

  Though my belly seemed determined to have the last laugh tonight.

  Talking to Rio didn’t do much for my stress level or my nauseated stomach, especially after the altercation with Elijah. I took a long bath in the opulent bathroom attached to my bedroom, and that worked better than anything else had. I found some lavender bath salts in a jar on the countertop, and I refilled the tub with more hot water twice, not wanting to get out and face reality.

  I’d kept my bedroom door locked, and a handwritten note had been slipped underneath the portal while I was in the tub.

  You owe me a meal.

  Well, shit.

  He was right.

  And I wouldn’t go back on my word, supplying him with that ammunition too. Besides, my stomach was finally settled for the first time since I’d arrived. I was just happy the lavender aromatherapy had worked its magic in more ways than just calming my nerves.

  I pulled on a pair of burgundy pajamas and headed out to the kitchen. The house was quieter than usual, if that was possible. I would typically encounter a staff member in a hallway or in the kitchen, at the very least.

  I found a note from Elijah on the enormous commercial-grade refrigerator.

  There are two different options for you. One is in the warming drawer of the oven, and one is in the refrigerator. I wasn’t sure what you would be hungry for and knew your stomach has been bothering you. Whatever you choose, eat everything on your plate.

  “Jesus Christ,” I muttered. Even his notes were bossy. I rolled my eyes and went for the refrigerator option first, realizing I was smiling. Elijah was an asshole, but he had taken the time to make sure I had some menu choices. I would give him props on this one; he was really trying to take care of me.

  For Sebastian.

  I knew their relationship went back a long way, nearly as along as Bas had known Grant. But there was something more intrinsic about the dynamics my man shared with Elijah Banks. Something more complicated. Something…heavier.

  Whatever the reasoning was, I was starting to recognize the truth. Elijah didn’t want to piss off or disappoint Sebastian. Whatever the motivation was, he had definitely gone the extra step with the meal offerings.

  In the refrigerator, I found a fruit and yogurt parfait. Beside the cut glass bowl of mixed fruit was a smaller matching bowl filled with granola to mix in when I was ready to eat. That way the topping stayed crunchy. So thoughtful, Mr. Banks…

  Curiosity had me checking the warming drawer, though the parfait sounded perfect. In the oven, I found a small, one-serving casserole dish filled with baked ziti. The cheesy pasta was perfectly golden brown and crusty on the top. A piece of French bread, drizzled with butter and garlic perfection, sat on the tray beside it.

  There was an oven mitt waiting to be used on the countertop beside the appliance, so I pulled the tray from the oven and rested it on the stovetop. After studying the knobs for a moment, I figured out how to turn off the warming drawer. That led me to the dilemma of glancing back and forth between my two options. If I had to finish the whole thing, I stood a better chance with the yogurt. All the carbs in the pasta would have me sleeping halfway through the meal. While it looked delicious, someone else was going to have to enjoy that Italian feast.

  About two-thirds of the way through the yogurt and fruit, I had to tap out. I was so full, I felt like I was going to explode. Because I hadn’t had a proper meal in so many days, I just couldn’t handle more in one sitting. Of course, my keeper chose that exact moment to saunter into the kitchen. Elijah was fresh from a workout, judging by his clothing and sweaty condition.

  “Thank you for this.” I motioned to the food in front of me and then over to the counter where the pasta sat. “Are you hungry? I can heat that up for you.” I made the offer in heartfelt kindness, seeking to repay his gesture.

  He waved a dismissive hand. “I can do it. Don’t want to interrupt your meal. After all, I see you haven’t finished yet.” He raised a brow, looking at what was still left in my bowl. “I’ll warm this up while you keep working.”

  “Elijah.” I dropped my spoon, making a loud clatter. “I can’t eat another bite.”

  “Abbigail.” He extended the last syllable like a reproaching teacher. “We had a deal.”

  “And I’m not reneging. I’m just so full. I’m finally feeling better than I have in days, and I don’t want to get sick from forcing more down.” At his hard stare, I just resorted to begging. “Please.”

  He didn’t surrender an inch of his scowl. His veiny biceps contracted as he stared at me.

  Jesus H. Christ.

  But I didn’t lift my spoon again.

  Maybe changing the subject would be a better tactic. “Have you heard from Sebastian since this afternoon?” I asked. “Has he said when he will be here?”

  “No.” He pushed a few buttons, and the microwave whirled to life.

  “No, you haven’t heard from him, or no, he hasn’t said when he’s coming to Twentynine Palms?”

  He whipped his head around. His scowl was still in place, only now it had at least twenty-two more stern angles to it. His gaze was just as incisive, a double-edged sword forged of copper and jade. “What has you thinking we are in Twentynine Palms?”

  “Uhhh…my cell phone?” I picked up the device and waggled it. It was never far from me these days, just in case Bas texted again. “Location services in just about every app? This is a pretty remote place, though. I have to give you guys that much. I did notice there is a bit of shopping not too far away. Maybe that’s where we can go to have my phone looked at regarding the cell situation. I should definitely have better phone reception here.”

  “Bas can deal w
ith that when he gets here.” He mumbled—okay, growled—it around his first bite of ziti. “Damn, this is good. Sure you don’t want some?” He pushed the casserole dish toward me on the island.

  “No,” I all but snapped. I slid off the stool and grabbed my bowls. As I turned with them, a petite woman seemed to materialize from thin air. With a gentle smile, she took them from my hands.

  “I can get this, Miss Gibson,” she offered. “Please, just relax.”

  How could I deny her sweet, serviceable manner? “Thank you,” I murmured while giving up the bowls without hesitation. “And thank you for the food, as well. It was delicious.”

  She smiled again. “Well, that was all Mr. Banks.” She motioned to Elijah with her chin since her hands were full.

  My turn for the stunned double-take—but my quizzical stare met the top of the man’s head. Surprise, surprise; Elijah was suddenly laser-focused on his own food.

  “You made the parfait?” I pressed anyway. Not surprisingly, he stayed hunched over his plate like a street urchin with a fast-food cheeseburger. “I would’ve eaten the pasta the chef made, like everyone else.”

  At last, Elijah raised his head and said, “It was no trouble, really. And I thought that having a choice between a couple of things would make you more likely to eat something.” He rolled his shoulders. “Gives me hives to see people go without eating.”

  “Seriously?” I flung a teasing gawk. “I had no idea. You hide that so well.”

  Fortunately, my jibe earned me a smirk this time. The man’s hazels actually twinkled in the kitchen’s overhead light.

  “So…is this some kind of childhood trauma thing?” At least I knew how to push gently. “I know you knew Bas growing up, and I know the kind of childhood he had. It stands to reason you and Grant have stories of your own to tell too.”

  He blinked at me. Then again. “Doesn’t everyone?” He finished chewing. “Have a story to tell, I mean. You don’t have to have a fucked-up childhood to have a cause you feel passionately about.”

  “Point well made.” And now that I felt like a total idiot, it was as good a time as any to leave the man to his meal and escape back to my hideout. “I’ll leave you to your meal. I…have one last thing, though, if you don’t mind?”

  He set his fork down, seeming annoyed. Whether it was because I was keeping him from his meal or he simply found me bothersome, I wasn’t sure. Regardless, I pressed on. At this point, I didn’t have a choice. This frustrating, confusing man was my only real conduit to the outside world. A world that contained Sebastian.

  “Would you call Sebastian for me, the way you called Rio today?” I forced my chin to stay firm and my gaze to stay dry. “I…I need to speak to him.”

  He rewarded my honesty with a giant chunk of silence. At last, one word. “Why?”

  “Because I miss him. And I need more than just a text exchange here and there.”

  He sat silently for another long moment. But at least he seemed to be thinking over my request. Until he jabbed a big pin into the balloon of my hopes by picking up his fork and eating again.

  In seconds, I was at his side. Then grabbing his wrist, halting him just before the pasta reached his mouth. His lethal hazel glare sliced through me, but I didn’t back down.

  “No. Stop this. Why am I having to beg to use the phone? This is ridiculous. I’m not a fucking prisoner here. Am I? You’re making me crazy!”

  He looked down at where I was clutching his arm. “Yes, I see that.”

  At last, I let go of him. I wasn’t getting anywhere with the man tonight, if the terse line of his jaw could be believed. And yes, here came my holding-back-the-tears headache. Like my effort had done me any good.

  With a resigned sigh, I stepped back from the island. “I’ll be in my cell…my room. Whatever. It’s all starting to feel like the same thing,” I mumbled, swiping my cheeks as I walked away.

  “Okay,” he mumbled back.

  With every passing hour, my supposed “safe” house really was feeling more like a prison. I knew with absolute certainty, if I didn’t see or speak to Sebastian soon, I wouldn’t be staying here much longer. I would find a way out of this house, out of this desert town, and my own way back to Los Angeles.

  Elijah Banks be damned.

  Chapter Two

  Sebastian

  Slowly but surely, I was losing my mind. I went from having Abbigail beneath me every night and within arm’s reach every day to nothing but a few sparse text messages—if I was lucky—per twenty-four-hour period. And forget about any voice contact. Christ, I never realized how her musical laughter, throaty sighs, and sweet sarcasm had become the balm for my soul—until they were no longer resonating on the same air I breathed.

  Each time I picked up the phone and dialed her number, it rang straight to her voicemail. And every time, I sat and greedily listened to her sultry voice through the greeting. I’d close my eyes and picture her here in my office with me. Maybe she was sitting on my lap in my chair. Better yet, she was propped on my desk in front of me, her legs spread just wide enough to let me peek at the wet treasure between them.

  A stiff ache brought my attention back to the present. To my lonely reality.

  “Goddammit,” I muttered. This sucked, and in no small way. I needed to talk to Elijah and hear his daily reassurance that she was well. And yes, probably to hear about her mounting fury about my avoidance of talking to her directly. Yeah, it was a dick move. And yeah, I was the first to admit it. Didn’t change anything. I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I’d figured that one out the hard way just two days into this ordeal, when we’d talked for less than five minutes. The conversation had consisted mostly of her weeping pleas for me to bring her home. For hours afterward, I’d pretended to be a functioning member of society. Inside, every synapse in my senses was fried.

  Enough was enough.

  We were now closing our sixth day apart, and I planned on being with her by nightfall.

  She didn’t know I’d made plans to leave the office early and make the drive out to the safe house. Elijah and I agreed it would be best to stay quiet about my intention, in case something—more like one of a thousand things—fell through. He said she had been increasingly disagreeable and sad, and I didn’t want to add to her misery if this wasn’t going to happen.

  That was my newly found heroic side speaking.

  On the other hand, there was something pulse-quickening about hearing what a hard time she’d been giving him. Her spirit hadn’t dwindled with our separation, though if anyone could handle her spunky personality, it was Elijah Banks. The bastard was probably routinely looking for ways to egg her on, just to keep the days interesting during their forced sequestration in Twentynine Palms.

  And damn it, I had no news about when it would be coming to an end either. We—meaning Grant, me, and the sizable investigation team Elijah had assembled from across the globe—weren’t getting anywhere with discovering who was harassing me. We had feelers out into every dark and creepy corner of the city I could think of, and none of the efforts were yielding results. Nothing beyond more frustration. I was finding it harder and harder to focus on the work piling up on my desk as each day passed.

  I was shaken from my musings by Terryn’s easily identifiable knock on my office door.

  “In!” I didn’t bother with other words or niceties for this one.

  “Do you have a minute, Mr. Shark?” she asked sheepishly while closing the door behind her.

  “Not really.” I stood and walked around from behind my desk, not comfortable in a relaxed position when this woman was around me. “Is there a problem?”

  “I won’t take up too much of your time. I know how busy you are. I mean, of course I would, right? I organize your schedule, after all.” She laughed brightly—too brightly—at the dumb comment but sobered when I just stared in return. She needed to get to the damn point. I wouldn’t want to make small talk with Terryn Ramsey if she were the last person on the planet.<
br />
  I stepped forward and squared off with my assistant. “What can I do for you, Terryn?”

  “Well, I…I hope this doesn’t seem presumptuous of me, but I’ve noticed Ms. Gibson hasn’t been delivering your lunches this week. She also hasn’t been calling multiple times a day like she usually does.” She nervously twisted her fingers in and out of the delicate necklace she wore. If she yanked any harder, the thin chain would snap—much like my patience.

  “Terryn.”

  “Hmmm?”

  “Focus, damn it.”

  “Oh, yes! Of course, of course. Well, I just wanted to tell you that if you needed someone to…well…talk to…”

  I glowered. “About what?”

  “About…well…anything. You know, if you two are having a lovers’ quarrel, or…or…you know, whatever, I’d be happy to lend an ear.” She quickly put her flat palm up to interrupt herself. “Just as friends, of course! I don’t want to give you the wrong idea or anything, okay? Seriously. Just as your friend.”

  She narrowed her eyes as if trying to gauge my reaction and then smiled slyly, as if she were pulling one over on me. It was one of the strangest interactions with another human I’d ever had in my entire life. And I’d met some characters in my time.

  “So, anyway…yeah. I just wanted to say that.”

  I stepped back. “Very well.” They were the only two words that came to mind—but they were far from the right ones.

  “Oh! Wait! And I also wanted to give you this!”

  She dug into the pocket of her boxy blazer. I would’ve thought the pockets on the ill-fitting jacket-skirt combo were just for show, but she popped the flap open at the hip and fished out a small parcel. She handed it to me with a beaming smile, like a schoolgirl giving her secret crush a bracelet she’d made during study hall.

  “I hope you like it.” She clasped her hands together under her chin and waited for me to open the tissue paper bundle. The wad looked like something Vela would leave under her pillow for the Tooth Fairy.

 

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