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

by ANGEL PAYNE

  “Sure, Mr. Shark. Anything you say. I mean, you’re the boss man here.”

  I ground my molars together at that fucking nickname but held my shit together. I needed to talk to Elijah. About five minutes ago.

  “Well, Bob, I appreciate the call, and I will see you as soon as I can get across town.”

  As soon as I disconnected the call, Banks strode back in. Thank fuck.

  “What’s going on?” he queried with a smirk. “Miss me already?”

  “You’re not going to believe this,” I huffed.

  “Uh-oh.” He dropped into a leather chair, changing out the smile for a hard stare. “I don’t like the sound of this already.”

  “And rightly so,” I asserted.

  “What the hell’s up now?”

  “I just took a call from the site foreman at the Edge.”

  “McKenzie?” And of course he had committed the man’s name to memory, as well. I hired the best. I made friends with the best of the best. “Why is he calling you at home?”

  “Apparently there is a body that needs to be dealt with at the site. In the pit where they’re prepping to pour the foundation.”

  “Wait. What?” Within seconds, the man was back on his feet. “Hold up. Did you just say body? As in a dead human? Nooo. You did not just say—”

  “I did.”

  His shoulder sagged. He pushed out an exhausted grunt. “Did he say whether it was—”

  “It’s a female. On the younger side.”

  Banks dropped his head between his shoulders. “Of course it is.”

  When we got to the job site, I was surprised to see how much activity was still going on at that hour. Workers milled around, all making a big show of looking even busier when they saw me approaching. Despite all that, Banks had ensured security was tight on the property since day one. Whomever was lying lifeless in the pit had to have checked in at the trailer before going on to meet her maker.

  My friend greeted the guard on duty with an enthusiastic handshake and back smack. The officer called Bob McKenzie over a two-way radio.

  “How do you know this guy?” I mumbled to Elijah while the walkie-talkie conversation took place.

  “You think I let just anyone on this job site?” he replied at once. “The building’s too big and too important. I sat in on every interview myself. Every single one of these workers has been interviewed, screened, and then thoroughly investigated before being offered their jobs. If someone wasn’t qualified, seemed shifty, out of place, or just felt off in general, we passed them over.”

  As he spoke, my gape of disbelief kept widening. “Don’t we have human resource people for things like that?”

  He looked at me like I’d asked how gravity worked. “We had more applicants than we knew what to do with,” he explained. “The process was interminable, but it was one way to make sure we had the best crew here at all times, sharing a singular goal.” My buddy grew more passionate as he spoke. “Making this project the best it could be.”

  If I were a more effusive, emotional man, I would have embraced him then. Instead, I put my hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “Thanks, man,” I uttered. “I mean it. And I probably don’t say it enough.”

  I was saved from having to wax on with any more mush than that, as a thick-mustached man lumbered forward. I recognized him at once. It was tough to forget Bob McKenzie’s distinct style.

  “Mr. Shark! Mr. Banks! So good to see you again.” Bob grinned. He was clearly the kind of guy who did that a lot. He looked like a good family man, the kind of guy who spoiled his grandkids and took his wife to Hawaii every other year.

  “I’ll need you to put on these hard hats to go down to the site. OSHA and all. We don’t need them sniffing around the job. Once you get one of those inspectors interested in your project, you can’t shake them for the duration.” He made a face like he’d just smelled something foul.

  “Better get some vests then too,” the security guard chimed in. “I think I have a few floating around here somewhere.” The guard shuffled through a cabinet and produced two caution orange safety vests and handed them to us.

  Once we were appropriately outfitted, we headed out with Bob leading the way.

  He pointed to a piece of paper jutting out of his shirt pocket. “The woman had this in her hand. It was crumbled so tight in her fist, she didn’t drop it when she fell. Still, that’s pretty incredible. Considering what it says, it might be a clue about who she is or why she was here. I didn’t want it blowing away or anything, so I grabbed it. I had my work gloves on, so there shouldn’t be any fingerprints.”

  “That was smart thinking, Bob.” Elijah grinned at the guy.

  “Hey, the Mrs. makes me watch CSI every damn night. It finally paid off!”

  I pulled the handkerchief from my slacks and wrapped it around my fingers and then reached into Bob’s personal space and plucked the note from his pocket. We all stopped walking while I carefully unfolded the letter and read it. Elijah stretched his tall frame to read along with me.

  This is all your fault. I hope you’re satisfied now.

  After staring long and hard at the paper, Banks and I traded confused expressions. Bob finished speaking into his radio, informing the crew he was bringing us over to the pit, and then re-clipped it to his belt.

  “The pit’s just up ahead. It’s…uhh, the b— Well, it’s over here.”

  He motioned to the wide-open area in front of us. Bright spotlights lit up the area like a UFO was about to land in the deep crevice.

  “She’s there off to the side, closest to the equipment,” Bob said. “So really, if she was a jumper, that’s all she could’ve jumped from. But I would think one of the guys would’ve seen her climbing up there. And given what she’s wearing? I mean, wouldn’t it be hard to climb an eighteen-ton Caterpillar in heels and a business suit?”

  Another trade-off of puzzlement with Elijah, and then we were skidding down the bank of the pit, toward the intricate crisscross of two-by-fours that were helping to shape my building’s foundation. I was so close to chuckling at my friend, who openly cringed as the mud and dirt trashed his fancy loafers.

  “Be careful here,” Bob cautioned from right behind us. “This rebar is sharp and rusty. If you get stuck with that and haven’t had a tetanus shot lately, you’ll be sitting in the ER all night waiting for one. And let me tell you, those sons of bitches hurt! Right in the ass!”

  He rubbed his backside as if remembering the last time he had to get his booster, but I was happy to have the mental image. It was a momentary relief from what we were about to look at. A sight that already seemed unbelievable. Christ. I’d seen more dead bodies in the last six months than a man should have to view in an entire lifetime.

  “Her head is on that end.” Bob pointed, saving us the trouble of having to uncover the whole body. Elijah was closest, so he dipped in and pulled back the scratchy burlap material.

  We both sucked in a breath.

  My crazy assistant, Terryn Ramsey, was the lifeless woman in the dirt. Her lips were blue and her skin was gray, but it was definitely her. That gaze, normally brilliant with her borderline insanity, was now a dull blank study of the city’s uncaring skyline.

  Elijah respectfully recovered her face with the dull brown sheet.

  As Elijah stood back up fully, Bob asked, “You know her?”

  “Yeah,” I answered.

  We crawled back out of the trench.

  And then tried to come up with a plan.

  “Thanks for everything here, Bob. Do you mind if we have a few minutes?” I said to the foreman.

  “Oh, yeah, sure. I’ll see you up at the trailer. I’m going to take a lap around the site, though. Just to check on the guys. You know, make sure everyone is doing what they’re supposed to be doing.” He laughed good-naturedly and headed off toward some men who appeared to be welding.

  I looked at Elijah and then scrubbed my hands down my face. “Seriously, bro, what the hell? This bitch ha
s always been crazy. This can’t be pinned on me. Everyone knew she was off her rocker.”

  “The media is going to have a field day with this. No matter what. And the fact that the body is here…” He held his hands up like the Messiah and turned in a semicircle. “So fucking bad.”

  “We have to involve the cops, though. I’m not burying this and looking more guilty later if it comes out. No way in hell.”

  “Agree one hundred percent. I’m just saying it’s going to be a shitstorm. I wish I were still in Twentynine Palms.”

  That sentence made me burst out a sardonic laugh. “I never thought I’d hear those words come out of your mouth.”

  “Right?”

  “Okay. I need to call Abbi and let her know it’s going to be a late night. Once we call the police, we’re going to be here for the rest of the night.”

  Now my friend was the one rubbing his hands across his face. “No wonder I have zero social life.”

  “Well, Mr. Shark, you just can’t seem to stay out of trouble, can you?” said the detective to whom LAPD dispatch connected me. Surprise, surprise; he was a member of the same task force that had been out to the house investigating Tawny’s murder. The City of Angels must have been severely understaffed for wiseass murder investigators these days.

  “More like trouble can’t seem to stop finding me, Detective.” I kept my reply even. “I had nothing to do with this. At all.”

  “Didn’t you say this woman is, or was, your administrative assistant?”

  “Well, yes.”

  He snorted softly. “And her body just happens to show up at the site of the building you are very publicly erecting in our fine city?”

  “That doesn’t make me guilty of murder, Detective. It would probably do you well to remember that.”

  “Are you threatening me, Mr. Shark?”

  “No more than you’re unfairly accusing me, Detective.”

  The line went quiet for a few beats while Elijah shot death rays at me with his glare from across the room.

  What? I mouthed and flipped the phone my middle finger.

  “I’ll gather a forensics team and be over as soon as I can. You know the drill at this point. Don’t touch anything. Don’t move anything. This is an official police investigation at this point,” the man droned on.

  “Right. We’ll be in the security trailer when you arrive.” I disconnected the call and flopped down in the nearest chair. What I wouldn’t give to be at home, in bed, with the warm, willing woman who was carrying my child.

  The woman I should’ve never brought back to this fucked-up mess of my daily life. But it was too late now for that clarity, wasn’t it?

  Chapter Nine

  Abbigail

  Uggghhh.

  After being used to sleeping in and doing nothing all day, I’d forgotten how painful four thirty a.m. really was.

  It was called an ungodly hour for a reason, I guessed—and now I knew why. There was nothing holy about my phone’s vibration buzzing incessantly in my ear. But I had only myself to blame. I’d purposely put my phone’s alarm to the setting, already knowing what kind of a skirmish I’d get from Sebastian if he knew I was getting up and going into the kitchen today. Fortunately, fate had intervened with some kind of an emergency he had to deal with at the Edge’s construction site, so he’d crawled in beside me only an hour and a half before. Now, a freight train could’ve barreled through our bedroom and he wouldn’t have moved a muscle.

  Or so I thought.

  For good measure, I’d put my work clothes in one of the guest rooms. I also planned on showering and getting ready for work in there. If Bas even sniffed what I was up to, there’d be hell to pay—but I had no intention of sitting in the house all day, every day, like I had in Twentynine Palms.

  Besides, this wasn’t complete freedom. Bas and Elijah had set up a security network that could likely be seen from space. It covered the property, the neighborhood, and likely every pore of my body. No matter where I went, I would be safe. I’d have to be okay with that. But so would he. It was that simple.

  Or so I thought.

  This was Sebastian Albert Shark I was considering, after all.

  I set aside that thought while climbing into the guest room’s shower. It wasn’t so easy to ignore how I felt physically when finishing up the task. As I got out of the stall, I was already a little nauseated and lightheaded—a troubling recognition, considering my minor amount of activity, but I was determined to push through and actually accomplish something in my day for once. I’d delivered lunches while battling allergies, fevers, and once, even a sprained ankle. A tiny upset stomach wasn’t going to hold me down, damn it.

  I used my silent pep talk for strength to start fluffing through my hair, getting rid of the excess water in my unruly curls.

  Until I ran directly into the brick wall of a man standing just outside the shower door.

  I was pretty sure the whole neighborhood heard my startled yelp.

  “Jesus Christ, Bas,” I blurted. “You scared the crap out of me!” When he replied with nothing but a sleep-deprived glower, I went on with my nervous stammering. “Wh-What are you doing up? You just came home a little while ago. You should be in bed, babe.”

  That still didn’t earn me any spoken reaction, though he ticked up one eyebrow and crossed his arms in a foreboding pose across his bare chest.

  Clearly my only option was to ignore his sexy-as-hell brood.

  I continued with my after-shower routine, though I had to step around him several times to look into the mirror. He followed every move I made with his stony, unyielding expression. He didn’t falter the look by an inch, and I could tell he was gearing up to dole out a lecture, and I could also sense it was one I didn’t want to hear.

  “Go back to bed, Bas. You don’t need to hover here while I get ready.”

  “And what exactly do you think you’re getting ready for?”

  That made it official. I was unnerved. His calm tone was eerier than a poltergeist’s howl. By now, I wished he’d just yell it out and be done with it.

  “I’m going to work.” I held back the “duh,” but barely. “I have a business to run, remember? And I’ve taken more than my share of time off. I’ve been leaning on Rio way too much since the Edge’s groundbreaking. It’s time to get back to it.”

  “It’s time to—” He saved me from having to stomp on his snarl by interrupting himself. “You can’t be serious.”

  “Of course I’m serious.” I smoothed more concealer in under my eyes. Then a little bit more. Then just huffed, giving up. Clearly, I wasn’t going to be fresh and dewy and bright-eyed today. “Things have been so chaotic lately, and it’s been so unfair to her—”

  “Fuck fair.” He loomed in until he was angled between the mirror and me, forcing me to confront the dual laser beams of his glare. “Abbi…goddammit. This is your health we’re talking about—and now the baby’s. How do you feel right now? Because you look like shit.”

  “Gee thanks, honey,” I said bitterly, patting his arm for extra sarcastic effect. For all his talk about my stupidity, had he really said something so careless? But I could answer that for myself, and that word was yes. He was probably more exhausted than me right now and not thinking before he spoke. “You really should just go back to bed before we get into an argument, before you say something thoughtless. Oops.” I lolled my head to the side harshly. “Too late.” I gave him a sideways glare while pushing back in toward the mirror, giving my under-eye makeup just one more try.

  “There’s no way I’m allowing you to go to the kitchen.”

  “I’m sorry?” I pivoted to face him, slamming my cover-up onto the counter in emphasis. “Did you just say allow me?”

  “Yes. Is there a problem with my word selection?”

  “Not if this were still nineteen fifty.”

  For once, unbelievably, my sarcasm seemed to resonate with him. In a strange rush, all the tension wilted from his massive frame. He hung
his head and rubbed the space between his eyes with his thumb and forefinger.

  “Jesus, Abbi. Please don’t fight me on this. You aren’t well enough to stand on your feet all morning in Inglewood and then haul around a damn delivery cart in the noontime heat.” When he raised his head again, utter exhaustion distorted his handsome face. “You know you’re not.”

  “But I can’t stay cooped up in this house all day either.” Just speaking the words had my throat cracking and my eyes tearing. But I kept my stance resolute in the span of one sentence. I was being a little stubborn and likely a lot stupid, but I needed to do this. For once, I needed to hold my ground.

  “Abbig—”

  “Sebastian.” I dug my nails into his sinewy forearm. “Please.”

  He dropped his head again. Then shook it. Once.

  “I said no, Abbigail. That’s the end of it.”

  He left the bathroom without another word.

  For a few long moments, I simply stood there, staring at the open doorway. Feet swaying. Mind reeling. What just happened?

  I didn’t know if I had a definitive answer. There was a large part of me that knew he had a point. But an even larger part needed to make mine, too. And if I caved on day one, what would that mean for day two? And every other day after that?

  That was when the answer hit. Like an anvil to my solar plexus.

  It was simple. It meant that I was still a prisoner. I had a new cell and a new warden, but I hadn’t been exonerated. My sentence hadn’t even been reduced! I was as much a captive in this mansion as I’d been at the one in the desert.

  My stomach lurched. Suddenly and violently. Oh God, I was thankful to already be in the bathroom. I rushed to the toilet and dropped down in front of it, getting to work on what my body ordered me to do. But I didn’t have time to close the door, meaning Sebastian heard everything from the start. Seemingly at once, he was back by my side. He pulled my sweaty hair back from my face and started soothing my nape. I batted at his hands—I couldn’t take even that contact, my skin was so sensitive—but he didn’t get the point, and I was too weak to expound on it beyond that.