by Laura Lee
“We’re not even looking at the camera,” I point out.
“I don’t care.” Kingston pockets his phone, his gaze never wavering.
I search his eyes. “Kingston...” He leans into me, his breath feathering against my face. “This isn’t a good idea.”
“Don’t care about that either.” His mouth presses against mine with the lightest touch, giving me a chance to pull away.
My breath stutters as indecision plagues me. My eyes drift closed when Kingston licks the seam of my lips.
“Heads up!” someone shouts.
Kingston yanks me to the side, right before a frisbee whizzes past my head.
I blink rapidly as the spell is broken. “Holy shit, that was close.”
“Yeah.” Kingston frowns. “A little too close.”
A man walks up to us with a sheepish look on his face. “Sorry about that.” A black Labrador runs up to him, proudly dropping a slobbery frisbee at his feet. He pats the dog on the head and says, “Good girl, Gretta.”
Gretta’s tongue lolls out of her mouth as her owner scratches behind her ear.
“May I?” I gesture toward his adorable companion.
“Sure,” he replies. “She’s super friendly.”
I follow the man's lead and scratch behind her floppy ears, which she loves. Kingston kneels down and joins in, laughing when Gretta's giant tongue paints his cheek with dog drool. This moment is so ordinary—just some people playing with a cute dog in a park—but at the same time, it's surreal. Two months ago, if you would've asked me if I thought Kingston Davenport was an animal lover or was into taking cheesy selfies, I'd scream, “Hell no." The man is an enigma. The more I get to know him, the more complicated he becomes.
Kingston and I step back and watch the dog and her owner resume their game of fetch. Wordlessly, Kingston takes my hand as we make our way down the road to where he parked the Range Rover. I climb into the vehicle and buckle my belt as Kingston gets behind the wheel and starts the ignition.
He releases a heavy sigh once we pull onto the road. “I really don’t want to take you back to that house, Jazz. Is there anything I can say that would convince you to stay with me?”
I shake my head. “No.”
“Stubborn ass woman.”
I throw my head back and groan. “Kingston, please don’t ruin the perfectly good morning we’ve had. I’ll be fine. I’m scheduled to return to school on Tuesday if the doctor gives me the all-clear tomorrow, so I won’t be there much anyway. Besides, if Peyton is a suspect, isn’t it better to pretend that everything is normal to draw her out? I can’t do that if I’m shacking up with you.”
“I fucking hate it when you’re right,” he grumbles.
“Yeah, well, get used to it, buddy.”
He glares at me out of the corner of his eye. “Wiseass.”
I stick my tongue out because I'm mature like that. At least it gets a smile out of him.
“You’re never going to stop pushing my buttons, are you?”
I shrug. “Why would I do that when you make it so fun?”
Kingston shakes his head. “Like I said, fucking trouble.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
KINGSTON
“Don’t you think you’re being paranoid?”
I close the door to Jazz's bedroom and flip the lock. "No, I'm diligent. If you insist on staying here, I insist on doing this."
Jazz sits on the end of her bed, rolling her eyes at me. I loathe the fact that she's here right now. We may not know who did this to her, but I'm with Jazz; I do think someone hired them, and I do believe that person knows us. Nothing else makes sense, and John thinks so, too. The lake house is in a small mountain community; it's not the kind of place where you'd randomly end up or go looking for trouble. All of the locals know each other. There's only one vacation rental, which was occupied by people at the homecoming party.
It's entirely possible Peyton, or any of the people living in this house, are innocent. At least in the case of Jazz's assault. But I'm not willing to risk Jazz's safety by slacking off or not using every possible resource at my disposal. I know she still has doubts about me, even though I'm no longer keeping secrets from her. Sure, I've given her reason to distrust me in the past, but I thought we've moved past that. Hell, I thought we moved past that the night we slept together.
I know being brutally attacked would make anyone wary, but I also know Jazz feels this connection we have. She isn’t the type of girl who’d fuck someone without at least a small emotional attachment. No matter how crazy our chemistry is, she’s too mindful to allow a physical attraction to rule her actions. Being with her that night was...different than it's ever been for me before. I've had some great sex in my life, but this was...more. I wasn’t blowing smoke up Jazz’s ass when I said I had no interest in fucking anyone but her. Since the moment we met, that woman is all I see, and I’m done pretending otherwise.
I was dead serious when I said I’d kill any motherfucker who tried taking her away from me. I know this thing started because I had an ulterior motive, but that’s not the case anymore. Jasmine Rivera will be right by my side when I take down our fathers and the assholes who hurt her.
I fish the small device John gave me out of my pocket and surreptitiously scan her bedroom for bugs. Something immediately triggers the sensors, so I walk around a bit until the signal gets stronger. Jazz's eyes widen when I approach the walk-in closet, and the green light quickly turns to red, indicating there's a surveillance device nearby.
“Paranoid, my ass,” I whisper, giving her an I told you so look.
My jaw clenches, knowing someone has been spying on Jazz. One thing's for damn sure; now, the people living in this house are definitely high on my suspect list. I carefully run my hand over the trim above the door until my fingertip snags on a slight dip in the wood. Sure enough, right on the upper corner of the doorframe, is a pinhole camera that could easily be mistaken for a finishing nail.
Fuck.
My eyes travel over the room as I stand beneath the camera. Depending on how wide the angle is, whoever is on the other end of that thing, can likely see the entire room. Her bed is directly in front of the closet door, so at the very least, the camera has a perfect view of that. I take deep breaths, trying to calm the rage brewing inside of me. If someone has been watching Jazz the entire time she’s lived here, who knows what they’ve seen when she was under the illusion of privacy.
I think back to the day we overheard our fathers talking. Thank fuck I had the sense to cover our voices with loud music when we spoke about it, but there was some dry humping that occurred right on that bed afterward. My fists clench, and my nostrils flare as I figure out my next move. I don't want to tip anyone off by removing the camera until I can talk to John and see if we can trace it, but I definitely don't want this fucker watching my girl.
Sadly, if I covered it, the person on the other end would know they’ve been made. I finish scanning the room and move on to her attached bathroom, carefully cupping my hand over my detection device so it can’t be seen. I leave the ensuite, where thankfully, there were no additional devices and approach Jazz's bed.
She eyes me carefully when I kneel onto the California King, moving closer until I’m hovering right above her. I’m careful not to put any weight on her—the last thing I want to do is cause her more discomfort. It doesn’t go unnoticed she’s not uttering a single word of protest. Nor does the fact that her nipples could probably cut through glass right now. Christ.
Her breath hitches when I lean into her ear and whisper, "There's a micro-camera lens embedded into the upper right corner of the doorframe to your closet. I'm guessing it has audio, too. Everything you do or say is probably being recorded or watched on a live feed. It's the only recording device my scanner detected, so your bathroom is still a safe place to talk. Blink twice if you heard me.”
I pull back just enough to see Jazz blink twice. She gasps when my mouth presses against her neck, lightly s
ucking on the delicate skin. I’m doing this for appearances, but once my lips are on her, I can’t seem to help myself.
Her back arches slightly when my tongue snakes out. “Kingston, what are you doing?”
I groan at the sound of her breathy voice. The last time I heard it, I was balls deep inside of her. “Come back to my place. I fucking miss you when you’re not with me.” It’s a true statement, but the words are meant to be heard by anyone watching. I nibble on her earlobe before lowering my voice again. “I need an excuse for both of us to be in the bathroom so we can talk. Just run with it, okay?”
She cups her hands on either side of my jaw and gives me a slight nod. Jazz shivers when my hand glides up her side, lightly brushing her breast.
“Didn’t you say you wanted to take a shower? I could wash your back for you.”
She casually looks in the direction of her closet then the bathroom door. “Oh, can you now?”
I smile. “I’m selfless like that.”
Fuck, I really wish I didn’t plant that visual in my brain. Now, I can’t stop picturing Jazz in the shower, her naked body all wet and soapy. She smiles coyly as I take her hand and lead her into the bathroom.
Jazz takes a seat on the vanity bench while I run the water. There isn't anywhere else to sit nearby, so I lower my body to the floor directly across from her, leaning against the shower’s glass door.
“Are you sure it’s a camera? Someone’s definitely watching me?”
“I’m positive, Jazz, but who the fuck knows how long it’s been there? Maybe it’s not even recording, but maybe someone’s been watching you the entire time you’ve lived here. I need to talk to John and see if we can trace the feed somehow.”
“If that’s been there the entire time...that means someone has seen me naked many times. They’ve seen me...” Jazz closes her eyes briefly. “God, I feel so violated.”
I remain silent, giving her time to process everything.
“I’m going to be sick.” Suddenly, she darts across the room just in time to make it to the toilet.
I gather her long hair into my hands as she loses her breakfast to the porcelain gods. Fuck, after everything Jazz has been through lately, I’m surprised it took her this long to break down. It just goes to show you how strong she is.
When she has nothing left, I wet the corner of a hand towel and pass it to her. Jazz wipes her face and makes her way to the sink to rinse her mouth and brush her teeth.
Jazz takes a few deep breaths before sitting in front of the vanity again. She doesn't look green anymore, but she's fidgeting like crazy.
Her chocolate eyes widen. “Do you think my sperm donor had it installed? Do you think he’s been watching me to see if I know anything?”
“We already know his moral code is lacking. Charles Callahan would have no qualms about invading your privacy if he had reason to believe you knew something that could incriminate him.”
Jazz props her elbows on her knees and hangs her head in her hands. “What am I supposed to do? I’m so fucking creeped out right now.”
“You could stay with me,” I suggest.
She raises her head. “But if I did that, I wouldn’t be able to keep my eye on them to see if they do or say anything suspicious.”
"Jazz, you don't need to be the martyr. You shouldn't risk your safety or put yourself in a situation that makes you so uncomfortable. There are other ways to get information."
She shakes her head. “I need to know what happened with my mom, Kingston. I need to know who’s responsible for what happened in that forest. If that means I need to place myself in a precarious situation for a while, that’s what needs to happen.”
“I disagree.”
Jazz straightens her spine and lifts her chin. “Well, that’s not for you to decide, is it?”
I bite the inside of my cheek. "Jazz, don't be stupid. If Charles suspects you might be a threat, he's more of a danger than I originally thought. Stay with me, and we'll figure it out from there."
She shoots laser beams at me with her eyes. “Don’t tell me what to do.”
Jesus fuck, she’s exasperating.
"If you're worried about my dad, you don't need to be. The pool house's security system is completely independent of the main house. On the rare occasion he is home, you'll still be safe as long as you're with me."
She holds her hand up. "Stop talking. I've made up my mind, and I'm staying. Obviously, I'll need to make sure I get dressed in the bathroom or closet from now on, but otherwise, if someone wants to watch me sleep or do homework, let 'em. Now that I know the camera’s there, I’ll be careful.”
“That may not be the only camera,” I point out. “There may be others across the house.”
Shit, why didn’t I think of that before? If someone saw us loitering outside Charles’ office, we’re fucked.
Jazz stands and straightens the hem of her shirt. "Then, let's take a walk and scan the rest of the house."
I stand up and shut the water off. “Nothing I say will change your mind, will it?”
“Nope.” She pops the P at the end, pure sass chasing the word.
Fuck, this woman is going to be the death of me.
“So fucking stubborn.” I comb my hands through my hair and tug on the ends. “You drive me crazy sometimes.”
“Feeling’s mutual, babe.” She pats my cheek condescendingly. “Now, are we going to take a walk, or what?”
I narrow my eyes. “Fine. Lead the way.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
JAZZ
Kingston reluctantly left after completing a scan of most of the house and back yard. The good news is we didn’t find any additional surveillance devices. The bad news is that I can’t deny someone is watching me and only me. The question is, who, and why? Despite my earlier bluster, I’m really freaked out by the whole thing. I spent the rest of the afternoon lying on a lounger by the pool and the evening watching a movie in the game room. Thankfully, this house is so huge, I didn’t run into anyone other than Ms. Williams when she asked if I’d like some dinner. I didn’t return to my bedroom until I absolutely had to, and when I climbed into bed, sleep didn’t come easily.
“Did everything go okay with the doctor, Miss Jasmine?” Frank opens the car door for me, his giant biceps straining against his sleeves.
Geez, the man is a beast. He's typically dressed in a button-up dress shirt, so I've never really seen his muscles on display, but today, he's wearing a black polo. Frank's probably in his mid-thirties, but he's a good-looking guy, and he's super sweet. I suck in a breath when it hits me how much my mom would’ve liked him. Hell, I would’ve encouraged her to ask him out if I somehow knew him when she was still alive.
Frank quirks an eyebrow. “Miss Jasmine? Are you okay?”
“Oh yeah, totally fine.” I wave my imaginary pom-poms, trying to shake off my gloomy thoughts. “The appointment went well. I got the green light to return to school tomorrow. Yay me!”
Frank laughs before closing the door and sliding into the front seat. “I’m happy to hear that.”
Truthfully, as much as that stuffy academy bothers me, it’s another reason to avoid my bedroom, so I’m looking forward to returning. Plus, homeschooling blows. Like, seriously blows. I consider myself fairly intelligent—my 4.0 GPA supports that—but statistics are not my strong suit, and I'd definitely benefit from classroom instruction. I can only hope now that I have Ainsley and Windsor's supposed kings in my corner, the other students will stop harassing me.
“JASMINE, IT’S NICE to see you looking so well.”
I finish descending the stairs and take a deep breath. This is the first time I've seen the sperm donor since before homecoming. Kingston told me Charles stopped by the hospital the night I was admitted, but then he left town. I had a hard enough time biting my tongue around this man before. Now that I know he's quite possibly selling human beings for profit, it's going to be even more difficult.
“Thanks.” I tuck a piece of
hair behind my ear, reminding myself to focus and keep my words to a minimum.
“Jasmine, you look lovely, dear.” Madeline, my stepmonster, leans forward and air kisses both sides of my cheeks before taking her place beside my father, looping her arm through his. “I see you’re wearing your Windsor uniform. Shall I assume you’re returning to school today?”
Normal parents wouldn’t have to ask that question. Then again, normal parents also wouldn’t leave the country for a three-week vacation after their daughter was violently attacked and left for dead.
I lift my eyebrows. “I’d wear this any day of the week; it’s so fashionable! The fact that I’m returning to school is merely a coincidence.”
Madeline pretends not to pick up on my sarcasm, but her pursed lips tell me otherwise. “Well, I’m glad to hear things are going well with your recovery. You look beautiful as always.”
My eyes travel from her perfectly styled bleached blonde hair down to the pearly pink nail polish on her toes. “And you look especially tan.”
Madeline preens as if that was a compliment. It wasn’t—the woman is practically orange. I’m pretty sure she has a spray tan on top of a regular one. “Thank you. Your father and I had a wonderful time in Cabo.” She turns her head and smiles up at him. “Didn’t we, dear?”
Charles looks at his wife as if she were a fly crawling over a pile of shit. “We always do.”
I hitch my thumb over my shoulder toward the front door. "Well, uh, I should get going. Kingston should be here any minute to pick me up."
Madeline’s features pinch together before the Stepford mask falls back in place. “You’re still seeing the Davenport boy?”
“I’m not sure seeing him is the right word, but we’re hanging out.” Sort of.
She smooths imaginary wrinkles out of her white sheath dress. “I see.”
I think she was about to say something else, but Charles puts his hand up to stop her. “Enough, Madeline. Let the girl get to school. Now that she’s feeling better, we can put this whole thing behind us and move on.”