is shoved in my face.
“Ms. Smith, we understand Mark Compton is back in town. Do you know what his relationship with Rebecca Mason was?”
Jacob shoves me behind him. “No comment at this time.” He begins a terse exchange with the reporter and his crew.
Worried about what’s behind me, I turn, pressing my back to Jacob’s—and gasp as I find a hooded man standing so close that his hot breath reaches my cold cheeks. His face is partially draped, but I still manage to home in on two things: his hard black eyes, which radiate meanness, and the deep scar down his right cheek.
Five
Crystal . . .
As I stare into the stranger’s eyes I reach behind me and grab Jacob’s coat, as if holding on to him will somehow make this man go away. “Who are you?” I ask, trying to memorize his face. Full lips. Lines by his eyes and sun-darkened skin make him look to be in his late forties though he might be younger.
“Who do you think I am?”
“A reporter?” I ask.
“No. I am not a reporter.”
“Then . . . who?”
“Who indeed.”
“Do you know who I am?”
“Doesn’t everyone who watches the news?”
It’s not a real answer. It’s a cat-and-mouse game. “What do you want?”
“The list is long. But then, isn’t everyone’s?” The stranger’s lips twist in an evil smile and then he just . . . leaves.
I blink, confused.
Jacob suddenly grabs my wrist and pulls me around, starting to walk rapidly toward the door. I dig in my heels. “Wait! There was a man.”
“What man?” He turns to face me. “Where?”
I scan the area, but he’s nowhere to be found despite the sparsely populated sidewalk. “He’s gone.”
Jacob tightens his grip on my wrist, as if he’s afraid to let go of me—and at the moment, maybe I am, too. I double-step, relieved when we enter Riptide. Just inside, Jacob corners me, putting his back to the reception area and several security guards. “Tell me about the man.”
“He came right up to me, right in my face, and stared at me. He was right up on me and we had this odd exchange.” I shove up my sleeve and glance at my watch. “I need to tell you after my meeting.”
He shoves down the hood of his jacket. “Tell me now.”
I sigh, knowing determination when I see it. I repeat the exchange and he shows no reaction.
“He was probably a reporter we pissed off when we cleared the front door,” he says after a short pause.
“No. I don’t think so.”
“Why?”
“Just a gut feeling. I have to get ready for my meeting.”
“Just don’t leave without one of us with you.”
“I don’t plan to.”
He steps back, giving me space to depart. I check in with the receptionist before heading down the hallway to my office, being waylaid by at least four staff members who want to talk about the press disaster and putting off their questions until later.
In my office I quickly hang up my coat, freshen my makeup and hair, and then sit down at my desk. Then, and only then, do I let myself process that last exchange with Jacob. He doesn’t think the man with the scar was a reporter, either.
At eleven o’clock, my file for the meeting is in front of me when my phone buzzes from the front desk. The receptionist announces, “Your father is on line one, and your brother Scottie is on line two.”
I sigh. “Tell my brother I’m talking to my father and then going into a meeting. And buzz me, please, when Mr. Prescot arrives, no matter what.” I grab line one. “Hi, Dad.”
“What the hell is going on at that place you’re working at? I want you out of there.”
I press my fingers to my temple. “I warned you about all of this.”
“The news is creating a much worse picture than you did.”
“I don’t even want to know what that means right now. I have a meeting I have to be at my best for. I can’t think about anything else right now.”
“I mean it, Crystal. I want you out of there.”
“Be proud of me for managing all of this, instead.
“Ms. Smith, we understand Mark Compton is back in town. Do you know what his relationship with Rebecca Mason was?”
Jacob shoves me behind him. “No comment at this time.” He begins a terse exchange with the reporter and his crew.
Worried about what’s behind me, I turn, pressing my back to Jacob’s—and gasp as I find a hooded man standing so close that his hot breath reaches my cold cheeks. His face is partially draped, but I still manage to home in on two things: his hard black eyes, which radiate meanness, and the deep scar down his right cheek.
Five
Crystal . . .
As I stare into the stranger’s eyes I reach behind me and grab Jacob’s coat, as if holding on to him will somehow make this man go away. “Who are you?” I ask, trying to memorize his face. Full lips. Lines by his eyes and sun-darkened skin make him look to be in his late forties though he might be younger.
“Who do you think I am?”
“A reporter?” I ask.
“No. I am not a reporter.”
“Then . . . who?”
“Who indeed.”
“Do you know who I am?”
“Doesn’t everyone who watches the news?”
It’s not a real answer. It’s a cat-and-mouse game. “What do you want?”
“The list is long. But then, isn’t everyone’s?” The stranger’s lips twist in an evil smile and then he just . . . leaves.
I blink, confused.
Jacob suddenly grabs my wrist and pulls me around, starting to walk rapidly toward the door. I dig in my heels. “Wait! There was a man.”
“What man?” He turns to face me. “Where?”
I scan the area, but he’s nowhere to be found despite the sparsely populated sidewalk. “He’s gone.”
Jacob tightens his grip on my wrist, as if he’s afraid to let go of me—and at the moment, maybe I am, too. I double-step, relieved when we enter Riptide. Just inside, Jacob corners me, putting his back to the reception area and several security guards. “Tell me about the man.”
“He came right up to me, right in my face, and stared at me. He was right up on me and we had this odd exchange.” I shove up my sleeve and glance at my watch. “I need to tell you after my meeting.”
He shoves down the hood of his jacket. “Tell me now.”
I sigh, knowing determination when I see it. I repeat the exchange and he shows no reaction.
“He was probably a reporter we pissed off when we cleared the front door,” he says after a short pause.
“No. I don’t think so.”
“Why?”
“Just a gut feeling. I have to get ready for my meeting.”
“Just don’t leave without one of us with you.”
“I don’t plan to.”
He steps back, giving me space to depart. I check in with the receptionist before heading down the hallway to my office, being waylaid by at least four staff members who want to talk about the press disaster and putting off their questions until later.
In my office I quickly hang up my coat, freshen my makeup and hair, and then sit down at my desk. Then, and only then, do I let myself process that last exchange with Jacob. He doesn’t think the man with the scar was a reporter, either.
At eleven o’clock, my file for the meeting is in front of me when my phone buzzes from the front desk. The receptionist announces, “Your father is on line one, and your brother Scottie is on line two.”
I sigh. “Tell my brother I’m talking to my father and then going into a meeting. And buzz me, please, when Mr. Prescot arrives, no matter what.” I grab line one. “Hi, Dad.”
“What the hell is going on at that place you’re working at? I want you out of there.”
I press my fingers to my temple. “I warned you about all of this.”
“The news is creating a much worse picture than you did.”
“I don’t even want to know what that means right now. I have a meeting I have to be at my best for. I can’t think about anything else right now.”
“I mean it, Crystal. I want you out of there.”
“Be proud of me for managing all of this, instead.
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