Page 5 of Shark’s Rise

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 with 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.