Page 6 of Shark’s Rise

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.

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.