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For
a moment, I struggle to find the right words as the tremor runs down my spine. The male in his sixties with silver-brown hair and dark brown eyes stares at me, waiting for me to speak. Something about him is familiar, but my frazzled mind fails to connect the dots. I twist my hands from his supportive grip, and he stands back, shoving his hands into the pockets of his black suit pants.
“I hope you’re all right, miss. I saw what happened. Glad I could help.” He watches me oddly as he speaks.
His face is a mask of kindness, but for some reason, my heart palpitates, anxious, unsettled. My lips refuse to work up a smile. There’s no sympathy in his hard gaze.
I step back, holding back a shudder.
Calm down, Cassandra, he helped you. Not everyone is gunning to hurt you.
He doesn’t look like paparazzi. The suit he wears is too expensive, shoes too shiny.
“You dropped this.” He picks up my purse and the black envelope. My gaze fastens onto his dark eyes, and I balk when he bends at my feet. He stands, passing my phone to me. “I hope that idiot didn’t hurt you.”
“Thank you for saving me.” I take the envelope, purse, and phone, fighting a shiver as his warm fingers brush my skin. I step back.
My savior shoves his hands into the pockets of the suit and stands there as if waiting for something.
His downcast gaze meets mine. “Someone needs to teach the rebel good manners.”
His attention doesn’t flick in the direction of the wrongdoer, but instead, it stays fixed on me. The assertive tone sets my head spinning in circles. It feels like he is addressing me.
Does he recognize me? Is this why he stares at me like this?
“Good manners must be beaten into the youth’s heads from a very early age, so this would never happen.”
The way he speaks makes me believe he wouldn’t mind using force or physical means to instill those manners into a child.
“I’m sorry. I’m a little bit rattled. Thank you once again for catching me and making sure I’m well. Have a great day, sir.” I turn around to leave, rushing to put as much distance between us as possible.
Before I reach the car, the stranger speaks again.
“Enjoy your day, Cassandra.”
My body turns rigid as my brain connects that voice to the memory.
Baritone tone, mocking me and full of poisonous sweetness, snaking into my brain. It’s him. I dig my nails into the brick wall for support, filtering through the conversation.
“I hoped for a better introduction, but perhaps the timing wasn’t perfect. Until the next time, Red,” he grouses and gets into the limo conveniently waiting for him.
Shaken, I stagger to my waiting car. Ryan opens the door for me, and I slip inside, fighting nausea as a memory of our conversation sets in. He wanted me to remember him. My eyes fill up with tears as bile rises to my throat.
But it’s not all. I swear I saw him staring at me at the ball in Istanbul. He was there. We just didn’t have a chance to meet. General Abbas was controlling my every move. Or, perhaps even keeping me away from Lester. What if he’s Aaron Moudi’s anonymous accomplice? It would make sense Lester wanted Mark’s business to fail. He enjoys the power games, exerting his authority. Did Darren know? Was it why Abbas was looking after me?
“Is everything okay?” Ryan passes me water, and I gulp it down, thankful for the icy cold bite it brings to my brain.
“Take me to Mark Lawson’s apartment, please,” I instruct, refusing to tell them the truth. They work for my in-laws, and right now, I don’t trust them either.
Lester, although, can’t be underestimated. He’s dangerous. The question is, should I tell Mark about this meeting or keep it to myself?
21
Treacherous Silence
~Mark~
“What do you mean you couldn’t find him?” I challenge Higgins.
