King’s (The King Trilogy #1)(37)
Author: Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

The sound of a woman’s giggle radiated from King’s office.

I held my breath and listened. Another soft giggle and then the deep grumble of a male’s voice.

Who was inside there? It couldn’t be King because that man never showed up before 6:00 p.m. I got up and placed my ear to the door, trying to determine who it might be.

The door opened, and I stumbled forward, running right into King’s large frame.

He caught me by the shoulders. “Miss Turner.” His tone was as cold as his stunning eyes.

I straightened myself out and stepped back, catching a glimpse of the woman standing to my side. She looked…she looked…just like me.

Same height, same build, same wavy, blonde bob. Of course, her face was different, but she could have been my sister.

My jaw dropped.

“May I help you, Miss Turner?” King cocked his brow.

“Uh…no. Sorry. I just—just wasn’t expecting you to be here.”

King flashed that charming smile that worked on everyone except me. “It is my office. Who else would you expect?”

I ignored his question and walked back over to the desk, feeling like I’d been hit in the stomach. Why? I didn’t know.

I watched King walk the woman to the door. And when she turned to say goodbye, he pulled her in close and kissed her hard. She melted into him and then sighed when he released her. It was exactly how he’d kissed me.

“Call me.” She winked.

“As soon as I’m back in town,” King replied and shut the door to the office.

“What the hell was that?” I asked.

King turned, and I finally noticed his appearance. His hair was completely mussed, his lips were red and puffy, his shirt was untucked from his pants, and his signature black tie hung around his neck.

“What was what?” he asked.

“You know what,” I said.

He cocked his head to the side. “I think you know very well what that was.”

I crossed my arms. “Actually, no. I don’t.”

“I f**ked her. What’s not to understand?” He headed for his office door, and I stood from the desk.

“Yeah. The sex part is pretty damned obvious. But you wanted me to see her. Why?”

He stopped in his doorway, with his back to me. “After Edinburgh, I did not think you would be here. And who I f**k is my own damned business.”

Why was I so angry? I didn’t know. I just—I just was. “That’s bullshit. She looked like me. You were trying to make a point. What was it? That I’m replaceable. That you can find a new Mia anytime you like? One that won’t break or disobey you? Are you hoping I’d get jealous?”

King turned and leaned casually against his office doorway. “Those are all fascinating hypotheses. But I’m sorry to tell you that none are correct.”

More of his head games. I picked up a pen from the desk and threw it at him. Of course, the bastard had animal-like reflexes and caught it in midair.

I growled. “Call me when you’re ready to stop playing head games and help me find out what happened to my brother.”

I grabbed my stuff and headed for the door, berating myself every step of the way for allowing him to get under my skin.

“He’s not dead,” King blurted.

I stopped and looked back at him. “How do you know?”

King lifted his dark brows.

“You’re not going to tell me, are you?” I fumed. “Will you at least tell me where he is?”

King crossed his arms. “I don’t know. I’ve got people searching for him, but it would go a lot faster if I had another tracker.”

“Is there anything I can do?” I asked.

“Just go home. I’ll call if I have need of you.”

I was being dismissed like his servant. “Thanks to you, I no longer have a home.” I left, but I could swear King’s eyes were on me every step of the way to Becca’s. I even smelled him in the air and felt his breath on my face. But there was no one there. I saw only the early morning city traffic and people walking to work. No King.

I’m losing my mind. Or perhaps I wasn’t.

I spent the rest of the day alone at Becca’s apartment, doing what I could to pick through all of the newspaper articles related to Justin and his team. Everything was written in Spanish, making the task long and arduous.

Still, I had to believe there would be something there to tell me more, some sort of indication of what that Artifact was or why Justin would get mixed up with these people for it. Perhaps there’d be some clue as to where he’d gone or other parties involved. Sadly, I found nothing apart from two articles which said the exact same thing about the team being kidnapped. No follow-up. No leads.

Those poor, poor families. I needed to talk to King about tipping off the local authorities. Those men’s families needed to know the truth. Or maybe I could contact the families directly, I thought. Perhaps send an anonymous tip.

I tried to look up more information about the team: names, where they were from, etc., but again, didn’t find much. That is, until I found an article regarding the site’s discovery and that an American team would be leading the excavation. It said the work was being funded by a private company based out of the U.K.

Could Vaughn have been the backer? It might explain why my brother had gone to London and why Guzman had told me that Vaughn wanted his things returned.

I was just about to give up for the day and head over to my parents’ house, but decided to look up one more thing: Seer of Light.

I entered the term into the search window, but only came up with a bunch of hits for a character from some fantasy role-playing game. The woman held a cocked bow and arrow and wore a sort of Viking-looking outfit.

I hissed. Silly. Why did I think I’d learn anything on Google? Whatever this “gift” was, I somehow knew that King would be the only one to have answers. For a price, of course.

I looked up at the clock, and it was almost six. “Crap.” I closed Becca’s laptop and grabbed my purse. I made a quick check in the mirror and confirmed that I did, in fact, look like shit. I quickly smoothed on some powder and lipstick and finger-combed my messy blonde mop. My mother was never the superficial type, but looking like I was about to die of some horrible illness wouldn’t ease her worrying.

As soon as I got outside, the rain began to pick up again, making it once more difficult to hail a cab. I seriously missed my centrally located apartment. Becca lived all the way over in the Marina District.