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will get justice.
    Yanking open the door, I enter the deserted hotel lobby and cut to my right, traveling a long hallway toward a back exit, my stride focused. I want to see Ava pay for her crime, but Ryan, that bastard, will not walk away from this. He won’t. I know he’s involved; I saw it in the bastard’s eyes when I confronted him about what he told the police. I’ve stayed away to keep from beating the shit out of him. No more holding back for the sake of an investigation that’s given me the wrong answers. It’s all come back full circle, to me.
    I exit the hotel by a side door and the car that I’ve called is already waiting. I slip into the back of the black sedan giving Ed, the sixty-something private driver I keep on standby, a nod.
    “Evening, sir,” he greets me, immediately putting the car into gear, having been warned about the press. He glances in his rearview mirror at me. “Or perhaps I should say ‘morning’ at this hour.”
    “As long as you leave out the ‘good’ part.” I pull my phone from my pocket. “Drive by my house so I can evaluate the press situation.”
    “Yes, sir.” He glances in his mirror again. “Is there any news on Ms. Mason?”
    The memory of him chauffeuring Rebecca around when she refused to let me buy her a car hits me like a blast of ice that bites clear to my soul. She’d been fond of him, and him of her. “Nothing I can share.”
    “I am hoping for something positive,” he murmurs softly.
    Yes—something positive would be good. And at this point, that’s going to be in the form of vengeance. I grab my phone and punch in Ryan’s number.
    He answers on the second ring. “Finally, you’re returning my calls,” he says without preamble.
    “Meet me at the club.” I end the call.

    Crystal
    Mark’s been gone a full hour when I really start to worry. I get dressed and look for my purse to do something about my tear-streaked face, then realize it’s in my room—along with my phone. With Riptide under my care, Mark’s parents counting on me to run the place, his mother ill, and Mark gone, any number of people could be trying to reach me.
    I make a quick dash to my room and to my disappointment find no missed calls. After freshening up, I return to Mark’s suite to wait for him. There I turn on the TV and find the news, hoping for some hint of what he might be learning, but I hear nothing helpful.
    As tempting as it is, I don’t read more of the journal, though I’m curious to know if Mark left it with the intention of me reading it. The idea that he would is confusing, and even if that was his plan, it feels wrong to read Rebecca’s words. The premise of death erasing our rights to privacy is a grim one for me. Death. My hand goes to my throat, hating that I’ve assumed Rebecca to be dead. I really don’t want it to be true.
    By 1:15 a.m., I’ve resorted to pacing and studying the fancy interior of the expensive suite that I’ve barely noticed until now, and if not for the circumstances that are unique, I’d be irritated at myself. I try never to take luxury for granted, despite being blessed the past seventeen years with a family that’s more than a little comfortable. But I remember a time when they weren’t in my life, and when my world was hell. A part of me is illogically always afraid I’ll return to that place.
    Shaking off the thought, I start flipping channels again when there’s a knock on the door, and my heart sinks to the ground. Mark wouldn’t knock and my stomach rolls at the thought that I’m about to get his bad news from someone else. Unless Mark lost his key—a crazy scenario for such a control freak, but he’s far from himself now. I rush down the hall and have to catch myself as I carelessly reach for the lock without question.
    “Who is it?” I call.
    “Blake Walker,” I hear. “I’m the—”
    I open the door, finding a tall, dark-haired man in jeans and a Walker Security T-shirt, his long hair barely