Under My Skin (Stark International Trilogy 3)

His voice is tight, reflecting my own coiling anger.

“Do you know who made the overture?” The developers of Lost Tides have been playing PR games, keeping the participants under wraps, with their early marketing documents claiming that it’s the resort that matters, not the names behind it.

To me, all that means is that they don’t have a name as big as Jackson’s.

Damien shakes his head. “Once they start actively signing investors, they’ll have to be more transparent.”

“Good,” I say. Whoever started that damn resort copied the idea from me. Even if I can’t stop them, I want to know who it is I hate.

Damien’s expression is knowing. “Don’t worry about the competition,” he says. “Just worry about making Cortez the best it can be. The rest will fall into place.”

“Assuming we don’t lose all our investors.”

“No one else has bolted.”

“But there’s no arrest yet.” I don’t mean to say that. I don’t mean to shift the focus from the resort itself to Jackson. But the words slipped out—the worry that Jackson is going to end up behind bars is just too close to the surface with me.

“And if it comes to that, we’ll deal with it, too,” Damien says gently. “We’ll meet for an update after my lunch.”

I nod, and he’s heading toward the elevator when the doors open and Jackson bursts out. “Have you seen the latest bullshit?” he asks as he thrusts his phone into Damien’s hand.

“Well, hell,” Damien says. “Though I can’t say that I’m surprised.”

I hurry to them—and even Rachel abandons the desk to join us. I stand between the men, my hand on Jackson’s shoulder so I can rise up on my toes to see better.

All I can read is the headline—Another Alcatraz off the California Coast?

I look at Jackson, confused. “What—?”

“It’s a bullshit editorial. About Reed’s murder. The assault. And my alleged involvement in both of those and the Cortez project. And then, to milk the absurdity properly, the writer pulls in Damien, too.”

“A murderous dynamic duo,” Damien reads, his mouth curving down with a frown before he looks up at Jackson. “You can be Robin. And I’m not wearing a cape.”

I take the phone from Damien and start to skim.

“It’s not funny,” Jackson says.

“No. It’s not,” Damien says. “But it’s also not unexpected.”

I’m barely listening to the two of them. Instead, my stomach is twisting more and more as I read. “This is another dig on the project,” I say. I look at both men in turn. “Like the land mine bullshit. This isn’t gossip about Jackson or your relationship or Reed or any of it. This is about shutting down Cortez. A tainted island,” I read. “Bathed in blood and tragedy. How much do you want to bet that every one of the investors will get this in their inbox?”

I see Jackson and Damien exchange glances. “She’s right,” Damien says.

A burst of fury cuts through me. “I swear I will strangle whoever is behind this.”

Jackson reaches over and takes my hand, and I find the change in our positions both comforting and amusing. Usually I’m the one cooling his temper.

I glance at him, and see that he is watching Damien. “Listen,” he says, as he glances at his watch. “How’s the rest of your afternoon? Can I buy you a drink at happy hour?”

For a moment, I’m confused. Then I remember Jackson’s comment about doing his own investigation into Reed’s killer, and asking Damien for help. Unfortunately, I happen to know that Damien’s heading out to see Aiden, and after that his schedule is jam-packed late into the night, so that ball isn’t going to start rolling today.

“I’m busy,” he says evenly. “But it’s nothing that can’t be rescheduled. Rachel,” he adds, turning toward her desk, “Take care of it for me.”

“Of course, sir,” she says, as Jackson shoots me a smug grin. My eyes, I know, are wide with surprise.

I’m still gaping as the two of them step onto the elevator, and when the doors shut, Rachel lets out a long sigh.

I laugh. “It’s not that bad. Just call everyone and tell them something came up. With a man in Damien’s position, it’s hardly unexpected.”

“Oh, that’s not it,” she says. “It’s this.” She taps her monitor and I hurry around her desk to stand behind her, dread building as I do.

The moment I see the screen, I exhale, my breath forming a single word—“Shit.”