4. We Meet Again

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Crystal's POV 

1 Month Later . . .

I took my time looking over every detail of the room I was standing in. It was decorated to be some kind of lounge with a bar on one end of the room and a large seating area on the other. The whole room was wrapped in windows and made for an excellent view of the ocean outside.

It was all cream colors and browns, with the occasional splash of color from a rug, a painting, or a plant. It wasn't quite what I had been expecting. Since I considered the man pure evil I figured I'd find some altar for human sacrifices or a chalice full of blood.

Of course, everything-and I mean everything-in the room was extremely expensive, bordering on priceless. Especially the paintings on the sections of the walls that were lacking windows.

How did I know that? Well, part of it was because I had grown up with the most expensive things for my entire life and therefore knew how to identify these things as such. The other part?

Was because until over a month ago those paintings had been hanging up in my father's house.

I glared at the paintings on the wall as if that would somehow make things better. Really, I wanted to be glaring at one, Jackson Storm, but alas, he wasn't here . . . yet.

Though I wasn't going to lie, the man did have nice taste when it came to furnishings. That is unless he stole all of them. Everything was expensive, yes, but it was also very simple. Nothing way over the top. Well, except for the fact that I was currently standing on a yacht instead of an actual house.

Yep. That's right. A sleek, white, overpriced yacht. A yacht with the name Storm painted across the side.

This man really didn't do subtle. As a matter of fact, he took the term hiding in plain sight to another level entirely.

I walked through the room, taking in every detail. I had already been over the rest of the yacht-mostly to make sure there was no one else on board to surprise me-and I was noticing one thing all the rooms had in common. There was absolutely nothing personal in any of them.

No pictures-unless they were priceless paintings or photographs of scenery. No souvenirs or trinkets from anywhere. No letters, notes, or anything else. No magazines, newspapers or books either. I hadn't even been able to find a pen. There was absolutely nothing that made this place look like it was even being lived in at all.

Except for one of the smaller bedrooms below deck. That bedroom was slightly askew. There were some clothes thrown across the floor, the bed was made hastily and there were various cords all over the place. But I knew that bedroom was not being used by Jackson Storm. Mainly because the clothing consisted mostly of worn-out jeans, graphic t-shirts, and stain filled jackets. There were a couple of suits and other more formal clothing choices in the closest.

My phone buzzed in my jacket pocket. I pulled it out to see a text message from an unknown number, but I knew it was the new phone Marrek had picked up.

Coming your way.

I turned my attention out the window, watching the dock as two people strolled down it, heading for the yacht. I was thankful the windows were tinted and the sun was shining off them because that meant I could see the two people, but they couldn't see me.

I smiled as I watched Jackson Storm, in his expensive suit, walk right toward me. I took a second to study the person walking beside him.

Backpack slung over his shoulder, a graphic t-shirt and a pair of worn out jeans on his body. His hair was long enough to fall into his eyes and he was too far away for me to make out his eye color, but I didn't need to.

His name was Noah Hastings. His eyes were hazel, his hair a dirty blonde, and he was a little over five and a half feet tall. He was a skinny, nerdy looking kid. He was seventeen years old and had only been working with Jackson Storm for a little over a year now. He was a hacker, and one of the better ones I'd heard of. The kid was a genius when it came to computers. How he'd managed to go and get himself mixed up with Jackson Storm though, I didn't even want to know.

In searching for Jackson Storm, Marrek had managed to figure out that Storm had a hacker helping to cover his tracks. And in digging deeper I was the one to identify that hacker as Noah Hastings. So, the logical next step was to gather any all information about him. Unfortunately, the only information we'd been able to access was three years old. Nothing recent or new about Noah could be found anywhere. He was just about as invisible as Jackson Storm.

But I was properly motivated. So I'd found out absolutely everything about him as possible.

I could hear them talking as they stepped onto the yacht. Laughing. I kept my back to the door of the lounge, pretending to admire the painting on the wall as the door is opened. I could still hear him talking and the kid laughing.

Though he didn't seem to notice when Noah abruptly silenced.

I turned and looked over my shoulder, my eyes connecting with Noah's. He stared at me wide-eyed and it was only then that Jackson Storm finally stopped and looked in the direction Noah was staring. Looked right at me.

Looked at me, but didn't recognize me. I fought the urge to smile widely. And barely succeeded.

"Can I help you?" Storm asked me, eyeing me with suspicion. I did notice, however, that he took his time checking me over, his eyes lingering on my chest a few seconds too long.

If I hadn't already had in a plan in mind, I would have closed the distance between the two of us and smashed my fist into his face.

Instead, I gave him a polite smile. "I hope so," I replied innocently. I took a step in his direction. Satisfied when his eyes still showed no sign of recognition.

Really, I hadn't even changed all that much. My hair fell just past my shoulders now, instead of to my hips and was a midnight black instead of the previous golden blonde. I removed the blue contacts so my eyes were back their original grey. Instead of the overpriced blouses, occasional dresses, and heels I'd worn practically every time he'd seen me, I was wearing a pair of black slacks, black flats, a white button up shirt with the sleeves rolled up past my elbows, and a long black coat over it all. The full make-up I usually wore was toned down to just lipstick and eyeshadow.

I stared him in the eyes without giving anything away. "You are Jackson Storm," I said. "aren't you?"

His eyes immediately grew warier but it didn't show on his face. Instead, he smiled as if everything was perfectly fine. "I'm sorry," He said smoothly. "but you have the wrong person. And the wrong yacht for that matter. I'm kindly going to ask you to leave."

The way he spoke, the way he lied was so smooth and fluently, as if he genuinely believed what he was telling you. Those kinds of people were always the best kind of liars. Unfortunately for him, I now knew him. How he operated, the things he'd say. And if I had never met him before, I would have totally believed him just now.

But I had met him before. And I knew he was lying through his teeth. He was doing it exceptionally well though, but I was like a shark when there was blood in the water. I wasn't going away.

My anger with him also kicked up a notch when I noticed his eyes were a crystal blue, his skin a golden tanned, and his hair a golden blonde . . . the same blue as the contacts I had worn. The same golden blonde my hair had been. He also wore one of my father's watches on his wrist.

This was his subtle way of parading around a trophy without anyone but him knowing. A silent way of saying look what I accomplished. Look who I took down. But it was all done in a way that looked natural. No one would ever see it as him parading around his own little trophy.

I could see it for what it was, but only because it was like he was taunting me with it. Only because I knew what it meant.

And I wanted to kill him for it. Wipe that smug glint in his eyes away.

"So sorry for the mix-up," I said simply, bowing my head like I was embarrassed I'd made such a mistake. Two can play at this game.

I took a step toward him like I completely intended to walk right past him and continue on my merry quest of hunting down Jackson Storm. Of course, I didn't.

"It's quite alright," Jackson's voice was still smooth as silk and his tone had taken on an edge I knew all too well. The tone he got when there was a pretty girl in his presence and he wanted nothing more than to see her with her clothes off. "Actually, I don't mind helping you find the fellow. I do know my way around-"

I don't let him finish. "Maybe you prefer Ryan Stuart."

This got a reaction out of him. The most reaction I'd seen so far. His eyes took on a hard glint and his mouth snapped shut quickly. He also leaned away from me ever so slightly.

I kept my face carefully blank, even though I wanted nothing more than to smirk at him.

To anyone who couldn't read people well, they might think he was just reacting to being interrupted. That he didn't like being interrupted-and really, who did? But I knew that wasn't the case. I could read him just as well he thought he could read me.

He recovered quickly. "I don't understand . . ." He allowed his voice to trail off and fixed me with a look of utter confusion. I didn't buy it. Didn't fall for it. I wasn't falling for anything from him ever again.

"No?" I took a step toward him and tilted my head to the side like I was thinking. Like I was studying him intently. Like I was deciding on my next words. I wasn't. Not really. I knew exactly what I wanted to say. I had planned for this.

He was not talking himself out of anything. Not this time. This time he wasn't going to win. This time, I was.

"Wyatt Franklin then?" I asked innocently, my voice soft and sweet. He wouldn't find any threat in my voice. Wouldn't see any threat in my eyes or my body language. I had been acting for years, specifically for when I encountered people like this. He thought he could read me, but I knew better. He couldn't read anything about me, unless I wanted him to.

He was watching me cautiously now. An apprehension in his eyes that wasn't fading away. He was studying me carefully like he expected to see a threat in me but then was confused when he didn't.

"You're confused-" He started as he tried to go back to pretending, but I didn't let him continue.

"Nicolas Morrison. Henry Carney. Josiah Keller," I held up my hands, ticking the names off my fingers as I took another couple steps toward him. "James Dalton. Carlos Martinez. Thomas Gavin . . . shall I continue?" I asked. I no longer tried to hide the knowing smirk. No longer kept my voice soft and sweet. No longer kept my posture relaxed and innocent. No. I let him see me. I let him see everything I intended.

He took a step back his eyes a harsh glare hiding a calculating look. He was still trying to figure out who I was. What I wanted. He was no longer trying to decide if I was a threat. He'd made his decision, I could see it in his eyes. He'd decided I was a threat.

Good.

"Who are you?" He asked as he took another step backward. I noticed he was trying to get closer to the door he'd come in from. Trying to get away. He was going to run.

Go ahead and try.

He wasn't the one to try it though. Noah Hastings, who I had completely forgotten was in the room with us, turned and sprinted to the door. He swung open the door but never made it out of it.

He let out a surprised shout and stumbled backward over his feet, trying to get away from a snarling Hunter standing in the now open doorway. He sputtered and his eyes were wide as Hunter snapped his jaws and took a step toward him.

I smiled. Jackson visibly paled and took a step back from the door.

Noah was either a complete idiot or so blind in fear that when Hunter turned his attention to Jackson for just a split second, Noah bolted for the door.

He screamed as he just barely dodged out of the way of Hunter's snapping jaws, but he had barely made it out the door before a hand was grabbing on to the scruff of his shirt and lifting him off the ground like he weighed little more than a loaf of bread.

Hunter stopped snapping at Noah and turned his attention back to Jackson as Marrek came striding into the room, still holding Noah off the ground as if this were an everyday thing for him. His face was a carefully blank mask, but the kind of blank that was frightening. That was harsh and seemed to scream to all "Back off."

Jackson's attention shifted between Hunter and Marrek before settling back on me. His face was no longer pale and his face was carefully blank as well. But his was the kind of blank that was just there to make sure he gave nothing away. So that he wouldn't show anything.

"Who are you?" He repeated as he stared at me.

I stared him back dead in the eyes. "I think it's funny," I started. "that for someone like you, so accustomed to changing your appearance so you're completely unrecognizable all the time, and yet you can't tell when someone else does it."

His eyes roam over me in a calculating way. He stares at me in a way that makes me feel like a bug under a microscope, but I don't move. I don't shy away.

"I'll give you a hint," I said. "Take everything you've done to your appearance now, and apply it to me."

He seemed confused for a long moment then suddenly his eyes widened and he took a step back from me. "Shit," He muttered and then more quietly, "This is not happening."

I pulled the gun that was tucked into my waistband at the small of my back and aim it at him. I smiled at him menacingly. "Yes," I said coldly. "It is."

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