Catching the Storm

4. We Meet Again

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.