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CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The elevator doors opened onto a giant windowed concourse that offered a view of half the city of Los Angeles. Jessie stepped out and allowed herself a moment to appreciate it, pretending not to notice the two extremely large men in suits standing with their arms crossed, standing directly in front of her.

Ryan walked straight past them to the terrified-looking young woman at the massive reception desk, which appeared to be made entirely of carved marble. The giant suit guys both turned to watch but didn't speak or move.

"We're here to see Marcus Blackwell," he said politely, as if that wasn't already obvious to everyone.

"I'm afraid that Mr. Blackwell is unavailable right now," she replied through clenched teeth, her voice shaky. It was clear that she'd been instructed to answer that way.

"Brandy," Ryan said warmly, taking note of the nameplate on the desk, "I'm sorry this is happening to you today, but either you or someone of your choosing needs to take us back to see Mr. Blackwell now. We have to discuss a police matter with him, and it can't wait."

"Sir," said the larger, darker-haired of the two suited giants, "Mr. Blackwell is a very busy man. You can make an appointment and return later, or you can have a seat, and we'll try to fit you in if time permits. But at this time, he's unavailable."

Ryan didn't even look back at the guy as he replied, "We're going back now. We can search office to office for him if need be. Or we can avoid that fuss and be escorted back."

He took a step to the right of the desk, toward the glass doors behind it. The marginally smaller but still enormous, lighter-haired of the suited giants also moved one step in the same direction.

"You don't want to do that," Jessie said to him, her tone as friendly as Ryan's had been. "You're welcome to accompany us back, but any attempt to interfere with police business will require the nice officers here to—you know—arrest you. No one needs that hassle. "

The man stopped in his tracks, uncertain how to proceed. Brandy the receptionist exhaled heavily and stood up. "I'll take you back," she said reluctantly.

Jessie was impressed that the seemingly least powerful person in the room was taking the initiative, despite how scared she must be.

"Thanks, Brandy," she said.

They all followed the young woman through the glass doors and down the long, winding hallway. Jessie glanced back at the parade of people behind her, including Ryan, the two suited giants, the two LAPD officers, and Clingan and his three security guards.

Brandy eventually stopped in front of a humungous, rectangular office at the back corner of the floor. It was enclosed on all sides by frosted glass. She pressed a button by the door.

"Mr. Blackwell, there are some people from LAPD out here with me," she said meekly. "They'd like to speak with you."

They all waited silently for several seconds. Then, the glass changed from opaque to clear, revealing the interior. Staring back at them was Marcus Blackwell. His eyes were a piercing blue. He was dressed casually in black jeans, white Converse sneakers, and a tight-fitting turtleneck sweater that matched his eyes.

The man was shorter than he seemed in photos or on TV. Jessie guessed that he was about five-foot-seven. He appeared to be in great shape for his age—trim and muscular. She took particular note of his tightly cropped brown hair, which looked slightly damp.

Inside the office was a surprisingly small glass desk with a tablet and keyboard resting on it. Other than those two items, a remote control, and an old-timey 1930's era phone, it was spotless. Along the back wall, which was exposed brick on the bottom and expansive windows on top, was a weight set rack comprised of dumbbells and kettlebells. In the far corner were an elliptical machine, a rowing machine, and a treadmill. Blackwell pressed a button on the remote, and they heard a soft click. Brandy opened the door for them.

"Come on in," Blackwell called out agreeably, as if he was welcoming old friends over.

Jessie and Ryan exchanged a mildly surprised look but said nothing as they entered, initially followed by the rest of the entourage.

"Actually," Blackwell said, holding up a hand. "I know this office looks big but maybe we can keep it to essential personnel only. Mr. Clingan, you and your team can wait outside if that's all right. And I'm happy to have my personal security officers wait out there as well if your officers would do the same."

"I'm afraid the officers go where we go," Ryan insisted.

"Understood," Blackwell said, unfazed. "Then I guess I'll keep my fellas in here too, just so I don't feel too overwhelmed."

Jessie almost chuckled. Marcus Blackwell was one of the least overwhelmed people she could remember encountering. He seemed completely at ease in what should have been an unsettling situation. In fact, he seemed to enjoy unsettling situations.

"Fine by me," Ryan said with a shrug, giving the impression that this scenario was an everyday one for him too.

"So what can I do for you, Detective Hernandez?" Blackwell asked after the glass door clicked shut again and the windows re-frosted, notably naming Ryan even though he hadn't identified himself yet. "You and Ms. Hunt are a long way from Homicide Special Section's headquarters back at Central Station."

"Did we catch you at a bad time?" Ryan asked, pointing at Blackwell's hair. "It looks like you just got out of the shower."

"Actually, it wasn't too long ago," Blackwell conceded. "I just worked out and felt icky, what with all the sweat. So what's this all about? Don't tell me the guy at the Aston Martin dealership really filed a complaint. I figured he was just blowing off steam when he threatened to do that. Maybe I got a little enthusiastic on the test drive, but I brought the car back in one piece."

"This isn't about that," Ryan replied.

"Then I assume it's about the crack I made to that one panelist at the Women in Tech conference yesterday, right?" he suggested. "Listen, I know that saying she probably did her best work on her knees was crass. It's just that she was so confrontational and accusatory, especially after I showed up there as a favor to a friend. But to claim that she was going to pursue a charge of harassment over a bad joke? What is this, 1984 or something?"

"Guess again," Ryan said.

"I'm at a loss then," Blackwell said, throwing up his hands in amused exasperation. "That's everything I've done in the last seventy-two hours where people threatened to get law enforcement involved."

Jessie thought he was finally done and ready to hear what they had to say. But before either of them could speak, he pressed on. Only this time, his voice had more of an edge to it .

"I gather that if it required you to force yourselves into my private office, without advance notice, over the strenuous objections of the soon-to-be-dismissed Mr. Clingan out there, it must be important. I mean ‘exigent circumstances' and ‘destruction of evidence?' That sounds like serious stuff."

"Were you listening in to our conversation in the downstairs lobby, Mr. Blackwell?" Ryan asked coyly.

"I like to know what's going on," he answered.

"I see," Ryan replied. "Well, we had to get up here somehow, didn't we?"

"So it was all B.S. then?" Blackwell demanded, his tone abruptly shifting from edgy to borderline hostile.

"You tell me," Ryan shot back.

Jessie noticed both the two police officers and the suited giants shifting nervously, apparently concerned that things might escalate. She understood how they felt.

"I'm a busy man, Detective," Blackwell retorted with a dismissive wave. "Can you get to your point?"

Jessie considered stepping in but held back. She knew what Ryan was doing, poking a man notorious for losing his temper. If he lost it now, maybe he'd inadvertently reveal something, or better yet, do something.

"Sure I can," Ryan said. "How about this? We'll ask you some direct questions. If we get direct answers, then this can all go quickly and we'll be out of your wet hair."

"I love it!" Blackwell shouted with fake enthusiasm. "Fire away!"

"You dated Isabella Moreno, correct?" Ryan asked without hesitation.

Blackwell's deep blue eyes narrowed. When he answered it was with much more caution in his voice than before.

"For a while. Why?"

"She broke up with you, yes?" Ryan pressed, ignoring the man's question.

"It was mutual," Blackwell said carefully, trying to appear unflustered, but Jessie could feel the growing anger simmering just below the surface. She decided now was the time to join the conversation.

"Is that what the broken window in your condo was about?" she asked saccharinely, "a mutual breakup? "

Blackwell fixed his gaze on her, and she could almost see his eyeballs vibrate with bitterness. He contorted his mouth into a smile before replying.

"What are you, cops or the National Enquirer ?" he asked with a forced chuckle.

"I'm a cop," Ryan said matter-of-factly, glancing at his watch, "which is why I need to ask you where you were an hour and forty-five minutes ago."

Blackwell was silent for a moment. Jessie noticed a drop of liquid near the man's temple and wondered if it was sweat or water from the shower he claimed he needed after his workout.

"Why are you asking?" he demanded. "Did she accuse me of something?"

Blackwell was being so guarded that there was no way for Jessie to confidently determine if he was asking sincerely or if the question was intended to cover up what he might have done.

"I'll ask the questions, Mr. Blackwell," Ryan said sharply.

"I'm sick of this," the man retorted, his voice rising, "you need to show me some respect in my own house!"

"This isn't a house, Mr. Blackwell," Jessie teased acidly. "It's an office tower."

"Listen," he said resentfully, glaring at her as he took a step toward her, "I built this empire with my own hands, with my sweat, and I don't appreciate how you're belittling it."

"Developing Peopster required sweat?" she replied dubiously. "Come on, we're not exactly talking about a coal mine here."

That seemed to push the man over the edge. He took another step toward Jessie, and before anyone could stop him, he reached out and grabbed her forearm—hard.

Everyone in the office froze.

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