My Every Breath
Page 7
Jessica only called a few hours ago to let me know Rory was back early from Boston. We had to bump up our plans. Thankfully, I had just received word from Noah, letting me know he had my sister and his daughter safe and far away.
We’ve been on the highway for about three hours now. We ditched the Range Rover as planned in Jersey, and we’re in an inconspicuous minivan that has a BABY ON BOARD sign dangling in the back window. And no, we didn’t steal the car. Jessica is just super thorough in her prep.
I still haven’t opened up to Gia, despite her twenty-something attempts to get me to talk.
It’s a conversation that can’t be had in a damn car, though.
She fell asleep a little while ago, giving me some air to breathe—to think through everything that went down.
She’s stretched out in the back, her hands tucked beneath her face, and I’m upfront now with Owen.
I never believed in fate before, but there’s some part of me that thinks I was meant to see Gia again. Is it possible I can make amends for my past, for my fuck-ups and failures? For the shit I did at my father’s orders, and for the stupid shit I did all on my own?
I’m working on changing, but just because a lot of that is in the past doesn’t make it disappear.
“Did your guys kill Rory’s men or just knock them out?” I’ve been hesitant to ask this question since we jumped into the car, but I’d like to know if I’m responsible for murder.
Owen swipes a hand through his dirty blond hair. “I wish we could’ve slit their throats, but no, man—we kept them alive.”
I scratch at the gauze on my shoulder. It’s becoming itchy, and I want to yank the damn thing off.
“How’s your arm?”
“It’s fine,” I grumble.
“First bullet wound, I take it?” Owen looks at me out of the corner of his eye, a slight smile pulling at his lips.
“Yeah, a first.”
“You could have let me go in and get her, ya know.”
I was in a goddamn gun battle with an Irish crime boss tonight. In what world am I now living? How did I go from a board meeting yesterday morning to this? “She wouldn’t have gone with a stranger.” Hell, I’m pretty much a stranger, too.
“But you’re paying us a lot of money to back you up.”
True. But it’s worth it.
“This is a lot for someone you barely know,” Owen says after a few minutes of silence pass. “Based on what I know about you from Noah, this doesn’t really jive with your image.”
“Well, whatever my sister has told her husband is probably fairly accurate, but she also doesn’t know me that well.”
“Really?”
I nod, and my gaze flicks to the window. There’s nothing but trees and darkness outside. We didn’t want to take Route 95 and drive through the busy cities, so we’re taking a major detour.
“So, looks like we’re beginning to scratch the surface to find the real you, man.” He smiles, but God, he has no idea.
It’s more like we’re about to break the motherfucking ice.
* * *
“Good news or bad?” I ask Jessica as soon as I answer her call. It’s almost six in the morning, and I took over driving for Owen three hours ago so he could rest. Gia woke up once to go the bathroom two hours ago, but she fell asleep shortly after. Or she’s pretending to doze to avoid conversation with me, which suits me just fine. I’m not nearly ready to open up yet.
Shit. Open up . . . it’s something I never thought I’d be doing.
“As far as we can tell, Rory hasn’t sent anyone after you guys yet.” Jessica is tired. The exhaustion is evident in her voice. She’s probably been up all night, like me. “And the bad news is we lost track of Mya.”
I almost hit the brakes at her words. “Are you shitting me? Don’t you have the best guys working for you? How’d a petite blonde slip your men? And how the hell did she know to slip them?”
A crackle comes through the line from a deep puff of air. “One of my guys was following her yesterday, but instead of going to her art class, she went to the airport. We lost her there. He didn’t have a ticket to get through security.”
“Have you—”
“Already reached out to my man at TSA. Well, I tried, at least. He hasn’t gotten back to me yet, but when I know something, you will.”
“Maybe her father managed to send her on vacation to get her off the story.” At least she’ll be safe. Well, hopefully.
“Is that your friend?” Gia’s sleepy voice sounds from behind, and the hairs on the back of my neck stand. “Is Rory following us? Did they send for my dad? He’s their number one. You’re probably his new target.”
There’s a casualness to her words. Her dad’s a killer, but she almost talks about it like we’re discussing where to go for dinner. I guess when you’re in that life long enough, it becomes the norm.
I look back over my shoulder at her. She’s sitting upright now. Her hair is disheveled, her eye makeup smudged, and yet, she looks unbelievably stunning. She has that just-fucked look—and I can’t help but feel my body tighten at thoughts of—
No . . . I can’t cross that bridge. I won’t let myself. I can’t even think about her like that. But it doesn’t mean my cock understands.
Morning wood without the sleep and while driving. Just fucking great.
“What’s your father’s name? We can try and locate him.”
“He’s like a ghost. Good luck with that,” she mumbles.
“Name,” I say again.
Her shoulders sag. “Pierce Callaghan.”
“Can you give me an address?” I ask.
She rattles it off after I’ve placed Jessica on speakerphone.
I press the phone back to my ear. “You got that?”
“Yeah. I’ll be in touch. You near the first hotel yet?”
“About five minutes away, actually.” I catch Gia’s eyes in the rearview mirror. She’s staring off in a daze, as if in disbelief about all of this. Hell, I am, too. I’m supposed to be having a meeting with a manufacturer this morning. Well, that won’t be happening. But how long will I be able to put my life on hold?
I end the call a minute later and stow the phone back in my pocket. “How are you?”
“I’m not even sure,” she says softly. “How’s your arm?”
It doesn’t hurt anymore, so I almost forgot I got hit. “I’m fine.”
Owen shifts in his seat, but his eyes remain shut, and so I look back at her in the mirror again, adjusting it to better see her. “Why’d you need that sketchpad?”
She reaches for it and smooths her fingers over the leather exterior.
The car drifts into the other lane, and I yank the wheel back over. I need to stop looking at her, but having her in the car with me is probably equivalent to driving under the influence. She’s distracting. This is entirely new to me. Women don’t make me act like this—out of control.
“It’s important to me,” she finally answers. “So, um, what’s the plan?”
Deflection.
My specialty.
We’re going to get nowhere fast if we’re too much alike.
“My friend is working on setting up a safe house until we can figure this all out. We’re going to make our way to Florida over the next few days, and then we’ll see where she’s sending us.”
“A safe house? Like a prison?”
I check the mirror again, noticing her breathing increase, her chest swell.
“Not a prison, just a place to keep you—”
“Safe,” she finishes. “But still, I can’t be pinned up somewhere and just wait.”
“It won’t be long. We’re going to get this all squared away soon. I promise.”
“You can’t promise anything. You don’t know Rory like I do. You don’t know my father.” There’s desperation in her voice now. Fear. I can’t say I blame her. “I’ve been like a prisoner for ten years. I didn’t leave one life just to be a prisoner in another.”
“Then what is it?”
“It’s to give you your freedom. To shut Rory down.”
“How?”
I pull into the hotel parking lot and park the car. “Gia—”
“We’re here?” Owen cuts me off, and maybe that’s for the best right now. “Shit. I didn’t realize I fell asleep.” He straightens and unbuckles.
Soon after, we check in and head to the rooms.
“Owen’s staying across the hall,” I say once we’re outside our room.
“And you?” she asks.
I hold the keycard in front of the small black box and wait for the green light. “I’m staying with you.”
“With me?” Her brows arch.
Owen rests a hand on her shoulder. “I’m going to call the team and get a few more hours of shut-eye. Holler if you need me.” He winks at us before hoisting a bag over his shoulder and opening his door.
“There are two bedrooms separated by a living room,” I say once we step into the suite. “It’s not exactly the Four Seasons, but we’re in a rural area, so we have to make do.”
Her lip tucks between her teeth as she scans the room, and her shoulders tremble as if chilled.
“Okay. Well, you should rest,” she says a moment later.
“No, I’m good. Someone needs to stay awake, just in case.”
“Let it be me,” she offers as I slide the safety chain in place.
“No.” I face her.
Arms fly up across her chest again, and this time, it’s in defiance. “Sleep,” she says in a husky and ridiculously sexy voice.
“Gia,” is all I say as I lift the duffel bag and walk past her to one of the bedrooms.
She follows me, and I drop the bag on the bed and unzip it.
“What is that?”
I smirk and hand her a stack of clothes. “What do you think?”
“Did you really buy me lingerie?” She angles her head while studying me, holding on to a pair of red lacy panties I’d very much like to see her model for me. And at this point, I’m so damn tired I don’t have the energy to scold myself for the thought.
But Christ, I’m not used to being good. I’m used to going after who and what I want. It’s the only way I’ve ever known. Well, minus those six months I was engaged two years ago. For those six-months . . . I was a caged animal scratching at the walls, dying on the inside. Being with a woman you don’t care about or have a physical connection to . . . not my finest time.
The closest I came to love was my senior year at Stanford when I dated Samantha, a wild redheaded tattoo artist. She’s the reason why I got ink.
I swallow, choking back the sudden pinch of emotion in my chest. It’s an uncomfortable thing—feelings.
“My friend thought you’d want a few things,” I finally say after blinking away images of my past, of the woman I once lost. “She went shopping for you. There are toiletries in the bag, too.”
“I guess you really were prepared, huh?” She drops the underwear back on the bed and wets her lips.
“Yeah.” I zip the bag once it only has my things in it. “Sleep,” I echo her command right back at her.
“You’re not going to give up, are you?” She frowns.
“Never.” I step closer to her, but her legs bump against the bed and she falls back.
She peers up at me beneath her long, dark eyelashes. “Well, I’m stubborn, too. And I’ve been taking orders for ten years, so I’m not going to back down either.” And with that, she pushes right back up and stands before me, challenging me. And my heart begins to knock around in my chest, harder than normal. The desire I don’t want pricks my body like a sharp magnum tattoo needle.
“Then we’re at an impasse.” I rest both hands on her shoulders and lower my head to look into her eyes.
She sighs. “Sleep in this bed while I take a bath. Lock the bedroom door and put a chair in front it. If someone tries getting in, the noise will wake you, right?”
Yeah, sure. Sleep in the bed while she’s naked and getting wet in the adjoining room. That’s a brilliant fucking idea. But I keep my mouth shut because I’ve been awake for twenty-four hours straight, and exhaustion is settling in and seeping through my bones. “Fine,” I grumble. “But how long of a bath are we talking?”
“When I’m done, I’ll relax on the couch,” she says, pointing to the loveseat by the closed window within the bedroom.
“Fine.” I lock up but don’t feel the need to do more than that. Then I go around to the other side of the bed and kick off my shoes before sitting down. “Don’t go drowning on me in there.”
A triumphant smile appears. I have a feeling she isn’t used to getting what she wants—unlike me.
“Cade?”
I look over at her as she rests her hand on the master bath doorknob.
“Yeah?”
“You ever going to tell me what happened eight years ago?”
I shut my eyes, my core tightening. “I’ll try.”
“You’re going to need to do much more than try,” she says in a soft voice and then slips into the bathroom.
10
Gia
I wake up. My body’s tense.
It takes me a minute to digest where I am.
Free from Rory, from my father, but for how long? Will I really be able to get away?
Will I finally be able to find my mom?
My legs drop to the floor, and I look around the room.
How’d I end up in the bed? After the long bath, I wrapped myself in the hotel robe and rested on the couch.
I remember watching Cade sleep, feeling odd about being in the room with him while he slept on the bed. His long legs had been stretched out, his hands clasped on his lap, his sleeves rolled to the elbows, showing his ink. I almost went over and brushed back the lock of hair that had fallen across his forehead.
I must have fallen asleep, and he put me here—but where the hell is he now?
I tighten the knot on my robe, run my fingers through my damp hair, and go to the door.
When I push it open, I stumble back a step, surprised at the sight before me.
Cade is shirtless and in black sweatpants, with his back to me. The coffee table has been shoved to the side of the room, and he’s kicking the air.
The curves of his biceps flex when he drops to the floor next, supporting his entire body with only his arms, keeping the rest of his weight off the ground.
My hand rests on my collarbone as I lean against the doorframe and watch in awe as this man lowers himself to the ground before hopping upright a moment later.
His body is like a work of art—why couldn’t he have been one of the nude models I got to draw last month?
He grabs a small hand towel off the couch and turns to face me while swiping it across his face. He’s not startled at the sight of me, and his breathing is controlled for someone who worked up that kind of sweat.
“What was that?” I approach him.
He tosses the towel, grabs a bottle of water, and comes back in front of me. “Jiu-jitsu.”
“Brazilian?” I grin.
“Yeah.” He smiles back.
“I’d like to learn some self-defense moves. Maybe you could teach me?”
“Now?” He sucks down nearly the entire bottle, and when he smiles again, his eyes smile, too. God, the man is sexy.
“Well.” My lips twist as I contemplate what to say next.
He tips his head forward and takes a step my way. “Learning while in that robe might not be the best idea.” His voice is deeper, more guttural than normal, and I can hear it—the desire flowing through his words.
The way he’s observing me, too, it’s as if he’s conflicted about something—pensive and tense. Like he wants to grab me and make me his.
Is it bad that I almost want him to? What would that be like? To h
ave a man like him take me? Even for one night? My cheeks heat as he scratches the back of his head. “How long have you been studying?”
“I’ve been practicing martial arts on and off since I was a teenager. My father made my kid brother, Corbin, enroll when he was eight, and Corbin wouldn’t do it unless I did. Dad thought it would teach my wild brother some discipline. That didn’t exactly work.” He half-laughs. “But I ended up liking it more than him.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“I have to practice even more now to keep up with all of it, though, because I’m so damn busy with work.”
“Yeah. I mean, it must be hard to compete with the younger guys, now that you’re so much older,” I tease.
He takes one step, swallowing the short gap between us. He’s so close the sheen of sweat on his chest makes his muscles gleam as trickles of light spear through the semi-open blinds in the room.
“I’m, what? A decade older than you.”
“Mm. You’re not supposed to ask a woman her age.”
His eyes narrow, his face growing taut and serious. “I wasn’t asking.”
I inhale as the back of his hand touches my cheek, and he holds onto my eyes as if he were designed by the heavens above to study me for all eternity. I wouldn’t mind that. “So, uh, what are you trying to say?”
“You’re just too young.”
“Too young for what?” I raise a brow, challenging him.
This tension between us, this feeling of lust I’m not used to—I need it to go away. But there’s a part of me that wants him to make me forget about the last ten years of my life.
I’m too close to finding my mother.
Too damn close.
And so, I step back, which has him dropping his hand.
He clears his throat. “I need some air. And a shower. I’m going to send Owen over to keep you company for a bit.”
Don’t look down. Don’t look down.
But I do it. It’s like saying don’t see blue. That’s all that’s there. And damn if Cade is going to have blue balls based on the massive size of the erection he can’t seem to hide.
“Um, yeah, okay,” I say, embarrassed.
He turns, roping a hand around the back of his neck, the veins thick on his arm. God, there needs to be a picture of Cade on social media with the hashtag: #veinporn.