Sneak Attack (16 page)

His gaze took a while to meet mine. “The thought has crossed my mind that he could be fucking with us, yes.”

Blowing out a sigh, I rolled onto the mattress beside him and thumped him lightly on his damp stomach. His abs rippled and I nearly sighed again for a purely feminine reason. “We have to trust he’s on the up and up. It’s not like we have a ton of options. If they really want me dead—which hello, dramatic much?—and this is enough to appease them, then we roll with it. And if there’s more going on than we know, pretending to go along with what they want is our surest way in.”

“Yeah. About what I came up with too.” He paused. “I talked to Slater today. He invited us over for dinner tomorrow night, wants us to meet his new girl.”

“Another one? He changes them like underwear.”

“He doesn’t wear underwear.”

“Unnecessary info, thanks.”

He smiled faintly. “He seems really gone over this one, but yeah. I didn’t call him for a social call, he just turned it into one. I called him because I want him in your corner too. If something goes south and I’m not able to—”

I cut him off. “If something goes south and you’re not able to
anything
, even brush your fucking hair, someone’s going to end up in a body bag.”

“You know talk like that only gets me hard.”

He wasn’t lying.

“Again? You’re going for records here, champ.”

His only reply was to cover my hand on his torso with his own.

“You can wait on the meds until after?”

I swallowed. “You’re sure that’s the only reason you want me to wait?”

“I’m sure. If you think they’ll help, and your therapist agrees, then I’m onboard. Completely.”

“I don’t know if they’ll help. I just don’t want to lose control of myself again like I did last night.”

“Maybe you needed to,” he said softly. “Maybe instead of a step backward, it was actually a step forward. You’ve never felt safe enough to do something like that before. You won’t even take sleeping pills most of the time.”

“The timing was inconvenient, don’t you think?”

“I had you.” He laced his fingers with mine. “I always will.”

I let out a shuddery breath. It was getting easier for me to believe in that, to trust it. “Yeah.”

“See what Dr. Phelps says, then we’ll make the decision together. Okay?”

He made everything sound so reasonable. I wasn’t a few crackers short of a snack tray. I was just trying something new to deal with everyday life.

With him by my side. Always.

“Okay.”

Rising onto an elbow, he inclined his chin in the direction of our abandoned dinner. “Feel like trying that again?”

“Yeah. In a minute.”

“Uh oh.” He dropped back to the mattress. “You have that constipated look on your face again.”

“Jerk.” But it made me laugh, when it was hard to find anything the least bit funny.

“I’m listening.”

Biting my lip, I studied the ornate light fixture on the ceiling to avoid meeting his gaze. I wasn’t ready to see how he’d take this news. “I think I may be a millionaire.”

Silence.

After a minute, I sneaked a glance his way. He was already staring at me. Fixedly. “I read something online this morning.”

His wince made me gulp back the rest of what I had to say. “Not that again. That’s what got me in trouble with you when we first met,” he added.

“Yeah. Well, I remembered something this morning during my conversation with Carly. I’d never forgotten it exactly, but after Lorenzo last night, I guess I started sifting through my memories more carefully. I remembered Darren mention the name Olivia. I always assumed it was his wife, but…well, I just wanted to see.”

For so many reasons. Between the weird phone calls and the events of the previous evening, I couldn’t examine what I’d lived through too carefully. As difficult as it was, chances were good I’d overlooked some important pieces.

I wouldn’t overlook them any longer.

Tray rubbed his thumb over my knuckles. “What did you find?” he asked, the question too hushed. I knew whatever I discovered he would face with me.

Lessening my burden, and increasing his.

“Nothing about Olivia, but a mention of an Eloisa Latimer. She was Darren’s wife. According to the article anyway. I’m guessing Latimer was her maiden name.”

His grip tightened on my hand. Subconsciously, I was sure. “He was married while he…”

I nodded. “Yeah. He still wore his wedding ring. At least until—” I stopped, not wanting to make this more difficult for him.

The line between honesty and needless pain was impossible to navigate sometimes. Most times.

“It’s okay.” His chest shook with his rapid inhalations. “Finish it out.”

“I found an article about my Aunt Patty.” I told him the rest, and watched his eyes widen.

“How could that be possible? They’d need your okay for a suit, wouldn’t they?”

“I was a minor. I don’t know.” I jerked a shoulder. “Carly said Patty never spent crazily, but I know what I read. She got money in my name, out of that hell. I have to try to figure out what’s going on.”

“We will. We’ll get to the bottom of it, after this week.”

“I can’t wait that long. Tray, I need to know. She and I never got along well, but this is insane. How could she profit from…” I took a deep breath. “They settled out of court. That’s probably the only way she kept me from knowing about it. Maybe she had a good lawyer, convinced Darren’s wife that I was a minor and a small cash payment would make it all go away.”

“Since when is three million a small cash payment?”

“Darren was wealthy. The house we stayed in was—”

“
Stayed
in?” He jerked up to a sitting position. “You mean the house he held you hostage in and raped you in?”

Averting my gaze, I nodded. I understood his frustration—did I ever—but I couldn’t alleviate it.

He exhaled. “Jesus, baby, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I know it’s…a lot.” Understatement of my lifetime.

“I want to kill him, and I can’t.” He grabbed a pillow and punched it—and then stared, baffled, as it exploded and feathers rained down over both of us. “Well, that’s shoddy workmanship.”

I let out a laugh that bordered on a dry sob. “More like you don’t know your own strength, tough guy.”

He tossed aside the remnants of the pillow and leaned forward to cup my cheeks. “I’m not strong with you. But I’m the strongest I’ve ever been when it comes to keeping you safe.” He let his hands drop. “And God, I hate that I can’t go back into your past and protect you from that bastard.”

“It’s not your fight. It isn’t,” I murmured, laying a fingertip over his lips. “You’re with me, always, but you can’t fight it for me.”

He fell silent.

“You can do something for me though, and it’s going to be difficult. I’m sorry I even have to ask, but I don’t know who else to turn to.”

His lips curled in a ghost of a smile. “You mean more difficult than watching you walk into an octagon again?”

“Yes.” I forged ahead. “I want to speak to your father, in an official capacity. I need an attorney, and I don’t want to have this on the books anywhere. Not yet.”

It took him less than a moment to nod. “Yes. Of course. We’ll go on Monday.” He gripped my chin. “Then you’ll put it away until you kick Evie’s ass. Got it?”

Finally, a request I could agree to without hesitation.

“You bet your sweet ass.”

M
ultiple potential shitstorms
were raging just outside the window, and what was I doing? Wrapping a casserole to take to dinner at my best buddy’s apartment.

“Be careful with that. It needs to breathe.” Sighing heavily, Carly grabbed her long-handled fork and poked holes in the foil covering her egg, cheese and bacon concoction. There were potatoes in it too, and chives, and a whole bunch of other things I couldn’t identify. I was pretty sure she’d layered in spinach, and she knew I hated the stuff. Not that she cared. She said it was good for me, and I needed more iron in my diet.

I’d rather chew on chain link fences for fun than eat that wilted shit.

But on the whole, she cooked like a goddess. And the plate of oatmeal, cranberry and chocolate chip cookies she was sending over to Slater’s helped soothe my wounded soul over the fricking spinach.

“Only two before dinner,” she said, catching me poking my finger under the clear cellophane covering the cookies. “You’ll spoil your appetite.”

“Jeez. You sound just like a mother.”

Her mouth tightened just long enough for me to curse my stupidly huge mouth. “That’s the biggest compliment you could pay me,” she said quietly. “I’d love to be even a little bit like my mother.”

Clearing my throat, I stepped back and fell into my usual role with her. Disapproving older brother stand-in. “You certainly don’t look like a parental unit in that outfit. Where are you going dressed like that?”

She rolled her eyes and slid a stack of “crudités”—whatever they were, they looked like celery and peanut butter to me—into a plastic container. “It’s just a dress.”

It was black, and had the usual parts of one—sleeves, neckline, hem. But otherwise
just a dress
didn’t cover it. “I can almost see your ass.”

“Gross. You shouldn’t be looking at my ass.”

“I didn’t. It practically assailed me when I reached for a cookie.”

She snorted out a laugh. “Last minute party before culinary school starts. You know how it is.”

There was silver glittery shit in her hair. I couldn’t tell if it was tinsel leftover from Christmas or something she’d actually draped in it on purpose. “Another one? Mia said you went out last night for the same reason.”

“So my friends are cool and want me to celebrate before I hit the books. And the culinary boards.” She giggled, but something about it sounded false to my admittedly oversensitive ear. “Ease off, dad.”

I wanted to say more. Almost did. Like I’d noticed her wearing too much makeup too often lately, and at times when she claimed she was just heading to her salad shop job. Then there was the money I’d seen in her wallet the other day when she’d offered to spring for pizza. A starving college student shouldn’t be walking around with wads of money like that, should they? Not in my experience. I came from money, and I hadn’t had that much on me at her age very often.

But I wasn’t her father. I wasn’t even legally her brother-in-law. Plus I was admittedly on edge more than usual lately, and I could very well be seeing things that weren’t problematic at all. With everything going on with Mia and my family, I was probably jumping at shadows that didn’t exist.

Carly was a smart girl, and I had to trust she was exercising that intelligence. Even in an ass-baring dress.

“You’re sure you don’t want to skip partying with a bunch of chicks and come hang out with your sister and me and Slater? When we invited you, it wasn’t to serve as chef, you know.”

“I know, but I couldn’t let Slater cook for you guys. You’d get ptomaine.” Her grin reminded me so much of Mia—and was such a surprising resemblance in a face that looked nothing like her older sister’s—that I caught myself smiling back. “I’m most bummed I won’t get to meet the new girl.” She frowned and sealed the lid on her travel food container. “I hope she’s better than the last five have been.”

“You’d think he would learn.” Taking advantage of her dismay over Slater’s heretofore dismal love life, I inched my pinky under the cellophane in hopes of dislodging the corner of a cookie. “It’s a damn shame.”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t be smug just because you’ve been coupled up since the beginning of time. And drop that cookie, you thief.” She whirled on me and karate chopped the air, her hand stopping just above mine where it was shoved under the cellophane. “You are going to eat my casserole, and you’re going to like it.”

“I can eat both.”

“Pfft.” She grabbed the plate, reattached the cellophane, and then placed all of her covered dishes into a large handled bag. “Here. Be careful with this.” She whipped off her apron, hung it on a hook and scurried toward the bedroom. “I’ve gotta get ready. Have fun,” she called.

Five minutes later, she ran back through and banged the front door shut behind her.

Shaking my head, I tugged out my phone to text Mia. She had an afternoon shift Vinnie’s, but she was due back anytime. Just as I was about to send my message, the buzzer sounded.

Expelling a breath, I went to the intercom. “Forget your keys?” I asked, hoping like hell it was Mia or her sister. I so didn’t want to deal with anyone else tonight.

“It’s me, Tray. Can I come up?”

My mother. Fabulous.

“Yeah.” I buzzed her in and pressed my forehead against the intercom. I had too much shit on my mind already to handle this too, especially when we had an afternoon appointment at my father’s law firm tomorrow.

She knocked a moment later and I pulled open the door, already preparing to brush her off. I couldn’t keep opening myself up to her and getting shut down.

The small powder blue suitcase in her hand made me clamp my lips closed.

“I left him.” She lifted her tear-stained face. “I don’t know where else to go.”

The jangle of keys up the hall dragged my focus from my mother to Mia’s arrival. She stopped halfway up the hall and bit her lip. “Uh, sorry. I don’t mean to interrupt. I can go—”

“It’s your place,” I said shortly to Mia, stepping into the hallway to hold out an arm to her. “And we have plans tonight.”

It wasn’t easy watching my mother’s chin crumple, but I wasn’t willing to jump feet first into hope so easily. Not again. Then there was the little problem that for fucking once, I needed my father’s help on Mia’s behalf. If my mother was taking off on my dad, he wasn’t going to be reciprocal toward Mia’s plight.

I wanted my mother away from him. Safe. Whole. But that didn’t mean I knew what to do with her tears—or her suitcase.

“Tray,” Mia chided, moving forward to take my mother’s suitcase. Something I hadn’t thought to do. “Mrs. Knox, please come in. Sit down.”

My mother shot me a speculative look. I wrapped my arm around her shoulders and guided her inside while taking a surreptitious glance at my watch. Normally I wasn’t Mr. Social Engagement, but I needed to talk strategy with Slater tonight about Mia’s fight. We were running out of time. Friday was five fucking days away.

I couldn’t spend another evening under the false assumption my mother was really going to leave. How many times had I fallen for that hat trick? Too many, and I had too much else going on right now that demanded my full attention.

The situation with my parents would be there next week. As it always was, eternally.

“I’m sorry, you’re busy.” My mother perched on the edge of the couch. “I just thought Tray would like to know that I…well, that I’ve left his father.”

“We’ll see.” The door left my hand and slammed shut.

Mia cut me a glance. “I’m so sorry to hear that.”

“No, she’s not. Anyone would be thrilled to hear that if they had any inkling of what that bastard put you through all these years.” I leaned against the door and crossed my arms. “If this was actually happening, I’d dance a fucking jig.”

After tomorrow—after we’d gotten the information we needed from my father. I might’ve been mercenary, but I was my father’s son. And Mia came first, always.

“It’s happening. I’m here, aren’t I? With my clothes. Would I be carrying them around with me like some ragamuffin if I had anywhere else to go?” Even as she spoke, her gaze drifted to Mia’s bulging backpack. She’d never fully lost the habit of carrying a couple of changes of clothes with her—both for the gym, and because she’d always had that fight-or-flight instinct finely honed. “I only packed the essentials,” she added weakly, apparently gauging from the silence that her
ragamuffin
comments weren’t welcome here. “I’ll need to go back for the rest.”

“Hmph.”

Mia sat beside her and took her hand. “Would you like something to drink? Maybe a cup of tea? My sister stocks chamomile.”

“That would be lovely, thank you.” My mother’s glance told me succinctly that she wasn’t appreciative of my lack of manners, but she was lucky I was just being cool to her. I was far too close to the edge lately, and I’d been down this road way too often.

Self-preservation dictated I not be the dumbass one more time.

“Sure thing. Just one moment.” Mia stood and climbed over my mother’s legs on the way to the galley kitchen. “Tray? Can I speak to you for a second?”

Inwardly, I sighed. Ganged up on again.

“Sure thing, darling.” I headed into the kitchen and braced my arm on the cabinet above Mia’s head. “Don’t start.”

She fussed with the teapot and the wicker basket of teabags Carly had set out. Mia’s sister was an odd combination of wild teenager and middle-aged grandmother, and you could never be sure which side would emerge on a given day.

Mia, on the other hand, was all badass, and she showed me that by baring her teeth.

“She’s your mother,” she said under her breath. “Show her some respect.”

“Right. Like the respect she showed you with that ragamuffin crack.”

“She’s allowed to think the way she wants. I understand why a woman in her…position would see me as a bit rough around the edges.”

I laughed harshly. “Her
position
requires sitting around and holding lunch meetings. Yours you’ve earned through blood, sweat and tears.”

Mia filled the pot with water from the sink and cast a glance over her shoulder at where my mother sat on the sofa, hands folded, and stared off into space. “Do you think she really did it?”

“Probably. She’s done it before. Problem is it never sticks.”

“I thought you said she’d never left him.”

I gave into the frustration I had on a short leash and banged the nearest cabinet door shut. “Does it count if it lasts less time than a trip to the john?”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my mother jump. I swore under my breath. I was handling this all wrong.

“This isn’t the week for this bullshit,” I muttered. “She has fuck-all timing. You need to be focused.
I
need to be focused.”

Mia set the tea to steep, angling her body toward mine. “She has a suitcase.”

Shutting my eyes, I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Noticed that, huh?”

“We have to make room.”

My eyes flew open incredulously. “Where?”

She lifted a shoulder and cast a helpless look around the cramped apartment. It was bigger than the one she’d had when we met, but that wasn’t saying much. Three people living there was pushing the boundaries of sanity. Four—and one of them being my uptight mother—would risk certain death.

And not mine.

“We have to help her,” Mia said, reaching overhead for a mug. She frowned at the chip missing from the handle and rummaged around for another one. “We need new cups.”

“No, we don’t. She’s not at the fucking Ritz.” I snatched the nearest mug and snapped it down on the counter.

Mia only lifted a brow. Leaning in, she said, voice low, “If I was my sister, I’d say you were so bitchy because you needed to get laid. But you couldn’t have gotten any
more
laid yesterday and still be standing.”

I didn’t want to smile. This was serious business, and we weren’t in the position to deal with any extra BS this week.

Worst of all, I didn’t want to risk believing in my mother again, not when she’d let me down so much in the past. Only suckers fell for the same punch half a dozen times.

“I’m worried her presence will affect future laying,” I said against her ear, grinning when she hooked her fingers in my belt loops and gave me a teasing tug.

“We’ll manage.” She turned her sinkhole-sized dark eyes on me and I almost forgot I’d ever any objections. “It’s the right thing to do, Tray.”

I groaned as the teapot started to whistle. “I’m not giving up the bed.”

Even as I said it, I knew I would. She was my mother, and I only had one. I had to take the chance one more time, just in case.

Mia took the pot off the burner and poured steaming water over the teabag she’d tucked carefully in the mug I’d selected. I always loved the glimpses of her domestic side, because they were so rare. “There is an option.”

“What? Sleeping in the shower?”

She turned to take the cream out of the fridge and poured in the small amount she’d learned my mother preferred. “Two words: sleeping bag.” She sailed past me while I worked on getting my tongue back in my mouth.

I was a grown man. The idea shouldn’t have turned me on
that
much. Then again, Mia and I all wrapped up tight, trying to be furtive and quiet in the dark…

“Here you go, Mrs. Knox.” Mia crouched at my mother’s side and set the mug in my mother’s hands. “Can I get you something else? My sister made cookies.”

“I don’t know how you manage to stuff three people in an apartment this small.”

From the kitchen, I cleared my throat. “So says the person with the suitcase and the pitiful expression.”

“Tray,” Mia snapped. She turned back to my mother. “It’s been an adjustment, but to be honest with you, I was alone for so long that I’d rather have too many people here.”

I swallowed hard and gripped the edge of the counter at my back. Then I pushed off it and strode into the living room. “You’re not to say anything like that again. Understand me, Mother? She’s been nothing but kind to you, and you’ll show her the same respect or you know where to go.”

“Tray,” Mia said again, softer now. Her cheeks had paled.

“No, no, dear. He’s right.” My mother shocked the hell out of me by patting the hands Mia had loosely linked between her knees. “I’m sorry. I’m just on edge.”