Cherry Creek (12 page)

It's a seat yourself type of diner, so I make my way to the very back and settle into a booth next to a window. The diner is country themed, and it's strange seeing so much chicken décor all in one place. Considering the booths and tables are almost full with patrons, I'm guessing the food is well worth seeing all the chickens on the wall. When the waitress notices me, she walks over, and I order a burger and fries. As I wait for my food, I grab a napkin and pull out a pen.

I need to figure out what's going on with the Deveroux's, because things are just not adding up. I begin to make a list.

1. Mom never mentioned a brother. She's always been adamant she's an only child.

2. Young rich uncles don't just suddenly pop out of the woodwork to sweep up a niece they've never met before.

3. Was Khristos prepared? The bedroom is decorated in my favorite things—how could he know all that? And I hadn't smelled fresh paint, either. Plus, the closet is full of clothes, he has a new car on hand, and credit cards and a debit card all ready and in my name. It almost feels like this was all set up before he even showed up in Missouri. Or am I imagining things?

I chew the tip of the pen cap as I study the list. My food arrives much sooner than I expect, and I eat while continuing with the list.

4. Roman's said some weird things. He also doesn't seem like your average seventeen-year-old. Khristos doesn't treat him like a teenager.

5. I swear someone's watching me. Is it possible Khristos is having me followed?

My eyes dart out the window as I mull over the last question I'd written down. After a moment, I look back at the paper and write one more sentence.

6. Why is mom suddenly gone?

I reach for my soda to take a sip, and my eyes lift as I glance around the small restaurant. I freeze when I see Trace enter the diner. He walks up to the counter, his expression friendly as he speaks to the waitress.

My eyes narrow. Is
he
following me? Surely not. I watch him until he turns away to walk towards the booths. He spies me, looking genuinely surprised to see me and begins walking over. I remember the list on the napkin. I quickly yank it off the table, and I crumple it up and shove it into my purse without looking.

Just as he pauses near my booth, his eyes flicker to my purse sitting next to my thigh before focusing back on my face. “Evening, Livvy. Are you here with friends?” he asks lightly.

“I'm by myself. I just left work and thought I'd eat out tonight.”

“Mind if I join you for a few? I ordered take-out, so it should be up shortly.”

“Go for it,” I say as I try not to stare at him for too long. He really is hot. I still feel that strong pull towards him, but it's not as strong as it had been the first time we'd met. He sits down across from me, and I try not to admire his broad shoulders or the fact that his blue shirt brings out the gray in his eyes.

Trace smiles, focusing all his attention on me. “How are you settling in?”

“It's taking some getting used to.”

His expression turns curious. “I get the feeling that you're still less than thrilled to be here. Anything happen to put you off of our town?”

Yeah, all the secrets are pissing me off.
I keep my mouth shut, though, and remind myself that Trace works for Khristos. Everything I say might just be repeated. “Everything is fine,” I lie. “It's just an adjustment, that's all.”

He nods. “Is Roman introducing you around?”

“We don't really have all that much in common,” I say as I push my empty plate aside.

Trace looks surprised. “Why do you say that?” He reaches for a pink packet of sugar from the small, ceramic container at the edge of the table. It looks tiny in his large, tanned hand, and he begins to idly roll the packet between each of his fingers.

“He seems kind of...wild,” I say tactfully as I watch him play with the packet briefly before I look back at his face. I find his gray eyes fixated on me. “I'm about as opposite from wild as you can get,” I reveal.

“He's your cousin. You should try to get to know him. Roman’s a bit reckless, but that doesn't mean he expects you to change who you are. He'll meet you halfway if you let him,” he assures. “How are things going with Khristos?”

“He's always busy.” Fact is, I'm glad he's so busy. The man is good at making me feel apprehensive.

“Have you asked him for his time?”

“Well, no. Not really. He's always gone,” I say a bit awkwardly.

Trace nods slowly as he sets the packet of sugar back in the ceramic holder. “He has the club to run, so his evenings are taken up with business. If you want to spend time with him, I'd approach him in the morning or afternoons.”

“I'll keep that in mind.” I'd rather learn more about Trace, so I ask, “What do you do for Khristos? What exactly is your job title?”

“I guess you could say I'm his personal assistant. I do things he doesn't have time for,” he says as he picks up my plate and sets it in the far corner of the table.

“Like what?”

“Running errands,” he says, shrugging his shoulder. “Or I take meetings with clients or employees if he's unavailable at the time.”

“And you drive him around?”

“Sometimes.”

I think over what he said, and I can't help but think that he's awfully young to be an assistant, especially to someone like Khristos—who's quite successful for his age. Unless Khristos likes surrounding himself with people closer to his own age. I guess if that's the case, it makes sense.

The waitress walks up to our booth with a take-out bag for Trace. He smiles warmly at her before she turns her attention on another table. His gaze shifts back to me, and he looks at me questioningly. “I'm all paid up, so I'm good to go. I'll walk you out,” he offers.

“Sure.” I'm always up for spending more time with him. We exit the diner, and it's now going on eight. The sun is still bright, but it's beginning to sink in the sky as the evening wears on. I make a move to turn right, to walk back towards Sinfully Yours while Trace turns left—to go towards the diner parking lot.

He stops walking and looks back at me questioningly. “Didn't you drive here?”

“I was in the mood to walk.”

“I'll walk you back to the store,” he says as he walks over to me.

“That doesn't make any sense. Then you have to walk all the way back to get your own car,” I point out.

“I can drive you,” he offers as he smiles down at me.

My feet are beginning to ache from all the walking I've done today in these heels. “You win,” I say with a smile. It’s not really my feet that has me caving, though. It’s that quick smile of his that seems to make my heart clench.

We begin to walk to the parking lot, and I'm conscious of Trace standing close to me. So close that our shoulders brush slightly, and I fight the urge to lean closer so I can touch him more. These feelings he evokes within me makes me uncomfortable, because I can't understand where they are coming from. I'm relieved when we reach his SUV and there's some distance put between us. The drive is short since it's only four blocks. I thank him for the ride and flash him a genuine smile before I walk to my own car. Well, it's not really my car. It’s only temporary, I correct myself.

When I get back to the Deveroux mansion, I settle in my room and think over my meeting with Sheffield. After the amount I paid, he better come through with information. He'd warned me that I might have to pay more depending on how much it costs him to track her down. If he racks up bills and she's difficult, I'll owe even more.

After I change for bed, I remember the list I'd made at the diner. I should transfer it over onto the computer and start making notes of all my suspicious findings or thoughts. Unfortunately, when I search my purse for it, I can't find it. I dump everything out of my purse, but it's gone. Had it fallen out? I could have sworn I'd shoved it inside my purse, but I wasn't looking at the time because I'd been focused on Trace. I suppose there's a chance it might have fallen out.

Unless Trace stole it.

No way.

That would be ridiculous.

***

I'm back to being paranoid the following morning. The items in my room are seriously beginning to bug me. I've felt this way for a while now, but I never tried to figure out why I'm so bothered.

Until today.

As I look around, I try to make sense of what I feel when I look around the room. It’s as if I've seen a lot of this décor before. No, I
know
I've seen some of it before. I can't help but start walking around the room, peering at the assortment of figurines and accent pieces. I pick up a vase and study it, looking carefully at the delicate design that seems oddly familiar. Where have I seen this before?

For a couple minutes, I simply stand there, staring at the vase. Then, it comes to me. I
have
seen it before. There was a store back in Missouri I walked past daily when the city bus dropped me off at the diner where I'd worked. This vase had been sitting in the window, and I remember pausing at the window to gaze at it more than once.

But how would Khristos know about it?

A bad feeling creeps over me, and I quickly set the vase down before picking up the hummingbird figurine. I go through each and every item carefully. I can't find any tags, but some of them I remember seeing back in Missouri. Lastly, I walk over to the pretty, blue lamp. My first day here, I remember thinking how odd it had been that Khristos had bought the exact same lamp that I could have sworn I’d seen before. I don't know what makes me think to do it, but I carefully tilt the lamp to the side to peer at the bottom.

Bingo.

I carefully peel off the price tag and gently set the lamp upright again. First of all, the lamp had cost a whole hell of a lot more than I'd originally thought it'd cost. Second, the store name is on the sticker. A minute later, I settle into one of the blue chairs by the fireplace and search the internet for the store's website. Sure enough, its address matches up with the store I'd seen it in. In Missouri.

That intuitive feeling that something isn’t right comes back to me. Almost everything in this room is from Missouri. There is absolutely no way Khristos could have just happened upon all my favorite things in only the short week he was there. Not to mention I hadn't left the apartment after Brad's attack until I'd had no choice but to go out to breakfast with my mom and Khristos. After that, I’d refused to leave the apartment. I’d spent a lot of time in my room once I’d learned my mom was sending me off to Minnesota.

I bite back a hysterical laugh as my eyes roam around the room. Khristos had to have had someone following me way before Brad went nuts. He had to have been watching me. There is just no other explanation. I think of the dusty shoe boxes and how everything had been conveniently prepared for me under such short notice. They hadn't scrambled to make me comfortable. All this had been done long before Khristos showed up at the apartment. He'd planned to bring me to Cherry Creek all along. Brad just happened to be the ideal excuse, and my mom had fallen for it.

I rub my aching temple as all the pieces begin to fall into place. Ever since I'd arrived, I've felt like someone's been following me. Khristos must have someone watching me. But why?

Common sense is telling me to get out, to leave this place now that my suspicions have been confirmed. I can grab enough money to live off comfortably for three months in another state until I turn eighteen. Once I'm a legal adult, Khristos can't make me live here.

My gut intuition on the other hand, is telling me to stay and get more answers. Sheffield might find my mom, and he'll need to be able to reach me. There's also the curious side of me that wants to know
why
I am here. There is most definitely a reason. So far, no one has hurt me or threatened me. In fact, it seems like they've gone to great lengths to make me happy. The whole being followed part bugs me, but no one's taken my freedom away.

For now, I think I'm going to stay and see what happens in the next week. If Sheffield tracks down my mom before I have answers, I'll go ahead and leave so I can get out before things go bad.

But in the meantime, I need to have a back-up plan in case I have to leave town abruptly. That means I need to stash some cash in a safe place that no one will find if they search my room. I will also need a way out of town. I'm guessing the Aston Martin can be tracked through GPS. I'll need to have a plan to get to the airport, and from there, I can more likely bribe someone into buying me a ticket. I tell you, being a minor really puts a cramp into my plans. I can't wait until I'm eighteen.

After I sort out my plans, I feel calmer. And by the time I go downstairs for breakfast, I feel more in control of my predicament. Khristos and Roman might be keeping secrets, but I'm on to them. Now that I know they have ulterior motives, I can try to stay one step ahead of them.

Now, I simply need to try to dig up information on them until I find out where my mom is. When I enter the kitchen, I find Adelaide bustling around as usual.

She greets me with a friendly smile, and I sit down as she sets a plate with an omelet in front of me. I pick up my fork and watch Adelaide move around the kitchen. So if Khristos and Roman are lying to me, then Adelaide is too. Now
that
bothers me. She seems so trustworthy.

“This place is really nice,” I comment as I try to ignore the dull ache in my head.

Adelaide glances at me and smiles. “Yes, it is, isn't it?”

I can't resist. “I like my room. Has it always been that color? It's so pretty.”

This causes her to look at me a bit inquisitively. “Why do you ask?”

I shrug as if I don't really care either way. “It's my favorite color. He doesn't strike me as the type to have such a feminine color in one of the rooms. Did he have it painted just for me?”

“Yes.”

I watch her expression, my fork pausing near my plate. “So, he just called and said, 'decorate the guest room and put it all together immediately?'”