Forsaking Gray (The Colloway Brothers Book 1) (14 page)

That’s one of the main reasons I haven’t even considered starting another relationship. I meant the words that tumbled out of my mouth last night. I have always belonged to Gray. I always will. He owns me. He stole my heart eight years ago in Rocky’s Pizza and I’ll never get it back.

How I wish things could have been different for us. But if wishes were horses, beggars would ride. In the light of day I realize that even though Gray has my heart, and I apparently have his, a relationship between us could never work. Too much has happened. So I guess we’re both screwed. Doomed to live sad, lonely lives full of regrets and what-ifs and unfulfilled wishes.

I sigh, throwing the covers back. I could lie in bed all day and moon about how different my life could have been.
Should
have been. But that won’t change a goddamned thing. I’ll still be Livia Kingsley, formerly secret wife to a mob boss, sold by her father to pay a debt. I’ll still be barren and I’ll still be without Gray.

Fuck it.
Enough wallowing, Livia Kingsley.

I get out of bed, throw on my workout clothes and head out the door to the gym. Addy’s still sleeping and probably still will be when I get home. She usually doesn’t emerge from her darkened room until well after noon on a Saturday, unless she has a class to teach at
All Things Painting
, the painting business Addy owns.

After my four-mile run, I feel better, as usual. My head feels clearer, my energy level high. I run a few errands, as I usually do on Saturdays. With every step this morning, I can’t help but notice the delicious soreness between my legs, a reminder of my afternoon romp with Gray yesterday, and the fact that I haven’t had sex in close to three years. A small smile turns my lips.

After I get home and put my groceries away, it’s still only ten thirty in the morning and it’s a pretty nice September day, so I decide to walk the six blocks over to the quaint little coffee shop I’ve come to love.

I’ve gotten to know the owner, Carly, a young, pretty thirty-three-year-old single mother of the cutest little girl I have ever laid eyes on. Abigail is eleven and has long, wild ringlets of mahogany hair that cascade down her back. She’s almost always at the coffeehouse on the weekends. She makes the most adorable beaded bracelets, which her mom sells for her and for the last two years I’ve bought way too many boxes of Girl Scout cookies from her. She’s quite the little entrepreneur, just like her mother.

I put my ear buds in and head down the stairs, pushing my way outdoors into the cool morning air. I turn left and start making my way down the street. I’ve gone just a couple of blocks when I feel the hair on my neck prickle. I slow my gait and pull the headphones out. The foot traffic is rather light and as I look around, the only thing I see is a mother pushing a stroller about a block behind me and a group of teenage boys on the other side of the street that look pretty harmless.

I shake my head, laughing at myself. I’m being ridiculous and I know it, but I’ve been on edge ever since last weekend when I almost made the biggest mistake of my life with that stranger. But the thing that had me more rattled was the one that saved me. I can still feel his angry gaze boring into me.

“Hi Carly,” I chirp when I enter the little shop a few minutes later. The bell dings, letting her know a new customer has arrived.

“Hey, Livia. How are you today?”

“Good. Where’s Abigail?” I peruse the menu. I don’t know why I do this every time since I always order the same thing. I’m a huge creature of habit.

“She spent the night with her grandma last night. I needed a break.”

I try not to let the disappointment show. I really enjoy talking to that little squirt. She reminds me of innocence and dreams and I need reminded of the good in people occasionally. Ten minutes later and a promise that Abigail will be there next weekend, I leave with a large sugar-free caramel latte, extra foam, in hand and that’s when I see him across the street, watching me intently. The man from the bar. My rescuer.

I panic and briefly turn toward the shop before spinning back around so I can get a better look at what he’s wearing to describe him to the police if I need to. But when I turn, he’s gone. Vanished. I scan both sides of the sidewalk, but he’s nowhere to be found. It’s like he was never there, except I know better. The way his eyes drilled into me gave me the same feeling as I had walking here, and I know this man has been following me. I’ve felt eyes on me several times this week but thought I was just paranoid because I never saw anyone or anything out of place.

I know for sure I’m being followed now, but the question is…why and by whom? And if this man meant harm, would he have saved me from certain rape in that bar last weekend?
Maybe, if he wants you for himself, or someone else.

Panic paralyzes me and I’m truly terrified for the first time since Peter died. He had many enemies but did they know about me? Grant told me they didn’t. There was only a handful of people who knew about my existence, outside of Peter and Grant. Grant told me I’d be safe, especially with returning to my maiden name and moving far away from Boston. He said I could be anonymous in a city of millions, like Chicago. Could he have been wrong? Could this be someone totally unrelated to my past? Could my father have owed someone else money and they’re now here to collect? I honestly didn’t know, but I felt in my gut it couldn’t be that easy.

My past was back to haunt me.

My throat starts to close up. I feel my breaths getting shallow. My vision goes fuzzy and I faintly hear Carly calling my name as I lean back against the building, letting myself slide down to the sidewalk.

I thought I’d escaped. I thought I’d served my father’s penance. I thought I was finally free.

I guess I was wrong.

Chapter
17

“Mr. Colloway, thank you for calling me,” he says, rising from the corner table to shake my hand.

“Thank you for coming on such short notice,” I reply, taking a seat across from him. I order a plain black coffee from the waitress before turning my attentions back to him.

“How can my organization be of service?” His sharp, grey, fitted Armani suit drapes perfectly over his broad, fit form. Dark, thick glasses sit on a nose that’s clearly been broken several times, and a dusting of white hair rests around his temples. He’s leaning back in his chair, arms draped casually across his lap, legs crossed. The confidence emanating from him could be confused as arrogance, but I knew better. And even if there was a bit of arrogance there, it was well earned. Robert Townley was the most sought after private consultant in the Midwest. His specialty was missing persons. His price tag, steep. And his client list, selective.

He’d refused my case before. But he wouldn’t this time. I’d made sure of it.

“I need to find out some information about a woman.”

The corner of his mouth turned up and his eyes glinted with mirth. “A Livia Kingsley, perhaps?”

“Yes.”

“I thought I turned this case down five years ago?”

“You did.” And I’m still fucking pissed about it.

“Then why am I here?”

“She turned up. Here in Chicago.”

Robert reached forward, taking a small sip of his own hot coffee, after first blowing on it. “Then you have me very confused, Mr. Colloway. What exactly is it you think I can help you with if you’ve already found her?”

Everything
, I think.
Anything
, I pray.

“Something happened to her.” I pause, remembering the look she gave me yesterday. I saw the hollowness in her eyes. I saw the agony in her soul. And then I remembered what Burt told me. No driver’s license. No cell phone or lease in her name? Something smells very fishy. “She’s running. I need to find out what, or who, she’s running from.” And I need to bury them.

Robert sighed heavily, quietly contemplating me. “I’m afraid I can’t help you, Mr. Colloway. I specialize in missing persons, and clearly your woman isn’t missing any longer. Sometimes the simplest answer is the truth, which is often hardest for us to accept. In this case, maybe the simple answer is she left you and you just need to accept it. That’s the sad reality in a large percentage of my domestic missing persons cases. I’m sorry, but anything that happened during that time you’ll either need to hear from her or put behind you.”

He rises to leave when my next question stops him cold, causing his eyes to rain fire down on me. “How’s your daughter, Melody? She’s what, about six now?”

He slowly sits back down, his angry gaze locked with mine. “Blackmail, Mr. Colloway? I’m impressed.”

“It’s not blackmail, Robert. Call it…incentive.”

He resumes his relaxed position when he is anything but. “This will cost you a pretty penny,” he says, his calm, cool demeanor contradicting the irritation slithering underneath. A small part of me hated to use the illegitimate daughter as leverage, whom he clearly tried to hide from the world, along with his mistress, Heidi, but truth be told, had I known about her five years ago, I would have done the same damn thing.

It turned out good old Burt may not be a great detective, but he was good for something, because that little factoid came up purely by chance during our last conversation when I casually inquired whether Robert Townley was still in business. Burt was about as loose-lipped as a two-bit hooker.

“I assumed it would.” I will pay anything to rid Livvy of whatever or whomever she’s running from. But first I have to know what it is and I know she’ll never tell me. I didn’t miss the pleading in her eyes yesterday when she basically told me to let it go. But I won’t. I
can’t
.

Livvy is different now than she was when we first met. She’s still the same in so many ways, but she’s more reserved and quiet and has a sadness deep inside her that she can’t possibly hide no matter how hard she tries. She never finished her teaching degree and I want to know why. Teaching little kids was all she ever really wanted to do. I have to find out what happened to her during our time apart because I know in my gut something’s not right. My fear is the unknown will poison us and I simply won’t allow that to happen. I love her too much.

After I part ways with a very unhappy, but reluctantly agreeable Robert Townley, I head into the office to get some work done, but my mind keeps wandering to Livvy. I can’t get out of my head the way her soft lips felt on mine. I can’t stop feeling her smooth, silky skin underneath my fingertips. I’ll never forget how her hot, wet pussy felt around my throbbing dick when I was seated fully inside her. It felt like coming home after a long absence. It felt like Eden. I crave her. I’m addicted to her. I always was. She’s like my own personal heroin, and like any drug addict, I’d do absolutely anything to continue getting my fix of her.

Shaking my head, I try to focus. I need to get a few things in order if I plan on spending the rest of the weekend with Livvy, which I do. Hours later, I am knee deep in acquisition paperwork when I hear a soft knock on my door. I look up to find Camille walking in, a purple folder in hand.

“Thanks for coming in on a Saturday, Camille,” I say, setting my paperwork aside.

“Oh, my pleasure, Gray,” she purred. I had to admit that she looked very attractive today in her tight dark jeans and fitted, low-cut short-sleeve white shirt. Red heels raised her height at least another four inches. But my heart didn’t pound and my dick didn’t stir once. I didn’t think either would again for another woman besides Livvy.

“So, where should we start?” she asks, taking a seat in the plush brown leather chair across from my desk. She perches right on the end of her seat and leans forward, elbows on the wood. The move pushes her impressive rack up and out and it was painfully obvious she knew exactly what she was doing.

I sit back in my chair, making sure to keep my eyes above sea level. “I need to see all of the personnel files for HMT’s Vice President level and above for the last twenty-four months as well as every single technology developer. Both active and terminated. I want them all on my desk first thing Monday morning. And I need to know what type of employment contract we have with Wesley Nichols. I also want the personnel files of any direct report of Nichols as well for the same time period.”

As much as I want to fire Nichols’ ass, I know we executed employment contracts with all of the senior leaders at HMT when we acquired them, but the terms varied based on the position. I also have a bad feeling something fishy is going down with that optical detection patent, so I’m not about to cut him loose until I figure that shit out, because where there’s smoke, there’s usually fire. And Wesley Nichols reeked like smoldering brush.

“Yes, absolutely. I also have several resumes for Bonnie’s replacement. There are two in particular on the top here that look very strong.” She pulls out several pieces of paper, setting them in front of me. I don’t look. I already know who’s getting that job.

“No,” I say, pushing them back toward her.