Rastor (Lawton Rastor Book 2) (17 page)

It was Sunday night, the last night of my trip. I'd be flying home the next morning, and I couldn’t wait. I'd been missing Chloe like crazy, and was dying to see her.

Yeah, we'd talked on the phone whenever we had the chance. And some of those talks were hot and heavy. But no way could it compare to the real thing.

I'd just returned to my suite and pulled out my cell phone, glad that Chloe wasn't working tonight. I smiled as I brought up her number and hit the call button.

She answered right away with a quick, "Hello?"

I sank into a nearby armchair and started shoving off my shoes. "Hey."

"Oh." She paused. "It's you."

I froze in mid-motion. Who else would it be? I glanced at my watch. Here in Vegas, it was just before nine. In Michigan, it was almost midnight. Other than me, who'd be calling her this late on a Sunday?

I heard myself ask, "Is this a bad time?"

"No." She hesitated. "Not at all. Just waiting for a phone call."

Oh yeah? From who?

I waited, thinking she'd tell me something more. She didn't. And for some reason, I didn't like it.

Trying not to be a dick about it, I asked, "You need to go?"

"Nah," she said, sounding distracted, "I have call-waiting."

"So…" I tried to keep my tone casual. "Who'd be calling you so late?"

"No one. It's just a business thing."

I felt the muscles in my shoulders ease. Now
that
made sense. Chloe
did
work nights, after all, and her boss was a real asshole. I'd seen that for myself. "You mean from the restaurant?"

She hesitated. "No. Something else."

What kind of something else? A business thing? At midnight? If she was running some kind of business, this was the first
I'd
heard of it.

The tension was back, and I suddenly felt too wired to sit. I pushed myself up from the chair and asked in what I hoped was a normal voice, "Anything you wanna talk about?"

"Nah, it's nothing." She sounded tense and maybe a little worried. Whatever it was, it wasn't "nothing." In an obvious bid to change the subject, she asked, "Are you still coming home tomorrow?"

Yeah. I was. And if that hadn't been the plan before, it sure as hell was the plan now. What wasn't she telling me?

A lot. That's what. But I'd already known that, hadn't I? What was it? Problems at work? Problems at home? I felt my jaw clench. Problems with another guy? 

Just stop. She's not like that, and you damn well know it.

I recalled the last time I'd jumped to some stupid conclusions about Chloe. It hadn't worked out so great, had it? Not for me and not for her either.

Tomorrow, I'd find out more. For now, my options were limited. With an effort, I forced myself to sit back down. Trying to keep my tone easy, I managed to say, "Yup. Tomorrow morning. You still have the day off?"

"Oh yeah," she said, sounding happier now.

And why
was
that, exactly? Because I'd stopped asking all those hard questions?

Damn it. What the hell was wrong with me? I reached up to rub the back of my neck. "You still want to get together?" I asked.

"Definitely," she said, with a smile in her voice. The smile was real. Even through the phone, I could hear it loud and clear. And suddenly, I was glad that I hadn't made an ass of myself.

Whatever was bothering her, it obviously wasn't about us. Or at least, it sure as hell didn’t sound like it.

I shoved aside the distractions and focused on the upside. Tomorrow, I'd be seeing her. There was a lot to say, and too much of it couldn’t be said over the phone. Over the next couple of minutes, we finalized our plans to meet the next day.

The plan – Chloe's idea – was for her and Chucky to swing by my place around noon. "We can all go for a walk," she said. Her tone grew teasing. "For old time's sake."

"Don't forget new time's sake," I reminded her. "And Chloe?"

Her response was soft and breathless. "Yeah?"

Screw the doubts. They were just noise, messing with my head. Chloe was the girl I loved, and I wasn't about to let some random phone call come between us. I lowered my voice. "I've gotta tell you, I'm missing you like crazy. The other night, I was thinking…"

I heard a beep. I tensed. What was that? Another call?

Chloe cut me off. "I'm really sorry, Lawton, I've gotta go. See ya tomorrow, alright?"

And then she was gone. No goodbye. No "I love you." No "I'll call you back." No nothing.

What the hell was going on?

Early the next morning, I stood motionless on the sidewalk, telling myself that I wasn't seeing what I thought I was seeing. It was almost eight o'clock, and I'd just returned from Vegas.

Unable to sleep and eager to get home, I'd bumped up my flight to get home faster.

And where was I now? Standing like a dumb-ass in front of Chloe's place. Her driveway was long and lined with trees, so I wasn't exactly lurking outside her front door. But I had eyes, and I didn’t like what they were seeing.

Who
was
that guy? I shook my head. And who was he to Chloe?

I wasn't spying on her – or at least that's what I told myself. I'd come here for a reason. It was because of our conversation last night. The way she'd been acting, it had me on edge. Something was off, and I wanted to know what.

The idea had been to walk by, check things out, make sure everything was okay. Yeah, I knew she'd be asleep, so I didn't plan on ringing the bell or anything. But I could still check for busted windows or a broken-down car – because the more I'd been thinking about it, the more I decided that Chloe was in some sort of trouble.

Nothing else made sense – not unless I was willing to think the worst of her. And I hadn't been. I'd learned my lesson the hard way. Chloe wasn't like that.

Or so I thought.

From the far edge of the sidewalk, I took a good, long look at the guy leaving her front porch. He was some slick-looking guy around forty, maybe fifty years old. He wore dark sunglasses, dark slacks, and a tailored sports coat that screamed old money.

Asshole.

I'd rounded the corner just in time to see Chloe give him a little wave before shutting the front door behind him.

She'd been wearing tiny black shorts and that lacy yellow tank top, the one that was so thin, you could practically see her nipples. I felt my muscles bunch into tight, angry knots. She didn't dress like that in public. She dressed like that for bed – when she wasn't naked, that is.

My jaw clenched. Naked.

I felt my fingers tighten into fists. Had she been naked with that guy? It sure as hell looked like it.

Fuck.

Standing there like a dumb-ass, I tried to tell myself it was something different. Maybe he'd just stopped by. Maybe he was selling something. Maybe he hadn't been inside the house at all.

Yeah, and maybe she just happened to answer the front door in not much more than her underpants.

I watched as the guy strolled back to his vehicle. Even his car pissed me off. It was some flashy red sports car. A mid-life crisis car. A car for picking up girls half his age.

The guy climbed inside, smiling like he'd just gotten a nice taste of something sweet. I knew that look. When Chloe stayed over, I'd seen that same look in the damn mirror.

Shit.

It took everything I had not to stride down that long driveway and yank that fucker out of his flashy-ass car and ask him what the hell he was doing. At the thought, I felt my fingers flex. And if the guy didn't want to tell me? Not a problem. I'd persuade him. It wouldn't take long.

Who knows, it might be fun.

I took a deep breath. Shit. Or, it might fuck everything up.

Damn it. Remember the basement thing.

My jaw was tight, and my breathing was unsteady. If I took one step toward him, it wouldn’t end there. And it wouldn't end pretty. With a muttered curse, I held my ground.

Lucky for him? Or lucky for me? When his car backed out of the driveway a minute later, I was standing in the same spot. Trying to get a grip, I watched silently as his car disappeared down the quiet street.

With him gone, I turned to stare at Chloe's front door. It was closed. But was it locked? And if it was, so what? If wanted in, no lock on Earth could keep
me
out.

Or hey, let's make it simple. I could just ring the fucking doorbell. And then what? Show my ass a second time when I learned it was just some cousin from California or a guy selling Amway?

I heard a scoffing sound – my own. The car had Michigan plates, and as far as I knew, Chloe didn't
have
any cousins from California, not that I knew of, anyway. And Amway, was that even a thing anymore?

I tried to think. But my thoughts were a jumbled, fucked-up mess. It didn't help that hadn't slept.

From the sidewalk, I was still staring at Chloe's front door. If I walked up to it now, the odds of me pulling off the "I'm-just-stopping-by-to-say-hi" act weren't looking so good.

I was too wound up, and worse, I was spoiling for a fight. Even if I
tried
to play it cool, she'd know something was up, and as soon as I opened my mouth, she'd know exactly what I'd been thinking.

I took a long, deep breath. Maybe I
wasn't
thinking. Or at least, maybe I wasn't thinking straight. It wasn't that long ago that I'd found out the hard way that with Chloe, things weren't always the way they looked.

Still, I couldn't stop thinking about that guy. A salesman? Yeah, right. What kind of salesman shows up at eight o'clock in the morning? And what kind of girl answers the front door in those skimpy-ass, fuck-me clothes?

I shoved a hand through my hair. I'd been standing here how long now? Five, ten minutes? It was time to shit or get off the pot. Trying to be smart about it, I turned and started walking – not toward Chloe's house, but back toward my own.

In four hours, I'd be seeing her.

For different reasons than usual, it felt like too damn long. Or maybe it wasn't long enough, because I had some serious cooling off to do. If the whole thing was innocent, I was like five seconds away making an ass of myself.

Again.

I spent the next few hours pumping iron and obsessing over Chloe. But before all that, I'd made a phone call. It was almost noon when Bishop finally called me back, telling me, "I've got that thing you wanted."

I'd showered a half-hour earlier and was now pacing my study. I'd been wired to work and too distracted to do anything else.

"About time," I muttered. I'd left the message almost four hours ago. What the hell had taken so long? Chloe would be here any minute, and I still didn't know how I'd handle it.

Bishop ignored my comment and said, "Do I need to ask?"

"Ask what?"

"Who's the guy?"

"If I knew," I said, "I wouldn't be needing your help, now would I?"

After returning from Chloe's, I'd called Bishop with the guy's license plate number, along with the make and model of his car. Since Bishop hadn't answered, I'd left the info in a voicemail and told him that I needed an answer like yesterday.

All I wanted was a name. And an address. I frowned.
And anything else that might tell me who the guy was and what the hell he was doing at Chloe's place.

"You
know
what I’m asking," Bishop said. "Who's the guy to you?"

In the message, I hadn't said where I'd seen the guy's car, and I sure as hell hadn't said anything about Chloe.

When it came to her and me, Bishop had been a royal pain in my ass. It was like the guy couldn’t even say her name without being a dick about it. In fact, he could hardly say her name at all.

"He's no one," I said, glancing at my watch. "Just tell me what you learned, alright?"

"Lemme guess," Bishop said. "It's about that neighbor of yours. Isn't it?"

She wasn't just my neighbor. She was the girl I loved, the girl I'd been wanting to marry – I felt my jaw clench – the girl who let
other
guys into her house, but not me. What the hell was that about?

When I didn't answer, Bishop said, "Or should I call her 'dog girl'?"

Great. My brother was turning into Brittney.

Fuck that.

"For the last fucking time," I said, "her name is Chloe. And if you've got some problem with that, you can just fuck off, alright? Because I'm in no mood for your bullshit."

He was quiet a beat before saying, "You're losing it. You know that, right?"

Hell yeah, I knew it. But I needed information, not grief from someone whose relationship track record was worse than my own. Through gritted teeth, I said, "You gonna give it to me, or should I call someone else?"

"In your mood?" he said. "I wouldn’t recommend it."

I wasn't in a "mood." I just wanted the information without all the bullshit. Looking to move this along, I kept my mouth shut and waited.

Finally, Bishop told me what I needed to know. The guy's name was Chad Flemming. He was forty-nine years old, married, and lived in Bloomfield Hills, maybe a half-hour away. From the guy's address, I knew the general area. The head of my legal team had a place on the next street over. Homes in that neck of the woods ran a million dollars, give or take.

So the guy had money. Big deal. I had money too. A lot more than
he
did.

"What else?" I asked.

Bishop sounded annoyed. "What do you mean, what else?"

Before I could answer, the doorbell rang. I glanced toward the front entryway, but didn't move. Into the phone, I said, "Well?"

"Well what?" he said. "You want
me
to get the door?"

Did he have to be such a dick? "No," I said.

"Good. Because I'm two hours away."

"What I need," I said, "is to hear the rest of it."

"There is no 'rest of it.'"

"Why not?"

"Because that's all you asked for. If you wanted more, you should've said so. Now, you gonna tell me why you wanna know?"

The doorbell rang a second time. It was Chloe. It
had
to be. "I've gotta go," I said and ended the call before he could ask any more questions.

But I still didn't move. Not yet. A minute – that's all I needed, or so I told myself. I was still trying to fit the pieces together. The guy was married. Was that good? Or bad? Maybe it meant nothing. Maybe the guy
was
nothing, just a random door-knocker who had nothing to do with me or Chloe.

I frowned. Or maybe, he was the reason that Chloe had practically hung up on me last night.

Stalling, I headed for the kitchen and shoved a bag of doggie treats into the front pocket of my jeans. I'd have done it anyway, but it was good to buy myself a few more seconds.

My head was full of ugly images. They all starred Chloe, except she wasn't alone.

And it wasn't just the guy from this morning. Not too long ago, I'd seen another guy at Chloe's place. The douchebag. He'd offered me girls for a price. High-end girls. Girl-next-door types. Nice and sweet.

Like Chloe.

I shook my head. No. I wasn't going to believe that. Not about Chloe. There was another explanation. There had to be. I just had to figure out what it was. And this time, I'd do it without making an ass of myself.

I took a deep breath and strode toward the door.

Don't mess this up.

But I did.

Bad.