His eyes cut to Sebastian when I mention the Atlantis, but all he says is, “Oh, I understand. But what happens if he doesn’t get the hint?”
“He’ll get the hint. I’ll make sure of that. You just hold up your end of the bargain and everything will work out just fine.”
I finally take the number and enter it into the box on my phone. I hit send and seconds later, Valducci looks at his son, who has his own phone out—I assume to check the success of the transfer. He nods to his father, then leaves the room. Beside me, Sebastian tenses and it’s my turn to shift in case I have to intercept him. This part of the plan is almost done. The last thing I need is for his emotions to fuck it up at the last minute.
“If this is some kind of trick—” Valducci starts.
“There’s no trick. I’m not here to cheat you.”
“No. You’re just here to get your little brother out of my big, bad clutches.”
“You’ve got that backward.”
Confusion flits across his face, but the look I shoot him makes it clear that our part of the conversation is over. I have nothing else to say to this bastard and frankly, just being in the same room with him makes my skin crawl.
Sebastian takes the extended silence as a cue to step in with his own agenda—namely getting the Atlantis out from under the mob’s thumb. His father’s been in bed with them for years, kicking back a small percentage of the casino’s profits from the minute the place opened its doors. But Sebastian doesn’t do business like that and even if he did, there’s no way Valducci or his son would get a penny of his money. Not after what happened to Aria.
I stay seated, lending Sebastian my support and influence through his negotiations, the same way he lent me his through mine. Silently, but with a whole fuckload of intent. It doesn’t take long—after all, Sebastian has years of evidence piled up against Valducci. He could go to the FBI today and hang the man out to dry—and since he just took over the casino and had no prior knowledge of the kickbacks, he’ll come out of it just fine. His aging, decrepit father might be indicted, but the man has had multiple strokes and doesn’t have long to live as it is. There’s no long-term advantage in prosecuting him, either. Frankly, there couldn’t be a better time to make the move to get out from under Valducci and everyone in the room knows it.
Of course, threats only get us so far—and we both understand that. Especially when this is only the first step in our plan; the endgame is a number of steps down the road, for both of us.
When we’re back in the car, Sebastian says, “You know I’m not letting this go, right? The first step is to get the Atlantis out from Valducci’s grip, but after what he did to Dylan and Aria, I’m not walking away until he’s shut down completely.”
“We talked about that.”
“The money you wired him…when the FBI comes in—”
“It’s from an untraceable bank account in the Caymans. They won’t link it to me.”
His eyebrows shoot up. “You have an untraceable bank account in the Caymans?”
“When I first started making serious money, one of my advisors suggested I start one. Just in case I ever needed it someday—with post-tax money, of course. Nothing that needed to be hidden. So I did.”
“And have you used it?” He looks more curious than worried now.
“Today was the first time I ever needed to. And hopefully the last.”
“Yeah.” He nods. “That’d be nice, wouldn’t it?”
“Very nice.” I look out at the streets as we head back to the Atlantis. The Strip is lit up even though it’s barely noon, and everything looks bright and beautiful and perfect. At least until you look a little closer. Then the seedy underbelly is visible, no matter how hard the huge hotels try to hide it. The sex pamphlets littering the streets, the homeless people making their way through the throngs of tourists, nearly lost amid the money that runs like a river through this place.
I’ve always been okay with Vegas, never had Sebastian’s aversion to the place. But I’ve never had much to do with it outside of the glitz and glamour. Now that I have…now that I have, I don’t think the place will ever be the same to me again. I only spent an hour with Valducci—an hour where I had the upper hand—and still I feel like I need to take a shower. Like I need to scrub every inch of my body to clear away the stench that seems to have seeped through my pores.
When we make it back to the hotel, I bid a quick good-bye to Geoffrey and Sebastian. I’ve got plans to see my friend later, but right now I really want that shower. And Chloe. It’s only been a couple hours, but I feel like it’s been way too long since I held my wife.
Except when I get to the suite, it’s empty. Figuring that she’s hanging with Tori somewhere—probably at the shops downstairs—I call her phone. It goes straight to voicemail.
It’s not the first time that’s happened—Chloe is not as good at charging her phone as she should be—so I call Tori as well. Same thing. Straight to voicemail. I don’t know Tori’s phone habits one way or another, but it’s weird enough to raise my antennae.
I cross the living room into the bedroom. Once there, it only takes a few seconds for it to register that Chloe’s gone. Not down at the shops or out at lunch gone. But packed her bags and left gone.
I call the front desk and ask if Tori has checked out of her room. Before the clerk even answers in the affirmative, I’ve walked to the bathroom. Seen the empty counter where Chloe’s toiletries usually go. And I know.
Chloe has left me. Again.
Chapter 13
I panic. It’s not something I’m particularly proud of—or something I even want to admit to myself. But the truth is I absolutely panic. For long seconds, I can’t think. I can’t breathe. I can’t do anything but stand in the middle of this empty fucking hotel suite and try not to lose it completely.
She left me. She left me. She left me.
After marrying me. After promising this was forever. After swearing that we were in this together. She left me. After four fucking days.
I can’t believe it. No, I can believe it, obviously, because here I am in an empty hotel room that still smells of my wife.
My wife.
It’s those two words that snap me out of the panic and the shock that threaten to smother me with every breath I try to take. Chloe is my wife now and if she thinks we’re going to start this whole walking out—this whole running away thing—all over again, she better get over it real quick. While I’m willing to do almost anything for her, to give her pretty much anything and everything she wants, I won’t give her this. I take my marriage vows very seriously and I am absolutely done with her running away instead of sticking around for the fight. Absolutely done with her taking the easy way out while I’m left to pick up the fucking pieces.
It takes me less than five minutes to gather up the few things I have lying around the suite. Another five to make the call that will have my plane fueled and ready. And another five to check out of the suite and text a quick explanation to Sebastian about why I’m skipping out on the dinner plans he’d made for the four of us later.
And then I’m in the limo, Geoffrey racing for the airport like the hounds of hell are nipping at his heels. I didn’t tell him it was urgent, didn’t tell him to go any faster than he normally would. But he took one look at my face—and at the empty space next to me—and drew his own conclusions. Conclusions that match mine, and that hurt no matter how much I tell myself not to feel them.
There’s so much going on inside of me right now that I don’t have a clue how to sort it all out. I’m furious, hurt, confused…afraid. It kills me to admit that, even to myself. And so I don’t. Instead, I focus on the rage of being walked out on…again. This time, she didn’t even have the courtesy to tell me she was going. Instead, she just snuck away while I was out…like she didn’t give a shit. Or worse, like a woman who was afraid of her lover. Of her husband.
Goddamnit!
It takes every ounce of self-control I have not
to punch my fist through the fucking car window. How could she do this? How could she run away from me like I was no better than Brandon? No better than the family she despises?
I pull out my phone, start to call her. But what am I going to say? More important, what is she going to say? What we need to tell each other needs to be done face-to-face.
And still I don’t put the phone away. Still, I stare at it like it’s a fucking lifeline. Like it’s the only thing keeping me sane and breathing. In the end, I can’t help myself. I hit the shortcut for her contact info. And curse bitterly as I go straight to voicemail.
This time, I do slide the phone back into my pocket, telling myself that she isn’t answering because she’s probably already on a plane. Planes leave from here to San Diego pretty much every half hour, especially if you’re not picky about what airline you take. If she timed things just right, Chloe could be almost to San Diego by now.
The rest of the ride is a blur. As is the half hour plane trip back to San Diego. In fact, I’m so lost in thought that Jenny, my regular flight attendant, has to call my name more times than I know before it finally registers that we’ve landed. I’m home.
Too bad that, without Chloe, it sure as hell doesn’t feel like I am.
I try calling her again as I make my way through the private plane terminal at Montgomery Field. She still doesn’t answer.
I’m back to fuming, any calm I’d managed to channel on the plane going up in smoke as I’m met—again—with a Chloe who ignores me when things go bad. A Chloe who runs instead of digging in and battling for what’s important.
And that’s when it hits me. Underneath the fear, underneath the fury, is a disappointment so keen it nearly brings me to my knees. I expected more from Chloe this time around. Just like I expected more from myself.
I left one of my cars in short-term parking when we left for Vegas four days ago, so it doesn’t take long before I’m pulling out of the airport and into the streets of downtown San Diego. I’m on Harbor Drive now, which runs right along the bay, and it’s beautiful—sailboats cutting sharp lines through the inlet of water as, in the distance, the ocean stretches farther than the eye can see.
The proximity to the water soothes me, the endless crashing of the waves calling to a space deep inside of me that is only truly calm when I’m on the water—or with Chloe. She gives me what the water does—peace. Only she does it with a look, a touch, a breath.
The idea of never having that again makes me crazy. Chloe spends so much time berating herself for needing me that she doesn’t realize I need her the exact same way. Maybe even more. Without her, my skin feels itchy, like it doesn’t quite fit right, no matter how hard I try to adjust. With anyone else, it would make me crazy. But with Chloe, it just feels right. No matter how bad things are, it still always feels right.
Or at least it did. Now, everything feels off. Everything feels wrong. Like I’m caught by the undertow and no matter how hard I fight it, it’s dragging me under. I’m drowning without Chloe and I don’t know how I’m supposed to do this. How I’m supposed to take a breath without her.
Lost in thought, I battle my way through San Diego’s traffic until I’m on the 52 freeway, only a few minutes from my exit. I think about calling Chloe again, but there doesn’t seem to be much of a point. I’m not naïve enough to think she’ll answer, and all I’ll end up doing is forewarning her that I’m back in San Diego. Not that she doesn’t know that I’ll come after her, but at this point if the element of surprise gives me a little bit of advantage, who am I to walk away from it?
I pull up to Tori’s condo, cursing the lack of parking as I do. I circle the block a couple times before punching in the code for the underground garage. I don’t have a parking spot in there, but I slide into someone else’s. It’s the middle of the day, so hopefully they’ll be at work. And if they’re not…well, they can tow me.
By the time I park the car, I’m all but vibrating with anger and nervousness—and that fear I still don’t want to acknowledge but can’t get away from. I don’t bother waiting for the elevator, instead choosing to bound up the three flights of stairs that will take me to Chloe’s level.
I’m all but running by the time I get to the top, and I force myself to stop. To take a deep breath. To try to collect myself before I start pounding on Tori’s door like a madman.
It doesn’t work.
Seconds later, I’m doing just that, knocking like crazy and calling to Chloe through the door as seconds run past. Finally, finally, I hear the lock click open and then Tori’s standing there in her pajamas staring at me with narrowed eyes.
“I was sleeping,” she tells me grouchily.
“I’m sorry, but I need to talk to Chloe.” I start to brush by her. “I need to explain—”
She puts a restraining hand on my arm. “Dude, Chloe isn’t here.”
My blood runs cold. Like, if I didn’t know it was a medical impossibility for me to still be standing here, thinking and breathing, I’d swear it literally stopped in my veins. “What do you mean?” I demand. “Where is she? Tell me, Tori. Tell me where she—”
“Where do you think she is?” she says in disgust, cutting me off. “She’s your wife, Ethan. She’s at your house.”
“My house?” For long seconds, I’m not sure I heard her right. “She left me in Vegas to come back here to my house?”
“Well, I’m pretty sure the house is both of yours now considering no one signed a prenup. But, yeah. That’s where she had the cab drop her off.” She steps back, starts to close the door.
I stop it with a hand. “Why’d she leave?”
“Dude, that’s something you’re going to have to ask her.”
“I plan to. I just thought a heads-up might make things easier.”
She shakes her head, shrugs.
I start to turn away, but stop as she says, “She’s worried about you.”
“Worried about me? She’s the one who’s been hurt.”
“Yeah, well, this marriage thing is a two-way street. Or so I hear.”
“Thank you, Tori.” I give her a quick, impulsive hug and she laughs, hugs me back.
“You’re welcome, Ethan. Now go get the girl. I need to sleep.” This time I don’t stop her as she closes the door in my face.
I head back to my car at a slightly less breakneck speed than I left it, my mind whirling as I try to figure out what’s going on. It’s not that I’m not thrilled that Chloe is at my house—where I want her, where she belongs—but it doesn’t fit her usual pattern. At all.
Her typical modus operandi is to run from me when she gets upset. And I get that. I really do. With her past, it’s amazing that she’s been able to trust me at all, let alone to the extent she has. And I know that she’s been hurt so much that it’s second nature for her to run when she thinks she’s in for more pain.
I don’t like it, but that’s how it is. How it’s been pretty much from the beginning.
This whole leaving me in Vegas only to turn up in my—our—house, is totally new ground for us. Then again, we were never married before. Maybe she meant what she said about forever, after all.
It only takes a few minutes for me to get home from Tori’s condo, and as I pull through the gate into the driveway I can’t help the way my heart thumps in my chest knowing that Chloe is in there, waiting for me. Knowing that, no matter how much talking we have to do today to make things right, we’ll have that chance. Because my wife is even braver than I gave her credit for.
I don’t bother pulling the car into the garage. Instead, I leave it right at the top of the driveway and bound up to the front door. It isn’t locked—another sign that Chloe really is here, even though at first glance there’s no sign of her.
It’s a big house, though, so that doesn’t mean anything. I go off in search of her, and while I don’t find her right away, it only takes a couple minutes for me to find her purse resting on the kitchen table, her shoes kicked off in the family room, her s
uitcase open on our bed.
The fist around my gut finally loosens and I take my first real breath since I walked into our suite at the Atlantis and found it empty. Maybe now I can finally believe things are going to be all right.
Or maybe I should wait until I actually find her before I start believing that. I check the bathroom, but she’s not in the shower. I check the media room, my office, the patio and pool area, and various other rooms in this suddenly too big house. Its size has never bothered me before, but right now it annoys the hell out of me.
I’m just beginning to think that maybe she went for a run, when I notice the sliding glass door in the kitchen is a little ajar. It surprises me, because I’ve never seen Chloe use the small balcony off the kitchen before, but then again, there’s a first time for everything. Or so I’m figuring out.
When I step outside, though, I find her not on the balcony, but on the sand down below.
She’s in the small, private alcove of beach that is pretty much the sole reason I bought this property, standing right on the edge of where sand meets ocean. She’s in her bathing suit, a white halter one-piece that makes her already long legs look like they go on forever. The wind has picked up her strawberry blond curls, is tossing them in every direction as the waves lap at her toes. With her face turned up to the sun and her arms lifted in exultation, she looks like some kind of goddess from ancient times. Earthy and sexy and awe-inspiring and untouchable all at the same time.
For long seconds, I stand transfixed and just watch her. She really is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. And all I want is to be worthy of her, to make her happy. To make her feel safe. Too bad I’m doing such a lousy job of that so far.
It’s that thought that finally galvanizes me into action, that has me taking two at a time the steep stone steps that lead down to the water.
She turns to face me before I make it even halfway down. And holds her hand out to me, beckoning me closer.