Cherry Creek (16 page)

The rest of the afternoon, my mood is bright and cheerful as I realize I just might be leaving town tomorrow. If I know where my mom is, I will set my plan in motion and go to her. I'll be out of the state before Khristos even realizes it. I still haven't figured out what he's hiding. I have a choice between sticking around to find out or going back to my old life. I choose my old life.

When I enter Sheffield's office later that evening, I am full of anticipation.

Sheffield looks up from his computer when he sees me, and he struggles to his feet. “Miss Vauss,” he greets before he picks up a manila envelope off his desk and holds it out to me.

I walk over and accept it, noting that it feels thick. I can't help but grin at him. “You found her.”

“No,” he says as he gives me a sympathetic look. “I landed a huge case, unfortunately I don't have the time to track her down for you.”

At first, I don't believe him and shake my head. “No, you said you'd look for her.”

“I no longer have the time to put into your case.” He nods at the envelope. “It's all there. You can count it,” he offers.

“You're serious,” I realize.

“Sorry, kid.”

I clutch the envelope tightly in my hands as desperation rises in the depths of my chest. “You don't understand, I need to find her. Please. I'll pay you five times what you regularly charge.”

“As I said, I can no longer take your case.”

His mind is made up, and I can't sway him with money. “Okay,” I say quietly, giving in as gracefully as I can.

He sighs. “You can try Kramer, he's located in Minneapolis. He might be willing to take your case if the price is right. But if you go to him, kid, keep it on the down low.”

I nod. “Thanks, Mr. Sheffield.”

“Yeah, yeah. Get out of here,” he says gruffly.

This time around, I'd driven to his office, and I walk over to my car which is parked at the curb. I climb in the driver's seat and toss the envelope onto the passenger seat. Great. Now I'm back to square one. I try to look on the bright side as I start the car up and it purrs to life. Sheffield had been kind enough to give the name of someone who might take my case regardless of my minor status.

By the time I park my car in the garage at the Deveroux mansion, my head is throbbing. It's got to be from stress. It seems like the more emotional I am, the worse they are. I need to start managing my stress and anxiety better.

That last thought causes me to mentally roll eyes as I walk up the stone path towards the mansion. If people weren't keeping secrets from me, I wouldn't be this stressed out. There is no way to
not
care when nothing seems to be as it appears.

The mansion is silent and feels deserted when I step inside. I slip off my heels and pick them up as I go to the kitchen. Adelaide is gone for the day, and I'm disappointed. I have no idea what's in her tea, but they seem to help with my headaches. I set my shoes down, then start opening up various cupboards and peering inside. She knows I love that tea, so she should have some packets laying around somewhere. She makes it for me every morning.

“What are you doing?”

I yelp, abruptly releasing a cupboard door, causing it to slam shut loudly. I turn to find Roman standing in the kitchen, his blue-green gaze full of curiosity as he studies me. “Addie makes me a special tea in the morning, it helps with my headaches. Do you know where she keeps her tea packets?”

“She makes her tea from scratch.” Roman’s eyes sharpen. “Are your headaches getting worse?”

“I think it's just stress,” I murmur lightly as I walk over to the refrigerator and pull open the door. I scan the shelves for my dinner, spying a saran wrapped plate with my name on it. Adelaide's taken to writing names in marker on everyone's meals when last week Roman had unintentionally eaten my dinner.

“Are you usually prone to headaches?” I hear Roman ask.

I grab the plate and shut the refrigerator door. After I pull back the saran wrap, I glance at him. “Not usually. I've had a few in the past, but aspirin took care of them.” I ball up the saran wrap and peer at him worriedly. “Do you think I should see a doctor?”

“I would give it another week or two,” he says lightly. “If they don't go away, I would bring it up to Khristos.”

“Can we talk about Nathan?” I ask, switching the topic. I've been wanting to bring him up to Roman, but it never seemed to be a good time. Roman's been moody lately after he'd gotten in trouble, and this is the first time I've seen him not looking grumpy.

“What about him?” He crosses his arms over his broad chest as he smirks.

I hate that smirk. “He seems interested in me, but I'm not into him. He tried to kiss me Friday night. Again. Can you say something to him?”

He looks at me with laughing eyes. “Nathan's a total player. He's just looking for a good time. I think you could use his kind of fun.”

“Yeah, I don't think so,” I say dryly. “Guys are the last thing on my mind,” I tell him as I grab my plate and walk to the microwave.

“They should be your first,” Roman mutters.

I turn and stare at him. “What did you just say?”

“I said, you shouldn't always think the worst. When it comes to guys,” he clarifies.

***

I can't sleep.

All my suspicions are swirling around my head. Why am I here? Why had Khristos been watching me even before Brad's attack? How long has he been watching me? Am I still being watched? I haven't felt like it lately, because the odd sensation of being followed has disappeared. What does Khristos want with me? Why hasn't my mom contacted me? What if something happened to her? There are so many questions floating around in my head, and they are starting to cause my temples to throb.

I need a distraction.

I'm climbing out of bed and walking to the door before I'm even aware of what I'm doing. I haven't really gone out of my way to explore the mansion.

I guess I will tonight.

The last thing I want to do is wake anyone up, so I make my way to the back of the mansion where I know there's a set of stairs leading down to the lower level. The stairwell is dark, so I feel around the wall at the top of the stairs, searching for a light. When my fingertips brush against the flat switch, I flip it on. Small overhead lights turn on, giving the stairs a well-lit but muted glow.

I cautiously make my way down the carpeted stairs, and at the base of the stairwell, I reach for the light switch that will light up the darkened room before me. I blink as my eyes adjust and look around with interest. It's a lounge room. A large, flat screen TV is the central focus on the farthest wall, and in a corner is a fireplace. I'm guessing in the winter time the fireplaces come in handy if they actually work. On the other side of the room are dark brown couches. It's very neat and simple, and once again the color scheme is earth tones. I've noticed Khristos seems to be a big fan of tan, brown, and cream.

The hallway to the very left catches my eye, and I walk towards it. Somewhere down the hall, I can hear the low sound of music. Someone's awake? I debate whether I should continue my exploration or go back to bed.

Nah, I'm nosy.

The first door on the left is open in the darkened hallway, and I can see just enough to not bother turning on the hall lights. I want to know where the music is coming from, and I don't want to startle whoever is awake, because I want to see what they're doing.

I peer in the darkened doorway next to me and turn on the light. It's a theater room. My eyes nearly bug out of my head as I take in the large screen that takes up almost one entire wall. I slowly scan the rest of the room. It's simple with only red carpet and ten black leather reclining chairs across from the big movie screen. The walls have no décor, because the main focus in this room is the movie screen. I can't believe Khristos has his own movie theater room! For a few minutes, I just stand there and ogle it until I eventually turn away to turn off the light.

There’s another doorway on the right that’s open and dark. The doorway beyond that is open and light filters out of the room, lighting up the hall. That’s where the music is coming from, but I want to know what's in all the rooms, so I pause at the next doorway first and turn on the light. It's a billiards room. There are two, large pool tables, and along one wall are a bunch of arcade games. On the opposite wall is another flat screen TV and a dart set.

I shake my head. I had no idea some people live like this. After flipping off the light, I move towards the brightly lit doorway several feet down from the billiards room. I can hear the muted sound of metal clanking, and as I get closer, the music becomes clearer. It's some type of hard rock, but it's low enough not to bother anyone upstairs.

I peek around the corner, and my mouth just about hits the floor. It's a mini-gym full of work out equipment, and one wall is made up entirely of mirrors. It's not the sight of the gym that shocks me, though. It's Trace. He's shirtless and wearing only a pair of shorts. I don't know anything about gym equipment, so I can't begin to guess what type of machine he's using. I'm assuming it's to build upper arm strength, because his biceps bunch when he brings his arms together, and I can see his chest muscles tensing every time.

I'm tempted to hightail it back upstairs, since I almost jumped the man Friday night. I wouldn't want him to think I'm following him or turning stalkerish. Wait a second. This is
my
temporary home, and
he's
the one who shouldn't be here. With that thought in mind, I step into the doorway and enter the room.

Trace looks up as he catches the movement in the corner of his eye. He looks taken aback to see me, and he promptly lets go of the machine. “Livvy,” he says over the music as he rises to his feet.

Don't look, don't look, don't look
, I warn myself. I am not going to stare at his sweaty chest. I keep my eyes focused on his face, but it's hard.

He looks at me questioningly as he walks over to a stereo in the corner of the room and shuts off the music. A heavy silence fills the room. “What are you doing down here?” he asks as he walks towards me.

“What are
you
doing here?” I counter back as I fight the urge to watch a droplet of sweat make its way down the center of his chest.

Dang.

I can't help myself.

The drop trails down those ridged stomach muscles, and I watch as it dips down into his belly button. He has a nice innie. My eyes helplessly drop lower, and I see a hint of dark hair just above the top of his low riding shorts.

“Sorry,” Trace mutters as he abruptly turns away, grabbing a towel off a hook on the wall. He quickly runs the towel over his chest to dry off the sweat.

Heat rises to my face as I realize I have once again been caught checking out his fine body. Why can't I act normal around him? As I try to pull myself together, I look around the room. My eyes linger everywhere but him. “I had no idea this place has a gym. Or a theater,” I add.

“There's also an indoor pool.”

My eyes jerk back to him, and I see he's now wearing a shirt.
Thank you,
Lord.
“A pool? Really?”

“Yes.” He looks at me closely as he asks, “What are you doing down here? You should be sleeping.”

“I couldn't sleep. Why are you here?”

Trace hesitates. “I live here.”

“You
live
here?” I echo as I stare at him.

“I'm a personal assistant, I'm usually nearby,” he explains as he reaches up and brushes aside a sweaty piece of hair near his cheek.

“But I've never seen you!”

“I have my own suite, and there's a back entrance I use. I'm not a member of the family, I'm an employee,” he points out. “Employee's don't lounge around their employer's house. That's like the housekeeper making use of the theater or pool while on the job.”

Oh. A frown flickers across my lips. “It's two in the morning, you know.”

Trace folds his arms over his impressive tee-shirt covered chest. “Yes, I'm aware. Why are
you
down here?”

“I'm exploring.”

His gray eyes roam over my face. “Anything wrong?”

“I have a lot on my mind.”

“Maybe I can help. Want to talk about it?” He motions to the bench press and looks at me expectantly. “Sit. We'll talk until you're ready to go back to bed.”

The fact that he wants to spend time with me has me walking over and sitting down. That's when I realize I probably have bed head. I glance down, remembering that I'm wearing shorts and a tank. I probably look like crap. Well, too late now. I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear and watch as Trace leans against a nearby machine.

“What's going on in that head of yours?” he asks.

I decide to go with the truth. “It bothers me that I haven't heard from my mom.”

“Has she always been the attentive type? Did she always need to know where you were? Like that type of attentive?” He asks with interest as he wipes his sweaty brow while his attention stays focused on me.

“No, not really,” I say reluctantly.

“Maybe she's just really caught up in her own life right now.”

“But to disconnect the phone, the only way I have to contact her?”

“Is it possible the phone was damaged, and she just hasn't had the chance to replace it?” he questions.

“It's been weeks, Trace.”

“She still might call,” he offers.

I nod, looking down at my hands. I don't think she will. Either she's moved on with her own life without me or something happened. If only I knew she was okay.

“You were out with Roman Friday night, so I take it things are good now between you two?”

His question has me looking up at him again. His eyes are watchful as he waits for an answer. “We're getting there. I'm not sure I like his friends.”

Interest flickers across his features. “Why not?”

“Nathan's made a pass at me twice when I've made it pretty clear I'm not interested. As for Tatum and Harper, I just don't feel comfortable around them.”

“Sometimes it takes a while to grow comfortable around people that are new to you.”

I doubt I'll ever be comfortable around them. “So, were you out with friends Friday night?”