TROUBLE (The Billionaire's Rules, Book 9) (5 page)

Perhaps a minute later, it started
ringing shrilly, startling her.

Well,
you’ve come this far.
 
You might as
well answer the thing.

Taking a deep breath in preparation for
whatever was to come, Ivy answered.

“Hello,” she said, cautiously.

“This is Preston Sharpe,” came the
immediate reply.

“You’re Cullen’s father,” Ivy gasped.

“That’s right.
 
I suppose you know something about me,
considering the way the FBI have started tormenting you.”

“How do you know about the FBI?” she
asked.

There was a chuckle from the baritone
voice on the other end of the phone.
 
“I make it my business to know things, Ivy.
 
I already know an awful lot about you.”

She felt a chill run up her spine.
 
“What kinds of things?”

“Don’t be nervous.
 
I’m not out to get you,” he
laughed.
 
“You’re innocent in all of
this.
 
As is my son.”

“Why are you contacting me, then?” she
asked, walking to the window and peeking out at the street.
 
There was nobody out
 
there that could be Preston Sharpe, as
far as she could tell.

“There’s far too much heat on my son for
me to attempt to contact him directly.
 
He’s being watched at all times.
 
His phones are tapped.
 
His
correspondence is being monitored.”

Ivy felt faint and sat down on the couch,
rocking slightly.
 
“I don’t think I
should be communicating with you,” she said softly.

“You’re not doing anything wrong by
talking to me.”

“You’re wanted by the FBI, and Interpol,
and God only knows who else.”

He chuckled again, as if this was a grand
compliment.
 
“Government agencies
are prickly,” Preston said.
 
“They
jump at shadows.
 
I’m no real threat
to anybody but a few bad actors.”

“What do you want with me?” she sighed.

“I need you to give my son a
message.
 
It’s important.”

“Cullen’s being watched, and so am I,”
Ivy replied.
 
“How is it any safer
to contact me?”

“They’re not spending nearly as much time
on you as they are on my son.
 
Trust
me, you’re small potatoes, Ivy.”

“What a lovely sentiment,” Ivy said,
rolling her eyes.
 
“You have quite a
way with people, kind of like your son.”

“I’m not sure what’s going on with you
and Cullen.
 
I’m aware the two of
you married, and I have to imagine there might be trouble in paradise.
 
But I don’t have time to solve lover’s
quarrels.
 
This is extremely time
sensitive and lives are depending on me getting through to my son.”

“Tell me the message you want delivered,”
she said.
 
“I can’t promise I’ll do
it, though.”

“I need my son to wire me exactly two
point six million dollars.
 
It needs
to be wired within the next twenty-four hours, to the Swiss account.
 
He knows which one.”

Ivy reeled from the amount of money he’d
named.
 
“Two and a half million
dollars?” she squeaked.

“No.
 
No.
 
2.6 million.
 
What you said would leave me short one
hundred thousand dollars.
 
Please
remember this number and don’t change anything in my message.
 
Understand?
 
This is very important.
 
You cannot text it or email it or tell
him over the phone.
 
You must tell
him in person, somewhere public, where there is plenty of noise to mask what
you’re saying to him.
 
Try and cover
your lips in case they’ve employed lip readers in their surveillance program.”

“You’ve got to be joking.
 
He’s being watched that closely?”

“Just follow my instructions.
 
Remember what I said, Ivy.
 
People’s lives are at stake.”

 
“Okay,” she said, making a face.
 
“Sounds totally reasonable.”

“Life isn’t always reasonable, Ivy,”
Preston said, just before the line went dead.

Ivy thought to herself that only when
hearing that last remark had she become absolutely certain he was truly
Cullen’s father.

***

Ivy hid the disposable cell phone under
her mattress and then used her real phone to text Cullen.

I need to see you. It’s important.

She sent the text and realized that she
was excited to have a reason to see him and speak to him again so soon.

It was frightening to know that his hold
on her was so complete and total.

Even after he’d stomped her heart into a
million pieces, Ivy was more than willing to try and help him, to involve
herself in his bizarre life once again.

Yes, she was upset with Cullen.
 
She was more than upset.
 

Angry.
 
Hurt.
 
Devastated.

 
Still, when his father had contacted
her—Ivy’s first instinct hadn’t been to tell him to find another way to
contact his son.

She’d practically jumped at the chance to
deliver the message to Cullen.

Ivy got the reply from Cullen almost
immediately.

I’ll be home in 15 minutes.
 
You can meet me there
.

She couldn’t help but smile upon seeing
his instant acceptance of her demand for a meeting.
 
Maybe things weren’t as irreparable as
they’d seemed last night.
 
Sure,
they’d fought and things had gotten ugly.

Cullen was under a tremendous amount of
stress.

But despite all of their fighting and
difficulties, she couldn’t give up on him yet.

She grabbed her purse and immediately
headed out of her apartment and down to the street to catch a taxi.
 
It would take her long enough to hail a
cab and get to Cullen’s apartment that he would arrive home before she did.

When she got to the street, someone
called her name.

Ivy was in the process of trying to hail
any one of a few taxi’s that were driving by at high speeds, when the voice
called from a distance.

At first, Ivy thought she’d imagined it.

But then the call came again.

Her brow wrinkled as she registered the
very familiar female voice.
 
It
couldn’t be…no.
 

She wouldn’t just show up like that,
totally unannounced.

And then Ivy turned around and saw her
mother coming down the sidewalk towards her, waving both arms and yelling her
name.

“Shit,” Ivy muttered.
 
She walked quickly to meet the older
woman.

“Ivy,” her mother said, unzipping her
heavy coat as she approached.
 
“Are
you going somewhere?” she huffed yet again, her cheeks blotchy.

“Mom, you shouldn’t run like that.
 
Your heart…”

“It’s not my heart I’m worried
about.
 
It’s my bum knee,” her
mother said, trying to laugh, but the laugh turned into a long coughing fit.

Ivy escorted her mother to the front
stoop of her apartment and made her sit down.
 
“Mom, what are you doing here?”

“I had to come check on you,” she
said.
 
“I got scared thinking about
you all alone, dealing with this mess.”

“I’m fine.
 
Everything’s fine.
 
You didn’t need to show up at my
apartment.
 
You could’ve called me,
at least.
 
What if I wasn’t home?”

“I could wait,” her mother said, patting
her large, worn purse.
 
“I’m reading
a great book.
 
It’s about twin
orphans in World War II.
 
Very sad.”

Ivy scratched her head.
 
“Catch your breath yet?”

Her mother nodded, then dug into her
purse and retrieved an inhaler.
 
Ivy’s mother had been in mediocre health the last few years, with
various nagging ailments, including angina and a knee surgery.
 
Oh, and then there was her asthma, which
could be induced by pollution, allergies, or exercise.

As she took her inhaler, Ivy checked the
time on her cell.
 

“Mom, I have to go somewhere for a
bit.
 
Do you want me to let you
upstairs to my apartment?
 
I’m not
sure when I’ll be back.”

Her mother held onto the inhaler like a
good luck charm as she studied Ivy’s face.
 
“Is it him?
 
You’re going to
see him?”

Ivy crossed her arms.
 
“Yes.”

“So he’s been released from prison.”

“He wasn’t in prison.
 
He was just being held while they
decided on bail and…it doesn’t matter.
 
I should never have told you about all of that.”

Her mother was still watching her, and
she made a strange face as she looked Ivy over.
 
“What are those marks on your neck?
 
Are those bruises?” she said, standing
now and trying to peer at Ivy’s throat.

Ivy hadn’t realized that there were marks
left from her sexual encounter with Cullen.
 
She put her hand self-consciously to her
neck and backed away from her mother’s probing gaze.
 
“Stop it, Mom.
 
I’m fine.
 
My neck is fine.”

“If he’s hurting you—“

“He’s not hurting me.
 
He’s not doing anything.
 
Now, I need to go for a bit.
 
Shall I let you up to my apartment or
not?”

Her mother clutched her inhaler and purse
and stared at Ivy with wide, accusing eyes.
 
“I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

“It’s not your choice, Mom.
 
I’m not a little girl anymore.”

“Then prove it.
 
Stop acting like an irresponsible
teenager.”

“You don’t know anything about him.”

“I know that any man who lays hands on a
woman—“

Ivy put a hand in her mother’s face.
 
“Stop it.
 
Just stop.
 
He didn’t lay hands on me.”

“Look me in the eye and tell me those
marks on your neck aren’t from him.
 
This wonderful man you love so much.”
 
Her mother’s eyes were like daggers,
impaling her with their accusing glare.

“I’m not doing this right now.
 
I have to go.”
 

Her mother watched her as she walked
away.
 
“If you think I’m going to
let him get away with this, you’ve got another thing coming, young lady!”

Ivy waved to her.
 
“Go home, Mom!” she yelled as she waved
a cab down, finally.
 
“I’ll call you
later!”

But her mother didn’t move.
 
She stood there on the street and
watched Ivy leave without budging, as if she’d become rooted to the sidewalk.

***

There was a tremendous sense of guilt
about leaving her mother on the street corner, but Ivy told herself that it was
her mother’s fault.

I
can’t let her guilt trip stop me from doing what I need to do.

Although, she was a little concerned
about the marks on her neck.
 
Opening her pocket mirror, she saw that there were indeed a few slight
discolorations on her neck.

They weren’t anything major—they
could easily have been hickeys or something.

Except
for the inconvenient truth that they’re not hickeys.

They
came from Cullen’s hands being wrapped around your throat.
 

But
most likely, it was from me encouraging him to squeeze my neck tighter.

Cullen
never even came close to hurting me.
 
Never.
 

Ivy considered applying some light
foundation to mask the marks on her throat, but decided not to.
 
She felt like doing that would imply
that she was hiding something.