Avenging Christa: Irresistibly Mine Duet Book 2 Read online

  I waited until I heard the click of the door behind me, and then I took a menacing step in Atwood’s direction. He stood his ground, arms hanging loose by his sides as though ready for a fight. I’d give anything, anything, to goad him into taking a swing. I’d have an excuse, then, to kick the living shit out of him.

  I straightened my spine and narrowed my gaze. “From now on, you’ll be dealing with me, not Christa.”

  He squared up to me. “No I fucking won’t.”

  His intense stare never wavered. Then again, neither did mine. “Yes. You will. You’ll also notice that your pathetic attempt to keep tabs on her failed spectacularly.” I curled my lip, sneering. “You think you’re so fucking clever, but you’re no match for me. Every step you take, I’ll be two ahead. Every time you think you’ve gained an advantage, I’ll tear it down. Just when you think you’ve won, I’m going to bring a fucking nightmare right to your door.”

  Atwood’s cocky expression faltered, only for a second, but that was enough for me to know he wasn’t nearly as sure of himself as he pretended to be.

  He laughed mirthlessly. “You just made this much more interesting, Somers. Now I have two people to finish. You and her.”

  I inched closer, glaring. “We both know you haven’t got the balls to take me on.” I looked him up and down disparagingly. “But you’re welcome to try.”

  Atwood put his face right in mine, close enough that I could smell his breath and a faint whiff of aftershave. He breathed noisily through his nose. “Be careful, Somers. You have no idea what I’m capable of.”

  I snorted. “I’m the wrong fucking sex for you to come at me. You’re a nothing, a nobody, a bully who gets his kicks from scaring women. Except this time, buddy, you’ve chosen the wrong person to go into battle with.” I jabbed him in the shoulder. “Now get the fuck out of my home.”

  I spun on my heel and went back inside, slamming the door behind me.

  14

  Dayton

  My plane landed on a damp, miserable morning in Seattle, but I had high hopes the day would get brighter as soon as Draven told me what he’d discovered. I walked down the steps and headed straight for the terminal building. I’d flown into a small private airfield south of the city and asked Draven to meet me there. That way, I could listen to what he had to say, come up with a plan of action, and be heading back to New York within the hour. I didn’t like leaving Christa for too long, even though she’d be at the office today. I wanted to be home well before nightfall.

  Draven was waiting inside the building. We shook hands, and I cocked my head, indicating for him to follow me. I led him through to an office I’d reserved where we could speak in private.

  “Well, what have you got?” I asked before the guy had even sat down. I didn’t have time for niceties. “It’d better be good, considering you’ve dragged me across the fucking country on a goddamn Monday morning.”

  He looked me directly in the eyes and grinned. “Nice to see you, too, dickhead. Jesus, you talk to your woman with that mouth?”

  Despite the seriousness of the situation, I smiled. “Anyone else dared to speak to me like that and I’d rip them a new asshole.”

  Draven chuckled. “You could try. You’d fail, but still…” He hitched a shoulder, then waggled his eyebrows.

  A laugh burst from deep within me. I seriously liked this guy. When all this was over, I genuinely hoped we’d stay in touch.

  He laid a folder on the desk and opened it, revealing page after page of scrawl. At the back, attached with a paperclip, was a photograph of a redheaded woman I’d guess was in her late twenties to early thirties. Draven removed it and then slid the picture across the table.

  “This is Kathy Johnson. She’s a thirty-one-year-old waitress and mother to a seven-year-old daughter, Tilly. She’s unmarried and lives in a studio apartment on the edge of the city.”

  Already bored, I gave him a blank stare. “And?”

  Draven smiled. Even though we barely knew each other, he appreciated my lack of patience. “I’m getting to the point, asshole. Bear with me.”

  I bit back a sigh and gestured for him to continue.

  “When Kathy was eighteen, she waited tables in a private members club. This club was frequented by Atwood’s father, and by Atwood himself when he turned twenty-one. Atwood Jr. took a liking to Miss Johnson, and would often grope her inappropriately. A pinch of her ass here, a squeeze of a tit there. She complained to the manager, but he told her to either put up with it or leave.”

  “Delightful,” I said sarcastically, leaning forward in my seat, my interest piqued as to the direction this was heading.

  “Yep,” Draven said, wearing his loathing as openly as my own. “A total douche. Anyway, one night, Miss Johnson was working late and, as she left the club, Atwood approached her. He tried to kiss her, but she was having none of it. She told him that neither he nor his money interested her, and she wasn’t for sale.

  “She remembers his laughter following her down the street. He called after her, telling her he liked the ones who fought back. That they turned him on the most, made him hard. It was at that point she started running. Atwood sprinted after her. Then he caught her.”

  Oh fuck. I knew what was coming and, despite not wanting to hear what he had to say, I nodded for him to keep going.

  “He dragged her down an alleyway and raped her.” Draven’s face twisted. “Sounds civilized, doesn’t it? Rape, sexual assault. Words we hear in the press or on the news every single day and barely bat an eye. Banal sayings that don’t begin to describe the horror behind them, or the horrendous suffering the victim goes through. The truth is that Atwood raped, sodomized, and beat Kathy Johnson, then left her lying in a pool of her own blood.”

  I pinched the bridge of my nose as images raged through my mind, the kind no one wanted to have flash before them.

  “What happened then?” I didn’t want to know, yet I had to know. I wanted the full, disgusting truth of just what a piece of shit I was dealing with—that Christa was having to deal with.

  “She was found by a passerby the next morning.” He closed his eyes briefly. “She lay there all night in that alley, half naked, battered and bruised. The good Samaritan took her to the hospital. The police came, and she made a statement.”

  My ears perked up, and hope surged within me. “This is on record?”

  “Yep, but don’t get too excited. Before the police could bring charges, Miss Johnson recanted her statement.”

  “Why?” I asked and then shook my head in understanding. “They got to her.”

  He nodded. “Atwood sent one of his minions after her who made it very clear that if she didn’t withdraw her statement, what happened to her was just the beginning. He told her that no one would believe a slut like her over an Atwood anyway, and it would be easy for them to make out that she was mentally unstable.”

  “Fuckers,” I gritted out.

  “Yeah, and it gets worse. When she had her daughter, a huge bouquet of flowers arrived at the hospital. The note read ‘Stay sane – love Sutton.’ She knew then that he was still watching her in case she ever revealed what happened. That message put an end to any thoughts of reporting him, because now she didn’t only have herself to worry about, but a kid, too.”

  “Yet she told you?”

  “Believe me, it wasn’t easy, and if I’d still been a cop, I’d have had no chance of getting her to open up. At first she wouldn’t have anything to do with me, but I persisted. I think because I believed her about Atwood and what he was capable of.” He shrugged. “Well, in the end, she caved. It must have been a helluva relief to share such a fucking big skeleton.”

  Elated, I said, “She’s willing to press charges now?”

  “Ah, not exactly. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. She won’t go to the police. She’s terrified that if her mental health is brought into question—and let’s face it, Atwood has the means to pay the right psychiatrists to say whatever the fu
ck he wants—she could lose her daughter. She won’t admit, formally, that she ever knew Sutton Atwood or his piece-of-shit father who allowed the brutal assault of a young girl to be covered up to save his precious son’s ass.”

  “Fuck.” I scraped a hand over my face, my mind racing. “There must be something we can do to persuade her. What if I could convince her that I’d protect her, and her kid?”

  Draven stroked his beard. “Worth a try, I guess.”

  I picked up the photo of the girl and stared at it. “Set it up.”

  * * *

  I called Christa, informing her something had come up that needed my immediate attention and I’d be home tomorrow. I made her promise not to leave the penthouse after Paul took her home after work. Her rapid reassurance calmed me.

  Angie booked me in at the Four Seasons and arranged for a change of clothes to be sent over. Draven dropped me off at the hotel, promising to return later. I spent the day working, but my mind wasn’t on the job. All I could think was that if everything worked out, Atwood could soon be eating his meals off a plastic tray and taking a shit in public.

  At eight that evening, I went down to the lobby to find Draven already waiting. We’d arranged to meet Miss Johnson in a bar on the other side of town.

  “What’s she like?” I asked him as he filtered into the traffic. I needed to know what I was dealing with so I could plan accordingly.

  “She’s what I’d call a ‘nice girl.’ Definitely not the type who has the chops to deal with a clever, manipulative bastard like Atwood. She’s also skittish as shit, unsurprisingly.”

  I nodded, then stared out of the window, planning my approach, while Draven turned up the radio. We arrived at the bar a few minutes early. Inside, it was dark and dingy, and definitely not my kind of establishment, but that also made it a good meeting place because if this wasn’t the type of bar I visited, it wasn’t Atwood’s either.

  I slipped into a booth, Draven taking a seat opposite, and called over the bartender. Draven ordered a whiskey, I stuck to coffee. I wanted to keep my wits about me.

  Fifteen minutes later, we were still sitting there, no sign of Kathy. I ordered another round of drinks.

  “She gonna bail?” I asked, and then I saw her. “Forget it, she’s here.”

  I got to my feet. She saw me, hesitated, and then walked in my direction on wobbly legs. One look at her told me I had to treat this one very gently. When Draven had said “skittish” he wasn’t wrong. Highly fucking strung was a better description. Her knuckles were almost white where they gripped the strap of her purse, and she kept looking over her shoulder as if expecting Atwood to appear at any moment.

  “Miss Johnson.” I stuck out my hand. “I’m Dayton Somers. Thank you for meeting with me.” We shook, her small, cold hand getting lost in my much larger one. “You remember Draven.”

  She nodded, then slid onto the seat opposite, next to Draven. She was far too skinny, but as I ran my gaze over her, I couldn’t see any needle marks. I wouldn’t have blamed her if she’d chosen to bury her fear in addiction, although I was grateful for her kid that she’d decided on a different path.

  “Would you like a drink?” I asked gently, conscious that I could sometimes come over as a little overbearing, and I didn’t want her bolting before we’d had a chance to talk. Although compared with how Draven looked, I was a teddy bear.

  She nibbled her lip. “Water, please. I don’t drink, and coffee makes me sick.”

  Another tick in her favor. No drugs. No alcohol. It would make her an excellent witness—if I could persuade her to go to the cops.

  I waited until she had a glass of iced water in front of her and she’d taken a couple of tentative sips. “Miss Johnson, I’m going to cut to the chase. Draven has updated me on what happened to you, and I’d like to start by saying that I am terribly sorry for what you went through.”

  She kept her attention on the table. “Thank you.”

  “What you’re not aware of is that my girlfriend went through something similar. Not exactly the same. She wasn’t raped.” I winced. “But she was severely beaten and mutilated and she almost lost a child.” Miss Johnson’s head snapped up, but I continued. “The difference between you and my girlfriend is that Atwood is the father of her baby. And on this occasion, he got another man to carry out the attack, rather than getting his own hands dirty.”

  Her eyes welled up, and she sniffed. Draven passed her a napkin. She took it from him and blew her nose. “The baby. It’s okay?”

  I nodded. “His name is Max, and he’ll be three soon.” I smiled. “He’s pretty darn amazing, as is my girlfriend. The thing is, Miss Johnson, Atwood is trying to take Max from us. He doesn’t care about his son. What drives him is revenge, pure and simple.”

  She frowned. “For what?”

  “Well, my girlfriend did press charges.” I refrained from saying unlike you. I wasn’t about to judge just how difficult going up against Atwood alone would have been for her. “And Atwood was found guilty and sent to prison.”

  A light sparked in her eyes. “He’s in prison?”

  “He was,” I said, extinguishing the spark. “He got out on appeal, and that’s when he decided to apply for custody of Max.” I grazed a hand over my chin. “The courts agreed he could have visitation. This past weekend, Christa, that’s my girlfriend, and I were ordered to leave Max with him. For two nights.” I let that news sink in, hoping that by keeping the focus on Max, she’d relent. “I’m sure you can imagine how difficult that was for us.”

  She covered her mouth with her hand, her eyes filling up once more. “I can,” she said, the sound muffled. “Oh God, how awful.”

  “So now you must be able to understand why I need your help. If you press charges, we have a shot at putting him behind bars, and this time, keeping him there.”

  There was a pause, the silence lingering, infusing me with hope. And then she dashed my hopes with a brief shake of her head.

  “I’m so sorry, Mr. Somers.” She spoke softly, barely above a whisper. “Truly, I am, but he’ll say I’m crazy. I can’t lose my kid.”

  “You won’t,” I insisted, even though Christa and I were in a similar position with Max, and I hadn’t been able to do a damn thing to stop that. “I have the means to help you, to protect you and your daughter.” I sounded desperate even to my own ears. “Please, trust me. Help me to put him away for a long time. Whatever you need. Money, a job, a safe place to stay, round-the-clock security. I can provide all of that and more.”

  She hesitated. I counted the silent seconds that scraped by. One, two, three, four.

  And then came another curt shake of her head. “He’ll either make sure I lose my little girl, or he’ll kill me. And then who’ll take care of Tilly? Either way, my baby loses, and I can’t have that. She will always come first. I am so sorry, but I can’t risk it.” She scrambled to her feet. “I’ve got to go.” She ran for the exit and disappeared.

  “Fuck!” I slammed my fist into the table, causing a group of people nearby to glance briefly over their shoulders. “Goddammit.”

  “I did warn you,” Draven said. “She’s scared shitless.”

  “Keep looking,” I barked. “If there’s another Kathy Johnson out there, I want her found.”

  15

  Christa

  Can you come up to my office?

  I grinned. Dayton was back safe and sound. I got up from my desk and tapped on Greg’s door, then poked my head inside. “Been summoned. Won’t be long.”

  Greg smiled. “When the boss calls…”

  I waggled my finger at his teasing. “I’ve uploaded the presentation for Friday to the shared site for your review.”

  “Great. I’ll take a look today.”

  I rode the elevator up to Dayton’s floor. Flashing my badge at the access-controlled glass door, I padded down the thickly carpeted hallway, smiling as I approached Angie’s desk. She was on the phone but indicated for me to go straight in. I tapped on the
door, then entered.

  Dayton’s head came up, and then he rose from his chair and strolled across to greet me.

  “Hey, angel.” He slipped his arms around my waist and kissed me on the lips. “Missed you.”

  “Missed you, too.”

  He led me over to the conference table and pulled out a chair for me to sit. “We need to talk.”

  “What about?”

  He took a deep breath. “I need your help.”

  I frowned. “With what?”

  “For a few weeks now, I’ve had Draven poking around in Atwood’s life, seeing if he can dig up anything in his background that he wouldn’t want us knowing about.”

  I nodded. I wasn’t surprised. Francesca had suggested getting a private investigator, but when Dayton hadn’t mentioned it, I thought he’d decided to let the legal system play out instead.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Because I didn’t want to worry you or get your hopes up if it all came to nothing. Call it intuition, instinct, whatever, but a guy like that, who would mandate such a vicious attack on you, had to have something in his past, something he’d rather remained buried. If shit was there, I wanted it found.” He clasped my hand. “And we have.”

  My lips parted. “What?”

  Dayton swept a hand over his face, then rubbed his lips. “Draven has discovered a woman called Kathy Johnson. That name mean anything to you?”

  I shook my head. “Never heard of her.”

  “Well, Atwood knows her. Eleven years ago, she worked at a private members club. His father was a member, as was Atwood. He took a liking to Miss Johnson, but she wasn’t interested. He followed her one night and…” Dayton bit his lip.

  “Go on,” I said, even though my skin prickled and a terrible unease crept over every single vertebra in my spine, one by one. I found myself sitting straighter, leaning in, wanting, but at the same time dreading for him to continue.