Avenging Christa: Irresistibly Mine Duet Book 2 Page 3

  With renewed focus, I checked their opening times then strapped Max into his stroller and set off. Half an hour later, I arrived at the right address. It reminded me of the childcare facility at Dayton’s company with lots of toys strewn around and excitable kids having fun. Unsure what to do, I hovered around the entrance until Joanna, the woman who ran it, welcomed me. Soon, I was sitting with the other moms drinking coffee and chatting about our kids.

  But, despite my best efforts, I found myself only half joining in. I watched Max sitting in the middle of the floor, playing with the other children. My chest tightened. Right there was my reason for living. I would always put him first. Always. A lump formed in my throat, and I swallowed. Why was life so unfair? Why might I be forced to choose Max over Dayton? I wanted them both, but Sutton could very well make that impossible should he follow through with his threat to show Dayton as unfit to be around Max, and the courts found in Sutton’s favor.

  My eyes prickled, and I blinked to clear my vision. I put down my cup a little too heavily, drawing the attention of Joanna who was sitting across from me.

  “Christa, are you okay?”

  I nodded, scrambling to my feet. I managed to croak out, “Sorry, I just remembered I need to be somewhere.” Striding over to the play area, I picked up Max, who bawled as I put him in his stroller, clearly furious at my decision to cut short his fun. I caught the surprised looks on the moms’ faces as I hurriedly left.

  I hadn’t walked far when a prickling sensation crept up my spine. I paused, my hands tight on the stroller, then swung around ready to confront the reason for my unease. The streets teemed with people going about their business, but as I scanned the crowds, nothing struck me as out of the ordinary. Still, I quickened my steps, even crossing the street in an attempt to shake off the edginess coursing through me. My palms were slick with sweat by the time my building came into view. The second I stepped into the lobby, I let out a relieved breath, chastising myself for being so paranoid.

  I crossed to our private elevator and jabbed my finger at the button, knowing that as soon as I was inside the car, my anxiety would recede. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a man approaching from my left. I didn’t know everyone in Dayton’s building—far from it—but something about this guy set my teeth on edge. I fumbled in my purse for my phone, wishing I had a can of Mace, or a bunch of keys, something with which I could protect myself. The security guard was a little too far away for my liking if this guy had harm on his mind.

  “Ms. Adams? Ms. Christa Adams?” he asked.

  I stood protectively in front of Max’s stroller. “Yes.” The high-pitched squeak to my voice gave me away. I cleared my throat. “Who wants to know?”

  He thrust an envelope at me.

  “What’s this?”

  “Court papers, ma’am.”

  Oh God. This was it. I’d been served. Sutton had made his move. The moment I’d dreaded since he’d called a few days earlier had arrived. I stared at the envelope for a few seconds, and by the time I lifted my chin, the guy was already halfway out of the building, whistling as he went.

  The elevator doors opened and, on shaky legs, I pushed Max inside. The second we entered the penthouse, he demanded his lunch. As I prepared food for Max, my gaze wandered to the stack of papers sitting on the coffee table, daring me to open them. Except I didn’t want to. Reading the contents of that inconspicuous brown envelope would force me to face reality, to acknowledge this was really happening.

  I thought I’d hated Sutton before, but that was nothing to how I felt about him now. Using my son to punish me was beyond heinous and, no matter what the legal outcome, I’d find a way to make him pay—even if it took me the rest of my life.

  I settled Max in front of the TV with a sandwich and picked up the envelope. I stared at it for a few seconds, then turned it over. I slid a fingernail underneath the flap and removed a wad of documents. They were full of official jargon, but I didn’t need to be a legal expert to recognize that Sutton was applying for immediate visitation rights, as well as full custody of Max on the basis he was living in a violent home. I wasn’t the least bit surprised Sutton had carried out his promise. He wasn’t the type to throw around idle threats—rather he was the following-through kind of psychopath.

  My stomach swirled and churned. The fight I’d dreaded was at my door, and I only had a few days to prepare. I might not win every battle along the way… but I’d damn well win the war.

  5

  Dayton

  My driver, Paul, dropped me right outside my office building. As I entered the lobby, the man I’d come to meet rose to greet me.

  “Draven. Good to see you again.” We shook hands. “Your message caught me off guard. I thought you were going to recommend someone.”

  “You said you wanted the best.” He threw his arms out to the side and grinned. “I am the best.”

  “Confidence? I like it. I can definitely get on board with that.” I cocked my head. “Follow me.”

  I strode over to my private elevator which took us directly to my office. Angie wasn’t at her desk yet, not that I expected her to be in this early. Even I wasn’t that demanding.

  I opened the door and ushered Draven inside. “Coffee?” I asked.

  He held up his hand. “I’m good.”

  I took a seat at the head of the conference table and gestured to the one adjacent. I’d stayed up late the previous night preparing a briefing note on everything I knew about Atwood. His name, a picture, his business address, all stuff that I’d gleaned from his company website, but at least it meant Draven didn’t have to take notes. I handed over the sheet of paper.

  “This is the guy I told you about. I want you to find out everything about him. Go back to the day he was fucking born if you have to, but somewhere in his past there’s dirt. I want to know what that is.”

  I knew how powerful men worked. We all had skeletons in our closets that we’d rather weren’t released into the public domain. Mine was my abused background. I didn’t choose to hide what my father did to Nina and me because I was ashamed—I wasn’t—but because some would see it as a weakness and use it to try to exploit me.

  All I needed was to find Atwood’s Achilles heel, and the guy sitting beside me was going to help me do precisely that.

  Draven scanned the sheet of paper then folded it and slid it into his inside pocket. “My rates are fifteen hundred per day plus expenses.”

  “Fine.”

  “I’ll need a week up front. Cash if possible.”

  I rose from my chair, went across to the safe, and withdrew several stacks of bills. I handed them to Draven. “I want a daily report, more often than that if you find something of interest. You have my contact details. I can be reached any time, day or night.”

  “What are my parameters?”

  “Try to stay on the right side of the law, but if you can’t…” I shrugged. “Just bring me results.”

  Draven nodded and got to his feet. “I’ll be in touch.”

  I escorted him back to the lobby, then returned to my office. After dropping a text to Cole to thank him for the introduction, I decided to use the time to catch up on some emails. If I went home now, so soon, Christa might think it was odd that I’d traveled into the office for a ten-minute meeting. Despite agreeing to be completely honest, I didn’t want her to know I’d found a private investigator just yet. If Draven discovered something of use, then I’d tell her. Until then, I didn’t see the point in getting her hopes up.

  Angie arrived a few minutes after Draven had left. She virtually skidded to a stop when she spotted me sitting behind my desk.

  “Mr. Somers. I didn’t expect you in today.”

  I pointedly stared at my Rolex then turned my attention to Angie and quirked an eyebrow.

  She blinked and stuttered, “Sorry I’m running late. I got stuck in traffic."

  “Well, now that you are here, grab me a coffee and a bagel, please. I haven’t had time for breakfa
st.”

  She nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  She closed the door after her with a quiet click. I could imagine her flipping the bird on the other side. If she thought my being with Christa would make me any less of a bastard in the office, I’d just firmly put her back in her place. Business and pleasure were two very different things in my book, and I intended to keep them mutually exclusive. The ability to compartmentalize my home and business life worked in my favor. Showing too much of a human side to my employees would be the start of a slippery slope. I was the boss, and it didn’t do any harm to remind others of that fact from time to time.

  Angie dropped off my breakfast without saying a word. I ignored her displeasure and started going through my emails. Despite checking them every day Christa and I had been away, there were a significant number that required my attention. Angie had marked them in order of importance, which made my job a little easier.

  My phone pinged with a text, and when I glanced at the screen, my pulse sped up. Christa. I smiled.

  My smile didn’t remain in place for long as I read her text. Fuck. Atwood had made his move. I messaged Paul to bring the car around the front and strode across my office. I yanked the door open. Angie’s head snapped up.

  “See you Monday,” I said and, without further explanation, or waiting for Angie to reply, I got into the elevator and jabbed a finger at the button to take me to the lobby.

  Paul was standing by the back door of the car. The second he saw me, he opened it.

  “Home, please. And make it fast.”

  Twenty minutes later, I marched through the foyer of my penthouse. “Christa,” I called out.

  I found her sitting in the living room, a wad of papers on the table in front of her. Max was on the rug, playing with his toys, so entranced he didn’t even notice I’d arrived home.

  Christa lifted her chin, and her bottom lip trembled. “At least I’m not waiting anymore. The waiting was the worst.”

  I sat beside her and drew her into my arms. She felt so tiny, so frail, and yet I knew beneath her exterior was a will of iron. We sat in silence for a few moments, and I stroked her back soothingly. There were no tears, just a quiet resolve. She humbled me.

  “Can I read them?” I asked.

  She nodded, leaned forward to pick up the papers, then passed them to me. I scanned them, noting the date. Ten days until the first hearing. A little over a week before I came face to face with that bastard. I must ensure I kept my temper on a tight leash. If I showed anything other than an icy calm, it would be used against Christa, and I couldn’t have that. A top lawyer like Francesca might be able to explain away one violent outburst, but showing any kind of anger in front of the judge would only play into Atwood’s hands. I wouldn’t make it that easy.

  “I’ll call Francesca,” I said, sounding a lot calmer than I felt. “We’ll go to see her later today.”

  “No,” Christa said, clutching at my arm. “I don’t want to leave Max.”

  At hearing his name, Max looked up. He grinned as he spotted me, and held out his arms. “Dada.”

  I swung him in the air, making him giggle, then popped him in front of his toys once more and ruffled his hair.

  “Okay. I’ll call and tell her to come by here instead.” Considering the size of the retainer the woman was on, she could damn well make a house call.

  Needing a moment alone to pull myself together, I went to my study. I rested my knuckles on the edge of my desk and stared at the gray clouds rolling in off the Hudson. Flames rose from my stomach, burning my throat. I breathed deeply, struggling to keep my anger in check. Every time I thought about what Atwood intended to do—using Max to further his own ends, with the sole intention of hurting Christa—my insides twisted with rage.

  It took several minutes before I’d collected myself enough to make the call. Francesca’s PA informed me she was just finishing up with a client. Agreeing to wait, I paced around my study, the terrible piped hold music grating on my nerves. There should be a way for the customer to silence the damn thing.

  Five minutes later, Francesca came on the line. “Dayton. I didn’t expect to hear from you so soon.”

  “He’s filed a motion,” I said. “Christa was served an hour ago.”

  A slight pause, then, “Okay. Quicker than I expected, but that’s fine. Can you scan the papers and email them over to me?”

  “Yes. I’ll do it now.” I fed the papers into the scanner and pressed the button. “I need you to come by my penthouse today.”

  She cleared her throat. “I don’t usually see clients outside of the office. Is there any particular reason you can’t come here?”

  I clenched my jaw, irritated she’d even questioned my reasoning. “As a matter of fact, there is. Sorry if it inconveniences you,” I said, sarcasm prevalent in my tone. “But considering the size of your hourly rate, not to mention the enormous retainer, I’ll expect you at my home this evening.”

  There was an audible hitch of breath down the phone followed by the sound of a mouse clicking. “Hold on. Let me check my calendar.” The line fell silent and then, “Shall we say five-thirty to six?”

  “Perfect. We’ll see you later.”

  * * *

  Francesca arrived a few minutes before six. Christa finished up feeding Max while I fixed us all a drink. After he’d eaten, she settled him on the couch next to us. I gave him my iPad to play with, and in seconds he was chattering away to himself and giggling at a cartoon. He wouldn’t be able to follow our conversation, but I still preferred his focus to be elsewhere.

  “I’ve reviewed the papers,” Francesca said. “They’re as I would expect in a case like this. No court would grant anyone immediate custody, especially when the petitioner hasn’t been part of the child’s life up to this point. There will always be a period of visitation first, and then he’ll have to come back to court at a later date when his formal custody petition will be heard.” She patted Christa’s knee. “So, no worrying that he’ll just be able to take Max and that’ll be it. There’s a long road ahead, and during that time, Max will continue to live right here, where he belongs.”

  Christa nibbled on her thumbnail. “I don’t want him to have any access at all. I can’t bear the thought of Max even spending one minute alone with that man.”

  “He won’t be alone, at least not at first. We’ll request a court appointed chaperone. I’d be very surprised if the judge doesn’t concur, especially given that Max and Mr. Atwood are strangers. At the end of the day, the courts are concerned with Max’s welfare above all else, and whatever decisions they make will be with his best interests at heart.”

  “How can any contact with that man be good for my son?” Christa said through gritted teeth. “He’s an animal.”

  I squeezed Christa’s fingers while Francesca gave a sympathetic head tilt. “Not in the eyes of the law. I’m sorry, Christa, but the court will only deal in facts, and the fact is that Mr. Atwood has been completely exonerated of any wrong doing toward you. Like I explained when we met earlier in the week, we won’t even be able to use that to bolster our case.” She leaned forward, her forearms resting on her knees. “The best-case scenario we can hope for is that we drag this out long enough for him to lose interest, or something is unearthed that shines a different light on the proceedings. If he pushes ahead, I’m afraid the courts are liable to give him some form of custody, although exactly what that will entail depends on the judge we get.”

  Christa turned to me, horror etched into her face. “Oh God,” she muttered, her skin turning ashen.

  I slipped my arm around her shoulders and set my attention on Francesca. “Just so I’m clear, you’re saying that whatever we do, Atwood is likely to be granted at least shared custody of Max.”

  Francesca nodded. “Unless you can prove that Max might come to some kind of harm under his care, I’m afraid that’s exactly what we’re looking at.”

  “You didn’t say this on Monday.” Christa’s voice had in
creased in volume, her panic evident. “You said it would be okay.”

  Francesca shook her head. “No, Christa. I said that until he filed a motion, there wasn’t anything to be done. I’m sorry if you feel that I’ve not been completely honest with you.” She met my gaze. “I’ll see if I can exert some influence to make sure we are allocated a judge who will be sympathetic to our point of view.”

  “You can do that?” I asked.

  “I can try.” She got to her feet, her eyes on Christa. “This is going to get very tough, Christa, and the worst thing you can do is become too emotional in court, especially if Mr. Atwood remains calm. The last thing you want to do is to appear to be a hysterical mother when the father comes across as serene and mild mannered. If you’re willing, I’d like one of my senior associates to coach you before we appear in front of the judge.”

  Little did Francesca know that it wasn’t Christa she needed to worry about—it was me. Anger swirled in my gut as I realized that whatever we did, we were fucked. My only hope was that Draven would find something in Atwood’s background that proved violence toward women or kids. If he came back with anything less, or some sort of non-violent shit, like fraud, that bastard would gain permanent access to Max—and it’d break Christa.

  “I’ll do whatever I need to,” Christa said, her voice eerily quiet.

  “Good. I’ll be in touch.” Francesca picked up her purse and slipped it over her arm. “I’ll see myself out.”

  She crossed the room then disappeared through the door into the foyer of my penthouse.

  Christa sat there, numbly staring into space. I sensed her retreating, disconnecting from me, or the situation, or both. My terror at losing her grew as fast as a highly contagious disease spreading through my body. I clasped her hand in a desperate attempt to remind her I was there. Her fingers were cold beneath my own, and an icy chill raced through my veins.

  “I’m going to bathe Max and then put him to bed,” she said, tugging her hand from mine. She picked him up and settled him on her hip.