The VIP Doubles Down
Page 89
- Background:
- Text Font:
- Text Size:
- Line Height:
- Line Break Height:
- Frame:
He stroked the screen of the phone again, his lips curling into a grimace of a smile as he remembered Allie swearing she was going to date a plumber. She could make him laugh even as she berated him. Who else in his life could do that?
He remembered something else she’d said . . . that there was a difference between being needed and being loved. She was right. All he’d thought about was how much he needed her, and he wasn’t wrong about that. He did need her. With a desperation that made his gut roll when he thought about her absence.
But when he dug beneath that, to a place he tried never to go, he found a frightening truth. His heart was filled with her.
That took his gut and turned it inside out, upside down, and backward. He forgot to breathe as the feeling blew through him with all the terrifying power of a nor’easter.
He loved her.
When he could draw in oxygen again, he propped his elbows on his knees and held his head between his hands, staring at the patterned carpet between his bare feet. Love was not something he was familiar with. Witness the duplicitous lover he’d chosen for Julian.
But he knew someone who understood love. He let visions of Allie spin through his mind, even as her absence slashed at his chest. He remembered the joy of skating together, her body tucked against his side, moving with him as though they shared a single impulse. She took his happiness, multiplied it, and gave it back to him as a gift.
Then he conjured up the moment when Allie reached into Ruth’s box and pulled out the rainbow-colored envelopes that transformed every idea he’d had about his mother. That day Allie had put herself between his heart and the body blows each revelation had struck. She had taken his pain and softened it because she shared it.
He’d repaid her by doubting the very fabric of her being, her integrity. The memory of the shock and hurt on her face when he’d drawn back from her kiss at the Barefoot Ball haunted him. Self-loathing made him jerk up from the couch, his back muscles shrieking as he paced around the room.
He had told himself he was giving back to Allie when he hired her to work on Julian for him. He had justified his lie to Ben with money. He had thought that his house, his helicopter, his skating rink, would put an acceptable gloss on his selfishness.
But Allie didn’t want any of that. All she asked for was a man who cared about her needs more than his own. When she’d compared him to Troy, he’d felt like she had balled up her fist and punched him in the stomach, but he had earned the slur.
He sat down again and forced himself to look into all the dark corners of his soul, finding that there were too many of them. He wanted to give Allie light and joy, but how could he do that when he had so many shadows inside him? If he wanted a chance to earn Allie’s forgiveness—and, oh dear God, he did!—he would have to face the demons of his past, not run from them. Only then could he offer her a whole man, a man who didn’t simply need her, and hope that her generous spirit would find that enough.
Shoving himself off the couch, he stumbled out of the office and into his bathroom to turn on the shower jets full blast, stripping out of the tux pants he hadn’t bothered to change last night. Standing under the steaming-hot water, he was swamped by a wave of longing for Allie that nearly brought him to his knees. He braced his hands against the tile walls until it subsided enough to let him wash.
After dressing, he stood in the bedroom with his cell phone in his hand, staring down at Ron Escobar’s contact information, mustering every ounce of courage he possessed to call the detective. He told himself that whatever the news was, he couldn’t feel any worse, but he knew that was a lie.
In fact, he could feel worse. The human psyche had an infinite capacity for suffering.
He hit the number. Even though it was Sunday, he was sure Escobar would return the call.
“Mr. Miller, what can I do for you?” Ron said.
“Sorry to bother you on Sunday, but I’ve moved my timetable up, and I’d thought I’d check in to see what information you have on Susannah Miller.”
He had to remind himself to breathe. Thank God Ron didn’t hesitate to answer. “She’s still living at the address you gave us. If you give me a second to pull it up on the computer, I can tell you—”
Gavin was no longer listening. He sank onto the bed because the muscles in his legs had turned weak with relief. She was still alive.
“—Fisher and Martinez, a local law firm.”
The names caught his attention. It was on the letterhead of his mother’s last communication. “What about Fisher and Martinez?”
“Your mother works there. Her position is listed as mediator.”
“Is she married?”
“Not currently. Divorced once, from Kenneth Herbert Miller.” Ron paused for a split second before continuing to read. “One child: Gavin Herbert Miller.” Another pause. “No evidence of cohabitation. She owns her home outright, no mortgage. Drives a Jeep SUV, paid cash. No criminal record.”
“Well, that’s a relief.” He let a note of irony creep into his voice, just to fend off the crash of emotions.
“I can send you the rest of the information, but it’s basic stuff right now. Our investigation is ongoing.”
“You can close it. That’s all the information I need. Except for whether she’s in residence.”
“She was, as of last night. I can put a man on her for as long as you want to keep track of her whereabouts and send you updates hourly.”
“I would appreciate that. Thank you for a job well done.”
“I wish all my jobs were this easy.”
Gavin disconnected and sat with his head bowed.
All these years his mother had been there, but his anger and pride had stopped him from seeking her out. All these years when he could have had answers instead of wallowing in ancient misery.
He would drag his past into the light of the present and stare it down. And he would do it alone because he had to prove to Allie—and to himself—that he could.
Chapter 30
The jet lifted off and banked left, turning away from the early-morning sun as it headed west. Gavin gazed out the window as Long Island shrank and dropped away behind him. His itinerary for this gray February Monday was a crowded one, covering most of the country. He had several dragons to slay, so he’d dressed in his dark knight’s armor: charcoal gray wool trousers, black silk shirt, and black leather jacket. It suited the weather and his mood.
He remembered something else she’d said . . . that there was a difference between being needed and being loved. She was right. All he’d thought about was how much he needed her, and he wasn’t wrong about that. He did need her. With a desperation that made his gut roll when he thought about her absence.
But when he dug beneath that, to a place he tried never to go, he found a frightening truth. His heart was filled with her.
That took his gut and turned it inside out, upside down, and backward. He forgot to breathe as the feeling blew through him with all the terrifying power of a nor’easter.
He loved her.
When he could draw in oxygen again, he propped his elbows on his knees and held his head between his hands, staring at the patterned carpet between his bare feet. Love was not something he was familiar with. Witness the duplicitous lover he’d chosen for Julian.
But he knew someone who understood love. He let visions of Allie spin through his mind, even as her absence slashed at his chest. He remembered the joy of skating together, her body tucked against his side, moving with him as though they shared a single impulse. She took his happiness, multiplied it, and gave it back to him as a gift.
Then he conjured up the moment when Allie reached into Ruth’s box and pulled out the rainbow-colored envelopes that transformed every idea he’d had about his mother. That day Allie had put herself between his heart and the body blows each revelation had struck. She had taken his pain and softened it because she shared it.
He’d repaid her by doubting the very fabric of her being, her integrity. The memory of the shock and hurt on her face when he’d drawn back from her kiss at the Barefoot Ball haunted him. Self-loathing made him jerk up from the couch, his back muscles shrieking as he paced around the room.
He had told himself he was giving back to Allie when he hired her to work on Julian for him. He had justified his lie to Ben with money. He had thought that his house, his helicopter, his skating rink, would put an acceptable gloss on his selfishness.
But Allie didn’t want any of that. All she asked for was a man who cared about her needs more than his own. When she’d compared him to Troy, he’d felt like she had balled up her fist and punched him in the stomach, but he had earned the slur.
He sat down again and forced himself to look into all the dark corners of his soul, finding that there were too many of them. He wanted to give Allie light and joy, but how could he do that when he had so many shadows inside him? If he wanted a chance to earn Allie’s forgiveness—and, oh dear God, he did!—he would have to face the demons of his past, not run from them. Only then could he offer her a whole man, a man who didn’t simply need her, and hope that her generous spirit would find that enough.
Shoving himself off the couch, he stumbled out of the office and into his bathroom to turn on the shower jets full blast, stripping out of the tux pants he hadn’t bothered to change last night. Standing under the steaming-hot water, he was swamped by a wave of longing for Allie that nearly brought him to his knees. He braced his hands against the tile walls until it subsided enough to let him wash.
After dressing, he stood in the bedroom with his cell phone in his hand, staring down at Ron Escobar’s contact information, mustering every ounce of courage he possessed to call the detective. He told himself that whatever the news was, he couldn’t feel any worse, but he knew that was a lie.
In fact, he could feel worse. The human psyche had an infinite capacity for suffering.
He hit the number. Even though it was Sunday, he was sure Escobar would return the call.
“Mr. Miller, what can I do for you?” Ron said.
“Sorry to bother you on Sunday, but I’ve moved my timetable up, and I’d thought I’d check in to see what information you have on Susannah Miller.”
He had to remind himself to breathe. Thank God Ron didn’t hesitate to answer. “She’s still living at the address you gave us. If you give me a second to pull it up on the computer, I can tell you—”
Gavin was no longer listening. He sank onto the bed because the muscles in his legs had turned weak with relief. She was still alive.
“—Fisher and Martinez, a local law firm.”
The names caught his attention. It was on the letterhead of his mother’s last communication. “What about Fisher and Martinez?”
“Your mother works there. Her position is listed as mediator.”
“Is she married?”
“Not currently. Divorced once, from Kenneth Herbert Miller.” Ron paused for a split second before continuing to read. “One child: Gavin Herbert Miller.” Another pause. “No evidence of cohabitation. She owns her home outright, no mortgage. Drives a Jeep SUV, paid cash. No criminal record.”
“Well, that’s a relief.” He let a note of irony creep into his voice, just to fend off the crash of emotions.
“I can send you the rest of the information, but it’s basic stuff right now. Our investigation is ongoing.”
“You can close it. That’s all the information I need. Except for whether she’s in residence.”
“She was, as of last night. I can put a man on her for as long as you want to keep track of her whereabouts and send you updates hourly.”
“I would appreciate that. Thank you for a job well done.”
“I wish all my jobs were this easy.”
Gavin disconnected and sat with his head bowed.
All these years his mother had been there, but his anger and pride had stopped him from seeking her out. All these years when he could have had answers instead of wallowing in ancient misery.
He would drag his past into the light of the present and stare it down. And he would do it alone because he had to prove to Allie—and to himself—that he could.
Chapter 30
The jet lifted off and banked left, turning away from the early-morning sun as it headed west. Gavin gazed out the window as Long Island shrank and dropped away behind him. His itinerary for this gray February Monday was a crowded one, covering most of the country. He had several dragons to slay, so he’d dressed in his dark knight’s armor: charcoal gray wool trousers, black silk shirt, and black leather jacket. It suited the weather and his mood.
