He boxes? Wait at the bar, or be a weird stalker and find him? “What about Liam?”
“He’ll be in around six.”
“Okay. Thanks.” She left before the bartender had another chance to speak.
The day was seductively warm for the end of September in Boston, a nice change from last night’s storm. After a short walk, she spotted what she assumed to be the boxing gym and swung open the door, assuming her twin’s brassy overconfidence.
As she stepped inside, the odor of sweat assaulted her senses. But her eyes were immediately drawn to him. Aiden stood in the middle of a fighting ring, squaring off with a rather large—no, huge—guy. Aiden was no weakling, though. He was six two, maybe even taller. And his body . . . she held her breath as her eyes stole greedy glimpses of him. His black sweats hung low on his hips, and his glistening, tanned chest was all kinds of sexy.
And then Aiden was looking right at her. His guard dropped as his scarred brow quirked up.
Oh, shit. She watched as his opponent reeled his arm back and socked Aiden clean across the jaw.
Not even a flinch from Aiden. Is he made of steel? she wondered as her hand covered her mouth. She couldn’t help but feel responsible for the massive punch to his face. He’s really going to hate me now. She grimaced as she watched Aiden shift his attention back to the boxer with a vengeance. He plowed punches at him left and right, offering no chance for the other guy to fight back.
Neither was wearing headgear, which Ava found disconcerting. She’d never been a fan of fighting. She hated it, in fact. That was why her job was to prevent violence. Her twin once dated a pro fighter in the UFC—an Irish one, actually . . . and her sister made Ava attend an event with her in Vegas. Her sister’s boyfriend won the match in the first round by knockout, but the blood that had resulted . . . it had been awful. She flinched at the memory as she looked around for a place to sit.
Her mind drifted back to thoughts of concern for Henry as she sat on a bench near an empty boxing ring.
“What’s a woman like you doing in a place like this?”
Ava looked up at the man towering over her. He had semi-long, sandy blonde hair and bright green eyes. He was very much Abercrombie meets track star. “I’m meeting someone here,” she lied, irritation painted with a fine brush in the tone of her voice.
He sat down and scooted next to her. He angled his head and ran a hand through his wavy hair. “You remind me of someone.”
Not again. “I doubt that.” She rolled her eyes but doubted he could see her disdain as her attention was now focused on the concrete floor.
“What’s your name?” His accent was not Bostonian. He reminded her more of the many surfer guys she’d met when living in Malibu.
Before she could respond, an Irish voice filled the air. “Sam, I think you ought to leave the lady alone.”
“She your girl?”
“None of your concern.” Aiden folded his arms, cocked his head, and glared at Surfer Sam.
Ava watched the man cringe and fade away before she stood. “Thanks for that.”
“What in the hell are you doin’ here?”
Her savior one minute—and now? “We need to talk,” she mustered.
He took a step back from her.
“Aiden . . .”
His eyes narrowed on her, and he dropped his hands to his sides. “Leave me alone. I can’t help you.”
“But—”
Ignoring her, he turned and walked to the men’s locker room.
She couldn’t give up, though. She’d wait for him.
Ava sat back down on the bench and attempted to ignore the smell of sweat that oozed from the walls of the gym. She bit her nails, her nervous habit, and tried to brainstorm how she would win him over.
When he finally exited the locker room, she jumped to her feet and tucked her hands into her jean pockets, nervous energy bubbling beneath the surface.
His scowl was obvious, even from a distance. “You should have left,” he said upon approach, as his liquid blue eyes darkened.
She tried to ignore the ludicrous and alien feelings that swirled inside her, making her almost faint. His black T-shirt only reminded her of what his chest had looked like beneath his shirt.
“Please. I need your help,” she managed after a few beats, hating the sound of desperation in her voice.
“I don’t care,” was all he said before spinning on his heel and walking away toward the exit.
Moments later she was shuffling after him. “Aiden, wait.”
He didn’t stop. He didn’t turn back. He just kept moving.
He was pissing her off. “Aiden, I’m not giving up. I can’t,” she yelled after him.
Just outside the bar, he turned around to face her. His chest heaved up and down with obvious anger. He closed the distance between them, standing only a few inches from her.
She could feel his breath as he stared down into her eyes. There was something hidden there—some unspoken pain.
“Just go.” He held her gaze for a second longer before turning away and entering the bar.
She shut her eyes for a brief moment and tried to quell the fear that was spinning like a tornado inside her. I can’t give up yet. Persistence shot through her as she reached for the door.
She glanced around the bar but didn’t see Aiden anywhere. Before she could make her way to the bar, a hand reached out for her arm. She looked up in surprise at the man standing to her left.
“I don’t know what you did to my son, but ever since you showed up here yesterday, he has been a hot mess.”
Ava swallowed and took a step back from Aiden’s father. “Liam, right?” she asked while raising her brows. “Do you think maybe we can talk?” Maybe you can help me.
He pointed to a table at the far end of the room. “It’ll be my arse if he sees us speaking, but I get the feelin’ you won’t be giving up anytime soon.”
She nodded and followed Liam to the table tucked around the corner, just out of sight of the bar. She scooted up onto the barstool and allowed her purse to drop from her shoulder and to the floor. The luxury of not owning a designer bag was the freedom it gave her to set it down wherever she pleased.
Liam’s dark brows pinched together, and he clasped his hands on the table in front of her. His blue eyes—the same blue as Aiden’s—were full of soul, and yet somehow they looked lost and empty at the same time. “What’s got my boy so upset? He won’t speak to me.”
She ran a hand through her silky hair and wet her glossy lips, contemplating her response. If Aiden’s mother’s name had Aiden flying away from her, what kind of knee-jerk reaction might she get from Liam? “Do you know Henry Davidson?” She mimicked Liam, and laced her fingers together, setting her hands before her on the table. She studied his reaction to the name, but his stance and posture remained unchanged.
“No.”
“What about Sophia Davidson?” As soon as the name slipped from her lips, Liam moved away from the table a bit, and his hands shifted to his lap. The bar wasn’t particularly bright, but she could have sworn his lips trembled.
“Yes, I know her, and now I know why my boy does not want to talk to you.” He pinched the bridge of his nose as he closed his eyes. “Why are you askin’ about Sophia?” He opened his eyes and studied her; concern etched in every line of his face.
“This might sound crazy, but I worked with her brother, Henry. Henry’s missing, and I think he’s in trouble. I’m trying to find clues or answers as to where he might be, and I started by looking for his family.” She spoke with quick intensity; worried Liam would leave as fast as Aiden had. But he remained sitting; in fact, he leaned in a little closer to the table as she talked. His eyes beheld hers, never breaking contact. Never even blinking.
“Continue.”
She nodded, thankful for his acceptance. “I discovered he had a sister, but it’s like she doesn’t exist.” She gulped. “I did some searching, which revealed she had a son. Aiden. But Aiden is a
bit of a mystery as well. Until an article about this bar popped up in my search.” She balled her hands on the table, not out of anger, but to curtail her desire to bite her nails. She pressed them into her palms, instead.
Liam placed his hands on the table and cocked his head to the side. “Sophia was vacationing in Ireland when I met her. I was so young—playing guitar and singing in a bar in Dublin.” He shut his eyes and paused, as though he were transporting himself back in time. “When I saw her walk into the bar one night, I think my ticker stopped working then and there.” A flash of pain pulled at the muscles in his face as his eyes opened.
“Are you okay?” she asked, placing her hand over his.
He nodded. “Sophia was like no other woman I’d met, but what does a twenty-something-year-old kid know? I fell in love with her that night.” He shook his head. “It only took one night for me to know she was the one.” He took a moment to clear his throat. “Her green eyes pierced my soul with every look we exchanged. We spent every moment of her vacation together. It was the best week of my life. A week I’ll never forget.”
“Wow,” Ava whispered.
“And then Sophia disappeared. Her vacation was over, and she went back to the States without saying a word.” He rubbed a hand over his scruffy beard, which was dark, laced with silver and white. “Ten months later, Aiden was left at the church by my house, with a note that he was mine.”
Oh God. The somber look in his eyes and the obvious pain in his voice welled tears in her eyes. “No wonder Aiden doesn’t want to talk about her.”
“I tried to find her. Spent years searching. Dead ends, all.” He drew in a deep breath and his shoulders swelled. It was easy to see where Aiden had gotten his muscular physique. “When Aiden turned eighteen he decided to leave Ireland and study in America. It surprised me, as I thought he hated the U.S. because of his mother, but he embraced his American identity, and so I followed. Been in the States for about fifteen years now.”
“So, did Aiden ever try to find his mom?” She couldn’t help but wonder.
“He said he’d no desire to—but what boy doesn’t want to know his mum?”
True. Her shoulders slouched forward a bit. “I guess Aiden can’t be of any help.” Or you. “I’m on my own.”
Liam reached for her hand this time. “If this Henry is in trouble, I don’t think you should get yourself involved.”
His warning rang true in her ears. She knew she was naïve to believe she could find Henry before the government could, so why was she trying? Normally she’d be happy to tuck away in some room and disappear. That was who she was, after all—the invisible Ava.
But she didn’t want to be invisible anymore. Henry was too important. He’d look for her, wouldn’t he? “I can’t give up.” She’d never stop looking for Henry until she had answers.
“I was afraid you’d say that. I can see you’re a woman with heart. Me and my boy won’t be able to help you, though. Good luck, my dear.” He squeezed her hand before rising.
She stared down at her hands. When they became somewhat blurry, she realized tears were pooling in her eyes. She swiped them from her cheeks before she started to stand.
“You’re awfully persistent.”
She sat back down at the sound of Aiden’s thick Irish voice. “I don’t have much of a choice.” She glanced at him, afraid of what horrid look he’d send her way.
“If Henry is anything like his sister, you best forget him.” Although he stared at her, void of emotion, she sensed he was working hard to appear aloof. Before she responded, the sound of a pool ball swishing into a pocket had her attention and gave her an idea. “Do you gamble?”
“Doesn’t everyone?”
Liam said you can’t help me, but . . . “Play a game of pool with me. If I lose, I’ll leave right now and never bother you.”
“And if you win?” He took a small step closer to her.
“You give me five minutes of your time.” God, the man was good looking. He was all hard lines, with a straight nose, strong chin, and jaw . . . but his lips were relaxed and oh-so-kissable.
“You think you can beat me at pool?”
“A girl can try, right?” She raised a brow and moved toward one of the empty tables, hoping he would follow.
He hesitated for a moment and responded, “I’ll let you break.” He approached the table and began to rack the balls. He handed her a cue stick, fiercely holding on to her gaze. She could have sworn an electric shock passed between them as she touched the pool stick.
Ava swallowed the lump in her throat and tried to ignore him as he stood off to the side, arms and ankles crossed, leaning against a wooden beam.
She gripped the pool stick, leaned forward, and shot. She listened with pride as she heard the sound of several balls slipping into various pockets. “Stripes,” she said, before bending over to take her next shot. “Corner pocket.”
She peeked over her shoulder at Aiden, whose eyes were burning a hole in her ass.
She smirked and lightly tapped the next ball in. And she continued to work the table until she had pocketed every striped ball.
Her gaze shifted to Aiden, and she held his eyes—she didn’t need to see if she made it—she could hear the black eight ball fall into the pocket with a satisfying thunk.
“I’ve got to say, I didn’t expect you to be a pool shark.” Aiden shook his head and hung up his unused cue stick. “Where’d you learn to play like that?”
She handed him her stick and grinned. “College. I’m kind of good with math—angles and all that. Pool just feels like geometry to me.”
The sudden heated look in his eyes caused a strange twinge in her stomach. “A girl that can play pool, well, that’s . . .” He cleared his throat as he returned her stick to the rack.
“So, will you stick to the deal?”
He shoved his hands in his pockets and leaned back against the column once more. His sex appeal was downright dangerous, she decided, as her eyes took in the length of him. The contrast of his dark hair and blue eyes was a delicious sight to behold on a man. It was a feature her twin was known for and, of course, Ava had it, as well. But mixing in the broad shoulders, narrow hips, and swoon-worthy Irish accent . . . she felt at once in strange territory, and yet at home. He was like the best chocolate cake on earth—she wanted to eat the whole thing.
Aiden squinted his eyes at her a bit, pushed away from the column, and stalked forward, closing the gap between them. “Let me walk you out.”
“But—”
He placed a finger over her lips, silencing her. His touch caused some strange shock to parachute throughout her system. “I’ll walk you out, and I’ll meet you wherever you’re staying when I close up the bar tonight.”
When he removed his finger from her lips, her instinctive reaction was to wet them. “Oh. Okay.”
His hand rested on the small of her back as he guided her toward the exit of the bar. The cool air slapped her in the face as he pushed the door open. Where had that sudden chill come from? As she turned to say goodbye, she noticed he was laser focused on something behind her. “What is it?”
He gripped her arm without speaking and tugged her back inside the bar, where he shoved his free hand through already-messy hair. “Why are you being tailed by a Fed?” he asked with a rough voice.
Her brows snapped together, and she looked down at his firm grasp on her arm and back up into his eyes. “I didn’t think I was.”
“A damn Fed is parked outside my bar, and I get the distinct feeling it has something to do with you.”
“How do you know—” Before she could finish, Aiden jerked her forward, pulling her toward the back of the bar. He pushed open a black door that read “Employees Only” and turned to face her only once the door shut behind them.
They stood in a narrow hallway—he was too close. His edginess rippled from his body in tidal waves of crazy Irish energy. “I didn’t know I was being followed, but I can explain why—it’s about Henr
y.”
He finally released his grip and folded his arms. “I don’t want to be involved in this if you are in some kind of trouble with the Feds.”
“So you’re going to help me? You changed your mind?” Hope bounced around inside her before it came crashing down in the realization of his recent words. “Or . . . you were going to help me—until you saw the Fed?”
“Stay here,” he ordered before heading back into the bar.
What the hell? She reached into her purse and pulled out her phone while she waited for Mister Split Personality to come back. No missed calls.
Before she even realized he had returned, her phone was lifted from her hands.
“Strip.”
“What?”
He pulled her farther down the hall and into an office. “Take off your clothes.”
“You’ve lost your mind.”
“I need to know you’re not wired.”
“What is with the paranoia? I’m the one being followed—not you!” She crossed her arms and stood firm. “Or is there something you aren’t telling me?”
“Just take off your damn clothes. Don’t worry, you can keep your knickers on.”
“My what?” She arched her shoulders as her hand flew to her chest.
“Your undergarments. Bra and panties . . .” He moved toward her and held out his hand. “Purse, please.”
She furrowed her brow but handed it over to him. He tossed her bag on his desk and turned back toward her, her cell phone still in his hand.
“I’m not wired. I promise. And I would know if someone was tapping me. I have showered since I was interrogated.”
His face fell. “Since what?”
Oops. “It’s a long story. I planned on telling you later.”
“Just take off your bloody clothes.” He leaned against the edge of his desk. “I’m powering off your phone.”
“What is your deal?” She still hadn’t removed an article of clothing. Over her dead body!
“Listen, I’m not helping you if you don’t do what I say.”
Relief and surprise settled in the pit of her stomach. But after his peculiar behavior, could she even trust him? “So you’re going to help me?”
The Hidden Truths Series Box Set Page 28