Captive Lies

by Victoria Paige

  When her body remained stiff, he added. “I need this.”

  Her answer was a resigned sigh and her body relaxed. Hope flared in his chest. He wasn’t giving her a chance to change her mind, so he quickly toed off his shoes.

  Grant missed holding her this way so fucking much. He wasn’t going to screw up again. He just had to be patient.

  32

  Blaire

  I woke up that morning against a hard wall of muscle and smelling the scent of spicy wood and man. Grant’s chest was bare and judging from the rough hairs I was feeling against my legs, he had taken off his pants too. I should feel outraged—I was surprised I didn’t. I felt comfortable and safe. Cherished.

  Gah! I disentangled our limbs and shot off the bed. Even his sleepy groan of protest was sexy. I dashed into the en suite bathroom, locked the door and did my morning routine. As I was brushing my teeth, I realized this was the first morning I had not awakened with sadness.

  The guilt came, but Dr. Jones’ voice chased it away.

  “Liam and your father wouldn’t want you to mourn their deaths forever, Blaire. Don’t waste their sacrifices by refusing to let go of your grief. Honor them by going after what makes you happy.”

  Painting made me happy, but I was happiest when I was with Grant. He also had the power to hurt me the most, and I didn’t know if I could survive another breakup with him.

  There was a knock on my bathroom door.

  “Baby, are you all right in there?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, open up so I can use the bathroom.”

  “Can’t you use the one in your own room?”

  No answer.

  The room was unusually quiet so maybe he’d left. I felt relief, disappointment and guilt—a very familiar emotion lately. This time it was because I was acting like a bitch when Grant had been nothing but supportive. I tried to argue with myself that he was holding me against my will, but, after that first week when my grief and guilt were at their most overwhelming, I’d never made another effort to leave. Probably because I had to face the U.S. Attorney. Besides, Grant would have found me anyway with the blasted tracker.

  When I opened the bathroom door, I was shocked to see Grant lying on the bed against the headboard with one knee cocked lazily. All he had on were his boxer briefs and I couldn’t help the heat that bloomed between my thighs.

  “It’s very presumptuous of you to sleep naked with me,” I said, escaping to the closet. I wasn’t wearing a bra and my nipples were a treacherous pair, hardening with just a heated gaze from him.

  “You know that’s the only way I do sleep,” his voice was suddenly in my ear and I jumped.

  He had me cornered in the closet and my breathing turned erratic.

  “How do you manage to do that?”

  “Do what?”

  “Move so quietly when you’re no lightweight.”

  “Ouch! Are you saying I’m fat?” Grant teased, moving closer as I shrank further into the tiny space.

  “What are you doing?” I whispered.

  “I don’t know anymore,” he muttered as his head lowered and pressed his lips to mine. I couldn’t help it and parted my own, and we both groaned when our tongues met. One hand gripped my ass while the other gripped my side and I was lifted and crushed against him. His mouth devoured mine in a dominant kiss.

  Grant broke off and whispered, “Wrap your legs around me.”

  Cold water extinguished my libido. I wasn’t ready.

  He noticed the conflict on my face and grimaced. He lowered me to the floor, but spread his arms, resting one hand at the door of the closet and the other against a wall, caging me in.

  “Let me pass,” I said.

  “No,” he gritted. “Not until you tell me why you’re still so skittish about us. Why won’t you give me another chance?”

  “I don’t trust you not to freeze me out again,” I said. “When things get tough, that’s when it’s important to communicate, Grant.”

  His hand cupped my cheek and I welcomed the gesture.

  “I loathe that it took almost losing you to learn my lesson,” he said huskily. “I shut you out so the Galleria deal could receive my undivided attention. Jake asked me if it was worth losing you over and it wasn’t. Not even close. It was my complacency thinking that I could keep you in one compartment of my life while I operated freely in others, but that was selfish.”

  “I’m not a toy that you can bring out whenever you want to play.”

  “That wasn’t my intention!” he grated, taking his hand from my cheek and slapping it against the door. “There was danger around you and I needed you safe!”

  “You didn’t text or call me for three days because you were pissed at me for sparring with Tyler.”

  “I couldn’t bring myself to call or text you because there were so many things I wanted to say to you. I wanted to settle our problems face-to-face. Words over text or phone can be misinterpreted and knowing how I say shit sometimes, I didn’t want to make matters worse between us. I wanted that Galleria deal over so I can concentrate on us. And then at the ER …”

  “Let’s not talk about that anymore,” I interrupted.

  “Blaire—”

  “I didn’t hold anything you said at that time against you, Grant. It hurt me, but I understood,” I said. “Amelia came first. The senator and your sister needed you.”

  Something flashed in his eyes and his hands gripped my shoulders. “I handled that wrong,” Grant rasped. “Things were shaky between us, and, again, I thought I could keep you locked away to figure things out later while I dealt with my family. Thinking I could deal with you when I felt I was ready without considering your feelings—that arrogance nearly cost me you.”

  “Am I still in a compartment?” I asked quietly.

  “No. You’re everything to me. You’re my world, Blaire,” he declared. “And fuck, I’m not telling you how I feel in a closet,” Grant added ruefully.

  I gave a nervous laugh even if a web of warmth drew the shattered pieces of my heart together.

  His head lowered to brush his lips against mine. “I better leave you alone before I fuck you against the wall of this closet. Not how I envisioned making love to you again after a long time, but there’s only so much self-control a man can have.”

  He backed away, not breaking our gaze. “Jeffrey Hawkins will be waiting for you at The Prestige Gallery at nine. I received word that the crates arrived last night and he’ll be unpacking them this morning.”

  “Are you sure he won’t mind me being there?”

  “Let’s put it this way, Blaire. You’re my representative. Those paintings are mine for the time being unless someone files a legitimate claim,” Grant said. “I made it clear to Hawkins that if he says or does anything to make you unhappy, I’m pulling the artwork from his gallery.”

  A distressed look must have crossed my face because Grant’s expression softened. “Blaire, I know you don’t see this side of me, but I need you to understand that I would do anything to make you happy.”

  “Yes, but it’s making me look like a high-maintenance bitch that has to have all her whims catered to,” I protested. I didn’t want someone being nice to me because he was scared of Grant.

  A corner of his mouth kicked up. “High-maintenance, yes.” At my glare, he added. “Bitch, never. Look, consider this part of my courtship.”

  “This is becoming one expensive courtship,” I muttered.

  Grant was already at the door, his hand resting on the knob. “What was that they said? Go big or go home?”

  I rolled my eyes as he chuckled and left the room.

  Will they or won’t they?

  Billionaire Grant Thorne seen cozying up to Blaire Callahan at a popular SoHo Brasserie. The pair appears to be smitten with each other and the reports of physical abuse from a few weeks ago seem to be unfounded. Also, it seems Ms. Callahan has completely forgiven Thorne for his brief affair with his ex Kylie Peterson, rumored to be th
e reason for their breakup. Is another confirmed bachelor off the market? There are also emerging rumors about Ms. Callahan’s background that she’s the secret lovechild of the mob boss of the most powerful Bratva in Russia. Senator Thorne’s office has no comment as of this time, but our sources say the relationship is causing heartburn for the people running Thorne’s reelection bid as well as any future plans for the White House.

  “Where do they dig up this garbage?” I muttered into my phone. “Now, I’m a mafia princess?”

  “You’re definitely causing us heartburn,” Andy chuckled. He and I texted everyday and called each other when there was random news or development in the senator’s affairs correlated to my former association with the ROC. “I thought I’d need to give Gus CPR this morning.”

  “How’s the senator taking it?”

  “He was troubled. I think he’s going to talk to Grant this morning to address those rumors. Grant is not accepting any of Gus’ calls from what I’ve heard.”

  “It’s not up to Grant. It’s up to the DOJ.”

  “Do they think the remnants of the ROC will come after you?”

  “I’m not a witness for the prosecution in any of the cases. The list of potential witnesses is on a flash drive and the FBI is working on it.” I was a safe keeper of the evidence. It was up to forensics, the judge, and the U.S. Attorney to admit or reject any evidence. “Besides, I have enough bodyguards as it is.”

  Tyler’s eyes met mine in the rear-view mirror and crinkled. I was informed this morning that Grant would be expanding my security detail from three to six. Really? Jake was interviewing the new crew today.

  Of course, Grant had been rushing out the door this morning and left poor Tyler to explain to me that there might be a Russian oligarch working with Orlov who had a beef against Grant or Thorne Industries. This information nagged at me, but I couldn’t put my finger on why.

  “Ha, you sure do. The office got the memo from Grant last night. His dad is grumbling that his son had more enemies than he does,” Andy sighed. “Val is gonna hate this.”

  “So how are things going between you and Val?” As much as I disliked Grant’s sister, Andy didn’t share the same sentiment, so here I was being a good friend.

  “Our second date went well,” he said. “I think she finally believes I’m not interested in her just to keep her out of trouble.”

  “I don’t think the Senator would do that.”

  “No, but you’re forgetting who I report to.”

  “And are you, Andy?” I asked. “Did Gus put you up to this?”

  “Of course not,” he said, offended. “You’re forgetting I was your only ally in that office when Gus and your boyfriend ganged up on you.”

  Old resentments sparked inside me. How could I forget that meeting that started my distrust in Grant? “I’m sorry, Andy. You’re right. However, Grant isn’t my boyfriend.”

  Andy chuckled. “He’s going to be more than that if he has his way.”

  “All right, Spencer, back to work.”

  “Trying to get rid of me?”

  “I’m at the gallery.”

  “Oh, right. The Prestige, right? You mentioned you’ll be curating the artwork.”

  “Yup.”

  “Has it arrived?”

  “Last night.”

  “Are you excited?”

  “Jeez, I’m hanging up now.”

  Andy barked a laugh as I ended the call. I tried to hide my smile, but Tyler caught my expression in the mirror. “What?”

  “Mr. Thorne doesn’t like you talking to him,” Tyler said as he pulled into the back alley leading to the rear of the gallery.

  “He doesn’t like me talking to any man. I’m surprised he’s letting me work with Jeffrey Hawkins.”

  “He thinks Spencer is spying for Gus.”

  “What are you saying? They’re playing bad cop, good cop?”

  Tyler’s non-answer was answer enough.

  Andy was easy to talk to. He was like the younger brother I’d never had. A pang of sadness clutched my heart as I remembered Liam. He was like a protective uncle, surrogate father, and older brother rolled into one. I missed him so much.

  33

  Blaire

  Jeffrey Hawkins was a man of about sixty. He had a head of gray hair that was balding at the crown. A man with a lanky build, he was slightly taller than me. He wore round spectacles that sat on the bridge of a fleshy nose. I took careful note of his appearance because there seemed to be a few men Grant would let near me, and I wondered if his choice of gallery had anything to do with his possessiveness.

  Jeff was as scholarly as he looked. He also introduced me to his gallery manager, Sofia Ricci. I couldn’t place her age, probably fifty, but she looked like the glamorous movie stars of the gilded age. Full breasts and full hips were sheathed in a tight jersey dress. I guess Jeff wanted to be left alone with the artwork, while Sofia dealt with customers.

  “Do you want some coffee, dear?” Sofia asked. Full lips too. I couldn’t help staring.

  “Uh …”

  “No, Sofia,” Jeff said. “You know what I think about drinks and food around all those paintings.”

  His manager shrugged her elegant shoulders and pivoted on her three-inch heels. She brushed a finger on Tyler’s suit. “How about you, handsome?”

  “I’ll be with her,” Tyler nodded to me. “So, no.”

  Just then, the gallery door jingled and a man in a disheveled suit walked in. His skin was the color of caramel, but for some reason he looked pale. Tyler tensed beside me. I saw Bobby, my other bodyguard, follow in behind the newcomer.

  Sofia clacked on the tiled floor as she moved to intercept Suit Guy even when his eyes were zeroed in on me.

  “May I help you, sir?”

  “I have a few questions for Ms. Callahan,” Suit Guy said and flashed an agency badge I didn’t catch. After passing Sofia, Tyler blocked him.

  He flashed his badge again. “Special Agent Wilkes. I’m from the Miami field office. I remember you.” He eyed Tyler. “You were with Mr. Thorne that day.”

  “Tyler?” I asked tentatively.

  “You need to call Mr. Thorne’s PA and set up an appointment,” Tyler gritted out. “You can’t ambush Ms. Callahan like this.”

  “Your boss’s office has been giving me the run-around,” Wilkes said. “I’m kinda sick of it.”

  “As far as I know, the case has been transferred to the Boston field office.”

  “Ah, that’s convenient, isn’t it?” Wilkes said. “But I’m not here for what happened with the ROC. But I do have questions about Liam Watts.”

  I couldn’t stand behind Tyler anymore, so I walked around him. “Liam is dead, Agent Wilkes. What could you possibly want to know about him?”

  The fed smiled, but there was malice in his grin. “A couple of weeks ago, we found the body of a missing FBI agent. He was six months from retirement.” The haunted flash in Wilkes’ eyes indicated that he knew the guy well. “We have evidence that links Watts to his murder.” His eyes sharpened and pinned me with a calculating stare. “Do you know why he killed him, Ms. Callahan?”

  The dead guy must be the fed Liam was after who had the keys to the self-storage unit.

  Oh, Liam, what did you do?

  “I don’t think Liam killed him,” I replied, doing my best to hold Wilkes’ gaze. “But he can’t defend himself, can he? He’s dead.” I repeated, my voice hoarse. “What do you hope to accomplish by pursuing this?”

  “The agent’s body showed signs that he was tortured for information.”

  “Sounds like a ROC M.O.” I said.

  “Ms. Callahan …”

  “You’re done,” Tyler ordered. “Ms. Callahan has been through enough. I suggest you contact Mr. Thorne’s office if you want an audience, but the better option is to drop this if your suspect is Watts. The man is dead. You saw his body.”

  “No, I didn’t,” the fed replied.

  “What?” Blaire whispe
red.

  “I never saw a body because it never arrived at the medical examiner’s office. Some bullshit agency whisked the bodies of Watts and his men away.”

  “And Orlov?”

  Wilkes smiled grimly. “Orlov and his crew are dead-dead. Don’t worry about that.” He searched my face, reading something in it and sighed. “I guess you know nothing.”

  I wouldn’t say I knew nothing, but I didn’t know about Liam’s body never getting to the ME’s office. They took three weeks to process it. “Maybe it was the Boston Feds.”

  “It’s not,” Wilkes said. “I guess I need to pay a visit to his daughter.”

  He started to turn away, but I called his attention. “Agent Wilkes. Liam had not seen his daughter in six years. The next time she saw him, she had to bury him. Let this go.”

  Wilkes studied me for long seconds before he inclined his head, walked past Bobby, and left.

  I didn’t realize my heart was pounding until I leveled my gaze at Tyler. “Could Liam be …?”

  “He had no pulse, Blaire,” my bodyguard reminded me. His voice was too gentle, almost as if he pitied me. “You attended his funeral.”

  I kept my tears at bay and took several breaths to calm my racing heart. I needed to move on. When my composure returned, I looked at Jeff and pasted a smile on my face. “Shall we look at the paintings?”

  The contents of the first crate lay before us. Six paintings, each secured in a tee-frame and wrapped in polyethylene. Jeff and I were crouched in front of one as he carefully sliced through the tape that secured the plastic.

  “Shipping masterpieces internationally has become harder,” Jeff said as he reverently peeled the layers of covering from the three-foot by two-foot painting. “It’s fortunate Mr. Thorne has the money and connections to make things happen. Otherwise it would have taken months instead of weeks to get these pieces here.”

  “That long?” I murmured as I turned the artwork on its length.

  “Museums plan for a year. Galleries for a couple of months. Most of them have to pass through an airline subcontractor who may have to repack them if the crate tests for explosives.” Jeff shuddered at the thought and so did I. “A painting that costs millions could end up ruined with a slice from a box cutter.”