Chasing Shadows (First Wives Book 3) Page 2

  Avery smiled and put out her hand. “A pleasure.”

  Keith smiled, wiped his fingers on a towel, and reached for her palm. “You class the joint up just by walkin’ in the door.”

  Avery grinned.

  “That wouldn’t take much,” Leslie teased.

  “Hey, watch it.” He smiled, unoffended. “Where is the rest of the gang?”

  “Just us tonight.” Leslie tilted her beer back.

  “Let me know if you need anything else.”

  “Gotcha.”

  Keith walked away, and Avery let the cool liquid roll down her throat. Yup, this was exactly what she needed.

  “So what’s your story?”

  “My story?” Avery asked.

  “Yeah. Why krav? Why now? Why do you forget everything the second your back hits the mat?”

  Avery took another swig of her beer. “Nothing like easing into a conversation.”

  “Ease isn’t my style.”

  “Okay . . .” She took a deep breath. “A dirtbag ambushed me last year. I barely knew what hit me before I was waking up in the hospital. Lived in the ICU for a week and got a nose job out of the whole thing. Once I recovered, I decided to take up krav instead of a polite form of martial arts.”

  Leslie listened without emotion. “What happened to the dirtbag?”

  “Dead.”

  Her eyebrows lifted.

  “It wasn’t a random act. And it’s a long story. So I put the alarm in after I was ripped off, so to speak. I figure the next time someone tries to put me in the hospital, I’m not going without a fight. Fool me once, shame on you and all that, right? Besides, the stronger I felt taking krav, the less frequent my nightmares kept me up.”

  Leslie leaned in on her elbows, peered closer.

  “What?”

  “What did your nose look like before?”

  The question made her smile and helped lift the heaviness that sat in her chest anytime she thought about that time in her life. “What about you? What’s your story?”

  It was Leslie’s turn to pause and take a drink from her beer. “My daddy liked little girls. I was the closest little girl he could get his hands on.”

  Avery swallowed, the levity of a moment before gone. “Jesus.”

  “Nope, Jesus wasn’t a part of it. Anyway. I did the high school dropout thing, ran away. Blah, blah . . . then I met this guy, total douche, but he didn’t believe in hurting women. He taught me a few things about fighting. Firearms. Got my GED.”

  “How long ago was that?”

  “Six years. Took up krav a few years back, right as I was getting out of the Army.”

  “You were in the service?”

  “Four years.”

  “Wow,” Avery said.

  “Wasn’t a career for me, but it was exactly what I needed at the time.”

  “What do you do for a living now?”

  “I design video games.”

  Avery stared in disbelief. “Get out.”

  “True story. What do you do?”

  Avery played with the condensation on her beer and was happy to be able to say she actually had a way of earning a living. “Estate sales.”

  “Yard sales for rich people?”

  She laughed. “It’s a little more complicated than that, but essentially.”

  “We probably never would have met in the real world.”

  “I’ve met a lot of good friends that way.”

  Leslie lifted her beer to Avery. “To new friends.”

  Liam kept himself ducked in a back corner of the bar, his eyes trained on the one woman in the place who didn’t belong. He’d been staring at her so hard for twenty minutes, it was surprising she didn’t feel the heat of his eyes.

  Blonde wasn’t normally his thing, but he could see making an exception for her. He couldn’t see the color of her eyes, but he did notice how much they took in everything around her. Guarded or observant? She leaned against the cocktail table, listening to the woman she was seated by, and while she looked at home tilting the beer back, he found himself watching small details others wouldn’t catch. Like how she picked up the bar napkin and wiped the edge of the table before leaning against it. Or how she kept her foot on the strap of her bag, which sat at her feet. She wore designer jeans, and the watch on her wrist glittered in a way that said it wasn’t cheap. High cheekbones and a body that wasn’t shy on curves.

  Liam wondered just how fast he could make her smile.

  He couldn’t remember the last time he’d picked up a woman in a bar, but maybe he needed to try his hand and see where it led.

  The blonde’s companion stood and motioned toward the bathroom and then waved toward the bar, which was now packed with customers vying for the bartender’s attention.

  As the friend left toward the toilets, the blonde walked three steps in the direction of the bar while keeping an eye on the bags left at their table.

  Liam watched as the bees started to swarm.

  He wasn’t the only one in the room attracted. He wondered if he should cut the others off before anyone stepped in before him. Before the thought managed to leave his brain, competition was already sliding in.

  The blonde turned toward a customer who opened a conversation. Even though Liam couldn’t hear it, he could read the woman’s thoughts by how she eyed the man up and down and shook her head before looking back toward the bartender.

  As Liam started to push his chair back, a second man pushed right up against her and said something close to her ear. Liam glanced at the lack of personal space between them and noticed her flex her hands. She took a small step back, and the admirer said something over her shoulder to the first guy she’d turned away. With her somewhat caged between the two men, Liam thought it was as good a time as any to step in and make the men stand down. He could see the stiffness of her jaw from two yards away.

  Then, without warning, the man on her right slid his hand onto her hip. In a blur, the woman wrapped his unwanted arm in hers, came up over his shoulder, and effectively buried his head in the bar.

  All conversation stopped.

  “If I wanted your hand on my ass, I would have asked for it.” She pulled up higher on his arm. The man moaned. “Got it?”

  “Got it, lady.”

  “You okay, Avery?” the bartender asked.

  She shoved the man away.

  Several men at the bar started to chuckle.

  “I’m fine. Just looking for another round.”

  Liam stood rooted in place. She could have easily broken the man’s arm, even though he was a full head taller and had at least fifty pounds on her.

  This was a woman he wanted to know.

  She glanced around the audience she’d attracted by defending her space. Her hazel eyes landed on him and paused.

  His fingers tingled.

  She stared.

  She blinked and turned back to her table. There, she grabbed her bag from underneath and pulled what looked like a fifty-dollar bill from her purse. She went back to the bar, dropped the money, and hiked her bag onto her shoulder. “Tell Leslie I had to go.”

  It took less than ten seconds for the man she’d humiliated, and what appeared to be his friend, to get up and follow her.

  Liam stepped in. “Can I help you?”

  They eyed him as men do. As expected, they stood back. “Just getting some air,” said Contestant Number One.

  He took a step as if walking around.

  Liam lifted a hand to the other man’s chest, stopping him. “Well then, you can just wait a few minutes, can’t you?”

  Mr. Humiliation eyed the door and drew in a deep breath.

  “Fuck.”

  “I think you two should go back to the bar and have another drink. That fresh air will be there later.”

  The men looked at each other and receded.

  By the time the room calmed, the blonde ninja was gone.

  Her friend returned from the bathroom a few minutes later and eyed their table. �
��Hey, Keith, where did Avery go?”

  Keith wiped his hands with a bar towel before tossing it over his shoulder. “Said she had to go, right after she just about broke this joker’s arm for hitting on her.”

  The smile on the other woman’s face had Keith chuckling.

  Liam felt laughter growing in his gut.

  “Never underestimate a woman.”

  “Yeah, it was classic.”

  “What do I owe ya?”

  “She took care of it.”

  The short-haired woman lifted a hand in acknowledgment and grabbed her bag. As she walked out, Liam noted the graphic on what looked like a gym bag. Power Up Krav Maga.

  He laughed.

  All the pieces fell into place.

  Chapter Two

  Adrenaline built like a charged circuit just waiting to fry something.

  She gripped the steering wheel of her Aston Martin and turned onto the interstate instead of taking the route that would bring her home.

  Driving fast was the recipe she needed to calm her nerves, and since it was close to ten, the highway cooperated. She put the car in sport mode and pressed down on the gas.

  Slowly, a smile crept onto her lips. The image of shock on the face of the jerk that had grabbed her ass would live with her for a long time. She flexed her hand as if repeating the move she’d learned in class and started to laugh.

  She hit the wheel. “Hell, yeah!”

  God, she felt good.

  Better than she had in quite a while.

  It wasn’t until she kissed the coast that she started to come down.

  She pulled over in an empty parking lot and stepped out of the car to lean against the hood.

  Wind blew toward the ocean. The air was warmer than normal, another by-product of the Santa Ana winds.

  She pulled her hair back and looked up at the starlit sky.

  A tiny twinge of pain hit the bridge of her nose. A barometer of sorts since it had been brutally broken. The weather was shifting. She didn’t need an overtanned meteorologist to tell her that.

  She closed her eyes and recalled the bar as it had gone silent. Although she’d had a rush that had filled her ears with a roar, the bar had gone quiet.

  Then he stood there.

  He was as tall as he was broad. Amusement swam in his piercing eyes.

  Her body responded to the stranger in the split second they held eye contact.

  He wasn’t her type.

  Too big.

  Too hard.

  Much too difficult to take down.

  So why was she thinking about the stranger now?

  The muscles deep inside her started to wave frantically. Oh, yeah . . . she was thinking about the well-cut stranger because it was the first time her body had heated in nearly a year.

  She let the image of him fade. “Guess it’s good to know I’m not dead inside,” she said to herself.

  Her phone buzzed in her purse.

  A reminder she’d set for herself.

  Go To BED! Appointment in the morning. 8 AM.

  With a heavy sigh, Avery pushed away from her car and opened the door.

  Adulting really did have its drawbacks.

  “We can’t have the First Wives meeting next month. I’ll be swamped with last-minute wedding preparations. The bachelorette party doesn’t count, cuz that’s all about me,” Trina whined on the phone. “And we missed last quarter for Lori and Reed’s wedding.”

  Avery tapped the pen she was holding against her open calendar. “It isn’t like we don’t all see each other, with everyone getting married every five minutes.” At least that’s what it felt like with two out of the four women in the club tying the knot within the same season. It was ironic, considering the basis of their club hinged on the fact they were all previously married and either divorced or, in Trina’s case, widowed.

  “Oh, wait a minute. What are you doing next Thursday?” Trina asked.

  Avery glanced at her schedule. “Nothing. I fly out Friday to Seattle to meet a client.”

  “Perfect. I know Lori is in town. We just need to catch Shannon.”

  “You’re coming to LA?”

  “Yeah, Wade and I need to sign the prenup.”

  Avery leaned back in her chair. “How does Wade feel about that?”

  “He insisted. And it’s just smart. Not that there is any question that I’m not marrying him for his money or vice versa. It’s just too much money to leave in question should something happen to one of us.”

  “Sounds like you’re drawing up a will instead of an agreement before you get married.”

  “We plan on doing that once we’re back. Life was easier when I didn’t need to check so many boxes on my tax form.”

  Avery rolled her eyes. “You’re marrying Mr. Country Western Superstar whose last single was number one for how many weeks?”

  Trina laughed. “A few.”

  “More like six, but who’s counting . . . and you’re so loaded, presidents call you to see which way you’re voting, and would you mind holding a fundraiser?”

  “That was a governor, not the president.”

  “Splitting hairs and you know it.”

  Trina’s laughter grew. “God, I miss talking with you all the time.”

  Yeah, Avery missed her friend, too. But since she became the other half of Wade Thomas, Trina was a little more preoccupied than when she was single. “It’s okay. The newness will wear off and I’ll be here.”

  “God, I hope not. The sex is so good.”

  “Now you’re just bragging.”

  “It’s nice to have something to brag about. Seems like the only one who knew they had a functioning vagina was you.”

  Avery looked at her dormant lap. “Glad we all have something to talk about, then,” she lied.

  “Oh, is Shannon finally dating?”

  “I don’t think pigs have learned to fly.” Avery leaned forward and circled Thursday. “I’ll call Shannon when I hang up with you.”

  “Perfect.” Trina sighed. “Can you believe I’m getting married in a month?”

  “I hope so, since I have a maid of honor dress hanging in my closet.”

  “I’m so excited.”

  And for the next thirty minutes, Trina relived every exciting moment so Avery could catch up.

  The silence between the occasional noise of a fork touching a plate, or glass clinking against a table, was the only thing Avery could focus on.

  Adeline sat across from her, perfectly alert, back straight, shoulders squared . . . fake smile in place. The proper English tea was her mom’s idea of a good time. They’d been meeting every other week for six months. Somehow, a friend joining them made enduring the two-and-a-half-, sometimes three-hour purgatory better. Today it was Margaret. Not Maggie, not Mags . . . Margaret. The stick up her ass was nearly as large as the one up Avery’s mom’s. Two women who lived in the same galaxy of one-upping the other would make most people squirm. Avery was simply happy the focus was off of her.

  At least it had worked in the past.

  “It’s been positively forever since I’ve seen you, Avery.”

  Avery leaned in for the air kiss to the side of her cheek before the waiter tucked Margaret’s chair under her.

  “My wedding, I think.”

  Margaret’s fake pout was almost as bad as her phony smile. “Oh, yes. Such a shame about that divorce.”

  “Oh, well. Have to get the first one out of the way sometime,” Avery said.

  Adeline shot her a nasty look.

  “I’m happy you’re so well adjusted with the situation. Bernie seemed like such a nice man.”

  Avery was fairly certain that Margaret’s only barometer for judging Bernie’s character would have come from the two-second handshake at the receiving line during the reception. But like most of Adeline’s friends, people with money were quickly referred to as dear friends. It only took a season or two for those new friends to become old friends.

  Margaret’s husband
was a partner in an investment firm, and good ol’ Maggie herself was a domestic engineer that employed a housekeeper, a cook, and a driver. In short, Mags spent her time memorizing the names of the “important” people in her husband’s social circle and had high tea at the Waldorf as often as she could. The reason Avery knew so much about Margaret was because the woman was a mirror image of her mother.

  Adeline had never held a job, although she did have a liberal arts degree. A piece of paper she waved over Avery repeatedly while she was in college, doing her best to flunk out. The problem was Adeline did nothing with her degree other than brag that she had one.

  “I wouldn’t give up hope on Bernie. He’s still in love with Avery,” Adeline told Margaret.

  “I wouldn’t bet money on that,” Avery said.

  “He would take you back in a breath.”

  The waiter took that moment to walk up to the table. “Ladies?”

  He was tall, young, and very cute.

  “Champagne,” Avery spat out before her mother could order them all tea.

  “Avery, please. It’s teatime.”

  The waiter kept his smile in the corner of his eye. He’d obviously seen women like her enduring tea with their mothers before.

  “Fine.” Avery smiled. “I’ll take some tea with that as well.”

  The waiter tried not to laugh.

  As expected, her mother ordered all the fancy proper tea bullshit without asking anyone’s opinion. By the time the wine came to the table, Adeline and Margaret were deep in the gossiping world of who said and did what.

  “And did you hear that Avery is the maid of honor for her dear old friend Trina Petrov and Wade Thomas’s wedding?”

  “I do think I heard about that. Isn’t he someone famous?”

  Avery didn’t even try to open her mouth and get a word in. Adeline felt she had a name to drop, so she did.

  “Only the wealthiest country music singer out there.”

  Avery wasn’t sure that was true, but again, she just sipped her champagne and let her mom gossip.

  “Maybe you’ll meet the right man at the wedding,” Margaret suggested.

  I’m not looking!

  “Never know,” Avery said instead. The conversation about Avery’s future husband had started at birth. Men want educated wives. You’ll never find a proper husband if you continue to be outspoken. Polite women find proper husbands. That had been Adeline’s constant diatribe at every family dinner, every school visit. Howard, Avery’s dad, chimed right in with the expected “Yes, dear” and “Listen to your mother.” It was no wonder that Avery fostered temporary friends with benefits over relationships her entire adult life. The last thing she wanted to do was become what her mother wanted her to be. Polite, respectable Avery Grant were words that would never pass anyone’s lips.