Return to Me (12 page)

“You nervous?”

Samara nodded. Trying to pretend otherwise would only be a lie. She knew there was nothing to worry about. Noah and his people were the best. That didn’t negate the fact that she was bait for some very bad men. A shiver ran up her spine she couldn’t hide.

His hand touched her shoulder briefly, but pulled away before she could find any real comfort. “You’ll be fine,” Noah reassured her. “There will be at least four LCR operatives surrounding you, inside and outside the bar. You’ll be safe as you would be in your own home. Okay?”

“I know. It’s just knowing that the creep is there for me.” Shuddering at the thought, she said, “Turns my stomach.”

“You’ll barely get a chance to say hi before we get him.”

“But what if it’s not him? I mean, I know it’s not the real Brian Sanders, but what if it’s just a kid trying to impress me?”

“Tell him it’s nice to meet him, and I’ll get you out. Then we come back home and start again.”

“You don’t think that’s going to happen, do you?”

“No, I don’t. This is the creep we’re looking for.” His gaze swept down her body. “You ready to go?”

She looked down at her clothing. Her favorite jeans paired with a multicolored cropped T-shirt that showed a fair amount of gleaming skin. On a whim, she’d glued a fake jewel in her belly button. “Do I look okay … like a sixteen-year-old?”

He grinned. “Actually, with your hair pulled back with that clip thing, you look about fourteen.”

“It’s called a barrette.”

“Whatever it’s called, it makes you look sweet and innocent.” His eyes focused briefly on her mouth and darkened with something hot and raw.

Her body responded to that look with the same need it had the night before. Samara shut down that feeling as soon as she recognized it. He’d given every indication that she might never see him after tonight. No way in hell would she entertain the slightest thought of wanting something she could never have again.

She frowned at his attire. “Why are you in disguise?”

Turning away, he grabbed his car keys from the desk. “I always wear a disguise when I’m on an op.” He looked back at her and tilted his head. “What do you think?”

“You look old enough to be my father … my very sleazy, greasy father.”

Long, oily gray hair was halfway hidden under a dirty baseball cap. A salt-and-pepper mustache covered most of his upper lip. Something had been done to his face to make it seem harder, more menacing. Colored contacts changed his eye color from almost black to an eerie mud green. He wore an old pair of jeans, scuffed snakeskin cowboy boots, and a sweat-stained shirt two sizes too small for him. How in the hell did she still find him attractive?

Samara pulled her eyes away from him. “Let me grab my purse.”

Noah jerked as if startled out of a daze. “Right.” He handed her a set of keys. “There’s a light blue Jeep Renegade in the parking lot. I’ll follow you. One of our guys is already inside the bar. Another two are waiting in the parking lot. You get to a table and sit down. I’ll stay as close to you as possible. When Brian or whatever the hell his name is sits down, talk to him. The second you’re sure it’s our guy, pull on your left ear.” He grabbed his left earlobe and tugged. “Like this. We’ll grab him and you jump the hell away. Okay?”

She nodded. It sounded simple enough. Noah was right. What could go wrong?

  The bar was even nastier on the inside than it looked on the outside. Body odor blended with alcohol, cheap aftershave, and something else her nose refused to even consider. One lone window, several feet from the door, competed with the bar’s yellowed tiled floor for filth supremacy. Squinting with one eye, she tried to see the streetlamp outside. The window won.

If she hadn’t been sure before, she was sure now. The Brian she’d been chatting with couldn’t be just a kid trying to impress her. No way would any guy, no matter how cocky or clueless, entice a young girl here for that purpose. This place was all about getting drunk and getting laid. Totally different from the guy Brian had portrayed himself as.

Robert, the doorman Brian told her to look for, had leered at her as though he’d be glad to take a turn at her. When this was over, her first order of business would be to take a long, hot shower. And then, perhaps something for a queasy stomach.

Noah sat two tables over, nursing a beer and trying to avoid offending the worn-out-looking waitress who kept flirting with him. He’d winked at Samara a couple of times, trying and succeeding in looking even sleazier. They were probably supposed to be as leering as Robert’s looks had been, but all she could think was how much she’d like to go over to his table and have him hold her. Samara gave a little shake of her head. God, she was stupid. What did the man have to do to totally turn her off and make her hate him? Kill her?

A few drunk and overamorous couples swayed against each other on the minuscule dance floor. The mournful sounds of a depressed country singer added to the overall gloomy ambience. Samara looked warily around for the man who had been posing as Brian. It was fifteen minutes after their appointed meeting time. Had he changed his mind? Suspected a setup?

She’d ordered a diet drink and had barely taken a sip from the spotted, nasty-looking glass. Her mouth sandstorm dry, Samara lifted her glass for another small amount of moisture. A drunk weaved by just as she brought it to her lips. Stumbling against her chair, he upended the entire glass, saturating her shirt and jeans.

With a gasp, Samara jumped up. The drunk mumbled something and staggered away. She grabbed the one cocktail napkin on the table and sopped up as much of the soda as she could. Noah had told her not to look directly at him, but she was at a loss as to what she should do.

The heavyset waitress who’d served her drink appeared in front of her. Offering Samara an odd, grim smile, she jerked her head toward a door. “There’s a bathroom in the back. Go on back there and clean yourself up.”

Samara glanced over at Noah. His table was empty. A little disconcerted, her eyes swept the room. Tension mounted when she couldn’t find him. He said he wouldn’t leave her. Her legs sagged, noodle limp with relief, when she spotted him stalking toward her. A mixture of fury and disgust on his face. What had happened?

Her head jerked around when a hand grabbed her upper arm. The cold eyes of the waitress stared down at her. “Come on, hon. I’ll show you the way.” She pushed her toward a dark doorway.

Stumbling, Samara jerked away from her. “That’s okay … I … hold it, just a minute. I don’t …” A hand came up, headed for her face. Samara jerked back and screamed, “Noah!”

She heard him shout, “Mara, don’t—” and then the unmistakable sound of a gunshot.

Before she could react, the hand covered her mouth with a noxious cloth. She gasped … then gagged. A burst of light streaked through her vision and then nothing.

  Pain seared, throbbed, and drilled. Heavy eyelids blinked rapidly to force away the nightmare visions. Noah willed himself awake. Muffled sounds of a woman and man whispering fiercely in both English and French caused him to turn his head toward the voices. He made out blurred images of two people standing a few feet away from him. Swallowing hard, he croaked, “What happened?”

A soft sigh from one … a vile curse from the other. The images grew clearer. Eden and Jordan stood over the bed. Eden’s expression was a mixture of concern, worry, and anger. Jordan’s was all fury.

“Well, the son of a bitch is finally awake.” Jordan’s furious voice set up a fresh throb of pain in his skull.

“Stop it, Jordan,” Eden snapped. “Your anger isn’t going to get Samara back.”

Samara
.

Noah jackknifed from the bed. Pain ripped and roared through his head and side, nausea washed over him. Gritting his teeth against both, he rasped, “Where is she? What happened?”

“I’d say, by now, she’s been raped a few dozen times, you bastard.”

Eden whirled around at her husband. “You’re not doing anyone any good. The most important thing is to find her.”

The room swayed and lurched as he placed his feet on the floor and fought for control. They had Samara. Agony, more vicious and hideous than any physical pain, swept through him.

Sweet Jesus, they had Samara
.

To get his bearings … to focus, his bleary eyes took in his surroundings. Samara’s apartment … her guest room. While Jordan and Eden continued to argue, Noah gritted his teeth and pulled himself to his feet.

“Noah, you can’t be up. You’ve got a concussion. A bullet grazed your rib cage, cracked a rib. You’re in no shape to do anything.”

He glared at Eden, her concern for him unappreciated under the greater need to find Samara. What the hell had gone wrong? Gripping the bedpost to stay upright, he ground out between clenched teeth, “Tell me what happened.”

Apparently realizing she wasn’t going to convince him to lie back down, Eden gave him a brief account. “We don’t know if they realized it was a setup or not. The men you placed in the parking lot, Peter and Eli, were shot. They’re both in serious but stable condition. Joseph was knocked unconscious, but he’s okay. No one saw them after they got her out of the bar. We found their abandoned car a few blocks away.”

“So, we don’t even know what kind of vehicle they’re in?”

“No.”

A fresh wave of pain almost overwhelmed him. What had spooked them? And what did any of this matter while Samara was most likely being brutally tortured?

“How long ago?”

Jordan and Eden exchanged anxious looks. “Over twenty-four hours now.”

Noah closed his eyes.
Shit
. Jerking his head up, ignoring the piercing throb of his head, he snapped, “We get any of their people?”

Jordan nodded. “Two. One’s in bad shape. The other one won’t give us shit.”

“Where are they?”

“Stashed in an abandoned warehouse a few miles down the road.”

Jaws clenched to keep his spiraling emotions locked inside where they belonged, he headed for the bathroom. “Give me five minutes, then take me to them.”

Jordan blew out a sigh. “Hell, Noah. We’ve done just about everything but kill them. They’re not talking. Besides, you don’t look as though you could intimidate a rabbit. You look like shit.”

Walking with exquisite care to avoid jarring any part of his body, Noah made it to the bathroom and closed the door on Jordan’s words. He might look like shit, but he felt worse than shit and nothing and no one could make him feel better. Samara was in the hands of some of the most vicious and evil men he’d ever known. He had to get to her, had to save her.

Knowing what she was going through was made even worse by the knowledge of who had her. A fresh wave of pain had him almost bent double. Precious, innocent, sweet Samara. He had promised she would be safe. Told her she had nothing to worry about, that he would protect her with his life.

God, what had he done?

  Her head pounded with vicious intent. Samara thought she might be able to handle the pain if she weren’t so incredibly terrified. Only seconds ago, she woke to darkness and the feeling of movement beneath her. Based upon the noxious fumes almost choking her, she assumed she was in the trunk of a car.

Though unable to see, perhaps she could find the taillight and knock it out. She’d read somewhere that if you were ever trapped in the trunk of a car, you should kick the taillight out and stick your arm or hand through it to attract other motorists. She wiggled slightly and blew out a sobbing sigh. The article failed to mention what to do if your hands and feet were tied together. Bowed up like this, there was no way in hell she could kick anything. Agonizing cramps in her shoulders and numbness in her legs told her that when she did get out of the trunk, she’d be unable to run. The lack of circulation in her legs and feet would render her legs powerless.

Memories of what had happened were sketchy and dim, but she remembered two things vividly. Noah had shouted her name and then she’d heard the blast of a gun. Had he been shot? Killed? Dear God, was Noah dead? Grief swamped her, consuming her fear and physical pain. Anguish overwhelmed her for the man he’d been, and what they could have had together, if they’d been different people. Whatever he’d done to her, however he’d hurt her, Noah had done some remarkable things in his life and she knew she’d have a gaping hole inside her forever if he was indeed dead.

The movement beneath her slowed and stopped abruptly. Fear crashed upon her again. Swallowing past the panic, Samara prepared herself to fight and survive any way she had to. Would she be killed? Raped before she was killed? Sold into sexual slavery like other young girls that’d been kidnapped? No matter what they had planned, she set her mind to overcoming and enduring whatever she had to and staying alive.

Bright sunshine flooded the small space when the trunk lid flipped up. Her eyes closed automatically against the painful intrusion.

“Get her out.”

The voice, harsh and devoid of emotion, startled her and she blinked up at the giant leering down at her.

“Shit. She’s awake.”

This voice came from another man standing beside him. Her eyes still adjusting to the brightness, Samara couldn’t make out either of their faces. Hard hands grabbed her shoulders and a groan escaped before she could hold it back.

“Cut the rope. I love to see ’em try to run.”

A loosening of her wrists and legs was her only warning. Rough hands grabbed her shoulders, lifted her from the trunk, and dropped her on the ground. Slamming down onto the hard surface of the dirt road jarred her but barely penetrated her consciousness. Only aware of stinging needles tearing and ripping through her limbs, Samara gasped against agony, a jagged edge from passing out.

A heavy, muddy boot kicked at her shoulder almost playfully. “Come on, get up and try to make a getaway.”

Samara gritted her teeth, refusing to move. First of all, she couldn’t. There was no way her legs would hold her. Second, doing anything this vile creature wanted her to do went against every instinct she had. Would she run to get away from him? Hell yes. But only when he least expected it. Her best bet right now was to play weak and dumb, and see what she’d gotten herself into.