Return to Me (22 page)

With a slow nod, Mitchell dropped his gun. His glance encompassed his men. “No interfering. I’m going to show this bastard once and for all why I was my daddy’s favorite.” He jerked his head toward Samara. “She does anything other than blink … shoot her.”

The men backed away, giving them fighting room.

The brothers circled each other. Mitch’s face revealed the utter hatred he held for his brother. One he’d often displayed when they were kids. Noah maintained an expression of amused boredom. An act to play on Mitchell’s insecurities. And it was working. Mitchell’s complexion turned crimson, his eyes flashed furiously.

Noah’s amused taunt broke the tense silence. “We just going to circle each other till one of us drops from dizziness?”

“Fuck you!” Mitch lowered his head and threw himself at Noah. With a speed that always surprised people because of his size, Noah sidestepped him. Mitchell flew past him, then thudded to the ground, flat on his face.

Mitch’s brutality and temper were no match for Noah’s athleticism and skill. Noah had trained for years. Mitch hadn’t devoted his entire life to helping anyone but himself, and it showed. There was no way for him to compete with Noah’s strength and experience.

His brother evidently realized this the second time he found himself on his ass, with Noah standing over him without a scratch. With a feral roar, Mitchell jumped up and rushed Noah again, managing to get in a glancing blow to Noah’s face. Dodging the next one, Noah whirled and kicked. Mitch deflected a direct hit to his temple, catching it on his shoulder instead. The blow knocked him down, but he was back on his feet in seconds, coming at Noah full force.

This time, Noah took him head-on. With an upper-cut to his jaw and a punch to his gut, Mitchell doubled over, gagging and spitting blood.

Cool dispassion his only emotion, Noah looked down at his brother. This man had shared a womb with him, but other than their looks, shared nothing else. It was time to end it. Time for justice to be meted out.

Mitchell straightened and rushed toward him again. Noah didn’t see the knife until it made a downward slice into his side. Grunting at the sting, Noah nevertheless jerked Mitch around. One arm wrapped around his brother’s neck, another against the side of his head. One snap, it would all be over. … Mitch would finally be dead.

God, he couldn’t do it.

Furious with himself, he applied just the right amount of pressure for unconsciousness. When his brother went limp, he let him drop to the ground.

Hell exploded.

The man closest to Mitchell raised his gun to fire. Noah kicked the gun from his hand and shoved him toward another man who was about to shoot. Instead of hitting Noah, the bullet slammed into the man Noah had pushed, and both men fell to the ground. Whirling, Noah grabbed the gun he’d dropped and fired at the two men next to Samara. One went down. The other grabbed Samara. His hands shaking, eyes wild with panic, he held her in front of him, his gun to her head.

In his peripheral vision, Noah saw Jordan, Eden, and other LCR employees flood the campground. Two operatives took care of the men in the cab of the truck. When the others saw what was happening, they came to a standstill.

Focused on the man holding Samara, Noah opened his palm, dropped his gun to the ground. Holding his hands up, he kept his tone low and gentle. “You’re surrounded. You have two choices. Let her go or die.”

Noah’s eyes narrowed on the man’s trembling hand. The slightest pressure and the gun might go off. He locked eyes with Samara. Taking a chance she could read his mind, his gaze dropped to the ground. He looked back to see comprehension. Hands still in the air, he held up one, two, and then three fingers. On the third finger, Samara’s knees bent and she dropped as low as she could go. In that instant, Noah pulled his knife from the back pocket of his jeans and threw it, hitting the man in the throat. He released Samara and fell to the ground, clutching the mortal wound.

Eden ran to Samara and untied her. Other LCR operatives spread out, searching for more men.

Jordan sauntered over to Noah. “Hell, Noah, did you leave anything for us to do?”

Noah jerked his head toward the men on the ground. “Handcuff the bastards together, then get the medics over here.”

Without another glance at his brother, Noah walked away. Doing what he’d been doing for years, he focused on the needs of the victims as he called out orders. “Check the truck—there may be more men. Then let’s get the girls out and looked after.” He gestured in the direction of a cabin. “Three girls in the third one on the left. Take a couple of the medics and a counselor with you.”

“You’re hurt.”

Samara stood in front of him, tears pouring from her eyes.

“Just a scratch.”

“Scratches don’t pour blood, Noah.”

Her voice, so thick with tears and emotion, was more painful than the cut in his side. She had been through hell and he was responsible for every bit of it. His fingers touched the hideous bruise on her cheek. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.” She shuddered out a sigh. “I woke up and they were standing over me. I never even got a chance to scream. I heard them say they would come back and take care of the others after they brought me back to Mitchell.”

Noah wrapped his arms around her and held her close. “It’s over, Mara. I’m sorry for what you’ve gone through, but I wouldn’t have been able to do this without you.”

Samara tilted her head back to look up at him, her heart in her eyes. “It’ll never be over, Noah. You know that as well as I do.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You can’t just ignore—”

A shot sounded, then another one. Noah pushed her behind him as his eyes searched for a threat.

“Stay here.” He took off running.

Tired of being treated like a fragile creature, Samara ignored him and followed. Her legs weak and wobbly, it took several seconds longer for her to reach the others. She let out a small cry when she saw Jordan lying on the ground, Eden on her knees beside him.

“Let me see it, Jordan.” Eden’s voice was thick with tears.

“Sweetheart, I’m fine. Remember, I wore my vest. It just knocked the breath out of me.”

Noah walked over and extended a hand to Jordan to help him up. Eden continued to run her hands over Jordan frantically, apparently making sure he wasn’t hiding an injury from her.

“Eden, stop that or we’re going to have to go find a room.” The tender amusement in Jordan’s voice broke the tension.

Noah looked around. “Tell me what we’ve got.”

An LCR operative Samara knew as Dylan nodded toward the man lying on the ground. “He came from around the corner … took us by surprise. We’ve got medics and a counselor in with the girls in the cabin.” He jerked his head toward the truck. “Go over and take a look.”

Samara followed the others and stopped on a gasp. A dozen young girls sat on the floor, all chained to the wall of the truck and to one another. Some were nude; others were clad in panties and bras. Two LCR operatives were working on unlocking the chains. Some of the girls were crying. Many were in shock, just staring into space.

Noah stood at the end of the truck. “Ladies, we’re going to get you home to your families as soon as possible.” His voice was just loud enough to be heard by the girls and so compassionate and caring that tears pooled in her eyes. Was it any wonder she loved this man?

Unaware of the woman who stood only inches away, dying to be held in his arms, he turned to Dylan. “Get them out and see if you can find a halfway clean cabin to put them in. Take the medics and counselors with you. Get them treated and clothed before anybody else sees them. Also, see if you can find a girl named Lara Kelly. … She may be one of the girls in the cabin. When you do, call Gabe’s cellphone and tell him to let her speak to her brother Justin.”

As Dylan nodded and took off, Noah stood and talked to two other LCR people. Samara turned away, unwilling for him to see the overemotional, exhausted, and lovesick woman standing beside him. She desperately needed to get control of her emotions before she said anything else. The last thing he needed was a silly, weepy woman declaring her love in front of his employees. If she opened her mouth right now, that’s exactly what she’d end up doing.

Taking a deep breath, Samara headed to talk with Eden and Jordan. Perhaps Eden’s calm rationality would rub off on her.

Out of the corner of his eye, Noah watched Samara walk toward Eden and Jordan. She was barefooted and exhausted—her feet literally dragging as she moved. His jaw clenched. More than anything, he wanted to scoop her up and take her away from all of this. Once again she’d suffered because of him. Once again he’d failed her.

With the iron control he’d forced himself to adapt years ago, he locked his legs together to keep from going after her. No matter what his personal desires, commitment to his cause kept his feet rooted to the ground. He had a job to do.

“Well, I’ll be damned. If it ain’t Michael Stoddard. All grown up and still causing trouble.”

Noah turned toward the man who’d been instrumental in putting him behind bars all those years ago. With a barely raised eyebrow, he acknowledged Luther Prickrel, sheriff of Bolton County, Mississippi. He’d been a mean son of a gun years ago when Noah had been a teenager and Luther, the deputy. Based on the smirk on his lips and the clenched fists on his thick waist, he hadn’t gotten any nicer over the years.

Prickrel looked down at Mitch’s unconscious body. “Always knew one of you would end up killing the other. Just kind of figured it’d be the other way around.”

“You mean you always kind of hoped that’s the way it’d be.”

Luther grinned, revealing the giant gap between his two front teeth. One of the few times he could remember he and Mitch laughing together was at the way Luther whistled some of his words. Noah slammed the door on those thoughts.

“I’ve got no time for this, Prick. As far as I know, there’s only one dead. … You’ll recognize him as the man with the knife sticking out of his throat. Everyone else should live out a nice long life behind bars.”

Luther glared, clearly not appreciating the nickname he’d been called most of his life. “I’m the law round here. You don’t be tellin’ me who’s going to jail. That’s my job.”

“I believe the mayor’s already given you the details you need.”

“Mayor ain’t the law round here, neither.” His eyes roamed the myriad of people milling around the campground, including LCR operatives, medical personnel, and the bodies on the ground. “Just like you did years ago, you’ve caused a passel of trouble for this town. This time, I aim to make sure you don’t get out of it.” Luther’s hand went to his gun.

Three LCR operatives took a step toward him. They knew not to draw their guns unless necessary. Fortunately most of his people could knock the gun out of a hand before the pull of a trigger. Point was … he didn’t have time for this shit.

Noah whirled around to his closest operative. “Dylan, give me your phone.”

Luther’s beady eyes narrowed as Dylan reached into his pocket. Pulling out a cellphone, he gave Luther a small, mean smile as he passed it to Noah.

Noah pressed a few buttons and held the phone to his ear. The woman barely got a greeting out before Noah growled, “It’s me. He in?”

Within seconds, an affable southern voice drawled, “What’s up, Noah?”

“Got a sheriff here that needs to have a word with you.”

“Put him on.”

Noah offered the phone to Luther, who glared at it as if it would explode in his hand. “Better take it, Prick. Not a good career move to keep certain people waiting.”

Luther’s bear paw of a hand grasped the phone from Noah and held it to his ear.

Noah stalked away, having more important things to do than listen to Luther Prickrel grovel. Though hearing the stumbling words as he moved away did bring a small lift to his spirits.

“This here’s Sheriff Luther Prickrel. Who the hell is— Oh, uh, yes, sir … uh, no, sir … uh, whatever you say, Governor … uh, Mr. Governor, I mean, your honorableness. Yes, sir, uh, goodbye.” Luther blew out a loud shaky sigh and then shouted to his deputies, “Okay boys, let’s help where we can.”

Noah jerked his head at Dylan, barely restraining a grin when one of his best operatives rolled his eyes, knowing and not liking what his orders were. With only a soft growl, Dylan turned and headed back to Prickrel to advise him how he and his people could help.

  Mitch woke to a mouthful of dirt and the hangover from hell. Voices surrounded him and for several minutes he lay there, his addled brain unable to comprehend. Spitting out pieces of grass and blood, he lifted his throbbing head and gazed blearily around. People everywhere. He recognized none of them. What the fuck had happened?

Damn, his head hurt. He let his head drop back down to the dirt, unable to hold it up any longer. Footsteps drew closer to him. He lay still, waiting to see what happened.

“Well, I’ll be damned. If it ain’t Michael Stoddard. All grown up and still causing trouble.”

Luther Prickrel
. What was the sheriff doing here? And why was he talking to Michael?

As Mitch listened to the conversation going on between Luther and his brother, several facts became clear. He’d known Michael had betrayed him—seeing the tracking device move after he’d dumped the girl proved that. Never would he have thought he’d bring the cops in, though. Why the hell would he involve them? Didn’t the law want his brother about as much as they wanted Mitch?

When Michael moved away, Mitch kept his head down and whispered harshly, “Luther, what the hell’s going on?”

“Damn, boy,” Luther whispered. “You got yourself into a hell of a pickle.”

“You gotta help me get out of it.”

“Are you crazy? There’s at least fifty people here. Most of ’em with guns. Hell, the governor hisself just called me. Ain’t no way I’m gonna be able to help you.”

“Dammit, Prick, you owe me. My daddy pulled your ass out of the fire plenty of times. It’s about time you paid that back.”

“Boy, this ain’t no piddly fire. You done pissed off the devil himself. There ain’t nothing I can do.”

“You better find a way to help me, because when I do get free, you’re the first one I’m coming after. You hear me?”