Return to Me (29 page)

Trouble was, nothing ever happened to little Ms. Samara Lyons. Sure she stayed busy. Twice a month, sometimes more, she met up with some freak she’d talked to online and more often than not, the human garbage was apprehended. Admirable for her, boring as all get-out to him. At least five plainclothes cops watched over her. She was as safe as a babe in her mother’s arms. No action at all for him.

Not that he wanted anything to happen to her, but hell, even a purse snatching would’ve mixed up the day a little. Babysitting, even a beautiful woman, was damned boring.

He was on probation, he knew that. After the fuck-up in Bermuda, he was surprised he hadn’t been strung up by his balls and fed to the sharks. Of course, since only two people knew what had really happened, and one of them was dead, babysitting the boss’s obsession was an easy punishment.

Not that Noah McCall would ever refer to this new job as babysitting or admit he’d put Ethan on probation. He’d just been told that after such a tough assignment, a little R & R in Birmingham, Alabama, would be good for him. And oh, by the way, there’s someone you have to protect 24/7, but only because she’s a friend of Eden and Jordan’s and she did a favor for LCR.

Bullshit
. Noah McCall was deep into denial about his feelings for the woman. Other people might not recognize it, but since he’d suffered from the same affliction for years, he had no trouble identifying that kind of sickness. And sickness it was. No way in hell would anyone willingly put themselves through that kind of torture if they could prevent it.

Of course, after what Ethan had done to the woman he was obsessed with, what right did he have to judge other people’s ways to deal with their obsessions?

He gulped down the last of his now cold coffee. Getting a man killed, a damn fine one, who’d once been his best friend? Kind of hard to determine a just punishment. The agony and accusation in Shea’s eyes, glaring at him with pure burning hatred, screaming how much she despised him.

Yeah, now that was a fitting punishment.

  Samara eyed her watchdog out of the corner of her eye. He seemed sadder tonight. Even more than usual. There were a thousand tears in his eyes and Samara felt sure he’d never been able to shed one. His ravaged, scarred face held a deep, dark sadness and though he was a stranger, she ached for him. Whatever this man had gone through continued to tear at his soul.

The first time she saw him, at the little diner where she’d arranged to meet yet another creep from the Internet, she’d been slightly startled by his appearance. He wasn’t the kind of man one could ignore. Well over six feet tall, he was built like a tank … maybe not as bulky, but definitely as hard as one. His hair was several different shades of blond and hung to his shoulders. She’d never been fond of guys with long hair, but with this man, she couldn’t imagine him any other way. The long, shaggy look suited him. A savage, painful-looking scar slashed down the left side of his cheek, marring what had probably been a very handsome face. The scar didn’t detract from his looks. Like everything else, it seemed to suit him. His eyes, though … those eyes were his most surprising feature. They were a startling shade of peridot and filled with a stark, unending anguish.

After seeing him that first time and registering his presence, she had turned away and continued to look for the man she was there to meet. The second time she saw him had been at the grocery store. That had given her pause. Birmingham wasn’t a huge city, but still, seeing him again seemed oddly coincidental. The third time she saw him had been at the paint store.

The realization that she was being followed stunned her only momentarily. She knew that only one man would be responsible for having her followed.

As soon as she’d gotten home, she called Noah’s office in Paris. It was five in the morning there. … Of course he was at work. He’d picked up the phone and his first words almost broke her heart.

“Mara, you okay?”

She’d taken a breath, determined to tell him what was on her mind. “Call off your watchdog.”

He hadn’t said anything for the longest time and she’d been at the point of saying something she would have regretted, such as blathering about her love for him. Fortunately, he’d answered, but with a bleak, resolute, “No.” Then he’d hung up on her.

“Sam, do you know that guy?”

“What?” She jerked her attention back to Rachel.

“That guy over in the corner. I swear I’ve seen him before. I think he was at Mama Maria’s the other night. And he keeps staring at you.”

With a casual “let me see who you’re talking about,” Samara turned around to stare, point-blank, at her watchdog. And as he did every time they locked eyes, he nodded in acknowledgment. This time he also lifted his cup as if to toast her.

Rachel gasped behind her. “You do know him.”

She looked back at her friend. “No I don’t.”

“Then what was that look about?”

“Just a little subtle flirting, Rach … nothing more.”

Rachel’s soft brown eyes searched her face, seeing more than Samara wanted her to see. “I feel as if I don’t know you anymore. You disappear for over a month … don’t even answer your cellphone. When you finally do come back, you have this sad, kind of wistful look on your face as if you’re full of secrets. You’re hardly ever able to go out anymore and you still don’t have a job. And if you’re not learning how to kick somebody’s ass, then you’re learning how to shoot it.”

“I just want to be able to protect myself. You should think about doing something like that, too. You never know when it might come in handy.”

“Oh no you don’t. You’re not going to recruit me into becoming G.I. Jane. Next thing I know, you’ll be shaving your head and smoking cigars.”

Lifting her drink, she snorted a giggle into her soda. “Now that, I promise, will never happen.” No better at lying now than before, she took a long sip of her drink to avoid Rachel’s searching eyes. “I like being able to defend myself.”

“Sweetie, did something happen?”

Samara jerked at the question. She would never tell Rachel about what she’d been through. It would be too complicated and would serve no purpose other than to freak her friend out.

“Of course nothing happened, and I don’t intend for anything to happen, either. Learning how to defend myself has always been something that interested me. My brothers taught me a little, but I wanted to learn more. It’s as simple as that.” Picking up her fork, she shoveled some of Rachel’s fries onto her own plate. “I think that cute waiter gave you more fries than he did me.”

Mentioning the waiter was a deliberate ploy, because he had flirted quite openly with Rachel each time he’d come by their table. Since Rachel was just coming out of a bad breakup, having a cute guy flirt with her was a definite mood enhancer. Samara hoped it went further than a little flirting. Even if she didn’t get to be happy, there was no reason her best friend couldn’t.

While Rachel looked around again for their waiter, Samara twisted around to see if her mysterious stranger was still there. Yes, bless his heart, and now on his sixth or was that his seventh cup of coffee? She hoped it was decaf because the poor guy looked as though he hadn’t slept in days.

Most women would probably be upset about being followed. She’d demanded that Noah leave her alone and in his own odd way, that’s what he was doing. He’d known she wouldn’t stop working for the Macklin firm and instead of trying to convince her again, he was simply making sure she was safe. And sick she might be, but if this was the only way he could show he cared about her, she willingly accepted it.

  Mitch glared at his no-account lawyer. The weasel had broken every promise he’d made. First he’d promised to get him a plea deal and that hadn’t panned out. Now somehow, without his brother or the bitch he planned to kill testifying, Mitch found himself facing the possibility of a life sentence in a maximum-security prison. There was no way in hell he’d allow that to happen.

Now his bastard lawyer was telling him there wasn’t any way he could find out any information on the woman who’d helped put him behind bars. Apparently her identity had been hidden. There were ways around that and the idiot knew it.

“Call Luther Prickrel and tell him what you need.”

“I can’t do that, Mitch. I’ll be disbarred if anyone ever finds out we even talked about this.”

Mitch leaned closer so the cameras wouldn’t pick up the threat in his expression. “That was a mighty fine-looking woman you were with at Carmine’s motel last Friday night.”

Bloodshot eyes popped out in dismay. “How did you …?”

His point made, Mitch settled back into his chair. “I have eyes everywhere, Baker. Just remember that. Now, I can almost guarantee that the little honey you took inside that motel room for exactly two hours and ten minutes wasn’t Mrs. Baker. Is that correct?”

Baker leaned closer, his voice an urgent whisper. “My wife would kill me.”

“She never has to know about it. I can fix it where you can screw to your heart’s content as many bimbo bitches as you want or I can fix it where Mrs. Baker learns that her loving husband is loving on other women, too. Which will it be?”

His thin shoulders slumping, Baker gave in so easily, Mitch wanted to pop him for being such a pussy. Maybe later. For now, Baker had some work to do.

“Call Luther. Find out who the dark-haired woman was. Also, find out how my brother got involved with Noah McCall and his people. Does he work for them or what?”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“Times up,” a CO growled behind him.

Mitch stood and smiled down at his attorney. “I know you’ll do your very best, Mr. Baker. It would be such a disappointment if you don’t.” Mitch sauntered out the door, not looking back to see how his veiled threat had been taken. Baker might be a liar, but he wasn’t stupid. Having Mrs. Baker find out about his little honeypot would destroy the man since Mrs. Baker came from money and Mr. Baker wouldn’t want to lose it.

Stomping through the narrow hallway back to his cell, Mitch ignored the stench of antiseptic, body odors, and vomit. Some things were easier to get used to than others. He could handle bad smells and shit for food. Even being surrounded by men who’d just as soon tear you a new asshole as look at you didn’t bother him.

For months, he’d been working toward finding a way out of this place and for one reason only. To cut out the hearts of the two people who’d put him here. It was what he lived for, his only reason for existence. Once that was done, then he’d think about life after that. Until that happened, nothing else mattered.

“Samara, everything okay?”

Adjusting the small hearing device in her ear, Samara fiddled with her hair, her signal that she was fine. No matter what anyone said, the creep she was meeting tonight had weirded everyone out. They’d been tracking him for over a month, much longer than most of the other guys they’d caught. Every time she thought he was about to make the offer to meet, he had backed away. Usually when they were that squirrelly, it meant a setup was suspected, and she eased back from them. With this guy, they couldn’t afford to back down.

She’d been working with the police and the Macklin firm for several months now and this was the first guy she could truly say was sicker than even Mitchell Stoddard. The things he said, the way he said them … God, if he did even one of the things he said he wanted to do to a girl, her life would be over. This guy went beyond sick into a realm Samara didn’t even want to contemplate.

Once they saw this guy was sicker than most, they’d been exceedingly careful in reeling him in. If he weren’t caught, there was no telling what he might do. Admittedly it could all be talk, but no one was willing to take that chance.

She was well protected. Not only were the usual plainclothes police surrounding her, but two of Macklin’s investigators sat at the next table. Plus, she still had her watchdog. Always in her peripheral vision but never intrusive. She’d had a couple of encounters where she had to handle a furious man and he hadn’t interfered. She wondered why. Was his lack of assistance based on Noah’s advice or because, unlike Noah, he thought she could handle herself?

Noah
. As usual, just the thought of him caused a major tug of her heart. How she missed him. She heard from Eden almost every week and though she never asked, thankfully Eden knew what she needed. So, for at least half an hour each week, Eden gave her an update on the man Samara loved. Nothing detailed or specific—neither of them would dare say his name or anything about the organization—but they had their own little code. Samara treasured every word. Eden understood the pain of loving someone from afar.

“Hey, Pretty Girl.”

The young male voice caught her off guard. Samara jerked around, furious at herself for forgetting where she was and why she was there.

“Ruff-ryder?” She blinked innocently up at him, hoping her shock didn’t show. The guy was probably no more than sixteen years old.

“Yeah, but you can call me Jeff.” He pulled out a chair and sat down. “Sorry I’m late. You been here long?”

“Uh, no … I …” Crap. She was so disoriented, she couldn’t think what to say. The things this guy had said to her, what he wanted to do to her. Where on earth would a young, just-passing-puberty teen get some of the sick things he’d come up with?

“Hi Jeff. … This is so cool … you and me … meeting at last.” Hopefully her voice sounded more sincere to him than it did to her.

The Adam’s apple in his skinny neck jumped convulsively as he swallowed. Wow, the guy was even more nervous than she was. The way he jerked his head around reminded her of a bird, on the lookout for predators. Why? He was the predator.

“Yeah …” He swallowed hard again. “Uh, you want to go somewhere else?”

“No, this is fine. Why?”

“I just thought we could go somewhere more private … where we could talk about things.”

Samara leaned forward, wanting to make sure her mic picked up his answer. “What kind of things do you want to talk about?”

“You know … like we talked about online.”