Return to Me (32 page)

Noah twisted to look up at Gabe. “Dylan get the other guy?”

“Yeah. Had to shoot a little hole in his leg. Other than that, he’s fine.”

“Good.” Noah lifted himself off his too-soft, sobbing prisoner. “Take them down to the warehouse. A few people want to have a chat with them before they go to jail.”

Pulling the man’s hands behind him, Gabe cuffed him and then looked over at Noah. “You talk to Angela yet?”

“No. Why? Everything went off okay at the house, didn’t it?”

“Yeah. Went fine. Six kids rescued. Four people in custody. She’s been trying to reach you for another reason. Some politician from Mississippi called.”

Noah was out the door and headed to his car before Gabe finished his sentence. There was only one reason anyone from Mississippi would be calling.
Mitchell
.

Wet sand dented under her pounding feet. Hot sun seared her skin. A light breeze floated through the air, cooling her. To the right, waves ebbed and flowed in a lazy, never-ending tide. On the left, hotels, condominiums, and private homes created a mishmash of subtle colors and daring heights. The white sandy beaches of the Alabama Gulf Coast were lovely, but the contrast was almost as breathtaking as her surroundings. Paradise around her, as hell erupted within her. Running toward the sun, Samara picked up speed toward a punishing pace, at some point hoping to outrun a broken heart.

Telling Noah goodbye had to be the single most difficult thing she’d ever had to do. Knowing she’d done the right thing didn’t make it any easier to bear.

After saying goodbye to him, she’d grabbed some clothes and headed to the beach. She needed major quiet time and privacy. To mourn, grieve, and then, hopefully, to accept.

The hurt in his voice when she told him to let her go lingered in her head. He’d told her his protection was all he could offer. To Noah, this was a rejection of the only thing he felt he could give of himself. He cared deeply for her, she knew that. … Even Noah knew that, but he wouldn’t do anything about it and she couldn’t bear to be in limbo like this any longer.

She would always love him. Didn’t doubt that for an instant. Unfortunately loving someone didn’t always ensure you were loved back. Or that you were meant to be together.

She’d always known that one of the reasons she had allowed Noah to protect her was that she didn’t want to let him go. Now she realized another reason. Even after all the training she’d put herself through over the past few months, she still hadn’t trusted she could take care of herself. The experience with Mitchell Stoddard and his men had left her weak and vulnerable, her self-confidence shattered. The training had restored some of that confidence, but she’d still been shaky. A bodyguard, no matter how much she protested, gave her a safety net she hadn’t even been aware she wanted. Could she protect herself if need be? She hadn’t been sure. Until she’d been tested.

The man had been average-sized, with few fighting skills, but bringing him down had shown her something. She hadn’t panicked, hadn’t run, and hadn’t flinched. Was she Wonder Woman? Hell no, but she was a damned sight stronger than she’d been months ago. Not just physically but emotionally.

She’d regained what Mitchell had taken from her and pushed it even further. Moving past that trauma felt freeing and exciting. That realization led her to the next. It was time to move on. She needed a job; she needed a life. In a few days, she’d return to Birmingham and pursue a social work position. She was good at what she did and she made a difference, which is why she’d gone into the field in the first place. If possible, she’d liked to continue her work with the Macklin Agency but more than anything, she wanted to get on with her life.

Without Noah
. God, it hurt to hear those words in her head. She couldn’t say them yet. Wasn’t sure she ever could. But neither could she keep alive a dream that would never be a reality. She’d told Noah to let her go. It was time for her to let Noah go, too.

  Mitch held the cellphone to his ear as he maneuvered the SUV around a tractor. He was taking a lot of back roads on the way to Birmingham. The highway patrol had probably been alerted an hour or so ago of his escape. Not that they’d be looking for an escaped prisoner in a dark green Ford Explorer, looking for all the world like a regular person on a business trip.

Luther answered on the third ring. “You get everything, boy?”

“Yeah, I did. You done good. Real good.”

“Explorer should be clear for a while. Some boys got it for me in Memphis. Tags changed and I got it painted for you, too. Gun’s clean, too. Wish I could’ve got a passport for you, but just don’t have those kinds of connections.”

“I’ll get out of the country just fine. Appreciate the help.”

“You found the money and the file on the girl I put under the seat?”

“Yeah.”

“I know you’re disappointed I couldn’t find out anything on your brother. But nothing ever came up on him.”

“That’s okay. I’m betting the girl knows.”

“What’re you going to do?”

“If I told you that … I’d have to kill you.”

Mitch heard the man swallow a load of spit. The tense silence that followed told Mitch that Luther Prickrel was terrified of him. Suited him just fine. The more you feared someone, the less likely you were to screw them over.

“Just kidding, man. You know I’m grateful.”

“I owed your papa. We’re even now, you hear? You get caught again, I ain’t comin’ to your aid.”

“Won’t be a need. I aim to take care of business and get the hell out of here before they barely know I was gone.”

“Report came in about your escape about ten minutes ago.”

Smug pride filled him. Damn. He was good at this. He’d been gone from the jail for almost four hours and they were just now finding out.

“That’s good to know. Thanks for everything.”

“Take care, son.”

Mitch disconnected the call and wiggled more comfortably into his leather seat. Poor Prick sounded as though he was about to cry. He’d have to send him some money or something. No, better not. No telling who might be watching Luther’s house. Besides, he’d owed him. Prick was right. Their debt was settled.

Flipping the top of the cooler on the seat beside him, Mitch pulled out an ice-cold Pepsi and popped the top. Luther had thought of everything. Hell, there were even rubbers in the glove compartment.

His dick hardened. A few more hours and he’d be putting those babies to good use.

  Fists clenched and jaw held tight, Noah forced himself to sit still. Hard as hell to yell at his pilot to go any faster. The man was doing everything he could to break the airspeed record and yet it wasn’t enough. A ten-hour flight. Nine hours to go.
Shit
.

Where the hell was she? As soon as he’d talked to the governor, he’d called Samara’s home and cellphone and got no answer. Police had been dispatched to her house within minutes of discovering Mitch’s escape. They’d reported no one at home. Since the very real possibility existed that she was in imminent danger, they’d entered the residence. No signs of foul play and no signs of Samara.

Noah looked out into the pitch-black night and saw only the blinking of the jet’s lights and his own ravaged expression. Mitch wouldn’t leave her alive this time. He had a score to settle.

The only good news in his sea of bad was that apparently Samara had been gone for several days. The mail in her mailbox was two days old. Mitch had escaped only hours ago, so he wasn’t personally responsible for her disappearance. Even that good news had a dark tinge to it. Just because Mitch hadn’t snatched her didn’t mean he hadn’t paid someone to grab her and bring her to him.

Mitch would use her as bait. Michael was the real person he was after. Problem was, he’d have no compunction in killing anyone who got in his way of revenge. Samara and God knew how many other people might die because of Noah’s cowardice. He hadn’t killed Mitch when he had the chance.

His cellphone rang, pulling him from recriminations that couldn’t be resolved.

“Jordan?”

“Yeah. Called her family. They haven’t heard from her. And before you ask, I didn’t let on about any trouble.”

“How about her friends?”

“She hasn’t talked to her Virginia friends in a couple of weeks. Rachel, her friend in Birmingham, is out of town on a business trip and hasn’t talked to Samara since last Sunday.”

“What about—”

“Called the Macklin people, too. They were our biggest help. Said she called and advised them she wouldn’t be in for a week or so.”

“When was that?”

“Thursday.”

“The day after I talked with her.”

“Yeah.”

“What’re your thoughts, Jordan? You know her better than I do.”

“Not hardly. But I’m thinking what you’ve already surmised. She went away for a few days. Maybe to the beach or the mountains. They’re both easily accessible from Birmingham.”

“No flights that we know of?”

“No, wherever she went, she drove.”

“The police have an alert out on her car. Dammit, if she only had her cellphone on, we could track her.”

“What’s Mitch planning?”

Noah snorted. “Revenge. Pure and simple. And he knows exactly who to use to lure me.”

“You’re sure he knows who she is?”

“Yeah. As soon as I found out Mitch had escaped, I knew who’d helped. Luther Prickrel sang like the proverbial bird.”

“Sure you don’t want Eden and me there with you?”

“No. The police will concentrate on Mitch. My only concern is Samara. If I get to Mitch before they do, I’ll take care of him. This thing ends with us, one way or the other.”

“You’ll keep her safe?”

“With my life.”

“Anything you need me to do?”

Noah heard the message behind the words. “You and Eden know LCR better than anyone. No matter what happens, I trust you both to keep it going.”

“What about Samara?”

“My will is intact.”

“That’s not what I’m asking. Is there anything you’d like me to tell her?”

A laugh cracked through frozen pain. “Mara knows everything there is to know about me. She had me figured out long ago. There’s nothing you could tell her she doesn’t know.”

“How about that you love her?”

When he didn’t answer, Jordan said quietly, “Be safe, Noah.”

Noah closed his cellphone and then his eyes.
Where the hell are you, Mara?

  Standing behind a tree in the backyard, Mitch watched the white SUV back out of the driveway. A quick glance at his watch … wait a couple more minutes. Make sure no one else is coming out. Since the trees came so close to the house, he used their cover. With one more look around, he dashed to the back door, jimmied the lock, and was inside in seconds. One of the many valuable lessons his daddy had taught him.

The back door opened into the kitchen. The scent of garlic wafted through the air. Looks like spaghetti had been on the menu tonight. A stomach grumble reminded him he hadn’t had anything to eat in hours. First he’d have a little look around and then maybe grab something out of the fridge before he headed back out.

He wandered through the small rooms, his ears listening for any sound other than the tick of a clock or the distant sounds of the police radio from the car up the street. Nothing. Not even a dog. Good. He’d have had to let it outside and that might have caused a neighbor to wonder. He didn’t kill dogs.

Returning to the kitchen, he opened the fridge, pleased to see a plastic bowl filled with pasta. He pulled the tub out, along with a couple of beers. Grabbing a fork from a drawer, he shoveled in mouthfuls of pasta, washing it down with the beer.

His stomach satisfied, he threw the bowl in the sink and the cans in the garbage. Opening and closing cabinets, in a hurry to get this over and done with, he found what he was looking for. A large bottle of cooking oil. After soaking dishcloths in it, he pitched them around on the counters, threw some oil on the kitchen curtains, and then pulled out a match.

It took a few minutes, but finally a nice, smoky haze covered the kitchen. Pulling newspaper and plastic bags from the garbage can, he added to the small flame and then backed out the door. Going low, he ran back into the cover of trees and bushes and waited.

Yep, there was a nice plume of smoke now coming from under the door. Ten more minutes ought to do it.

Mitch backed farther away and headed to his real destination three doors down. Finding a nice big oak in the yard next to it, he squatted, waited, and watched.

Sirens clanged and screamed. The two policemen in the patrol car in front of Samara Lyons’s house jumped out and hauled ass toward the smoking building down the street.

Within seconds, Mitch was at the edge of Samara’s backyard. He stayed low as he ran through the yard to the back of the house. Stopping at the door, he grimaced at the locks. He’d been lucky with the house down the street. Should’ve known the bitch wouldn’t make it easy for him. Damn dead bolts ought to be outlawed. He didn’t have the time or tools to get in without making a hell of a mess.

Mitch stepped back to assess the house and spotted the small window to the right. Most likely the kitchen window. Even from a distance, his experienced eyes noted the old, cheap lock. Grinning, he pulled out another tool from the bag Luther had supplied. A little slide and jerk—he jimmied the lock and slid the window open. Throwing his tool bag in first, Mitch then lifted himself up, slipping his head and shoulders through the narrow window. Soft curses blew through his lips when he realized he’d have to crawl into the sink. His mind on what he had planned for his bastard brother and his bitch, he climbed into the sink and then dropped to the floor.

He stood and surveyed the kitchen, listened intently. No sound. Keeping low, his steps soft, he searched the first and second floors. No one here. Good. He’d have time to set things up before she got here. It would be dusk soon. He needed to get a good feel for the house and find a nice little hidey-hole before it got dark. Then the part he hated the most. Waiting. His jaw popped with a giant yawn. Maybe he’d have time to take a nap before the party started.