Return to Me (33 page)

She’d been nice enough to pull the blinds before she left. Now he could just walk around at his leisure and not worry about anyone seeing him. He had his essentials, but it never hurt to have some backup.

It took less than ten minutes to do a thorough search. In that time, he discovered several things about Samara Lyons. First, she was freakishly neat and clean. That went right up there with fucking weirdo in his book. Second, she lived alone. No men’s clothing lying around and no other women’s clothes other than her size twos and fours. He’d forgotten how skinny the bitch was. Third and final, the girl had a hell of a lot of family. Framed photographs covered several walls and almost every available flat space.

Looked like the girl would be seriously missed. A smile kicked up at his mouth.

  “You’re sure the place is secure?”

While both officers nodded and explained how they’d arrived at Samara’s house late last night, relieving a patrol from the evening shift, Noah’s eyes searched the small, quiet neighborhood. Small, older homes with nicely cropped large lawns. Giant trees overshadowed the houses, providing shade and elegance. Also providing a perfect cover for an escaped prisoner.

“And there’s been no word on the home owner?”

“No sir. We’re still looking.”

He held up a key Eden had handed him before he left Paris yesterday. “Mind if we all take another look together?”

Barely seeing their nod, Noah stepped up on the porch and turned the key. Even though he’d never been here, memories assailed him the moment he walked in the door. Samara’s living room furniture was the same. He remembered the times she’d dropped onto the sofa and then, seemingly unable to sit still, would pop back up to do something. Every piece of furniture was stamped with a memory of Samara.

Noah took a breath and straightened his spine. No amount of sentimentality or emotion would help save Samara or find Mitch. Cold, hard reason had been his mainstay for years. That couldn’t change.

“Sir, do you want us to walk around with you?”

The young cop eyed him warily. No wonder. Not only did he look exactly like the escaped lunatic they were looking for, he stood in the middle of a room as if dazed.

“Why don’t we split up? I’ll look upstairs while you guys look down here.”

Both men nodded. Noah waited for a few seconds to satisfy himself that they were looking around not only for evidence that someone had been here, but also that someone could be hiding in unobvious places. Seeing them look into closets and under furniture, he took off upstairs.

His guts churning, he returned downstairs several minutes later. No sign of Mitch or any kind of foul play. Samara had left the house in the same shape as she had her apartment, immaculate and full of her sweet personality. The door slammed shut on that thought.

“Nothing out of order down here?” Noah addressed both policemen.

“No, sir. We came in last night, before the other patrol left. It’s the same.”

Rubbing the center of his forehead against the small headache pounding, Noah closed his eyes and tried to be in Mitch’s mind. They’d never had the twin bond thing that so many twins swore by. As a kid, he’d been grateful. Last thing he wanted was to be inside Mitch’s sick, twisted brain. Now he’d give ten years of his life to know what he was thinking.

Mitch was mean, there was no denying that, but he was also smart. Would he lie low for a while before going after Samara? Would he just try to skip the country and cut his losses? Would he waste valuable time trying to find Michael Stoddard?

Mitch still didn’t know he was Noah McCall. Only the governor and his closest advisors knew that. The story they’d circulated was that Michael had turned his life around and was helping the police bring down his twin brother in exchange for immunity. Mitch wouldn’t doubt that. If there was one thing Mitchell understood, it was screwing others to save your own ass.

Trying to find Michael without using Samara didn’t make sense. Mitch’s thirst for revenge would include them both. There was no way his brother would just cut and run, without trying to take out the two people he believed had brought him down.

He couldn’t read Mitch’s mind, but he knew him well enough to figure out his motives. Revenge, then escape. Mitch had too much evil in him to just let this go. And he was cocky enough to believe he wouldn’t get caught.

Noah had to be ready when his brother struck. His mind speeding with possibilities and scenarios, he turned toward the policemen again. “What are your orders from here?”

“We were told to stay till you got here.”

These men were too busy to sit around on the off chance Mitch might show up here. “You guys are probably anxious to get home.”

“We’re off duty in half an hour.”

He headed toward the front door, eager to get them on their way. “Chances are, Mitchell’s headed in another direction. I just wanted to make sure Samara was safe. When she gets here, I’ll notify the station.”

Noah closed the door and turned around. He drew in a deep breath. Just being in Samara’s house gave him a sense of peace. Knowing it was useless, since he’d called every fifteen minutes since he’d learned of his brother’s escape, Noah nevertheless pulled out his cellphone and tried once more. And got the same sweet-voice message that she’d call him back.

Pocketing his phone again, he headed for the kitchen. The dull tap dance behind his eyes was headed for a full-fledged clog. He needed caffeine and something on his stomach.

Knowing Samara and being familiar with her kitchen in her apartment, he easily located the coffee and filters. Scooping in double doses, since he didn’t anticipate sleep within the next twenty-four hours at least, he clicked the brewer on and turned.

“Hey, bro.” Noah caught a glimpse of his brother’s grinning face before pain speared through his head and then there was nothing.

Mitch put his hands under his brother’s arms and dragged his body from the kitchen into the living room. Dropping him in the middle of the room, his booted foot kicked hard into Michael’s ribs. No movement. Definitely out for the count. A good-sized purple knot was already forming on his temple. Since he didn’t want this over too soon, he felt for a pulse at his neck. Slow and steady. Good.

Pleased in a way only his daddy might understand, since they’d both hated the freak, Mitch whistled soundlessly as he wrapped rope around Michael’s arms and then his legs. He’d never mastered the art of hog-tying an animal, but he was damned good at doing it to a human. In his line of work, that had come in much handier.

Finding that little cubbyhole in the pantry had been an act of genius. The girl probably didn’t even know it existed, but he’d had all night to find a good hiding place. He’d been somewhat uncomfortable fitting his long frame into the small space, but damn, it’d been worth it. Just seeing the shock of surprise in Michael’s eyes right before he’d clocked him. … He’d just lived out one of his favorite fantasies.

A stomach rumble reminded him that his stolen spaghetti had been hours ago. Figuring that wherever Samara Lyons was, she wouldn’t come home so early in the morning, he sauntered to the kitchen. The smell of coffee greeted him and for the first time in a while, Mitch felt true happiness. His brother would soon get what he deserved, a pretty young woman would be home soon, his for the taking, for as long as he wanted to take and however he wanted to give it to her, and fresh coffee. Who said dreams don’t come true?

Opening the fridge, he found bacon, eggs, and even a little roll of canned biscuits. Mitch set to work. Being on his own for so long had made him self-sufficient. He’d rarely had a woman around for more than a few days. Even when he did, most of them could barely boil water. Women were only good for a couple of things. Once he fucked them dry and they couldn’t cook, wasn’t much use of keeping them around. Of course, by the time he got through with them, they barely knew their own name, much less what to do in a kitchen.

Holding a plate of scrambled eggs, crisp bacon, and fluffy biscuits in one hand and a mug of coffee in the other, Mitch headed back to the living room. Eating a delicious breakfast while looking at his unconscious brother tied up on the floor. Things don’t get much better than that.

As he buttered his third biscuit, a memory kicked at him that he hadn’t had in years. His mother had always buttered his biscuit before she put it on his plate. He’d never really had anything against his mother. In fact, had kind of liked her until the day she’d found him putting a baby rattlesnake in his brother’s underwear drawer and had smacked him on the ass.

He’d never forgiven her for that. It’d just been a prank. No, the smack hadn’t hurt. It was the principle of the thing. Hell, he’d told his daddy what he was going to do and his daddy had laughed.

Mitch came to a hard conclusion that day. His mother favored Michael over him. Though he was only seven at the time, he never forgot the incident and never forgave his mother for loving his stupid brother more than him.

A growling moan pulled Mitchell back to the present. Little brother was waking up.

The second Noah opened his eyes, full realization hit him almost as hard as the board Mitch had used on his head. He had screwed up royally. The numbness in his hands and feet, along with a severe cramp in his shoulders, told him he was so far up shit creek that a paddle and seventeen-foot boat with a propeller wouldn’t even help.

The knowledge of his stupidity didn’t bother him. It was the realization that if he didn’t get out of this soon, Samara would pay the price for his idiocy.

A foot kicked at his shoulder. “Come on, Michael. Wake up so we can talk about old times.”

“Fuck off.”

“Bro, I’m crushed. It’s been almost six months since we’ve seen each other.”

“Yeah and sixty years wouldn’t be enough.”

His brother let out a harsh chuckle, followed by a loud belch. “Yep, feel the same way.”

“Then why are you here?”

“You know better than to ask me that question. You screwed me over. Nobody does that to Mitchell Stoddard and lives to tell about it.”

“Kind of chickenshit of you to tie me up, isn’t it?”

The grim set to Mitch’s mouth and the tense silence that followed told him he’d scored a blow. More of that was needed.

“You’ve always been a little afraid of me, haven’t you, Mitch.”

The knife pressed against his neck told him his brother was even more pissed than what he thought.

“I could just gut you right here, right now, and get it over with. Wouldn’t that be a pretty sight for your little whore to see?”

“Yeah, that’d be just like you. Kill me while I’m tied up, can’t defend myself. Then go after a woman who’s a third your weight. Good thing Daddy’s dead. He’d probably puke shit on you.”

A low feral howl was Noah’s only warning before something cracked against his head and darkness descended once more.

  The garage door opened in a grinding squeak. Samara fought a yawn as she pulled her car inside. Three days at a beautiful beach and she was exhausted. Going away had done nothing but allow her to cry and grieve in a different part of the state. Heartache went with you, no matter where you went. Noah would be there forever.

She grabbed her cellphone from the seat beside her and pulled her duffel from the back. First priority would be to get her cellphone charged. She couldn’t believe she’d gone off without her charger. Another indication of how upset she’d been. Her family had teased her for years about her meticulous habits. She had a routine and she rarely deviated. Her cellphone charger should have gone into her little electrical case she always carried around with her. She’d left both the case and charger at home.

Pushing open the door, she entered her kitchen and then skidded to a halt as alarm roared through her. Someone had been in her house. A half pot of coffee sat in the glass carafe, a used frying pan was on the stove. Two things she never would have left.

With slow, easy movements, she dropped her duffel soundlessly onto the floor and pulled her purse around in front of her. Easing her hand into the bag, she pulled out her gun. Backing out slowly, a soft, distant noise from the back of the house sounded. Stay and fight or go for help? Making the easy and right choice, she continued to back toward the door. Her eye caught sight of something in the living room before she could close the door. A man, tied up on the floor. Furious black eyes flared in warning.
Noah
.

All thoughts of leaving vanished. Her gun in front of her, she dashed into the living room. “Noah … my God.”

“Get out of here. Run, Mara. Mitch is in the bathroom. Run. Dammit.”

Tugging on the tightly knotted ropes, she shook her head. “I’m not leaving—”

“There’s no time to argue. Run, baby. Please.”

Realizing she’d never get him loose without something to cut the rope, she said, “I’ll go get—”

“Well. Well. Well. Looks like we got ourselves a little reunion.”

Jerking back, she looked up into the eyes of a monster she still had nightmares about. Mitchell Stoddard stood at the entrance of her living room. Wearing the evil grin she remembered all too well, he held a wicked-looking gun in his hand, one that looked eerily similar to the gun he’d used months ago to blast one of his men’s head off.

Scooting around to hide Noah as much as she could, she glared up at what she could honestly call “the evil twin.” “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Now is that any way to greet an old friend? After all, we almost bumped uglies a few months back.”

“You mean, you almost raped me.”

The grin grew larger. “Tomato, to-mah-to.”

She’d laid her gun in front of Noah when she’d tried to untie him. It was behind her. Where? Her eyes on Mitchell, she moved her hand behind her, searching.

“To your left.”

Noah’s almost soundless whisper directing her, she moved left. Her heartbeat zoomed as her fingers touched the cool steel. Needing to move just a couple of inches over, she tried to cover her actions by getting him to talk.

“How did you get out?”