Never Say Goodbye

by Sakwa, Kim

  “What do you think we should do?”

  “I just told you, I don’t know!”

  “Then figure it out, clever girl.”

  “That’s my girl, clever girl,” she repeated the monikers from yesterday and today. “I don’t know her! I don’t know you!”

  “Her—is you, Amanda.”

  “Do you miss her?”

  His eyes narrowed. “How could I? You’re right in front of me.”

  “I’m not the same,” she cried out, confused by how she felt being held in his embrace, so close she could see small flecks of amber in dark, dark eyes. Her heart was racing and not from the run down the hallway.

  “Neither am I,” he told her as his hands snaked up her back to cup her head.

  “What if…what—” She lost her train of thought. Oh God, was he going to kiss her? Suddenly that’s all she could think about. Wrapped in his arms right now, so close to him, she knew—could feel it in her bones—knew that she was safe with him. No wonder listening to his deep, accented voice calmed her. Or staring into his dark eyes anchored her. And although she’d been pressed against him a few times now, too many of her other senses had been engaged or confused. “We lived, Amanda. All of us.” He bent his head closer.

  “We lived,” she breathed, barely able to follow the track of their conversation with her heart racing. “You went to prison, Alex. I obviously thought you had been executed for reasons I don’t think I can handle knowing about yet, and I had a nervous breakdown.” She clutched his shirt, leaning closer.

  “And here we are, sweetheart. Alive. With our children.” Both his hands gently clutched her head now as he breathed, “You slipped through my fingers once, Amanda. Literally. That will not happen again.” Then he kissed her, canted her head just where he wanted it, and covered her lips with his brilliant British mouth.

  Seriously, how on earth had she forgotten that!

  Alexander’s phone rang at twenty-two hundred on the dot. He was standing in the doorway between the terrace and living room, leaning against the jamb. Scotch in hand, he’d been nursing the drink for the better part of an hour looking out over Amanda’s property. Dinner was long over; he’d left Amanda’s before bedtime tonight. She’d asked for some time, and unable to think of a reason why she shouldn’t have it, he’d pleasantly said his good-nights. The boys had looked a bit crestfallen—how he felt, but hid—to be knocking out early. They usually liked to help the girls with whatever puzzle they were working on, or if their luck was right, Amanda would break out Yahtzee and things got competitive. And those were just the things that happened before the kids’ bedtime, after they would usually retire to the billiard room. He was becoming rather proficient, Stephen too. Amanda just liked to be part of the gang and Sam, Christ, she was good, albeit a tad bloodthirsty. So yeah, leaving early was rough. Actually, it sucked. Especially since some of the awkwardness of the past few days had fallen away, as Amanda had finally worked out in her mind that he was a good guy and that what they’d once had was real. Just interrupted.

  It had taken a week, and another blowup, to get there—Amanda was not one to be satisfied by a single round of questioning—but from where he was standing, even next door, it had been worth it. Early that morning they’d been on the terrace; she’d just wrapped up her morning session with Evan. She was still remembering only everyday life since her return to the States. Nothing about their time together in Abersoch, not of significance anyhow. Her greeting to him that day had been blunt. “How did you get out of prison? And by the way, does that make you a felon?”

  “Good morning to you too,” he’d said, giving a look to Evan, but the medical genius had only shrugged. So, while measuring his thoughts on which way to take this, Alexander had poured himself a mug of coffee, taken a long sip considering the coastal view, and had turned to stand in front of Amanda, finally having landed on an answer he hoped would satisfy her. “Stephen and Gregor broke me out, Amanda. And am I a felon? Technically, no. Any and all records of my activities are gone or have been destroyed.” Which happened to be the truth.

  “What’d you do, super spy, to make them disappear?” Yeah, she was huffy at best.

  “You want to know the truth?” he’d asked her as she crossed her arms over her chest.

  “I wouldn’t be asking otherwise, wise guy.” Her foot had started tapping then too.

  “Your friend Samantha and the other super spy, wise guy”—he’d motioned with his head toward the kitchen—“Finch made the last of the records disappear.”

  “Bull.”

  “Bull?” he’d repeated.

  “Yeah, Alexander, bull.”

  “Let me tell you something about the company you keep, sweetheart.” It was time to get something off his chest that had been bothering the hell out of him. “That dear, dear friend of yours? Samantha Gilchrist, your sweet schoolgirl pal of yore who became a savvy esquire extraordinaire, gave you the name of one of the most notorious fixers in London.”

  “Fixer,” she’d said, scrunching her face, not following. “Who?”

  “Stanley Finch.”

  Her mouth had fallen open for just a second before her determined expression returned. “Just because someone’s capable of taking care of things doesn’t make them notorious, Alex. Maybe you’re the notorious one.”

  Her naivety was frustrating at best, and he’d let her know it. “You hired Finch through a black-market ring of blokes so unsavory I’m surprised you and Callesandra lived through the night. Why you wouldn’t just pick up the God damned phone and call Art Fisher or a reputable service to begin with I have no idea.” He’d yelled the last part. She’d showed him her displeasure with a look. “Sorry. You were ridiculously lucky. At his core, Finch happens to be a great guy, and the best at what he does. So, in the end, while Sam may have been correct, it was precarious at best. And still gives me nightmares that it could have gone another way.”

  “You weren’t there, Alex!” she’d snapped. “At least I had someone to help me.”

  It’d cut like a blade, sharper even than Stephen’s dagger. Stan’s voice of all people had sounded behind him then.

  “He’s right, Amanda. It could have been really bad. Thank God I knew Sam, or she knew me,” Stan had said.

  “Really, Stan? Whose side are you on?”

  “Listen, I didn’t meet Alex until he purchased JDL. But in the time that I’ve known him—shit, Amanda, I knew him from you too. Your own words, actions even. You poured a scotch every night, placed it on the piano, and played for that fucking glass. Consider yourself lucky you can’t remember it, ’cause Sam was right, it was heartbreaking to watch. So as far as coming to his defense, yeah, I am. He’s one of the good guys.”

  “He’s got blood on his hands,” she’d said, her voice exasperated, confused.

  Stan had shaken his head. “Don’t we all.”

  Alexander had watched Amanda digest what Stan was telling her, nodding as she accepted the story yet again. He knew she trusted Stan completely. Memory or not, it would be a lie to say it didn’t bother him that there had been a time when she had trusted him completely and that he wasn’t there anymore. That it was his fault for not telling her they were married to begin with. “Why did it take you so long to find us?” she’d finally asked.

  “By the time I was able to start searching for you and Callie, Stan had you buried deep,” he’d said. “After finding the surgeon who repaired your hand, and your home in New York, your trail went cold. Ice cold.”

  Stan had interjected then. “Before we left Great Britain, I made a call to Art Fisher. He hired me on the spot, and you became a client. We had Callie’s adoption papers and accompanying files forged in case we were stopped by the authorities and purchased passports.”

  “Wait.” She’d put her hand up. “I just…ugh.” Her frustration had seemed to get the better of her. “Wait. That
seedy back alley storefront outside of London.” She’d looked right at him then. “You were there searching for me, weren’t you? And Callie.”

  “Bloody hell, Amanda. I did nothing but search for you and Callie.” He remembered when they’d shaken down the document forger in that alley, how close he thought he’d been to finding the key to tracking down his wife and daughter—and how devastatingly disappointing it was to find he knew only Stan’s first name and little else.

  “So we had already left?”

  “When you realized you were pregnant, we left for the States,” Stan had told her.

  “New York?” she’d asked, and Stan had nodded in response. “Why didn’t you come then, Alex?” she’d asked him as if it were that easy.

  “By the time we found the surgeon and document lab you were gone from New York, Amanda. Not just Great Britain.”

  “But I thought you were a spy,” she’d said, seeming genuinely confused. “Why couldn’t you just, I don’t know, find me?”

  “From the moment you and Callie have been on your own, each purchase you’ve made has either been in cash or under an assumed name. Including the admission forms for Callesandra’s private school. Callie’s medical records. And yours. No back doors, Amanda. Encrypted. Sealed. Impossible to penetrate.”

  “Impossible?” she’d said, challenging him. “Yet here you are.”

  “Because I bought JDL, Amanda. After acquiring a slew more security and surveillance companies that you happened to not be a client of.”

  “I’m the reason you went into the security business?” she’d asked as if the enormity had just dawned on her.

  “Yes, Amanda. I needed to be on the inside. Not that all clients require the services that you did for a time. But what use would those services be if another good sleuth could happen upon you? So, with Chris’s help, we…” He trailed off. That part she didn’t have to know.

  “So with Chris’s help you what?” she’d pressed. Alexander sighed. Never satisfied until she had the whole story, this one.

  “With Chris’s help, we purchased JDL Security, all its subsidiaries, and with the other business we had already acquired formed a corporate conglomerate.”

  “That had to cost an incredible sum of money.”

  “It did.”

  “How much?”

  “It’s not important, Amanda.”

  “How much, Montgomery?”

  “Six hundred and fifty million dollars,” he said, suppressing a smile when Amanda whacked his chest with a “Shut the front door.” Then she leaned in closer and whispered, “You paid that much money to find me?”

  “I would give all of my worldly possessions for you, Amanda, and then some.” Callie had come outside then, ending their conversation.

  She’d ruminated on this new information for the better part of two days, then called a truce. That she’d only snapped at him again that one time was really remarkable considering the pressure she was under. Not that he was pressuring her—at least not anymore. He’d gotten the message loud and clear after he’d gone all alpha and taken them from Chicago. At times he actually longed for their old life, nothing like eighteenth-century estate life to know where his wife and children would be at any given time. That, however, had come with its own uncertainties as well. War, disease, travel that had kept them apart for long periods of time. They were better off here. Amanda could actually have a life here, Callie too. And, Jesus, he liked it here. What wasn’t to like? He had buckets of money and was charting his own destiny. He loved his new business, the people he employed and help they rendered. It beat the hell out working on behalf of the British Empire and having no choice in what was ordered.

  So, once that bit of tension had gotten out of the way, there had been another uptick in tension, but now of the sexual kind. Jesus, just being near her since he’d kissed her was difficult at best. When he’d chased her down the hall and caught her, and finally held her fully in his embrace, it was all he could do to maintain a coherent thought. And when she’d turned and then looked up at him the way she had, all bets were off. As the saying goes, and he loved that saying now, he’d kissed her six ways to Sunday and back again, and it still wasn’t enough. He wanted to drag her in close, kiss the hell out of her, and bury himself so deep inside her, he wouldn’t know where she began, and he ended. He’d been on his best behavior though and was waiting again for a sign from Amanda.

  He was still leaning casually against the door jamb, staring at Amanda’s property when he answered his phone. “She’s on her way over, Alex,” Stephen said.

  “What?” He wasn’t sure he heard his brother correctly.

  “She put the kids to bed, came downstairs, grabbed a jacket, and said, ‘I’m going to Alex’s, left or right at the bottom of the drive?’”

  “She’s walking? Alone?”

  “Are you kidding me?” Stephen said, sounding insulted, then corrected, “Um, well, yeah she’s walking, but two guys have eyes on her and I’m watching with my mon-knock,” he told him, using an abbreviation for a night vision monocular—a handheld device used for surveillance.

  Alexander swore, hung up the phone, and checked the app that monitored his property. And there she was, mama bear in all her glory approaching his drive. Jesus. He opened the gates with a push of a button and ran for a shirt. He was on his way downstairs when he saw her pass the fountain in the courtyard through the enormous picture window above his front doors.

  He almost tripped in his haste to get to the front door before she did. It opened in a whoosh, and she startled a second. “Hi,” he said, feeling like a stupid schoolboy idiot.

  “Hi.” She looked gorgeous, no surprise there, cheeks flushed from the brisk air. “I thought…”

  He reached out and pulled her inside. “Come in, please.”

  Her cheeks reddened more, flustered perhaps. “Alex, I…” She laughed nervously. “Jeez…” She fanned herself then and it was all he could do to not laugh at the lightness of the moment. He was not going to miss the opportunity. He was supposed to be working on his timing anyway.

  “Amanda.” He grinned as he backed her up the two steps it took to press her against the door. “Forgive me, sweetheart.” Her arms were around his neck by the time he’d pulled her in, leaned down, and kissed her. Bloody hell, his head was spinning within seconds. She felt amazing. Tasted better. She made a sound as he nudged her with his head right where he wanted her. Her delicate hands wound around his head; her slender fingers moved through his hair and he kissed her from every possible angle. Then he did it again. She pushed against him a few moments later and he backed off.

  “Alex, as good as we are at kissing, I didn’t come over to make out with you.” She blew a wisp of hair off her face, which was adorable.

  “Sorry,” he said, still smiling like an idiot. He was so giddy, he had to stop himself from actually jumping up and down. Instead, he calmly led her to the living room, stopping short as they passed the hallway to the kitchen. “Are you hungry?”

  “Why? Something living in the backyard you can hunt, clean, and cook for me?” she asked with a roll of her eyes.

  He laughed, bloody hell she made him laugh. “Listen, funny girl,” he teased, “I will find something of the sort if you’d like. Otherwise, I have a refrigerator full of food. Trevor and Michael eat enough for an entire football team.”

  “Weren’t you at dinner tonight?” she chided him. “Rosa prepared a feast. Again. I’m not sure who she’s trying to satisfy more, me, or you and the boys.” She shrugged. “My money’s on you and the boys.”

  “There are snacks on the bar anyway,” he said.

  “Snacks!” she exclaimed, wide-eyed. “Really?”

  Amanda loved snacks. “Yeah,” he chuckled, “just wait.”

  “I hope it’s not far.”

  He was still smiling as he pulled her forward. T
his had to be the best night they’d had in centuries—really.

  “Ooh.” Her eyes went wide as they passed through the living room threshold. The bar was covered with small crystal dishes, each filled with nuts, candies, and pretzels. She went right for a bowl of chocolate-covered peanuts. He knew they were her favorite.

  “Inside or out?” he asked.

  She looked around his living room, which, much like hers, housed a large bistro-sized bar, two separate sitting areas, and a grand piano. “Let’s sit over there.” She pointed to a cluster of chairs and sofas situated before the large picture windows.

  “Drink?”

  “Just a Diet Coke if you have it, please.”

  He had everything. Especially her favorite soda. After fixing hers, he topped off his. She took a corner of a sofa; he took the club chair next to her.

  “Amanda.”

  “Alex.” They’d spoken at the same time.

  He gestured with his hand, giving her the floor. She took off her shoes and curled her legs up on the cushion next to her. He liked that she was so comfortable. A lot. “I wanted to ask you about something. I just can’t seem to reconcile it in my head. And I’d feel stupid askin—”

  “Whatever question or questions you have, Amanda,” he said, moving to the cocktail table and sitting directly in front of her, “I’m here. Ask away.”

  She smiled when he moved closer. She was enjoying this, he could tell. Amanda wet her lips before speaking. They were hard not to stare at, but he focused on her eyes. “So, when we separated—”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa.” He laughed at the mere thought of it, and that he could actually laugh at it. He leaned forward. “Let’s get this straight once and for all—we did not separate, Amanda. We were separated.”

  “Isn’t that what I said?”

  “You said when we separated.”

  “Jeez, Montgomery.” She rolled her eyes. “Are you splitting hairs or what?”

  “It’s a terribly touchy subject, sweetheart,” he told her, smiling at their banter.