“Leave it,” she said, shaking her head, pulling her hand from his. Claire Vance was married to her job. Her personal ties were limited. Sabrina knew she’d have to take the ring off sooner rather than later, but she wasn’t ready. Not yet.
He didn’t argue with her or tell her she was being unreasonable. He just threaded his fingers between her own and held on to her for a little while longer.
“I want you to call Phillip.”
It came out of nowhere and it took her a few moments to realize who he was talking about. Phillip Song. Leader of Seven Dragons, the most powerful arm of San Francisco’s Korean mob. The younger brother of David Song, the man who mutilated and murdered several young women in order to feed his own twisted delusion that her fate and his were intertwined.
“I can’t just call Phillip Song. I’m supposed to be dead, remember?”
She could hear Christina and Alex in the bathroom they shared, brushing their teeth. Getting ready for bed. She glanced at the wind-up clock on her nightstand. It was after nine. Dinner had been grilled steaks and sautéed asparagus that grew wild in the sandy soil along the riverbank. Afterward, they’d played Uno and ate homemade brownies.
As far as last days go, it’d been perfect.
“Yes, you can,” he said stubbornly. “He made his cousin help you once. He can make her help you again.”
It had been Phillip’s cousin Eun who’d told her that Wade’s presence in her subconscious was more spiritual than psychological. Trained in Korea as a shaman, she’d called him a Gae Dokkaebi—an evil spirit—and given her a special tea that helped keep him at bay. Sabrina hadn’t believed it at the time—she still didn’t—but when she drank the tea Phillip’s cousin made for her, Wade was quiet. Not gone, but silent. It had been the only thing that kept her sane before Michael came back into her life.
“That was a long time ago,” she said. “Phillip helped me because he felt like he owed me and because it amused him. I’m sure both feelings have passed.”
He laughed at her. “You’re adorably clueless, you know that?”
“Adorable?” she said, glowering as she pulled her hand loose and attempted to sit up. “That’s it, I want a divorce.”
He kept laughing and rolled on to his side, anchoring her beneath him with an arm snaked around her waist. “If you think the only reason Phillip Song helped you is because he owed you”—he leaned down and dropped a kiss on the hard line of her mouth—“then you know nothing about men and their motivations.”
“Phillip was a friend.” Her breath caught at the feel of his fingers trailing across her belly, skimming along the waistband of her cargos. “Nothing more than that.”
Michael pressed his lips to her collarbone. “Phillip was your friend,” he whispered, nuzzling her neck. “What you were to him was much more than that.”
“If that’s true”—she arched up against the hand he slipped under her tank, pushing it up her rib cage—“why would you want me to call him?”
The mouth against her throat curved into a smile as his hand closed over her breast. “Because,” he said, brushing his thumb across her nipple, teeth grazing along her jawline, “I’m not above exploiting some poor sap’s feelings for you if it means keeping you sane and safe.”
She laughed, even as her breath caught again. “Phillip Song is hardly a sap.”
“Trust me,” he said, angling himself up so he could press a kiss to her jawline before looking her in the eye, “for you, he is.”
Eleven
The chopper arrived before noon, its sudden appearance in the sky above their house sending Avasa into a wild flurry of alarmed barking.
Sabrina watched it touch down in the open grass on the other side of the river, its rotors slowing as whoever was piloting it powered down.
It was time to go.
Christina appeared in the doorway. Her jovial mood had dissolved overnight into the same angry silence she’d given them the day Maddox had arrived and changed everything. Behind her, Alex stood quietly, his face as impassive as always. Sabrina wondered if her departure even registered with him.
The faulty back porch step creaked moments before a sharp-knuckled rap sounded against the glass, the small figure beyond it vaguely familiar. Next to it, a larger, more imposing shadow. Moving across the kitchen, both children and the dog followed her, crowding around her as she opened the door.
“Miss Ettie.” Sabrina felt her chest constrict a moment before she was enveloped in the elderly woman’s arms. “What are you doing here?”
“Ben sent me,” the old woman answered, pulling back until she could tip her chin to look up at her. “I’m Michael’s consolation prize for letting you run off on whatever fool’s errand he’s got cooked up.”
Miss Ettie was more than a consolation prize. She was a piece of home. That sharp longing she usually managed to fend off poked at her, causing her to catch her breath. The old woman ran a B&B the next street over from where she’d lived in San Francisco. They’d shared a fence line—it was what made staying there so convenient three years ago when Michael had come looking for her in hopes of catching his sister’s murderer. The same man who’d abducted and tortured her.
Wade.
She pushed the thought of him from her head and focused on the here and now. Ben had sent Miss Ettie to them in hopes of making her absence easier for Michael and the children to handle, and in true Ben fashion, had absolutely ignored the potential dangers of it.
“Not to worry, dear,” her old neighbor said as she patted her cheek. “Everyone is fine. They miss you of course but they’re managing.” There was something else. Something she wasn’t telling her, but she knew from past experience that Miss Ettie said what she wanted and kept the rest to herself.
“You shouldn’t be here, Miss Ettie.” Sabrina shook her head while shooting Reese Harrison a disapproving glare. “It isn’t safe.” Reese was Ben’s personal pilot. He knew better than anyone how dangerous it was to bring her here.
“Nonsense. At my age, getting out of bed practically runs the same risk as jumping out of an airplane.” She gave her a grin, the depth of it folding into the soft, lined skin of her face. “Now, go on and say good-bye to that young man out there before he changes his mind about letting you leave.”
Looking past the old woman, she saw him standing in the grass, next to the helo.
Michael was waiting for her.
“I think I’ll get started on lunch,” Miss Ettie said, bustling her way into the kitchen. “From what I’ve been told, someone around here has quite a fondness for grilled cheese sandwiches.” She tied an apron around her middle and gave Christina a wink.
Sabrina looked at the man who’d brought her.
“I’m just following orders,” Reese said, picking up Sabrina’s suitcase and angling himself in the doorway so she could pass through. “It’s what I’m good at.”
Only a very select few knew Michael and Sabrina had survived the extraction of Leon Maddox’s grandson from Alberto Reyes’s island fortress. Reese Harrison was on the short list and had proved himself trustworthy countless times—both before and after their disappearance. It was his ability to follow Ben’s lead without asking questions that not only saved him from disappearing off the face of the earth when Jaxon Croft started asking questions about Michael but made him an invaluable cog in a very dangerous wheel. Right now, it was not her most favorite thing about him.
They crossed the bridge single file, Reese leading the pack while the kids and Avasa trailing behind her, a silent trudge that made Sabrina feel as if she were marching toward her own funeral.
“Reese,” Michael said as soon as they were close enough. The pilot reached out and the two of them shook hands. They’d flown together in the military, when Michael had been Special Forces and Reese had been a part of an elite pilot squad known as the Nightstalkers. He had also been the
medevac pilot who’d flown her out of the woods the day she’d killed Wade. If there was anyone worth trusting, it was Reese Harrison.
As soon as pleasantries were dispensed, Reese stored her suitcase in the cargo hold of the helicopter and climbed into the pilot seat. “Whenever you’re ready,” he told her, shutting the door in order to give them a few minutes of privacy.
“I know better than to ask you to be careful,” Michael said. He had something in his hand and he held it out to her. “You don’t do careful … but you’re coming back to us.”
A zippered pouch. Heavy and thick, like a banker’s bag. Whatever was inside was between them. Something he didn’t even want Reese to know about.
She nodded, taking it from his grasp to tuck it into her tote. Looking up, she found Michael standing closer than he’d been. Close enough to touch her. “No matter what you have to do—or who you have to do it to.” His hands caressed her neck, slipping around to her nape. She felt something thin and cool slide against her skin as he adjusted the collar of her button down. “Do you understand?” he said quietly, gazing down at her with eyes gone gunmetal gray.
“Yes.” She pressed her mouth to his. “I understand perfectly.” The key he’d hung from the chain around her neck lay flat against her chest, completely hidden. He also slipped something into her pocket. She could feel the cool of it through the thin lining of her pocket. His knife. Michael had given her his knife.
“I want you to look at them,” she said quietly, very much aware of Christina and Alex standing behind her. His gaze drifted over her shoulder to settle on the pair. “Stay with them. No matter what happens.”
He jerked his gaze back to her face, opening his mouth to protest. “Promise me,” she said, cutting him off before he could argue. “Promise.”
He looked lost. Beaten. “Okay,” he said softly. “I promise.”
Beside her, Avasa let out a soft whine, lifting her paw to settle it against her knee. Sabrina dropped her shoulder bag in the grass to kneel beside her. “Not this time, girl,” she said, giving the dog long, deep strokes along her neck and shoulders. “I need you to stay here and keep an eye on things.”
Looking up, she caught Christina watching her, unshed tears glittering in her eyes. “I’m not your mother,” Sabrina said to her bluntly. “But I love you like you’re mine. When I chose Michael, I chose you too.”
Her admission softened Christina for a moment and she swayed forward, her arms jerking like they wanted to fling themselves around her neck. But they didn’t. Instead the girl turned on her heel to stalk several paces away.
Before Sabrina could stand, Alex came forward to settle a hand against her shoulder. He was eleven now, sturdy but still small. “Do svidaniya,” he said, his dark eyes pinning her in place. No longer flat, they snapped at her, reminded of the way he’d looked at her the day she’d put them in the lift.
Finally he leaned closer, pressing his lips to her ear. “I will protect them,” he said in perfect English before allowing his hand to drop from her shoulder. Before she could react, he pulled away, stepping away to stand shoulder to shoulder with Christina, his gaze as unfocused and lifeless as it’d always been.
Twelve
Helena, Montana
“Are you sure about this?” the stylist said, her fingers gripping the long, thick braid that hung down her back. She’d been waiting for them when they arrived. Just like the car had been waiting on the tarmac of the small private airstrip where Reese had set the helo down less than an hour after liftoff. Like Reese, Sabrina was sure the stylist had been chosen for her skill as much as her loyalty and discretion.
She’d been quickly and quietly sequestered in the penthouse suite of Helena’s finest hotel, Reese carrying her suitcase as if he were her personal valet. Afterward, she’d expected him to leave her but he didn’t. He was still here. Like he was waiting for something.
Or someone.
The stylist was still frowning at her hair, the scissors in her hand closed as if she couldn’t bring herself to even open them, let alone use them to do what Sabrina had asked. With a small sigh, she shifted in her chair, lifting her hip so she could reach the side pocket of her cargos and the knife Michael had placed there before she left. She had it unsheathed and under the base of the braid before the stylist could blink. “Positive,” she said, sliding the blade through her hair, cutting it loose. The auburn rope fell from her hand and onto the floor at the stylist’s feet. The poor woman stared at it in abject horror.
Behind her, Reese let out a loud bark of laughter. “God, I’ve missed you.”
She smiled at his reflection cast by the mirror in front of her. “I’ve missed you too. How’ve you been?”
“Oh, you know … living the dream,” he said, his answer as vague as it was purposeful. Whatever Ben had him doing, he wasn’t supposed to talk about it. Surprisingly, it stung that he’d instructed Reese to keep things from her.
She wasn’t going to give up that easily. “How is he?” she said, careful to keep her head straight. Now that the hard part had been done for her, the stylist was more than willing to finish the job.
“Bored.” Reese gave her a noncommittal shrug. “Ask me how many times I’ve been dragged to Vegas to see Britney Spears in concert,” he said, lifting his hands, splaying his fingers wide. “Ten. Ten times.”
She laughed. “Poor baby—”
His phone rang and he dug it out of his pocket. “Excuse me,” he said, standing as soon as he glanced at the screen. He disappeared into one of the suite’s two bedrooms to take the call in private.
–––––
Two hours later she was a strawberry blonde. The cut was short, even shorter on the sides, exposing her neck while longer layers on top swept across her head to angle across her brow. Michael had been right again. Coupled with the warm, hazel color of the contacts she wore, she looked like a completely different person.
The stylist packed up and left and Sabrina had expected Reese to follow suit. Instead of leaving he seemed to settle in deeper, stretching out on the couch watching old episodes of Man vs. Food. He looked relaxed, bored even, but she knew better. Reese wasn’t bored. He was waiting.
“I’m gonna go take a shower,” she said. Without waiting for an answer, she carried her tote into the same room Reese had taken her suitcase. As soon as the door was closed, she locked it, dropping the tote onto the bed. Reaching inside, she found the zippered pouch Michael had given her and carried it into the bathroom. There, she turned on the shower before lifting the lid on the toilet. Setting it on the counter, she opened it. Inside was a burner phone. She set it aside and reached in farther, pulling out a small white envelope. She pulled out the notecard and flipped it open.
The key opens a safety deposit box. Trust your instincts.
If something goes wrong, use it.
I love you.
M.
Below the message was the name and branch number to a bank in Yuma. She committed both to memory before dropping the card into the toilet. The paper dissolved the instant it hit the water. Sabrina reached into her shirt and pulled at the thin chain that hung around her neck. Suspended from it was the promised key. Tarnished brass, with the number 367 stamped into its back. Alongside it was her wedding ring.
A reminder of the promise she’d made him.
She knew the safety deposit box would hold everything she needed to make a fast getaway. Cash. A new set of identification. Passports. How Michael managed to put it all together so fast was something she didn’t really want to think about. Neither was why.
She wasn’t just hiding from her past. She was hiding from Livingston Shaw. If her resurfacing drew any attention, Shaw would be among the first to learn of it. Then everyone she cared about would pay for her mistakes.
–––––
When Sabrina exited her room an hour later, Reese was watching Barefoot Co
ntessa and eating a burger he’d obviously ordered from room service.
He also wasn’t alone.
“What the hell is she doing here?” Sabrina managed, cutting a look toward the person lounging in the chair directly across from her.
“She is eating tacos,” Church answered her around a mouthful without bothering to look at her. “And watching my girl Ina make a kick-ass ceviche.”
“Am I conscious right now?” she said to Reese, ignoring Church completely. “Did I slip in the shower and hit my head?”
Reese finally risked a glance in her direction. His burger stopped midway to his mouth. “No. It’s really happening,” he said, letting his double bacon with cheese hit the plate with a regretful sigh. “I told him this wasn’t a good idea.” Reese shook his head, slouching back into the couch. “Like I said before, Sabrina—I just follow orders.”
Him. As in Ben.
“One of these days, Reese, that excuse is going to catch up with you.” She cocked her head slightly, her jaw tight. “He sent her here? Her. His father’s pet sociopath.”
“Ah—well … yeah.” He looked at Church, hoping for some help but she seemed content to eat her tacos and let him languish.
“Where is Ben?” She should have asked sooner. Should have asked why he wasn’t here. Why he hadn’t come for her himself after sending Leon Maddox on a potential suicide mission to retrieve her in the first place. “Where is he? When is he—”
“Ben isn’t coming, Kitten,” Church finally chimed in, muting the television with a disgruntled scowl. “And for the record—I’m nobody’s pet.”
Thirteen
All things considered, Sabrina slept well. The fact she slept at all was a small miracle. It might have had something to do with the .45 she tucked under her pillow before closing her eyes.
She lay in bed for a few moments listening to the silence until she was able to pull small noises from the void. The low murmur of the television. The quiet scrape of utensils against glass. It was barely five a.m. and Church was already up for the day.
Blood of Saints Page 6