by Lora Leigh
“Son of a bitch.” A short, harsh laugh left his lips as he stared back at her in disbelief. “Amelia, what have I ever done to you to make you think you’re no more than a fringe benefit to me?”
She pulled her hands from the pockets of her jeans before she crossed her arms over her breasts and stared back at him, her gaze darkening with wary stubbornness.
“What am I to you, then?” The question was posed in a tone that suggested she was doing no more than patronizing. “You walked away seven years ago without so much as a good-bye. You spent six weeks slipping into my bedroom to have sex with me. You slipped in that last night to leave that excuse for a note behind, but you couldn’t even tell me good-bye? And now you expect me to believe I might be more to you than a means to an end?” Incredulity touched her voice. “If I mean more, Crowe, then perhaps you should have let me know when I was willing to believe it.”
Perhaps he should have, Crowe admitted, perhaps he would, once he could untangle the knots tightening in his chest and in his gut. The second he could work through those and make sense of the emotions that kept him walking a tightrope where Amelia was concerned, then he would tell her. Until then—
“What the fuck do you want me to say, Amelia?” he growled, grimacing at the quick flash of pain that suddenly flashed in her gaze.
Just as quick as it had been there, it was gone. She stared back at him, her expression calm and somber as she slowly dropped her arms and drew in a deep breath.
“I won’t slip out of the house again,” she told him. “The Carter boys aren’t dangerous, but they did drive home the fact that had it been anyone else, I could have been in trouble.”
“Not dangerous?” he snapped, amazed that she would say anything so asinine. “Amelia, did you forget what happened today?”
“I didn’t forget anything.” Sharp, concise, her tone was nothing if not confident. “You forget, Crowe, I know the people of this county a hell of a lot better than you do, and I know the Carter boys better than most for the simple fact that I’ve spent a hell of a lot of years working to keep those boys out of jail just because Wayne didn’t like them. They wouldn’t have hurt me. They just like to piss me off.”
He stared at her for long, silent seconds as he tried to work that one out in his head.
He couldn’t do it.
“Are you fucking crazy?” he finally asked her conversationally. “Or just delusional? At the very least, you’re on some damned good drugs and I want to know who the hell’s supplying you so I can shoot their fucking asses for endangering your concept of reality,” he bit out. “For God’s sake, Amelia.”
* * *
He’d been saying that a lot lately, Amelia noticed as she stared back at Crowe’s astounded expression.
Whether she was crazy or not, she knew Dwight, David, and Dillon. Despite the fact that for a second, they’d scared the shit out of her, she knew they wouldn’t have hurt her.
Her lips parted.
“Don’t you fucking dare ask me to call Archer and have them released from jail,” he suddenly snarled, pointing his finger back at her imperiously. “Don’t you even consider it.”
“Crowe, it’s not right to lock them up,” she sighed wearily. God, she didn’t want to fight about this. “Their aunt was Deanna Lopez. She was the first victim found fourteen years ago. Deanna was the only security those boys had. After she died, their mother gave them up to child services and the foster homes they were shuttled out to were some of the worst. Once they sober up, they’ll find me and they’ll apologize, and it will never happen again. That’s what they do. Wayne has tortured those boys since Deanna’s death. I won’t add to the hell they’ve had to live through.”
“Bullshit.” Anger filled his face now. “What happened to Deanna was bad enough, Amelia, but those boys are grown fucking men. They weren’t the only ones to lose someone who stabilized their lives. And they sure as hell aren’t the only men in this county who lost someone they loved to the Slasher.”
“No, they weren’t, and it’s damned obvious you don’t give a damn about anyone else Wayne tormented but you, your cousins, and the actual victims,” she yelled back at him. “But you had stability after your parents’ deaths, Clyde made sure of it, and he damned sure didn’t lock you in the basement with the rats, Crowe, and starve you while he made you live in your own waste. That’s what happened to Dwight, and he had it the easiest. David was left for weeks sometimes without food in the foster home he was sent to. He went to school so he could eat and see his brothers. Dillon was beaten so often that just going to school was hell, and everyone ignored the fact that he was being abused until the night his foster father force-fed him cocaine. He would have died if he hadn’t stumbled from the house and into the street where Archer nearly ran him down. You don’t have to remind me they weren’t the only ones who suffered, but just like everyone else, those boys deserved a break. They were just three of the ones who didn’t get one.”
She was furious by time she finished. Her fists were clenched, heat creating a layer of moisture on her forehead that had her wishing she could turn the furnace down or shed the sweater she wore. And every muscle in her body was tight, demanding action.
“That doesn’t mean I’m going to have Archer release the men who nearly raped you and threatened to cut your heart out to share among themselves,” he yelled back at her, surprising her.
Shocking her, really.
She’d never seen Crowe yell at anyone.
“Son of a bitch.” Turning away from her, he stalked to the other side of the room before turning again with such military precision that the sight of it had her gaze widening just slightly.
She knew he’d been in the military, she’d just never glimpsed him moving as though he had been in the military. Crowe appeared to move with seamless, gliding grace rather than precision.
“I’ve never heard you yell at anyone,” she breathed out, shaking her head as she watched him warily. “I’ve never heard of it.”
“Oh, I yell often,” he informed her, the angry snap of his tone matching the amber blaze of fury in his gaze. “Especially when I’m forced to deal with someone who can’t protect themselves for all the effort they’re using to protect others.”
She wanted to roll her eyes at him, but the look on his face was one she had never glimpsed before. She had no idea what he was capable of now.
“Stop trying to make me feel stupid, Crowe,” she demanded, not in the least afraid of him, but wary.
“If the shoe fits.”
“Then it fits you just as comfortably.” She confronted him, her hands going to her hips as she stared back at him in angry disbelief. “What happened to the compassion I saw in you seven years ago? What happened to the man who understood and even sympathized with the kids in the Community Center whose parents didn’t care where they were or who they were with? The man who slipped and gave one of those children a teddy bear when she cried for her mother at night?”
“That wasn’t compassion you were seeing,” he snarled back at her. “It was lust. I would have done anything that summer to get into your pants and it was obvious those kids were a soft point.”
“And you’re a liar.” She was the one yelling now.
Pointing a finger at him furiously, she was only barely aware of the fact that her hand, hell her entire body, was shaking with her anger.
“And you’re living in a fucking dream world if you think I’m going to have Archer release those men.”
He was in her face now, his head lowered, his nose almost touching hers as he gripped her shoulders firmly and glared down at her.
“I will not do it,” he enunciated clearly, concisely. “Get it out of your damned head.”
“Then I will,” she stated softly, so furious at him that she didn’t even bother yelling. “I wanted you to understand, but it’s obvious you have no intentions of even trying to.”
“When three sons of bitches attack my woman and attempt to rape and murd
er her, then hell fucking no.” His hands tightened on her shoulders as his voice rose. “No, Amelia. Don’t you think I’ve lost enough? Don’t you think I fucking get tired of having my lovers tortured and fucking murdered? Do you think for even one minute that I’ll allow it to happen again, Amelia? Especially to you!”
He froze as he said the words, his gaze narrowing on her, his lips clamping so tight they were a straight line rather than the sensual, eatable curves she loved to kiss.
Just as quickly as he had been in her face, his hands gripping her shoulders, he released her. Turning on his heel he stalked to the double doors he had closed as they stepped into the family room and threw them open before stalking out.
Thank God he didn’t see the tears that fell from her eyes before she could turn and dash them away, or hear the sob that escaped her lips. For a moment, she wished she had never pushed him. She wished she could go back and just keep her mouth shut. She should have just called Archer herself rather than trying to talk to him. Archer knew the Carters; he would have at least understood why she didn’t want to prosecute three men who had suffered far more than she had over the years.
She had always liked them, despite the fact that Dwight stole her work to cheat on their exams. The day she had reported him to the teacher, she had been dealing with a shock she couldn’t process and a pain she had no idea what to do with. She’d looked over and caught Dwight stealing her answers and before she could stop the words she had ordered him to stop.
She hadn’t meant to say it so loudly. She hadn’t meant to get him into trouble. But even now, she remembered the wounded look in his eyes. Three days later, she remembered the bruised eye that was nearly swollen shut when he returned to school.
And Amelia had known it was her fault. The school had called his foster parents and told on him, and the father in the household had beaten him until he could barely walk for days.
After that, the Carters had begun targeting her. She rarely said anything about it. She had never reported it, and she had never done anything else, ever, to get them in trouble. Especially after Dillon had nearly died of that cocaine overdose, and she’d seen how the weeks he had lain in a coma had affected his brothers.
She still saw the hurt and fear in Dwight’s eyes. And she knew that as bad as things had been for her, at least she’d had hope.
That next summer, after Crowe’s desertion of her had nearly destroyed her, she’d found another reason to keep fighting. She’d found another reason to hold on to the mercy and compassion Wayne had sneered at her over.
The Carter brothers hadn’t had hope, and that was a lesson she had never forgotten. It was one she reminded herself of often and held so deep in her soul that no one, not the man she hated above all others, or the man she loved above all others, could ever guess it existed.
Shaking her head, she moved to the desk and the laptop she kept there. Opening it and powering it on, she waited until the programs loaded and opened her email.
The inbox was loaded with messages. She didn’t even glance at them.
Pulling up a new mail, she typed in Archer’s address then began the letter.
This would be more official anyway, she told herself. Proof that she had no intention of changing her mind.
The Carter men wouldn’t get another chance after this, she promised herself. This would be their last one, and she would make that plain to them. She would even make it easy on Crowe and have Archer pick her up tomorrow to take her to the jail where she would be certain they understood every word she said to them.
She wasn’t going to allow them to risk their safety. They weren’t thieves. They didn’t do drugs. They had never so much as spoken sharply to a child or any woman besides herself. And to her only when they were drunk.
They deserved this one last chance, whether Crowe wanted them to have it or not.
CHAPTER 14
Crowe forced himself to go to the security room after leaving Amelia. He had to cool down and think before he headed to the spare bedroom where he stored his rifle. The need to take it apart, clean it, ensure it was ready to perform the second the Carter boys left that damned jail, was almost overwhelming.
He’d heard of the three men who never failed to take out their anger on Amelia if they happened to catch sight of her when they were drunk. The same three men who helped her carry her groceries from the market to her car when they were sober. Or who changed her flat tire one stormy night after she left work.
The contradiction in the men had appeased his worry for her at the time. Of course, he hadn’t heard of it happening in the two years since his return. If he had, he would have ensured it never happened again.
Nodding to Cameron, who didn’t appear in the least inclined to sleep, he moved to one of the computers set up to play back feed from the security cameras around the property.
The tall, hard-muscled tech hadn’t been his idea of an electronic security expert when he applied to Brute five years before, but he’d proven himself over the years.
Rough talking, when you could get him to speak, a brutal martial arts gutter fighter, and a damned sap when it came to women and babies, he never failed to keep whatever team he worked with laughing over his protective nature when it came to his computers and the women or children involved in any of their assignments.
“We had a few shadows on camera four while Ms. Sorenson was out of the house,” the tech, Cameron Fitzgerald, told him quietly, toggling between monitors and zooming in and out to check current shadows. “I’m damned sure it was someone fucking with my cameras, but I couldn’t get a clear picture. I marked it on the log and sent it to the gurus at home.”
The gurus at home were Ivan’s top electronic wizards in Manhattan. The security programmers Ivan had pulled in from the vast network of contacts he’d made over the years could do things with security devices and programs that Crowe had sworn couldn’t be done.
Pulling up the recording the other man had marked, he narrowed his eyes on the shadows the cameras had recorded, wondering what the hell was moving in the heavy growth of pine, naked oak, and brush that grew on the perimeter of the yard at the back and sides of the house.
The stone and wrought-iron fence that surrounded the block-size estate did nothing to protect the inner yard, and hampered the cameras set up to watch it.
Seven years ago Crowe had sneered at Wayne’s attempt to ensure no one invaded his property. He’d used the very weaknesses he was now cursing to slip through the trees and make his way to Amelia’s balcony and then into her bedroom and her bed.
He’d invaded not just Wayne’s property, but also Wayne’s daughter, he thought in satisfaction. The bastard had played the Callahans’ friend for years. He’d had dinner at Clyde’s ranch with them, bringing his quiet, somber daughter with him. He’d commiserated with them, assured them he’d do everything he could to help them, then used whatever information he could find during those visits to attempt to frame them.
Watching the video recorded earlier that day, Crowe watched the shadows that kept eluding the cameras’ attempts to zoom in. He could hear Cameron cursing on the audio feed, then five minutes later an order to the remaining security personnel to check it out.
All of them.
“You left the house unsecured?” he asked the tech.
Cameron turned to him, his serious, intent blue eyes almost electric in color. “I only had two fucking men here, Mr. Callahan, the rest were out with you. I did a full electronic lockdown on the house while they were out, with all indoor cameras set to detect not just movement, but also temperature change. I had to make a decision, and identifying what was screwing with our cameras was too important. That’s our first defense.”
“And this was Wayne’s test against them,” Crowe murmured as the program on his laptop began detecting the subtle evidence of electronic interference. “Did Mike patch the cameras into the new anti-jamming hardware Ivan set up?”
“I still have to check the integrity of eq
uipment and software.” Cameron turned to him. “Mike was a sloppy bastard. I’ve spent about every minute I’ve had spare just trying to decipher why the stupid son of a bitch plugged what into where. No sooner did I walk in here than shit started happening. But that one’s next on my list, after the diagnostic test I’m running is finished.” He tapped the monitor he was watching. “I’m showing temperature changes in this room, and in the kitchen. It’s confusing the hell out of me. The temperature modules on the cameras and the security boxes attached to the doors are all working fine. The glitch has to be in the computer.”
“How long before you can track it down?” Crowe questioned, staring at the diagnostics showing on the screen.
“I’m hoping soon,” Cameron sighed. “Otherwise, I’m going to have to track Mike down and beat the fuck out of him for being stupid.”
Crowe moved back to the laptop, his gaze checking the status of the program to detect the interference used to confuse the cameras. He still had several hours left to go.
The time in the control room had allowed him to settle down, though.
“Ms. Sorenson is sending out email at the moment,” the tech noted absently. “To Sheriff Tobias. Should I intercept it?”
“Let it go.” Crowe shook his head. “Anna’s still getting email through Archer, just in case Wayne gets stupid enough to email her. It’ll make it easier to track from his official address.”
“Fuck yeah,” Cameron answered, his voice distracted now as he keyed commands on the holographic keyboard in front of him.
Crowe almost grinned at the sight of the hard-core marine with his tattooed biceps, savage expression, and intent, odd-as-hell eyes playing that holo-board like a master pianist.
“Give me a call if the audio notification on this program sounds,” he told the other man as he rose to his feet, his gaze moving to the foyer camera, which picked up Amelia leaving the room, entering the foyer, then heading up the stairs.