Collision Poin_A Brute Force Novel

by Lora Leigh

  chapter fourteen

  Someone was playing with them, Riordan could feel it. The alarm had been set off by a tree limb that had apparently snapped the day before. It just so happened to have landed on the one section of the wall they hadn’t finished the upgraded electronics or cameras for yet.

  From all appearances, it had just broken off and fallen. The break was jagged enough to support that theory. Under any other circumstances, Riordan could have given it the benefit of doubt.

  Under any other normal circumstances, that is, but this wasn’t exactly normal. The same night that they’d also had problems with their SUV? He simply wasn’t buying it.

  Riordan could feel the icy rage beginning to build an hour later as he met with Noah, Micah, and Ivan in Ivan’s office.

  The other man wore jeans for a change, shirt and leather coat, with a weapon strapped to his thigh.

  He could see the steel will and pure icy control that took Ivan out of the Russian crime family he’d once been a part of and into a fortune in legitimate business enterprises. The determination to do whatever it took, to push any limits he had to push, was there in his hard, savage expression, in his stubborn will.

  Ivan had always said that for Amara, he’d changed the course of his life and tried to become the man she could find some pride in. A man an intelligent daughter could love. For the most part, he’d succeeded, but Riordan could also see the man who had already been honed by deceit, blood, and lies. A man willing to use every criminal lesson he’d ever been taught to save his daughter.

  “They’re testing my security,” he growled as he strode to the bar and uncapped the whiskey Grandpops had brought him a supply of.

  After tossing back the first shot, he poured five more as Ilya collected them and handed them out. Riordan let the first sip of the homemade liquor burn its way down, the fiery wash stilling only a small amount of his rage.

  “You have a spy in the house, Ivan,” Riordan warned him. “That’s the only area we didn’t have completely finished. If we hadn’t put the alarms in place and tied them to our phones instead of waiting to tie them into the electronics, they would have gotten in.”

  And no one knew they’d manually programmed the alarms in such a way. Even Ivan.

  “The wind could have actually brought that tree limb down in just the right place,” Noah pointed out, though Riordan could tell by the tone of his voice that he didn’t actually support his own theory.

  They just couldn’t ignore it.

  Shooting his brother a brooding look, Riordan finished his drink before taking the glass to the bar and placing it next to Ivan’s. But not for a refill. Dawn would make its appearance within the hour, and that section of the security system was going to be finished before that blizzard struck. There would be no getting out of the estate for days afterward, and hopefully, no getting in.

  “I have to leave in the morning.” Ivan grimaced, worry reflecting in his gaze as he glanced to his assistant, Ilya. “I’ll no doubt be stuck at the hotel in Boulder for the duration of the storm. Amara would be far safer here.”

  “That will leave us short of security personnel,” Noah pointed out.

  He gave his head a slight shake. “The agents you requested will be here later this morning. I’ll take two of the house security with me.”

  “It’ll be good to have them back.” Riordan nodded before looking out the window and gauging the cloud cover thickening in the predawn sky. “We’ll have snow by tomorrow evening if not sooner.”

  Ivan nodded at that though he said nothing in reply.

  “I’ll oversee the work on the remaining security installation this morning,” Micah offered. “That way we’ll keep our schedule. Noah will take second watch, and once Max and Sawyer show up, Noah can settle the rest of the day with them.”

  Riordan glanced briefly at his brother before turning back to Ivan. “I want Amara’s medical file as well the therapist’s notes. I want to know why those memories are blocked, and I’m not getting anywhere with her.”

  Ivan simply stared back at him for long moments, his expression considering, thoughtful. Riordan couldn’t help but wonder at that moment, what he was hiding, though. He knew Ivan. He’d worked for him for the past several years in Brute Force as well as a few jobs he’d done for the Elite Ops that Noah oversaw.

  The fact that the Elite Operations division had been pulled in on this didn’t surprise him, but the lack of information where Amara’s medical records were concerned did.

  Reaching up, Ivan rubbed at his forehead, his hand shading the side of his left eye as he stared back at Riordan. He was hiding something. Something he wasn’t comfortable about, and if the tense set of his lips was any indication, it pissed him the hell off. Was it what he was hiding, or the fact that he was hiding it, that pissed him off?

  “How will her medical records answer that question? You’re no doctor, Riordan.” The scorn in his voice was telling.

  He’d studied people long enough—and Ivan in particular, for years. As implacable as the man could be, he still had his tells, those tiny ways his expression gave him away.

  “Let me determine whether or not those records will help me,” he countered. “I want them and I want them today.”

  If he didn’t get them from Ivan, there were other ways to acquire them. Flicking a look to Noah, he noticed his brother was watching the other man closely as well, though he was being far subtler about it.

  And if he wasn’t mistaken, Ivan would do whatever it took to keep those records from him.

  “No.” Ivan rose to his feet. His expression, as icy and arrogant as it became, also held an edge of grief. “The medical records will have to wait.”

  They would have to wait?

  Riordan narrowed his gaze on the other man, watching him carefully, noting the slightest edge of grief not only in his eyes but in the flicker of emotion tightening his lips.

  Not that Riordan could blame him for his grief. God no. The grief and guilt rested on his shoulders as well. He should have never taken that assignment in England. He shouldn’t have left her. He’d known that at the time. He’d felt it clear to his soul, and he’d left anyway. That was on him, and he’d never allow it to happen again.

  “Don’t, Riordan,” Ivan said as he stared at him. “Not right now. It’s not in her best interests, and I don’t believe the reason she lost her memory is in those medical records. I think the reason she lost her memory is because she knew you died in that helicopter. I think she lost her memory because of you.”

  Because he’d died. Because in those first moments that he’d been lifted into the evac chopper his heart had stopped beating. Noah and Micah had told him of the fight they’d waged to keep him alive as the pilot raced for the nearest hospital equipped to perform the surgery he required.

  They’d lost him twice, then twice more during surgery. He didn’t remember the struggle or his fight to live, though the doctors were amazed he’d actually done so.

  Don’t die for me, she’d cried out to him as they lifted her out of that hole.

  He remembered her crying out his name when that first bullet struck him and again when the second slammed into his back. He didn’t remember a lot after that but he did remember her crying out, begging him not to leave her.

  She hadn’t lost her memory before that chopper lifted off, she’d lost consciousness. When she’d regained it, she’d lost a year of her life.

  From the day she’d met him, to the moment she lost consciousness.

  Because of him.

  A woman who had done everything possible to hide a relationship with a man lost her memory because she thought she’d lost that man?

  “I want those records,” he repeated. “Today.”

  Turning on his heel, Riordan stalked to the door, jerked it open, and left the office. He didn’t slam the door behind him, but God knew he wanted to. He wanted to rip the damn thing off the hinges.

  As bad as he wanted to disbelieve Ivan’s
reasons for Amara’s loss of memory, he couldn’t. Something had been off with her for the entire three months he’d been sleeping with her. Even before then. She’d been holding back, and he’d thought it was shame. Shame wasn’t a reason to forget a year of a person’s life.

  And he’d been playing fucking patty-cake with that stubborn-assed woman when he should have been playing hardball right from the start. Whatever the hell had caused her to shut out a year of her life, Ivan had been right, the time coincided with the time he’d met her, to the second she’d lost consciousness on the chopper.

  Why?

  He wouldn’t be able to answer that question until she remembered, just as he knew she wouldn’t be safe until she remembered.

  She was holding back, just as she’d held back before she’d lost her memories.

  For some reason, Amara was determined not to remember.

  chapter fifteen

  The storm was on them.

  Already, fat fluffy flakes of snow were drifting on the air outside the estate, falling around the heated solarium with lazy abandon. Clouds were lying thick and heavy, obliterating the sight of the mountaintops and giving the landscape a pre-dusk look despite the early hour.

  According to the weather report, the snow would soon be flying thick and heavy, making the land around the estate treacherous to be out in. Even the gardens outside the heated glass room attached to her father’s office would be dangerous. But then, that was why he’d had the room built, because Amara loved to watch it snow.

  Poppa wasn’t there to share that first snowfall with her though, as he had been in years past.

  Business, he’d said.

  Business.

  She was never certain exactly what his business was when he said that. Was he the mafia lord his father had been grooming him to be when she was born, or just the slightly shady businessman, as he always assured her?

  Or was he in league with a slightly shady government agency, as she’d once suspected?

  Not that it mattered in the scheme of things, she guessed.

  He was her poppa and she had to trust that he wasn’t the criminal that journalists and rival businessmen accused him of being. She had to trust that he was the man who taught her to be independent, to think for herself. He hadn’t raised her to blindly and obediently follow him as his father had tried to raise his children.

  He loved her and he’d taught her to love. And he’d taught her to be honest, not just with others, but with herself. And if she had to be honest with herself, she had to admit something wasn’t right where Riordan was concerned. Especially her reaction to him.

  She’d never wanted a man the moment she’d laid eyes on him. She’d never felt as though she knew him intimately when she hadn’t. And she’d never, to her knowledge, gone down on a man. What made it worse was the fact that she’d known how to please him, how make him moan for her, how to pull those harsh, male groans from his chest.

  Rubbing at her upper arms, she turned from the view long enough to check the fireplace and replenish the wood before curling in the corner of the leather sofa to view the flames as well as the blizzard blowing in. Pulling the imitation fur blanket around her legs, she let her fingers linger on the exquisite quality of the beautiful fake wolf’s fur.

  As her fingers stroked the soft material, her eyes drifted closed, but not in drowsiness.

  It was one of those barely there, wispy memories of lying before the fire, her naked back cushioned by the thick comfort of several heavy blankets beneath her. Above her, the bronzed perfection of Riordan’s body.

  Her sex clenched at the ghostly sensations of a caress and within the fog that hid so much from her, she saw images so sexy they stole her breath. So erotic, so dark and filled with lust that a flush heated her flesh to think that she had actually done such things.

  Swallowing deeply, she forced her eyes open as she felt her breasts swelling, her nipples beading with sexual need. Between her thighs, she was slick and damp and aching for touch. For his touch.

  Her fingers clenched in the blanket, her eyes narrowed on the scene outside.

  It had been snowing then as well. An early spring snow, one of those end-of-the-season storms that blew in and held the land captive for several days, making skiers ecstatic. She’d found a far different ecstasy in this room, before this fire.

  For a moment, the sound of her moans drifted through her head as he whispered at her ear. Wicked, naughty phrases, demands that had acted like a drug to her senses. The feel of her own hands touching herself as he watched, watching him as those long, powerful fingers stroked the heavy width of his shaft.

  “Show me,” he demanded, his voice dark, commanding. “Let me see how you stroke yourself when I’m not here…”

  She covered her face with her hands, a deep sense of disbelief sweeping over her as the memory materialized slowly. It wouldn’t be kind enough to flash across her mind. Hell no. She had to relive it in slow motion, the fog parted enough to remember how she’d used an intimate toy on herself as he watched. Driving it inside her, lost in his gaze, desperate for release.

  Just as she’d dreamed of him last night. Disjointed, sex-driven dreams that were so explicit, so erotic, she could barely believe she’d done such things. Or allowed them to be done to her.

  She’d tried for days to convince herself that it was just fantasy, her mind playing tricks on her, her intense arousal for Riordan, but after the night before, there was no denying it.

  “Remembering how we used this room, baby?” Riordan’s low, deep voice vibrated from behind her, causing her to jerk her head to the side.

  A blush suffused her entire body as he walked slowly around the couch, his gaze watching her closely in the dim light of the solarium. Her head turned as she followed him, watching him carefully as he walked in front of the couch and stared down at her. His expression was in shadow now, but the gleam of his gaze held her, just as the hunger on his face did.

  “Oh, sure I am,” she declared mockingly. “Too bad you weren’t here to remind me.”

  His lips tightened, but she could see the grin that wanted to escape. The bastard. He was laughing at her. Amused by her anger and her uncertainty.

  Amused by her.

  “I have some damn good memories from this solarium,” he said, looking around before returning his gaze to hers. “Damn good ones.”

  “Stop.” Her fingers clenched in the fur, digging into it as she fought against too many emotions she simply didn’t know to process.

  They didn’t make sense. There were no memories to give them definition, or depth. They lashed at her, undefined and lost and so filled with a sense of grief that they made no sense. She didn’t want to deal with them. She didn’t want to try to make sense of barely there whispers and shadowed suspicions any longer.

  “I can’t deal with you tonight.” Throwing the blanket, she surged to her feet, intent on escaping, running from him and everything she didn’t know how to feel.

  “Well, too fucking bad, stubborn-ass,” he snapped, his arm snagging her waist before she made it two steps and dragging her against his chest.

  “Did you think I wasn’t coming for you? That after this morning, there wouldn’t be a reckoning, Amara?” His fingers gripped her jaw, holding her head in place, forcing her to stare up at him. “Did you think I was going to let you continue to hide from me?”

  Savage and imposing, his expression seemed carved from stone and inset with sapphires as his gaze held hers. There was hunger, lust, and anger and something remorseful that shadowed his gaze.

  “Why, if we were lovers, would I hide from you?” She jerked against his grip, glaring up at him, so angry—at him, at herself, at things she couldn’t remember, and at events she was too terrified to relive. “Maybe it was all wishful thinking on my part.”

  She was lying to him and she knew it. Her body remembered, and the shadowed images slowly making themselves known within that abyss of lost knowledge assured her she knew. For six mo
nths she’d waited for him, and she could deny it to him until Hell froze over, but truth was truth.

  His eyes narrowed, his thick, black lashes shielding whatever thoughts his gaze could help her decipher. “Liar,” he growled. “I always knew when you were lying to me, and you’re no better at it now than you were then. And I’ll tolerate it even less now.”

  Amara couldn’t help but be surprised, shocked by his claim. She’d never dated men like him, and she’d had offers. Strong, proud men, arrogant and imposing and so damn certain of themselves. They treated her like a child, like a possession, and her father hadn’t raised her to be any man’s possession. He’d raised her to be just as strong, just as arrogant, until the day she stared into sapphire eyes across a restaurant table and felt her femininity in a way she’d never imagined she could.

  That memory was suddenly there. Hazy, uncertain, and shadowed. The way he stared at her when her father introduced them, the deep pitch of his voice as he greeted her, the touch of his hand against hers, and she’d known this was the man she’d tried so hard to avoid. The man who would replace so many life plans …

  “Let me go!” She jerked against the hold he had on her even as she realized how weak her demand was.

  The arm around her back tightened, and if his expression could become harder, could become more stubborn, than she couldn’t imagine it.

  “So you can keep lying to yourself?” His head lowered until they were almost nose to nose. “So you can keep hiding from yourself and whatever happened during that fucking abduction?” Fury flashed in his eyes.

  “You left me.” The cry tore from her when she hadn’t even realized the accusation was in her mind. “You weren’t there.”

  He would have been in the bed with her. He and his team would have been in place, not those men who worked for money alone.

  Even as she said the words, the unfairness of it slapped her with a lash of sorrow.

  “I didn’t mean that,” she whispered, her hands suddenly clenching his shoulders, desperate that he realize she didn’t blame him. “Please. God. Riordan, I didn’t mean that. I don’t blame you…”