Collision Poin_A Brute Force Novel

by Lora Leigh

  chapter twenty

  Crimsyn Delaney.

  Amara remembered her the moment she saw her. With her flame red hair, deep green eyes, and gently rounded features, she was as unique and fiery as her hair. Temperamental, deeply loyal, and normally quick to smile, Crimsyn could just as quickly become embroiled in a debate or protest. As evidenced by the brawl she’d evidently just been involved in.

  Amara still couldn’t believe her poppa had dragged Syn into the estate, followed by a barrage of gunfire. And what the hell was she doing here anyway? The last time she’d seen Crimsyn was in the New York County District Attorney’s office where they’d both worked. Crimsyn was several years older, twenty-six or twenty-seven. They hadn’t been fast friends; “friendly acquaintances” would be more accurate.

  Pacing her bedroom as she waited for the other woman to eat and shower, she bit at her thumbnail and tried to remember as much as possible about Crimsyn Delaney.

  While Amara had worked as an intern at the DA’s office, Crimsyn had been an administrative assistant, working mainly in research. Crimsyn was more often to be found in the file storage rooms than in the offices.

  They’d gone out for lunch occasionally with some of the other assistants and interns. They hadn’t socialized outside the job, and Crimsyn, though aware of who Amara’s father was, did not know him or hadn’t ever met him, as far as Amara knew.

  What the hell was she doing working in that café in Boulder?

  And why hadn’t she actually spoken to Amara rather than waiting for Amara to speak to her?

  What could Crimsyn possibly have to do with anything that was going on now?

  “You okay?” Riordan spoke from the connecting door, causing her to turn quickly to face him.

  “Okay?” she asked him mockingly. “I don’t think I’ll ever be okay again. I still haven’t remembered my own abduction, I don’t know who wanted to hurt me or why, and I have no idea why Syn is here.”

  There were still too many blanks in her mind, too many things she couldn’t remember. But she knew the memories were coming. She could feel it.

  “Ivan recognized her when he went out to the coffee shop with Ilya earlier. He said she wasn’t on the employee list when he checked it before,” he told her, moving farther into the room as his lips quirked into a smile and his eyes gleamed with sapphire amusement. “She packs a punch though. She laid into your father so fast he didn’t know what hit him for a second.”

  She would have been amused, at any other time, and would be laughing in her father’s face.

  “How’s Poppa’s arm?” She’d checked on him just after seeing Syn to a suite, but like always, he was tough. “Just a scratch—nothing to worry about,” he’d said. His declarations tended to piss her off when she knew he was hurt but he pretended he wasn’t.

  “A flesh wound, just as he said. Last I saw he was half drunk and on the phone with associates,” he grunted. “He was screaming in Russian when I left him with Ilya and Noah. Noah was muttering something about babysitting.”

  Reaching for her, he pulled her into his arms, his hands moving over her back, stroking, caressing as her eyes drifted closed and she fought to keep from holding on desperately to him.

  “You okay?” His head bent over hers, his lips brushing against her ear as he spoke.

  “I’m okay,” she promised him.

  God, she could be such a liar. She was anything but “okay.” She’d been anything but okay since she’d opened her eyes in that damn hospital room six months ago.

  * * *

  “Hmm.” The murmured response was filled with doubt, but he let her go as she moved away from him. “So who’s your friend in the other room?”

  Blowing out a hard breath and glancing toward her door, she pushed her fingers through her short hair and felt the curls that clung to her fingers as well as the edges of panic building in her chest.

  “We worked at the DA’s office when I was interning there. We weren’t best friends. We were work friends I guess.” She frowned, probing at her memory of Syn to be certain she was right. “I don’t understand why she’s here or what’s going on, Riordan. It doesn’t make sense.”

  Nothing made sense anymore.

  Swinging away from him, she stalked to the balcony doors, staring out to watch as the snow swirled outside. It had begun snowing heavily once again, the curtain of white insulating and icy.

  Through the window she watched his reflection move toward her, his expression somber, his gaze holding hers, and she wanted to scream out at the pain tearing through her.

  She couldn’t forget the knowledge that lay in her soul like a heavy weight.

  She hadn’t been able to forget or to cry for the child she’d lost and the knowledge she was holding back from him. Why was she so certain he would even care?

  “Say it.” He had stopped just behind her, and the demand in his voice caused her to flinch.

  “What do you want me to say?” Clenching her fists at her sides, she fought the need to scream, to release all the fury and pain trapped inside.

  “Whatever I can see burning in your eyes,” he answered her, his voice harsh. “Whatever I can feel tearing you apart. It’s lying between us like an invisible sword just waiting to slice us both open. What aren’t you telling me?”

  She lowered her head, her eyes closing briefly. She fought the tears building behind her lashes as hard as she fought to hold herself back and deny the need to beg him to hold her.

  There were so many emotions tearing at her, but uppermost was the love she felt for him. The love she knew he felt for her.

  He’d loved her.

  He’d loved her then and he loved her now.

  As her lips parted, the words hovering on her tongue, a sharp knock at her bedroom door had her swallowing them and swinging around.

  Riordan strode quickly to the door.

  “Who is it?” The low, graveled tone of his voice indicated his displeasure at the interruption.

  “Elizaveta,” came the answer quickly.

  Riordan opened the door and allowed her inside.

  “Miss Delaney has showered and finished her meal,” she told them, her voice tight. “Ivan has asked that he speak to Riordan before you speak with her. And I will tell you now”—she flashed Riordan an uncertain look—“he’s going to demand you allow him to listen in on your meeting.”

  Amara was surprised her cousin revealed that information in Riordan’s presence. That small sign of trust she gave him hinted that perhaps she and her brother hadn’t heard of Riordan telling her father things he shouldn’t know. Things he didn’t need to know.

  “He won’t be alone.” He turned to Amara. “You’ll need to wear one of the earbuds to allow the others to hear what she’s saying and for Noah to communicate with you as you talk to her. He’ll be checking her information as she gives it, and if anything comes up, he’ll be able to let you know.”

  It made sense. Agreeing to being bugged, as her father called it, Amara listened as Riordan explained the small device that tucked inside her ear. It was programmed to link her only to him, to her father, and to the team that worked specifically with Riordan, rather than to the general security team.

  Amara’s hair was just long enough to curl over and around her ears, allowing the device to be hidden but not interfere with reception.

  Finally, after ensuring the others were receiving the link clearly, Riordan nodded and stepped to the door. “Ready?” he asked her.

  Amara nodded her answer when she really wanted nothing more than to hide in her room.

  “Ready.”

  She wasn’t going to hide any longer. By God, enough was enough. She’d let the missing memories, the fear and uncertainties steal six months of her life, and she wasn’t going to let it steal any more. And if Crimsyn was involved in the abduction somehow, involved in the loss of her and Riordan’s baby, then God help her. Because Amara didn’t think she’d be able to forgive her.

  “Let’s g
o then.” Riordan held his hand out to her, broad, and strong.

  Taking it, she watched his fingers clasp hers and swore she felt him wrap around her soul as well.

  “Everything’s going to be okay,” he whispered, lowering his head to the opposite ear of the communications bud, so the words reached only her. “I’ll be right there with you.”

  Yes, he would.

  As she stepped into the hallway and paused, waiting for Elizaveta to follow her and then for Riordan to secure the room, those darkened, misty memories parted. She remembered the hole they threw her into, the agony of her broken bones and her broken dreams as she felt the blood that stained her thighs.

  And she’d cried out for Riordan. Huddled in the dark silence, she’d reached for him, certain she could reach him, certain she wouldn’t have to die alone if she just tried hard enough.

  She’d convinced herself she felt him. Lying on the dirt, her body wracked by pain, she’d felt his horror, felt his arms surrounding her, his voice calling to her …

  “Amara?” The touch at her arm had her jerking her head to the side and staring up at him, her heart racing, her breathing heavy at the abrupt shift from memory to reality.

  What had happened in that pit her father had said they’d found her in? Where had she gone to escape the pain, the loss, and the certainty that she was dying?

  “I’m fine,” she whispered, answering the question she could sense in the heaviness of his expression. “Let’s see what the hell she’s doing in Boulder, why the hell Poppa got shot, and how the hell Ilya got fired twice in one night. It’s bound to be a hell of a story.”

  It was bound to make her crazy was what it was bound to do.

  Her father and Ilya had been best friends since they were boys. They often fought—her father was always firing Ilya—and they wound up hitting each other a few times a year. They loved each other like brothers, but they disagreed often. And sometimes, they disagreed violently.

  Hopefully they could keep their tempers intact for as long as it took her to talk to Syn. She’d liked the other woman when they worked together, but she couldn’t imagine why she was in Denver and obviously trying to find a way to talk to her without anyone knowing.

  Stepping into the guest room with Riordan following closely, Amara caught Elizaveta’s eye and motioned her from the room. She stayed silent while waiting for her cousin to leave, and when the door closed she met Syn’s eyes purposefully.

  Syn had showered, her hair was still damp. Amara had sent a pair of soft gray lounging pants and a T-shirt for her to wear.

  “I’m sorry about the way Poppa seems to have handled this. Sometimes, he can be a little intense.” Especially where his only child’s safety was concerned.

  Syn glared at her at the mention of Ivan. “Your father’s deranged,” she snapped. “And a pervert. He propositioned me, Amara.” Pure outrage filled her voice. “He can say what he wants about trying to help me, but he actually asked me to spend the night with him.”

  Amara stared at her in surprise. Strangely, her father wasn’t protesting that fact through the communications link. Though she heard the strangled little sound Riordan made behind her.

  “Be that as it may,” Amara said firmly, facing her, “the moment I saw you, tonight, Syn, I remembered you. We were friends, but that doesn’t explain why you were in Boulder waiting for me to speak to you, rather than approaching me and explaining why you’re here.”

  Syn watched her for long moments before giving her head a brief shake. “Hell, I had no idea you’d lost your memory until I overheard two of the guards who work here talking about it last week. If I had known, I would have shown up on your doorstep.”

  Amara frowned at the response. “Why wait though?”

  Syn grimaced. “I thought you were deliberately ignoring me until you could get a chance to talk. I’ve become a little paranoid over the past six months, Amara. Maybe more than a little.”

  Amara watched as she pushed her fingers through her hair, her expression twisting with fear and uncertainty.

  “Syn.” None of this made sense. “Why? If you needed my help—”

  “Your help?” Syn burst out incredulously. “God, Amara, I was certain your father would have already taken care of this. Instead, those bastards followed me from New York and nearly killed me tonight. When is he going to put their murdering asses six feet under so I can live in a small amount of peace and get my life back? You’d think a Russian mobster would know how to take care of these little things without help. Ya know?”

  Muttered curses and a rush of sound could be heard through the link at her ear as Amara stared at Syn in shock. She could hear her poppa demanding to know how Ilya missed questioning Syn and his snapped reply that she wasn’t on the staff of the DA’s office when he questioned them.

  All the while, her heart was racing as panic began to surge through her system, but the memories weren’t there yet. Close. But they weren’t there yet.

  “Miss Delaney, do you know who kidnapped Amara?” Riordan asked. His voice was low, but Amara could hear the harsh rasp just beneath the softness of the tone.

  The look Syn shot Riordan was scathing. “If I knew, I’d kill him myself,” she snapped. “All I know is who it had to do with. The first woman they kidnapped showed up dead three days after Amara was kidnapped. And just after Amara disappeared, I was nearly kidnapped. They just didn’t expect the fight they got, and I managed to get away.”

  Amara listened, feeling the strange numbness that seemed to fill her and, underlying that, the panic that threatened to slip free. She felt cornered, as though something, someone dangerous was getting far too close.

  “Syn, I have to call the others up here,” Riordan said then. “This is something we all need to hear, and you need to tell us everything you know. You want the bastards six feet under, right?” he questioned, his voice harsh as she seemed ready to protest. “Then help us make that happen. Work with us.”

  And all Amara could do was stare at Syn and feel the shadows in her mind shifting, coiling like vipers preparing to strike. It was happening too fast. Too much information, too many revelations. The memory of the lover Riordan had been, the child she’d lost before she could tell him, and now this.

  She wanted to run from whatever was coming. She wanted to make it stop, just for a little while, just long enough to prepare herself for what she could sense was coming. She wasn’t ready to deal with more, and yet she didn’t have a choice.

  She could hear her father and Ilya on the link as her father snapped out orders and Ilya replied with calm determination. Noah was talking to someone, demanding a full background on Syn and some kind of communication link to an unknown “base.” And all of it was distant, as though happening somewhere else, to someone else.

  As Syn plopped down on the couch and covered her face with her hands, Amara moved to the chair across from her and sat down as well.

  “I need a drink,” Syn muttered.

  “Irish hooch,” Amara suggested. “I could use a few shots myself.”

  Syn stared back, regret shimmering in her eyes, filling her expression as she rested her arms across her knees then dropped her head. “I’m so sorry, Amara,” she whispered, shaking her head before lifting it to stare back again.

  She was so sorry? Yeah, well she wasn’t the only one. Amara couldn’t imagine being on the run for six months, always looking over her shoulder, wondering when a friend was going to reach out to her while too terrified to reach out herself.

  Syn was thinner than she’d been six months ago, her face pale and drawn. There was no doubt of her fear and the toll that fear had taken on her. Amara remembered a laughing, always joking Syn. She’d never seen such stress on her face in the year they’d worked together.

  “I’m sorry,” Syn whispered again. “I really didn’t know about the memory loss. I thought you were just being careful. I knew your father was searching for your abductor, that he was questioning the staff at the office. I th
ought you knew.”

  Amara blew out a hard breath as she rubbed at her arms.

  Knew? She didn’t know a damn thing, but she had a feeling it was all there, behind that curtain over her mind, just waiting to strike. And when it blew open, would she be able to handle it?

  Knowing what had resulted from the beating she’d taken and actually facing the memories was another thing entirely, she feared. Just the knowing was breaking her heart. She’d wanted Riordan’s baby so much. Not to hold on to the father or to tie him to her, but because it was precious. Innocent.

  Her father had once told her that he’d faced pure innocence the day she was born, and that it changed something inside him. The boy who was so filled with anger became a man determined to protect what he’d seen in his daughter’s eyes. The sound of his voice, the look on his face when he’d said those words, had given her a glimpse into the magic she’d find with her own child. A child given to her by a man unlike any other she knew. A man she had given her heart to.

  “He’s very protective of you,” Syn said softly, drawing Amara from her thoughts and forcing her back to reality.

  “Your bodyguard.” The other woman nodded at Riordan as she spoke, her voice low.

  His back was to them, his leanly muscled body tense as he kept an eye on them through the mirror on the door.

  Her gaze met his, the somber sapphire shielded by thick black lashes and far too sexy for a woman’s peace of mind. But in his gaze she saw something she knew no other woman had seen. Even more, she felt something each time his gaze touched hers. She swore she felt him, wrapping around her spirit, grounding her where she hadn’t been grounded before.

  “He is,” she agreed softly, turning back to Syn. “Very much so.”

  “I remember him.” A grin tugged at Syn’s lips as her brown eyes lightened just a bit from the fear that had filled them earlier. “He’d sit a few tables over when we had lunch with another bodyguard. I always noticed how he watched you. All of us did.”

  Amara stared back at her in surprise. “You never said anything.”

  “Of course not.” Syn rolled her eyes as amusement lightened her expression. “We were all totally jealous and completely lusting after that hard body.”