RETURN TO ME

by Christy Reece

  And someday, very soon, he would finally repay a debt no one but Noah could pay.

  The door clicking open alerted him that Samara was home. Sitting at the small desk in the living room, his body loosened from the tension he hadn’t been aware he had. Eyeing her, he hid his concern under an expression of cold rationality.

  She looked calm, no longer hurt. Her eyes sparkled clear, but the telltale swollen eyelids revealed she’d been crying. Something tugged in his chest. He hadn’t come here to hurt her, but they’d been working together for one day and he’d already made her cry.

  “You okay?”

  Her animated face flickered with something, before she cocked her head slightly and said, “You’re a jerk, Noah McCall, but I’ve seen worse. You need my help for this job, so in the future, I would recommend that you don’t piss me off too much.”

  He clenched his jaw to keep from grinning at her. “Deal.”

  “Good. Now, I’ve been thinking.” Dropping her shopping bags on the floor, she threw herself on the couch and slipped out of her shoes. Bending her toes back and forth as if they needed exercise, she continued, “Since you’re going to be here working day and night, I need to let my friends think I’m out of town. The last thing I want to do is get them involved or hurt.”

  “No one is going to get hurt.”

  “It’ll still be easier if they believe I’m headed to my parents’ for a visit. I’ll take care of that.”

  Noah nodded. He should have thought about that. Having her friends around would certainly put a wrench in their plans. “Samara, there’s something else.” Her what now expression had him biting back another smile. “You know not to mention my name or anything about me, right?”

  “Yes, Jordan had this conversation with me when he was barely conscious in the hospital.”

  “Good. Now, do you want a sloppy joe?”

  A delicate shudder. “No thanks. I stopped for something before coming home.”

  “I guess we’re ready to get started.”

  Noah watched her pad barefoot into the kitchen, her enticing bottom twitching with a sexy femininity he swore he would ignore but didn’t keep himself from appreciating. He might never have a normal kind of life, but it didn’t mean he didn’t have a normal male appreciation for a fine female form. Samara’s form was most definitely in that category.

  She returned with two bottles of water. Handing him one, she took a long swallow of hers and then sat down at the desk. “Okay, let’s get started.”

  They began with going into each chat room and checking to see who might be there. After checking, Samara watched Noah type in a brief message.

  Hi, my name is Carly. I live in Birmingham, Alabama. I’m sixteen. Like to swim, hang at the mall and write poetry. Anybody out there want to talk tonight?

  After the fifth time without much more than a “Hi, nice to see you here,” Samara started to see that this was going to take more time than she’d originally thought. Not that she thought they’d go online for the first day and find the predator, but trolling through all the chat rooms one by one was beginning to look like the “needle in a haystack” analogy she’d always hated … mostly because she’d never heard it applied to anything good.

  She cut her eyes over to Noah. He looked exhausted. His normally swarthy darkness now paler, shadows made half-circle sweeps under his eyes. The lines around his mouth made him seem older, grimmer. It was seven hours later in Paris. “When’s the last time you slept?”

  Typing another message into yet another chat room, he grunted out an unintelligible sound.

  “Excuse me, didn’t quite get that.”

  Noah pulled his eyes from the screen, blinking rapidly as if to clear them. His too-perfect mouth lifted into a slight smile. “What day is it?”

  Ignoring the heart flip his smile always evoked, she concentrated on his words. “So, basically days?”

  He shrugged and returned his gazed to the screen. “At least two.”

  That did it. Samara stood and stretched. “Then let’s call it a night.”

  His eyes back on the screen, he shook his head. “You go on. I can—”

  “We’re not getting anywhere.” She squinted a look at her wall clock. “It’s after two in the morning. If he were on tonight, he would’ve already replied.”

  Noah blew out a long sigh, his face grim. She knew he would have liked to make contact the first night, but making a hit the first time out wasn’t reasonable … even she knew that. Noah was so determined though, he probably thought he could have made it happen by will alone.

  For the first time since she’d seen him again, Samara’s heart softened for this man. He might be a jerk of the first order and arrogant to boot, but what he did, saving victims all over the world, was phenomenal. What had brought him to create Last Chance Rescue?

  As he shut down his computer, she suddenly found herself wishing there was something she could say or do to make him look less grim. Stupid? Absolutely. The man had done little since she’d seen him again but insult her and piss her off. Why the hell she should want to see him smile wasn’t something she wanted to contemplate.

  Samara showed him where the guest room was, the towels and other things he might need. Whispering good night, she closed the door to her bedroom, ignoring the dangerous notion of following him into the guest room and finding out exactly what those dark looks he’d flashed her today really meant. Noah had made it more than clear he wanted nothing to happen between them. Samara’s mind was totally convinced and on board with that concept. Now she just needed to persuade the rest of her body to cooperate.

  Darkness swirled around him. Like bubbling black tar, it coated his entire being, pulling him deeper into a thick black abyss. A small part of his subconscious knew he was dreaming, but refused to release him from the vicious claws. Helpless to escape, the nightmare flooded his senses, choking, smothering.

  Farrell Stoddard stood before him. Belt in hand, he flicked it against his own leg and barely made a grimace each time it hit. The anticipatory gleam in his evil, dark eyes told Noah exactly what to expect. Noah tensed, his mind screaming for him to wake up, even as he heard the whoosh of the first strike.

  Pain seared his skin. Squealing, excited giggles sounded beside him. Noah twisted his head. Mitchell stood on the other side of the bed, knife in one hand, his other hand covering his crotch. He wore Noah’s clothes … the light blue shirt he’d worked for a month at the gas station to be able to afford. The shirt Noah wore the first time he’d flirted with Rebecca.

  Another sound … a sob. Noah turned. His mother stood at the door. Her dress torn, hanging in shreds from her thin body, welt marks on her face, chest, and stomach. Her eyes were hollowed out, defeated, empty.

  A young girl stood beside her. Rebecca. Long blond hair, dirty and tousled, hung down over her thin shoulders. Her sallow complexion made her look years older than fifteen. Her eyes accused, reproached, destroyed. She was nude; semen and blood dripped down her legs.

  He had failed them. His mother and Rebecca. Failed to protect them, failed to keep them safe. Noah twisted the sheets, willing himself to wake up, telling himself it was all a dream.

  Samara stood beside the bed. Her pretty face marred with tears and bruises. Her expression hurt, reproachful. “Why?” she whispered.

  Noah woke on a stifled shout. He threw the sheet off and slammed his feet down on the solid, carpeted floor. Hell and damnation, he’d not had a dream like that in years. Why now? Because he was so close? Or for another reason? Was he putting Samara in jeopardy? No, she would be safe. He would make sure she was safe. She was his chance, perhaps his only chance, to catch these bastards. He was accustomed to using people, so why should this be any different?

  Knowing he wouldn’t sleep any more tonight, Noah pulled on a T-shirt and a pair of shorts and headed back to his laptop in the living room. He switched on the lamp and checked his watch. Five-thirty. He’d slept about three hours … enough to get him through
another day.

  He clicked on his laptop and signed on. His pulse kicked up. Three new messages waited. Had they gotten a nibble? The email addresses were innocuous enough. BS626@ramsey.com, mjj@Mozart.com, and bob@missionridge.com

  Noah clicked on and read the first.

  Hi Carly, I saw your post on teen things chatroom. My name is Brian Sanders. I go to Madison High in Montgomery. I’m seventeen and play football. … I’m a running back. Email me back if you’d like to talk more.

  The second email read like a typical lonely, horny teenager. The third one was an invitation to come to a church revival and repent. Since he was pretty sure the last one wouldn’t attract a sixteen-year-old, he ignored that one. The lonely teen … he read again:

  Carly, I’m John. U sound cut. R U?

  Noah shook his head. No, too illiterate. He went back to Brian’s message and read it again. Sounded like what he would expect from the bastard, but he’d have to wait and see. He didn’t answer back. What sixteen-year-old would be answering this early on a Saturday morning? He’d wait a few hours, then see if that nibble turned into a full-fledged bite.

  A slight sound drew his attention from the screen. A groggy fairy sprite shuffled into the living room and didn’t glance his way as she continued her early-morning slide into the kitchen. Noah’s mouth kicked up in a small smile. Evidently Ms. Samara Lyons was not a morning person.

  It took barely a second to make this realization and then proceed to the next. Samara’s sleepwear consisted of a cropped T-shirt with the picture of a frog on the front and the words Kiss me and see what happens on the back. The shorts covering her delectable bottom were brief and showed an enticing length of smooth, tanned legs. His cock rose to celebrate the occasion. Hell, was there any time this woman didn’t turn him on?

  He watched her disappear into the kitchen and resumed his mental lashing of how inappropriate it was to lust over a woman he was working with. It was a cardinal rule for him. No personal involvement with another operative … even if said operative was temporary.

  Noah stared at the screen and reminded himself of the reasons nothing could happen between them. The mission was and always would be of top importance for him. Nothing else could matter.

  The shuffling drew closer. Samara was returning from her trek into the kitchen, coffee cup in hand. She had yet to even acknowledge his existence and much to his surprise, that bothered him. Was he invisible?

  “Good morning,” Noah said.

  In one simultaneous action, Samara’s coffee cup went up in the air, she squealed a shriek high-pitched enough to excite a dolphin, and, turning, grabbed a vase filled with silk roses and threw it in his direction.

  Noah jumped up, barely getting out of the way of the flying vase. His reaction time slowed by shock at her actions. “Hell, Samara, what’s your problem?”

  “Noah, dammit!” She glared at him. “Do you have to scare the crap out of me every time?”

  “Scare you? I just said good morning. What’s scary about that?”

  Hands on hips, she continued to glare and Noah breathed in a curse. Hell, did she not realize her breasts jutted out even more? Nipples distended, Noah’s mouth watered at the thought of tasting the sweet berries, of pulling up her shirt and taking her entire breast into his mouth. They weren’t large, but beautifully shaped, rounded and firm. His palms tingled at the thought of pushing her breasts together and suckling them at the same time.

  Slender arms wrapped around her chest, distorting his view. “Would you stop staring at my breasts and look at me?”

  “I am looking at you. Go put on a bra if you don’t want me staring at your breasts.”

  “I don’t wear a bra to bed.”

  “I don’t see a bed anywhere in this room.” And thank God for that because if there was one, he greatly feared he’d already have her on it.

  With one last glower, Samara turned back to the kitchen and returned with a dish towel. She kneeled and began to mop up the coffee spill.

  Noah knew human nature enough to realize he had embarrassed her and that bothered him for some reason. He took her arm, and pulled her to her feet. “Go put on some clothes. I’ll take care of the mess.”

  Not meeting his eyes, she nodded and practically ran into the bedroom, slamming the door shut.

  Resisting the impulse to throw herself back on the bed and bury her head under the pillow, Samara instead pulled off her shirt and put on a bra. She pulled her T-shirt back on, cursing under her breath. Her breasts were small. What was the big deal? She often went without a bra and thought nothing of it, so why …

  Good heavens, had it been so long that she hadn’t even recognized the signs? He’d been staring at her breasts not from outrage that she wore no bra but from desire. She’d been slow before, but never this slow. The man wanted her. Despite his warnings, his attempts to put the blame on her, there had been desire on his face.

  Drawing a brush through her hair, she smiled at her reflection. Her day was definitely looking up.

  She returned to the living room to find the spilled coffee cleaned up and Noah in the kitchen. She eased in, wanting to gauge his mood before she said anything. The man was volatile, outrageous, and unpredictable. Definitely not an easy person to know or like. So why couldn’t she stop smiling?

  Noah stood at the stove, scrambling eggs. He shot a brief look over his shoulder. “Breakfast will be ready soon.”

  Samara poured two cups of coffee and sat them on the table. “Need any help?”

  “No.”

  Okay, fine with her. Deciding he could wait on her and she wouldn’t mind in the least, Samara sat at the table and waited for breakfast to be served.

  Noah slid a plate filled with eggs, toast, and bacon in front of her. He sat across from her and attacked his food as if it could escape at any moment. His head bent to his meal, tense silence surrounded him.

  Samara ate at a slower, contemplative pace. She was used to men and their vagaries. With five brothers, she could guess almost any mood of a man. Noah was harder to read. It was almost as if he had developed such a talent for subterfuge that showing anything real got locked up faster than lightning. Why couldn’t the man have a real, honest-to-God emotion and show it?

  “You need to learn some self-defense moves.” The grumbling voice jerked her from her Noah analysis.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “You fight like a girl.”

  Instead of addressing his insult, Samara leaned forward and seared him with her eyes. “Let me ask you a question. Do you even know how to relate to people?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You kidnap me, tie me up, insult me, accuse me of coming on to you and overexposing my body. Now you tell me I fight like a girl … which by the way, I am, and don’t tell me you haven’t noticed.”

  His expression revealed nothing but granite impassivity. “So what’s your point?”

  “My point is you work awfully damn hard on pissing me off just to keep me at arm’s length. I’m wondering why.”

  Taking his empty plate and hers, he stood and walked to the sink. “You’ve got a vivid imagination.” Noah turned and gave her what looked to be a genuine smile. “What I told you last night was the truth. You keep giving me the vibes and I don’t want you to think that anything can happen between us. And as far as kidnapping you, if I’d thought you’d listen any other way, I would have done it differently. You’re the one who turned down a talk, not me.”

  Standing, Samara nodded, realizing she would get nowhere with him. He was so far into denial, it probably wasn’t even in his vocabulary.

  “I’ll clean up since you were kind enough to fix breakfast.”

  A small flicker touched his face. Surprise that she’d given in so easily? She hadn’t given in, but had backed off. Having learned long ago that there was nothing wrong with retreat in order to go in a different direction, she’d wait awhile and find another way inside him. Her brothers hadn’t nicknamed her B
ulldozer for nothing.

  “When you get through, come on into the living room. I got a couple of responses back. One of them may be our guy.”

  Samara nodded. She might be in a cat-and-mouse game with Noah, but she needed to keep her mind on the real purpose. Saving these girls’ lives. It wasn’t something she planned to forget. Teaching Noah a little lesson in humanity might be a small side benefit, but the most important thing was to rescue the girls and catch the creeps preying on them.

  Since Noah left little to clean, she was seated in front of the computer within minutes of breakfast. He clicked on the three messages and let her read through them.

  “What do you think?”

  “Mmm. Not the Mission Ridge guy, and probably not John, since he sounds either too young or maybe not so bright.”

  “Yeah, my thoughts, too. I did some research on Brian Sanders. He is who he says he is. Popular kid, plays football. Definitely a high school jock. Only question is, is this really Brian? I’ve sent some of my people to check him out. In the meantime, we’ll play along.” He clicked back onto Brian’s message and slid the laptop toward her. “Want to answer him back?”

  Samara nodded. Chewing her lip in concentration, she replied, Hi Brian. I’m a sophomore at Pelham. I love football. Maybe I’ll come and watch you sometime. Before she could press send, Noah’s hand stopped her.

  “Wait—don’t you think that’s coming on a little strong?”

  “Excuse me? When’s the last time you were a sixteen-year-old girl or even around a sixteen-year-old girl?”

  “I’ll admit it’s been a while. I just don’t want him to think you’re pushing a meeting. The last thing we want to do is scare him off.”

  Though she still didn’t think it was too forward, Noah was right. They did need to play it safe until they had him hooked. “Okay, how about this?” She deleted what she’d typed, typed a few new sentences, and slid the screen toward him.

  I like football … really all sports. It’s just my mom and me here at home, and she’s not into sports. Do you play anything else besides football?