RETURN TO ME

by Christy Reece

  As Dylan nodded and took off, Noah stood and talked to two other LCR people. Samara turned away, unwilling for him to see the overemotional, exhausted, and lovesick woman standing beside him. She desperately needed to get control of her emotions before she said anything else. The last thing he needed was a silly, weepy woman declaring her love in front of his employees. If she opened her mouth right now, that’s exactly what she’d end up doing.

  Taking a deep breath, Samara headed to talk with Eden and Jordan. Perhaps Eden’s calm rationality would rub off on her.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Noah watched Samara walk toward Eden and Jordan. She was barefooted and exhausted—her feet literally dragging as she moved. His jaw clenched. More than anything, he wanted to scoop her up and take her away from all of this. Once again she’d suffered because of him. Once again he’d failed her.

  With the iron control he’d forced himself to adapt years ago, he locked his legs together to keep from going after her. No matter what his personal desires, commitment to his cause kept his feet rooted to the ground. He had a job to do.

  “Well, I’ll be damned. If it ain’t Michael Stoddard. All grown up and still causing trouble.”

  Noah turned toward the man who’d been instrumental in putting him behind bars all those years ago. With a barely raised eyebrow, he acknowledged Luther Prickrel, sheriff of Bolton County, Mississippi. He’d been a mean son of a gun years ago when Noah had been a teenager and Luther, the deputy. Based on the smirk on his lips and the clenched fists on his thick waist, he hadn’t gotten any nicer over the years.

  Prickrel looked down at Mitch’s unconscious body. “Always knew one of you would end up killing the other. Just kind of figured it’d be the other way around.”

  “You mean you always kind of hoped that’s the way it’d be.”

  Luther grinned, revealing the giant gap between his two front teeth. One of the few times he could remember he and Mitch laughing together was at the way Luther whistled some of his words. Noah slammed the door on those thoughts.

  “I’ve got no time for this, Prick. As far as I know, there’s only one dead. … You’ll recognize him as the man with the knife sticking out of his throat. Everyone else should live out a nice long life behind bars.”

  Luther glared, clearly not appreciating the nickname he’d been called most of his life. “I’m the law round here. You don’t be tellin’ me who’s going to jail. That’s my job.”

  “I believe the mayor’s already given you the details you need.”

  “Mayor ain’t the law round here, neither.” His eyes roamed the myriad of people milling around the campground, including LCR operatives, medical personnel, and the bodies on the ground. “Just like you did years ago, you’ve caused a passel of trouble for this town. This time, I aim to make sure you don’t get out of it.” Luther’s hand went to his gun.

  Three LCR operatives took a step toward him. They knew not to draw their guns unless necessary. Fortunately most of his people could knock the gun out of a hand before the pull of a trigger. Point was … he didn’t have time for this shit.

  Noah whirled around to his closest operative. “Dylan, give me your phone.”

  Luther’s beady eyes narrowed as Dylan reached into his pocket. Pulling out a cellphone, he gave Luther a small, mean smile as he passed it to Noah.

  Noah pressed a few buttons and held the phone to his ear. The woman barely got a greeting out before Noah growled, “It’s me. He in?”

  Within seconds, an affable southern voice drawled, “What’s up, Noah?”

  “Got a sheriff here that needs to have a word with you.”

  “Put him on.”

  Noah offered the phone to Luther, who glared at it as if it would explode in his hand. “Better take it, Prick. Not a good career move to keep certain people waiting.”

  Luther’s bear paw of a hand grasped the phone from Noah and held it to his ear.

  Noah stalked away, having more important things to do than listen to Luther Prickrel grovel. Though hearing the stumbling words as he moved away did bring a small lift to his spirits.

  “This here’s Sheriff Luther Prickrel. Who the hell is— Oh, uh, yes, sir … uh, no, sir … uh, whatever you say, Governor … uh, Mr. Governor, I mean, your honorableness. Yes, sir, uh, goodbye.” Luther blew out a loud shaky sigh and then shouted to his deputies, “Okay boys, let’s help where we can.”

  Noah jerked his head at Dylan, barely restraining a grin when one of his best operatives rolled his eyes, knowing and not liking what his orders were. With only a soft growl, Dylan turned and headed back to Prickrel to advise him how he and his people could help.

  Mitch woke to a mouthful of dirt and the hangover from hell. Voices surrounded him and for several minutes he lay there, his addled brain unable to comprehend. Spitting out pieces of grass and blood, he lifted his throbbing head and gazed blearily around. People everywhere. He recognized none of them. What the fuck had happened?

  Damn, his head hurt. He let his head drop back down to the dirt, unable to hold it up any longer. Footsteps drew closer to him. He lay still, waiting to see what happened.

  “Well, I’ll be damned. If it ain’t Michael Stoddard. All grown up and still causing trouble.”

  Luther Prickrel. What was the sheriff doing here? And why was he talking to Michael?

  As Mitch listened to the conversation going on between Luther and his brother, several facts became clear. He’d known Michael had betrayed him—seeing the tracking device move after he’d dumped the girl proved that. Never would he have thought he’d bring the cops in, though. Why the hell would he involve them? Didn’t the law want his brother about as much as they wanted Mitch?

  When Michael moved away, Mitch kept his head down and whispered harshly, “Luther, what the hell’s going on?”

  “Damn, boy,” Luther whispered. “You got yourself into a hell of a pickle.”

  “You gotta help me get out of it.”

  “Are you crazy? There’s at least fifty people here. Most of ’em with guns. Hell, the governor hisself just called me. Ain’t no way I’m gonna be able to help you.”

  “Dammit, Prick, you owe me. My daddy pulled your ass out of the fire plenty of times. It’s about time you paid that back.”

  “Boy, this ain’t no piddly fire. You done pissed off the devil himself. There ain’t nothing I can do.”

  “You better find a way to help me, because when I do get free, you’re the first one I’m coming after. You hear me?”

  “Shit. All right. But for now, you’re going to have to play along. There ain’t no way I can help you right now.”

  “Who the hell are they?”

  “Don’t know. Don’t care. But your brother seems to be in charge of ’em.”

  “Try to find out—”

  “Somebody’s headed this way. I’ll see what I can do to help.”

  Continuing to feign unconsciousness, Mitchell began to plan. Michael had betrayed him for the last time. He cursed his daddy for not letting him kill him when he could. Years ago, right after his mama left, he’d brought it up and Daddy had said no, that it would look too suspicious, having Michael die so soon after his mama left. Instead, his daddy convinced him that having a twin who was considered a bad boy was really a benefit. He could do anything he damned well pleased and Michael would always be blamed for it. Admittedly, that had worked out well when he’d gone after that Rebecca bitch. Now, though, it was coming back to haunt him.

  Luther would help. His daddy had gotten Luther Prickrel out of several jams that would have put him behind bars for years. Luther owed him and he aimed to see he got paid back.

  After watching Eden hug Jordan for the hundredth time, Samara was no calmer or closer to the rational, unemotional attitude she so desperately needed. A deep urgency inside her told her to find Noah. No matter how much he denied it, the cut on his side was worse than a scratch. There were teams of doctors here. They needed to check him out.

  She foun
d him sitting on the tailgate of an SUV, shirtless, while two very attractive women tended his wounds. Her first reaction so startled her, she stopped dead in her tracks. A snarl formed on her lips and vile, accusatory words formed in her head. Every jealous inflammatory cell in her body zoomed toward explosion. She wanted to tell them to back off. To get their hands off her man. Shame flooded her. He needed their help, he was injured. Never in any relationship had she felt the overwhelming need to assert her hold over a man. A clear indication that Noah meant much more to her than any other man in her past. As if she needed more proof.

  Acknowledging this only made her feel worse. Noah had been clear. Their relationship ended with this job. But it didn’t stop her from wanting to go over and pull the women away. She looked down at herself. She wore cotton pajamas. Her hair … Samara touched the ratty mass of curls, wishing now she’d had the energy to dry it before bed last night. She made a mental note to look more presentable the next time she was to be dragged from her bed by a bunch of crazed idiots. She probably looked pale, washed out and exhausted … and she was.

  Feeling more self-conscious and insecure than at any other time in her life, Samara turned away, needing to regroup once again. Before she took two steps, a hand grasped her shoulder.

  “You okay?”

  She turned to look up into Noah’s grim face. She bit her lip to hold back all the things she wanted to say … all the feelings surging inside her she wanted to express. Unfortunately, she couldn’t control the tears that flooded her eyes, rolling down her face.

  “Come here,” he said gruffly.

  As his arms folded around her, sobs tore through her. Emotions she’d held in check swamped her. Faced with the fact that as far as Noah was concerned this was over, she felt as if she were dying inside. For Noah, it was mission accomplished. End of project and end of relationship.

  “Hush, baby.” Noah pressed soft kisses on her head. “It’s over. Everything’s fine. No one’s ever going to hurt you again. I’ll make sure of that.”

  Breath shuddered through her. Wanting nothing more than to stay in Noah’s arms forever, she forced herself to pull out of them and back away. A brave smile was beyond her at this point. The best she could hope for was a halfway calm fa¸Lade. “I’m sorry about your brother.”

  Sadness flickered in his expression. “Some people are just born with bad blood. He’ll finally be put where he can’t harm anyone else.”

  She brushed a hand lightly down his side where blood stained his shirt. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah. Didn’t even need stitches.”

  Swallowing a giant lump she greatly feared might be a permanent affliction, she asked, “What now?”

  An anticipatory gleam glinted his eyes. “Now it’s Bennett’s turn.”

  “Eden told me what you’re going to do … pretending to be Mitch. I …” The lump grew even larger, cutting off her ability to speak.

  “I’ll be fine, sweetheart. Remember, this is what I do.”

  The words were innocuous enough, but his grim expression told her it meant more. He wanted her to realize that this was his job, his life. One she could never be a part of again.

  “I—”

  A man walked up behind him. “Hey, Noah, you ’bout ready to go?”

  His eyes locked with Samara’s, he answered, “Yeah. Be there in a minute.” With a gentleness she always found surprising in such a masculine man, he tenderly brushed a strand of hair from her face. “Thank you, Samara. For everything.”

  No. This couldn’t be it. She couldn’t just let him go. God help her. … She couldn’t. With a deep breath and a rock-solid belief in her feelings, Samara took the biggest chance of her life.

  “I love you, Noah.”

  Regret and something else flickered in his eyes. “Mara … no … I …”

  Standing on her toes, she leaned against him and cupped his face in her hands. “Go. Do what you have to do. Be the hero that you are … but come back to me. There’s more to Noah McCall than the head of Last Chance Rescue. I see that man. … I love them both.” She pulled his head down to her and pressed a soft kiss to his mouth. “Return to me, Noah. Please.”

  Hoping to get away before completely breaking down, Samara turned to walk away. She took half a step before he whirled her around and slammed his mouth down on hers.

  Samara wrapped her arms around him as his mouth devoured hers. Passion, heat, and overwhelming desire intermingled with all the love bubbling inside her for this man.

  Releasing her, he backed away slowly, his eyes blazing with fierce emotions she knew he fought with every breath. “Goodbye.” He turned and walked away.

  And that was it. Bare toes curled and dug into the ground to prevent her legs from running after him. Crossing her arms over her chest, her nails pressed into her skin as she literally bit her tongue to keep from screaming for him. This was his choice to make. If he survived apprehending Bennett … please God, let him survive … and chose not to return to her, there was nothing she could do.

  “You okay?”

  Eden’s sympathetic expression told her exactly how she looked. Like a bedraggled, bruised, and brokenhearted waif. She managed a wobbly smile. “Not yet.”

  Eden jerked her head over to where Noah stood talking to several law enforcement officials. “Give him time to finish this up. This thing with Mitchell has been a long time coming. It was probably one of the hardest things he’s ever had to do.”

  “I know … but I don’t think time is going to make a difference in his feelings for me.”

  A smile brightened Eden’s face. “No, I don’t think time is going to deepen Noah’s feelings for you at all.”

  Samara stiffened at Eden’s words. What had happened to her compassionate friend? “That’s a cruel thing to say.”

  Eden laughed softly. “You misunderstand me. I don’t think Noah’s feelings are going to deepen because I think they’re about as deep as a river for you already.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. Give him time, then go at him again.”

  Eden was right. She wasn’t a quitter. She didn’t know the meaning of retreat. But she did know how to back off and come at him from a different direction. If Noah didn’t come back to her … then she’d damned well go after Noah.

  No, this wasn’t over by a long shot.

  Handcuffed and legs shackled, Mitch snarled as hands shoved him toward a van. Dammit, it was all gone. Every one of his men had been captured. All the girls had been taken away. Thomas Bennett was going to kill him.

  “I’m sorry it had to be this way, Mitch.”

  Whirling around, Mitch glared at the man responsible for all of his bad luck his entire life. “You’ll pay for this, you son of a bitch. I’ll make sure you do.”

  “Let it go, Mitch. You’ve had your fun. Hurt and killed a lot of people in the process. Take your punishment like a man.”

  Mitch lunged toward his lying, deceitful, bastard brother. Chains around his ankles and hard hands grabbing his shoulders prevented him from moving more than a few inches. “Oh, there will be punishment, Michael, I can promise you that.”

  His brother shook his head and stared at him with those “holier than thou” eyes. “Goodbye, Mitch.”

  The hands behind him pushed him into the white van. Mitch didn’t bother to fight. Let them think he was resigned to his fate. Let them think they were safe from him. He’d get out. … His daddy always said he was the smartest of the Stoddards. … He could get out of any kind of jam. He had contacts all over the world. People owed him big-time. They would come through for him. And when he got out, his brother would be the first person he’d kill, followed by that little black-headed bitch.

  Before he was through with them, they’d be begging for death.

  fourteen

  For years, Noah had forced himself to focus on the goals of LCR and ignore his needs. Today, for the first time, he’d come closer to losing focus than ever before. He’d said goodbye to Samara �
� a woman he greatly admired, who filled him with desire and more tender feelings than he’d ever thought he could feel.

  It was over. It had to be over. Samara was meant for hearth and home, not the intensely dangerous and often disgusting world he surrounded himself with. She was goodness and light. He had the blood of evil in him. They could never have had a future. No matter how his gut ached at the knowledge, he knew it to be true.

  As they headed toward Biloxi, Noah used every skill and trick he’d learned over the years to return to the place he needed to be. Following the large transport truck, three vehicles drove behind Noah and Jordan, all headed to meet up with Bennett.

  Grim satisfaction filled him. At last, the man responsible for Milo’s death would be stopped. And a large human trafficking ring would be brought down.

  This was what he lived for, the reason he created LCR. It was his calling, his destiny, and his repentance. So why didn’t he feel the contentment he’d always had when he’d achieved his goals?

  Little had gone according to his plan.

  He’d killed a man today … but not his brother. Mitch was evil, with nothing remotely redeemable inside him, but he hadn’t been able to do the job. Killing another human, no matter who it was, wasn’t something Noah took lightly. Few people knew that Noah had never killed anyone. He’d once confessed to Milo that he’d broken every other commandment of God and would try his damnedest never to break that one.

  When he’d created LCR, avoiding taking lives had been one of his main goals. Rescuing victims was their number-one priority. It rarely including killing, unless absolutely necessary or unavoidable. Killing the man who held a gun to Samara had been an easy choice, but taking his brother’s life was a deed he’d been unable to carry out. Let Mitch rot in jail, but Noah refused to have another mark on his soul.

  “She’s in love with you, you know.”