RETURN TO ME

by Christy Reece

  “Jordan?”

  “Yeah. Called her family. They haven’t heard from her. And before you ask, I didn’t let on about any trouble.”

  “How about her friends?”

  “She hasn’t talked to her Virginia friends in a couple of weeks. Rachel, her friend in Birmingham, is out of town on a business trip and hasn’t talked to Samara since last Sunday.”

  “What about—”

  “Called the Macklin people, too. They were our biggest help. Said she called and advised them she wouldn’t be in for a week or so.”

  “When was that?”

  “Thursday.”

  “The day after I talked with her.”

  “Yeah.”

  “What’re your thoughts, Jordan? You know her better than I do.”

  “Not hardly. But I’m thinking what you’ve already surmised. She went away for a few days. Maybe to the beach or the mountains. They’re both easily accessible from Birmingham.”

  “No flights that we know of?”

  “No, wherever she went, she drove.”

  “The police have an alert out on her car. Dammit, if she only had her cellphone on, we could track her.”

  “What’s Mitch planning?”

  Noah snorted. “Revenge. Pure and simple. And he knows exactly who to use to lure me.”

  “You’re sure he knows who she is?”

  “Yeah. As soon as I found out Mitch had escaped, I knew who’d helped. Luther Prickrel sang like the proverbial bird.”

  “Sure you don’t want Eden and me there with you?”

  “No. The police will concentrate on Mitch. My only concern is Samara. If I get to Mitch before they do, I’ll take care of him. This thing ends with us, one way or the other.”

  “You’ll keep her safe?”

  “With my life.”

  “Anything you need me to do?”

  Noah heard the message behind the words. “You and Eden know LCR better than anyone. No matter what happens, I trust you both to keep it going.”

  “What about Samara?”

  “My will is intact.”

  “That’s not what I’m asking. Is there anything you’d like me to tell her?”

  A laugh cracked through frozen pain. “Mara knows everything there is to know about me. She had me figured out long ago. There’s nothing you could tell her she doesn’t know.”

  “How about that you love her?”

  When he didn’t answer, Jordan said quietly, “Be safe, Noah.”

  Noah closed his cellphone and then his eyes. Where the hell are you, Mara?

  Standing behind a tree in the backyard, Mitch watched the white SUV back out of the driveway. A quick glance at his watch … wait a couple more minutes. Make sure no one else is coming out. Since the trees came so close to the house, he used their cover. With one more look around, he dashed to the back door, jimmied the lock, and was inside in seconds. One of the many valuable lessons his daddy had taught him.

  The back door opened into the kitchen. The scent of garlic wafted through the air. Looks like spaghetti had been on the menu tonight. A stomach grumble reminded him he hadn’t had anything to eat in hours. First he’d have a little look around and then maybe grab something out of the fridge before he headed back out.

  He wandered through the small rooms, his ears listening for any sound other than the tick of a clock or the distant sounds of the police radio from the car up the street. Nothing. Not even a dog. Good. He’d have had to let it outside and that might have caused a neighbor to wonder. He didn’t kill dogs.

  Returning to the kitchen, he opened the fridge, pleased to see a plastic bowl filled with pasta. He pulled the tub out, along with a couple of beers. Grabbing a fork from a drawer, he shoveled in mouthfuls of pasta, washing it down with the beer.

  His stomach satisfied, he threw the bowl in the sink and the cans in the garbage. Opening and closing cabinets, in a hurry to get this over and done with, he found what he was looking for. A large bottle of cooking oil. After soaking dishcloths in it, he pitched them around on the counters, threw some oil on the kitchen curtains, and then pulled out a match.

  It took a few minutes, but finally a nice, smoky haze covered the kitchen. Pulling newspaper and plastic bags from the garbage can, he added to the small flame and then backed out the door. Going low, he ran back into the cover of trees and bushes and waited.

  Yep, there was a nice plume of smoke now coming from under the door. Ten more minutes ought to do it.

  Mitch backed farther away and headed to his real destination three doors down. Finding a nice big oak in the yard next to it, he squatted, waited, and watched.

  Sirens clanged and screamed. The two policemen in the patrol car in front of Samara Lyons’s house jumped out and hauled ass toward the smoking building down the street.

  Within seconds, Mitch was at the edge of Samara’s backyard. He stayed low as he ran through the yard to the back of the house. Stopping at the door, he grimaced at the locks. He’d been lucky with the house down the street. Should’ve known the bitch wouldn’t make it easy for him. Damn dead bolts ought to be outlawed. He didn’t have the time or tools to get in without making a hell of a mess.

  Mitch stepped back to assess the house and spotted the small window to the right. Most likely the kitchen window. Even from a distance, his experienced eyes noted the old, cheap lock. Grinning, he pulled out another tool from the bag Luther had supplied. A little slide and jerk—he jimmied the lock and slid the window open. Throwing his tool bag in first, Mitch then lifted himself up, slipping his head and shoulders through the narrow window. Soft curses blew through his lips when he realized he’d have to crawl into the sink. His mind on what he had planned for his bastard brother and his bitch, he climbed into the sink and then dropped to the floor.

  He stood and surveyed the kitchen, listened intently. No sound. Keeping low, his steps soft, he searched the first and second floors. No one here. Good. He’d have time to set things up before she got here. It would be dusk soon. He needed to get a good feel for the house and find a nice little hidey-hole before it got dark. Then the part he hated the most. Waiting. His jaw popped with a giant yawn. Maybe he’d have time to take a nap before the party started.

  She’d been nice enough to pull the blinds before she left. Now he could just walk around at his leisure and not worry about anyone seeing him. He had his essentials, but it never hurt to have some backup.

  It took less than ten minutes to do a thorough search. In that time, he discovered several things about Samara Lyons. First, she was freakishly neat and clean. That went right up there with fucking weirdo in his book. Second, she lived alone. No men’s clothing lying around and no other women’s clothes other than her size twos and fours. He’d forgotten how skinny the bitch was. Third and final, the girl had a hell of a lot of family. Framed photographs covered several walls and almost every available flat space.

  Looked like the girl would be seriously missed. A smile kicked up at his mouth.

  “You’re sure the place is secure?”

  While both officers nodded and explained how they’d arrived at Samara’s house late last night, relieving a patrol from the evening shift, Noah’s eyes searched the small, quiet neighborhood. Small, older homes with nicely cropped large lawns. Giant trees overshadowed the houses, providing shade and elegance. Also providing a perfect cover for an escaped prisoner.

  “And there’s been no word on the home owner?”

  “No sir. We’re still looking.”

  He held up a key Eden had handed him before he left Paris yesterday. “Mind if we all take another look together?”

  Barely seeing their nod, Noah stepped up on the porch and turned the key. Even though he’d never been here, memories assailed him the moment he walked in the door. Samara’s living room furniture was the same. He remembered the times she’d dropped onto the sofa and then, seemingly unable to sit still, would pop back up to do something. Every piece of furniture was stamped with a memory of Sam
ara.

  Noah took a breath and straightened his spine. No amount of sentimentality or emotion would help save Samara or find Mitch. Cold, hard reason had been his mainstay for years. That couldn’t change.

  “Sir, do you want us to walk around with you?”

  The young cop eyed him warily. No wonder. Not only did he look exactly like the escaped lunatic they were looking for, he stood in the middle of a room as if dazed.

  “Why don’t we split up? I’ll look upstairs while you guys look down here.”

  Both men nodded. Noah waited for a few seconds to satisfy himself that they were looking around not only for evidence that someone had been here, but also that someone could be hiding in unobvious places. Seeing them look into closets and under furniture, he took off upstairs.

  His guts churning, he returned downstairs several minutes later. No sign of Mitch or any kind of foul play. Samara had left the house in the same shape as she had her apartment, immaculate and full of her sweet personality. The door slammed shut on that thought.

  “Nothing out of order down here?” Noah addressed both policemen.

  “No, sir. We came in last night, before the other patrol left. It’s the same.”

  Rubbing the center of his forehead against the small headache pounding, Noah closed his eyes and tried to be in Mitch’s mind. They’d never had the twin bond thing that so many twins swore by. As a kid, he’d been grateful. Last thing he wanted was to be inside Mitch’s sick, twisted brain. Now he’d give ten years of his life to know what he was thinking.

  Mitch was mean, there was no denying that, but he was also smart. Would he lie low for a while before going after Samara? Would he just try to skip the country and cut his losses? Would he waste valuable time trying to find Michael Stoddard?

  Mitch still didn’t know he was Noah McCall. Only the governor and his closest advisors knew that. The story they’d circulated was that Michael had turned his life around and was helping the police bring down his twin brother in exchange for immunity. Mitch wouldn’t doubt that. If there was one thing Mitchell understood, it was screwing others to save your own ass.

  Trying to find Michael without using Samara didn’t make sense. Mitch’s thirst for revenge would include them both. There was no way his brother would just cut and run, without trying to take out the two people he believed had brought him down.

  He couldn’t read Mitch’s mind, but he knew him well enough to figure out his motives. Revenge, then escape. Mitch had too much evil in him to just let this go. And he was cocky enough to believe he wouldn’t get caught.

  Noah had to be ready when his brother struck. His mind speeding with possibilities and scenarios, he turned toward the policemen again. “What are your orders from here?”

  “We were told to stay till you got here.”

  These men were too busy to sit around on the off chance Mitch might show up here. “You guys are probably anxious to get home.”

  “We’re off duty in half an hour.”

  He headed toward the front door, eager to get them on their way. “Chances are, Mitchell’s headed in another direction. I just wanted to make sure Samara was safe. When she gets here, I’ll notify the station.”

  Noah closed the door and turned around. He drew in a deep breath. Just being in Samara’s house gave him a sense of peace. Knowing it was useless, since he’d called every fifteen minutes since he’d learned of his brother’s escape, Noah nevertheless pulled out his cellphone and tried once more. And got the same sweet-voice message that she’d call him back.

  Pocketing his phone again, he headed for the kitchen. The dull tap dance behind his eyes was headed for a full-fledged clog. He needed caffeine and something on his stomach.

  Knowing Samara and being familiar with her kitchen in her apartment, he easily located the coffee and filters. Scooping in double doses, since he didn’t anticipate sleep within the next twenty-four hours at least, he clicked the brewer on and turned.

  “Hey, bro.” Noah caught a glimpse of his brother’s grinning face before pain speared through his head and then there was nothing.

  twenty-one

  Mitch put his hands under his brother’s arms and dragged his body from the kitchen into the living room. Dropping him in the middle of the room, his booted foot kicked hard into Michael’s ribs. No movement. Definitely out for the count. A good-sized purple knot was already forming on his temple. Since he didn’t want this over too soon, he felt for a pulse at his neck. Slow and steady. Good.

  Pleased in a way only his daddy might understand, since they’d both hated the freak, Mitch whistled soundlessly as he wrapped rope around Michael’s arms and then his legs. He’d never mastered the art of hog-tying an animal, but he was damned good at doing it to a human. In his line of work, that had come in much handier.

  Finding that little cubbyhole in the pantry had been an act of genius. The girl probably didn’t even know it existed, but he’d had all night to find a good hiding place. He’d been somewhat uncomfortable fitting his long frame into the small space, but damn, it’d been worth it. Just seeing the shock of surprise in Michael’s eyes right before he’d clocked him. … He’d just lived out one of his favorite fantasies.

  A stomach rumble reminded him that his stolen spaghetti had been hours ago. Figuring that wherever Samara Lyons was, she wouldn’t come home so early in the morning, he sauntered to the kitchen. The smell of coffee greeted him and for the first time in a while, Mitch felt true happiness. His brother would soon get what he deserved, a pretty young woman would be home soon, his for the taking, for as long as he wanted to take and however he wanted to give it to her, and fresh coffee. Who said dreams don’t come true?

  Opening the fridge, he found bacon, eggs, and even a little roll of canned biscuits. Mitch set to work. Being on his own for so long had made him self-sufficient. He’d rarely had a woman around for more than a few days. Even when he did, most of them could barely boil water. Women were only good for a couple of things. Once he fucked them dry and they couldn’t cook, wasn’t much use of keeping them around. Of course, by the time he got through with them, they barely knew their own name, much less what to do in a kitchen.

  Holding a plate of scrambled eggs, crisp bacon, and fluffy biscuits in one hand and a mug of coffee in the other, Mitch headed back to the living room. Eating a delicious breakfast while looking at his unconscious brother tied up on the floor. Things don’t get much better than that.

  As he buttered his third biscuit, a memory kicked at him that he hadn’t had in years. His mother had always buttered his biscuit before she put it on his plate. He’d never really had anything against his mother. In fact, had kind of liked her until the day she’d found him putting a baby rattlesnake in his brother’s underwear drawer and had smacked him on the ass.

  He’d never forgiven her for that. It’d just been a prank. No, the smack hadn’t hurt. It was the principle of the thing. Hell, he’d told his daddy what he was going to do and his daddy had laughed.

  Mitch came to a hard conclusion that day. His mother favored Michael over him. Though he was only seven at the time, he never forgot the incident and never forgave his mother for loving his stupid brother more than him.

  A growling moan pulled Mitchell back to the present. Little brother was waking up.

  The second Noah opened his eyes, full realization hit him almost as hard as the board Mitch had used on his head. He had screwed up royally. The numbness in his hands and feet, along with a severe cramp in his shoulders, told him he was so far up shit creek that a paddle and seventeen-foot boat with a propeller wouldn’t even help.

  The knowledge of his stupidity didn’t bother him. It was the realization that if he didn’t get out of this soon, Samara would pay the price for his idiocy.

  A foot kicked at his shoulder. “Come on, Michael. Wake up so we can talk about old times.”

  “Fuck off.”

  “Bro, I’m crushed. It’s been almost six months since we’ve seen each other.”
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  “Yeah and sixty years wouldn’t be enough.”

  His brother let out a harsh chuckle, followed by a loud belch. “Yep, feel the same way.”

  “Then why are you here?”

  “You know better than to ask me that question. You screwed me over. Nobody does that to Mitchell Stoddard and lives to tell about it.”

  “Kind of chickenshit of you to tie me up, isn’t it?”

  The grim set to Mitch’s mouth and the tense silence that followed told him he’d scored a blow. More of that was needed.

  “You’ve always been a little afraid of me, haven’t you, Mitch.”

  The knife pressed against his neck told him his brother was even more pissed than what he thought.

  “I could just gut you right here, right now, and get it over with. Wouldn’t that be a pretty sight for your little whore to see?”

  “Yeah, that’d be just like you. Kill me while I’m tied up, can’t defend myself. Then go after a woman who’s a third your weight. Good thing Daddy’s dead. He’d probably puke shit on you.”

  A low feral howl was Noah’s only warning before something cracked against his head and darkness descended once more.

  The garage door opened in a grinding squeak. Samara fought a yawn as she pulled her car inside. Three days at a beautiful beach and she was exhausted. Going away had done nothing but allow her to cry and grieve in a different part of the state. Heartache went with you, no matter where you went. Noah would be there forever.

  She grabbed her cellphone from the seat beside her and pulled her duffel from the back. First priority would be to get her cellphone charged. She couldn’t believe she’d gone off without her charger. Another indication of how upset she’d been. Her family had teased her for years about her meticulous habits. She had a routine and she rarely deviated. Her cellphone charger should have gone into her little electrical case she always carried around with her. She’d left both the case and charger at home.

  Pushing open the door, she entered her kitchen and then skidded to a halt as alarm roared through her. Someone had been in her house. A half pot of coffee sat in the glass carafe, a used frying pan was on the stove. Two things she never would have left.