RETURN TO ME

by Christy Reece

  With slow, easy movements, she dropped her duffel soundlessly onto the floor and pulled her purse around in front of her. Easing her hand into the bag, she pulled out her gun. Backing out slowly, a soft, distant noise from the back of the house sounded. Stay and fight or go for help? Making the easy and right choice, she continued to back toward the door. Her eye caught sight of something in the living room before she could close the door. A man, tied up on the floor. Furious black eyes flared in warning. Noah.

  All thoughts of leaving vanished. Her gun in front of her, she dashed into the living room. “Noah … my God.”

  “Get out of here. Run, Mara. Mitch is in the bathroom. Run. Dammit.”

  Tugging on the tightly knotted ropes, she shook her head. “I’m not leaving—”

  “There’s no time to argue. Run, baby. Please.”

  Realizing she’d never get him loose without something to cut the rope, she said, “I’ll go get—”

  “Well. Well. Well. Looks like we got ourselves a little reunion.”

  Jerking back, she looked up into the eyes of a monster she still had nightmares about. Mitchell Stoddard stood at the entrance of her living room. Wearing the evil grin she remembered all too well, he held a wicked-looking gun in his hand, one that looked eerily similar to the gun he’d used months ago to blast one of his men’s head off.

  Scooting around to hide Noah as much as she could, she glared up at what she could honestly call “the evil twin.” “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “Now is that any way to greet an old friend? After all, we almost bumped uglies a few months back.”

  “You mean, you almost raped me.”

  The grin grew larger. “Tomato, to-mah-to.”

  She’d laid her gun in front of Noah when she’d tried to untie him. It was behind her. Where? Her eyes on Mitchell, she moved her hand behind her, searching.

  “To your left.”

  Noah’s almost soundless whisper directing her, she moved left. Her heartbeat zoomed as her fingers touched the cool steel. Needing to move just a couple of inches over, she tried to cover her actions by getting him to talk.

  “How did you get out?”

  “Does it really matter?”

  “Mara … Shoot. To. Kill.” Another whisper reached her ears.

  “Just wondering who we need to go after once we get rid of your fat ass.” She scooted closer to the gun.

  A guffaw sputtered from him. “Damn, girl. I’m really going to enjoy shutting that pretty mouth up.”

  Wrapping her hand firmly around the gun, she pulled it in front of her and pointed it directly at Mitchell’s face. “How about I shut yours up first?”

  If he lived to be a hundred or died in the next minute, Noah knew he’d take those words with him, said in the calmest, coldest tone he’d ever heard from her. He’d never been more proud of anyone. Now if she could just go through with it.

  The long silence that followed her statement told Noah that his brother was shocked to have a gun pointing at him. He stretched his neck, trying to see around Samara.

  “By the time you shoot me with that little peashooter, I’ll have ten holes into Michael.”

  “Why should that bother me?”

  Mitch answered with a blast of a gun. Agony seared Noah’s right thigh. He heard Mara’s soft sob. Then another gunshot.

  “Bitch! You shot me!”

  Noah heard a hard thud—Mitch was down. But for how long?

  “Mara, are you all right?”

  “Am I all right? Are you all right? You’re the one who’s been shot.”

  “I’m fine. Listen, sweetheart. There’s a knife strapped to my left ankle. Can you get it?”

  Noah felt her lift the material of his pants and pull the knife from its sheath. Within seconds, she was applying it to the rope. He felt the loosening and then heard her gasp.

  “Fucking. Bitch!”

  Suddenly she was gone. Noah watched her small body fly through the air. Crashing against the wall, she dropped to the floor and didn’t move.

  “Mitch … dammit. I’m the one you hate. The one you want to kill. Why the hell are you torturing her?”

  “Because, brother, she cares about you. You think I didn’t see through her act?”

  Wiggling and straining as unobtrusively as possible, Noah fought against the loosening rope. Just a couple more inches and he’d be free.

  “You know you’ll never get away with this. People are looking everywhere for you.”

  “I won’t have to worry about that, bro. That’s the one advantage of looking like you. After I kill you, I’ll just assume the role of Michael Stoddard. There’s not a person in this world who can tell the difference between us.”

  Despite the dire circumstances, Noah couldn’t help but laugh. “You stupid idiot. You really think you could pass yourself off as me?”

  “Damn straight,” came the cocky answer.

  In flawless French, Noah asked, “You don’t get it, do you, fuck-face?”

  “What the hell are you saying?”

  “You stupid prick. You have no idea what I’m saying. How the hell do you think you’re going to pass as me?”

  “Shut up!”

  Noah reverted back to English. “You have no idea who I am, do you?”

  Mitch stood over him and aimed the gun at his head. “You’re my soon-to-be-dead brother.”

  “I’m also Noah McCall. Founder and head of Last Chance Rescue. I live in Paris, France … where, unfortunately for you, most people speak French.”

  Shock reverberated through Mitch. No. Fucking. Way. His muttered words, “You’re lying,” sounded weak even to him.

  “Think so?” A smug smile curled up Noah’s mouth.

  He was tired of this shit. It didn’t matter who Michael Stoddard had become. In a second, he’d be just another dead bastard. Raising his arm, Mitch pointed his gun at his brother’s head. “You’re fucked, whoever the hell—” A screeching cry was his only warning. A small body jumped at him and latched on to his back. With a roar, Mitch swung at the woman hanging on to him, beating at her with his gun. With a soft whimper, she slumped from his shoulder and thudded to the floor. He barely registered that before he felt a whoosh of air and Michael slammed into him.

  Whirling around, Mitch threw Michael off and raised his gun. The woman came at him again, and this time he felt something sharp jab into his side. Dammit, she’d stabbed him. With a roar, he swung his arm and batted at her, knocking her back against a table. This time she didn’t move.

  His arm and side screaming from a bullet and a knife wound, Mitch turned back to his brother. One down, another one to go. Raising his gun once more, he … bam! Agony seared his gut. He caught the determined look in Michael’s eyes right before another quick flash of agony pierced his head and then nothing …

  Between Mitch’s last breath and Noah’s next gasp, he began to pray. Crawling, scrambling on the floor, Noah rushed toward Samara. He’d heard the crack when she fell. God … Oh God repeated over and over again. Prayerful words he hadn’t said since before his mother left scattered through his mind like fragmented pieces of silver.

  Halfway there, the front door burst open. A masculine voice yelled, “Stop!”

  Noah ignored the command. The sheer need to get to Samara overrode everything.

  “Down on the floor!”

  A foot slammed into his back, forcing him down. “I said stop!”

  His face flat against the hardwood, he strained to see what was happening. Two people ran toward the small, still body in the corner.

  Agony and anger exploded. He had to get to her. Had to save her. “Don’t touch her!” he roared. “Don’t. Fucking. Touch. Her.”

  The foot pressed hard on his back. “Shut up.”

  “Let him up,” another voice ordered.

  The foot eased and Noah looked at no one other than Samara. He scrambled toward her again, ignoring everything around him.

  Paramedics were checking her vi
tal signs. Black silky hair covered her face, preventing him from seeing her.

  Finally, he reached her feet and touched her. “Mara.” The groan sounded inhuman and tortured.

  “She’s breathing.” The words, said by one paramedic to the other, were the most precious ones he’d ever heard.

  “Noah?”

  “Lie still, miss. You might have a fracture or concussion.”

  “Need to see Noah.” The husky voice, thick with tears, repeated, “Noah.”

  Due to the lump the size of Alabama in Noah’s throat, swallowing was almost impossible. He managed to croak, “I’m here, baby.”

  Despite the paramedic’s warnings, she raised her head and actually grinned. “You’re alive.”

  Control shattered. Crawling toward her, ignoring the soft cursing of the paramedics he pushed out of the way, Noah gathered her in his arms and held her to his chest. Shuddering with emotions he didn’t know existed, he closed his eyes and rocked her in his arms.

  How long they sat there, he had no idea. When a hand settled on his shoulder, he looked up into the eyes of the young officer he’d met earlier. The compassion and sympathy on the man’s face might have bothered him at one time, but no longer. Samara was alive. There was nothing more important to him than that.

  “Sir, we need to take both you and Ms. Lyons to the hospital.”

  Unable to let go of the woman clinging so tightly to him, he jerked his head over to the people gathered around his brother. “He’s dead.” It wasn’t a question. The second shot he made … right between his brother’s eyes … had done the job.

  “Yeah, he’s dead. Let’s get you and Ms. Lyons to a hospital. Then we’ll need a statement from you both.”

  His arms still tight around her, Samara was the one to pull away. Tears pooled in her eyes, dripped down her cheeks, but a tremulous smile lifted her mouth. “You rescued me again.”

  A breath hitched and gasped in his throat as he tried to pull himself from the emotional whirlpool sucking him down. How like Samara to miss the true facts. “No, this time … you rescued me.”

  twenty-two

  Groggy and confused, Samara reached out to Noah and felt a cool, bare place. A soft sob built in her chest, escaped and echoed in the empty room. Her heart once more crashed and burned. This time, the heartbreak wasn’t for her, but for Noah. The pain on his face, the agony in his eyes … those were images she would never forget.

  After being checked out at the hospital and giving their statement to the police, they’d come to a hotel. Her house was a crime scene. Not that either one of them had wanted to go back to it anytime soon.

  They should have stayed at the hospital. Noah had a bullet wound in his thigh and a concussion. The bullet was removed and only a few stitches were required. The concussion was more serious, but once Noah learned that her injuries consisted of only a few bruises and a lump on her head, he insisted they leave.

  They’d checked into a hotel, hung up a do-not-disturb sign, and fallen into each other’s arms. They hadn’t kissed, hadn’t even talked. After visiting the bathroom, she’d stripped naked and gotten into bed. Noah had come into the room wearing only his underwear. He’d slid under the covers with her, opened his arms, and she’d slipped into them. He’d held her through the night. And then left her sometime this morning, without a word.

  Another sob built in her chest that she swallowed back. God, how stupid she’d been. Ms. Invincible. Ms. Independent. Railing against him for wanting to protect her, to keep her safe. She’d called him manipulative and arrogant, and he’d taken it all … as if he’d deserved the condemnation.

  Now, with eyes wide open and filled with the knowledge of what she’d done, she could only wonder why he hadn’t just told her to go to hell and walked away from her. Of course, he wouldn’t do that for one very important reason—he was in love with her.

  Never had she seen love more clearly than she’d seen it last night. When he thought she was hurt, Noah would have fought hell’s own demons to save her. Yes, because he was that heroic, but also because no matter how much he denied it, he really and truly loved her.

  Only after the horror had passed, and he’d saved her from Mitchell once again, did he show his true self. Noah McCall, her hero, with the heart of a lion, had a meltdown in her arms. The shudders and convulsions she felt had come from him, not her. Soft words, prayers, and curses … all from his mouth. The strongest and bravest man she’d ever known had fallen apart because of his fear for her. She would never doubt his love again.

  Samara rolled out of bed and sat on the edge, wincing only slightly at the aches and bruises of yesterday. Her toes curled into the plush carpet as she contemplated her future. More than anything, she wanted to go to Noah. Wanted to tell him she knew he loved her and to not be afraid. But he would have to come to that decision and realization on his own. She’d told him of her love time and again. He knew her feelings and her heart … now he needed to come to terms with his own.

  Please God, let him do it. And please, let it be soon.

  Noah dialed the number, alternately looking forward to and dreading the call. The phone was answered on the first ring. “Hey squirt, where’s your mama?”

  “Hey, Uncle Michael, Mom’s out back with Daddy and Matt. I’ll go get her.”

  “Before you go, anything in particular you want for your birthday?”

  She giggled, as only a little girl can. “Surprise me.”

  Seconds later, another female voice answered. Older, but as familiar to him now as it was sixteen years ago when he’d heard it the first time. “Michael?”

  “He’s dead, Becca.”

  Though thousands of miles away, he could hear the small soft sob as if she were right next to him.

  “I knew something had happened. Kevin has kept me away from the television and radio with all sorts of excuses.”

  “I’m glad you didn’t hear about it that way.”

  “So it’s finally over.”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll tell Mom and Dad. They’ll want to know.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “Yes. When he went to jail, I always wondered if that would be the end of it.”

  “It should have been, but Mitch had other plans. He escaped a few days ago.”

  “You killed him.”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m sorry it had to be you.”

  He wished he had done it sooner. He wished … God, he wished it had never needed to happen.

  “Matt doing okay?”

  “Yes. Looking more like a Stoddard every day.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. He looks just like a boy I once had a crush on years ago.”

  He had to smile. Rebecca had adjusted much better than he had. “I have to go, Becca.”

  “Thank you, Michael. For everything.”

  Noah hung up before he told her again how sorry he was. Rebecca wouldn’t want to hear another apology. Only after he’d been released from prison had be learned about the pregnancy that had resulted from the rape. Despite Rebecca’s insistence that he didn’t owe her anything and her parents’disdain, he’d done what he could to help her.

  Still a teenager, she’d had a three-year-old son to raise and support. She lived with her parents and her mother kept the baby while Rebecca worked and went to college. Noah had very little money back then, but what he did have, he sent to Rebecca. At first, she’d sent it back, but after a while, he convinced her to keep it. Telling her, if nothing else, she could use it for her son’s future education.

  As the years went by, his income increased and he was able to help her more. Despite the fact that Rebecca had convinced her parents Noah hadn’t committed the rape, they had understandably hated his entire family, including him. He’d respected their wishes and never tried to visit Rebecca or his nephew while she was living with them. After Rebecca was able to afford her own place, he made a special trip to go see them.

  Mat
thew, Rebecca’s son, thought his father had died in a car wreck when he was an infant. He knew Noah as Uncle Michael, his father’s twin brother. When Matthew was seven, Rebecca met and fell in love with Kevin Patterson, an insurance agent from San Francisco. Loving, hardworking, and steady as a rock. That had been the first time Noah had felt the slightest loosening of his interminable guilt. To know that Rebecca had moved on with her life was a great comfort.

  Rebecca and Kevin now had three children: Matthew, Emily, and Tyler. And now that Mitchell Stoddard was finally dead, hopefully Rebecca would be able to put all of her grief behind her, once and for all.

  Would he ever be able to do the same?

  How stupid and pompous he’d been. It had been his problem all along. Standing, Noah turned toward the window of his office. Paris blazed with light and life, but he saw only the darkness in his soul. He’d convinced himself Samara wasn’t cut out for this kind of work, that she was too weak, too delicate. He’d derided her efforts and stymied them when he could. Arrogance blinded him to the truth. It had been his weakness not to see her strength. She could handle this kind of life. She was strong, gutsy, brave, and resilient. Everything he looked for in an LCR operative.

  So now he had a choice to make. He’d wanted to keep her safe, away from any kind of danger. But he owed her this opportunity, if she wanted it. She’d asked him before and he refused, believing her too inexperienced and innocent. Those reasons didn’t apply now … probably never had.

  The way she’d fought Mitchell, not just for herself but for him. She had saved his life.

  But how would he handle her working as an LCR operative, putting her life at risk? Could he give her a choice? A life with him or an operative? No, he wanted a life with her and if she chose to work with LCR, that had to be her decision. One he’d have to live with, because God knew—and now so did Noah—he couldn’t live without Samara in his life. No matter what choice she made, he had to offer it to her. She’d earned it.