Fearless: Complicated Creatures Part Three Page 3

Jack… Jack—

  Samantha felt the warm clasp of his hand, but the pain was too unbearable, like holding onto a sheer rock face, all jagged edges and torment.

  “Me, tibi commíssum pietáte supérna—”4

  Jack—

  She fought to gain purchase, trying and failing to respond—

  “Illúmina, custódi, rege et gubérna…”5

  But the struggle was useless, and she couldn’t fight the inevitable darkness. And so, she relinquished herself once again to the ether, falling back—back into the empty, dark hush that awaited her…

  Jack…

  So much she’d wanted to say. So many things she’d wished for…

  But it was too late now…too late—

  …inevitable darkness…

  Jack…

  The world seemed to quiet and still into a lull, where she felt and heard nothing, until a quiet scuffle distracted her—the sound of small feet, followed by the absolute certainty that she was being watched, the hairs on the back of her neck rising. Sam felt a gentle touch on her face, followed by a soft, childish giggle.

  “Don’t wake up your mother, passerotta.”6 Sam smiled inwardly at the sound of Jack’s voice, a warm, low-simmer baritone, the love in it as warm as the sun on her face.

  “But she’s been sleeping all morning,” came the hushed whisper.

  “She’s tired, darling. You would be too if you had flown in from halfway across the world last night,” he murmured.

  Sam felt the gentle touch of little fingers, felt the soft, tender caress against her cheek.

  “She’s so pretty, Daddy.”

  “She’s the most beautiful woman in the world, passerotta,” he agreed. “Now let’s give her a little more beauty sleep and surprise her with breakfast in bed. Hmmm?” he coaxed softly.

  Sam opened her eyes languidly, bewildered to find herself looking right into the bright, silver eyes of the most beautiful little girl. The girl watched her intently before a beatific smile broke across her tiny cupid’s bow lips, lighting up her little heart-shaped face like a spotlight.

  “Morning, Mommy,” the little girl whispered, inching closer.

  A burst of unexpected and overwhelming happiness shot through Samantha, making her heart swell near full to bursting. Sam knew with utter certainty she was looking at her child—their child. A stunning little girl with Jack’s incandescent, silver eyes and her straight nose. A little girl of such breathtaking beauty, she looked nearly angelic.

  “Morning, sweetheart,” Sam whispered back, reaching out to clasp the little girl in a tight hug as she dropped them both back into the billowy covers of the bed she’d been sleeping in. The girl giggled and squirmed, hugging her back as Sam tucked her face into the crook of her little neck, breathing in her sweet scent, feeling the baby-fine softness of her dark hair against her cheek.

  The bed bowed as Jack sat down beside them, his silver eyes warm as he smiled down at her. “Good morning, tesoro,” he murmured, running a gentle fingertip down her cheek before he leaned down to kiss her.

  This was it. Her heaven on earth. The split second of a destiny she’d never realized, the fraction of time that had never fully formed.

  She felt his arms envelop her, the heat of his lips as they lingered over hers, the soft, searching pressure a marvel. Nothing ever felt this good. No moment ever felt so right—Sam felt the shape of Jack’s smile against her lips as the little girl squealed, “Ewww! Daddy!”

  “What?” he murmured, drawing back only slightly, his eyes tender. “I’m not allowed to say ‘good morning’ to Mommy too?” he teased, gently tickling the little girl, making her wiggle and laugh as she lay in the circle of Sam’s arms. “Why don’t you go downstairs and get your drawings to show Mommy?” Jack suggested, picking up the little girl and setting her on her feet beside the bed. “Remember the ones you made while she was on her business trip to China?”

  The little girl sat up quickly, excitement making her cheeks flush. “I made you gifts, Mommy!” she told Samantha, hopping excitedly from one foot to the other in her little flannel pj’s.

  “Can I see?” Sam asked, sitting up beside Jack on the bed.

  The girl nodded, and in a flurry, she was scurrying out the door, her dark hair flying behind her.

  “She’s beautiful, Jack,” Sam murmured, overcome.

  “Of course she is,” he answered, slipping an arm around her waist as he gathered her to him again. “She looks just like you.”

  “We made her?” she asked, staring up at him.

  Jack laughed in that soft way he often had, warm and smoky all at once. “I think it’s more accurate to say you made her.” He tucked his face into her neck, breathing her in as his jaw grazed her cheek, the gentle scratch of shaven bristle against her skin utterly delicious. “I just got to help with the fun part,” he whispered into the shell of her ear.

  Sam let out an unfettered laugh, amazed at how good it felt to be held by him. She felt herself relaxing against him, in that deep and elemental way, like she’d released some burden, like she was finally able to succumb to the happiness.

  “How’s the jet lag, tesoro?” he asked after a moment, brushing her hair back with gentle fingers.

  “I feel…” Sam glanced at the door where their daughter disappeared just moments before. “Better than I’ve felt in a long time.”

  “Me too…” Jack whispered, leaning in to kiss her again. “I never feel quite right until you come home to me—”

  She slid her hands up over his shoulders, to twine in his thick, dark hair, the length a little longer now than she had recollected. They kissed for interminable moments, the warm press of their mouths effervescent and silky and heady, like the finest wine.

  “How did we get here, Jack?” she asked after a moment, her fingers tracing the warm planes of his cheekbones.

  Jack smiled down at her, rubbing her nose with his. “I convinced you to take a chance on me, remember?”

  Remember…

  Samantha stared up at him, unable to recall anything beyond how good it felt to be in his arms.

  …Remember?

  Jack looked so serene, so at peace. Nothing like the ravaged, furious man she’d left in Chicago—desperation burning in his eyes as he’d begged her not to go to Afghanistan.

  —Remember?

  So much unsaid—

  So many things left undone—

  Sam felt the discordant edges of her memories blur with the alternate reality of her imaginings. She stared into Jack’s handsome face, making a sound of distress as he began to waffle and fade before her very eyes.

  No—not yet—

  Sam held Jack’s apparition tighter as she felt the pull that would drag her back down into darkness, but the tighter she held, the more she lost him. It was no use—she couldn’t hold onto the vision—she couldn’t hold onto him—she couldn’t hold onto any of it—

  “Here, Mommy! My pictures—”

  “I love you, tesoro—”

  She struggled against the encroaching darkness.

  Sam fought to claw her way back, but the void that awaited her was too strong—too powerful to fight—

  *

  Same Time

  Asklepios Klinik Barmbek, Hamburg, Germany

  J A C K

  “I love you, tesoro,” he whispered against Sam’s forehead, his eyes squeezed shut as he released her.

  Jack startled at the sudden intensified bleeps of the heart rate monitor, the urgent sound in the cool quiet of her hospital room. He searched Samantha’s face, looking for signs that she might be awake, that she might be able to hear him as the jagged line of the electrocardiogram flickered across the screen by the bed.

  The door to Samantha’s hospital room flew open as Carey, Rush, and Talon came in, moving immediately toward the bed.

  “What happened—?” Rush asked, checking her vitals and lifting her eyelids as Talon turned on the overhead lights, flooding the room with interminable brightness.


  “I don’t know,” Jack responded, bewildered. “She wasn’t responsive, and then all of the sudden her heart rate just spiked—”

  “Did she open her eyes; did she wake up?” Carey asked urgently as Rush continued checking her vitals.

  “I don’t know—” Jack stared down at her in shocked worry. “I didn’t see it if she did. She didn’t make a sound—”

  “You need to clear the room!” The night nurse and doctor commanded as they came into Samantha’s room, accompanied by a flurry of staff.

  “Pulse is at 130. BP is at 70 over 30 and falling—” Rush told them as the doctor leaned over her.

  “Wait—what’s happening—?” Jack asked, bewildered as Carey and Talon dragged him back.

  “She’s in critical condition. Going into shock—we need you to clear the room!” The doctor ordered over his shoulder.

  “No! No, you have to tell me what’s happening—” Jack struggled against Carey’s and Talon’s grip, but in his current state, it was useless. He felt as weak as a kitten, as the pain of his withdrawals washed over him again, leaving him shaking and juddering in its wake.

  “Just let them do their jobs, Jack,” Carey said gruffly, though there was clear worry in his eyes, his mouth compressed in a thin line as he pressed Jack against the wall outside her room.

  Jack struggled for a moment, trying to see in, but the shakes were giving away to something stronger. He slid to the ground, the world tilting as he felt close to passing out. He felt like he was swimming against a wickedly powerful current, his fight to stay conscious weakening even as Carey and Talon crouched over him anxiously, trying to prop him up.

  “Get another doctor,” Carey ordered Talon. “Go now!”

  Talon was up like a shot, racing down the corridor as another wave of nausea had Jack dry heaving while Carey tried to keep him from falling over.

  “Jesus Christ, Jack—”

  “Carey,” Jack managed to push himself back upright, though he didn’t think he had the juice to pick himself up off the floor when the worst of it was over. He could see the flurry inside Samantha’s room as the nurses and the doctor worked to revive her over Carey’s shoulder. “I need you to make sure she’s okay.”

  “I will—you know I will,” Carey promised grimly.

  “My coat pocket—” Jack said through another hacking cough as he tried to reach inside his coat.

  Carey helped him, pulling out the manila envelope as he looked at Jack with worried eyes. “What is this?”

  “You have to read it. My father put it together to try to protect me. And I shouldn’t have looked at it—I know I shouldn’t have read it, Carey—”

  “Is this what you were talking about earlier?” Carey asked. “About Uncle Rob and Ry—?”

  “It wasn’t an accident—their deaths,” Jack managed to get out, his axis tilting. “It wasn’t what you were told to believe—and Samantha needs to know.”

  A nurse and several orderlies rushed down the hall following Talon. As they surrounded Jack, Carey stumbled back, shock on his face as he held the envelope with both hands.

  “She has to know, Carey—” Jack told him hoarsely. “You have to tell her—”

  The orderlies managed to get Jack into a wheelchair just as another wave of dizziness washed over him. He was about to pass out. He could feel his head lolling back as consciousness eluded him.

  “She has to know…” he whispered as they wheeled him down the corridor.

  The last thing he saw was Carey’s ashen expression, standing there outside of Samantha’s room as she fought for her life, holding onto the jagged fragments of her broken past.

  Chapter 2

  December—Late Night

  Port of Tilbury, Essex

  R O X A N N E

  —Are you here?

  Rox held Michael Lightner’s phone as she stood in the darkened shipyard of London’s major port, her back against a metal container, the duffle bag at her feet. Her answer to this text was going to be essential. She was one woman looking for one man in a nine-hundred-acre haystack. There were thirty-four operational berths, sixteen shipping terminals covering seven kilometers of quay edged with over five-hundred-thousand meters of warehouse space. Even wounded and slow-moving, Lucien Lightner could be anywhere.

  —Nearly, she typed back.

  —How long?

  —Fifteen minutes, she answered, glancing at her watch. That was believable. The Port was a good hour outside of London, and she’d made it in half the time thanks to a wad of cash. That should buy her enough time to figure something out. She’d been trying to trace the blocked number he was texting from, but Lightner was either too good or the block was too complicated for her to nail down a location.

  —Bag? Came a fresh text.

  —In the boot, she typed, hoping that sounded appropriately British. Where am I going? she added, watching breathlessly as Lightner replied.

  —Terminal 4

  She looked up and around from her hiding place in the shadows, wondering how far she’d have to walk to reach it. She thanked her lucky stars she’d worn all black. It made dodging the intermittent shipyard security marginally easier. Rox shouldered the heavy bag, moving swiftly between the containers, pausing when she heard vehicles passing or the voices of the night shift workers as they loaded and unloaded cargo from all over the world.

  It took longer than she would have liked, but she eventually made it to the massive terminal, heavy-lift steel cranes reaching up to the skies like magnificent metal aviaries. There were two massive container ships being loaded at the berth. End to end, they were the length of skyscrapers laid on their sides, almost impossible to perceive in their entirety. Rox stood at the terminal, tucked between two containers, hiding in the shadows like a predator, waiting.

  The phone vibrated suddenly and Rox held her breath. She wasn’t anticipating a call. There was no way she’d be able to fake Michael’s voice. But if she didn’t answer, that would be just as bad. She could try to run the trace again, but she needed to keep him on the line somehow to do it.

  Rox released a breath and hit “accept.”

  “Where are you?” came Lightner’s impatient rasp. “I don’t see you.”

  Rox said nothing, counting the seconds out in her mind.

  “Where are you?” Lightner repeated, his question clipped and irritated.

  She cleared her throat, a gruff sound, then she rubbed the phone against her jacket, making a rustling sound.

  “Michael?”

  Another tense three seconds and Lightner hung up. The jig was up.

  Rox peered out from her hiding place, wondering where Lightner was in the dark. It could just be fanciful thinking, but she could have sworn he was close. She glanced behind her, wondering if she was sensing him or having a premonition.

  She had his money and his passports. He was injured. He couldn’t get far.

  The phone vibrated again in her hand.

  Rox didn’t wait this time. She answered immediately.

  “Where is my son?”

  “The hospital, I imagine,” Rox drawled, leaning against the container as her eyes tracked across the shipyard, looking for a sign.

  “Roxanne de Soto,” Lightner murmured. “You’re a persistent one, I’ll give you that.”

  “What can I say? I have a weakness for unavailable men.”

  “You’ve got that right.” He paused. “What did you do to Michael?”

  “I’d be more worried about what I intend to do to you, Lightner,” Rox answered. “I’ve decided to make my life’s mission nailing your ass to the wall. And I’m not the kind of woman you like to piss off. I’ve got a mean temper, güero. And I’m a little crazy—ask your boy the next time you see him. He wears my scars,” she taunted.

  “I’ll pay you double whatever Samantha Wyatt is paying you to hunt me.”

  Rox laughed at that. “How, man? I’ve got your money. I’ve drained you drier than your soon-to-be ex-wife. Jack Roman has taken
over your business, and you can’t touch your assets with MI-5 on your ass, so really—you’re in no position to negotiate, are you?”

  “You really think I’d put all my eggs in one basket?” Lightner taunted.

  “I think you’re somewhere nearby and you’re desperate enough to risk me finding you in order to get ahold of your party favors,” Rox replied. “Come out and play, Lightner. Who knows? I might even do you in fast.”

  A deep, resonate wail pierced the night air as one of the freightliner’s cables were detached from the crane as it finished loading the last of the containers onto the hull. The ship’s massive engines rumbled, churning the black waters surrounding it as it slowly disengaged from the dock. She’d heard the sound echo through the phone. Lightner was close. Hell, he might actually be on the departing ship.

  “Last call, Lightner,” she called out over the noise.

  “Keep the money, Roxanne. I’ll find you and come back for it.” And with that, Lightner hung up, leaving her standing in the dark by the dock. A million bucks in her hands when all she wanted was his head.

  “Fuck,” she muttered, frustrated. She’d bet all the money in the duffel that he was on one of these ships, but she wouldn’t be able the check all of them. So goddamn close—but so far away. It was beyond frustrating.

  She tossed Michael’s phone into the duffel and grabbed her own, dialing quickly. She heard the pulse of the foreign dial tone ring a handful of times before her brother picked up the call.

  “Hey, manita—”7

  “Alejo, you better tell me you’re in Germany. I’ve had a fucking shitty day, and I need to know you’ve got Sammy’s back.”

  “I took leave as soon as you called,” he assured her. “I’m on a plane now. I’ll be there by morning, though I don’t think Wyatt wants to see me.”

  Rox sighed, touching the tender skin around her nose. “I know you two have history, but I don’t trust anyone else to watch out for her right now—not while Lightner is still out there with who knows how many allies. She’s hurt, mano.8 It’s bad.”

  “Wyatt has to agree to this,” Alejandro reminded her. “She might say no.”