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“At his annual doctor’s checkup. His heart has been giving him trouble. He’s been talking about retiring after the Martin case.” She sagged back into the leather seat. “I can’t believe this is happening.”
He opened the mini-fridge and pulled out a bottled water. “No one will get to you now.” He passed her the cooled Evian. “This vehicle is steel-reinforced, with bulletproof glass.”
“Paparazzi can be persistent.” She took the bottle from him, taking special care to avoid brushing his fingers. “Is it worth it living in a bubble?”
“I’m doing exactly what I want with my life.” He had a freedom now that went far beyond the musician lifestyle, a side to his world with power that only a handful of people knew about.
“Then I’m happy for you.” She sipped the water, all signs of her fear walled away.
But he knew what he’d seen, even if she was far better at hiding her emotions now than she’d been as a teenager. “Your school year finishes tomorrow. You’ll be free for the summer. Come with me to Europe. Do it for your dad or your students, but don’t let pride keep you from accepting my proposal.”
She rolled the bottle between her hands, watching him from under the dark sweep of her eyelashes. “Wouldn’t it be selfish of me to take you up on this offer? What if I put you in danger?”
Ah. He resisted the urge to smile. She hadn’t said no. Something was shifting in her; he could sense it. She was actually considering his offer.
“The Celia I knew before wouldn’t have worried about that. You would have just blasted ahead while we tackled the problem together.”
A bump in the road jostled her against him. His arm clamped around her instinctively, and just as fast his senses went on overload. The praline scent of her. The feel of her soft breasts pressed against his side, her palm flattened on his chest. And God, what he wouldn’t give for a taste of her as she stared up at him. Her wide brown eyes filled with the same electric awareness that snapped through his veins.
Biting her lip, she eased away, sliding to the far side of the seat. Away from him.
“We’re all grown up, and a more measured approach is called for,” she said primly, setting the water bottle into a holder. “I can’t simply go to Europe with you. That’s just … unthinkable. As for my students, you already noted the school year’s over, and if the threat truly is stemming from my father’s case, it should be resolved by the time summer’s over. See? All logical. Thank you for the offer, though.”
“Stop thanking me,” he snapped, knowing too well the ways he’d come up short in taking care of her and their child. This was his chance to make up for that, damn it, and he couldn’t let it pass him by.
The limo cruised down the familiar roads of Azalea with blessedly smaller potholes. Not much had changed; only a few of the mom-and-pop diners had folded into chain restaurants near a small mall.
Otherwise, this could have been a date of theirs years ago, driving around town in search of a spot to park and make out. They’d both lost their virginity in the back of the BMW she’d gotten for her sixteenth birthday. The memories … Damn … Too much to think about now while trying to keep his head clear.
When he’d come up with the plan to help her, he hadn’t expected to still want her, to be so pulled in by her. He’d dated over the years and could have any woman he wanted. And still, here he was, aching to take this woman. Had he gotten himself in too deep with his offer of protection? The prospect of touring Europe together, staying alone in hotels, suddenly didn’t sound like such a smart idea.
“Malcolm?” Her voice drew him back to the present. “Why did you look me up now? I truly don’t believe you’ve watched my every move for nearly eighteen years.”
Fair enough. He had kept track of her over the years. But this time of year, thoughts of their shared past weighed heavier on his conscience. “You’ve been on my mind this week. It’s the time of year.”
Celia’s eyes shut briefly before she acknowledged, “Her birthday.”
His throat closed, so he simply nodded.
Her face flooded with pain, the first deep and true emotion she’d shown since he arrived. “I am sorry.”
“I signed the papers, too.” He’d given up all custodial rights to his child. He’d known he had no choice, nothing to offer and no hope of offering her anything in the foreseeable future. He’d been lucky not to be in jail, but the military reform school in North Carolina had been a lockdown existence.
“But you didn’t want to sign the papers.” She touched his arm lightly, the careful poise in her eyes falling away to reveal a deep vulnerability. “I understand that.”
His willpower stretched to the limit as he fought back the urge to kiss away the pain in her eyes.
“It would have been selfish of me to hold out when I had no future and no way to provide for either of you.” He shifted in his seat and let the question roll out that had plagued him all these years. “Do you think about her?”
“Every day.”
“And the two of us?” he pushed, studying her hand still resting on his wrist. Her touch seared his skin with memories and, yes, a still-present desire to see if the flame between them burned as hot. “Do you think back and regret?”
“I regret that you were hurt.”
He covered her hand with his and held tight. “Come with me to Europe. To stay safe. To ease stress for your old man. To put the past to rest. It’s time. Let me help you the way I couldn’t back then.”
She nibbled her bottom lip and he sensed that victory was so damn close….
The limo eased to a stop in front of her home. She blinked fast and pulled her hand away. She gathered her computer bag from the floor. “I need to go home, to think. This is all too much, too fast.”
She hadn’t said an outright no, and that would have to do for now. He would win in the end. He always did these days. His fame and position had benefits.
He ducked out of the car and around to her side to walk her to her door. He didn’t expect to come inside and stay the night, but he needed to be sure she was safe. His hand went to the small of her back by instinct as he guided her toward the little carriage house behind a columned mansion.
She glanced over her shoulder. “You already know where I live?”
“It’s not a secret.” In fact her life was too accessible. He’d seen too much corruption in the world. This kind of openness made him itchy.
Although he had to confess to being surprised at her choice for a home. The larger, brick mansion wasn’t her father’s house, as he’d half expected when he’d first learned of where she lived. She’d carved out her own space even if she’d stayed in her hometown.
Even so, the little white carriage house was a security nightmare. Dimly lit stairs on the outside led to the main entrance over her garage. He followed her up the steps, unable to keep his eyes off the gentle sway of her hips or the way the sunlight glinted on her silky dark hair.
She stopped at the small balcony outside her door, turning to face him. “Thank you for seeing me home and calling the cops. I truly do appreciate your help.”
How many times had he kissed her good-night on her doorstep until her father started flicking the porch light off and on? More than he could count. A possessive urge to gather her close and test the old attraction seared his veins, but he was a more patient man these days. He had his eye on the larger goal.
Getting her to leave the country with him.
He held out his hand for her keys. “Once I’ve checked over your place, I’ll be on my way for the night.”
Just not far away.
Malcolm wasn’t the same idealistic teen he’d once been. He’d spent every day at that military reform school plotting how he would show up at Celia’s father’s house. How he would prove he hadn’t done a damn thing wrong. He was an honorable man who’d had his family stolen from him. He’d held on to that goal all through college, as well, playing music gigs at night to earn enough money to cover what scholarships didn’t.
But he never could have foreseen the path to honor that would play out for him. He’d sure as hell never planned on being a music star with his face plastered on posters. He’d stuck with it for the money. Then surprisingly, his old headmaster had shown up in his dressing room after a concert with a crazy offer.
Malcolm’s globe-trotting lifestyle offered him the perfect cover to work as a freelance agent for Interpol.
In that moment, Malcolm gained a strong compass for his life and he’d never veered from the plan. Until today.
Even after eighteen years, he couldn’t look away from Celia. “The keys, please?”
Hesitating for an instant, she dropped the keys into his hand. He turned the lock—a lock he could have picked thanks to some skills he’d acquired along the way—and pushed open the door to an airy and light space with sheer frills, an antique upright piano and a lemony, clean scent.
He stepped inside to make sure there weren’t any more roses—or worse—waiting for her. She disarmed the alarm, then walked beside him down the narrow hall leading toward the living area, clicking her fingernails along a panpipe hung on the wall. His sixth sense hummed on high alert. Something wasn’t right, but his instincts were dulled around Celia, and damn it, that wasn’t acceptable. He knew better. He’d been trained for better.
Drawing in his focus, he realized … Holy hell …
He angled back to Celia. “Did you leave the living room light on?”
Flinching, she gasped. “No. I never do …”
He tucked her behind him only to realize … a man sat on the sofa.
Her father.
Malcolm resisted the urge to step back in surprise. Judge Patel had gotten old. Intellectually, Malcolm understood the years had to have left a mark, but seeing that in person was … unsettling. He’d resented this man, even hated him at some points, but bottom line, he understood they both had a common goal: keeping Celia safe.
Malcolm was just better suited for the job, and this time, he refused to let Judge George Patel stop him.
Three
Celia could swear she heard Fate chiming with laughter.
She looked from her father to Malcolm, waiting for the explosion. They’d never gotten along. Malcolm encouraged her to think for herself. Her parents had pampered her while also being overprotective. They’d seen her relationship with Malcolm as dangerous. They’d been right, in a way. She had been out of control when it came to him.
However, their refusal to let her see him had only made her try all the harder to be with him. Malcolm had chafed at their disapproval, determined to prove himself. The whole thing had been an emotional train wreck in the works.
Could they all be more mature now? God, she hoped so. The thought of an ugly confrontation made her ill, especially at the tail end of a day that had already knocked her off balance in more ways than one.
Malcolm nodded to her father. “Good evening, sir.”
“Douglas.” Her father stood, extending his hand. “Welcome back.”
They shook hands, something she wouldn’t have believed possible eighteen years ago. Even if they were eyeing each other warily, they were keeping things civil. The last time they’d all been together, her father had punched Malcolm in the jaw over the pregnancy news, while her mother had sobbed on the couch. Malcolm hadn’t fought back, even though he was at least six inches taller than her father.
Nervous about pushing their luck, she turned to Malcolm and rested her fingers lightly on his arm. “I’m fine now. You can go, but thanks again, truly.”
She shuddered to think what it would have been like to find that macabre rose on her own and have her concerns discounted by the police again. This was not the work of some student pissed off over a failing grade. Malcolm seemed to grasp that right away. She hadn’t considered until just this moment how much his unconditional belief meant to her.
He dipped his head and said softly, “We’ll talk tomorrow. But don’t say no just because I’m the one offering.” Grasping the doorknob, he nodded to her father again. “Good night, sir.”
And that was it? He actually left? No confrontation? Celia stood there stunned at how easily he’d departed. She wanted a proper goodbye, and it scared her how much that mattered. Although his final words swirled in her mind. Was she being contrary—like the old Celia—turning down a wise opportunity because Malcolm had made the offer?
She shook off the thoughts. Likely Malcolm just realized she was safely home, his duty done. After resetting the alarm, she turned back to face her dad. The familiarity of her place wrapped around her, soothing her at the end of a tumultuous day.
This little carriage house wasn’t as grand as the historic mansion where she’d grown up or the posh resorts Malcolm frequented—according to the tabloids. But she was proud of it. She took pride in how she’d decorated on her own budget. She’d scoured estate sales and flea markets until she pieced together a home that reflected her love of antiques and music.
Her home had become a symbol of the way she’d pieced herself back together, reshaping herself by blending the best of her past and her future. Shedding the dregs, taking responsibility for her own messes, which also gave her the freedom to celebrate her own successes.
And in finding that freedom, being around her father had actually become easier. She wasn’t as defensive, and right now, she was only worried—about him.
“What are you doing here, Dad? I thought you were at your doctor’s appointment.”
“News travels fast.” He nudged aside throw pillows and sank back on the couch, looking weary with bags under his eyes and furrows in his brow. “When I heard about Malcolm Douglas’s impromptu visit to the school, I told the doc to speed things along.”
His shock of gray hair still caught her by surprise sometimes. Much like when she’d been stunned to realize her indomitable father was actually only five-six. He’d always had a larger-than-life presence. Yet the day her mother had died, her father had grown frail in an instant, looking more and more like Grandpa Patel—without the Indian accent.
Intellectually, she’d always understood that her mom and dad were older than her friends’ parents. She’d been a late-in-life baby, born after her sister died. How strange to have a sibling she’d never met.
And yes, more than once, Celia had wondered if she would have been conceived had her sister lived.
She’d never doubted her parents’ love or felt she was a replacement for the child they’d lost to cancer. But that loss had made them overprotective, and they’d spoiled her shamelessly. So much so that Celia winced now to think of what a brat she’d been, how many people she’d hurt.
Including Malcolm.
She glanced at her slim silver watch. “He showed up at school less than an hour ago. You must have rushed right over.”
“As I said, small town.”
There weren’t many secrets around Azalea, Mississippi, which made it all the more miraculous that she’d managed to have a baby and give her up for adoption without the entire town knowing all the details. Malcolm had been sent off to a military reform school in North Carolina, and she’d been sent to Switzerland on an “exchange” program, actually a chalet where she’d been homeschooled until she delivered.
She swallowed the lump in her throat and sat on the arm of the sofa. “What did the doctor say about your shortness of breath lately?”
“I’m here, aren’t I? Doc Graham wouldn’t have let me leave unless she thought I was okay, so all’s fine.” He nudged his round steel glasses in place, ink stains on his fingers from making notes. Her dad didn’t trust computers and backed everything up the old-fashioned way—on paper. “I’m more worried about you and your concerns that someone might be targeting you.”
Her concerns? Did he doubt her, too? “How bad is the Martin case?”
“You know I can’t talk about that.”
“But it’s an important one.”
“Every judge dreams of leaving the bench with a landmark case, especially just before he retires.” He patted the top of her hand. “Now, quit trying to distract me. Why did Malcolm Douglas show up here?”
“He heard about the current case on your docket, and somehow word got out about my reporting the threats to the police, which I find strange since no one here takes them seriously.” Would they finally listen to her after today’s incident?
“And Malcolm Douglas—international music star—came running after not seeing you for eighteen years?” Concern moved through his chocolate-brown eyes.
“Seems crazy, I know.” She toed a footstool made of an old leather drum. “Honestly, though, I think it had more to do with the timing.”
“Timing of what?”
That he even had to ask hurt her heart. “Dad, it’s her seventeenth birthday.”
“You still think about her?”
“Of course I do.”
“But you don’t talk about her.”
She’d done nothing but talk about her baby in therapy—cry and talk more, until finally she’d reached a point where she could move forward with her life. “What’s the point? Listen, Dad, I’m fine. Really. I have end-of-the-year grades to tabulate and submit.”
Her dad thumped his knees. “You should move home.”
“This is my home now,” she reminded him gently. “I consented to letting you pay for a better security system. It’s the same one at your house, as you clearly know since you chose the pass code. Now, please, go home and rest.”
She worried about him, about the pale tinge to his dusky complexion, the tired stoop to his shoulders. His job would be easier if she wasn’t around since he wouldn’t have to stress about her. Not taking Malcolm up on his offer suddenly felt very selfish. “Dad, I’m thinking about taking a vacation, just getting away once school ends.”
