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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 (#u497e4491-fd13-55cd-85ad-050ac00d1c5b)
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.”
“If you come to the house, you’ll be waited on hand and foot.” He continued to offer, and she continued to say no, a pact she’d made with herself the day she’d graduated from college at twenty-four. It had taken her an extra two years, but she’d gotten there, by God.
“I have something to tell you, and I don’t want you to misunderstand or be upset.”
“Well, you’d better spit it out, because just saying that jacked my blood pressure a few points.”
She drew in a deep breath of fortifying air before saying quickly, “Malcolm thinks I should go on tour with him.”
His gray eyebrows shot upward, and he pulled off his glasses and cleaned them with a handkerchief. “Did he offer because of the reports made to the police?”
She weighed whether or not to tell him about the incident with the rose, but then given how fast he’d heard about Malcolm’s arrival, he would hear about the little “gift” in her car soon enough. “There was another threat today.”
He stopped cleaning his glasses abruptly, then slid them slowly on again. “What happened?”
“A cheesy black rose left in my car.” As well as the florist coupon in some kind of mocking salute. She tried to downplay the whole thing for her father, but her voice shook and she probably wasn’t fooling him in the least. Still, she plowed ahead, trying her best to put his mind at ease. “Next thing you know, they’ll be leaving a dead horse somewhere like a parody of The Godfather.”
“This isn’t funny. You have to move back home.”
Seeing the vein at his temple throb made her realize all the more how her being around right now made things more difficult for him. “Malcolm offered the protection of his own security people. I guess crazed stalker fans rank up there with hired hit men.”
“That’s not funny, either.”
“I know.” And it wasn’t. “I’m concerned he has a point. I make you vulnerable, and I placed my students at risk by waiting this long. If I go on his European tour, it will solve a lot of problems.”
She didn’t want her father to worry, but she had to admit there was something more to this decision than just her father. Malcolm had presented more than an offer of protection. He’d presented the chance to put their past to rest. Because he was right. The fact that she’d turned him down so promptly hinted at unresolved issues.
But could they really spend the whole tour together? A tour that lasted four weeks? She knew because, damn it, she periodically did internet searches on his life, wondering if maybe he would play at a local arena. He never did.
“That’s the only reason you’ve made this decision?”
She hadn’t decided yet. Or had she? “Are you asking me if I still have feelings for him?”
“Do you?” he asked and strangely didn’t sound upset.
God, as if she wasn’t already confused enough.
“I haven’t spoken to him in years.” Malcolm hadn’t spoken to her, either, not since after the baby was born, and yes, that stung. “Aren’t you going to push me again to come to your house?”
“Actually, no. Go to Europe.” He studied her with those wise judge eyes. “Close that chapter on your life so you can quit living in limbo. I would like to see you settled before I die.”
“I am settled,” she said and then as an afterthought rushed to add, “and happy.”
Sighing, her father stood, kissed her on top of the head. “You’ll make the right decision.”
“Dad—”
“Good night, Celia.” He patted her arm as he walked past, snagging his suit jacket from the iron coatrack. “Set the alarm after I leave.”
She followed him, stunned, certain she couldn’t have heard what she thought she’d heard. Had her father really encouraged her to just pick up and travel around Europe with the former love of her life? A man reputed to have broken hearts around the globe?
Except, strangely, going to Europe with Malcolm was beginning to make sense. Going with him would solve her problems here, keeping her life ordered and safe. It was also her last chance to be with Malcolm, and the wild child she’d once been shouted for her go for it.
The newer, more logical side of her even answered that leaving with him would be the lesser of two evils.
Celia locked the door behind her father and keyed in the security code.
A noise from the hall made her jolt.
Her stomach gripped tight with fear and she spun around fast, grabbing a guitar propped against a chair and lifting it like a baseball bat. She reached for the alarm just as a large shape stepped out of her bedroom.
A man.
Malcolm.
He grinned. “Your security system sucks.”
Malcolm watched the anger flush Celia’s cheeks as her hand fell away from the alarm’s keypad.
She placed the guitar on an armchair. “You scared the hell out of me.”
“Sorry about that.” He stepped deeper into her living room, a space decorated with antique musical instruments his fingers itched to try out. Later. First, he had business with Celia. “I thought I made it clear I’m worried about you being here alone.”
“So you broke into my home?”
“Just to prove how crummy your security system is.” He’d bypassed the alarm, climbed the nearby oak and made it inside her window in less than ten minutes. “Think about it. If someone like me—a plain ol’ musician—could break into your place, then what about someone motivated to find you?”
“Your point has been made.” She pointed to the door. “Now leave, please.”
“But then you’re still here, alone in the crappily secured apartment. My code of honor has trouble with that.” He wandered lazily through her living room, inspecting the canvas over the fireplace, a sketch of band instruments and, below it on the mantel, an antique piccolo on a stand. “Gauging by your conversation with your dear old dad, you don’t want to go to his place.”
“You eavesdropped on my discussion with my father?”
