The Sabrina Vaughn series Set 2

by Maegan Beaumont

  They crossed the bridge single file, Reese leading the pack while the kids and Avasa trailing behind her, a silent trudge that made Sabrina feel as if she were marching toward her own funeral.

  “Reese,” Michael said as soon as they were close enough and the pilot reached out and the two of them shook hands. They’d flown together in the military, When Michael had been Special Forces and Reese had been a part of an elite pilot squad known as the Nightstalkers. He had also been the medi-evac pilot who’d flown her out of the woods the day she’d killed Wade. If there was anyone worth trusting, it was Reese Harrison.

  As soon as pleasantries were dispensed, Reese stored her suitcase in the cargo hold of the helicopter and climbed into the pilot seat. “Whenever you’re ready,” he told her, shutting the door in order to give them a few minutes of privacy.

  “I know better than to ask you to be careful,” Michael said. He had something in his hand and he held it out to her. “You don’t do careful… but you’re coming back to us.”

  A zippered pouch. Heavy and thick, like a banker’s bag. Whatever was inside was between them. Something he didn’t even want Reese to know about.

  She nodded, taking it from his grasp to tuck it into her tote. Looking up, she found Michael standing closer than he’d been. Close enough to touch her. “No matter what you have to do—or who you have to do it to.” His hands caressed her neck, slipping around to her nape. She felt something thin and cool slide against her skin as he adjusted the collar of her button down. “Do you understand?” he said quietly, gazing down at her with eyes gone gun-metal gray.

  “Yes.” She pressed her mouth to his. “I understand perfectly.” The key he’d hung from the chain around her neck lay flat against her chest, completely hidden. He slipped something into her pocket. She could feel the cool of it through the thin lining of her pocket. His knife. Michael had given her his knife.

  “I want you to look at them.” she said quietly, very much aware of Christina and Alex standing behind her. His gaze drifted over her shoulder to settle on the pair. “Stay with them. No matter what happens.”

  He jerked his gaze back to her face, opening his mouth to protest. “Promise me,” she said, cutting him off before he could argue. “Promise.”

  He looked lost. Beaten. “Okay,” he said softly. “I promise.”

  Beside her, Avasa let out a soft whine, lifting her paw to settle it against her knee. Sabrina dropped her shoulder bag in the grass to kneel beside her. “Not this time, girl,” she said, giving the dog long, deep strokes along her neck and shoulders. “I need you to stay here and keep an eye on things.”

  Looking up, she caught Christina watching her, unshed tears glittering in her eyes. “I’m not your mother,” Sabrina said to her bluntly. “But I love you like you’re mine. When I chose Michael, I chose you too.”

  Her admission softened Christina for a moment and she swayed forward, her arms jerking like they wanted to fling themselves around her neck. But they didn’t. Instead the girl turned on her heel, walking back the way they’d come.

  Before Sabrina could stand, Alex came forward to settle a hand against her shoulder. He was eleven now, sturdy but still small. “Do Svidaniya,” he said, his dark eyes pinning her in place. No longer flat, they snapped at her, reminded of the way he’d looked at her the day she’d put them in the lift.

  Finally he leaned closer, pressing his lips to her ear. “I will protect them,” he said in perfect English before allowing his hand to drop from her shoulder. Before she could react, he pulled away, stepping back to stand, shoulder to shoulder with Christina, his gaze as unfocused and lifeless as it’d always been.

  12

  Helena, Montana

  “Are you sure about this?” the stylist said, her fingers gripping the long, thick braid that hung down her back. She’d been waiting for them when they arrived. Just like the car had been waiting on the tarmac of the small, private airstrip where Reese had set the helo down less than an hour after liftoff. Like Reese, Sabrina was sure the stylist had been chosen for her skill as much as her loyalty and discretion.

  She’d been quickly and quietly sequestered in the penthouse suite of Helena’s finest hotel, Reese carrying her suitcase as if he were her personal valet. Afterward, she’d expected him to leave her but he didn’t. He was still here. Like he was waiting for something.

  Or someone.

  The stylist was still frowning at her hair, the scissors in her hand closed as if she couldn’t bring herself to even open them, let alone use them to do what Sabrina had asked. With a small sigh, she shifted in her chair, lifting her hip so she could reach the side pocket of her cargos and the knife Michael had placed there before she left. She had it unsheathed and under the base of the braid before the stylist could blink. “Positive,” she said, sliding the blade through her hair, cutting it loose. The auburn rope fell from her hand and onto the floor at the stylist’s feet. The poor woman stared at it in abject horror.

  Behind her, Reese let out a loud bark of laughter. “God, I’ve missed you.”

  She smiled at his reflection cast by the mirror in front of her. “I’ve missed you too… how’ve you been?”

  “Oh, you know… living the dream,” he said, his answer as vague as it was purposeful. Whatever Ben had him doing, he wasn’t supposed to talk about it. Surprisingly, it stung—that he’d instructed Reese to keep things from her.

  She wasn’t going to give up that easily. “How is he?” she said, careful to keep her head straight. Now that the hard part had been done for her, the stylist was more than willing to finish the job.

  “Bored.” Reese gave her a non-committal shrug. “Ask me how many times I’ve been dragged to Vegas to see Brittney Spears in concert,” he said, lifting his hands, splaying his fingers wide. “Ten. Ten times.”

  She laughed. “Poor baby—”

  His phone rang and he dug it out of his pocket. “Excuse me,” he said, standing as soon as he glanced at the screen, he disappeared into one of the suites two bedrooms to take the call in private.

  Two hours later she was a strawberry blonde. The cut was short, even shorter on the sides, exposing her neck while longer layers on top swept across head to angle across her brow. Michael had been right again. Coupled with the warm, hazel color of the contacts she wore, she looked like a completely different person.

  The stylist packed up and left and Sabrina had expected Reese to follow suit. Instead of leaving he seemed to settle in deeper, stretching out on the couch watching old episodes of Man vs. Food on the Food Network. He looked relaxed, bored even, but she knew better. Reese wasn’t bored. He was waiting.

  “I’m gonna go take a shower,” she said. Without waiting for an answer, she carried her tote into the same room Reese had taken her suitcase. As soon as the door was closed, she locked it, dropping the tote onto the bed. Reaching inside, she found the zippered pouch Michael had given her and carried it into the bathroom. There, she turned on the shower before lifting the lid on the toilet. Setting it on the counter, she opening it. Inside was a burner phone and a gun. Not her service weapon, her own beloved set of SIG P222s or even the six-shot LCP she used to carry. It was a Kimber .45. Brand new and she was sure, untraceable. She set both aside and reached in further, pulling out a small, white envelope. She pulled out the notecard and flipped it open.

  The key opens a safety deposit box. Trust your instincts.

  If something goes wrong, use it.

  I love you.

  Below the message was the name and branch number to a bank in Yuma. She committed both to memory before dropping the card into the toilet. The paper dissolved the instant it hit the water. Sabrina reached into her shirt and pulled at the thin chain that hung around her neck. Suspended from it was the promised key. Tarnished brass, with the numbers 367 stamped into its back. Alongside it was her wedding ring.

  A reminder of the promise she’d made him.

  The safety deposit box would hold everything she needed to ma
ke a fast getaway. Cash. A new set of identification. Passports. How Michael managed to put it all together so fast was something she didn’t really want to think about. Neither was why.

  She wasn’t just hiding from her past. She was hiding from Livingston Shaw. If her resurfacing drew any attention, Shaw would be among the first to learn of it and everyone she cared about would pay for her mistakes.

  When Sabrina exited her room an hour later, Reese was watching The Barefoot Contessa and eating a burger he’d obviously ordered from room service.

  He also wasn’t alone.

  “What the hell is she doing here?” Sabrina managed, cutting a look toward the person lounging in the chair directly across from her.

  “She’s eating tacos,” Church answered her around a mouthful without bothering to look at her. “And watching my girl Ina, make a kick-ass ceviche.”

  “Am I conscience right now?” she said to Reese, ignoring Church completely. “Did I slip in the shower and hit my head?”

  Reese finally risked a glance in her direction, his burger stopped mid-way to his mouth. “No. It’s really happening,” he said, letting his double bacon with cheese hit the plate with a regretful sigh. “I told him this wasn’t a good idea.” Reese shook his head, slouching back into the couch. “Like I said before, Sabrina—I just follow orders.”

  Him. As in Ben.

  “One of these days, Reese, that excuse is going to catch up with you.” She cocked her head slightly, her jaw tight. “He sent her here? Her. His father’s pet sociopath.”

  “Ah—well… yeah.” He looked at Church, hoping for some help but she seemed content to eat her tacos and let him languish.

  “Where is Ben?” She should have asked sooner. Should have asked why he wasn’t here. Why he hadn’t come for her himself after sending Leon Maddox on a potential suicide mission to retrieve her in the first place. “Where is he? When is he—”

  “Ben isn’t coming, Kitten,” Church finally chimed in, muting the television with a disgruntled scowl. “And for the record—I’m nobody’s pet.”

  13

  All things considered, Sabrina slept well. The fact she slept at all was a small miracle. It might have had something to do with the .45 she tucked under her pillow before closing her eyes.

  She lay in bed for a few moments, listening to the silence until she was able to pull small noises from the void. The low murmur of the television. The quiet scrape of utensils against glass. It was barely 5AM and Church was already up for the day.

  Sitting up, she pulled her hotel room robe on over her boy shorts and tank, knotting the belt with a quick jerk. Reaching under her pillow, she retrieved the gun and dropped into the robe’s wide, deep pocket.

  Exiting her room, Sabrina caught the mingled aromas of coffee and bacon. Church was seated at the suite’s dining room table, pouring a stream of hot water from a pot, over a tea bag and into a waiting cup. Reese was nowhere in sight. “Hey, sleepyhead,” she said. “I was beginning to wonder if I was going to have to drag you out of bed. Our flight leaves in a few hours.”

  Our flight. Sabrina clamped her jaw around the useless string of protests that bubbled up. Church was under the notion she’d be accompanying her to Yuma.

  She was wrong.

  “I didn’t know what you were eating these days so…” Church said, drowning her tea bag before giving it a light squeeze. “I ordered all of it.”

  “Eating?” she said, as she slipped into the empty chair across from her companion. The table between them was covered with platters and serving dishes.

  “Yeah, you know—you’re off sugar. You’re vegetarian. You’re carb-cycling. You only eat foods that start with the letter K. I was trying to be thoughtful.” Church shrugged. “People do that, right?”

  Sabrina turned her cup over in its saucer and reached for the coffee pot. “Do what?” she said, pouring herself a cup. “Care about other people?”

  “Yeah. Orange juice?” Church poured her a glass without waiting for a response.

  Sabrina looked at the orange liquid in front of her and wondered if it was poisoned. Maybe Livingston Shaw sent Church here to torture her for information on Michael’s whereabouts. Maybe Ben didn’t even know she was here.

  “If I wanted to kill you—you’d know.” Church grinned at her before leveling her gaze on the glass of untouched juice. “Mostly because you’d already be dead.”

  Because it felt like a dare and because Church was looking at her like she’d just bested her somehow, Sabrina picked up the glass of juice and took a drink, gulping it down like she was dying of thirst.

  “I know you’re dying to ask…” Church lifted her teacup and blew across its rim. “So ask.”

  “Why would Ben send you?” Sabrina said, setting her empty glass aside before reaching for a dish of scrambled eggs. “You work for his father.” She piled it high before trading it for a platter of bacon. Food was fuel and she’d need it if she was going to have to deal with Church.

  “First off—I don’t work for Livingston Shaw anymore. I don’t work for anyone anymore,” Church said. “Thanks to my brief and decidedly distasteful crisis of conscience over killing your bestie and that baby of hers, I’m a free agent.”

  “So what? You got fired?” It sounded ridiculous, Livingston Shaw firing someone.

  Church must’ve thought it sounded ridiculous too because she was suddenly laughing so hard she snorted tea through her nose. “Fired?” She shook her head, still recovering while using the side of her fork to cut into her biscuits and gravy. “Not hardly. Mr. Shaw’s idea of corporate downsizing doesn’t usually involve severance packages and exit interviews.”

  “So, how’d you manage to—”

  “How’d I manage to get out of Columbia without a hole in my head?” Church waved the strip of bacon in her hand like a magic wand. “I just walked off into the jungle and didn’t look back.”

  Disappearing is the easy part. It was staying gone that proved to be impossible.

  “Fascinating—really,” Sabrina said before lifting her cup of coffee to her mouth. “But none of it really answers my question, does it? Why would Ben send you to help me?”

  “No one sent me.” Church said, managing to sound both proud and sad at the same time. “Ben mentioned you’d need some back-up so I volunteered.”

  Which meant despite her hasty retreat, Church hadn’t completely cut ties with FSS. “Why? Why would you offer to help me?”

  “People do that too, don’t they?” Church said. “Help other people.”

  “People?” Sabrina said, stabbing at her eggs. “Sure, people help other people all the time.” She shook her head. “But you’re not a person. Not really.”

  “Ouch.” Church cut her a grin that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Is that any way to talk to the person who had orders to kill a good portion of your family and didn’t?”

  “Yeah. I don’t really understand that either.” Val and Lucy should have been dead. The only reason they weren’t was because Church had decided to incapacitate her best friend rather than kill her as she’d been instructed. Knowing that did little to settle the unease that tied her stomach into knots.

  “Why, why, why… honestly, Sabrina, you sound like a two-year-old,” Church said while she smeared a thick layer of cream cheese onto the top of a bagel. “I let them live for the same reason I offered to help you—because I wanted to.”

  “If you’re trying to convince me you’re not a sociopath, I gotta tell you—” Sabrina shrugged. “It’s not working.”

  “You might not believe it, but I’m here to help.”

  “I don’t want your help,” Sabrina said, reaching into the pocket of her robe, she pulled out the .45 and set it on the table next to her plate, her hand resting on top.

  “I’m sure you don’t, Kitten.” Church gave her the kind of exasperated smile a mother gives a toddler in obvious need of a nap. “But you need it,” she said, flicking a glance over the gun under her hand. “I
’m it. I’m all there is. There is no Ben. There is no cavalry. You want to find out how and why your DNA got mixed up in some weirdo murder—that means slipping back into the world, right under Satan’s nose.” Church took ran a finger over the surface of her bagel, spreading the cream cheese a bit more evenly. “The problem is, if he gets a whiff of you, you’ll never see him coming.”

  “And you will?” It irked her that Church was right. That she needed her. While she’d technically been a FSS asset, she’d never been in the field—not until Church had scooped her up on Shaw’s orders and dropped her on Alberto Reyes’s doorstep. Knowing the inner-workings of Shaw’s private military firm was not her forte.

  “Of course,” Church said, sounding slightly insulted. “It’s what I do.”

  “And if Shaw does find out I’m still alive and sends someone after me? Then what?”

  Church sighed. “Then I’ll do that other thing I do,” she said taking a bite of her bagel. “I’ll kill each and every one of them.”

  14

  The last time Sabrina had flown commercial was with Michael. They’d been on their way to Jessup to find the man who’d abducted her when she was a young woman. The same man who’d brutally murdered his sister and her grandmother.

  Wade Bauer—her brother.

  Half-brother, she instantly corrected herself. Not that it made it any better. Not really. Shooting him the face hadn’t even done that. If anything, it’d made it worse.

  She hadn’t thought of Wade, what he’d done to her—not once—since she’d made up her mind and boarded Leon Maddox’s private plane in Columbia. Right now, she couldn’t get it out of her mind.

  Maybe it was the plane ride. Maybe it was where they were going. Maybe it the fact that without Michael with her to keep him at bay, it was only a matter time before Wade slinked his way back into her brain and made himself at home by driving her completely insane.