Connor had worked and sacrificed for this life. He’d fought and clawed his way up the ladder only to have it ripped out from under him when he was just inches from the top. He had controlled it all, except the one thing he truly needed: time. And Connor’s memories kept track of each precious moment he’d missed and could never get back.
‘Sorry, Jake, I don’t have time to come to dinner tonight, give my best to the wife and kid.’ ‘Sorry, Jake, big client coming into town, can’t make that tee time.’ ‘Sorry, Jake, have to work on Thanksgiving—big case.’
Painful memories of the numerous times he’d disappointed his brother played on some sick loop, tormenting his mind.
‘Sorry, Jake, I’d love to shoot hoops, but I just can’t get away today.’ ‘Sorry, Jake …’
Jacob had always been so understanding, making it easy for Connor to take him for granted. His brother had been the one constant in Connor’s life. He’d never changed, never wavered, always forgave. When Connor was sixteen, he and Jacob had lost their parents in a car crash. Jacob was only nineteen at the time. He’d been in college for less than a year, but didn’t hesitate to take Connor in. He always came through.
You were my best friend. And I killed you.
Jacob was the perpetual good Samaritan. He played the role of Connor’s conscience—like Connor’s own, personal, Jiminy Cricket—determined to keep him on the straight and narrow. No matter how many times Connor slipped from the path, Jacob was always there with his hand out, ready to pull Connor back up. Without him, Connor felt incomplete; like yin without yang. The void his brother’s absence created was beyond comprehension. The thought of never seeing Jacob again was unfathomable.
After Afghanistan, Connor had turned Jacob into another casualty of war; effectively blocking his brother from his life. But Jacob never gave up. One time he rang Connor’s doorbell for a straight half hour until, finally, Connor let him in. Then he started in about Afghanistan and Connor needing to forgive himself. Connor stared into the rain, remembering the conversation.
“No, Jake, I don’t want to talk about Afghanistan,” Connor insisted for the umpteenth time.
“You need to talk about it. Please don’t shut me out. Nothing that happened there was your fault. You did everything you could for those men.” Jacob paced the floor of Connor’s living room.
Connor had spent months avoiding Jacob, pouring into his law studies. His bar exam was rapidly approaching, and he’d hidden behind that very compelling excuse. Even now he had a thick textbook open on his coffee table that he was trying to study. He looked up from the book and said, “You don’t know what you’re talking about. Those men were my responsibility. They trusted me to be a proficient commander.”
Jacob paused, crossing his arms. “What could you have done differently?”
“I should have known that kid wasn’t carrying a bomb. Shouldn’t have shot him.” Connor got up and walked around the coffee table to stand toe-to-toe with his brother. “I should have been intelligent enough to see the trap!”
“You did the best you could.” Jacob grabbed his shoulder. “You’re a good man, Connor.”
The image of the boy Connor had shot over a watch flooded his mind. “Am I?” He shook his head, dissipating the vision. “If I hadn’t shot that kid, LeFord wouldn’t have exposed himself. I murdered a child, and LeFord paid the price.”
“You made a mistake. You can’t shut out the world because of it.”
But Connor had accepted that challenge and proven he could, in fact, shut out the world. He passed the bar and work became his new life. Any relationships Connor engaged in were shallow and only for self-gratification. He used people to satisfy his needs, and then tossed them aside before they could become liabilities.
Jacob’s words rang through Connor’s mind; ‘You’re a good man, Con.’ They conflicted with the image his life had produced. “You were the good one,” Connor whispered into the rain. “I miss you, bro.” He wondered if his brother could hear him, wherever he was. “I wish you were here. I’m ready to talk now.” His throat constricted and he couldn’t say anymore. The damn rain kept pelting his eyes; blurring his vision.
Connor slowed to a walk and his thoughts turned back to the immediate problem: Liberty. Eight years in the army and six years as an attorney, left him inadequately equipped to deal with the frustration Liberty Collins brought into his life. He never had to work at romance before. Take a woman to dinner, buy her some flowers or maybe a nice piece of jewelry, show her some attention, bathe her in compliments, and voila—romance.
Liberty was different. Full of piss and vinegar, that’s what his father would say. Like a thistle, strong and beautiful, but with sharp, protective prickles. What would any sane man want with a woman like that? What do I want with her?
He stopped and leaned over, stretching thigh and back muscles. His left eye started twitching, so he knuckled it, trying to force it to stop. The twitching continued. He widened then narrowed his eyes, then pulled and pushed on the eyelid. Nothing helped.
Taking deep breaths, he mentally practiced the encouragement he’d repeated before many trials. I am a consummate professional, hiding my emotions behind a wall of coldness, projecting the calculated indifference of my position.
His eye continued to twitch. I. Don’t. Twitch. Connor laughed aloud, suddenly amused at the anger, confusion, frustration, and desire Liberty brought to his life. So much, that he’d apparently developed an eye twitch from thinking about her. His thoughts drifted back to the moment he’d pulled her onto his lap and breathed her in. She’d been so weak and vulnerable; a fragile ice sculpture melting in his arms. Her soft, full lips had tempted him to find out if she tasted as good as she smelled and her jade eyes drew him in like a forest of evergreens. When he’d brushed the auburn curls from her face, ideas he’d long ago extinguished suddenly rekindled.
No. Connor tried to convince himself. Not for her.
Liberty was inaccessible, guarded, cold. Don’t get close. She’s not what you want. And she doesn’t want you.
Yet he’d watched helplessly as she cracked, terrified that she’d break and leave him.
The rain mellowed to a drizzle, and Connor sat on a bench near the side of the trail. Rain soaked his clothes, cooling him as he remembered the day he found Liberty.
* * *
It started with a scream. Connor hid behind the curtain of the house he was ransacking, and peered out the window. A person jogged by, her feminine curves were almost hidden under a black, hooded sweatshirt and baggy blue jeans. From his elevated viewpoint Connor noticed two others following her. They were gaining on their prey and he knew that unless she sped up, they’d overcome her. He ran downstairs and slipped out the back door, his feet chasing the woman before he’d consciously made the decision to do so.
He crossed one yard, then the next, hoping to cut her off at the intersection. Once he reached her, there was no time for words. He grabbed the woman and carried her into the bushes. She tried to fight him off, but weighing maybe a buck twenty-five, her five-foot-ten frame was nothing he couldn’t handle. Bones dug into his side as he wrestled her to the ground and laid on top of her. She continued to squirm, creating friction against body parts long neglected. Despite the fact that they were in danger, things were about to get awkward when she bit down on his hand.
Within minutes of meeting Liberty, Connor wanted to strike a woman for the first time in his life. After the danger had passed, he had every intention of leaving her ungrateful walking corpse behind. But then Jacob’s voice broke into his mind, interrupting his anger. ‘You can’t abandon her,’ his brother said.
Liberty glared up at him with a death grip on her dagger.
She’s not exactly helpless.
‘Help her, Con. This is your chance. Prove that I was right about you.’
Connor pushed away his brother’s voice to stood to stretch again, wondering if Jacob was watching him from Heaven, enjoying Connor’s misery with a lar
ge, buttery popcorn in one hand and a root-beer in the other.
Yeah, Bro. Laugh now, but someday I’ll get you back for this one.
Thoroughly soaked, he headed back toward the house. Within a few yards, the hair on the back of his neck stood up, accompanying the suspicion that he was being watched. He stopped and pretended to lace his shoes, watching for any sort of movement. Nothing. Chalking up the paranoia to misplaced dread of another confrontation with Miss. Congeniality, he took the long way back. Weaving through yards, he stopped periodically and stretched, listening. Confident that he’d imagined the whole thing, he slid into the borrowed house and climbed the stairs.
After he washed up and pulled on dry clothes, Connor stepped out of the master bathroom to find a sleeping Ashley curled up into a ball in the center of the king-sized bed. The curtains were closed, and Liberty had a flashlight crammed into the bottom of the top dresser drawer. She was lying on the floor, on her stomach, reading a paperback under the light.
“Ashley passed out early,” he whispered.
Liberty must have been too wrapped up in her novel to hear him come out of the bathroom, because she just about jumped out of her skin when he spoke. She glared at him for a moment, then her expression softened into a loving smile when she looked at Ashley.
Connor studied her face, wishing she’d direct a fraction of the affection she felt for Ashley toward him. Knowing he had a fence to mend, he leaned against the dresser, trying to look casual. “We should talk,” he said.
Tensions rose as she scrutinized him for a moment, rolled over, then sat up. Her shoulders slumped and she let out a deep breath.
Why is she so difficult? Connor wondered.
“Talk?” Liberty sounded skeptical as she closed the paperback and placed it on top of the dresser. “Now you wanna talk? And they say women have mood swings.”
“Right. Never mind.” Frustrated by her tone, he turned to leave, but she reached out and grabbed his leg. He stopped and watched her over his shoulder. “Yes?”
Her eyes studied the carpet. “I’m not used to relying on anyone but myself. Needing help is—” She chewed on her lip, suddenly looking much younger than twenty-eight. “—just thank you. That’s all. And I’m sorry.” Her expression became a mix of emotions before turning into a lopsided smile.
Connor blinked. Exactly how many personalities does this girl have?
She patted the floor beside her. When he sat, she grabbed his right hand and studied his bloody knuckles, raising an eyebrow. He shrugged, and her mouth twitched.
“I’d ask about the other guy, but I already saw the wall,” she said. Her hands held his for a moment longer. Then she dropped his fist and fidgeted with the hem of her dress.
“So … trying out the whole talking thing.” Connor cleared his throat and turned on his best talk show host voice. “Let’s start by digging into the depths of the mysterious mind of Liberty. Liberty Collins, what are you thinking about right now?”
She tapped her head. “This noggin? Right this minute?”
He nodded.
“I’m regretting all the times I skipped dessert. Because seriously, I could go for some chocolate mousse right now.”
He chuckled and considered her. What is it about this woman that throws me off-guard?
The dress Liberty wore, accentuated her narrow waist and flowed into the natural curves of her body. Her curls spilled from a clip on the top of her head, and the light from her flashlight gently caressed her long neck, adding secrets in the shadows that Connor longed to explore. His fingers itched for an opportunity to trace the lines of her collarbone. From her appearance to her personality, Liberty’s presence was her own, uninfluenced by others, like a candle that wouldn’t be snuffed out by changing winds. He held his breath as the desire to protect and possess her overcame him.
Mine. Whoa. She’d kill me if she could read my mind. Gotta pull myself together. Be cool.
“Connor, what do you want?” She raised one eyebrow and looked at him like he was a curiosity. “And what’s up with your eye?”
He knuckled his twitching eye and shrugged, wondering how to answer either question. What do I want? Liberty watched him, looking beautiful and vulnerable, but he knew the truth. She was attractive, but she was autonomous. Connor once had money, power, and stability, but what did he have now to offer to a woman like Liberty? Especially after she’d already made it clear she didn’t ‘need’ him.
“I—I think we should talk about the plan,” he replied, deciding on neutral territory. “I know we are heading north, but you haven’t told me where. I should probably know.”
Right that moment he didn’t care one lick about the plan. And truth be told, he knew exactly where she was taking them. He also knew it was futile. No country on the planet had a chance of being unaffected by the collapse of the US. There was no way Canada would be better off. But Liberty had a goal and hope. Who am I to take these things away from her?
“Why?” she asked. Her cheeks darkened, warning Connor that she was getting irritated.
He tilted his head to the side, his mind replaying the question and looking for whatever he’d said wrong.
“Why do you want to know?” Her entire face erupted in bright red, like a flare of anger. “Are you planning on leaving me behind if I have another spell like earlier?” Though her face was fire, ice cubes could have formed from her words.
Connor leaned away, trying to get out of range long enough to make sense of her words. Leave her behind? What?
She stood and started pacing like a caged lion. “I had a bad day. It won’t happen again. I’m better now. And if you think you can take Ashley away from me, then you’re the one who’s crazy.”
Connor pushed himself off the floor wondering why she’d be talking about taking Ashley away. “Ashley is my—”
Suddenly Liberty was inches from his face. Her finger held his lips closed. Her jaw clenched then unclenched. Then her shoulders slumped. The anger in her eyes turned to sorrow. “Connor, please don’t do this. Don’t take Ash from me.”
She slowly pulled her finger away and wrapped herself in a hug. He watched her lips move, but no more sound escaped. A single tear slid down her cheek before plummeting to the floor.
He wanted to scoop her up in his arms, but knew it wouldn’t work. He searched for words that would adequately define his feelings, but there were none. She looked away and he studied her lips, wondering if what she’d do if he kissed her again. Deciding he didn’t care how she’d react, he leaned forward into uncertain doom and …
Ashley stirred.
Connor was pulled from his trance by the sound. Looking at the girl, he noticed she had kicked off the covers, so he walked to the bed and pulled them up over her shoulders, tucking them under her chin. She smiled, obviously enjoying whatever was happening in her dreams. He pushed a loose strand of hair out of her face.
Liberty gasped.
Connor pushed away from the bed, turning toward the door. Liberty’s hands were in the air and the silver chamber of a pistol rested against her temple.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“SORRY, AM I interrupting a moment here?” The man who held the gun to Liberty’s head showed his teeth in a malicious grin. Tanned skin contrasted with his chin-length sandy-blonde hair, making him look like he’d be more comfortable holding a surf board and a six pack of beer than a pistol. His icy blue eyes watched Connor, waiting for a reaction.
Connor recognized the crazed stare instantly and froze, considering his options. A lamp rested on the night stand to his right, begging to be used as a weapon, but he knew he couldn’t swing it before the man got a shot off. Even if he could, there was a bed between him and his foe. Any move he made was a gamble. Frustrated by his lack of options, Connor silently prayed that Liberty followed the news and would recognize the man by name.
“Mark Fletcher,” he replied by way of greeting.
Her breath caught and her eyeballs rolled to the side, widening when sh
e caught a glimpse of her captor.
Good. She knows who he is. Be afraid, Lib. This is real.
Fletcher giggled in unrestrained glee, clearly delighted by his own renown. The sound sent shivers up and down Connor’s spine, assuring him that Mark had jumped off the pier of sanity into a whole ocean of crazy. Mark’s gaze darted nervously around the room as his finger twitched on the trigger. “Nice place you have here. Looks like you managed to steal someone else’s life.”
Connor knew Mark Fletcher professionally. Mark had been the intended successor of a large and prosperous furniture chain based out of Olympia. Fletcher Furniture had flourished for generations, passed down from first son to first son for as long as anyone could remember. But when Mark took over, his abuse of the power that came with the position had nearly cost his family everything.
Evidence of Mark’s misdeeds first surfaced a few years back when a pretty, little blonde doll stepped into Connor’s office under the watchful gaze of her father. According to the young lady, Mark had promised her a position in the business, if she could first prove her skill at numerous positions in his bedroom. After their clothing-prohibited interview, Mark voiced his disappointment in the girl’s performance, and invited her to bring a friend and try again. Instead she went to her father, who was more than a little offended by Mark’s pre-employment screening practices, and hired Connor to go after him.
Connor went digging and found multiple victims who’d experienced their own harassment nightmares from the depraved heir to the furniture fortune. Evidence was sound, and once they realized the financial potential of their misadventures, victims were more than willing to come forward. The system demanded justice, and all offended women were awarded healthy recompense. It had been Connor’s first high-profile case. The victory had tasted exquisite, pumping adrenaline through his veins when the courtroom erupted in cheers. The villain was convicted and punished for his crimes.
Rescuing Liberty: Perseverance Book 1 Page 11
