For the thousands of times Sammy had wished the walls between her apartment and Clare’s were thicker, she would be eternally grateful the thin separation conducted noises perfectly well. Sammy had wanted thicker walls, not for the freedom to blare music—hello, headphones—or to mask the thuds of her headboard thumping the wall—yeah, right—but to muffle her screams from bad dreams. The night Clare had fallen, though, Sammy heard the unusual thunk and rushed to investigate. Without that alert, who knew how long it would have been before Clare was rescued?
Add her greedy son-in-law to the picture and it was an ugly scene.
“She’s doing better, though, really?” Pablo asked.
Better how? Physiologically, sure, her gray-haired, bespectacled neighbor was improving. The human body had no resistance to its cellular demand to repair. Mentally? Clare was scared. Terrified. Sammy would even venture on depressed with the prospect of a nursing home. It took one frightened soul to recognize another.
“For now. Something’s come up back home in Concord.”
Pablo raised his brows. “Where the fuck is that? Canada?”
Sammy rolled her eyes. “New Hampshire.”
Pablo was a great boss and an even better friend. But since he’d taken her under his wing after the first day of her classes at Las Positas, they’d never spoken about her past. Including her hometown.
“Something bad?” His probe wasn’t officious. More of a concern, amigo to amiga.
“Snafu with money.” Sammy flicked a hand as though it were nothing. Ha. Hardly.
Pablo’s unruly dark brows quirked as he forked his herbivore chow into his mouth. “You need some help?”
As if she’d ever be able to repay him for the assistance he’d already given her. A job. A source of income. A friendship. A chance on a skittish and doubtful eighteen-year-old with no work experience in the big bad world. She shook her head. “No. Nothing you can fix. I’ll … take care of it.”
Please do not offer me money.
Her worries were unfounded. From day one, Pablo respected she wasn’t a charity case. A runaway, sure. But not a beggar out for the easy road.
When she’d asked, several months after she’d started her very first job ever in her sheltered life, why he’d taken a gamble on her, a quiet, reference-less stranger, his answer was simple. She was hiding. He didn’t know from what, or why, and he didn’t want to know any answers. But he’d inferred she needed a friend, and he’d taken on the role of protector.
“So you gonna fly to the East Coast?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Only way you’d get me on a plane is if I were unconscious. I’ll drive. Will you be all right with me taking off?”
“My nephew can watch the front desk if I need the help. He’s getting too lazy.”
“I can still drum up some sketches for you. Email them to you on the road,” she offered.
He shrugged. “Nothing that can’t wait a week. Go do your thing. Slay your dragons.”
Sammy almost smiled. “Thank you.” Mere words of thanks paled against the sighing relief of gratitude. Friends or not, she still hadn’t graduated to more sentimental exchanges. Like hugs, for example.
Pablo being Pablo, he seemed to get that.
They finished their food and he retreated to a room in the back for a second step of a full color tat of a peacock on a body builder’s bicep.
Another lost-dare tattoo. Those were the bits of humor of her that normally spurred a smile on her face on an ordinary day. Instead, she dreaded facing Edgar, being near the location of horrors that had defined her.
The last time she’d embarked across country, she was captain of Jake’s borrowed car, cruising along highways with tears on her cheeks, frantic glances over her shoulder at diners, motels, and gas stations, and deafeningly loud rock from the eighties to soothe her anger. Alone. Fearful. Scarred.
This time, she mused, she would be steering her own car, a hand-me-down from Pablo. She had decreased her cries to only nightmares in the night, and had mastered the craft of people-watching without seeming like a deer alongside a hiking trail—wide eyed and skittish.
She was still solo in life. Afraid, but not incapacitated. Wounded, but slowly recuperating.
But was she really ready to face the villains and memories in the northeast?
I’ll have someone riding shotgun this time, though.
Adam. Again she tried to envision what the matured version would show, and she hoped his presence would be a comfort, and not a threat.
Chapter Four
Las Vegas, Nevada
Adam Fallon let his worn backpack slide off his shoulder and slump onto the marble ledge of seating. He held a ridiculous staring contest with the golden lion statue nestled in a bed of red-petal flowers in the center of the MGM’s hotel’s lobby.
Is she going to be on time? Or late?
Stretching his spine, he leaned back and then twisted side to side, coaxing his body to loosen up. Tension, unusual but noticeable, held him on edge.
Not only over the timing of Sammy’s arrival.
He couldn’t help it. Raised with constant moves and relocations up until his mom settled them down in New Hampshire before he began seventh grade, Adam developed many habits as an army brat. His father—no, Colonel—Henry Fallon instilled his respect and adherence to punctuality.
Pulling his phone from the pocket of his cargo shorts, Adam checked her message for what felt like the tenth time in as many minutes.
Sammy: Hey Adam, it’s Sam. I’ll get into Vegas around four and I should be in the lobby of MGM about 4:30ish.
Around. About. Ish. Sammy clearly wasn’t one to set firm deadlines.
With a faint smile, he studied the unidentifiable circle before the number Jake had given him earlier that day. Soon, he’d have an ID picture to tag her by.
What she looked like… That mystery held him in knots tighter than his watch on minute hand.
Samantha Annalisa Millson. Sam. Sammy. Samster. Samsy.
So many ways to bring her to mind. As the perfectly made-up, preppily dressed, straight-A student waiting by her older brother’s locker in the school hallways. As a girl lazing on a chaise by the Millson pool, sketchbook in hand, umbrella shading her as she drew. As Jake’s careful-to-smile little sister who watched his baseball team win tournaments. As the impish kid who struggled to maintain her expected image. An artistic genius with no encouragement of her skills.
He shook his head, wondering once again what she had been doing while he was overseas. Probably strapped to some kind of business degree. She’d never had the free reins to prepare for a career that would only be successful with her level of talent. What a waste.
Adam paced a few feet in an unhurried swagger in front of his bag.
Whenever he’d call or email Jake throughout the years in the military, Adam never failed to inquire about her. Not in so many words, of course. He’d ask generally. How’s the fam?
He hadn’t given a damn what Jake and Sammy’s parents, Megan and Scott Millson, were up to. Or that old grouch Edgar Millson. And the housekeeper Marta, she was always a really cool figure at the Millson residence. A tough but kind woman who swore in Ukrainian.
Adam could have singled out Sammy, simply asking how she was doing, but terming his curiosity as such would have been too much of a red flag, like mentioning, “Hey, Jake, don’t kick my ass, but I’ve always had the hots for your baby sister. What’s she up to?”
He’d kept in touch with Jake and updated his knowledge of Sammy since he’d left for boot camp. Surprise had struck him when Jake called to inform him she’d transferred from Dartmouth to some dinky community college in San Francisco.
Moving to the opposite coast sure signaled a clear message: I’m outta here. He’d applauded her severing the umbilical cord, or more so, the tight choker collar and rigid leash. She’d braved the risks of defying her family and struck out on her own.
Good for her, he’d thought at the news. But
there was always an undertone of concern whenever Jake discussed her abrupt decision.
Two minutes late, babe.
He swallowed a low groan and stuffed his hands in his pockets, rocking on his heels as he surveyed the busy, tourist-crammed lobby.
She would have changed so much in those six years since he’d seen her. No longer a child, but a young lady, a woman. It leveled the playing field.
By his math, she’d be on the cusp of twenty-one soon. Ripe and ready for some entertaining forms of legalization. Old enough to order a drink at a bar. Aged enough to join the hundreds of people coming to casinos like the one he was in.
He scoffed and studied the inanimate lion again.
Yeah, right. Sammy imbibing? He could hear Megan scolding that women shouldn’t drink and be loose. Gambling? He could see Scott yelling at her that she should invest her fortune, not squander it.
Like that time she’d bought some new paint. No matter that the Millsons had serious moola, and the acrylics were only a hundred bucks. How freaking cups of paint could cost that would never make much sense to him… But whenever she’d expended interest in anything besides what her parents had in mind for her, God forbid.
“Checking in, or out?” a sultry female voice asked from his left, snapping him from thoughts of Sammy.
Glancing at the coyly smiling gal with straight, platinum-blonde hair, wearing a blindingly bright fuchsia tank top that had a sorority acronym printed across her voluptuous breasts, Adam raised his brows. He stalled, checking out the length of tanned, smooth legs showcased under denim shorts just covering her panties—if she were wearing any. Didn’t seem like the type to bother.
“Out.” He tipped his lips up in a polite smile. After he’d spent a week in Seattle with one of his former comrades, he’d taken a flight to Sin City to try his hand at blackjack and to see the sights.
“Shame. I coulda been your lucky charm.”
He’d won a tad more than he’d lost in the couple days he’d enjoyed Vegas, but it was pointless to say no thanks. The good fortune she was suggesting fell more under the lines of getting lucky in his hotel room than scoring chips in the casino.
“Maybe next time,” he lied. Never one to turn down a vacation fuck, he wasn’t even enticed, perhaps because vacationing didn’t seem like an honest excuse any longer. More like an outdated avoidance of reality he kept using as his crutch. He had a month left until he had to accept the offer of deployment with a different unit, the likelihood of being stationed in Kuwait The days he felt sure he’d tell them yes rivaled the number of days he resolved to stay out of the armed forces. Indecision over his future ate at his gut. It should have been an easy answer. His father made a fine career in the military, so he could, too. Right? Like father, like son? Unlike his dad, though, Adam couldn’t dismiss the instinct to hesitate on reenlisting.
The blonde continued to chitchat as he dragged his gaze around the room again, searching for Sammy, yet ignorant of what he would really find.
And then there she was.
By the rule of contrast, she stood out in the throngs of people. Gold and glitz, silver and shine. Las Vegas was the city for glitter and sparkles. Lights flashed from every which way, and the reflective discs overhead radiated a molten orange atmosphere. Outside, desert heat invited natives and travelers to bare their skin and turn crisp in the sunlight.
Like a shadow, he found her. Dark-wash jeans a couple sizes too big for her slender hips covered her legs while a baggy, slate-gray hoodie concealed the rest of her—even the hood was up, shielding her hair and most of her face.
Jesus. Isn’t she hot in that thing?
But he’d still picked her out as she turned her head back and forth, her narrowed eyes likely searching for him. One hand was in the front pocket of her sweatshirt while in the other she clutched her phone.
Staring at her, he couldn’t bring himself to venture forward. To alert her to his location. Watching her, he stole the minute to reacquaint himself with the female he’d always known he could never dream of having.
She’d matured, that was obvious—and expected. Blossomed, if it weren’t too sappy to admit. Last he’d seen her, she was still weathering the end of puberty, a fifteen-year-old with all the awkward shifts of girl becoming woman.
How much she’d grown, he honestly couldn’t gauge as she’d tucked herself into her nondescript and ill-fitting garments.
Snapping from his shock of seeing her finally, after so long, he snatched his bag and strode away from the bimbo still yammering on near the lion statue.
With every step that brought him closer, Sammy still eyed her surroundings. Scoping, it seemed, much like his fellow soldiers had done in dangerous moments overseas. But who was the enemy she could be on alert for?
“Sammy!” he called out when he was nearly to her, not wanting to startle her. Despite his greeting, she did jolt in reaction, jumping a bit and firming her lips. He grinned, having her meet his gaze, even if she seemed cautious, and wrapped her into a hug.
Good God. She was tiny. At least for what her clothing suggested.
He squeezed his arms around her, smiling into her hair, her hood having fallen back. There was no missing her rigid posture and lack of movement, almost as though she were holding her breath. Slowly, he felt her arm move, and then a gentle, polite pat of her hand on his back.
“Adam. Long time, no see,” she said, in nearly a monotone, wry whisper. Then again, maybe he could give her some space now. He didn’t want to crush her after all, petite doll she was.
He released her and held her at arm’s length, searching her face and grinning like a fool. Hidden in outerwear or not, it really was her. Sammy. Her dark eyes, a deep navy blue, while guarded, still hinted at controlled mischievousness. Her lush lips almost smiled.
“Samantha Annalisa Millson,” he drawled. “My, how you’ve grown.”
Pink lent some color to her fair complexion and she stiffly smirked. “You too.”
If she only knew just what of his she encouraged to swell.
“Ready to go?” he asked, slinging his backpack to his shoulder and sliding his shades over his eyes.
They exited the frantic bustle of the lobby, and he matched her pace at her side, heading for her car, wherever she’d parked it.
“So San Francisco, huh?” he asked. “Jake said you took a place in Grateful Dead Land.”
“It’s called the Haight. I’m not actually in the district. More on the outer edges.”
“I’d love to see it someday. I bet you fit right in with all the artsy-fartsy hippies.”
She made a noise like a laugh. “I’m a little busy for fitting in anywhere, honestly.”
Frowning at her comment, he moved behind her as they passed a family on the sidewalk. Her admission had some merit. Back in their teens, he’d never witnessed her creating many friendships—her peers too stuffy and prissy, her shyness too inhibiting. She and Jake had been the best of friends with each other, though. And when Adam had moved to town, they’d become a trio of inseparable companions. Well, he and Jake were best buds, and Sammy was never far behind.
“What made you choose—”
“How was it being in the Army?” she asked.
All right… She wasn’t in the mood for him being nosy. Surprising, given their former friendship, but he could take a hint. It was only that he had so many questions to ask, so much to learn about her. What impressed her and peeved her. They had a lot of time to make up for. Reminding himself they were going to be in a car for a few days, he knew they would have plenty of opportunities to catch up.
He debated whether to correct her, that she should ask “how is it being in the Army,” because he didn’t know himself if he was in or out for good.
“Probably everything you imagine it would be like,” he said.
“Imagine? Me?” She glanced at him, one brow slanted lower than the other.
Laughing at her snippet of humor, he was grateful she’d maintained her sarcasm.
“I should know better than ask you to use your brain for creativity. You’d never stop. There were long days. There was boredom. I met some good people, lost a few too. Saw plenty of places, and tired of several as well.”
She didn’t follow up with another question. Pointing ahead, she gestured to the passenger door of a gray Honda. “That’s us.”
He opened the door and reared back at the mobile fluff ball on a towel.
“Ink, wake up. Come on, sleepyhead. Make room for one more, huh?” Sammy said.
The smallest dog he’d ever spied slowly stood on all four paws, arched its back, and then licked its miniature jowls.
“That’s a dog?” he asked.
“Not mine. Babysitting for my neighbor. Adam, meet Ink.”
Babysitting on a car trip? Odd. “It’s a living dog?” Since it didn’t yap at him or growl, he picked it up in one hand as he slid onto the seat, chucking his bag to the backseat. “Not a toy?” He peered at it closely, holding it up to see better. “Or a robot?”
Sammy got in the driver’s side and started the car. “She pees and poops like any other mammal I’ve met.”
“Is it a puppy? It’ll get bigger?”
“She’s three. As big as she’ll get. She’s a mix between a Chihuahua and a teacup Yorkie. A Chorkie.”
Adam snorted but warmed to the couple pounds of pooch when she curled onto his lap. Once a dog lover, always a dog lover. Shape and size didn’t matter.
“So how’s this going to work?” he asked as Sammy maneuvered into traffic, the mechanical voice from the navigation issuing directions.
“With Ink?” she said.
“No. My only worry is I’ll accidentally step on her or something. I meant us.”
She frowned as she drove.
“We driving through nights? Stopping places?” he asked.
“I thought we’d take breaks. I planned to find a motel tonight, but I want to get a couple more hours in.”
He nodded, watching the neon-festooned cityscape as she sped by. “Wasn’t sure of your schedule.”
Again with the time. Chewing on his lip, he resisted the nagging voice in his head reminding him he was just like his old man. On a schedule. Somewhere to go. Something to do. Hustle. One, two, soldier.
Always Was Page 3
