Grant slammed the mug onto the counter. "I did my fucking job. Maybe too well. He must have been jealous or something. I don't have a fucking clue. All I know is that, if I ever see him again, he'll regret the decision he made for the rest of his life."
Bingo. He wished he could get Savi to lose her cool like that. She had a lot of anger and hurt buried deep inside.
Later.
"So, do you plan to hunt him down?"
"Oh, I've looked. He went off the scope last summer. But he's a master of disguise. I'm sure he's just gone to ground somewhere. Deep cover." After taking another sip, she continued. "Like all rats, he has to surface sometime. I'll get mine."
Damián had no doubt she'd succeed ultimately at her mission. Grant was nothing if not tenacious.
Could he help Savi deal with some of the rats from her past, too? He'd like to plug the rats' holes until they fucking suffocated and rotted. Or plug them with a bullet. Made no difference—as long as the outcome was they couldn't hurt Savi ever again.
Something Grant had said made him think. "How easy would it be to get Savi and Marisol documented? Savi had to leave all her legal records behind. For their safety, it would probably be best to change their names altogether. Know anyone who can help?"
Grant smiled. "Damo, I have more connections with the feds than you can shake a stick at. Just tell me what you need."
* * *
A tiny hand on her face caused Savi's eyes to shoot open.
"Hi, Maman. You slept a long time."
Not nearly long enough. Dear lord, Savi hadn't slept so peacefully in…forever. This room had an incredibly calming effect on her. She half rolled over and glanced toward the window. It was dark outside. What time was it? She didn't wear a watch and her cell phone was in her purse downstairs.
"Can we go home and see Boots now? He's probably lonely."
Home. Children had such an amazing way of adapting to their surroundings. Just meet their basic human needs and they thrived.
"Sure, honey. Let's go find Dami…Daddy."
Mari jumped up, slipped into her shoes, and was nearly out the door before Savi could even sit up. "Hold on, Mari! I need to put on my shoes." Savi quickly straightened up the quilt, then caught up with her rambunctious daughter outside the bedroom door. Mari had been asleep when she'd been brought upstairs and had no clue which way to turn.
"This way, honey." I think. Savi walked back down the hallway and hoped she was heading the way Damián had brought her up here. The stairway ahead confirmed she had remembered correctly.
At the foot of the stairs, she found a closed door to the left and an open archway to the right. She didn't remember Damián opening a door when he carried Mari upstairs, but was curious about what was beyond the door. Her mother had passed her fascination with antique furniture and architecture on to Savi. The house had such beautiful furniture in the bedroom upstairs; the downstairs would be equally decorated, she was certain.
She walked over to the door and placed her hand on the doorknob. Just a quick peek…
Locked. How odd. Maybe it didn't lead to the living room after all, but still, having it locked just made her more curious.
"Daddy!"
Savi jumped and turned to find Damián staring at her, a scowl on his face. Guilt washed over her for snooping, not that she'd seen anything. Hell, he was the host. He could have offered her a tour.
"I was dying to see the rest of the house. It's beautiful and I have a thing for Victorian houses."
He glanced at the door and back at her. "Dad keeps that part of the house locked off." He smiled down at Mari. "Angelina made some great cookies. Who wants some? "
"Me!" Mari took his hand and glanced back at Savi to see if she was going to say no.
"Go on. I'm right behind you."
Damián turned and led the way back to the kitchen.
"Grant and Luke left a while ago." He took the plastic wrap off the plate of cookies and pulled some saucers down from an overhead cabinet. Savi went to the fridge to get the milk out, but the pot of coffee smelled so good, she knew what she'd be having.
"You two must have been worn out."
As they sat at the table with their treats, Savi nodded. "I haven't slept that well in ages."
"Sorry my digs aren't quite up to this speed."
Savi reached out to touch the top of his hand, then pulled back, surprised at how natural it had been for her to reach out to him. "No. It's not that. I don't know. I just had a very relaxing afternoon and the room was so…comforting."
"Yeah. It was good for me, too, once. This place has been a haven for me."
Savi's gaze turned to him, but he was looking down at the untouched cookies on his plate. "When did you move to Denver?" She wanted to know more about the missing years.
"Six years ago. Adam took me in. Treated me like a son. Well, sometimes he treated me like he was my master sergeant." He grinned. "That's the rank he held when I served under him in Fallujah."
"Ah. I wondered how you two came together; why you called him Dad." Savi could hear the emotion in his voice when he spoke of the man. She'd met him briefly following the altercation with Teresa's father in Solana Beach. He seemed like a nice man. Definitely someone people would take orders from out of respect and not fear.
Well, people other than Savi anyway. She didn't bow to authority figures if she could help it.
Damián nodded. "That sort of just happened. I think he regretted never having kids of his own. And I sure was fu…" he stopped and looked at Mari who was poking her finger into the jam filling in one of her cookies. "I was messed up back then." She got the distinct impression he might be thinking he was still "fucked" up. She grinned that he was policing his language around their daughter. She imagined he could get pretty colorful at times, if he was like any of the Marines she'd met near Pendleton.
"I'm glad you found someone, Damián." Nothing worse than being lost and alone in the world. Savi had been blessed, too, she supposed, with Father Martine and Anita. She still remembered the day they'd discovered her hiding in the choir loft at the church that Christmas Eve so long ago.
"Merry Christmas, Father!"
Father? No! He couldn't have found her so soon! Savi bolted up from where her head had rested on her backpack and tried to take in her surroundings. Pipe organ. Two long pews covered with red-velvet cushions, more than a little frayed and stained with age. Who had woken her? At first, she didn't see anyone.
Then a priest with dark black hair and olive-colored skin, wearing an ankle-length black robe—whatever they called it—walked across the choir loft to fiddle with some buttons on the organ.
"I think it'll make it through our Midnight and Christmas Day Masses, Anita, but we're definitely going to have to see about getting a repairman in here to look at the old girl. She's getting tired, I think."
"Don't worry, Father. I'll coax her to make beautiful music once again." A Hispanic woman with shoulder-length, dark-brown hair and red-rimmed glasses with chains hanging from the sides set her bag down on the floor beside the organ and removed her jacket. She wore a pretty Kelly-green dress.
The priest looked at the organist and smiled in a…non-threatening way, as if he meant it. "I'm sure you…" His gaze drifted to the corner where Savi sat huddled, trying to be invisible. "Who do we have here?"
Savi's heart pounded, beating like a fist. Would he make her leave? Where could she go? Her hands began to shake, then her arms and legs. When he came toward her, she fumbled to her knees, hoping to get away before he touched her.
"Whoa, don't be afraid. I won't hurt you, little one."
Savi grabbed her backpack and stood, but her head swam from rising too quickly. The priest reached out to grab her arms and she screamed. "No! Don't touch me!"
He held his hands up to show he meant no harm and would comply, but she only began to shake more. Her teeth rattled and a knot formed in her chest.
The woman he'd called Anita came around from behind th
e priest. "It's okay, sweetheart. Father Martine and I won't hurt you. We just want to help." Her calm voice released some of the tension from Savi's chest and she filled her lungs with much-needed air.
"I-I-I didn't take anything. I j-just wanted to sleep a little bit before I moved on."
The priest smiled, his brown eyes crinkling at the corners. "You're most welcome to stay, but I'm afraid sleep will be impossible up here soon, with Midnight Mass just a couple hours away."
"It's Christmas Eve?"
"Of course it is," Anita answered, a puzzled look in her eyes.
They must think I'm an idiot, not knowing it's Christmas Eve.
The woman turned to the priest. "Father, why don't you go on and get ready for Mass. I'd like to talk with our Christmas visitor a bit more—alone."
Father Martine nodded at the woman and smiled at Savi. Don't trust him. Men smile to get what they want. She'd learned at a very young age that they always wanted some part of her she wasn't willing to give. Never again.
His smiled faded, as if disappointed to see smiling would get him nowhere with her. "Welcome to San Miguel's, little one. Please stay as long as you like. We have an open-door policy and we're glad you came to us."
Savi regarded him warily until he turned to the organist and nodded, an exchange passing between them Savi couldn't decipher. After he left, Savi's focus zeroed in on the woman. Anita. Her warm brown eyes showed compassion. Or was it pity? She wasn't sure which. They reminded her of Maman's eyes.
"Would you like to sit and talk a bit?"
Savi shook her head. She didn't want to reveal anything to this woman or anyone else. If they knew who she was, where she'd come from, they might send her back. No way would she go back. Ever.
"I'm good at listening. I work at a mental health clinic."
A shrink? Oh, perfect. That's all she needed was someone getting inside her head. No thanks.
"I should go."
"Where will you go?"
Savi's glance shifted to the floor before she raised her gaze again. "San Diego. Maybe L.A." Surely those cities had places for teenage runaways. No, wait. She was nineteen now. An adult. She wouldn't be eligible or welcome in those places.
She had nowhere to turn. The face of the woman swam before her eyes and her shaking began again. Oh Lord. What was she going to do?
The woman came closer and Savi stepped away until her back came against the wall. Trapped. Her breathing became shallow, rapid.
"Please…Don't…Touch…Me." She sucked in a breath between each word, then drew a deep, ragged one. "I don't like to be touched."
"I understand. Come. Let's sit down a minute and get comfortable. My knees have been bothering me today." She smiled and walked over to the front pew, sitting and looking up at Savi. Waiting.
Savi looked at the pew cushion, then at the woman. There was a space of a few feet between Anita and the end of the pew. She wouldn't feel hemmed in. Maybe the woman could help her find a shelter or someplace to stay until she could get a job.
Doing what? She had no training or skills. All she'd thought about was escaping from her father and Lyle. But how could she support herself and her baby? Her hand went automatically to her abdomen.
"Are you in pain?'
Savi shook her head and let her hand drop to her side. She didn't want to reveal her condition to this woman for fear she would make her give her baby away. No one was going to take her baby. Not as long as she could stop them.
The woman patted the seat. "Come. I promise not to bite or claw." She smiled, her eyes growing even warmer, if possible. Maman had warm brown eyes, too. Anita didn't seem like a threat. Maybe…
Savi took a step toward her, then another. To keep her arms from shaking, Savi wrapped them around her waist, hugging herself. Another step. Almost there. Her gaze homed in on the empty section of the pew cushion.
When she stood inches away, Savi braced herself. Anita didn't make a move toward her, so Savi relaxed in small degrees and eventually slid onto the cushion, pressing her back against the end of the pew, as far from the woman as she could go. Slowly, she raised her gaze to the woman's face again.
"You're safe now, sweetheart. Whatever you're running from, we won't let it touch you here."
How could the woman make such a promise? She didn't even know from what—or whom—Savi was running.
"Are you on any illegal drugs?"
Savi was surprised by the blunt question, but shook her head.
"Good. That always complicates things. My name's Anita Gonzales. And yours?"
Savi sized her up a moment. Should she reveal her name? She wasn't planning to use her birth name. Savannah Gentry didn't exist any longer.
"Savi Baker." When she'd given herself a new name to coincide with her new self, she'd chosen Baker for Maman's maiden name, Pannier.
Anita smiled, revealing slightly crooked eyeteeth. "Nice to meet you, Savi. How old are you?"
Savi was an infant, birthed in her bathroom the day she'd discovered she was pregnant. But that response would only invite more questions. "Nineteen."
Anita studied her a moment, then nodded slightly, as if satisfied with her response. Did she think she was a runaway? Well, Savi guessed she was. Just not a juvenile one.
"Do you have a place to stay?"
Savi looked down at the cushion and reached out to pull a loose thread. "Sure."
"Don't lie to me, Savi."
Her gaze returned to the woman as Savi shrank away, but already backed up against the pew, she had no place to go. Anita was angry at her. Savi knew that meant trouble. She didn't want to give this woman or anyone else a reason to punish her. When her hand began to shake, she pulled it back and wrapped both arms around her abdomen. She had to protect the baby in case the woman hit her.
Savi flinched when the woman reached her hand out and laid it on the cushion between them, much as Damián had done in the hotel room; like someone might do while training a dog to accept them and not to bite. Anita just let it lie there. What was that all about? Was Anita afraid of Savi? How ridiculous. Savi had no bite. She was a victim, not an attacker.
No, that was Savannah. She was dead. But Savi could be or do whatever she wanted. The thought was rather freeing.
Yet terrifying. Tears burned her eyes. She didn't know who she was or wanted to be. All she knew were the actresses in the movies she watched to escape into. And the heroines in the books she devoured, like Novalee from "Places in the Heart" or Slim from "Enough." Two strong women she admired for making a life for their babies. They hadn't let their victim status get them down. They'd fought back.
Savi wanted to fight back, too.
But how?
Chapter Five
Damián watched as Marc gave Marisol her first ski lesson on the slope twenty yards away. The New Year's weekend was in full swing here in Aspen, but Marc had insisted there was room for Damián to bring Savi and Marisol up to enjoy a much-needed break at Marc's family's resort.
Savi stood on the slopes nearby, ever watchful of her baby girl. She rarely let Marisol out of her sight. But Damián and Marc hadn't let Savi even think about putting on skis. The doctor had said another three or four weeks before that broken rib would heal, and Damián would make sure she followed those orders.
For years, Marc had told Damián about special equipment he could use to learn to ski with his prosthesis, but he'd never wanted to try. Until now. Marisol fell on her butt and Damián just about came off the bench to run over and pick her up to make sure she hadn't hurt herself. Then she started giggling as Marc reached down and took her arm to lift her up onto her skis again.
"Marc's an incredibly patient teacher."
Damián looked up as Angelina sat down beside him on the bench. "Why aren't you out on the slopes with them?"
She shrugged. "Didn't feel like it today. How about you?"
Damián looked down at his foot, then at her, but didn't state the obvious.
"You know Marc has equipment that
would get you out there."
So he'd heard.
Damián had been too busy with Savi and Marisol when Marc had taken Rosa and the kids to a resort near Denver to learn to ski. Hell, 'fess up, man. Even before Savi and Marisol showed up on his doorstep, he'd had no intention of joining them. He didn't want to show Teresa and José their uncle was a cripple. As it was, he was able to hide his disability pretty well.
But sitting here on the sidelines didn't sit well with him. He wanted to be the one Marisol looked to for help getting up, not Marc. Not that he'd be able to show her how to ski. He'd never been on skis before in his life.
Angelina sighed. She'd seemed subdued at breakfast this morning, too, but it was none of his business.
Old Dom habits die hard, though. At the club, he needed to look out for all of the subs, and that need didn't end outside the club's doors. "What do you think of Marc's family?" He knew this was her first time to meet them since she and Marc had moved in together a few months ago.
Her smile seemed genuine. "They're wonderful. I can see where he gets a lot of his personality traits. They've been very welcoming…" Her smile faded; her voice drifted off.
"Except…"
She sighed even more heavily. "His brother Gino's fiancée is driving me crazy. There's something…I don't know. Something Marc hasn't told me about his relationship with her."
Okay, so maybe this was a conversation she needed to be having with Marc. "Have you talked with him about her?"
Angelina shook her head. "We haven't really had a chance."
"Bullshit, and you know it."
She looked taken aback at first, then nodded and smiled sheepishly. "Yeah." She looked down at her lap. "I think I'm afraid of hearing the answers to my questions."
"You know he'll tell you the truth. He's already gotten bitten in the ass once for lying. I can assure you that the man learned his lesson."
Angelina stared out at the slopes, and Damián followed her gaze. While she thought about it, Damián attention focused on Marisol again as Marc taught her a new move on the bunny slope. Savi glanced in his direction and flashed him a smile that stirred his dick to life. Madre de Dios, she was so fucking beautiful. So perfect.
Nobody's Perfect Page 10
