Masters of the Shadowlands 7 - This is who I am

by Cherise Sinclair

  He froze.

  “I love you, Sam. Can I have some money?”

  “If you loved me, you’d give me money.”

  He had no control over the way his body turned stiff or how he pulled away.

  Her big brown eyes searched his face as she drew in a breath. “Maybe I rushed my fences, but Sam, I know you feel something for me even if you don’t say the words.”

  He fought against the thickness in his throat. The ice in his gut.

  “Sam.” Her voice came out pleading. “I don’t know what’s wrong. Is it something I did?”

  “No.”

  “Then. I-I need to know.” She bit her lip, blinking hard. “I thought… Is that what today was—you pulling away?”

  She looked vulnerable. Hurt. “Linda, I—” His lips were stiff. He knew his face must be cold.

  “They looked at me like that,” she whispered.

  He never wanted her to feel like that. “I’m sorry.”

  Regret darkened her eyes, and she backed up.

  Pain filled him as he realized she’d taken his words for a good-bye rather than an apology.

  “I’ll miss you,” she whispered. She turned and—not running, no, not Linda—walked steadily into her house and closed the door.

  * * * *

  Feeling as stunned as after his first mortar-shelling barrage in ’Nam, Sam drove through the tiny beach town. His jaw was clenched so hard his teeth made a grinding sound. What had he done?

  A black animal ran right in front of his truck, and Sam stomped on the brakes. With a shriek, the truck skidded to a halt, rocking back and forth. The stench of burned rubber wafted through the open window as the scrawny mutt skittered under a hole in a fence.

  He’d almost killed a dog with his goddamned inattention. As stupid as driving drunk.

  After parking at the curb, he headed toward the beach a few blocks away. A yellow-haired boy ran past him, chased by a smaller girl.

  When a woman pulling weeds looked up and stiffened, Sam knew he must look bad. He’d visited Michigan once in the winter. Froze his face so bad that his lips didn’t want to move. Felt like that now.

  Felt like that with Linda.

  At the edge of the beach, Sam put a foot up on the low railing, leaned on his knee, and watched the rough waves splash against the sand. Dark clouds had covered the sky, and the palms lining the sidewalk bowed against the bitter wind. The whole damn world felt cold.

  Over and over today, Linda had needed him, and he’d stood silent. Unmoving.

  And now… “God, I love you, Sam.” He scrubbed his face as if he could erase the memory of the hurt in her eyes when he hadn’t spoken. Years of being a Dom meant he could see when his words—or lack of them—did damage.

  He’d known. But couldn’t reach out. Couldn’t speak. She’d been damned brave today, and he hadn’t told her that. Hadn’t told her how proud he was of her.

  What kind of a bastard got involved with a woman and didn’t help her when she needed him? Got so twisted into knots that he couldn’t even tell her how he felt? Or take her hand when she looked lost?

  He straightened, looking up into the ugly sky as the first drops of rain hit. Linda deserved someone who’d be there for her.

  That someone wasn’t him. He rubbed the tight spot in his chest, then headed back to his truck.

  As he climbed in his truck, he remembered the paint cans in the back and the white blotches on her house. He’d taken that task on himself, and it wasn’t finished. Once that was done…

  * * * *

  Linda hadn’t been able to cry or eat or even think. Her emotions felt battered, as if someone had taken a baseball bat to them. The television had bothered her. She’d turned it off. She’d tried reading and then stared at one page for half an hour. The basket she started was a misshapen disaster. Finally she went to bed and stared at the ceiling.

  She’d think tomorrow. Me and Scarlett O’Hara—we know how to handle life. You bet.

  A man shouted.

  Linda jolted upright in bed, realizing she must have finally drifted off. The red display on her clock said four a.m., and her room was dark. Quiet. Unlike all the noise outside. What in the world?

  “Fucking son of a bitch, let me go!” The man’s voice was high-pitched but familiar.

  The low growl in response was instantaneously recognizable. Sam.

  Linda yanked on her robe. Her heart was pounding crazily. Really, this wasn’t a good way for an ex-slave to wake up. I need a dog.

  She pulled Frederick’s ancient golf club from under the bed and ran into the living room.

  A hammering on the door burst like a bomb into the quiet house.

  With a tight grip on her weapon, Linda cracked the door. “What’s going on?”

  Sam stood on her doorstep. She started to smile, then saw the man sprawled at his feet, squirming like a worm. His wrists were restrained behind his back with handcuffs.

  When he tried to sit up, Sam flattened him with a boot on his back. “Annoy me, asshole, and I’ll break your spine just to enjoy the crunch.” He glanced at Linda, eyes colder than she’d ever seen. “Feels like cracking ice cubes with your teeth.”

  “Good to know.” She swallowed, remembering the sound from something much, much more horrible.

  Sam’s gaze softened. “Sorry, girl.” He thumped the man with his boot, getting a pained oomph. “This is your graffiti artist.”

  “Seriously?” When the man looked up at her, her jaw dropped. “Dwayne?” Dwayne had been painting filth on her house?

  “Know him?”

  “Yes!” She took in his nod. “You’re not surprised?”

  “Too persistent. Too nasty. Doubted he was a stranger.”

  Dwayne glared at her. “Let me go, or I’ll sue the fucking crap out of you. I was just walking by when this…”

  Sam put weight on the man’s back, and Dwayne squeaked. “Idiot,” Sam muttered. “No gloves. Your prints will be all over the cans out there.”

  Dwayne’s eyes widened.

  “Why, Dwayne?” Linda tightened her belt against the chill night. The rain had swept through, leaving the air fresh except for the scent of paint. “What did I do that you’d hate me this much?”

  Silence. Sweat broke out on the reporter’s brow as he continued to struggle.

  “Talk to her, boy.” Sam dropped his voice into a Dom’s low threat. “Or you’ll scream for me.”

  Dwayne stared up at Sam like a mouse confronting a hawk. After a minute, he managed to pull his gaze away and say to Linda, “Why? We fucked, and it was good, but then you dump me and go to a sleazy club. You’re a whore.”

  “Watch the language, boy.” When Sam fisted his hair and yanked, Dwayne shrieked like a girl. His cheek was mashed into the step, one brown eye staring up at her.

  “You wrote filth on my house because I didn’t want to date you?” That didn’t make sense. Dwayne wasn’t that energetic, which was why he worked for the small Foggy Shores newspaper…although he was always talking about getting his big break by writing a prizewinning article.

  Oh heavens, that was it. Fury flamed inside her. “You just wanted more stories for the paper. The graffiti kept the gossip alive.” She heard something outside but couldn’t get past her anger.

  “Like anyone would believe you,” Dwayne muttered. “You’re a slut. A nothing in this town. And everybody knows it.”

  “You painted that crap on her house to get a goddamned story?” Sam’s voice rose.

  “Hell, yeah. Sex slaves? Everybody reads that shit.” Dwayne smirked. “A shame you can’t prove fuck all.”

  “I think that admission will work in court,” a man said.

  Linda’s head jerked up. Officer Joe Blount stood just outside the circle of light. Another uniformed policeman was hurrying up the sidewalk.

  Sam nodded to the men. “Caught him spray-painting her house. Paint cans are there. Probably have his fingerprints. You can match his shoes to the tracks in the mud.”


  “Ward, see to collecting evidence, would you?” Officer Blount glanced at Sam. “I’d like you to come down to the station to make a report.”

  “No problem.” Sam jerked his chin toward Linda. “She just woke up when I pounded on her door.”

  Joe gave her a sympathetic smile. The gray-haired cop had taken her complaints before. “You’ll press charges, right?”

  “I will,” she said firmly, ignoring Dwayne’s incoherent protest.

  “Then stop by in the morning. No need for us all to lose sleep.”

  Finally realizing his life was spinning down the drain, Dwayne started struggling again. “Hey, I want a lawyer. I want—”

  “All in good time.” Joe bent and traced a finger over the smooth silver curves of the handcuffs on Dwayne. He glanced up at Sam. “Nice cuffs you got there, buddy.”

  Sam silently handed him the key.

  After switching the cuffs, Joe pulled a paper from his pocket and read from it. “You have the right…”

  Linda turned toward Sam. He’d been guarding her. He did care for her. “Thank you.” She took a step toward him. “Sam…”

  He shook his head and stepped away from her. “No. You’re better off without me.” His eyes were pale ice, his face cold. “Have a good life, Linda.” He strode down the sidewalk.

  Taking her heart with him.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  I don’t need him. I don’t. Linda bent her head and fingerpicked a melody in minor, the sound plaintive in the early dawn. Earlier she’d tried to play lighthearted songs, but her guitar wanted to mourn.

  The scent of the freesias drifted through the air, reminding her of Jessica and Z’s wedding. They were so happy together. She’d bet that Z talked to Jessica, shared his feelings. His past.

  Sam hadn’t. But why?

  Maybe because she wasn’t important enough in his life.

  Why did she keep stewing over it? Linda shook her head. She didn’t know what had happened, what she’d done wrong, but he wasn’t a man who said what he didn’t mean. Their relationship—if that’s what it had been—was over. He’d said so.

  She frowned. She’d just watched him walk away from her.

  At one time, she might have argued with him, but the cold look in his eyes had paralyzed her. It had been too close to how the slavers had looked at her. And after being treated like an animal, a nothing that didn’t deserve answers, she hadn’t been able to say…anything. Her fingers clenched, turning the C-minor chord into ugliness. She flattened her hand over the strings, muting the sound.

  That was what the human traffickers had done to her. Muted her as if her voice shouldn’t be heard in the world.

  But they hadn’t succeeded. No, she was here in her own home, outside in the sweet air, seeing the stars disappearing in the dawn sky.

  Nonetheless they’d changed her, made her more vulnerable. Her breathing hitched for a moment as she remembered Sam’s tough, weathered face, his strong hands, his heavy-lidded eyes when he planned to take her. Such a stern man, yet his eyes would unexpectedly light with amusement.

  For a moment she wanted him with everything inside her.

  She shook her head and changed to a new song. If her guitar wanted to mourn, then she should allow it. Over the years, she’d learned that her guitar always spoke truth—the truth in her heart. Her fingers slid into Joan Baez’s sad “Diamonds and Rust.”

  “Yes, Sam, I did love you…oh so dearly,” she whispered. But you didn’t love me.

  It hurt—God, it did. Her chest felt agonizingly hollow, a grave that hadn’t been filled in. The first tear dropped onto the slick face of her guitar with a tapping sound. Another followed.

  * * * *

  When Linda walked into the coffee shop, the three customers in the room went silent. Their attention on her felt like sandpaper against raw skin. SueAnn, a woman from church who always acted as if Linda had cooties, sat with Patsy, a clerk from two shops down, and a stylish middle-aged woman.

  Linda’s body stiffened as if chilled in the freezer. Patsy was just a gossip, but SueAnn could be hateful. Ignoring them, she gave Betty her order, glanced at the pastries, then shrugged. No appetite today. Again. Heck of a way to diet.

  “How are you doing, Linda?” SueAnn asked, her voice even sweeter than her overly sugared desserts at potlucks.

  “I’m fine.” Her lips felt stiff as if reluctant to form the words. Hadn’t Sam said just that to her? “I’m fine.” Hadn’t his face looked as frozen as hers was now as he spoke the same lie? “How are you?”

  “Oh, good, good. But didn’t I hear that you and Lee broke up?” SueAnn’s face was alight with vindictive interest, and Linda remembered Lee had said SueAnn made a pass at him. “Does your new boyfriend like all the…special things…you learned when you were…away?”

  I am not in the mood for this. Linda planted her feet. As she’d come to acceptance with herself, she realized almost everyone in town had been supportive. There’d only been a few—like Dwayne—who behaved like gossipy, spiteful teenage girls. She’d tried to ignore them; obviously that wasn’t working.

  She wished she could flatten the woman the way Sam had stomped on Dwayne. But no. Besides, SueAnn’s weapons were words. So be it. Linda gave the woman a toothy smile. “Oh, most men like variety.” Her voice came out even and pleasant. “Bless your heart, SueAnn. Maybe if you’d expanded your repertoire to something besides the missionary position, your ex wouldn’t have tried to fuck every female in town.”

  As SueAnn went bug-eyed, Linda moved to the end of the counter, hoping her coffee was ready. But Betty had disappeared, and whoops of laughter came from the back room. Linda bit the inside of her cheek, half-appalled at what she’d said. Mostly okay with it.

  She heard chairs scrape and the door open as SueAnn and crew fled from the battlefield. What a shame. Linda glanced over her shoulder and blinked.

  The stylish woman remained at the table. “I’m Meredith Blake, the new owner of the swimsuit store.” She rose and shook hands with Linda. “That was the prettiest smackdown I’ve seen since I left Boston.”

  “Wasn’t it though?” Flushed with laughter, Betty stood in the door of the back room. “Good to see you getting back to normal.”

  Linda’s mouth dropped open. “I’m not—”

  “Oh, you’re a polite woman, never said you weren’t. The look in your eye told people not to push you. But you’ve been slinking around here since you returned.” Betty’s grin widened as she handed Linda her coffee. “On the house. Welcome home, child.”

  A few minutes later, Linda settled onto her favorite beachside picnic table and toed off her high heels. It was a cheerful day with a bright sun and a breeze strong enough to fling tiny grains of sand at Linda’s ankles and bare feet.

  Along the boardwalk, tourists were window-shopping. Down on the beach, a toddler charged straight into the water, screaming in delight when a wave splashed up and over his stomach. His brother, a year or so older, held his mother’s hand, not wanting to get close at all.

  An elderly couple—probably snowbirds from Canada—walked barefoot, letting the water roll over their ankles. Others stayed out of reach of the waves.

  Linda always chose to get her feet wet. Which would Sam do—water or stay dry? Water. But probably he’d growl at her for having to take off his boots. Her lips quirked. Actually, he’d probably throw her in, then follow—just to be contrary.

  And he’d undoubtedly sit out here with her, drinking coffee. Sam always took the time to look at the world. How often had they sat on his porch to watch a sunset or a dawn?

  Darn it, every other thought was about the stubborn man. With her elbows on the table, she rested her chin on her hands. I love him.

  He didn’t want me.

  That was so strange, though, the way he’d changed. Her brows drew together. When she’d left him the morning after the disastrous scene, he’d not been cold. In fact, he’d teased her that she owed him for using his should
er to cry on.

  She’d been grumpy. Precoffee, not a good time. When she’d grumbled at him in bed, he’d rolled her over, spanked her bottom until she was blind with arousal, and indulged in a blazing quickie. Then he hadn’t wanted her to go to work. Had wanted her to spend the day with him. He hadn’t acted as if he wanted to pull away. To rethink their relationship.

  Hours later, he’d been as warm as an ice cube.

  She took a sip of coffee and smiled at the realization that Betty had added extra chocolate. Sam was thoughtful like that. Every time they’d been together, he’d cared for her. Protected her. He’d backed off if she was afraid. Pushed her when she wasn’t. He cared.

  Yet he’d made it obvious that he was done with her. “You’re better off without me.” He never lied. She frowned. But what kind of a statement was that, anyway? As if he didn’t think he was good for her?

  Her eyes narrowed, remembering how frozen he’d seemed. Not like himself at all. In fact, a normal Sam would simply say he’d decided not to continue the relationship. He’d be nice, but…blunt. Sam didn’t pull his punches.

  And she couldn’t see him getting all frozen up over making that kind of decision.

  But on Sunday, his expression had been like hers just now in the coffee shop. All cold and pulled in against being hurt. Defenses up.

  Why would he behave like that with her? She had never hurt him. Maybe someone else had? It wasn’t as if the man gave much personal information. It would be easier to figure him out if he had.

  But…from the hints she’d picked up of his past, maybe he didn’t know how to give, not without help. When she’d pushed him or kept him busy with food, she could get answers out of him. Only tidbits, but that was a lot for him.

  Did that matter though? She pulled in a breath, remembering how she’d taken a chance. Told him she loved him. And he’d hurt her. Even now, her chest squeezed, tightening enough to affect her ability to breath.

  Did she want someone who could change into a different person like that?

  She stared at her hands. How many times had he held hers to calm her, support her? Was she being a coward now?