The Savior: COLTER (Cover Six Security Book 6)

by Lisa B. Kamps

  "Just her name?"

  "For now." He clipped the end of the cigar, placed the tip in his mouth and spent several minutes lighting it. Aromatic smoke drifted around him and he took a minute to savor it before turning back to Trey. "Of course, if the opportunity arises, he should get rid of her. Make sure it looks random."

  "Yes. Of course." Trey slid an envious glance at the cigar then turned and walked out of the office without saying a word.

  Bug sat back, enjoying the fine cigar, wondering if yet another innocent bystander was about to lose her life in a random act of senseless violence.

  He certainly hoped so.

  Chapter Nine

  "You're here early."

  "Yes, but I come bearing coffee." Allison held up the cardboard tray containing two large cups of designer coffee as she closed the door with the heel of her shoe. She listened for the soft click as the door automatically locked behind her, then moved over to the battered desk where Linda Chapman sat.

  "The expensive stuff!" The older woman smiled, already reaching for one of the cups. She peeled the lid off and inhaled deeply with a sigh of appreciation. Then her pale brows lowered over shrewd gray eyes as she darted a look at Allison. "Okay, what's up? Is this a bribe for something?"

  "No bribe. I just needed a small pick-me-up and decided to splurge." She shrugged out of her coat and draped it over the chair, carefully avoiding Linda's gaze. She hadn't lied, not exactly—she did need the pick-me-up. Not for her spirits, but for that nagging sense of guilt that kept nipping at her conscience.

  She wondered, not for the first time during the last several sleepless hours, if Colter was awake yet. Had he rolled over, expecting to find her curled against him? Had he tilted his head to the side, listening for the sounds of her steps in the bathroom, or downstairs in the kitchen? How long had it taken him to realize she wasn't there?

  Or maybe he was still sleeping, blissfully unaware that she had left his bed hours ago. Maybe—but probably not. She had a feeling he was an early riser so he would already be up. Already be wondering where she had gone. Already be missing her.

  Unless she was projecting her own feelings in which case, maybe he wasn't missing her at all. Maybe last night had meant as little to him as it should mean to her.

  She snorted, the indelicate sound drawing Linda's attention. No, that wasn't right—the curiosity in the other woman's eyes told her Linda had been carefully watching her for the last few minutes.

  "Was there something you wanted to share?"

  "No."

  "You sure about that?"

  "Positive." Allison leaned forward and hit the power button on her computer, watching as the old machine slowly came to life with a small grown. Satisfied that it had decided to live for at least one more day, she grabbed the top file from the ever-growing pile on her desk and flipped it open.

  "Are you available for an airport run later?"

  Allison glanced up from the paperwork and nodded. "Of course. What time?"

  "After lunch." Linda slid a file in Allison's direction with a small smile. "Kelly and Samantha are heading to Phoenix. Their flight leaves at two."

  "Ohmygod, that's great! Have you told them yet?"

  Linda nodded then took a small sip of her coffee. "Last night, as soon as I received the confirmation. By this time tomorrow, they'll have started their new lives."

  "Are they excited?"

  "Yes." The other woman's smile faltered for a brief second. "And nervous, of course. Samantha especially. I almost expected her to run away when I told her."

  "Kelly wouldn't let her do that."

  "I know. That's why I pulled some strings to get them moved out together. Honestly, I think Kelly has done more good for Samantha than we have."

  Allison nodded in silent agreement. For the most part, the women who came to them had hit bottom. Ragged, worn, broken, with nowhere else to turn, they arrived at Forging Change with virtually nothing more than the clothes on their backs. More often than not, they had been robbed of their strength, their will to move on. Kelly had been different, even from that very first night. Strong, stubborn. Defiant. Maybe a little too defiant at times. But she'd grown these last few months, had overcome so much in her fight to reclaim a life that had been stolen from her way too early. The woman had taken Samantha under her wing, had guarded her and gently coaxed her from her shell. Had convinced her that there was something better out there—for both of them.

  Allison skimmed the file Linda had passed her, a smile curling her mouth when she saw the names on the paperwork. The smile widened when she looked back at the other woman. "They're sisters now?"

  "They've been sisters since the day Kelly became Samantha's protector. We just made it official on paper, that's all."

  That was just one of the things they did here at Forging Change. Took in women who needed help. Women who were lost. Women who had been sold into the ever-growing human trafficking market, mostly for sex. They helped them get clean if needed. Taught them life skills. Provided counseling. Showed them their worth and helped them find and start new lives.

  Sometimes, those new lives involved relocating them. Other times, it involved new identities that probably skirted more than a handful of legalities. Allison didn't ask for details—they didn't concern her. Even if they did, she wouldn't care. She had quickly learned that sometimes justice had to be sought outside the legal system.

  And she was fine with that. More than fine.

  Especially when what they did would never be enough. For every woman—every girl—they helped, there were dozens more they would never be able to reach. And not everyone they helped succeeded in making a new life for themselves. Too often they slipped away, falling back to the only life they knew.

  "Why don't you look as excited as I thought you would?"

  "Hm?" Allison glanced up, realized she had been caught frowning. She quickly shook her head and forced a smile to her face. "I am excited. This is a good thing—for both of them."

  "But?"

  "But—" She sighed and reached for her coffee, cradled the warm cup between both hands. "Sometimes I wish we could do more."

  "Are you thinking about Shonda?"

  Allison met the older woman's eyes, nodded and looked away before she saw too much. Yes, she was thinking of Shonda—but over her face was another one. Paler. Quieter. More withdrawn, the desperation carefully hidden behind painfully shy eyes. Allison had never seen the signs, had carelessly turned her back on a young girl who didn't know how to ask for help, who had been desperate for a rescue that had come too late.

  A girl she had been foolishly, irrationally jealous of. The jealousy had lasted for less than a week, had been so subtle that she hadn't even acknowledged it. Bitter guilt ate at her, the acid taste of it sharp in her mouth even now, well over a year later.

  When she thought of what had happened, practically right under her nose—

  When she imagined the horrors that had played out every night, night after night, horrors that had been silently endured—

  When she realized she could have helped, when she told herself if she had only looked, if she had simply opened her eyes and paid attention—

  But she hadn't and she had to live with that—and with the consequences of her inaction.

  Linda rose to her feet, stopped next to Allison and placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Don't give up on Shonda. She knows how to find you when she's ready."

  "I don't want to wait. She needs help now."

  "We can't just grab her off the street, Allison. You know that."

  "But she's only thirteen! I know that if I could talk to her, get her here—"

  "She was here once and ran away."

  "She doesn't know any better."

  "No, maybe not. But we can't force her. She has to learn that she can trust us. Trust you. Until then, our hands are tied."

  "How can she learn to trust when her own mother sold her to her dealer for a quick fix?" Allison clenched her jaw
and forced herself to take a deep breath. "What if we can't get her in time?"

  Linda leaned against the desk, her gaze carefully blank as she studied Allison. That stare reminded her too much of Colter, of the way he could see so easily beneath the surface. The chair squeaked and moaned as she shifted and lowered her own gaze, afraid the other woman would see too much.

  "Allison, did something happen that you're not telling me?"

  "No." The lie left a bitter taste in her mouth and she swallowed against it. Her hand closed over a pen and she tapped it against the scarred surface of the desk. Tap. Tap. Taptaptap. She sighed and tossed the pen aside, then darted a quick look at Linda. "Yes. Maybe."

  "What happened?"

  Allison blew out a deep breath and focused her gaze on the hands clasped in her lap. "I was looking for her yesterday, finally found her on the same street I saw her the other night."

  "And?"

  "I was going to talk to her but one of Bug's guys was there. He, uh, he wasn't too happy with me."

  The former stoic expression on Linda's face quickly evaporated. In its place was a mixture of concern and worry and anxiety. "Allison! What happened? Were you hurt? Did he try—"

  "No. No, nothing like that." Allison quickly brushed away her concern and hastened to reassure her friend and mentor. "I'm fine. It was nothing, really. Nothing happened, everyone is fine."

  She skipped over the part about Colter being there—Linda would have too many questions, would want to know more about him and, more importantly, what Allison might have told him about Forging Change. She also left out the part about the knife and the way Colter had disarmed the other man—and the cut he'd received in return. Linda didn't need to know those details. She probably didn't need to know any of it but it was too late to take the words back.

  "Well thank God for that. Allison, you need to stop putting yourself at risk like that. You won't be able to help anyone if you're hurt yourself."

  "I know." And she did. The list of things that could happen was varied—and none of them would end well for her. "But whenever I think of Shonda, of everything she's been through...I can't give up, Linda. I just can't."

  "I'm not asking you to give up. But you need to be careful, Allison. Not just for yourself, but for the rest of the girls as well."

  "I know. I just—I wish there was more I could do."

  Linda gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze and offered her a small smile. "There is, Allison: hope. Never give up hope. Sometimes it's the only thing that gets us through."

  Allison wanted to believe that. For the most part, she did. But she couldn't help but feel that sometimes, it just wasn't enough.

  Chapter Ten

  Hope.

  The word ran through Allison's mind, over and over and over. Such a simple word with such a heavy meaning. She wanted to believe it, wished she had the same strength of certainty that Linda had. She knew a little of the older woman's background, knew that she herself had been a victim of trafficking. She had escaped that life with help, had overcome struggles and obstacles that Allison couldn't even begin to imagine. Then she had taken charge of her own life, had become an advocate for those who couldn't speak for themselves.

  Hope.

  Such a small word, that single syllable. Such a meaningful word.

  Allison wished with all her heart that she could put as much faith in that single syllable as Linda did—but she didn't. She couldn't. How could she, with the memory that haunted her?

  That was why she was sitting in her car, cold and alone, watching for Shonda. The young girl had gotten to her in ways she didn't fully understand, in ways she didn't want to fully admit. It wasn't just her age, or what she'd been forced to do—what she was still being forced to do. The few times Allison had spoken with her, she'd sensed her streak of survival that spoke of something more than just street smarts. Maybe Shonda lacked even the smallest hint of trust—could she really be blamed for that?—but she hadn't given up on herself yet.

  Which meant Allison wouldn't give up, either.

  And wasn't that the definition of hope? Not giving up? Yes, maybe. But Allison couldn't rely on hope alone. She had to do something, had to act. If she could just reach Shonda, show the girl she could be trusted. Allison was close, she knew she was. Every time she interacted with Shonda, she was one step closer to getting the girl to come with her. To getting her off the street.

  That sense of urgency nipped at her again and she brushed it away, tried to ignore it. She didn't understand where it came from, didn't understand why she felt as if time was running out. Didn't like the heavy weight of the ominous feeling that told her if she didn't do something now, it would be too late.

  Yet that's why she was here. Waiting. Watching. Knowing, even as the chilled air of the car's interior penetrated deep into her bones, that the chances of finding Shonda tonight were slim. This was the same area where the girl had been last night. Bug wouldn't send her here again, not after what Colter had done.

  But Allison didn't know where else to look. She'd tried the other places where Shonda had been seen before but there was nothing there and she couldn't silence the little voice in the back of her head that kept telling her to come here. So she had—

  Only there was nothing here, either.

  She refused to give in to the sigh of defeat that wanted to escape her lips and glanced at her watch. It was almost eleven. She'd give it fifteen more minutes then move to another location. Wait until midnight then return to the small apartment she rented over a bar on the eastern side of the city. It wasn't much—barely more than a studio—but the rent was cheap, included the utilities, and it had a small space in the alley where she could park her car. Linda had found the place for her, through a friend of a friend, and it more than met her needs.

  Allison snagged the bottle of water on the seat next to her and uncapped it to take a sip. Just a small one—there wasn't anywhere nearby that she could run into if she needed to use the bathroom. The small carryout place was closed for the night, the windows and door dark behind their metal security grates. There was a bar on the next block but she couldn't use it—not just because of its reputation, but because too many people might recognize her. She'd spent too much time in this area already, which wasn't a good thing. She didn't want to be recognized, didn't want word getting back to anyone that she was suddenly hanging out in this particular neighborhood. It was bad enough that she stuck out, no matter how much she tried to blend in. She didn't want to be even more noticeable, especially not for the wrong reasons. That wouldn't help with what she was trying to do—and it certainly wouldn't help Shonda.

  She wondered, not for the first time, if coming here tonight was a mistake—especially after last night. Would Bug be watching? Could he have people looking for her even now? She had no idea what the man looked like, knew him only by his street name and his reputation, but that was enough. More than enough. Just the idea that he might be looking for her, that he might have others watching, sent a chill of foreboding racing along her spine. Every nerve in her body shot to awareness, prickling her skin and lifting the hair on the back of her neck.

  She tried to laugh it off, told herself it was just her overactive imagination, but that sudden sense of being watched wouldn't leave. It was strong enough that she actually shifted in the seat and nervously glanced around while reaching for the key in the ignition. Nothing was happening tonight, at least not here. There was no reason for her to hang around.

  Her gaze landed on a dark truck parked at the far corner behind her. She couldn't see much of it, just the front section, but it was enough. That feeling of being watched suddenly made more sense and her nervous wariness morphed into anger.

  Damn him! How had he found her?

  That thought was immediately followed by the obvious answer: he'd found her because she'd been stupid enough to come here again after last night. He had no idea where else to look for her because she hadn't told him where she lived so of course he'd come he
re. It was the only place he knew to look, and how he'd found her the first time.

  She deliberately ignored the relief—and the warm pleasure—seeing Colter brought. That must be why she had that unnerving sense of being watched. She was being watched, but not for the reasons she had first feared. That still didn't lessen the anger she felt. Didn't he know he could scare Shonda away? No, of course he didn't. Allison hadn't told him, had explained nothing of what she was doing.

  But she'd tell him now.

  She yanked the key from the ignition, reached for her small backpack with her right hand as her left hand closed over the door handle. Lights cut across her windshield, briefly blinding her as a car turned onto the dark street. She turned her head, waiting for the car to pass as she silently cursed at the speeding driver. Instead of moving past her, the car slowed. She turned toward it, those ominous shivers once again clawing her spine as the car drew alongside hers.

  Allison didn't understand why she moved, had no idea what made her throw herself across the seat. Maybe it was those ominous shivers. Maybe it was some inner voice she didn't consciously hear. Maybe it was nothing more than a memory of hearing Ryder talk about the times his own internal warning system had saved him. Whatever it was, she didn't question it, just reacted.

  A split-second later, the driver's side window shattered and splintered, showering glass on her. Noise exploded along with the glass, ringing in her ears.

  Loud pop-bangs that were oddly distant.

  A muffled scream that she knew instinctively came from her.

  The sharp whine of tires against pavement and the shrill squeal of brakes.

  More pops, the sound deeper this time, followed by more shattering glass and the harsh roar of an engine.

  A door opened, slammed shut.

  Her scream faded to a whimper as she buried her face against the cold vinyl of the seat and draped her arms over her head. Fear ripped through her when her car door was forcefully opened and she waited for the sound of more bullets, wondered if she'd actually hear them before they bit into flesh and muscle and bone.