Chapter 8
Chicago, Illinois
Actually, Alexander Montgomery decided he was a man quick to anger. Bloody hell, how much was he supposed to take? And where in the hell was Amanda?
His five-truck convoy, just south of Oak Street, sat idle. He shifted in his seat and looked at the face of his Breitling again, thirteen hundred. “Sam?” he said into his transceiver.
It was the third time he’d questioned her.
Normally he would have smiled at her audible sigh, since it reminded him of Amanda—he wondered who had picked it up from whom.
But these past ten months since arriving in this century had taken their toll, and to have finally found Amanda and Callesandra, to have them virtually in his grasp and now to not—well, he was just done with it all.
He wanted to beat the hell out of Evan for thinking it was best to let Amanda draw her own conclusions.
This would never have happened if she’d just known.
Known who she was, who he was—who they were.
Maybe he was angry with himself for momentarily being satisfied with just being close to them again.
Samantha made him wait ten long seconds before her voice sounded through his earbud thanks to technology—which, despite its new ubiquitous presence in his life, still amazed him sometimes.
“Maybe she had to change a diaper, Alex. Besides, it’s a beautiful day, so unseasonably warm,” she told him. “She’ll stick to her routine. Something just held her up a few minutes.”
It was the third time she’d given him this same explanation from inside the nearby truck where she sat with Stephen and three of his men.
In his own defense, he hadn’t been in such a snit when he’d arrived at Amanda’s penthouse two hours ago, just forty-five minutes after they’d landed.
It was only once he’d realized Amanda and Stan had left the Range Rover behind in lieu of a stroll through the city that he’d become angry.
Frustrated, and just the other side of furious, he’d headed out to find them.
This time locked and loaded. All of them.
Overkill? Absolutely. Stan wasn’t going to be pleased by the turn of events.
To be honest, he really didn’t give a continental damn.
He wanted his family back. And he was taking them. Today.
The only thing presently helping Stan’s case was that he’d requested two men from their Chicago offices to ensure his family’s security while taking to the streets. Not that he’d told Alexander that, but the Chicago office had informed him—some employees were loyal.
As though his body sensed her approach, the hairs on the nape of his neck stood a second before Amanda turned the corner pushing a carriage with Callie by her side. As he watched them move down the block, his hands flexed, and his heart constricted painfully.
She was beautiful. Even buttoned up in light winter gear, she may as well have stepped right out of one of the store windows. He watched as she stopped before a storefront, obviously for Callie’s sake as his daughter skipped right up to it and pressed her face against the glass.
Alexander tapped the window and Gregor and the rest of his team merged with traffic, slowly inching their way down Michigan Avenue.
Stan and his men saw their convoy approaching—which was exactly how Alexander wanted it—and instantly moved in on Amanda and his children.
Trevor, who was seated across from Alexander, gave a thumbs-up to indicate that he’d hacked their transmitter frequency and were now able to listen to their verbal communication.
Stan and his men must have figured it out immediately, as they went silent, switching to hand signals.
Alexander tapped the window again, barely waiting for the truck to stop before he got out. The wait was over.
Alexander started forward as his men took their positions, effectively shutting down half a city block of prime Chicago real estate.
Stan and his men had Amanda surrounded. And he had them surrounded.
Alexander listened as Gregor told Stan to stand down.
Stan was pissed as hell. Said he’d had it handled. Welcome to my world, son.
Five minutes earlier
“Callie, come on, sweetie,” Amanda called. It was well past lunchtime and she needed to get Zander home. It was unusually warm for this time of year, so they’d stayed out longer than normal.
She’d just turned the corner onto Michigan Avenue when a storefront had caught her daughter’s attention and she’d indulgently waved her toward it, grateful for a moment of pause anyway.
A minute or so later, Callie turned from the window she’d been peering in and grinned.
Amanda’s heart melted. She held out her hand and waited until Callie grabbed it.
Something about being in Chicago, just the two of them—well, Zander and Stan aside—was so freeing.
It had helped ground her anger and the uncertainty she’d been feeling about so many things.
Like who in the hell Alexander Montgomery was and where in the heck she had met him.
Why was he gone from their lives for the entirety of her pregnancy—which she also didn’t remember—and now back again?
The only thing she was sure of right now was that being away from home was the best move she’d made.
Of the many calls she’d received, there was only one she’d accepted.
Evan’s. She had no beef with him and honestly, she liked him.
He was professional and kind and he only wanted to help her and to ease her memory’s return in, if at all possible, a constructive way.
And now more than ever that was something she wanted too.
“Are we going home today?” Callie asked.
Amanda smiled down at her and started pushing the stroller again.
Callie had overheard the conversation she’d had with Stan last night.
Al—or Mr. Montgomery since she’d decided to go back to formalities—had apparently told him to wrap things up and bring her and the children home.
To California. By lunchtime, which was…hours ago.
She smiled inwardly. Heck, she grinned outwardly. It felt good to fight back.
“No, sweetie.” Jeez, she actually had a spring in her step. “We’re staying until Sunday, just like I said.”
Callie giggled and covered her mouth with her hands before she said, “He’s gonna come, Mama.”
“So you keep reminding me.” Amanda thought she’d said it under her breath, but when Callie pulled an overly exasperated face, she realized her daughter had heard her.
With a sigh, she knelt and held Callie’s shoulders. “I know you miss your papa, Callie.” Oddly, Amanda felt like she had missed him too. She didn’t remember him, at least not before he brought her home from the hospital, but some part of her thought she really had missed him.
It was also surprising how easy it had been to slip into calling him Callie’s papa, though she hadn’t yet settled on husband for herself. “Do you remember what I told you? Think really hard, it’s super important.”
Callie pursed her lips, a determined look crossing her face. It wasn’t much longer before she said, “You said no one would ever take me away from you.”
Jeez, out of the mouths of babes—that was not what she was referring to, and in fact, Amanda had no recollection of saying that to Callie.
What she’d told Callie was not to worry, that they would figure everything out.
Now, however, Amanda grabbed her and pulled her in tight.
Was she—had she been on the run from Mr. Montgomery?
When—and why—had she felt the need to tell her little girl something like that?
“You listen to me, my sweet baby girl, we”—she motioned between them for emphasis—“are going to keep on going just like we have been.” She kissed her cheeks, hugged her tight, and reminded her, “I’m pretty good at making the rules, aren’t I?”
Callie laughed out loud. “You’re good at breaking rules, Mama.”
“Oh, tomato, tamahto… Come on, your brother’s fussy.”
Amanda had just reached down for Zander when she heard Stan swear behind her and Callie whisper “Mama” as she latched on to her thigh.
Stan was telling someone to back off. Obviously on his earbud since he wouldn’t be saying that to her.
She picked up Zander instinctively and Callie said “Mama” again, this time with more force.
“What, sweetie?” she asked distractedly while turning to Stan.
He looked furious. The other two men guarding them closed in.
Really tight. Callie shouted this time, drawing Amanda’s full attention, and pointed toward the street.
Amanda felt a moment’s hesitation before turning. And when she did, she gasped.
She’d seen this picture before. Last night, as a matter of fact.
She’d been preparing dinner while Callie sat on the sofa in the kitchen.
One second the TV had been muted, then it was blaring.
Amanda had startled at the noise, then turned to find Callie standing on the coffee table, her whole body shaking with excitement, remote in hand.
She’d rewound whatever had caught her attention and listened as the TV news anchor spoke.
“From our business desk—exclusive and rare footage of billionaire Alexander Montgomery, president and CEO of Montgomery Enterprises. Mr. Montgomery is seen here, leaving his New York headquarters. His entrance to America happens to coincide with a masterful power grab of JDL Security.”
They showed a caravan of black Lincoln Navigators pull up to a prestigious Manhattan address. The cameras of course focused on him as the impressive, handsome man in question stepped from his vehicle. He ignored the press as he and his entourage entered the building.
The newscaster continued, “While still in London, Mr. Montgomery amassed a brilliant staff, hand picking, if not plucking, some of the savviest technical, military, and medical minds of our time for his team. He’s apparently settled in the States indefinitely.”