Chapter 8 #2
Callie had thought it was so cool to see her papa on TV, but when she’d skipped over to Amanda and asked if she could call him, Amanda’s heart had broken a little.
How was she supposed to know what to do?
She didn’t want to keep her daughter from her father, but there were still so many things that didn’t make sense to her.
The reason they’d left, and then had Stan remove whatever tracking gadgets had been placed in their phones, on their persons, and on their belongings, was because she just needed some space.
“For now, sweetie,” she’d said, trying to calm her juiced-up daughter, “let’s just make it a mommy and babies’ trip.
On Sunday, we’ll go back home.” Then she’d figure out what to do and how to handle things.
She didn’t want to promise a visit, or dinner, or quite frankly anything.
At least not yet. She’d held her daughter’s little cheeks and told her, “I don’t want you to worry about anything, understand? Mommy will figure it out.”
Stan swore again, jarring Amanda back to the present as the caravan came to a stop.
The doors opened in unison and Mr. Montgomery and his men emerged.
Callie was right, her papa had come. And jeez, they meant business today.
All in black suits. All wearing sunglasses.
And she’d bet her life that they were all armed.
They were large men and had a way of taking up the most space possible.
Using hand signals to communicate, Mr. Montgomery’s men formed a perimeter around her and the kids, shutting down the street as he continued toward her.
Something about the way he looked now—dressed to the nines, storming so powerfully toward her, so totally in command—set her body thrumming right there on the street.
Seriously, Amanda Abigail Marceau! How did you forget him?
He was her every girlhood fantasy come to life. All six and a half feet of him. Tall. Broad. Dark. And so wickedly handsome. Straight nose, strong chin, and a mouth, she would swear, that was made to give orders.
In fact, she watched him order Stan and his men just now to stand down as he walked right up to her.
Like almost touching right up to her. So close she had to tilt her head back, which wasn’t something she was accustomed to doing, not at her height.
He stared at her for a good few seconds, his eyes softening just a bit, before saying quite forcefully, “It seems there’s a security problem. ”
“Wh…” Amanda had to wet her mouth; it had gone bone dry at his accent. She did, after all, have a thing for his voice, and apparently it had quickly worked its magic on her again after just two days without it.
She tried once more, “What security problem?”
“I’m in charge of your security,” he shouted in her face, “and you’re my problem!”
Callie giggled, obviously not afraid of her father in the least as he knelt to pick her up. Amanda was about to tell him to put her down, but he motioned with his head and told her, “Move!”
“Excuse me?” It wasn’t so much what he’d said, but how he’d said it. That jerk of the head was one she used. Repeatedly, with Callie.
“Bloody hell, Amanda! Get in the God damned truck!” he ordered again as Gregor came forward and grabbed Callie, leading her away.
Instinctively, Amanda reached out for Callie with her only free hand—a futile gesture, it turned out.
She was losing control of the situation completely and started to panic.
Sensing her stress, Stan reached for his gun.
Okay, so not the right thing to do under the circumstances, but the situation was turning into a big boy pissing match and had made Montgomery absolutely furious.
She watched as he beat Stan to it, pulling out his own gun and pointing it at Stan’s head.
“I told you to bring them home, Finch. You had your orders. Yesterday,” he shouted, twisting the barrel against Stan’s temple.
“Old habits, eh, Montgomery? Think we’re going to duel right here in the street?” Stan taunted, which made the larger man snarl. Amanda had no idea what they meant, but didn’t have the luxury of time to think about it, either.
“It’s not his fault,” Amanda cried, moving to position herself and Zander in front of Stan. “Stop, please. We’ll go. Right now, if you’d like.”
Shaking, Amanda gave a silent plea to Stan to cooperate as Montgomery said, “Are we done here?”
At Stan’s “Yes, sir,” Montgomery removed his weapon and waited for Amanda to start forward. When she didn’t, he ushered her toward the truck he’d stepped out of earlier. Callie was already inside. Amanda hesitated again, her eyes darting from her daughter to the street.
“My plane’s leaving in two hours,” he told her.
“You and my children will be on it.” Her first instinct was to shake her head.
But before she could, he clarified, “That wasn’t an optional invitation,” confirming her thoughts about his mouth being made to give orders.
“Christ, Amanda.” He shook his head and rubbed his hand across his forehead, suddenly looking worn and exhausted.
“I would never hurt you or our children. Please.” He reached for Zander.
She clutched the baby protectively, then whispered, “Are you going to take them from me?”
He shook his head. “I am not taking him from you. I need you to step into the truck.” He reached for Zander again, but she was shaking so severely he had to unfurl her hands from around the baby. Then, he held her arm as she climbed into the truck, following right behind her.
Still in shock, Amanda took little note of the car’s interior as Callie jumped into her lap, but noticed that instead of a bench in the back and seats in the middle, she sank into what looked like a plush leather sectional built around the frame. TV screens, laptops, and spyware were everywhere.
Stan sat shotgun. He looked back to make sure she was okay; she wasn’t, but nodded anyway.
Montgomery sat next to them, taking up a considerable amount of space.
He stretched his long legs and settled Zander into the crook of his neck.
Then he grinned at Callie, motioning her over.
He threw his head back and laughed as she burrowed against him.
Then he looked at her, “Amanda, I wish—”
Yeah, she wished a lot of things, too, but the way he looked at her in that moment was so sweet, so endearing she just didn’t know what to think. So, she cut him off instead of letting him finish. “Are you going to put him in his car seat?”
“We’re traveling four city blocks. At ten miles an hour. He has a better chance of getting hurt on the sidewalk.” He gave her one of his deep, penetrating looks then, the one that wasn’t guarded.
“Is there something you’d like to tell me, Mr. Montgomery?” Amanda asked pointedly.
“Yeah, Amanda,” he said, leaning forward and gripping her shirt, bringing her in close, “I don’t care for you calling me Mr. Montgomery.”
“That’s it?” Seriously, the way the man looked at her went right to her bones.
“Presently.”
She shrugged and stared out the window. He had such a commanding presence; it was difficult to be so close.
As if reading her mind, he made it worse, nudging his large foot in between hers and dragging her closer. Against her better judgment, she looked at him and was relieved to see his head was back, eyes closed, hands holding his children.
The similarities to Zander were glaring now that she knew to look for them.
Same dark hair, same skin tone, and, looking at him now, she realized that behind his closed lids, their eyes were the same dark color.
Amanda continued staring at him, boring holes into him with her eyes, trying desperately to remember ever being with him, being married to him, knowing him at all.
It was so frustrating, but it just wouldn’t come.
Suddenly it seemed crazy to have left. The answers to all her questions were right here in front of her. But maybe she’d had to go away to see that. To see that he was the only one who could tell her what had happened.
“Did I leave you?” she asked. “Or did you leave me?”
“Neither, Amanda.”
“Ugh,” she groaned and started hitting the side of her head with her palm. Hard. This was just so frustrating.
“Don’t!” He grabbed her hand. “That won’t help.”
“How do you know?” She knew she was acting childish.
But honestly, she couldn’t help it. As composed as she tried to remain on the outside, inside she was a mess.
Mostly because when he’d grabbed her hand, he laced their fingers and hadn’t let go.
Intellect told her to tread with extreme caution.
Her heart, maybe even her soul, said something entirely different.
“We don’t have time for that conversation right now,” Alex insisted.
They’d just arrived at Amanda’s penthouse. Stan opened the door and Alex waited for her to get out first. Trevor was waiting, grinning from ear to ear. He really was sweet, and she’d missed him, all of them for that matter—well, almost all of them.
“Hi, Mrs. Montgomery,” he said and suddenly Amanda wanted to smack him. Was she Mrs. Montgomery, really? How dare he just assume she could be that. She had to temper her reaction to the name; grinding her back teeth helped. “Your bag was under Zander’s car seat in the stroller.”
Amanda reached for her tote, keeping her inner commentary just that—inner. He really had been such a sweet boy, until twelve seconds ago. “Thank you, Trevor. Can you—”
“They’re bringing the base from your Rover up now. I’ll have it ready by the time you’re back.”
Amanda remained rooted to the spot. She knew everyone was waiting for her to go forward but she wasn’t moving.
Yet. Then she noticed Samantha getting out of the truck.
She was still so mad at her, and on top of what Trevor had just said, she freaked out.
Again. She plucked Zander from Alex’s chest, did a quick pivot, and started down the sidewalk.