Fearless: Complicated Creatures Part Three (62 page)

“Wes walked away from me.”

Jack kissed her brow. “You were kids,
tesoro.
He wasn’t ready. Maybe you weren’t either. But that’s the past now. You’re both different people now.”

Samantha drew back, “Are you making a case for him?”

A cuff of laughter shot from him as he shook his head, a chagrined expression on his face. “Absolutely not. If he tries to get between us, I will fucking kill him. But I will say this: I can’t blame him for still being in love with you. If I was in his position, I probably would be too. There’s nothing more tantalizing than the one that got away. There’s no fantasy more seductive than dreaming about what might have been, even if it would have never worked out.”

Now it was her turn to lean back. “What makes you so sure it wouldn’t have worked out?”

Jack’s smile was slow and certain and maybe even a little profane. “Because you were meant for me, Samantha. The minute I laid eyes on you, it was game over. For both of us.”

*

S A M A N T H A

She stood at
the edge of the ocean, the cold waves sliding over her feet and around her ankles before the tide ebbed back, froth glistening over the sand. Sam giggled in delight, enjoying the feeling of her toes sinking into the wet sand.

“You ready?” her father said to her, smiling down at her as he gently tugged at her hand, so small and pale in his rough and calloused grip.

“Let’s stay here,” Sam told him, her voice small and girlish, a little shy. “I like it here.”

Her father knelt slowly beside her, dark hair ruffling in the wind.

Sam could feel the cool sting of the sea salt mist against her skin, smelled the distinct, vital scent of the great blue ocean stretching in front of her as far as her eyes could see.

“Are you afraid?” her father asked her, gripping her securely with his warm hands.

“No,” she said, shaking her head.

“Then what’s the matter?” he asked softly, looking into her eyes.

“What if I like it?” she said after a moment, looking out at the vastness in front of her, another world of possibilities.

“Then you can be a mermaid.” The corners of his eyes crinkling as he smiled.

Samantha looked backward, saw her mother sitting on a blanket on the beach, her belly heavy and full with a baby. Her brother, they told her. Her mother smiled and waved at her, her long, black hair whipping in the wind.

“What if I don’t want to leave you and mommy forever?” Sam asked uncertainly. “I can’t see you if I’m a mermaid, Daddy.”

“But you wanted to come see the ocean, remember?” her father reminded her, nudging her gently. “Ever since you learned to swim at the creek, you’ve asked to see the ocean.”

The tide came back in, higher this time, rushing around her feet and ankles, splashing up her calves, beckoning, inviting her to play. She wanted so desperately to go run into the surf, dive through the waves. She belonged there in the water. She could feel the pull.

“What do you have to lose, Sammy?”

You, Mommy, firm, dry land…
my world as I know it.

She took a tentative step toward the water, feeling the lure, the draw of the unknown.

“What are you willing to lose, Samantha?”

She frowned, turning back, but her father and mother were gone. Lightner stood there instead, his pale blue eyes a frozen fire, his smile sardonic.

“What are you willing to lose?” he asked again before shoving her backward into the water.

Sam opened her mouth to scream. Her body spasmed in a whip-tight myoclonic contraction as she tried to break her fall.

She jerked awake, gripping Jack’s shoulders as he held her.

You’re awake—I’ve got you. It’s just a dream… you’re safe…

She relaxed into his clasp, her heart slowing, her breathing once again becoming deep…

April—Evening

Museum of Fine Arts, Houston, Texas

W E S L E Y

W
es had been
here only once before, when his mother had brought him as a young boy on one of their rare road trips outside of Austin—a treasured memory. He distantly recalled being more enthralled with the acreage of public gardens than he had been by the sixty-thousand-some works of art. He’d run around the grounds, playing explorer while his mother had watched from a park bench, holding an old camera she’d bought at a second-hand store. A camera that would later become the first he’d look through in order to see the world.

As Wes stepped onto the property, wearing a navy blue tuxedo for the Wyatt Foundation’s Annual Charity Gala, he wondered what his mother would say now, seeing her son mix and mingle with Houston’s glitterati, his photographs on display in the main gallery of the Beck Building. She’d passed away before he’d really made something of himself, but somehow, he had a feeling she’d be more tickled to see him dressed up for once, his unruly hair freshly cut and slicked back, his normally scruffy face close-shaved with a straight razor at an old-school barbershop off the Washington Corridor.

It was a warm and balmy evening. Wes could hear live music fill the air, a bayou band playing a silky, jazzy version of “Blue Moon” that wafted through the gallery like some glamorous Gatsbyesque dream.
A beautiful scene, full of beautiful people
, Wes mused, surrounded by perfumed women resembling rare and exotic birds, in their silky, sequined gowns, against the backdrop of carefully groomed men wearing their affluence like a coat of armor.

No matter how much success Wes had, no matter how many accolades he garnered, a part of him always felt a little uncomfortable at events like this, surrounded by outrageous, obscene wealth. He always felt he was being observed like one of his photographs, appraised and valued at some unspecified dollar amount. He spotted Hannah, Grant, and Carey as he passed through the main hall. Hannah waved at him, her face breaking into a beatific smile that brought out the blueness of her eyes.

“Wesley!” she said, looking over him in approval. “You’re as handsome as a polished penny. Who knew you cleaned up so well?”

“Thank you, Hannah,” he told her, kissing her hand gallantly. “You look good enough to eat,” he flirted, taking in her silver organza gown. “Promise me a dance later? I’m gonna show you how it’s done.”

“That’s enough of that, young buck,” Grant joked gruffly, looking dapper in a tuxedo. “You ready to be auctioned off?” he joked as they shook hands, nodding toward Wes’s grandly-displayed photographs.

“To the highest bidder,” Wes quipped with an unabashed grin. He shook Carey’s hand next. “Good to see you, man.”

“How have you been, Wes?” Carey asked cordially, though he appeared a little distracted as his parents turned to greet other guests.

“Good, good. Let’s catch up at some point this evening,” Wes suggested casually, thinking about what he’d found out since they last talked.

“Let’s do it.” Carey nodded.

“Sammy here yet?” Wes asked, glancing around.

“Right behind you.”

Wes turned, and he could have sworn his heart skipped a moment as he saw her standing on the landing, maybe twenty yards away, wearing a bold red dress, the daring neckline highlighted by a shimmering diamond necklace tipped with rubies big enough to choke a horse.

“Incredible,” he murmured, moving toward her like he was trapped in a tractor beam, unable to think of anything but getting closer. She wore her hair down in sexy, flawless waves, like some raven-haired Veronica Lake, a cold femme fatale, dressed to thrill. Alejandro stood beside her, scanning the crowd, vigilant and stoic as a secret service agent in a black on black tux. Samantha stepped forward as he approached, and Wes damn near swallowed his tongue, eyes tracing over the long, tantalizing expanse of her leg peeking from a side slit so daring, there was no way in hell she could be wearing anything underneath.

Just as Wes ascended the stairs to grab her up and give her a kiss she’d never forget, Jack joined her on the dais, slipping his arm around her waist as he clasped her to him, his head bent toward hers in an intimate gesture. Wes’s eyes narrowed as Jack said something into Sam’s ear, making her red lips curve in a slow, secret smile. The kind of smile only lovers share. The kind they’d shared once, eons ago, before he’d wrecked them. Hot white jealousy spiked through Wes, propelling him forward, angry at how perfect they looked together, a sleek
his-and-hers
set. The crowd milling around him admired them openly, oohing and aahing over the urbane power couple as they stood in the sparkling scene, like a photograph from a glossy magazine. The Queen and her King.

Jealousy made him aggressive, and his determined stride caught her attention. Sam froze for a moment, watching him as he prowled toward her, her gaze dark and unreadable. Jack also turned when he noticed her stiffness, his silver eyes hooded as he moved imperceptibly closer, telegraphing his possessiveness of her, though his gaze remained cool. Wes patently ignored Jack, his eyes on
her
and only her. Wes stopped in front of her, leaning in close as he pressed a soft, lingering kiss on the warm skin of her cheek.

“You’re hands down the most stunning woman here, Sammy,’” he told her sincerely.

“Wes, you look pretty fantastic yourself,” she complimented, turning toward her date before Wes could read her expression too closely. “You remember each other, right?” she introduced.

“Sure do.” Wes didn’t even bother looking at him. “How was rehab, Jack?” he asked amiably, his eyes still on Samantha.

“Annoyingly peaceful,” Jack replied, not sounding put off in the slightest as he slipped an arm around Samantha’s waist.

I fucking hate this guy.

Alejandro must have seen the daggers in his eyes. He looked a little amused as he nodded silently to Wes in greeting from his station by Samantha.

“Your photography is going to be the highlight of the evening,” she remarked, cutting through the tension. “I think the bidding will get pretty intense based on what I’m hearing. Mack told me he was thinking of investing in the pieces himself.”

“Mack?” Wes parroted, surprised.

She nodded behind him. “He’s coming up behind you as we speak.”

“You don’t say,” Wes remarked with aplomb, turning to watch Mack cut a swath toward them, his expression perfectly affable as he approached. The older man was dressed cowboy formal in a sharp black jacket with dart pockets and a platinum bolo tie. His smile was broad and affable as he clapped Wes on the back, old-fashioned Texas charm rolling off him. He squeezed Wes’s shoulder a shade too hard to be friendly. “How’s it going, Wes?”

“It’s about to get better,” Wes responded cryptically, thinking about the information he’d uncovered with Captain Bill Spears. He’d been planning to save the inevitable confrontation for later in the week, but tonight would do just about as good as any. Seeing Sam so obviously back with Jack made him feel a little wild and reckless. He felt like setting fire to something just to watch it burn, and Mack would do just as good as anything. Wes decided then and there he’d tell Samantha everything tonight, whether she liked it or not. He didn’t know yet exactly how Mack was involved, but he’d beat the grass until something came flying out, consequences be damned.

Wes turned to Samantha. “I’d like to chat with you later this evening when you get a moment,” he said in a low voice when Mack turned to greet Jack.

She shot him a questioning look but merely nodded.

Wes picked up her hand, grazing a lingering kiss over her knuckles. “You’re even more beautiful now than the day I first saw you,” he murmured.

She squeezed his hand briefly before letting him go.

*