Jigsaw (Black Raven Book 2) (46 page)

Maybe he was the guy who had videotaped a message of never giving up on her, but the harsh look in his eyes and angry tone in underlying his words told her he was still Zeus, and the man had never been a pushover. Heart pounding, she looked directly into his eyes, lifted her fingers to his lips and said, “I’m afraid of what I feel for you. So afraid I barely want to admit it, so afraid I thought it better to not have you in my life than to admit my fear.”

His eyes softened. As a slight smile played at his lips, he reached for her and gently caressed her cheek. “Given what’s transpired in the last forty-eight hours, in both of our lives, the fact that you’re afraid of anything having to do with us—or me—is pretty fucking ironic.”

“I know. But I am. Terrified. Always was.”

“There’s no need to be afraid.” Eyes burning with intensity, he let his fingers trail along her neck, down her arm, and back up. “If you tell me your fears, I’ll conquer each one. But first you need to admit what you're afraid of, so we can tackle it. Tell me what has you running scared enough to marry a man who couldn’t possible feel about you the way I do.”

Slipping the ponytail holder from her wrist, Sam wound her wet hair into a bun, pretending to herself that her hands weren’t shaking and she wasn’t dying inside. “I’m afraid of the strength of what I feel for you. So afraid I agreed to marry Justin, when you were working so hard to give us—me and you—a fresh start. I’m sorry, Zeus.”

He shook his head. “You looked so damn happy when you were together.”

It was hard to blame him, when she deserved an Oscar for her stellar performance. “Get a clue, Hernandez. I was faking. My heart was breaking. I didn’t realize until that miserable night when you went missing just how badly it was going to hurt for the rest of my life.”

“I’m fine. I’m here. So what are you afraid of now?” A frown-line appeared between his eyes. “You’ve got to say it, Sam. Admit it, and we’ll think through it.”

She closed her eyes, then forced them open to focus on his face. “Becoming weak.”

“We’ll be stronger together than apart.”

Hope tried to bloom. Reality started pulling off the petals. “Love made my mother weak. I always thought it would do the same to me. The other night, though, when you were missing, I realized I don’t care if my love for you consumes and destroys me. The alternative—not having you in my life at all—is much, much worse. If my love for you ultimately turns me into something weak and clingy, someone less than the ambitious, successful woman I want to be, that’s a price I’m willing to pay. I just can’t live without you.” She drew a deep breath. “You’re not my father. I don’t think you’ll be the drain on my life that he was on hers. And if you ultimately are—”

“I won’t be. I promise.”

“It’s a risk I’m willing to take.” She shivered, the admission being one of the hardest she’d ever made in her life. It meant she was embarking on a road of unknowns, a detour that included Zeus every step of the way.

“No risk at all, Sam. Between us, we have enough brainpower to figure a way out of any obstacle that life might throw at us. We’re going to be a formidable force. Together. I promise.”

“Hold me, Hernandez.”

Gathering her against his chest, he rose to his feet and strode to the bed. He deposited her on the edge of the mattress, then knelt in front of her and took her hand. Brushing his lips to the backs of her fingers he murmured. “I love you, Samantha Dixon Fairfax.”

Heart full, Samantha curved her hand around his prickly jaw. “Let’s make love.”

“Mmm. So glad you phrased it that way.” He eased her leggings down from her hips, peeling them along her thighs, and past her knees. She stepped out of them. Standing, he pushed down his jeans and pulled off his t-shirt, dropping the clothes on the floor. He pushed her knees open with his thighs. Poised for entry, with his gaze locked on hers, he held back. “Say it, Sam. Tell me you love me.”

“I love you. With my heart, body, and soul.” Gripping his broad shoulders, she lifted her legs and locked her ankles behind his hips, but he didn’t cooperate. “Come on, Zeus.”

“I’ve waited a long time to hear this.” His eyes became more intense. “Tell me more.”

“I want you,” she whispered. “I need you. And I’m not talking about sex. Though right now, that would be nice. I fell in love with you the moment I met you. I love you. I always will. I’ll never deny it again. Never deny you. Not for the rest of my life. That enough?”

“Almost.” Eyes serious, he drew a deep breath. “Answer the question that I should have asked seven years ago. Will you marry me?”

“Yes,” she whispered as he arched his hips, thrust upwards, and filled her. “Yes. Zeus. Oh. Yes.”

Dear Reader,

Thank you for purchasing and reading JIGSAW, A Black Raven Novel. Please help spread the word about JIGSAW by telling your friends about it and by writing a review at AMAZON, BARNES & NOBLE, and/or GOODREADS.

My stories go through a rigorous editing process, but I’ve learned that typographical errors can persist despite diligent editing. If you noticed any typos in JIGSAW, or in my other books, please alert me at
[email protected]
. I will greatly appreciate your email!

Actually being in the writing chair is the best part of the writing process for me, but a close second is the interaction that I have with readers. I love to hear from you, so please like my Facebook page, at
facebook.com/stellabarcelona
, and be on the lookout for posts and updates on giveaways and appearances. I also can be reached via email at
[email protected]
and you can join my mailing list at
stellabarcelona.com/newsletter
. Don’t worry—I’m too busy to send out frequent newsletters, and I promise I won’t share your email address. If you’d prefer to contact me through the U.S. mail, I can be reached at P.O. Box 70332, New Orleans, Louisiana, 70172-0332.

My website,
stellabarcelona.com
, has blogs that I update from time to time, some book related, some not. I’m planning to post Jigsaw “extras” on my website, so check there periodically if you want to learn more about the characters and my thoughts as I wrote the book. Please comment and let me know what you think of the posts.

Before I leave you, I’d like to share a few pages from my work in progress,
Concierge, A Black Raven Novel
. In
Concierge
, I return to my personal home, New Orleans, Louisiana. I also return to two characters you’ve met in my prior novels-Andi Hutchenson,
Concierge’
s heroine, is Taylor Bartholomew’s best friend from my debut novel,
Deceived
. Gabe Hernandez,
Concierge
’s hero, is Zeus’s brother in
Jigsaw
. As
Concierge
evolves over the next several months, there may be tweaks to this excerpt. I’m thankful that my tablet is not made of stone.

Thank you again, and stay in touch!

Stella

Excerpt from:

Concierge

A Black Raven Novel

Available in 2017

Spoiler Alert:
This passage from
Concierge
contains spoiler material for content in
Deceived
.

Prologue

New Orleans, Louisiana

Two years earlier

Oblivion is the answer. An absence of Andi Hutchenson. A void.

The first rays of dawn’s sunshine spilled light over the murky water of the Mississippi River. As sunlight painted the sky’s clouds, feathered, golden-pink brushstrokes appeared atop the dark swirls and eddies of the river. Ignoring the color of promise, Andi focused on the flow of the river’s powerful currents as the water churned under the glistening surface. Sitting alone on the downward slope of the levee, she shivered in the quiet of the morning, pulled her legs closer to her chest, and rested her chin on her knees. It was her tenth consecutive morning of going to the spot on the levee where Victor Morrissey had left her for dead. This morning she’d finally made peace with her plan to die there.

No more worrying how I’ll make it through one more day. No fear. No more paranoia. No more skin-crawling creeps, as though someone is watching. No more chest-tightening, feeling-like-a-stroke anxiety.

How will I get through the day?

End it. Oblivion. The only answer.

As the sun crested over the horizon, wisps of foggy mist drifted up from the water and formed lacy angel’s wings, then evaporated as daylight seeped into the grayness. If angels had ever looked out for her, they’d abandoned her six months earlier, when she’d been dragged into a crevice of hell from which she’d never escape. They hadn’t yet reappeared in her once-charmed and carefree life.

I’m so damn sick of feeling sorry for myself.

An ocean-going container ship glided downriver. Multi-level lights made the vessel look like a mobile high-rise building, towering high above the misty water. On her right, in the distance, the skyline of New Orleans sparkled, the windows of the tall buildings reflecting the pink and orange. If she’d ever been, or become, a serious artist, this would have been a great spot from which to capture the city, because it revealed the dominance of the river and the precariousness of the city perched so close to the mighty current.

Sure, I can sit here until hell freezes over, but I’ve made the decision, so waxing poetic about colors and sparkly lights is moot.

Pre-Victor Morrissey, indecision had never been a problem for her. But he’d changed that. With one violent night, the monster who never should have been given a name had changed her, and she couldn’t get used to-or like- the frightened, paranoid person she’d become. Painfully aware with each passing day that the old Andi was never coming back, and not having any clue how to cope with the Andi she’d become, she’d known for weeks what had to be done. Better for everyone. Best for her.

It’s time.

As the tanker glided around the bend in the river, Andi stood and stepped towards the water. A plump black river rat, with yellow-red eyes and a long tail, disturbed by her sudden movement, turned and scurried towards her then froze, it’s glowing eyes locked on hers. She screamed. It was a high-pitched yell that scared even her, as though the sudden shriek was coming from someone else’s mouth. The creature scurried away in tall, dark-green levee grass. When she could breathe again, she yelled, “Goddammit to hell, you damn, damn…
rat
!”

She had good reason to hate rats. Victor had left her to die on the levee, naked, barely conscious, and bleeding. Rats had feasted on her. Drugged and barely conscious, unable to move, and in more pain than she had ever imagined, she’d been vaguely aware of their teeth biting into her flesh. Since then, her nightmares had filled in the blanks that her mind had created by trying to force her to forget.

Glancing left, then right in the dim light, she didn’t see anyone who would have been disturbed by her yell.
Thank God.
It was still too early for joggers, walkers, and bikers to be on this remote stretch of the levee, and by the time they got there, she’d be…gone. It would be damn stupid to attract attention,
then
go for an early morning death-dip.

Heart pounding, she walked towards the river, keeping a wary eye on the grass for more rats. The pumping adrenaline of rat-fueled fear only strengthened her resolve, because she was so damn tired of being afraid.

Face it. Everything scares the living crap out of you. There’s no cure for this kind of post-traumatic stress. Except death.

Fifteen yards to go, and she braced herself for the first touch of the wet, cold water.

I hate to be cold.

In the past six months, the bone-rattling coldness that had seeped into her body and soul on the night of her kidnapping had never left.

I’ll only be cold for a few minutes more. Then I’ll never be cold again. I’ll never BE again. Thank God.

It was a mild January morning in New Orleans, but still cool enough that Andi wore jeans, a long-sleeve wool t-shirt, a cashmere turtle neck, and her favorite pair of Luchese cowboy boots. She’d dressed for the temperature. The weight of the cool weather clothes was a bonus. It would help her sink, just in case she chickened out. She picked up her pace, absentmindedly shrugging her shoulders to get relief from the relentless, never-stopping itch on her back, along the one hundred and three cigarette burns that Victor had placed so carefully and methodically in her back.

At the edge of the levee, a swatch of flat, muddy earth led to the water. The river’s edge was lined with broken concrete. She’d stared at the broken concrete slab the previous mornings and knew her cowboy boots would help her climb over the rough terrain. Where the water lapped onto the concrete, it became slippery. When her right foot slipped out from under her and she almost fell, she slowed her pace, not wanting to slip and break a wrist before killing herself.

A broken wrist would really suck.

Finally, she stepped into the river. Her heart accelerated when her boots filled with water. She turned around and almost stepped back to the shore, then stopped and swiped at free-flowing tears that burned her cold cheeks.

Keep walking. Keep walking.

She paused when the water lapped at her thighs.

God…No. Don’t panic. This is it. I’ll finally have peace. Remember-if there’s a heaven, Dad’s there. Waiting for me. I’ll finally get a chance to tell him I forgive him.

Turning again to face the river, she walked three more steps into it. Strong currents pulled at her legs as she stepped further into the river. Water crept up, inch-by-inch, past her hips, waist, and boobs. Her long hair floated up around her. She could barely hear the sound of the flowing water over the chattering of her teeth. Fighting panic, she tilted her head back and looked at puffs of white clouds in the pink-blue dawn sky.

Oh God. God. God. It’s really, really cold. Damn cold. Please. End this. Fast.

“Hey! What the hell! Stop!”

The distant yell barely registered. It was nothing she going to pay attention to. She breathed deeply, and then the frigid water was over her shoulders. Even if she tried to fight it, she couldn’t. Her boots were lead weights, and her jeans felt like they weighed fifty glacial pounds. She’d never been that great of a swimmer anyway, and she was capitalizing on her lack of swimming ability and the notoriously strong river currents. The combination of both made her plan foolproof. She took one last deep breath, shut her eyes, and her chin slipped below the water.

“Hey! Lady!”

She turned to the sound of the voice in time to see someone running towards the water. Before her eyes slipped under the water, she saw the owner of the voice picking his way across the broken concrete, straight in her direction.

She shook her head and tried to say,
‘no,’
shorthand for
‘no, I don’t want your help, can’t you see I’m drowning on purpose,’
but because her mouth was under water all she did was lose all the air from her last deep breath. She breathed in frigid, foul-tasting river water and choked as her eyes slipped under the water, her last vision being of a dark-haired man as he reached the water.

Gag. Cough. Splutter.

DAMN. DAMN. DAMN.

A moment of startling clarity hit her at the same time she felt a hand pull at her hair and yank, hard. Then a strong arm wrapped around her neck, choking her. Reflex had her fighting him with everything she had, while he pulled her in the direction of the shore.

No one touched her. Not since Victor Morrissey. No one touched her.
No one.
No. One. She landed a punch in his chest, another in his face.

No! Fucking no!

He had one hand tangled in her hair and was almost pulling it from the roots, and the other in a death grip on her upper arm. He managed to pull her up, out of the water. She gasped in a mouthful of air.

“Geez, lady! Stop struggling! I’m trying to save your ass here.” She clawed at his hand that was wrapped in her hair. “Shit! Don’t—”

His words were lost as she fought her way out of his hold. She went under again, sucking in another deep mouthful of river water as she fought him. It didn’t matter who he was, or what he was trying to do. He became Victor Morrissey, and this time, she was damn well going to win. With his arm on her neck, she bent her face down and bit his wrist as hard. He jerked his wrist out of her mouth, and reclaimed his hold on her hair with one hand while the other hand knocked her, hard, at her temple. She gasped in pain, then choked, then breathed in more water, and she couldn’t get air, and no matter what she did, she couldn’t get her face above the water.

Dear God, I’m drowning.

He was tall, long-limbed, and strong. He took advantage of her stunned stillness by moving, fast. He pulled her, tugged her, and yanked her to the shore. She gagged, choked, and breathed in more and more water and then, suddenly, there wasn’t murky, brown water in her vision. Blessed, quiet, peaceful blackness overcame her.

Sometime later, how long she had no clue, the peaceful, devoid-of-thought blackness was gone. She opened her eyes. Crystal-clear blue eyes were an inch from hers.

The owner of the eyes had his mouth on hers. He was exhaling into her mouth at the same time the contents of her gut were roiling up. Lifting her hands to his cheek and forehead, she pushed his face away. She managed to turn her face into the earth before sour river water spewed from her mouth. She gasped for air, shivered, and more water came out of her mouth as she struggled to get on her hands and knees. She managed another breath, then another.

With her thoughts muddled, she glanced at her rescuer, who knelt at her side and was wide-eyed with worry. “Can you breathe?”

She nodded, then choked.

“You have a phone?”

On her hands and knees, gasping for air, she looked at him through the dripping tangle of her hair, understanding where he was going with his question but unable to reply.

“Do you have a phone?” he said slowly, as though he was talking to a dim-witted child.

“Of course I have a phone,” she said, spitting out more water.
Who doesn’t?
Then she drew a deep breath and
dammit
, her teeth started chattering, because now she was really, really cold. Not dead.
Cold.
Not the problem she’d planned on having for the morning. “But I’m not calling anyone.”

His dark hair was wet and plastered to his head and neck. A lock of it fell across his forehead, as he looked into her eyes and studied her. Broad-shouldered and long-legged, he was lanky and tall, and his tight t-shirt clung to him like a second skin. He was skinny—as though he hadn’t fully grown into his frame. A light smattering of morning facial hair covered his jawline and above his upper lip. If he was eighteen years old, he’d just made it, but his blue eyes-made innocent and fresh by a fringe of dark-brown lashes-had a depth that went way beyond his years.

“Wait here,” he muttered, then ran along the shoreline, downriver.

She didn’t have strength to do anything but sit on her butt and wonder how the hell what had just happened had actually happened. She drew her legs to her chest, wrapped her arms around her knees, and tried to absorb the fact that she was alive. She watched her rescuer leave the shoreline, approach a spot in the levee about a hundred yards from where she was sitting, and step into an area that was overgrown with tall grass. He disappeared there for a second.

No wonder I didn’t see him.

He reappeared holding a backpack, some clothes, and a guitar case. In a minute, he was at her side again. What she’d mistaken for clothes was a faded blue blanket. He held it out to her. It looked like it had been in the dirt for weeks. Too cold to take it, she submitted to him throwing it around her shoulders. “Hold it here.”

She looked at him blankly.

With an impatient sigh, he grabbed her cold hands and wrapped her fingers around the two edges, forcing her to hold it under her trembling-with-cold chin.