Save Me If You Can Read Free

looking in a mirror.”
    Marcus… wasn’t expecting that.
    He expected trickery, illusions, more lies to cover up old ones. Real evidence, concrete proof of Noelle Prescott’s continued existence… that blew him away.
    “So what does this even mean?” Marcus asked, his anger over her insensitivity to Kennedy temporarily forgotten. “How the hell…?”
    Naomi shrugged. “I wish I knew. If I could talk to her, ask her why... I’ve been empty for so long, missing my mother. If I could just see her, touch her, then maybe… Marcus, I can’t deal with this,” she whimpered, dissolving into sudden, heavy tears. Marcus caught her as her knees gave in. He held her against his chest as sobs wracked her body, then blew his frustration out in a quiet sigh. In that moment, he hated Wolfe and Noelle both. If this woman had been alive all this time, why hadn’t she reached out? What was her excuse?
    Shaking his head, Marcus realized that it didn’t matter. There was no excuse good enough to make him forgive the pain Naomi was feeling now. She didn’t need this shit. The hurt, the stress, the worry… it wasn’t good for her, and it wasn’t good for their baby.
    He reached down, sweeping Naomi into his arms to carry her back inside and deposit her on the bed. He crawled under the covers with her, letting her cry against his chest until finally, she fell asleep.
    Long after that, he still lay awake, his mind running with possibilities and questions. He didn’t believe for a second that one of those bodies belonged to Wolfe, or Noelle, for that matter. Damien Wolfe was too slick, too calculated, too… powerful for something like this to be the end. But… then again, according to the girls, Terry King had walked into his house, and shot up his dining room like it was nothing.
    So… Marcus wasn’t sure what to think anymore. There were a billion possibilities, and a billion questions.
    Questions he hoped Harrison could answer.
     

 
    Two.
     
    It was quiet.
    Somehow, that was less comforting than the bedlam from before. Harrison had registered the distant chaos through closed eyes and searing pain, just before darkness took over.
    Quiet meant time for contemplation, which led to realizations, which led to conversations, and the fewer of those that happened in hushed tones, among people who would have few – if any – qualms about putting a bullet through his head, the better.
    He kept his eyes closed although he was awake, knowing there was little chance he was alone in the room. The agony in his leg made moisture build behind his closed lids, but the only outward sign of his discomfort was the thin sheen of sweat building on his forehead.
    A sudden surge of pain made him clench his fists, squeezing tight as if that would somehow ease the scorching heat that centered on his leg in an excruciating tingle that seemed to touch him everywhere.
    “You’re not fooling anybody.”
    Though he’d suspected he wasn’t alone, the sound of a voice in the room made him flinch, and open his eyes. He’d expected one of the men, Marcus, Quentin, Kendall, hell, maybe even Agent Barnes – not the raven-haired beauty who stood over him now. A scowling, pissed-off angel was how she looked to him, with the tapered edges of her chin-length bob swaying around her face.
    Her gorgeous, familiar face.
    High, sculpted cheekbones, hypnotic, slanted dark hazel eyes, and full lips, twisted into a scowl. The haircut was new. The last time he’d seen her in person– longer ago than he cared to remember – it had flowed around her shoulders in big, thick, curls when she didn’t have it confined to a neat ponytail.
    Harrison liked her new style.
    It was sexy, and against her deep brown skin, she looked sophisticated, even in a faded military academy tee shirt tucked neatly into belted, relaxed fit black khakis. He was sure that if he could see her feet, they would be clad in boots. Old habits died hard with her.
    “I really wish you hadn’t