Debra Webb - Colby vs Colby

Jim didn’t follow, but he did offer the detective a bit of sage advice. “If you want his cooperation, it’s best not to insult him until he’s committed.”

Smith squared her shoulders. “I’ll talk to him.”

To Jim’s surprise, she took off after Johnson. He had to give her credit; the lady was definitely determined.

“I hope you understand why I’m doing this, Jim.”

Jim studied Victoria for a bit before saying exactly what was on his mind. “You’re the one who needs to understand. I’m not that little boy who vanished twenty years ago. You have to stop punishing yourself for that, Victoria. It wasn’t your fault. You need to come to terms with the reality that I’m a grown man. I survived twenty years in hell without you. I don’t need you looking over my shoulder now.”

He didn’t want to hurt her, but he had to get that through to her…somehow.

Chapter Two

Sam cleared the stairs leading down to the second floor of the Colby Agency’s temporary home. One more floor and he’d hit the lobby and be out of there.

“Johnson, wait!”

He hesitated on the landing halfway between the first and second floors and closed his eyes for five seconds in an attempt to calm the rage simmering inside him before he said something he would regret. Detective Lisa Smith had no business showing up here. Damn it!

“What do you want?” he demanded when she hesitated one step above him. What did she hope to accomplish by coming here? He was just beginning to enjoy his new life. He didn’t need the past barging in.

“I want the truth, Johnson. You can’t keep running away from it.” She rested her hand on the railing and took the last step down to stand toe to toe with him. “As long as I have a breath left in me I’m going to keep haunting you. You should know that by now.”

Oh, yeah, he knew. He’d gone through months and months of hell because of her and her partner. The last four months of long-awaited peace weren’t nearly enough to banish those dark days.

He looked directly into her eyes, let her see the resolve in his. “You’re wasting your time, Detective Smith. You won’t ever know what happened. You can dog my every step for the rest of my life. It’s not going to work.” A ragged, involuntary exhale reminded him that he’d been holding his breath.

“Then we have a problem, Sam,” she said with a fortitude that matched his own. “Because it’s going to take both of us to stop what’s going down back home even as we speak.” She lifted her chin and ratcheted up the warning in her eyes. “And I’m not going back to L.A. without you.”

He leaned closer, heard her breath hitch at the unexpected move. “No, Detective, we don’t have a problem. You have a problem.” He knew his civil rights forward and back. No way could she make him go back without a court order. If she’d had one, they wouldn’t be having this discussion right now. She would have arrived with her partner and all would have been handled swiftly and by the book.

As if he hadn’t said a word, she took another shot at convincing him. “Lil Watts has issued a new contract on you. You’ll be lucky to survive the week. No one close to you will be safe. Maybe you’ve forgotten how these guys work.”

Sam looked away, remembered terror slithered beneath his skin in spite of his best efforts to suppress any and all emotion. He still had a sister in L.A. Parents. None of whom understood his decision to leave…could never know his reason. The words he refused to utter aloud stuck in his throat. His family was supposed to be safe as long as he stayed away. That was the deal.

“When did things change?” His voice was bitter, brittle, as he leveled his attention on the detective once more.

“About two weeks ago.” Her eyes told him she wanted to back up a step, but she stayed put. “I guess you didn’t hear about it. The Man is dead. Murdered. Lil Watts took over. He’s shaking things up. Every damned gang in L.A. is restless. I think he wants to set his own precedents. Make himself look superior by having his long-awaited vengeance on you—the one that got away.”

Sam knew the gang members weren’t the only ones nervous. The riots of 1992 hadn’t been forgotten by anyone who’d lived through them. She was right. He hadn’t heard. He’d stopped watching the news a long time ago. But her revelation certainly explained why she was here. The Man had made the deal with Sam, and he was dead.

That meant one thing: open season on Sam Johnson and anyone he cared about.

“What’s the standing order?” There would be specifics. It wouldn’t be enough just to make him dead. Lil Watts liked pumping up the drama and the gore. Like Napoleon, his small stature dictated that he constantly attempt to make up for what he lacked in size. He wouldn’t rest until he’d made a circus act out of the situation and proved just how big and powerful he was to the world he now represented.

“Your head,” she said bluntly, “delivered to him on the proverbial platter. He chose six of his most devoted followers—whichever one brings him what he wants gets to be his right-hand man.”

Now there was some heavy incentive. A scuzzball’s wet dream.

“So, basically, I’m a dead man.”

Those brown eyes searched his before she nodded, her expression grim.

If Sam was nowhere to be found, the more ambitious and intelligent of the chosen hunters would go for his unsuspecting family. He didn’t need the good detective to tell him that.

“What about Sanford?” Detective Charles Sanford had hated allowing Sam to walk away. He’d taken it badly when he hadn’t been able to prove Sam’s involvement in the murders of those who had killed Anna. Sanford hadn’t given Sam a minute’s peace as long as he had remained in Los Angeles.

“In a nutshell,” she replied, “he’s hoping to be the one to ID your remains.” A weary sigh escaped her. “He doesn’t know I’m here. The whole division thinks I’m on vacation in Mexico.”

Sanford would love nothing better than to dance on Sam’s grave. No surprise there. The truly startling idea was that she was here. That she’d warned him what was going down. “If your partner finds out you lied to him he’s not going to be happy.” Sanford wasn’t the type to forgive this kind of perceived betrayal, no matter if justice was Smith’s primary motive, and Sam wasn’t entirely sure about that. Sounded a little too simple to him.

“I don’t intend for him to find out,” she countered, the frankness in her expression credible.

He got the picture now. “You think we can do this under the radar?”

Another of those barely discernible nods. “We’ll go in dark. Keep a low profile while we try and neutralize this situation before anyone gets hurt. If we prove you weren’t involved in the murders, assuming you weren’t, then Watts should back off.”

“Impossible.” She was out of her mind. If this was her way of getting him to come clean about what really happened, she could forget it.

“It’s the only way I can help you.” For the first time since she’d arrived, he saw a flicker of trepidation in her eyes. “You have to trust me, Sam .”

He ignored the new kind of tension that filtered through him when she used his first name like that… like she cared. He couldn’t afford any soft feelings where this woman was concerned. “What you’re suggesting, Detective—” his gaze bored into hers “—will not set me free. It will only get us killed.”

“You’re dead, anyway.”

He couldn’t argue with that. “There are far better ways to achieve a promotion, Smith.” If she wanted to make the next pay grade she should focus on kissing up to the brass, not digging around in cold cases that would get her six feet under.