Back To The Start Box Set: Five Full-Length Novels by Aly Martinez

  I often had members of the force in the office; I made bulletproof material for a living. But, with my luck, Simon Wells had sent this guy by to harass me into selling him a load of Rubicon.

  I shook his outstretched hand and said, “Listen, I’m really busy today. Can you make an appointment for next week? I’d be happy to have a sit-down and discuss numbers with—”

  “This is personal, Roman.”

  Personal.

  Roman.

  The fuck?

  I arched an eyebrow as I gave him a slow nod, calling to my secretary, “Hold my calls.”

  I led the way to my office as he silently followed behind me. Once inside, he didn’t get much more talkative. I sat in my chair and fired my computer up as he walked around, inspecting the pictures hanging around the room.

  He pointed to one on the wall and said, “She’s cute.”

  I rocked back in my chair and replied, “She’s my sister.”

  “You still caught up on your ex?” he questioned like the ballsy motherfucker he clearly was.

  I sat up, propped my elbows on my desk, and ignored his question. “What can I help you with today, Agent Light?”

  He tipped his chin in my direction. “Lucked out. Your secretary told me you were out for the day.”

  “I am out for the day,” I corrected. “So, if you could speed this up, I’d be much obliged.”

  He finally moved to the chair in front of my desk and sat. “Good. This way, it’ll be easier to explain away that I was never here.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  He slid a photo from his envelope but kept it facedown. “Roman, I’m here on a very unofficial capacity today. You got me?”

  I narrowed my eyes, my gaze going to the photo I couldn’t make out. “I got you,” I replied skeptically.

  “I also need your word that you’re not gonna go off half-cocked and get yourself killed. That would make my life extremely messy right about now.”

  “Get to the fucking point,” I demanded, quickly losing my patience with the vague bullshit.

  “That your word?”

  I shrugged. “It’s gonna have to be. The only other ones I got for you are: Get the hell out of my office.”

  He stared at me for a minute before his face split in a grin. “I hear you and your woman got some news yesterday.”

  Now, that got my attention.

  I steepled my fingers under my chin. “We did. You got anything in that magic envelope of yours that might be helpful to me?”

  He grinned again and then demanded, “Your word.”

  “Never seen you in my life. I spent the day at home with Elisabeth, reuniting our marriage between the sheets.”

  He chuckled. “Works for me.” Sliding a grainy, black-and-white surveillance picture across the desk, he said, “Walter Noir. Bad guy. And, when I say bad guy, I mean bad. Fucking. Guy. We’ve been keeping tabs on him for the last three years. He’s the big name in drugs in the city right now. His army is strong, but worse than that, they’re tight. Nobody in or out without Noir’s personal approval. He’s into some deep shit. You owe that man money, he’s got tricks that make the old-school mob look like child’s play. The blood on his hands could forge rivers.”

  I set the photo back on my desk. “And you’re telling me this why?”

  He pulled more pictures from the envelope and then slid the bottom one my way. “That’s his wife Clare.”

  I could only see the side of her face, but that was all I needed in order to make out the wide black-and-blue bruise covering her cheek.

  “Jesus,” I muttered.

  “That was taken outside of her gym eight months ago. It’s the only place he allows her to go. The bastard keeps her on a tight leash.” He passed me another picture. “This one was taken five months ago.”

  In this image, she was looking straight at the camera, tears flowing down her cheeks and dark bruises peeking from the neck of her tank top.

  “This one was three months ago.” Another image of the thin, blond, battered woman.

  He started to slide another my way, but I lifted my hand in the air.

  “Enough. I got it. Get to the part where you give me something helpful.”

  He stood and bent over my desk, slapping a picture down into the center. Then he stabbed his index finger down on the back of a little, blond head in the woman’s arms and changed my entire life with one sentence. “That is the child who may or may not be your daughter.”

  I shot to my feet, the chair rolling from under me and slamming into the shelves that lined the wall behind me. After snatching the picture off the desk, I brought it up to my face for a closer inspection. It was nothing but a head full of white curls, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away.

  “Are you sure?” I asked.

  “Am I sure it’s your kid? No. Do I think it’s a strong possibility based on the asshole who’s involved? Yes.”

  I snatched my desk phone up and lifted it to my ear, but his hand slammed down on the base, hanging it up.

  “What the fuck are you doing?”

  “I’m calling the cops…or shit, my attorney…or, Christ, someone.”

  “I am the cops, Roman. And I assure you there is not one fucking thing we can do to help you here. If we could, I’d be off doing it rather than standing here, risking my job.”

  “Jesus, shit!” I yelled, raking my hand through my hair. “What the hell am I supposed to do here?” I snatched a picture of the bruised woman off the desk and lifted it his way. “He doing that to the kid?”

  He cut his eyes away. “Tessa. Her name’s Tessa, and I don’t know.”

  “Bullshit! You know.”

  “No. I really don’t fucking know. But even if he isn’t. He will. Eventually.”

  “Goddamn it!” I slammed my fist down.

  “You cannot go to the authorities with this.”

  “Then what the fuck do you expect me to do!” I yelled so loud the windows rattled.

  His eyes hollowed into dark, treacherous pits. “I expect you to get her out.”

  “Kidnapping?” I laughed humorlessly. “Fan-fucking-tastic idea.”

  “Not the kid.” He once again stabbed his finger down on my desk. Only, this time, it landed on the woman. “Her.”

  “What?” I asked in disbelief.

  “She’s the key to this entire investigation.”

  “Fuck your investigation,” I shot back.

  “That woman holds all the answers. Legally, she’s the mother of that child. She can submit to DNA testing on herself and the girl. We find out the kid’s not hers, we have ourselves a case no judge could ignore. Court order on Walter Noir plus her testimony on all the bullshit she’s seen over the years. That man’s done.”

  He made it sound so easy. But just the fact that he was standing in my office told me it was the impossible. I had a sneaking suspicion that I was about to become the DEA’s sacrificial lamb.

  “And what if she doesn’t submit to DNA? She might be on a tight leash, but what if she doesn’t want to get away? You’d be throwing me into the line of fire, keeping your hands clean, and getting your case. No fucking thanks.”

  His jaw turned to granite, and his hands flexed at his sides. “You get her away from that man, I have not one single doubt that she will sing like a fucking bird. She’s scared, Leblanc. But, from what we can tell, she is not involved in his shit. She’s just a victim. Best thing that ever happened to her is that lab tech spilling it on the doctor and Noir. She needs an out, and I need you to get off your ass, get creative, and give that to her.”

  “And how exactly do you expect me to do this?” I asked, my voice thick with sarcasm as I walked around the desk and settled on the corner. “Just walk into the lion’s den and take his woman and his child?”

  He crossed his arms over his chest and ignored my question. “The second best thing that happened to her was her embryo being switched with yours.”

  I scoffed and blankly gazed out the window.
“Right.”

  “Leblanc, I’ve done my research on you. Prior military. Infantry. Two purple hearts and a boatload of men who respect the fuck out of you. You’re smart. Fucking loaded, yet you live in a shithole apartment in the garage of an even bigger shithole house. You’re charitable but run your business with a heavy hand. You wanted to be a family man, but that wasn’t in the cards. Now, your ex-wife hates you, but you’ve been making some headway there in the last twenty-four hours, yeah?”

  I pushed to my feet and took a step toward him. “You been watching me?”

  He didn’t hesitate to grin as he said, “Since the moment that snitch said your name.”

  “Right.”

  “Right,” he replied, moving back to his chair, grabbing his envelope before riffling through it. “If there was ever a man who could handle this, it’s you. You have the resources. So fucking use them. Get eyes on Clare, find a good time, and then make your approach. Be gentle. She spooks easy. She needs help, Roman. Make her understand that you can give her that.” He pulled one last picture out and set it facedown on my desk. Then he passed the envelope my way. “That’s as much information as I could get on her. Her address. Schedule. Gym location. All of her background. It should be a good start for whoever you hire. And should you need someone you can trust, there’s the name of a protection agency in there as well. It’s run by a man named Leo James. He used to be DEA. He mainly does personal security now, but you give him a call, drop my name, and he’ll take care of you.”

  I nodded though I had no idea what I was agreeing to, but I took the envelope from his hands, knowing I had to do something.

  Heath walked to the door. Then he stopped and looked back at me. “I don’t think I need to remind you about the urgency of this situation, but I’m gonna do it anyway. Do not sit on this, Leblanc. Get on the phone, throw some money at people, and get that woman and your daughter out of there.”

  My body jerked at his definitive use of the term your daughter.

  “Saw pictures of Elisabeth at the police station,” he added, lifting his chin to the photo he’d left facedown on my desk. “It’s obvious.”

  I immediately snatched it up and…

  “Holy shit,” I gasped.

  But there was no way to deny it.

  The oxygen drained from the room and the only thing left was a photo of a child with blond ringlets and a face I’d recognize anywhere. I’d seen it in my dreams nearly every night as we’d struggled through infertility.

  She was Elisabeth’s.

  Absolutely. One hundred percent. Without question.

  By the time I tore my gaze up, Heath was gone.

  I didn’t do as he’d instructed. I didn’t pick the phone up and make any calls.

  Instead, I grabbed my keys and stormed from the office.

  One destination in mind.

  And it wasn’t home.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Clare

  I’d cried myself to sleep the night before. That wasn’t anything new. However, this time, I did it in Walt’s arms. I’d had no other choice. He hadn’t let me out of his sight since he’d stormed into Luke’s office, yanked me into his arms, and hugged me as if he hadn’t seen me in decades rather than minutes. He glared at Luke only for a second before he guided me, with Tessa in my arms, out to a waiting car in the parking lot. The police were swarming, but no one could touch Walter Noir.

  The entire day had been mind-boggling. I’d expected Walt to lose his shit that I’d spoken with the police—even if they had been the ones speaking to me. But the minute we arrived home, he gave me the kind, gentle, and understanding man I’d fallen in love with while we had been dating. I knew now that that man didn’t exist, but as my heart struggled to beat with the newest gaping hole, I’d never been so grateful for the façade.

  The moment he got me behind closed doors, he guided me up to the office, where he produced two sets of DNA results. My name at the top of one, his at the top of the other, Tessa’s on both. I stared at them as he crouched in front of me, holding my hand and explaining that the police had approached him weeks earlier about the possibility of a lab error. He’d refused the DNA test because he’d feared they were using it as a ploy to once and for all get a legally surrendered sample of his DNA.

  For an average man, handing the police department a sample of DNA would be no big deal and the results would end up in a dusty box in the evidence room at the end of an investigation.

  For a man like Walter Noir—a money-laundering, drug-dealing, murdering low life with ties to people so bad that the government didn’t even have them on a radar yet—handing his DNA over was the equivalent of a life sentence. I didn’t know everything Walt was involved in, but I knew enough. I was positive there was a case file the size of a library on him, and the cops were begging for a way to tie him to it all.

  So he told me that he’d had his own DNA tests performed at a private lab to ease his mind, and he hadn’t told me because he hadn’t wanted to upset me.

  As if he’d ever cared if he upset me before.

  Still in a state of shock, I listened to him while tracing my finger over Tessa’s name, but never Noir. And, for the briefest of seconds, I wished that the results read differently. I couldn’t live without Tessa, but if it meant she wasn’t Walt’s, I could die with a whole heart.

  I nodded and told him that I understood.

  But I understood nothing.

  The truth was masked by a million lies.

  The only thing I knew for sure was that Walt’s “results” were worth about as much as the paper they were printed on, based on nothing more than the fact that they had come from his hands.

  I wasn’t sure if the cop’s story held any validity, but I wasn’t in any position to ask questions.

  At least, not yet.

  Tessa was mine no matter what a piece of paper read.

  My job as her mother was to keep her safe, and that didn’t end because of genetics—or the lack thereof.

  Unfortunately, that job became exponentially more difficult the very next day.

  Tessa and I were playing with sidewalk chalk on the driveway when a black Range Rover stopped at the front gate.

  It wasn’t unusual for Walt’s men to show up and let themselves in, but they all had their own code to get inside, so it caught my attention when the man put the car in park and exited his vehicle.

  “Mrs. Noir?” he called, moving toward the bars of the gate.

  He was big, his shoulders broad, his hair perfectly styled, but he was wearing a pair of tattered jeans and a vintage T-shirt that had to be older than I was. And it should be known he was wearing it really well. But there was no way a man like that could afford a car like the one he rolled up in. He had to be one of Walt’s men. I didn’t care what the old slogan said—crime definitely paid.

  “Did you forget your code?” I called out, using my hand to shield the sun from my eyes.

  “I…ah… Yeah. Any chance you could let me in?”

  Not if I value my life. I strolled closer, figuring he must be new. “Sorry, man. You know the rules. Call one of the guys.”

  “I…don’t have my phone,” he replied. “Any chance I can borrow yours?”

  I barked a laugh. Clearly, he didn’t value his life. I was off-limits to all of Walt’s guys. This conversation alone was borderline dangerous.

  I stopped in front of the gate and shook my head. “What’s your name? I’ll text Brock and see if he can help you out.”

  I was pulling my phone from my pocket when it happened. His hand darted through the bars, and he grabbed my forearm and slammed me into the gate.

  My heart lurched as my face pressed against the metal bars.

  “Listen to me,” he demanded in a rough and scary whisper.

  My eyes darted back to Tessa, who was still thankfully focused on her sidewalk chalk Picasso of Dora the Explorer. “Let me go! He’ll kill you if he sees you touching me!” I said quietly so as not to startle
her.

  His voice was low and desperate as he said, “My name is Roman Leblanc. My wife and I did in vitro fertilization at Peach City Reproductive Center three years ago. The police recently informed us that our embryos might have been switched. And I’m here because I believe they were switched with yours, and I also believe your husband is responsible.”

  My lungs burned at the same time my nose began to sting. What was a nightmare within a nightmare called? Because I was currently living one.

  “You’re wrong.” I lied. “Let me go.” I attempted to shake his hand off, but his grip tightened.

  “I also believe you, much like my wife and I, are an innocent party in this. I’ve heard about your husband, Clare. I know he puts his hands on you. On her.”

  As I struggled against his hold on me, Tessa decided to finally look up.

  “Mama!” she cried, and his hold on me momentarily loosened at the sound.

  I took the opportunity to yank my arm from his grasp, but just as quickly, he caught the front of my shirt.

  “I’m a man of resources, Clare. I can save you. I can save Tessa,” he swore, his desperate, gray eyes shining the truth. He believed he could do it.

  I believed something a little different. “You’re about to get us both killed! Let me go. Walk away. And forget this address. Now,” I spat back at him.

  Tessa careened into my legs, sobbing. I patted her hair down and held Roman’s stare. “Shhh… Mama’s okay. The scary man was just leaving.”

  His face was stone, but I saw the wince before he could hide it.

  “Leave before he sees you here,” I begged.

  He shook his head. “Two choices. You pick her up and get in my car right this fucking second. Or, the next time you see me, I will be taking her without you.”

  The blood roared in my ears, and my vision tunneled.

  I’d spent my life protecting her from one asshole. I sure as hell wasn’t going to allow another to take her from me.

  Years of pain and fear all joined forces in the span of a second, igniting my adrenaline into a fiery rage. My fist flew through the bars of the gate, slamming into his face as I shrieked, “You will not touch my daughter! Ever.”