Annabelle glanced up. A young man, probably in his late twenties, stood behind the opposite chair, the look on his face both expectant and a little nervous. He was tall enough, she supposed, but not anywhere near as tall as Jack. And though he wasn’t bad looking, he was too young for her tastes. She preferred older men. Plus, she was pretty sure that he was even younger than she was, though she didn’t look her age.
But, most importantly, he was company – and company wasn’t something she wanted at the moment. She just needed to be alone. With her thoughts. And her beer.
“Yes,” she said. Her voice was too soft, her tone too flat.
The man’s head cocked to the side and he glanced around, taking in the left over French fries on the table and the fact that the opposite chair was distinctly empty. An eyebrow shot up. “Is he late?” he asked, and the nervousness in his expression seemed to melt away, to be replaced with a slightly defiant air.
Annabelle took a deep breath. She was about to flat out tell him to buzz off when a strong hand gripped the man’s shoulder and he found himself spun around to stare into a face a lot older and a lot meaner than his own.
“Yes,” Samuel stated in a low voice, a dangerous note lacing his words, “he’s late.” He stared long and hard into the younger man’s eyes and then slowly released him. The man stumbled backward for a moment and then nodded. Without a word, he turned and disappeared into the dim light of the pub.
Annabelle looked up at Sam gratefully. But her smile wavered and never reached her eyes. After all, she knew why he was here. He was Jack’s best friend. He was most likely here to stick up for Jack and Annabelle hadn’t the heart, at the moment, to listen to pretext.
“Mind if I sit down?”
Annabelle shook her head. “No.” There was no point in being a bitch about it.
Sam sat down and waved at someone near the bar. In a few seconds, an attractive young woman approached the table, her attention focused almost entirely on Sam. Annabelle wasn’t surprised. He was a charismatic figure, possessing of some sort of magnetism. There was something about him – something more than his rugged good looks. Annabelle couldn’t put her finger on it.
“Can I have a beer, darlin’?”
The woman smiled a smile of mock scorn and looked at Sam coyly. “Well, blimey. A real Texan. Not wha’ I was expecting, you know.”
Sam’s eyebrow lifted. His expression was playful. “No? What were you expectin’, sweet heart?”
The woman pretended to think for a moment, placing a hand on her hip and chewing on her lip. Then she shrugged her shoulder and leaned in. “Something a might bit more plump and a good bit more noisy, I s’ppose.”
“I can get plenty noisy, darlin’, don’t you worry.” He replied, his gray eyes glittering in the dim light. His smile was all teeth. The woman blushed furiously, and her own smile stayed put. Obviously, she liked it.
“One ale comin’ up, luv.” She turned on her heel and sauntered toward the bar. Sam watched her go for a moment and then turned to Annabelle again.
“I shoulda come to Colchester a long time ago.”
“What do you want, Sam?” Annabelle asked then, suddenly feeling very tired.
Sam blinked and then smiled. This smile was more natural and not at all predatory. He leaned in, placing his elbows on the chopping block table and lacing his fingers together. “I knew I’d like you, right from the start. You’re honest and to the point. Jack chose well. I knew he would, once he finally got down to it.”
Annabelle waited for him to go on.
“He loves you, Annabelle, that much should be obvious to you. An’ you’re the only woman he’s ever truly loved.”
She shook her head. “He doesn’t love me. He lied to me.” She sighed. “Many times. And now
“Yes, I am like his father.” He leaned back then, as the waitress brought him his ale. She set it down, shot him a meaningful smile, and then waltzed away again. This time, Sam’s eyes stayed locked on Annabelle’s. “And can you recall your father ever lying for you? Fathers don’t lie. It’s a rule.”
Annabelle blinked. Okay, he had her there. As far as she could recall, her own father had never told a lie. At least not where she was concerned. But then, he’d died a long time ago. Her memories of him were vague. She never tried to make them anything else. It hurt too much.
He went on. “Jack is a good man. Period. In a lot of ways.”
“Sam, this isn’t-”
“Hang on, let me finish,” he held up his hand, gesturing for her silence. She reluctantly gave it to him.
“I found him when he was brand spanking new at the business. He fell into it, more or less. He was just a kid, running errands, so to speak. He pissed someone off one day and the shit hit the fan. But when the smoke cleared, he was still standing. And no one else was. Word spread fast. I could tell he had a lot more in him than he realized. So, I took it upon myself to teach him, and he learned well.”
Annabelle swallowed. Her mouth was dry. She’d eaten but not really touched her ale. She picked it up now and took a swig. It was bitter.
“He’s got what it takes. Natural ability, nerve, focus, determination, and constitution. He’s good at what he does and always has been. A natural. But he’ll never be the best. Know why?”
Annabelle shook her head. She was trying to figure out where, exactly, this conversation was headed. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know.
“Because his heart’s not in it.” He took a swig of his beer and gritted his teeth, glancing at his surroundings. The sun was starting to set and the light streaming in through the windows was dimmer now. More people were gathering around the bar. The tables were steadily becoming crowded.
“What are you getting at, Sam?” Annabelle asked softly. A part of her – the tired, hurt part of her – just wanted him to get to the point. A different part of her, however, sort of
Sam turned back to her and smiled, studying her carefully. He nodded, as if to himself, and took another swig of his ale. Then he continued, “There have always been certain things Jack wouldn’t do.” He leaned back against the cushion of the booth and sighed. He seemed to consider her for some time before finally leaning in again, this time closer than before.
Then, in a voice considerably quieter and a tone much more serious and covert, he said, “There are certain jobs that Jack won’t take – bar none. Don’t ever ask him to kill a soldier. He’ll just shake his head and tell you that the man is probably going to die anyway, and he’ll force you to leave it at that.” He took another drink and paused, before going on. “You can’t pay him to take out a single dad, either. No doing.”
At this point, he stopped and his gaze became as steady as if he had been staring down at Annabelle through the sites of a long-range rifle. “And he never kills women or children.”
Annabelle stared back at Sam without saying a word. A million thoughts chased each other through her head. Her fingers and toes tingled. She felt strange.
Sam shook his head, just once, left to right, as if he could read her thoughts. “It wasn’t Jack that killed Dr. Anderson six years ago, Annabelle. He couldn’t do it. Even though he went so far as to show up at the kill site, weapon-ready, he couldn’t bring himself to finish the job.”
He fell quiet then, and Annabelle just sat there as the information sank in.
She blinked.
“You killed Teresa,” she said softly.
Samuel Price didn’t say anything at first. He only gazed through her, his smile steady and grim.
She blinked again, this time more slowly, and shook her head quickly, trying to clear an encroaching fuzziness.
