Page 32 of Simon Says

“Mom, don’t talk like that.” Dakota could still feel the security of her mother’s arms when she’d hugged her close. “You should take that money and buy those new shoes you liked. Or get us a new TV or—”

“Shhh. Dakota, listen to me. Things happen. I know, because I wasn’t ready for your father to die so young. We hadn’t planned at all, and…I want you to be better prepared. Five hundred isn’t much, but it’ll help you for a few days if…if you ever need it.” Her mother stroked her hair, kissed her forehead, then held her away so she could smile at her again. “It’s not for pizza or a new CD, but you and I are the only ones to know about it. Do you understand, Dakota?”

That was so long ago, before things had deteriorated with her mother—before Barnaby. Far as Dakota knew, the emergency money had remained there…and now Barnaby claimed her mother had also stashed letters in the same place.

“You never sent me any letters, Barnaby.”

“No.”

“But if they were meant for me—”

He laughed. “I decided I’d hold on to them. I thought they might come in handy someday, and I was right.”

Loathing him more by the moment, Dakota asked, “Handy in what way?”

“If you want to read the letters, bring my son to me.” His voice gentled. “I’ll gladly hand them over to you then.”

Of course. Barnaby hoped to use the letters—if in fact they existed—as a bargaining tool. “You weren’t listening, were you? Simon said no. He wants nothing to do with you.”

In a softer tone, Barnaby crooned, “You’re a woman, Dakota. You have the means to convince him.”

He had to be kidding. “You’re disgusting.”

“You have ten days—and then I’m burning one of the letters.”

And he would, too. Panic clawed at Dakota, but reasoning with him would never work. “You’re—”

“Smart? Calculating? Devious? I know. You only have three letters, honey, so stop wasting my time. Bring Simon to me. Soon.”

He hung up on her, and Dakota had to struggle to keep from throwing the cell phone across the room.

So many thoughts zigzagged through her mind. Why would her mother have written letters? Was there any chance at all that she’d forgiven Dakota? Had she softened toward her only child? Had she…still loved her after all?

She had to know.

New conviction chased away Dakota’s doubts and worries. Damn it, one way or another she would get Simon to Barnaby. She had to.

Those letters could be her salvation.

GOINGback wasn’t easy, but Dakota hid her apprehension with a wide smile and a lot of inane chatter toward any fighter who got close enough to hear her.

She hadn’t seen Simon yet, but she knew by the uneasy way the others watched her that he had to be around somewhere. Sooner or later, he’d show himself, and then he’d notice her.

With any luck at all, he’d give her a chance to convince him to see Barnaby.

After two hours, Dakota was about to give up when Simon came onto the floor, freshly showered, in conversation with Dean and Gregor. Despite the cold weather, he wore a T-shirt with his jeans. Beneath the concealing material, fluid muscles drew her attention. He wasn’t smiling, but he didn’t look unhappy, just deeply involved in their topic.

When Dean pointed toward a fighter making use of the ring, Simon looked up—and spotted her. He stopped dead in his tracks. Even across the distance separating them, Dakota felt the burn of his scrutiny. She wanted to look away from him, but couldn’t manage it.

Frowning toward her, Dean said something to Simon, they briefly debated, and Dean threw up his hands. He and Gregor headed in a different direction.

Simon approached her alone. When he reached her, he just stood there, looking her over, his expression inscrutable.

“Hi.” Dakota felt like an idiot, but she couldn’t take the silence any longer. “How’ve you been?”

“I thought we’d seen the last of you.”

“Afraid not.” Her smile hurt. Except for a cut on his cheekbone, Simon looked outright gorgeous. “I see you got caught. Did Dean do that, or Gregor?”

---