Page 37 of Complete Me

Like clockwork, the door to the townhouse opened and Jacobson ambled out in a corduroy field jacket and cap. For a man who claimed to hate the aristocracy, Jacobson didn't mind dressing like them, Smith noted with bemused detachment. Once Jacobson was well down the street, Smith got out of the Mercedes and locked it, then followed on foot. This hadn't been part of any of his plans, but instinct told him it was the right thing to do. He hung back as Jacobson entered the Horse and Hound, then he ducked in after him a few moments later. There were enough regulars in the place that no one seemed to notice a stranger in their midst. Smith took a table in the back corner, taking a page out of Georgia's book, and making sure his back was to the wall. Jacobson on the other hand, sat at the bar, and began a lively conversation with a half dozen or so men.

It was strange to see a predator in his natural habitat. Nothing about Jacobson's behavior belied how dangerous he truly was. It left Smith to wonder what was going on inside his head.

A barkeep wandered over, wiping his palms on the back of a bar towel tucked into his pocket. “Can I get you anything?”

“Scotch.” Smith ordered, continuing his steep descent into old habits. The bartender tilted his head in acknowledgement and disappeared, reappearing a few moments later with his drink. Smith handed him a 100 pound bill. Tonight wasn't a night to use credit cards.

Jacobson chatted animatedly as he snacked on a basket of chips. “Enjoy that,” Smith thought. It wasn't a proper last meal, but as his executioner, Smith didn't feel he owed him the courtesy.

A few minutes before 11:00, Jacobson raised his hand in the air to call for his bill, and Smith downed the rest of the drink he had been nursing. There would be no way to turn back after this.

He left the tavern before Jacobson had finished paying and returned to the Mercedes. Sliding into the driver's seat, he took the gun out of the glove box. Habit dictated he check the chamber. He knew there was only one round inside, but one was all he would need. There would be no hesitation, and there would be no mistake.

But as the chamber spun open, he found something he didn't expect.

The bullet was there, but where the rest of the rounds should have gone, tiny scraps of paper were lodged. He pulled the first out, recognizing Belle's handwriting immediately.

“If you're reading this,” it said, “You think you no longer have choices.”

She was right about that. He didn't have any other options not if he wanted to protect her. He withdrew the next slip and read it.

“If I'm not there to stop you, know that I will always trust your judgement.”

He took out the next.

“If I'm waiting for you at home, come back to me, and let me help you find the light.”

His hands began to tremble as he took out the last slip.

“You always have a choice.”

The paper fell into his lap and he dropped the gun into the seat next to him. How could she have known? Or had she always suspected it would come to this?

Listening to her now meant abandoning the assurance Jacobson would never threaten her life again. But if he ignored her, he would refuse the most important request she'd ever made of him. “Come back to me.” He could hear her voice saying it.

She could show him the light. Since the day he had met her, Smith had craved everything about her. He would give her anything. But could he step into the unknown with her?

He liked control. He clung to it. But he could never control everything.

Belle was waiting for him in Scotland. Belle, who believed in him, and in his ability to be a good man, even when he did not. Belle, who never questioned that, even when he revealed the darkness of his past. She had stood by his side. That was where he belonged now.

This was his choice, a future he couldn't predict. One that had far more beautiful possibilities than the ugly reality of his past. It was time for him to leave it behind. It was time for him to choose the man he would become, the man he already was.

He started the engine and pulled away from the curb just as Jacobson came into view. The man would never know how close he had come to dying that night, but Smith knew how close he had come to choosing the wrong path. He needed to find Belle and the light within her.

But first, he needed to speak to Alexander.

18

Smith Price wasn't the sort of man to call at midnight for a chat. I had decided to return to my marital bed, only to be roused from it after a few minutes. My plan had been simple. Get some sleep and head to Scotland in the morning. I had promised Clara I would lay the issue of my brother to rest and then go to her. Now it seemed I was being called on to deal with an entirely different issue. It was a moment I had been dreading and anticipating for well over a year.

Shrugging on a simple black t-shirt, I didn't even bother to find trousers. If Smith had issues with seeing me in my boxers, that was a discussion for another day. My mobile rang on the bedside table, and I scrambled for it.

“I heard you have a visitor.” Brexton didn't bother to greet me. Of course he would've been informed that an unknown party had shown up at the palace after hours.

“I do,” I said tersely.

“Why is Smith Price coming to visit you?” Brexton asked. Apparently he wasn't going to beat around the bush. Normally, I appreciated his candor. Tonight I had more important things to consider.