Simon Says Excerpt 4
Cutting off that tired insult, Dakota asked, “Why do you want to see him anyway?”
“It’s a personal matter, honey.”
Oh, that soft tone didn’t hide a thing. It had fooled her mother, but it wouldn’t fool her.
She shrugged. “Fine. Keep your secrets. It’s no skin off my nose.”
“Exactly.”
“But here’s a condition.”
Barnaby’s eyes narrowed. “You’re giving me conditions?”
“Yes, and it’s non-negotiable.” Dakota held his gaze. “Quit calling me honey.”
The corners of his mouth lifted in a dawning smile of satisfaction. “It bothers you? I can’t imagine why.”
“You’re sick.”
That made him laugh. “Such squeamishness from a girl who dances on stage?”
“I sing more than I dance.” And she was good, not that Barnaby would ever admit it.
“Rowdy songs meant to excite men. I know.” He looked at her legs. “Your mother hated that about you.”
Not again. How many times did she have to hear about her mother’s disapproval and disappointment? Dakota drew a steadying breath. “Listen Barnaby –”
“You know, she blamed herself.”
Dakota braced her heart. Once on a roll, there’d be no stopping Barnaby until he had his say.
“Joan thought it was your name that caused you to turn so brazen. She said she’d wanted you to have a bright, cheerful name, different from other girls. Of course, when she named you, she didn’t know that your married name would... enhance things.”
Every muscle in Dakota’s body tightened, but outwardly, she looked bored. “I’ve heard this tune too many times, Barnaby. Spare me, okay?”
“She said that had she known the choices you’d make, she would have named you something different. Because now your name makes you sound like a porn star.”
Dakota faked a yawn. It was her name, her mistake, damn it, and she would keep it as a reminder – her version of donning a horsehair shirt.
“Dakota Dream,” Barnaby intoned with slow and dramatic emphasis. “I think Joan was right. Definitely the name of a professional whore.”
Her façade cracked. “Go screw yourself.” Jaw tight and throat burning, Dakota pushed past him.
“Do this one thing,” he reminded her, “and we’re even.”
Bastard! She paused near the door. It took two deep breaths before she could make herself turn and face him. “Give me his name and last known residence.”
Victory did ugly things to Barnaby’s disposition; it exposed his malicious nature.
Smug smile in place, he withdrew one hand from his pocket and held out a slip of paper. “This is all I have. He travels a lot, so you might have to use a few of your sneakier skills to locate him.”
Careful not to touch Barnaby, Dakota closed her hand around the paper. She didn’t look at it. Her sneaky skills included working part time, mostly on a volunteer basis, to help locate missing people. Reuniting loved ones served as her lame way of making amends to a past she couldn’t change.
At every opportunity, Barnaby threw it in her face.
“You’ll have to cover my expenses.”
“Of course.” His lips stretched into a smile. “Keep a detailed tally and give me the total after you bring him to me.”
She shook her head. “I see the lie in your eyes, Barnaby. We both know you won’t give me a dime once you have what you want.”
The smile pinched into a sneer, and even his perfect teeth couldn’t make him appealing. “Before the accident stole Joan’s ability to speak, she begged me not to contact you.”
Dakota’s heart thumped hard. “So you’ve said, many times.” She knew it was true. If Barnaby hadn’t found a soft spot in his cold heart, he wouldn’t have gone against her mother’s wishes and let her move back in. She would have been hurt and homeless, and all alone.
Worse, her mother would have died before she could touch her one more time, before she could hold her hand and beg forgiveness. Her mother never regained consciousness, but at least Barnaby had given her a chance.
And for that, she did owe him.
“Joan told me that you’d disappointed her and shamed her so much that she could never forgive you –”
“Yeah, I know.” Already leaving the room, anxious to be away before Barnaby saw how he’d hurt her, Dakota said, “This is the last time, Barnaby. I’ll drag your damned son to you if I have to, and then we’re even.”
“Of course.” Voice moderate again, he added, “Don’t slam the door, Dakota. You know how your mother despised your temper tantrums.”
Breathing harder than she should have been, Dakota paused outside the house with her fist on the doorknob. It took an effort, but she loosened her muscles, relaxed them, and eased the door shut with a quick, quiet click.
The yard she’d played in as a child now looked like a showplace. There were no dandelions on the lawn, no bare patches from repeated games of tag.
While she lived, Barnaby hadn’t spent a dime except on his own pleasures. But her mother hadn’t been dead a week when he’d started throwing money around.
New shrubbery, enhanced with outdoor lights and framed with colorful fall flowers, circled the house. A large decorative fountain had replaced the cheap birdbath she’d given her mother on Mother’s Day. Rather than repair the old broken sidewalk, Barnaby had paid to have it torn out so a new cobblestone walkway led to the front door.
New siding, windows and doors. New carpet and furniture. New cabinets. The house was better. Improved. And it was no longer her childhood home. Maybe, Dakota thought, she should count her blessings.
“This is it,” she said to herself. “The last time I’ll ever come here. The last time Barnaby will ever hold me with guilt.” She looked up into the sunny sky and breathed the brisk fall air. “The very last time.”
Once in her car, to distract herself and gain some control so she wouldn’t present a danger on the roadway, Dakota looked at the slip of paper.
Simon Evans.
Her eyes widened. Sickness gave way to fascination. Surely not the Simon Evans, renowned trainer of SBC fighters, once an amazing, unstoppable champion himself? The Sublime, they called him, because of his incredible good looks, his way with the ladies, and his charming manner.
Her heart beat a little faster as she pictured him in her mind. Six-two. Ripped. Dark. He shaved his head, which only made the astounding intensity of his brown eyes that much more compelling.
What a hoot.
Barnaby was sending her to one of her favorite sporting events to fetch a superior icon in the industry. Hell, had she known, she’d have volunteered for the job.
Dakota dismissed the address on the slip of paper. Simon wouldn’t be there. A few months ago, he’d announced his intent to compete again and that meant he was at a camp somewhere, getting in shape. Or she should say, getting in better shape. The man always looked delicious, no matter what position he chose in the SBC – trainer, fighter, or sex symbol.
She’d find him. She’d visit him.
And one way or another, she’d bring him to Barnaby.
If along the way she got to indulge her fandom, no one would hold that against her.
Her day was looking better. All she needed now was some coffee.
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