CALLEN (Second Chance Novels Book 3) (14 page)

"You need to stop," he whispers.

"It's ok," I whisper in return. "Let yourself be understood for awhile."

"Evvie understood me," he barely speaks.
 

"I know," I appease him, but I refuse to coddle him. "But she understood the man you worked to be. You never let her see how you got there."

Anguish mars his features as he considers my words, and I can only hope he'll accept my help. "You don't have to carry all this alone."

I take one final step toward him and wrap my arms around his ribs. A hired therapist would never comfort a patient this way, but I am so much more right now.
 

Slowly, his arms find their way around my shoulders and his head rests down onto mine. The tension in his frame covers most of his emotions, but
conflicted
rises easily above the murk. I can't imagine a life such as his coming to this point and forcing him to keep breathing.
 

We don't speak, we simply cling to each other. With the exception of maybe Evelyn, I doubt anyone has ever held him, not in genuine acceptance between two people who know the truth about each other.
 

"How did you know?" he finally asks in a hollow voice, seemingly to the air. "No one sees me."

I don't answer because I don't need to. As a skilled observer of people himself, he already knows. He and I are very much alike in many ways. His body tenses against me stronger and pulls away quickly. Anger returns to his features, tempered only by confusion.
 

"Why did you look into my past? Why would you do that?"

"You know exactly why."

I can see his frustration. His skill never allows people to view him as anything other than what he wants them to. My ability to cut through the façade forces him to question his skill…which is the only aspect of his life he's been able to hold onto. He grips my shoulders strongly and searches my eyes. I answer as best I can.

"I don't know how to answer. But I know you see me, too. It's the same thing."

He stands and lets me go and watches me carefully. "You're too easy to read, Quinn."

I keep my face calm for him as he takes hold of a part of his life which still makes sense. I offer him stability for the moment with one simple question. "And what do you see?"

He tilts his head to the side and his eyes soften. Taking the focus from himself eases some of the strain, and I notice again how truly handsome he is in all his rugged strength. The faceted blue of his eyes can hypnotize me in casual conversation, but the crystal weight of his scrutiny spins me dizzy.
 

"Intelligence. Tenacity. …Attraction to me," he speaks plainly, but his voice softens at his last word. His lips part as if to say more, but no words will come.

"That's all you see?" I ask, working very hard to hide my reaction to his words. He sees my attraction. Of course he does, regardless of my work at concealing it.
 

As best I can tell, we're both navigating through what each other is thinking, and how we should react. Finally I break the silence.

"You don't have to hide. No matter what, you have safe haven here."

His frustration returns and he takes a step back. I don't know how long we stand and stare at each other, but I know exactly how loud my heart thuds when his eyes drop to my lips. My throat twitches in response as I finally confirm the attraction from him, too. I caught glimpses of his interest before, but I never trusted my read on him over the bias of my own hope.
 

A racing beat hums in my chest as I watch him. A deep gaze, a subtle twitch of his hand, a slow breath, and a clench of his jaw all give away a single truth. Callen Reed wants me. The tension hangs between us almost painfully. This roller coaster day is at the peak, and I wonder how we'll fall.
 

"Callen," I start before I know what to say.
 

He simply reclaims the step between us and takes my face in his hands. "Nothing's right," is all he can say, confusion tainting his words. He studies my expression and skims his thumbs over my cheekbones with shaking intensity, but so gently. My body is naturally drawn to him, and I rest my hands on his defined biceps.

I close my eyes to focus on the fantasy of a kiss, until the psychologist in me is reminded of why he's here at all. His life is upside down. He's swimming in guilt and confusion, looking for a foothold in these new waters. He'll cling to anything he can. Female attraction is familiar and comfortable, which makes me within easy reach of safety. I could be anyone right now and he'd need me.
 

I want to kick myself for being swept away by his presence here. This is too complicated. Hell, less than ten minutes ago he shouted his love for another woman.
 

When I
almost
find the resolve to step away, I feel his breath on my lips. He's so close to me…and every nerve in my body is screaming to lean into the intensity of his kiss, to finally experience what I've wanted longer than I could admit.
 

I have to pull away, even if only an inch.
 

A heavy breath escapes his lips as he rests his forehead on mine. His fingers gently lace into my hair and grip softly. "I'm sorry," he says quietly. My hands won't leave his biceps, and his feet won't step away.

Again I wish I didn't analyze people so much. The incredibly intelligent, kind, gorgeous man in front of me is trying to kiss me, and all I do is question his motives. I curse my hesitant side, wishing I could just let myself give in.

We cling to each other as I battle between my resolve and my yearning.

His breath warms my skin as he hovers closely. With slow, smooth movements of his hands, my chin is tilted toward him again. His nose skims gently along mine. I don't question his sincerity. There is no manipulative charm in his touch, only a need to forget his frustration. I sigh out a shaky breath, and he draws me a tiny shift closer. So softly his nose nudges mine, putting me in perfect position to accept his kiss. My lips part of their own volition, and I grip his biceps in frustration. The effort required to hold back ripples difficultly through my hands.
 

He leans in, and I pull back. I take a breath, and he pulls me in. I'm not sure if time is standing still or racing. Then without my permission, one question falls from my lips.
 

"Why do you want this?"

He pauses and holds a heavy breath. My heart deflates as he searches for an answer. After an excruciating moment, he stands proper but keeps my face gently in his hands. "You don't know?"

"I want it to be real," I say softly, allowing myself to be crushed under his eyes again.

"And what do you think this is?" he says in quiet frustration. A tinge of hurt hides under his words, and his feet find the resolve step away.

"A reaction to what you did today," I say with more uncertainty than I mean to. Insecurity is not a common emotion for me.
 

His jaw clenches again. "Since when are you a female stereotype?"

"Excuse me?"

He turns and walks several paces away and shakes his head. "Ok, Quinn," he said in an empty tone, with a flat, hard voice. The air which had been pressing painfully against me eases as he retreats from me in every way, stealing the oxygen from my lungs.
 

I wait in blank confusion until he speaks again.

"Bottom line. I killed Bennett. You know it. I have confidentiality with you. Do you plan to honor that?"

My shoulders wilt. "Yes."

He walks out my door, and doesn't bother closing it behind him. I pick up my wine glass and gulp down the rest of the bitter liquid quickly. My brain refuses to formulate a single thought, so I walk to my bedroom and drop to my bed, fully clothed, and allow my thoughts to crash together as they bounce through my head. Sleep eludes me for hours, and is fitful in what little I find.

When I wake up, my head is pounding. Callen Reed committed murder in hate-filled, cold vengeance…a twisted display of love for another woman. From the outside, I would stand on my moral high horse and expect to see him occupy the cell of the man he killed.

The gray area blooms in too many shades of complications. His past combines with his noble intentions, causing me to question the concept of murder where Callen is concerned. My attraction to him and the connection between us blurs each empty color into hazes of soft peach and misty blue. Every other budding hue hides behind the gray as far as my heart is concerned, begging me to see Callen as the man with a beautiful heart I believe him to be.
 

Holding my silence as his therapist,
what a joke,
is professionally acceptable. My standing as a decent citizen, however, would dictate I call in an anonymous tip and allow the justice system to work out the details of his guilt.
 

Complicating the matter even more is my overwhelming attraction to him, both physically and to his stunning intellect. I never imagined a man to be strong on every front, and that he could find his way to me.
 

Callen seems to appreciate my intellect, as well, and is attracted to me as a woman. I know he is. Even if the subtle indicators weren't displayed in his body language, the near-gaping look on his face when I donned my green cocktail dress betrayed his attraction from early on. I finally allow myself to believe the truth of that.
 

 
In his mind, Evelyn has been avenged, leaving him free to pursue me. His heart, however, hasn't processed the fault in his ability to keep his actions in the realm of logic alone. How could I be with him until he comes to peace?

CALLEN

Three days of prison lockdown and chosen isolation end with a call from Stoneridge inviting me back to my office. To keep up appearances, I show up with celebration donuts in my hands.

"I'm almost done here," I smile. "How many more chances will I have to bring you an inappropriate amount of unhealthy food?"

Sentiments of thanks accompany the piranha-like consumption as I make my way easily to my desk. A sense of satisfaction should settle through me, but can't. The three days of isolation has proven one thing: Quinn was right. I have no satisfaction with my kill. At first, I couldn't understand why. Now, however, I understand perfectly: four words.
 

Bennett spoke exactly four words which simply won't leave my brain, and the same four words push my need for further revenge over the edge:
Look close, you jackass
.

The same words explain everything. Until the hit man is caught, Evvie can't rest. Who knows how many innocents that man has killed? Bringing him the same brand of justice is right, and Evvie will finally have peace. I will find closure.

Unfortunately, however, three days of constant self-analysis didn't bring with them any epiphanies where Quinn is involved. I've been walking a thin line between mission point and attraction with her, and I would have tilted toward attraction too soon if she hadn't stopped me. She was spot-on when she called my attempted kiss a reaction to what I did. That moment echoed through my head all three days, as did John Bennett's final taunt. I can't allow those two opposites to mix. I have to finish what I started.

Look close, you jackass
. I silently vow to do exactly that while I finish my few final shifts at the prison. I've long since completed my report, so I use my computer access to the jail's database to cross-reference inmates with the skills and personality to pull off a skilled hit with those who weren't incarcerated at the time of her death. No matter how far I widen the parameters, no one fits the bill.
 

Look close, you jackass.
 

A sick thought wrenches my gut. Close may have nothing to do with proximity, but rather someone close to me in my personal life. I find the concept impossible. None would hurt me this way. My friends are few, and each is loyal. The concept of
close
must have another connotation I'm not aware of.
 

Another few minutes pass before I accept what must be reality. Bennett was determined to torture me with those words, causing me to question my friends' loyalties…and I allowed him to succeed. I guess I am a jackass. I may not believe those words, but they do propel me forward. Close or not, I will find the hit man and dispatch him as efficiently as I did Bennett. The task may be difficult, but I will succeed.