Renegade Alpha (ALPHA 5) (21 page)

“I’ll stay put.” She nodded as she moved up onto her knees. “I just— Take care, Lijah.” She looked up at him in appeal. “Please take care.”

His answer was to give her a brief hard kiss on the lips before he picked up the .44 Magnum from his bedside table and strode across the bedroom, closing the door softly behind him as he stepped out into the hallway.

Callie collected up her nightshirt and quickly pulled it back on before huddling back on the bed, her knees drawn up to her chin in her misery. This was all her fault. If she hadn’t looked directly at Richard Stockton earlier, then maybe—just maybe—he wouldn’t have recognized her.

“Lock the fucking door, Callie!” Lijah instructed harshly from the other side of the door.

She scrambled up onto her feet to hurry across the room on shaky legs before turning the key in the lock with fingers that trembled.

“Disobey me again and I’m going to enjoy warming your backside with my hand when I get back—and not in any way you would enjoy!” Lijah promised impatiently.

Callie leaned her forehead against the locked door as she heard his soft tread moving stealthily down the hallway away from the bedroom.

“Stay in the bedroom and keep away from the window,”
Lijah had told her. How could he expect her do that when he and the other men from Grayson Security were down there in the grounds right now, facing—

What were they facing?

Lijah said they hadn’t been followed from the White House, but was it possible Richard Stockton had tracked them down to Lucien Wynter’s house during the hours since? Was he out there even now, accompanied by those same men who had been with him at the gallery six months ago? The same men who had held her father prisoner after he had been shot by their employer?

Richard Stockton lived a very public life—when he wasn’t robbing and killing people—which meant that he couldn’t just go disappearing off into the night without someone noticing. His wife, at the very least. So perhaps it was just his men who were outside?

Lijah and four men against however many of Richard Stockton’s men. Men who had already shown they weren’t afraid to shoot to kill.

Callie very much doubted that Lijah had that .44 Magnum just for show either. Any more than the other men who worked for Grayson Security all carried guns they didn’t intend using.

She had grown up around guns, had also been taught by her father to have a healthy respect for them. Guns were to be used as a defensive weapon, not an offensive one.

Maybe in the military that was true, but she very much doubted Richard Stockton’s men lived by the same rules.

If Lijah didn’t come back—

Callie froze as she heard the sound of several guns firing outside. Three shots, followed by a return volley of gunfire too rapid for her to be able to count them.

She forgot all about Lijah’s warning as she rushed over to the window and looked out, desperately searching the darkness of the garden and trees for any sign of Lijah or his men.

To her frustration, clouds had now moved in front of the moon, blocking out even that light and making it difficult for her to see anything other than shadows, some of them bushes and trees, some of them men moving stealthily through the darkness.

Lijah and his men or Richard Stockton’s?

Callie had no way of knowing from the confusion outside, and her knees gave way beneath her as she heard another volley of gunfire. She sank slowly onto the carpet beneath the window, placing her hands over her ears in an attempt to block out the noise of the gunfire.

Nothing would ever block out the pain if Lijah was injured. Or worse.

She had known him for what? Forty-eight hours? Just two days. And yet in that short time, he had become an integral part of her life. A necessary part.

Because she knew his sense of honor, his affection for and loyalty to her father, meant he would protect her to his last breath?

Or something else?

Tears burned down Callie’s cheeks as she lowered her hand to between her parted thighs, fingers instantly feeling the sticky evidence of where Lijah had come inside her just a short time ago.

Tangible evidence that Lijah lived.

Or that he
had
lived…

Chapter 15

Callie had no idea how long she sat there in the darkness, cloaked in that misery of heavy uncertainty as to whether Lijah was alive or dead. It could have been minutes or hours. Time seemed to be standing still.

And then the gunfire finally ceased, and she waited for Lijah to return.

And waited.

And waited.

Oh God, he wasn’t coming back. None of Dair Grayson’s men were coming back. They were all dead. All—

Callie forced down the hysteria and rose slowly back to her feet, knowing if that had truly happened, then Richard Stockton’s men might be entering the house even now. Searching for her downstairs.

Before coming up the stairs when they failed to find her down there?

She should have asked Lijah for his spare gun. Should have. Hadn’t.

Which meant she had nothing to fight back with.

Callie stared across at that closed and locked door, knowing the lock would offer very little resistance if anyone was determined to get to her. And if they were willing to shoot their way in here, then they, and Richard Stockton, obviously wanted her very badly. To kill? Or would they take her prisoner, like they had her father, before disposing of her later?

Did it really matter when Michael was dead, her father was dead, and Lijah and Dair Grayson’s men might now also be dead?

Yes, it mattered, damn it!

It mattered because if they were dead, they had all died trying to protect her, and for her not to fight back now would be disrespectful to all of them and the sacrifice they had made to keep her alive.

She straightened her shoulders determinedly before looking about the bedroom for something she could use to fight back with. This was Lijah’s bedroom, and he had brought all the bags up earlier from the car. Maybe he had another gun in his bag she could use—

Ah-ha. There, on the dressing table. Another small-caliber pistol like the one he carried in his boot. It wouldn’t do too much damage from a distance, but close to…!

Callie checked that the pistol was loaded before holding it in her right hand, familiarizing herself with the feel and weight of it ready for firing.

If those men wanted her, they could come and get her, but she wasn’t about to go quietly.

“Callie?” A soft knock on the door accompanied the calling of her name.

Callie stood unmoving, the pistol in her hand aimed at the closed door, the softness of that voice making it difficult for her to tell whether it was Lijah’s voice or someone else’s. Someone possibly trying to trick her into believing it was him so that she unlocked the door and saved them the trouble of kicking it in.

“Callie, open this fucking door!” A clenched fist now pounded on the closed door.

Her breath left her in a shaky sigh of relief as she lowered the gun to rest against her thigh at the realization it was definitely an impatient Lijah on the other side of that door.

“You really don’t want to put me to the trouble of breaking this down—” Lijah broke off his threat as he heard the key turning in the lock before the door swung open. “Oomph!” He staggered backward and hit the wall behind him as a white-faced Callie launched herself at him. “Jesus, you weigh a lot more than you look!” he complained, his arms going around her and his hands cupped her bare ass when she wrapped her legs about his waist.

“I thought you were dead!” Callie gasped, clinging to him and showering his face with kisses. “You were gone so long, I thought you were all dead!” She moved back to give him a watery smile.

He grimaced. “One of Wynter’s neighbors reported hearing gunfire, I’ve spent the last ten minutes convincing the MPD—Metropolitan Police Department for the District of Columbia,” he enlarged dryly, “what the neighbors heard was just a couple of drunken buddies shooting at tin cans. They weren’t happy, but this is Lucien Wynter’s estate, and we’re obviously all guests of his, so they let it go with a warning to keep the noise down.”

“Was it Richard Stockton’s men?”

“There were six of them, and they piled into an SUV and drove away the moment we all saw the police lights flashing as their car came up the hill,” Lijah continued briskly as he saw Callie wasn’t about to be fobbed off with his attempt at levity. “But yes, I’d say it was a pretty good guess that Stockton sent them.”

“Are the others okay?”

“All good.” Lijah nodded. “I think a couple of Stockton’s men might be seriously injured, but I doubt they’re going to report it to the police any time soon.”

“I’m just so glad you’re all alive!” Callie’s arms tightened about his neck.

“That makes two of us,” Lijah drawled, walking into the bedroom still holding her in his arms, kicking the door shut behind him. He flicked on the switch that turned on the two muted wall lights behind the bed. “Callie, is that a loaded pistol you’re waving about behind my head?” His eyes narrowed.

“This?” She held the gun up in front of his face.

“Jesus Christ, Callie!” He wrested the pistol out of her hand before placing it out of harm’s way on the bed. “Are you trying to finish what Stockton’s men started?”

“I was going to use it to defend— What do you mean?” she prompted sharply. “Are you injured? Have you been shot?” she gasped.

“It’s just a flesh wound—”

“Where?” She pulled back completely at the same time as she lowered her feet to the floor and struggled to be released from his arms. “Where were you shot?” She looked him over critically.

“If I tell you it’s on my ass, will you offer to kiss it better?” Lijah gave her a challenging grin.

Her eyes narrowed. “You really don’t want to play with me right now. I’m a woman on the edge, and there’s a loaded pistol in the room,” she reminded him.

His grin turned to a chuckle and then a full-blown laugh. Callie stood maybe five inches over five feet tall, and for all his teasing a minute ago, she probably only weighed half as much as he did. He doubted that she
and
the loaded pistol combined could do him too much damage.

Although that warning glint in her eyes told him he would be wise not to take the risk…

“Something amusing you, Mr. Smith?” she challenged.

Any more wise than explaining the reason for his humor. “A bullet grazed the back of my hand, that’s all. It’s fine, Callie.” He gave a wince as she instantly made a grab for his bandaged hand. “Jonas cleaned it up and put on the bandage once we’d gotten rid of the police.” Lijah had kept his bleeding hand in his jeans pocket during their conversation, adding to his discomfort. But he didn’t need to tell Callie that when she was already upset and, as she so succinctly put it, “on the edge.”

Callie stared down at that bandage. Physical evidence that Lijah and his men had been involved in a gunfight this evening. It was one thing to hear gunfire, something else completely to see the physical evidence of it.

“I know of a good way to take off some of that edge,” Lijah murmured as he moved purposefully toward her.

Callie stood her ground as she eyed him challengingly. “What did you have in mind?”

“Take your nightshirt off and get on the bed, and I’ll show you.” He continued to stalk toward her, a heated recklessness in the darkness of his eyes.

Callie knew that look, knew the air of recklessness was caused by the gun battle. She felt that same heat after the last half hour of waiting to see if Lijah lived. It had been more frightening than anything she had ever suffered through before.

More so than Michael being shot and killed?

More than the worry over her father and then finding him only to lose him again, forever?

Yes!

She had cared for Michael and loved her father dearly, but if Lijah died— She couldn’t even bear the thought of it. He was too vital, too immediate, too
Lijah
for her to survive losing him to death too.

Even so, she couldn’t resist challenging him a little. “The bed where the gun is?”

He gave a slow, confident smile. “I’ll wrestle you for it.”

“I wouldn’t want to take advantage of an injured man,” she came back mockingly.

“Get on the bed naked, and I’ll show you just how injured I am,” he drawled softly.

He was standing so close, Callie could
smell
him: sweat, hot male, with an underlying odor of sex. Which, she realized belatedly, was probably coming from her, considering she hadn’t had a chance to wash or shower since they last made love together. She had been too busy worrying about whether or not Lijah would come back at all, let alone want to have sex again.

And she didn’t care to do anything about it now either, wanted Lijah as much as he wanted her. It didn’t matter why. An adrenaline high. An affirmation of life. Didn’t matter. She wanted this, wanted Lijah.

She held his gaze as her hands moved to the bottom of her nightshirt before lifting it up and over her head and throwing it on the floor, completely un-self-conscious in her nakedness.