Theirs to Cherish

Chapter Twenty

DAWN began to break over the lake, mountains reaching toward the sky and still hiding the golden orb of the sun. Light leaked over the peaks, and everything looked so peaceful. Callie knew this day would likely be hell.

In a perfect world, they would find a car and drive quietly to the Vegas FBI field office and call Sean’s boss. They would look at all the evidence, know that she wasn’t guilty of murder while figuring out who was. Then authorities would arrest the person or people, and she could start actually living again.

But her life had never been perfect. Whether Sean said it or not, she was expecting the worst. And even if the danger never came, Thorpe would still go.

Either way, she was going to lose today.

Sean docked the boat in furious silence, glaring occasionally at Thorpe who stood two feet behind her—a silent sentinel. All their bags sat at her feet. No one said a word.

The houseboat dipped toward the shore, nudging the rubber bumper on the dock before sliding into place. Sean killed the engine and leapt out to tie the boat off. As soon as it was secure, he approached and slung her backpack over his shoulder. Then he picked up his own, gave Thorpe’s bags a pointed glower, took her hand, and led her ashore.

Nothing could have said more eloquently that Sean no longer considered Thorpe a partner. Callie stared over her shoulder at Thorpe’s stony face as he grabbed his briefcase and followed.

“I’ve already called Werner. He should be here with his truck any minute. He’s agreed to take us to the outskirts of the city. We can take a taxi from there,” Sean told her.

“Let me call Elijah,” Thorpe argued. “It’s possible that his Jeep is still in that Walmart parking lot. It’s only been thirty-six hours.”

“I don’t want your help,” Sean snarled.

“But you need it until Callie is safe. It’s not smart to wait on the street corner for a taxi like an easy target.”

Sean looked like he was weighing his rage against his common sense. “Fine. Call him.”

Thorpe stepped aside and withdrew his burner phone, turning away. Within seconds, he was having a low-voiced conversation Callie couldn’t hear. She could feel Sean seethe as he started down the dirt road, waiting for the houseboat owner to fetch them.

“Don’t do this. He’s got demons bigger than you can ever imagine.” She sent him an imploring stare. “Just let it go. For me?”

“He hurt you. I thought he would help heal you, but he’s leaving a gaping hole in your heart.”

“I’ll be fine,” she assured. “It won’t break me or kill me. It will always hurt some; I won’t lie. But you and I? We’ll be happy. We’ll find a way.”

Tight-lipped, Sean turned his attention back to the wide cement road and the pair of headlights bobbing up and down as a pickup truck traveled over the slightly uneven surface. Thorpe ended his call and joined them.

The old man stopped the truck near the dock and hopped out with an unexpectedly spry step. “Throw your bags in the back and tell me where you want to go. We should make it fast. Some military types were in my office yesterday asking about you. I told them I didn’t know anything, pushy bastards. But I’m not sure I’ve seen the last of them.”

Fear struck deep and hard in Callie’s heart. She and Sean exchanged a glance, then she looked over at Thorpe, who wore his resolution like armor. Neither would let anything happen to her; they’d give up their lives first. And no way was she going down without a fight. She was going to finally start living—or die.

“How many? What did they look like?” Sean asked.

“Two guys. One older, one younger. They both wore some fancy-shmancy uniform with the stupid little French hats.”

The fear became terror. “You mean berets?”

“Were the uniforms a gray-blue?” Thorpe asked.

Werner looked between the two of them. “Yeah.”

Sean put his arm around her and did his best to calm her. Her enemies were close and closing in. She wanted to be brave and face this down—and she would. But she couldn’t seem to stop trembling.

“Let’s go.” He shepherded her toward the truck.

As soon as they’d tossed their luggage in the back, Callie followed the guys to the passenger door and took hold of her backpack. She couldn’t risk damaging the egg or losing the SD card tucked inside again. That disc was the key to her future. They’d looked for a way to copy the file or backup the information somewhere else, just in case. But short of saving it on Werner’s hard drive, they hadn’t found the means. There had been no Internet or any other storage device on board.

Werner slipped into the driver’s seat. Thorpe folded his tall frame in on the other side, sliding to the middle of the bench seat. His knees damn near folded against his chest. He had nowhere else to put them.

Looking like he’d rather eat dirt, Sean climbed in beside him until they sat with their broad shoulders squeezed together and their thighs pressed close. He pretended like Thorpe didn’t exist and put her backpack on the floorboard between his feet, then reached down a hand to help her. “Come up. Sit on my lap.”

She braced her foot on the running board and climbed in, doing her best to perch on Sean’s thighs. Curling up against his chest, she found her senses pelted by the two men she loved. Their scents blended, the press of their bodies quickly warming the cab on this chilly morning. She’d missed that so much as she’d tried to sleep last night.

Callie wondered if this was the last time she’d feel remotely whole.

As soon as Sean managed to shut the passenger door, Werner took off, driving into the glorious sunrise spreading across the Nevada desert. It looked expansive and calm. Best of all, there was no way anyone could follow them clandestinely out here, in the middle of nowhere. There was no place to hide. So Callie tried to sink into the moment and push all the angst and worry aside. None of it would help her today. But it kept crowding in. By the time she laid her head down tonight to sleep, everything would likely be different.

Or she’d be dead.

“Elijah says his Jeep is still at the Walmart,” Thorpe offered. “He was waiting for his wife to return before he went out there, and that won’t be for another few days. He says its ours for the duration if we need it.”

Sean didn’t say a word, just nodded. She really wished he wouldn’t be so angry, and she suspected it wasn’t totally about Thorpe hurting her. He’d been hurt, too.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

“Least I could do,” Thorpe answered with a wealth of meaning behind his words.

The rest of the drive was silent. Traffic was minimal this early in the morning. Soon, the roads would be hopping with commuters, but for now, they reached the big-box chain store with barely a stoplight to obstruct them.

Once in the parking lot, they fished the keys from the magnetic holder behind the wheel well and shoved most of their bags from the truck into the back of the Jeep. Sean jumped in the driver’s seat, watching the parking lot all around them for any activity. But it was dead empty, save for a few employees. Callie gestured Thorpe to the front, then crawled in the back with her pack, wishing she could curl up and sleep. She hadn’t all last night, even when Sean had drifted off with his arms around her protectively. She’d missed having the other half of her soul beside her.

What she wouldn’t give for everything to be different with Thorpe and for today to turn out right . . .

Sean looked at her in the backseat. “I’m hoping we can drive straight to the field office here and walk you in to see the SAC.”

“SAC?” she asked.

“Special Agent in Charge. Once we do that, we’ll call back to the Dallas office and—”

Thorpe’s phone rang. They all froze. No one calling him at six-thirty in the morning was going to be trying to reach him for a friendly chat.

“Who is it?” Sean barked.

“Logan.”

“Put him on speaker.”

Thorpe frowned, then did what Sean demanded. “Hey, man. What you got?”

“A little more information, and none of it gives me a warm fuzzy. Elijah was finally able to send me a security image of the dude trolling for Callie at the airport . . . How is she, by the way?”

She smiled. Callie knew firsthand that Logan packed a hell of a wallop when he spanked a girl’s ass, but he had also proven to be a friend through and through. “I’m fine. Thanks. You and Tara?”

“All good. Don’t worry about us. The guy at the airport, hun? His name is James Whitney. Does that ring a bell?”

“Not at all.” She’d never heard it in her life. “Should it?”

“I wasn’t sure. Tara did some digging, but is having a tough time finding much. He’s twenty-nine and from some little-ass town in Alabama. An Iraq War vet. He came home to find his wife and kid had left. Between his PTSD and his antigovernment ravings, most of his neighbors thought he was a loose cannon. He was arrested for drunk and disorderly and unlawful possession of a handgun, but the charges didn’t stick. About three years ago, he dropped off the grid. There are rumors that he’s joined some group of mercenaries. That’s all I’ve got now. But there’s something here. I can feel it.”

Callie drew in a deep breath. Why would this James Whitney want anything to do with her? He had barely been much older than her when her family had been killed. “I don’t understand.”

“I don’t, either. But there’s an answer here. We’ll keep looking. Do you need anything else?”

“No, thanks.” There was nothing Logan could do for her from Lafayette.

“I do, Edgington,” Sean spoke up. “Sean Mackenzie here.”

“Name it.”

“If my sub ever comes to you again wanting to disappear, politely refer her back to me.”

Logan cleared his throat. “I was trying to help. I didn’t have all the info. Sorry, man.”

With that, they ended the call. Sean drove northeast as Callie tried not to nibble on a ragged nail and imagine the worst.

“There are a million pieces to this puzzle and I don’t get it,” she said finally, her voice tight with encroaching panic.

“I don’t know why this Whitney character would be hunting you down in the Vegas airport. But if he was wearing the same uniform as the older man who came to your house just before your father’s murder, they might be in league together,” Sean mused. “After all, Werner just said that two uniforms visited him, one old, one young.”

“That’s what I was thinking,” Thorpe popped in. “And if they’re related to some sort of mercenary group, maybe they wanted Aslanov’s research to make themselves better or something like that.”

Yeah, that made sense in a warped way. “But to kill innocent men, women, and children?”

“Greed does strange things to people, lovely,” Sean pointed out. “I’ve been a criminal investigator for a decade. I’ve seen some terrible instances of that.”

How fucking tragic. Her father had only tried to do something good for the world and instead, he set off a chain of murders, including his own, and set her life on its ear.

“How long will it take the FBI to read everything on the SD card, investigate, and arrest people? Weeks? Months?”

Sean didn’t answer.

“Years?”

“We don’t know where it will lead, Callie. You’ll be free from any implication.” He paused. “It’s possible you may be put in Witness Protection. If that happens, I’ll go with you.”

Callie’s heart stopped. She had spent a decade being someone else. She didn’t want that anymore. The time had finally come to be Callindra Howe again, to put her family’s memory to rest. To live the life her mother had hoped for her.

And if the federal government put her into hiding . . . She watched movies and read books. Callie already knew that she’d never be allowed to contact Thorpe again. That would put them both in danger.

“No. There’s got to be another way. I won’t do it. I’d rather die.”

Sean gaped at her from the rearview mirror. Thorpe turned around and glared.

“I won’t let you do that,” Sean snapped.

“I have to second that,” Thorpe added.

They gave one another a wary stare before Sean snapped his gaze back to the road. Traffic was beginning to pick up as rush hour began and they drove closer to the heart of the city.

“Do you know anyone trustworthy in the Vegas office you can call?” Thorpe asked. “Let them know we’re coming in. Or better yet, maybe they can send someone to escort us, just in case.”

Sean’s face tightened. “The agents I worked with a couple of years ago have been reassigned or retired. I’m not sure who I can trust.”

“You’ve had questions about the decisions in the Dallas office,” Thorpe conceded. “But does that necessarily mean that someone here is keeping secrets?”

“Maybe not . . . but I can’t say for sure.”

“But we already know that killers are hot on our tail from Werner,” Callie argued. “No one in the FBI will shoot us dead.”

“No,” Sean agreed. “But there are worse things than being shot. That’s what worries me.”

“You mean if someone is dirty?” Thorpe looked tense and pensive.

“Yeah. But it’s possible I’m being paranoid.” He sighed. “I’ve got an escape route if we need it, so I’ll call.”

Sean pulled off the road into a fast-food restaurant’s parking lot. As commuters started wrapping around the building in their vehicles, waiting for liquid caffeine and fortification, he drove to the edge of the lot and kept the engine running. “Wait here.”

He jumped out with his phone in both hands, staring intently at the screen and dialing something. A moment later, he pressed the phone to his ear. The conversation lasted less than thirty seconds. Then Sean was running back to the car. He tossed his phone onto the asphalt, and it splintered into a dozen pieces.

Callie gasped. “What the . . . ?”

He peeled out of the parking lot and swerved back onto the freeway, cutting off a little subcompact. “As soon as I identified myself, the SAC took the phone. That shouldn’t happen. He demanded that I bring you in, Callie. I won’t do it.”

Her heart caught in her throat. “Like he wants to arrest me?”

“He called it ‘questioning,’ but something is off. He asked what we’d been doing in Vegas for the last thirty-six hours. He knew you were with me. He knew I’d shopped at that Walmart and that we’d taken a taxi from there. Which means he may even know we’re in this Jeep.” Sean weaved in and out of the swelling traffic. “I tossed my phone so that he couldn’t trace that signal anymore, just in case they’re locked on to it.”

“Should I do the same?” Thorpe asked.

“Can’t hurt.” Sean nodded tightly.

Thorpe rolled down the window and dumped it onto the freeway without hesitation. “Now what?”

“Our one saving grace was that they hadn’t been able to find out from the cab company exactly where they’d taken us. They were still doing paperwork to obtain the information. We have to ditch this Jeep and find another cab.”

“Then we should probably head back toward the Strip,” Thorpe suggested.

“Yeah.”

Mouth pressed together tensely, Sean switched lanes and followed the signs toward the touristy section of Vegas. “It will probably take twenty or thirty minutes or so from here. Depends on the traffic.”

“Once we get a cab, where are we going then?” Callie asked. “It’s all fine and dandy to disappear into anonymous transportation, but where do we tell him to drive us if not the field office? Local police?”

“No,” Sean said immediately. “The SAC will just swoop in and claim jurisdiction, then we’ll be right back to where we started. There’s got to be another way to get you free. Who else wants the information on that disc?”

Callie sat back in the seat, trying not to let panic overwhelm her. If Sean didn’t know where to turn, she feared they were doomed. “Maybe Logan could get paperwork for us to leave the country.”

“I’m worried that if the killers tracked us to Lake Mead, they can follow us anywhere. The way they’re operating, I don’t think they have boundaries. They’ll go wherever and do whatever for that remaining research.”

“But you said my father burned it.”

“We know that,” Thorpe reminded. “They don’t.”

“So if we find a way to convey that the research doesn’t exist anymore, maybe they will leave me alone?” That sounded awfully optimistic, but Callie still hoped deep down that Sean believed it, too.

“No,” he scoffed. “You still know something about these people and what they want. You still have enough evidence to suggest they killed your family and the Aslanovs. And you’re the only eyewitness who can tie both Whitney and the older bastard he’s working with to this conspiracy. They will kill you in a heartbeat to bury their skeletons.”

He was right. Callie fought to breathe. She wouldn’t die for greed, for research that didn’t exist anymore, to keep a dirty secret.

Then a solution hit her—so simple and effective. She grabbed her backpack and tore into it, pulling out her cosmetics case. “As soon as we find a taxi, I think I know where to go.”

SEAN began to wonder if Callie was out of her mind. She was in the backseat getting all dolled up, carefully applying mascara with a hand mirror, then teasing and smoothing her hair with a small brush.

“You look beautiful, lovely, but I don’t think now is the time to worry about all this.”

A glance to his right showed that Thorpe looked as confused as he did.

“It’s the perfect time. I’m going to make a big splash.” She dug into her backpack and pulled out some black leggings and a simple V-neck shirt in red. She shimmied out of her old clothes and into the new, then exchanged her tennis shoes for some black sandals.

Somehow, she made clothes that had been rumpled into a ball five minutes ago look perfect.

“Why?” Thorpe demanded. “What do you have planned in that mischievous head of yours?”

Callie shook her head. “I’m still working out the details. Get me to a taxi. You’ll see.”

“You should clue me in. After all, I have some experience at eluding bad guys,” Sean said ironically.

“I’ve put my trust in you for the last thirty-six hours. Now it’s time for you to do the same for me.”

Sighing and grumbling, Sean continued heading northwest, toward downtown. Traffic was definitely picking up now that it was after seven a.m. They slowed to the speed he’d drive on a residential street as he headed north on I-515. Fucking mess.

Ten minutes to go, max. Then they could disappear into a cab, get lost in a sea of humanity, and hopefully whatever the devil was in Callie’s head would save the day.

Another glance in the rearview mirror alarmed him. A black sedan two cars back and to the right. They’d picked it up a few minutes ago—along with a lot of other cars. But this one . . . every time he switched lanes, so did the sedan.

With the hair at the back of his neck standing up, Sean slowed down. It wasn’t hard with this many cars. The lane of traffic beside him was moving a tad faster. But the black sedan slowed, too.

Growling a curse, Sean changed lanes again, getting directly in front of the dark car. He glanced in the rearview mirror, hoping to see someone blabbing on the phone, a woman putting on her mascara, or someone reading their texts—anything that said this driver wasn’t really paying attention to them. Instead, he saw two men in an unfamiliar bluish uniform, one fancier than the other. He tensed.

“What is it?” Thorpe asked.

Sean didn’t really want to talk to him, but Thorpe was another gun and more muscle. He needed that more than resentment now. “We’ve got company. Callie, have you worked out your plan?”

“I need to make a phone call. Neither of you has a phone anymore?”

“They’re destroyed.” Thorpe looked grim.

“Keep getting to the taxi. I’ll figure out how to make this work.”

An exit appeared on the right. He sped up and put on his blinker, pretending that he intended to change to the fast lane on the left. At the last moment, he jerked the wheel right, cutting off an SUV, then bumped onto the off-ramp, flooring it.

The other car hit the brakes, tires screeching, then followed them off the ramp.

“Fuck,” Thorpe said, turning to look out the back windshield.

That summed it up. Sean navigated the traffic, dodging cars, changing lanes, screaming through a yellow light to try to lose their tail.

The black sedan simply ran the red and continued on, firing a semiautomatic out the window.

“Jesus, they could kill anyone!” Sean cursed, thankful that the bullets had missed. “We should hit the Strip soon. If I can’t shake this tail, we won’t have time to retrieve our luggage from the back. Callie, hand Thorpe your backpack. As soon as I stop the Jeep, everyone bail out and run.”

In the backseat, Callie gave him a nod. Besides lushing up her lashes with mascara, she’d rimmed her bright blue eyes in her signature black liner. Her eyes stood out in her pale face, broken only by the red gloss on her lips. Now wasn’t the time to notice how damn beautiful she was, but he couldn’t help it. She looked especially lovely with her delicate face full of determination. Hell, he really was madly in love.

As Sean raced down Tropicana Avenue, he also realized that finding a quick place to ditch the Jeep on the Strip might be tough. Time to improvise.

Sean hung a right onto Las Vegas Boulevard the second he could, grateful that traffic wasn’t too heavy. When he saw the street sign for Las Vegas Boulevard, he hung a sharp right onto the edge of the Strip. A screech of tires behind told him the sedan was doing its best to follow suit.

“Where the hell are you going?” Thorpe barked.

“Looking for a place to lose the Jeep and pick up a cab,” he said grimly.

Thankfully, the traffic in the tourist areas wasn’t as heavy at this hour. Random cars and the occasional cab drifted by. Some hungover partiers were doing the walk of shame back to their hotels.

The grandeur of the Bellagio jumped out at him, the famous fountain show idle this early in the morning. He floored it down the relatively empty side street leading to the hotel, past the standing streetlamps meant to be charming. Through the back passenger window, he caught a glimpse of the fake Eiffel Tower that always made him roll his eyes—and the black sedan heading toward the curve to follow him, about thirty seconds behind. At least they had stopped shooting for now.

He roared under the canopy and glanced to his right, past the topiaries. A few idling taxies, a shuttle bus full of spent revelers leaving for the airport, and some members of the valet staff milling around.

The second the car came to a shuddering stop, they all jumped out and slammed the doors.

Sean threw the keys at a valet attendant and flashed his badge. “Emergency. I’ll be back. Park it now!”

“Yes, sir,” the young man answered.

He gripped Callie’s hand as they ran toward the hotel, searching the line of taxis and praying that his instincts were right. Bingo! Away from the line of vehicles for hire he spotted a taxi with its light off and an older man napping in the front seat. He pounded on the window.

The man started and adjusted his ball cap with a glower. “Can’t you read? I’m off duty.”

“It’s life or death. Please.” Callie pressed her face to the glass and she might have thrust her breasts a bit closer to the window, too.

As Sean flashed his badge he wanted to gnash his teeth, but at least the guy wasn’t scowling anymore.

“There’s a thousand dollars in cash if you get us out of here in the next ten seconds.” Thorpe reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of bills. “And keep yourself off duty.”

The driver straightened up and unlocked the doors. They all piled in as the cabbie peeled out.

“Where am I going?” he asked.

Sean looked at Callie, who crawled down to the floorboard. He didn’t want to think about how filthy it was down there, but to her credit, she didn’t blink once, just put their safety above possible germs. In order to conceal himself, he had to slink low in the seat and bow his head. Thorpe reclined, propping himself up on his elbow against the lumpy upholstery. Hopefully, they were hidden enough so that anyone driving by wouldn’t notice them.

“Where’s the nearest TV station?” she asked the driver.

“What?” Thorpe howled at her. “You’re going to the press?”

“Oh, lovely,” Sean began with a note of warning. “I don’t think—”

“Hear me out. The egg can prove my identity. Because so few still exist, the owners of all the remaining pieces can be verified. What’s on the SD card can prove that I’m not guilty of anything. It cuts through the red tape and BS. No going back into hiding.”

“You’re making yourself a bigger target,” Sean protested.

“I’m not.” She shook her head, her dark hair covering her shoulders and brushing her arms. “Whoever’s been looking for me wants the part of the research that no longer exists. We go public with the fact that my father burned it. And whoever offed everyone else and is after me now wants to keep their dirty deeds a secret. By exposing it all, killing me doesn’t bury anything anymore. It only draws attention to their misdeeds. Once the world knows I’m alive and what’s happened . . .”

“There will be a media frenzy,” Thorpe finished for her. “You’ll have such a spotlight on you, they won’t dare.”

“Exactly.”

“That’s damn clever.” Sean couldn’t help but smile at her. “Lovely minx.”

“So where’s that TV station?” she asked the cabbie, who looked totally confused by their conversation.

“Less than a mile up the road. It’s KSNV, the NBC affiliate. Will that do?”

“Perfect.” Relief made her entire face glow. “The Today show should be on. It’s got a great viewership.”

“Word should travel fast,” Thorpe agreed.

Sean wanted to pound the wistful expression off the other man’s face and tell him that if he adored Callie so much, he should fucking stay. But no sense in arguing now. Sean had to focus on shielding her from the coming media storm. But he had no doubt he’d wish now and then that Thorpe had pulled his head out of his ass before it had come to good-bye.

“Um . . . that’s great and all,” the driver interjected, “but I think someone is following us. Black sedan?”

Sean resisted the urge to peek through the back windshield to verify. Damn it, how had these goons figured out their escape route so quickly? Why couldn’t they shake these assholes?

“Act like there’s nothing wrong. See if you can get him to pass us. Confuse him by taking a circular route to the TV station. Anything.”

The car slowed for a moment, and the cabbie seemed to change lanes. He pulled out a smoke and fished around for his lighter. As soon as he found it, he dropped it and stomped on the gas pedal.

“What’s going on?” Sean demanded.

“I don’t think there’s going to be any fooling the guys in the black sedan. They’ve got guns!”

And they were tenacious. A second later, a loud bang resounded, and the back window on the passenger’s side shattered. Thorpe reacted quickly, covering Callie’s body with his own.

Sean drew the Glock he’d been hiding in the waistband holster tucked inside his jeans and peeked out the open window. “Slow down so I can get a shot.”

“What the fuck?” The man’s gray brows slashed down in the rearview mirror. “I’m not aiding a murder, pal.”

“I’ve got a badge, remember? I’m FBI, protecting a witness. Now slow down so I can get a damn shot. If you don’t and we somehow manage to live, I’ll arrest your ass.”

“Fucking do what he said!” Thorpe barked.

Sean waited as the driver eased off the gas. The sedan roared up to their side again.

“As soon as I say so, take the next right and floor it. Got it?”

The cabdriver nodded excitedly. “I always wanted to do this. It looks cool in the movies.”

Trying not to roll his eyes, Sean inched up and aimed his weapon out the window. He fired off a couple of shots, hitting the side of the car, but not the passenger or driver. That shit only happened in the movies. But even if they turned right suddenly, Sean didn’t think it was going to be enough to prevent the attackers from pursuing. He needed to try again.

“Keep her on the floor and covered.” He barked at Thorpe as he slammed back against the seat.

“I’ve got your back,” Thorpe vowed.

Not always, but now wasn’t the time to worry about tomorrow.

“Just a little farther,” he told the old man at the steering wheel. “At the parking lot on the other side of the upcoming intersection, turn in. Don’t signal, just do it.”

“Got it.”

“What’s your name?” Sean asked.

“Bob.” He gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles. “Maybe I’ll get to be on the news?”

“Yeah, maybe.” Sean nearly shook his head. “Ready?”

“Yep.”

As they soared through the green light and just past the black car, he took another shot and hit the windshield. It splintered, caving in on the pair of mercenaries.

Bob jerked the car right, and it bounced into the parking lot. He dodged a hatchback swinging into the parking lot.

The sedan locked up its brakes and tried to turn right in front of the far lane of traffic. Tires screeched. A pickup truck hit the car’s back panel on the passenger side with a cringeworthy metallic crunch. Sean twisted around to look through the back windshield. The sedan was almost backward in the intersection. The truck ground to a halt, along with several of the cars behind them, and blocked the intersection. The sedan was trapped.

A bystander got out to check on the people involved in the accident. The driver of the sedan, the older asswipe in uniform, rolled down his window and started shouting, gesturing wildly for everyone to get out of his way.

The back window on the driver’s side of the car eased down. Out came the gun again. People screamed and dropped to the ground.

“Floor it!” Sean told Bob. “Get us to that fucking TV station now.”

They made a right and left the scene of the accident—and their pursuers—behind. Sean breathed a sigh of relief.

“We did it!” Bob roared as he cruised down a side street.

“Is it safe now?” Callie asked under Thorpe.

“I think.” Sean tapped Thorpe on the shoulder. “You, ease up. But be prepared, just in case.”

Thorpe nodded and lifted away from Callie, but helped her up from the tight wedge of the floorboard, clutching her hand in his and drawing it closer to his chest. She looked so pale, it scared him.

Sean grabbed her chin. “Breathe, lovely. Don’t pass out on me.”

She shook her head and drew in a deep breath. “I’m good. I swear.”

He wasn’t convinced, but before he could question her further, Bob was pulling up into a parking lot, past a giant carport, heading for a nondescript off-white building with a big blue News 3 sign jutting from the flat roof. He brought the car to a grinding halt in a reserved spot with a big grin on his face.

Bouncing against the backseat, Thorpe thrust into his pocket and extracted Bob’s money. Sean grabbed his wrist and counted out half, then gave it to Bob. “Stay here and idling for a few minutes. Once we know it’s safe, one of us will give you the rest.”

“Whew! You got it.” Bob grinned. “That was a rush!”

Sean just hoped the station would talk to Callie, and he wouldn’t be here for the cabbie’s adrenaline crash. He opened the door and leapt out, reaching for Callie. She piled out, and Thorpe followed. All together, they ran for the doors. A security guard stopped them immediately inside the cool white linoleum lobby.

“Do you have an appointment?” the cop-in-a-box asked.

“We’d like to see whoever is in charge of the news,” Callie said with her sweetest smile.

The thirtysomething guy looked at her like he’d rather ask her out than turn her down, but he still shook his head. “The news director is a busy man. You’ll have to make an appointment and come back.”

“We will give him the biggest news story of his career.”

“He’s heard that before and—”

“Put him on the phone with me,” Callie pleaded earnestly. “I’ll convince him.”

“I’ve got strict orders not to disturb him.”

Sean had reached his limit and fished out his badge. “FBI. He’ll see us.”

The security guard stepped back, looking from him, then to Callie, before scoping out Thorpe. Finally, his gaze settled on the glinting shield in Sean’s hand.

“I’ll call him,” the guard said.

“Thank you for your cooperation.” Sean wondered if the man heard the irony in his tone.

Less than a minute later, the news director appeared. A portly man with a shock of gray hair, he had a weathered look that said he’d not only seen decades’ worth of news, but lived it.

“Roger Coachman.” The man thrust out his hand at Sean. “What can I do for you?”

“It’s what you can do for her.” He gestured to Callie.

The news director turned his attention to her with a practiced smile, looking a bit impatient.

“I’m sure you’re busy, so I’ll get to the point. Is there somewhere we can talk privately? I think I have a story that will interest you.”

“Sure. We can talk in my office.”

As Coachman led them toward the secure area of the building, Sean turned back to the security guard. “You never saw us.”

The man nodded, his expression a bit like a child denied a treat. Clearly, he was curious about Callie and her story. He’d find out soon enough if this went well.

The man escorted them down some halls. People in suits bustled about. An older blonde wearing a headset paced, brushed past them like she was on a mission. In the distance, a phone pealed with a loud ring.

As soon as the news director led them into his office, Callie sat in one of the chairs opposite his desk. Sean sat beside her, while Thorpe closed the door and lounged against the wall behind them.

“So, young lady, you have a story? I can’t promise that I’ll put it on the news, but I’ll listen.”

Only because Sean had flashed a badge, and that annoyed him. He understood the guy probably saw crackpots, but . . .

“No, you’ll put me on in the next five minutes, or I’ll be forced to take the story elsewhere.”

Coachman laughed. “I can’t do that. We’re on network feed from New York for another few hours. We only get short breaks for local traffic and weather every so often.”

Callie shook her head. “Call the network. They’ll want this story, too. Everyone will.”

“Does your dog talk or something?” he asked, his tone a bit patronizing. “Did the mold in your bathroom tub grow into the shape of the Virgin Mary, Miss . . .”

She stood. “If you’re not even going to listen to me or try to take me seriously, I won’t bother you anymore. Remember that I tried to give you a story that will put you on the map internationally as a hard-hitting journalist.”

As Callie started for the door, Sean grabbed her wrist, wondering again if she was out of her mind. The street was too dangerous until this story broke.

She whirled on him and flashed him a sharp stare, but he couldn’t mistake the calculating gleam in her eye. Thorpe grinned.

“No. Please sit,” Coachman invited. “Sorry, but you have to understand how often I hear that someone has an important story, and it’s usually nothing newsworthy.”

Callie played reluctant before she settled back into her seat. “This should be a top headline across the country, maybe even the world. Promise me you’ll call the network if I’ve sufficiently piqued your interest and get us on ASAP.”

He shrugged his big, soft shoulders, rustling his navy coat. “Sure. If they’ll take it.”

She simply smiled. “Thank you. They will. Now let’s get down to business, Mr. Coachman. I’m Callindra Howe and I can prove it. I can also prove that I didn’t kill my father.”

The news director’s bushy gray brows rose and he leaned forward, elbow braced against his desk. His jaw looked like it might hit there as well. “You . . . You’re . . . Wow. Okay, I’m listening.”

Quite intently, too. Sean watched the man’s reaction with satisfaction.

Flashing the older man a winning smile, Callie dug into her backpack and pulled out her mother’s Fabergé egg.

LESS than ten minutes later, Callie shooed away the hair and makeup artist hovering around her. Predictably, the network had gobbled up her story. Coachman stared at her like she was a cross between a ghost and a mega celebrity. The local morning news anchor trembled and fumbled with his papers. His slightly terrified expression hinted that he might pee his pants.

She shared his nerves. The next ten minutes would determine if she could be herself again and finally start living. If everything went well during this interview, she’d get to share her tomorrows with a wonderful man she loved. As they did a last-minute camera check, Callie smiled at Sean. He gave her an encouraging nod. Thorpe stood beside Sean, looking both stony and proud.

Damn it all, she was going to miss him.

“Ms. Howe, can I get you anything?” Coachman’s assistant asked, staring. “Coffee? Tea? Water?”

“No, thank you.”

“So you’ve been on the run for almost ten years,” the anchor said. “What was that like?”

Terrible. Scary. Frustrating. But in an odd way, a blessing. She would never have grown this much spine or met these two wonderful men otherwise. “As soon as we go on air, I’ll tell you.”

The station returned from commercial, and the network anchor in New York had been patched through, just waiting for them to go live with the breaking story. Callie drew in a deep breath as they finished the last of the audio checks. Finally, the director cued them on air.

And the questions began from the national anchor. She recounted being shot at, then betrayed by Holden, skipping towns, finding a safe haven in Dallas with Thorpe, then running from Agent Mackenzie, only for the two of them to find her again and help her discover the evidence she needed to go public.

“I owe them my life,” she said softly. “I share a very special bond with them both.”

Let everyone read between the lines. They’d dig and find out that she’d lived in a fet club and fallen for its Dungeon Master. They’d probably even uncover that she wore Sean’s collar. Hell, she was wearing it now. Fingering it with a faint smile, she didn’t care what anyone else thought. They’d judge, regardless of what she said or did. But she knew what was in her heart. The most important thing was exposing what the monsters had done to her family and clearing her name from anything criminal. Last time she checked, being in love with two men wasn’t a crime.

“I wouldn’t be standing here without the two of them,” she elaborated. “I’ll always be grateful.”

Finally, they cut away. The news director was jumping up and down that every network in the country had just picked up the interview, along with a few overseas. The morning anchor sat, blinking in astonishment at her story. Now that she’d recounted everything, Callie couldn’t believe that she had actually lived through it all.

It was over. The secret James Whitney and his mercenary brethren had fought to keep was out, along with the news that her father had burned all the research the criminals had sought. Hopefully, when the media circus died down, she could finally be herself and live.

Coachman approached her, still practically dancing a jig. “The network wants to fly you out to New York to continue the interview there with Matt Lauer tomorrow and—”

Thorpe cut the news director off with an intimidating stare. Coachman stepped back.

After working his way directly in front of her, Thorpe cupped her cheek, those gray eyes of his focused on her with such approval.

“You’re a remarkably strong woman. You handled that perfectly. I’m so proud of you, pet.”

His words warmed her. But his voice rang suspiciously with farewell.

“Mitchell—”

Sean appeared beside her next, then drew her tight against his chest. “You answered every question with such grace and poise, lovely. Brilliant plan. You’re safe to be Callindra Howe again.” Then he whispered in her ear. “But you’ll always be my Callie.”

When she looked up to smile at him, she noticed that Thorpe no longer occupied the room. She searched every corner with her frantic gaze. He was gone.

Before she could do more than open her mouth in disbelief and feel the tears prick her eyes, Coachman cut in again. “Ms. Howe, New York? The network needs to make arrangements. What time would you like to fly out today?”

“Um, sir,” Coachman’s assistant popped her head into the studio, looking somewhere between apologetic and worried. “The FBI is here to take Ms. Howe in for questioning.”