Page 104 of Protecting You

“Do you think he regretted it?”

“He’d never say so. He would never want to heap that guilt on me. I tried to talk to him about it once, and he just told me he did what he did, he made choices, and none of that was any of my business. My father is the kindest man you’ll ever meet, but he made no apology for his frustration with my behavior.” After a full minute of near silence, the only sound the rumble of the asphalt beneath the tires, his fists tightened on the wheel. “The thing is, and this is terrible… I know it’s terrible, but I’d do it again. The property means a lot to our family. I probably went about it the wrong way, but we didn’t lose it. Dad was mad at me, but I got what I wanted. I’ve never been able to convince myself I didn’t do the right thing.”

She thought back to Callan’s crazy behavior the night she’d met Charles-slash-Ghazi. The way he’d kissed her, pretended they were engaged.

He’d learned it was okay to manipulate situations in order to get the right outcome—according to him.

“I know it was hard for Dad,” Callan continued. “He had to swallow his pride. But he did it, and ultimately, he built a successful business. Which was good. All of that was good.”

That was one way to look at it.

“Maybe it would’ve been okay if you’d moved, though. Maybe your father’s plan was also good.”

“Maybe.” His word held no conviction.

A few lights twinkled from deep in the woods, though the houses were too distant to make out their sizes or shapes through the thick forest. He rounded a bend, then slowed and turned into a narrow driveway. About fifty yards in, the woods cleared enough for her to see an old Victorian-style farmhouse complete with a circular turret at one corner and a porch that wrapped around two sides. Lit with pretty landscape lighting, it was two stories with a steeply pitched roof. An old oak tree stood at the far side of the house, a swing hanging from the lowest branch.

Beyond the house, the dark expanse must be the lake Callan had mentioned. “It’s beautiful.”

He parked. “I’ve always thought so.”

She’d offered to stay at the hotel in Augusta, but Callan had insisted she cancel both rooms she’d reserved there, that there was plenty of space at the house, apparently unafraid Ghazi would track them.

This place was so far from everything, so remote and charming, so far removed from the terrorist that it might as well have been on another planet.

They were very alone here. The lack of lights coming from within the house and the absence of cars in the driveway meant Hannah and Peri hadn’t arrived yet.

Callan unlocked the front door with a key from his keychain, then pushed it open, flicked a switch inside, and stepped back to allow her to enter first.

She did, pausing at the threshold. The space had the scent of a house that’d seen a lot of life, a combination of vanilla and musk and old books that had her inhaling a deep breath.

Callan dropped their small bags on the stairs, and she did the same with her laptop bag. She kept her jacket on.

“It’s chilly in here.” He adjusted the thermostat, and the furnace kicked on. Then he moved from room to room, turning on lamps as he went. The shadowy spaces took form. A tidy foyer with a coatrack beside a narrow table that held a basket for keys and change and whatnot. Straight ahead, a narrow staircase rose a half flight before a landing, where the stairs rose in the opposite direction to the second floor.

The hardwood floors carried throughout the downstairs, the stain fading with age. The woodwork had been painted white, the walls of the foyer and attached rooms pale beige. The living room off one side had comfortable sofas oriented around a TV. Opposite that, the dining room—the turret room—had a round table with eight chairs that seemed designed for the space.

Had Callan’s father made it?

“Come on back.” Callan led the way to a kitchen with solid stone countertops, shiny pine cabinets, and an island in the center.

“Did your father do the updating?”

Callan opened one of the cabinets and took out two glasses. “He’s always doing something.” He filled them with ice water and handed her one.

“Thanks.” She took a sip, enjoying the freshness. She was accustomed to city water, but there was nothing as delicious as cold Maine well water. She gazed through a window on a door that led to the back. The moon, peeking out between the clouds, sparkled off the still lake. “Did you guys do a lot of boating growing up?”

“We had a rowboat for a while. Hannah and I used to take it to a little cove and go fishing.”

Her dad had never wanted to deal with maintenance of a boat, so whenever they went to the lake, he’d rent one, and sometimes a crew to drive it.

Callan gulped his entire drink, then set the empty glass on the counter. “Hannah and Peri should be here any minute.”

“Does Hannah live here?”

“She lives in Augusta. She’s going to grab some things for Mom and take them back to the hospital on her way home.”

“Nice of her to drive all the way out here.”

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