Page 65 of Protecting You

“Don’t move.” Pressure on her arm had her tensing.

What was happening?

“Don’t react.”

This wasn’t a dream. She was in a guest room at Charles Sanders’s house somewhere in Brookline.

In a bed. With Callan.

A bed they shared. She’d climbed beneath the sheets, and he’d slept between the top sheet and the comforter, so there was never any contact between them. Even so, she’d have preferred a king-sized bed. Because of his overlarge and over-warm presence, and the strange circumstances, she’d struggled to fall asleep.

And now he was pressed against her back, and the thin sheet between them was not nearly thick enough to keep her body from reacting as he wrapped his arm around her middle and gripped her hand. “If you can hear me, squeeze my hand.”

His words were barely audible, but she heard and squeezed.

“We’re just a couple in love, snuggling in our sleep. Okay?”

What was she supposed to say to that? There was nothingokayabout this.

“I don’t know about this room, but I’ve searched the bathroom and found no cameras or microphones. So we’re going out the window.”

“No.” Was he kidding? They were on the second floor.

“It’s going to be okay. Here’s what we’re going to do.” He outlined the plan, then slipped out of bed in the darkness and into the bathroom. He gave her no opportunity to argue.

The vent fan went on.

A few minutes later, the bathroom door opened.

She counted to a thousand, just like he’d told her to do, then climbed out of bed and went into the bathroom, closing the door behind her.

Callan stood beside the window, tall and broad and somehow perfectly confident.

He’d changed from his pajamas into black pants and sweatshirt.

He nodded to the counter, where he’d left a piece of paper and a pen beside a stack of folded clothes.

While she’d slept, he’d gone through her things and found a dark pair of jeans, a navy-blue sweatshirt, and black socks. On top of it all were her white sneakers, except they weren’t white anymore.

“What did you do?”

“Shoe polish. I keep it in my Dopp kit.”

Of course he did.

They’d left their jackets downstairs, so there’d be no getting those back. And Charles had taken their phones.

Callan already had the window open, and cold air spilled into the small space. “Go ahead and change.”

Even though he looked out into the dark night, she stepped into the claw-foot tub and pulled the shower curtain between them before changing out of her pajamas.

When she emerged, he said, “You decent?”

“As ever.”

Turning her way, he smiled, though the expression didn’t hold.

She didn’t like this. Not at all.

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