Page 57 of Operator
I give a passing thought to hunting Cal down, but…priorities. If he and Ford want to run off doing cowboy shit, then whatever. I know William had nothing to do with Ian’s death. Or Alec. These are people I trust. People I care about, who cared about Ian. They couldn’t have hurt him. Besides, they wouldn’t hurt William…would they?
The spray is blissfully warm the moment I step under it, and I let out a sigh of relief as my muscles turn to liquid. I wish I had time to relax and really indulge, but no such luck. I have maybe twenty minutes before the baby wakes up and I want to take advantage of them while I can. Within ten minutes I’ve shampooed and conditioned, shaved all pertinent crevices, and sugar scrubbed until I’m buffed and polished.
I certainly didn’t do it because I wanted to feel a little feminine again. And certainly not because I want those things because of Cal.
Okay, maybe a little.
Or a lot.
Daisy lifts her head, cocks an ear, then goes bounding out to the living room, barking like a maniac. Probably the trash people. Shit, it’s trash day, and I forgot to put the can by the curb. I wonder if Cal thought to do it before he snuck out.
Wrapping a towel around myself, I deal with Violet, who was woken up by the barking. She finally settles and allows me to put her in her crib with white noise. I close the door behind me to prevent her morning nap from being disturbed again.
It’s then that I hear what was driving Daisy so crazy.
There’s someone at the door.
My heart begins to pound. If it was Cal or Bunny, they would have simply let themselves in. There’s no one else who’d be at the door this early in the morning.
Instead of going to answer it, I retreat to the bedroom and retrieve the weapon I keep in a lockbox. Daisy wouldn’t bark like this if it were Callum or Bunny or Todd. She knows them. She dissolves into fits of delight when her favorite people come around. No, this has to be someone new. Call it intuition.
The hair on my arms begins to stand up. I desperately want to be wearing something—anything—but a towel, but I don’t dare take a second to get dressed for fear that whoever is at the door decides to come in. I swallow once, hard, past the knot in my throat. I could barricade myself in with the baby, but I can’t leave Daisy out there either. And goddammit, I’m done being harassed and afraid. I lock the door to the baby’s room and charge down the hall.
Daisy has her nose pressed to the front door and there’s someone visible in the frosted glass on the other side. Still hoping it’s I don’t know my book delivery or the mailman, I lift my voice in greeting. “Who is it?”
But they don’t answer. In fact, the shape on the other side of the door goes still.
“Hello?” I say again. “Who’s there?”
Still no answer. Dammit, where the hell is Cal?
My heart hammers harder. All the muscles in my arms are shaking, trying to keep the weapon steady. I’m going to give them another minute, then I’m going to call the police and figure out where the fuck Callum went.
They don’t do anything. For several long seconds, they stand in front of the door and then they start pacing. Back and forth along the front porch.
As much as I want to go out there and demand answers, my feet are frozen to the floor. Immobile and unyielding.
Gravel crunches and I hear the roar of Callum’s engine. The shadowy form of the person flies off the porch and disappears. My arms drop limply to my side.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CALLUM
“You go takecare of her. I’ll go after James,” Ford says, turning on his heel and sprinting around the building.
I don’t question his decision or have time to think about what the fuck James is even doing at Ian’s therapist’s place. All I can think about is the look on Gwen’s face and how helpless I felt knowing I was so far away.
Please don’t let anything happen to them.
I’m not sure if I’d survive it.
I break several speeding laws driving through town, nearly sideswipe a pedestrian on a bike, and about rip the tires on their rims as I skid into Gwen’s driveway. Bunny and Dad aren’t answering their phones and the 911 operator said it could be ten or more minutes before a deputy would arrive on scene.
The truck rocks to a stop in the front yard. I leave it running, the alert bell dinging that it’s on without the driver buckled and sprint up the front steps. Fuck stealth. Fuck a surprise attack. I want this motherfucker to know I’m coming. I want him to be shaking in his fucking boots.
“Gwen?” I shout. “Gwen!”
I bust into the house and find Gwen naked and dripping from a shower, a weapon in her hand. The relief that bursts through me is unmatched. I bundle her against my arms, thankful I got here in time. I don’t ever want to feel fear like that again.
