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  As he gave it to her, Sabrina, who was standing over by the bank of computers that were the command center, suddenly said, “Jesus Christ, guys. So you’re just going to let this poor woman go back to an abusive father? Seriously?”

  Isiah scowled at her. “We don’t know that he’s abusive. We only have King’s word for it. He’s also a fucking senator, don’t forget. If holding on to his daughter proves to be the wrong call, then that’s on us and our reputation.”

  “It’s not the wrong call,” Jack said. “He’s sketchy as fuck. I’ve seen the bruises on Callie’s wrist.”

  Isiah turned his scowl on Jack. “Bruises can come from anywhere. Jesus, why am I arguing with you? We have our orders from Night and our job is to follow them. End of story.”

  Sabrina was shaking her head though and Kellan was looking at her and frowning. But Faith’s gray gaze was fixed on his, the crease between her brows deepening.

  “What did he tell you?” she asked, almost uncertainly.

  Strange. Didn’t she know all about Night and his business?

  “He said she had to be returned to Boston in twenty-four hours or else he would do it himself.” Not that the prick would be able to. Not if Jack left with Callie now.

  Faith’s frown deepened. “Anything else?”

  “Only that there were greater things at stake than Callie’s life.” Things that quite frankly didn’t interest Jack in the slightest. Callie’s life might not matter in the bigger scheme of things, but it mattered to Callie.

  And that matters to you.

  It did. It mattered to him a lot. But he didn’t want to think about the reasons for that so he didn’t think about them. Instead he began moving toward the exit of the group’s headquarters without another word.

  Except as he passed by Faith, her hand shot out unexpectedly, her fingers gripping his upper arm. “Wait,” she said quietly. “Don’t leave yet.”

  He looked down at her in surprise. “Why not? There’s nothing more to say. Night may not give a shit about Callie, but her life matters to me.” The words seemed to settle down inside him, making him think that there was more to this than the past, than a little sister he wasn’t able to save and a mother who refused to listen. That it was more to do with a stubborn, challenging little blonde who was a lot braver and stronger than she gave herself credit for.

  Faith turned her head slightly, as if she wanted to see if the others were looking at her. They weren’t. They were too busy arguing among themselves.

  Then she said, “Don’t do anything until you hear from me.”

  “What makes you think I’m going to do something?”

  She didn’t respond, merely raised a brow at him as if he’d asked the most pointless question in the world. “Just . . . let me talk to Mr. Night. I might be able to get him to change his mind.”

  Jack gave a short laugh. “I don’t need you to do that. Twenty-four hours is plenty of time to get Callie away where no one will ever find her.”

  But Faith shook her head. “You won’t. Believe me, you won’t. If Mr. Night said he’d do it himself, then he’ll do it himself. No matter how well you think you’re hidden, he’ll find you and he’ll find her, too.”

  Jack’s gut tightened. “No, he won’t.”

  “Don’t underestimate him, Mr. King.” There was a warning note in her voice this time, her gaze very direct. “He has resources and contacts you can’t possibly imagine. And if he wants something, he’ll get it.”

  Jack bared his teeth. “Then he’ll have to take her from my cold dead hands because I’m not giving her up just to return her to that fucking asshole.”

  “Give me twelve hours then,” she insisted. “If I can’t get him to change his mind, you’ll have a twelve-hour head start. Seriously, if there’s a side to be on, it’s his. Because if I can get him to change his mind, then Miss Hawthorne will never have to worry about her father again.”

  Jack stared at her, trying to figure out what her deal was. “Everyone else is on board with letting her go back to Boston. Why aren’t you?”

  She shook her head. “Let’s just say I’ve got a bad feeling about this and leave it at that.”

  Impatience gnawed at him, the need to leave, grab Callie, and go. Disappear.

  Yeah, and what will happen to her if you did that? How long will she have to be in hiding for? You’ll have to look out for her, keep her safe. She’ll be dependent on you for the foreseeable future. What kind of life for her is that?

  The thought shifted uncomfortably inside him. Because yeah, it wasn’t much of a life, was it? Even if somehow they did manage to evade the all-powerful Night, they’d still have to remain in hiding because the senator wasn’t going to give up his daughter that easily.

  Callie would simply be swapping one cage for another. Fuck, he couldn’t do that to her. He just couldn’t.

  But you want to.

  “Fine,” he said through gritted teeth, shoving that thought away. “Twelve hours.”

  Faith gave a short nod. “I’ll need to deal with any issues if the police start sniffing around the team following that press conference, but that should give me enough time to handle Night.” She stepped away, making a few swipes on the screen of her phone before lifting it to her ear.

  The others were still arguing, Sabrina glaring at Isiah and Kellan, her arms folded tight around her tall, slender body, her shoulders hunching.

  Jack ignored them, striding straight for the door. He didn’t want to be away from Callie for any longer than necessary, especially since he wasn’t sure of the hotel’s security.

  “Jack,” Kellan shouted after him. “Hey, wait up.”

  Jack kept on going. He had nothing to say to Kellan. If the guy didn’t want to stick up for Callie, then he wasn’t a friend of Jack’s.

  “Hey,” Kellan barked, following him out into the corridor. “Wait just a goddamned minute.”

  Reluctantly, Jack stopped and turned. “What?”

  Kellan came to a stop, his hands thrust into the pockets of his jeans, his blue eyes glittering. “For what it’s worth, I think Night’s wrong.”

  “Oh yeah? Why didn’t you say anything back there?”

  “Because he’s the fucking big boss. He bankrolls this whole operation and he’s in charge. Like Isiah says, we just follow orders.”

  Jack began to turn, not wanting to hear any more excuses. “I don’t give a shit what he does. I’ll do this on my own if I have to.”

  “We need to be sure. If we move on this ourselves, we have to be really fucking sure the senator is what you say he is.”

  He stopped, glanced back at the other man. Was Kellan actually offering to do something?

  Kellan didn’t look away. “Sabrina’s not wrong,” he said, as if Jack had asked the question out loud. “And you mentioned the guy wanted cameras in her apartment. That’s pretty fucking sketchy however you look at it.”

  Jack wasn’t feeling particularly full of trust right now, especially not given Isiah’s response. Then again, if Kellan was actually offering to find proof, then he’d be stupid to pass up the chance. Especially if it would help Callie have a normal life.

  “Okay,” he said shortly. “You want proof the guy’s an asshole? Check the security footage at the Boston Museum of Fine Arts. There was a fund-raiser there last night, in the Shapiro Family Courtyard. The senator took Callie into one of the corridors off it and threatened her. You’ll see it. Should be all the proof you need.”

  If they could get it, that was. Then again, if they were as good a team as they were supposed to be, one of them had to be an ace hacker and it shouldn’t be a problem.

  “I’ll see what I can do,” Kellan answered.

  Jack merely gave him a short nod, then headed back toward the bar.

  Five minutes later he was outside the hotel room where he’d left Callie, tugging the card key out of his pocket. He could hear music coming from inside the room, which was weird. Unless she’d turned the radio on. But i
t didn’t sound like the radio. The music was just a guitar and a voice, the melody low and contemplative.

  Swiping the card, Jack stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.

  Callie was sitting cross-legged on the bed, the guitar across her knees, her head bent, golden hair cascading everywhere.

  The music was coming from her.

  For a second Jack simply stood there, a part of him vaguely shocked by the sound of it. She’d been pretty clear that the guitar was important to her but he’d been so full of anger on her behalf at her goddamn father, he hadn’t thought about her actually playing it.

  But she was playing it. And she was good. She was very, very good.

  Her voice was low and full of emotion, and the melody itself seemed to reach inside him and wrap around his heart. It was sad, yet there was a hopeful note weaving through it that made him feel . . . Fuck, he didn’t know what it was, but it disturbed the shit out of him.

  Hope was something he’d forgotten, something he never thought about, something that never occurred to him.

  Life was a fucking bitch and then you died. End of story. And he was living, but that was about it. What more was there?

  Except . . .

  The light coming from the windows lit her hair, streaks of toffee, caramel, and pure shimmering gold. It was beautiful and he couldn’t stop looking at her. She wore only a T-shirt the same sea blue of her eyes and a pair of lacy pink panties, her legs bare, and her voice whispered over his skin, a low caress that made his breath catch. Made his heart squeeze tight in his chest.

  He knew she was strong, he’d seen her steel. He’d seen her vulnerability, too. But he hadn’t seen her like this. And he . . . shit, he didn’t even have a name for what he saw in her, for what he felt.

  He wanted to go over to the bed, pull the guitar out of her hands, rip her clothes off, have her hard and fast and rough right now. Right the fuck now.

  Anything to stop her singing, to stop the strange feeling that was filling him. An emotion that was desperate and dark and possessive. An emotion that would crush the brightness right out of her, grind that lovely melody into dust.

  But abruptly the notes died away, her hand covering the strings to silence them, and she lifted her head, her gaze meeting his. There was a defiant gleam in her lovely blue eyes, that challenge he knew so well.

  “I’ve never played for anyone before,” she said. “You’re the first.”

  That dark, intense feeling gripped him tighter. Territorial and satisfied, it wasn’t dissimilar to what he’d felt when he’d discovered she’d been a virgin. As if he was glad she’d saved this for him, that he was the first one to ever hear her music.

  Hope. Satisfaction. Pleasure. Possessiveness.

  Fuck, she was making him feel too many things and he didn’t want any of them, especially not that last one.

  He thrust his hands in his pockets, curling them into fists to stop himself from going over there and ripping that guitar away, replacing all the disturbing emotions with one he at least understood—lust.

  “Why me?” he forced out, his voice way thicker than it was supposed to be.

  “To be fair, I didn’t realize you were there until the door opened, and then it was kind of too late to stop.” Color rose in her cheeks. “Plus, I guess I wanted to thank you.”

  “Thank me?”

  “For protecting me. For getting me away from Dad.” She swallowed and he couldn’t drag his gaze away from the movement of her pale throat, from the pulse that beat there. “I never thought it would happen. I thought I was going to be trapped there forever. But . . . you saved me, Jack.”

  There was a giant hand wrapping itself around his chest, fingers tightening, making his ribs groan and crack, like an old house shifting in the sun.

  You saved me, Jack....

  He couldn’t breathe all of a sudden.

  Turning toward the windows, he walked over to them, running his gaze over the frame, checking the catches automatically, looking for signs that anyone had tampered with them.

  He’d told himself he wasn’t going to touch her, that he had to keep his distance, but how was he supposed to do that? When she looked at him like that? When she told him she’d never sung for anyone before, giving him a gift he hadn’t looked for and didn’t want, and then told him it was because he’d saved her?

  He’d taken her out of a difficult situation, sure, but he hadn’t saved her. She was still in danger, still needed protecting. She still wasn’t free, so she shouldn’t be thanking him, for fuck’s sake.

  He stared out the window, focusing on the building across the street and not on the accelerating beat of his heart. “Play it again,” he said shortly, even though he had no fucking idea why he’d want that. Perhaps to buy himself some time.

  Twelve hours. That’s what Faith had given him. Jesus, he had to spend twelve hours in this room with Callie and her fucking guitar. With her sweet voice and her sweet smell. With the possessiveness that was raging inside him, demanding he make her his. That he not let her go.

  Callie, who was making him feel things he didn’t want to feel and thanking him for things he hadn’t done.

  There was a silence behind him.

  Then she said, “Oh . . . uh . . . Well, it’s not finished. I need to think of a good ending and I haven’t found it just yet.”

  “I don’t care. Just play it again. From the start.” Listening to her was better than touching her and he couldn’t act like the gift she’d given him didn’t mean anything. Because it did. She’d never played for anyone, but she’d played for him.

  If she knew what you were really like . . .

  His hands clenched tighter in his pockets as she began to sing again, her low, soft voice filling the small room, that haunting melody moving through him, dragging hope in its wake, as if that alone could remove the weight that had settled down into his bones. The weight of the silence he’d given his mother for the last ten years. The weight of what he’d done to the man who’d hurt his mother, who’d killed Molly.

  His father.

  Jack stared out the window, Callie’s song filling the air, conscious that he couldn’t stay here. He couldn’t be in the same room with her, not with her so close. He’d told her he wasn’t going to touch her again and he meant it. His only option for the next twelve hours was to stand outside like a fucking guard dog.

  Or you stay. Give in. You know she wants you.

  A pulse of intense desire went through him, quickening his breath, his pulse getting faster, his cock already pressing painfully against his zipper.

  He had to leave now.

  While he still could.

  CHAPTER 13

  Callie let the notes die away, then put one hand over the strings, silencing the guitar, staring at Jack’s tall, broad figure silhouetted by the light coming through the windows.

  He didn’t move, yet there was a fierce kind of tension radiating from him, one that she didn’t understand.

  Had he really liked her song? Or had he only asked her to play to humor her? Which was a stupid thing to think because Jack wasn’t the type of man who humored anyone. Then again, he wasn’t needlessly cruel either. So maybe he was trying to be nice?

  Nerves fluttered in her stomach. He hadn’t said a word since he’d come in except to ask her why she was playing for him and that she should play it again, not even that he liked it.

  God, she really wanted him to like it. This was her soul she was revealing to him.

  Maybe she should have stopped playing the moment she’d heard the door open, but she hadn’t. She’d kept playing, partly because it was too late to pretend the music wasn’t hers and partly because she wanted him to hear it.

  It was true, he was the first person she’d ever played for. The first person she’d even wanted to play for. And that mattered.

  Yet asking him straight out if he liked it felt a little too desperate, especially when there was obviously something going on with him.


  Beneath her nervousness, a small current of fear wound through her. Had something gone wrong at the meeting? What had her father done now?

  “Everything okay?” She put her guitar down, ignoring the fear. “How did the meeting with the team go?”

  He didn’t turn. “Your father wants you returned to Boston in twenty-four hours.”

  Callie took a steadying breath. Okay, so that wasn’t anything she hadn’t expected. He wasn’t going to give up wanting her back and she’d always known that. “I see.”

  “The team wants to return you since they have no proof that your father’s a sadistic motherfucker and because he can damage their reputation.” His voice was utterly flat. “I told them they needed to get that proof since the only way you’re going back there was over my dead body.”

  A bolt of shock went down her spine. “But won’t that put your place with them at risk?”

  He lifted one shoulder. “So? If they’re not prepared to save a woman in danger, then I don’t want to be a part of their team anyway.”

  She put her hands in her lap, an odd guilty feeling pulling at her. “You can’t put your job at risk like that, Jack. Not for me.”

  “That’s not your call to make.” He turned around finally, his intense gaze meeting hers. “I haven’t made a decision yet anyway. The team’s leader told me he’d bring you back to Boston himself if he had to and so I thought we’d head out of the city, get away before he could. But one of the other team members told me to give her twelve hours to see if she could change his mind.”

  “But what about that press conference that Dad called? And the police?”

  “She’s handling it.” The look in his eyes was very, very direct. “If she gets the team leader on our side, there’s a chance he could get your dad off your back forever.”

  Forever? She could be free of her father just like that?

  She blinked. “Seriously? He’d have the power to do that?”

  “He’s the money behind his operation and judging from the way the others talk about him, then yeah, I’d say he does.” Jack’s gaze shifted to the doorway all of a sudden. “You can have the room.”