CALLEN (Second Chance Novels Book 3) (21 page)

"So hang on," I tell her, a hint of pleading in my voice. "Be with me. Keep your part of me here."

She shuts her eyes as she takes in my words.

"Damn it Quinn," I grit out softly now. "I told you I'd come back when I'm done. Why don't you trust that?"

She opens her eyes with heavy emotion. "I do trust that, but I don't know which
you
will walk through my door. I don't have much to hang onto right now. Hope is pointless for me, because this is all up to you."

I close my eyes and push a frustrated breath from my lungs as I drop my forehead to hers. She should know I succeed in everything I do, including my ability to focus on her alone once this last ugly bit of my past is put to rest. I take her face in my hands, ready to convince her to stay. She should know my dedication to her, but her words prove otherwise.

She closes her eyes in determination before she breathes out in a shaky voice, "I have to leave."

And with that she slips out of grip and left me without so much as a glance. I pound my fist against the door frame as I return to my house, then also the wall once before I focus. With extreme effort to compartmentalize her away, I prepare for my task. My devastation will have to wait.

I find I can't put my devastation aside, but rather use it to try and connect with her again before I do what needs to be done.I wait for my nightingale in her driveway, knowing she'll be willing to participate in conversation, and hoping she's willing to do so on the neutral turf I've secured. When her car pulls in, her eyes meet mine in complete understanding. Only a moment later she's standing beside me, gaging me as she always does. Without hesitation, I lean down and kiss her gently as I wrap my hand around the back of her neck.
 

"I'm sorry," I breathe across her lips when I find the resolve to break the kiss. "I'm trying."

Her eyes remain closed as she nods. I kiss her one more gentle time before I run my fingers down her arm and take her hand. Her eyes meet mine again, and the depth of emotion shifts a piece of me. Her silence, however, nudges me further toward guilt over hurting her.

"Will you come with me?" I ask softly. "I have a place we can talk."

She nods and lets me lead her to my car. I'm thankful her faith in me isn't completely lost. We ride quietly to the hotel and my face falls softly at her expression when I pull into the parking lot. She doesn't speak at all until we're in the hotel and I open the door into the penthouse suite.
 

"How long have you had this planned?" she asks cautiously as she takes in the modern luxury of the room.
 

"Since this morning," I tell her.
 

"You didn't need to do all this," she shakes her head as she sets her purse on the entryway table. "We could have simply spoken at my house."

"Neutral territory," I explain softly. "I took the liberty of ordering us dinner. It should be here soon. Would you like to change before we eat?"

"Change?" she asks in total confusion.

"I, uh, took a few other liberties, too. I brought a bag of your things so you could stay the night. Whether you want me to join you or not is completely up to you." I gesture to the bedroom of the suite.

"My things?" she asks as she walks in and sees her own clothes laid out on the bed for her. "You broke into my house?"

"Technically I didn't break anything," I smile at her sheepishly.

Quinn places her hands on her cheeks and looks around trying to find a way to react.
 

"Consider this part of my charm."

"Right…" she says slowly.
 

"Well, dinner should be here in about five minutes. I'll pour drinks," I say as I leave her alone in the bedroom, giving her a few minutes to adjust to this strange arrangement.
 

I look over and breathe a sigh of relief when Quinn comes out of the bedroom wearing the yoga pants and soft cotton tunic I chose from her closet.
 

"Thanks for joining me," I say as I pull out her chair. I let the waiter in when he knocks, and watch as he serves us a gourmet meal and chilled wine.
 

"You're welcome," she says with an odd expression as the waiter bows politely and lets himself out of the room. "I'll tell you what, Callen. I have a lot of experience with people, but you continue to intrigue."

I smile at her cautiously. "I'll take that as a compliment."

She shakes her head at me, but a smile sneaks onto her face in spite of herself. I attempt to mask my growing tension over the nature of our upcoming conversation, but Quinn sees through me yet again. I'm not sure if my skills are waning or if hers are improving.

"I appreciate the formal dinner and high-end accommodations," she finally says. "But can we get past the posturing? Whatever you want to say, you don't need to orchestrate an entire atmosphere to say it. You should know this scene won't affect my reaction."

I smirk. "Old habits."

"Let them die, even if it's hard," she says both pointedly but with humor nonetheless.

"Yes, ma'am," I smile.
 

"Never call me that again," she says with a warmer smile. "So let's finish this beautiful dinner without all the stress."

"Agreed," I say, but then with a deliberately formal attitude proving this can't be a normal conversation either way, I continue, "So how was your day, darling?"

She tilts her head in amused annoyance and returns with a grin, "Point taken. And my day was fine."

At least for the remainder of dinner, smiles are easier and conversation is simple. When we've finished the meal, however, I stand and take her hand. Upon helping her up, I guide her against me and hold her softly for a moment, simply to savor our connection before the tension returns. A sweet, deep kiss bolsters me to tell her what I need to.

I lead her by the hand to the couch and pull her resting into my arms with her back against my chest.
 

"When I came to your house that day, I asked you what I should do. I'm glad you understand me enough not to have told me," I start gravely. There's no sense in easing into the topic.
 

"You sound as though you've decided," she observes accurately.

"I have to kill him."

"No, you don't," she says softly, but directly. "Do you really think another act of revenge will satisfy you any more than killing John Bennett?"

I sigh in frustration at her assumption.

"This is more about justice than personal satisfaction."

"Do you really believe that?"

My jaw clenches in spite of my self control. "I know I technically hired you as my therapist, but you can stop with the psycho-analytical approach to this conversation."

"Fine. Then as a woman who cares about you deeply, I'll simply say this: I'm terrified for you."

"I won't get caught."

"Of course you won't. That's not my concern. I don't want to see you spiral any further down than you already have."

I have no words to respond, but she has more than enough words to share. She speaks more than I want her to.

"Callen, the darkness, the pain you let me see the other night," she says softly this time, "seeing you that way broke my heart. I'll only see more of that if you continue down this road. I'm not asking you to forgive him, and I'm not asking you to consider him a brother any longer. That
role
can be killed without darkening your world any more. I don't want you carrying the burden of killing someone so close. You'd be murdering a part of yourself. I don't know how anyone could recover from that, even someone as strong and intelligent as you. This needs to be about soul, not justice."

I continue to hold her softly against me, but the tension returns to my mind. I fall into my training to compartmentalize her words in my brain, allowing my physical self to be unaffected for the moment. She remains nestled into my arms and laces her fingers through mine. She pulls me tighter around her, and I force my muscles to remain relaxed.

"Soul and justice can't be separated," I try to explain quietly.

"I disagree, at least when it comes to you. You accomplish anything you attempt. You need to recognize that killing Spades may be the easiest way to handle this....not the right way or the best way. The kill may be easy on some level, but the fall-out will be much, much worse."

Her words change only one part of me, and they change me for the worse. I can't stay relaxed and gentle any longer. My arms harden around her and the anger at her assumptions taints my voice.
 

"You don't know as much about me as you think you do," I utter darkly beside her ear.
 

She responds immediately to my tension with an involuntary adrenaline spike. I recognize her fight-or-flight instinct easily. Keeping her in my iron grip, I only allow her one option.

"Callen, please," she says calmly as she tries to ease herself away.

"No," I say angrily. "You want to spout off about what I should do and how I'll deal with my actions if I don't listen to you? No. I came here to help
you
understand."

I stand us quickly and spin her to look me in the eye, still with her hands locked in mine, now twisted. The odd angle of our wrists seems the perfect metaphor for our tension. I back her up all the way to the wall and pin her there with my chest.
 

Releasing her hands, I smack the wall hard beside her head. She flinches, but keeps her eyes locked with mine.

"Brute force won't change my mind," she says with obviously-forced calm in spite of the tremble in her body.
 

"And your misguided words won't change mine," I breathe angrily before her.
 

I take her chin in my hand and tilt her head up forcibly, locking our eyes together on my terms, not hers. We stare, and damn it if I don't notice the beauty in her tenacity. The tension radiates between us as we stew in our impasse.
 

"Intimidation won't change my mind either," she speaks softly in an attempt to ease the strain.

Her tone does something to me. The gentle tenor of her voice touches me deeply, but has no affect on my need to dominate this stand-off. Internal conflict simmers again. My grip on her jaw keeps her where I want her, but the look in her eye grips me as tightly. Quinn has me off-balance yet again.

I recognize a truth now. The degree to which she cares about me goes farther than attraction and desire to keep me in good mental health. Love flickers behind the tension in her eyes...and scares me in a way I've never experienced. The tension in my frame shifts, but can't ease.

"You love me," I finally recognize the full weight of her feelings.

Her eyes close as she nods.
 

"No, Quinn, look at me," I insist, almost pleading. "Look at me and say it. Please."

She opens her eyes and the gray-blue of her honesty pierces me. "I love you," she says with such depth in her tone. "And you," she continues. "You
do
love me, but you don't know how."

I drop my forehead to hers, soaking in the truth of every word she just said, as well as every word she's spoken since we got here. My inner conflict now boils too close to the surface, because somehow we both hold opposite truths on the same battle, and each remain true nonetheless.

The single truth holding strong at the front of my brain is exactly what she said: I do love Quinn, and I have no idea how. My only experience with the emotion stems from a love affair with a woman I never had the chance to love.
 

"Look at me and say it. Please," she repeats my words, reminding me of why I'm here.
 

"I love you."
 

Such heavy emotion burns between us and all I can do is tighten the grip I have on her chin. Her eyes widen as the moment becomes overwhelming. With more intensity and desperation than I've ever displayed, I push my lips strongly onto hers and part her lips with my tongue. A muffled sound of desperation moves through her breath directly into mine…and I grip harder at the taste of it.
 

My hands grasp her hair and my hips push her strongly against the wall. Quinn loses all control along with me, digging in her nails wherever she can grip, and locking my hips to hers with a strong leg around me. I drag my hand along her sexy thigh and hitch that leg higher.