Capturing Callie (23 page)

“Mrs. Westmore, I don’t know what you want, but you need to leave. I have nothing to say to you.” Callie was amazed at the venom she saw in the other woman’s eyes.

“You think you can just ruin everything? I have been trying to get rid of your ass for years. Do you think you were the only pussy Grant nailed and then the hussy later swore she’d said ‘no’? You were just the first of his indiscretions, he really has taken after my father in that regard, you know? And that weakling husband of mine was convinced we needed to get him help, thank God my father had enough influence to shut down John’s plans before they were made public. And now that he’s finally lost the last of his marbles to Alzheimer’s he doesn’t even remember who he is half the time. That disease has been a real pain in my ass. John was an ass before and he’s even worse now. If it wasn’t for my father running things from behind the scenes he’d have been bounced out of the Senate ages ago.”

Callie watched as the woman’s eyes became almost glassy as she continued to rail at her. “Jesus Pete, I paid your whore of a mother a lot of money to get rid of you and the child you were carrying. Hell, if you were anything like that mother of yours, who knew if it was even my son’s, you should have been grateful for the cash. Hell, honey, your mom screwed most of the men at the country club and probably half the women trying to fuck her way to the top. And then she had the audacity to keep coming back for more money. It was always, ‘Callie needs this or Callie needs that.’ Always something.”

Before she could continue, Callie spoke up. “I didn’t know anything about that money until just recently. And trust me I plan to address that with my mother. And for your information, there never was a pregnancy.” She paused as Nanette blinked several times, trying to take in what she’d told her.

And then the woman went completely insane, grabbing the small bench and slamming it into the mirror, sending shards of glass flying in every direction. Callie had managed to cover her eyes but felt small pieces cutting her arms. When she tried to step back, she realized she was still barefoot and the glass covering the floor made it impossible for her to move.

Nanette grabbed a long piece of glass and lunged toward her. Callie jumped back and gasped at the pain spearing the bottoms of her feet. Reaching for her small purse, Callie almost had the pistol out when the woman lunged again, slicing Callie’s upper arm. Callie raised the gun and warned her, “Stop or I will shoot you, Mrs. Westmore.” When she saw the woman’s eyes track to her chest a split second before the muscles in her legs twitched, Callie knew she was coming for her again and fired one shot directly in to the woman’s upper thigh. She hadn’t wanted to kill the woman, but she damned well wasn’t going to stand by and be sliced and diced either. The sound of the gun in the small room was deafening, and then all Callie could hear was Nanette’s screaming and the sound of wood splintering as Logan broke through the door.

Callie watched as everything unfolded in slow motion around her. Logan tackled Nanette Westmore, pushing her face down on the floor despite the glass. He had her hands secured behind her back and had rolled her over to access the bullet wound in seconds. Ian had been right behind Logan and had wrapped her in his arms and carried her from the room. Callie looked down, and when she saw her beautiful new sundress was covered in blood, she started to cry. “My dress. Master, look what she did to my new dress. I hate her. I really liked this dress.” Looking up at Ian everything started to look gauzy around the edges, and she just concentrated on his surprised smile…and it was the last thing she saw before everything went black.

If Ian lived to be a hundred, he would never forget the sight of Callie standing in the small room, blood running down her arms and legs, the small pistol hanging loosely from her limp fingers, and the look of vacancy in her eyes as she watched Logan tackle her assailant. She’d stood stock-still until she’d seen him, and then it was as if someone had let the air out of a balloon. Ian had rushed to her and wrapped her in his arms just as she collapsed into his embrace. When he’d picked her up, she’d dropped the small-caliber gun. Logan had checked the safety and then pocketed it immediately. With Nanette Westmore thrashing around on the floor, no one would take a chance of her getting a hold of it. Ian moved Callie out of the room, and Logan stood Mrs. Westmore up before she cut herself to ribbons—not that it wouldn’t serve the psycho-bitch right.

When his cell phone vibrated again, he answered when he saw Jace’s name on the screen. “Is she all right? The guys in the control center were going ape shit when we couldn’t get you on the phone. Jesus Christ, they just played a bit of the tape for me. Hell, Ian, Callie got a confession from the old hag that is going to hang her old man and her husband’s asses out in the breeze. Damn, your girl is incredible.”

Ian was finally able to take a deep breath and smile. He couldn’t ever remember a time when Jace Garrett had actually been rattled enough to babble before this moment. He was going to get a lot of mileage out of this when his sense of humor actually came completely back online. “No, she is cut up pretty badly. Is EMS on their way? The wounds aren’t life threatening, but she has lost a lot of blood and she just passed out on my lap.”

Jace’s words helped keep Ian grounded. “Yes, our guys called EMS. Their ETA is three minutes from now. She probably crashed when the adrenaline dropped. Did she seem okay until she saw you?”

Ian wasn’t surprised to hear Jace describe her behavior so accurately, the man had seen a lot during his years in the Special Forces. “Yes, it looked like someone had let the air out of her—she just wilted.” And there was a small part of him that had wanted to beat his fists against his chest that his woman had trusted him enough to wait until he held her safely in his arms before letting go. “Call Daph, I know she is probably tearing up the office worrying about us.”

“Jace just tapped me in to the call, boss. Holy flippin’ hell, the press is already calling. Damn, I want a raise I tell you. I’m going to need it for hair color because mine is going to be snow white by morning.” Ian chuckled, God he loved Daphne, she was the one of the best things in his life and she’d damned well get her raise. No doubt she’d earn it and more today.

“Daph, get the Lamonts on the phone ASAP and update them. Hell, with Grayson’s contacts they probably already know about what’s happened. Also get our guys on securing copies of that tape—lots of copies. I don’t want to take any chance of losing it. Send one to Mitch for analysis. And make sure the media refers to Callie as my fiancée—and make it clear to them that anybody who trashes her paints a huge target on their own backs. Am I making myself clear?”

“Crystal…and boss? I like her. Any woman who can break down those ice blocks you’ve been living behind all these years has got to be one hell of a girl. I can’t wait to meet her in person. If that’s it, I’ve got work to do.” She waited a half a second for his reply and then was gone with a click.

Ian felt like his entire body was going numb, and he was grateful when Jace spoke up again. “Boss, I’m walking in the front door, and as soon as I fight my way back there I’ll find you.” Ian hadn’t even had a chance to answer before he was hung up on again by someone he was paying.
What the hell is that about anyway? Fuck, I must be getting soft.
He hadn’t even finished his thoughts when Jace pushed through the doorway and crouched down in front of him and started stroking Callie’s cheek. “Fuck, she looks so pale and so fragile. I swear I’d take that Westmore bitch’s head off, but I want her to suffer.”

When the paramedics entered the room, they’d quickly taken charge of Callie’s care, and as reluctant as Ian was to hand her over, he knew she needed medical care and she’d get it much faster if he let the men do their jobs. Looking up at Jace, he simply said, “Hospital?”

Jace smiled and said, “Daph’s way ahead of you. She’s got the best plastic surgeon in DC waiting in the emergency room for Callie. And there will be a change of clothes for you by the time we get there. It’s amazing—it’s taking her longer to get the clothes there than it did for her to get a hot-shot surgeon to agree to be standing down by the back door with his thumb up his ass just waiting on your woman to arrive. I’m telling you the woman is a fucking warrior, and I swear if she wasn’t old enough to be my mother I’d marry her.”

Three hours later, Ian was still pacing the small private waiting room he’d been shown to when the media had swarmed the public waiting room. It still amazed him that the first question he’d been asked was if they’d set a wedding date yet. Seriously? What on earth was wrong with reporters these days? They were more interested in the society pages scooping each other with the details of Ian McGregor finally being “off the market” and that had set his teeth completely on edge.
Talk about feeling like a piece of meat!

Once Daphne had arrived, she’d been able to run interference and manage the media while he and Jace concentrated on pacing ruts in the floor. Daph had brought along the new assistant she’d hired out of one of the other offices last week. Ian had only seen the young woman once, but considering the way she was keeping up with Daph, it looked like Holly Mills was going to be a good fit. It also looked like she had caught his best friend’s eye as well, albeit for an entirely different reason.

At one point, Jace, Holly, and Daphne had all been tied up with visitors, and Ian had excused himself to a small closet down the hall.
Really classy, McGregor, fucking billions in assets and you’re using a broom closet as an office. Nice.
He’d called a friend who was one of the best jewelers in the world and explained exactly what he had in mind for Callie. The man had been thrilled to hear he’d found a woman and promised to have designs e-mailed by midnight. This was one of those times that having friends was more important than money.

He walked back into the waiting room just as the doctor arrived. After explaining the extent of her injuries and all the precautions they’d had to take because of her allergy to certain pain medications, he’d told them that despite his best efforts, Callie was going to have some scarring on her upper arm, but everything else would likely heal without a trace. The doctor said that scars were problematic for people for a variety of reasons, some people were self-conscious of the way they looked and the attention they brought, citing the general public’s insensitivity and incredible snoopiness. But to others, the scars were a constant reminder of a traumatic event. He’d cautioned Ian not only about making too much of an issue of the scars, but also about making too light of them also. Ian had asked the doctor to show him specifically where the scar would be, and then he’d sent a quick text message to the jeweler along with the new information.

Walking into Callie’s hospital room, Ian looked down at her and wondered how such a little slip of a woman had taken over his heart without even knowing she’d done it. God, he was proud of her for remembering to activate the panic alarm and audio on her bracelet. Her quick thinking had just bought her freedom from the Westmores and was also going to bring about some long-overdue justice to a family that had had believed itself above the rules others had to abide.

When she opened her eyes and looked at him with her violet eyes awash in tears, he took her hand in his and kissed her palm. Her hand was too cold—God, she’d lost a lot of blood. That damned cut on her arm had been so deep the doctors had said she’d need physical therapy to regain her muscle strength. Her whispered “I’m sorry” brought him back to the moment.

“Pet, what do you think you have to be sorry for?” She’d been beaten down for so long that it was obvious she felt she was responsible for anything bad that happened around her. Honest to God, if he ever got his hands on her mother he wouldn’t responsible for his actions. Forcing himself to relax before she picked up on his rage, he reminded himself that he was going to have a lifetime to rebuild her self-esteem.

“I know this has to be causing a media firestorm, and I didn’t want to cause you that kind of trouble. I’m sure the press will have a field day with your association with me.” Her tears finally breached the rim of her sad eyes and rolled down her pale cheeks. He brushed them away with his thumbs and swallowed past the lump that had formed in his throat.

“Well, I have wonderful staff that are happily telling anyone with a press card who will listen how my brave fiancée was attacked by the crazed wife of a senator. And how my woman’s quick thinking led to the arrest of not only the wife, but also her husband.” He smiled at her shocked expression—he wasn’t sure if it was his use of the word fiancée or the news that the Westmores had been arrested. “Now, they probably won’t be convicted, but the arrest along with Nanette’s attack on you will leave their reputations in tatters. And now that the news of his physical condition is out, he’ll be relieved of his Senate seat immediately. As for me not wanting to be associated with you, you couldn’t be any more wrong.”

Just then Daph knocked quietly and then stuck her head in the door. “Ian, I have a call on the line I believe you’ll want to deal with personally.” Her sly smile let Ian know his cagey admin was up to some sort of no good, and he had a sneaking suspicion he was going to enjoy it. “I’d be happy to stay with Callie while you take this out in the hall.” Oh yeah, she was up to something all right.
Very smooth, Daph, very smooth indeed.

He took the phone from her and moved past her into the hall before raising it to his ear. “This is Ian McGregor.” He knew his words sounded curt, but he didn’t care.

“Oh, Mr. McGregor, this is Chrissy Reece, and I just heard on the news about you and my sister…and well, how she was injured and all, so I wanted to check and see how she was.” Oh he’d just bet the fact she had noted her sister’s relationship with him before inquiring about her well-being was the mother of all Freudian slips. “You know, Callie and I are so very close. She’d helped me a lot over the years.”