Echoes (32 page)

“What about the police?” he asked.

“Nash is working on it. Some guy from Homeland Security already interviewed me, as did another, who could have been his brother—or maybe it's just the suits that make them look so much alike—from the Department of Justice. You'll have to talk to them, too, no doubt, but they seem a lot more interested in the contents of that briefcase than in our many misdeeds.”

“You've been busy. How long have I been out?”

She checked her watch. “I'm not sure when we got in, but it's almost nine. So about twelve hours?”

“Twelve hours?”

“Mac, you were shot. And lost a lot of blood. And had major surgery. No one really expected you to wake up before morning.”

“What about Falcone?” Jesus. He'd been unconscious half a day while she sat alone, possibly unprotected. Where were Travis and Nash? The machine next to his bed beeped angrily.

“Calm down,” Callie ordered, “or the nurses will come in and tell me I have to leave for upsetting you.”

“Falcone. What happened to him?”

“He's in the wind.” Nash's disgusted statement drew both Mac's and Callie's eyes to the door. “As usual, we can't even conclusively prove his involvement with the bioweapon shipment. We're tracking the rest of the items Lewis had stored, but I don't have high hopes for those, either. Falcone insulates himself well. He probably has a dozen witnesses at hand to say he never left his buddy's yacht in Anguilla.”

Mac cursed and Callie shivered.

“I doubt you have to worry.” Nash rested a hand on Callie's shoulder, and Mac felt a growl rising in his throat. When the hell had he gotten so possessive? He stifled the sound before it emerged. “You were Lewis's project. Now that he's gone, you can get back to your life.”

The words slammed into Mac with the familiar punch of a bullet. As usual, Nash had cut straight to the heart of the matter; Callie no longer needed their protection. In fact, Mac's presence in her life could only hurt her by potentially rekindling Falcone's interest. The responsible thing to do was to let her go. So he gritted his teeth and forced a smile.

“Erin will be happy to have you home.”

She didn't return his smile. In fact, all expression disappeared from her face. “Yes,” she said. “I spoke to her on the phone. She's staying with friends in the city until I can get back to the house; she's not up to being alone at the moment. We're both very grateful for your help getting her away from those men.”

“I'm so sorry she got involved in all of this,” Nash said. Mac tried to recall ever hearing the man apologize before and failed. Clearly, however, Callie didn't recognize the significance of the words.

“That's it, then?” Although her face was still emotionless, anger seeped out in her words. “Go on home and play with your dollies while the big boys clean up the mess?”

Mac tried to intercede. “Be reasonable, Callie. You have a life, a home. Your roommate needs you. Yes, Nash is—I am—asking you to leave the mess to us, but not because we don't respect your strength or intelligence. Just because it's not your job to deal with men like Henry Falcone.”

“And is it yours?”

“I don't know. Maybe.” He glanced over at Nash, who nodded. The promise of work, real work, not ferrying drunk tourists on fishing trips or overseeing security at a glorified playground, held more healing power than any IV drip. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

Callie unfolded herself from the chair, the movement stiff. Because he'd upset her? Or just from the abuse her muscles had suffered over the past few days?

“I suppose that is it, then,” she said, her voice as expressionless as her face, as stiff as her posture. “It's been . . . interesting.”

The door, swooshing quietly shut behind her, held a finality no slam could equal.

***

She would not cry. Dammit, she would not. What had she expected? That they'd get married and live happily ever after? That he'd move into her house and share pancakes on a Sunday morning in her sunny kitchen? Not likely. Did she even want such a thing? With a man like him? A self-confessed adrenaline addict?

She liked her life just fine, dammit. She had her work, her friends, her house. She didn't need some man to complete her.

“I'm sure you don't.”

A smile hid behind Travis's words. She hadn't realized she'd been muttering on her way down the hall. A hot blush rose up her face.

“Sorry about that.”

“Not at all. Mostly, we're a pretty useless lot, unless you want to open a jar.”

She forced herself to smile. “Some of you aren't so useless.” Travis had stayed by her side while Seth Lindsay had carefully cut through first the duct tape, then the plastic shell, and finally the wires of the necklace bomb. She'd wanted him to go to Mac, but he'd refused. Mac, he'd claimed, would be unconscious for hours. And if he woke to find she'd gone through her ordeal alone, Travis's life would be over.

So much for that idea. Their adventure at an end, Mac had dismissed her like a book returned to the library once the story had been absorbed. Not a keeper.

The teasing grin disappeared from Travis's angelic features. “Give him some time, Callie.”

“Don't worry about it, Travis. I'm not.”
Liar
. “I just wish I could go home, but I haven't had a chance to talk to anyone about how I am supposed to manage that. I don't have a license, let alone a credit card, so I can't buy a plane ticket.”

“Let me see what I can do,” he offered. “Grab a seat in the waiting area—I'll be right back.” He gave her a gentle push, then disappeared down the hall in the opposite direction.

Out of options, Callie obeyed the command, curling up on a couch in the foyer at the end of the long hall beyond the nurses' station. In her head, she began composing a list of the things she'd need to do to get her life back. A new driver's license, passport, bank and credit cards, keys to her car and house . . . She drifted off imagining the reams of red tape.

When she woke, Travis had not yet returned. How long had she slept? Minutes? Hours?

The nurses, who'd become used to her while she waited for Mac, nodded to her as she wandered down the hall. The guard who had originally sat beside Mac's door had disappeared, but she could hear voices from inside.

Despite herself, she sidled up and pressed her ear to the door.

***

Mac itched to put his fist through Travis's face. Which didn't make any sense, really, since Trav was his closest friend and was only doing the right thing by offering to see Callie home safely and to ease her way over the bureaucratic hurdles she'd face when she got there. Still, he couldn't keep the sarcasm from his voice when he responded.

“Why don't you just move in with her while you're at it?”

Travis cocked his head. “Might not be a bad idea. Just to be sure she's okay. Plus, I haven't got a place to stay yet.”

“Stay the fuck away from her,” Mac spat.

“Dog in the manger, Brody. Either you want her or you don't.”

“It's not about what I want. It's about what she should have. She deserves better than a scarred ex-cop who barely finished high school and can't possibly support her.”

“We haven't even discussed salary yet, and you're already angling for a raise?” Nash asked.

“It's not about money!”

“You just said it was. HSE pays well.”

“This whole conversation is ridiculous! She left. Walked out. Went home. She doesn't want anything more to do with any of us. For God's sake, you've all seen it before—adrenaline and fear make for strange bedfellows. Give her a week or two and she'll be happy to be rid of everything having to do with the island and her trip there!”

The door squeaked slightly. Great. Doubtless his pissed-off attitude had triggered something, and now they'd poke him again. But at least the nurse would make Nash and Travis leave him alone.

But it wasn't a nurse.

***

“Out. Both of you.” Callie pointed at Travis and Nash, who rose quickly from their seats by Mac's bed.

On his way out the door, Travis kissed her cheek and whispered “Give him hell, kid” in her ear.

“Callie,” Mac started before the door even finished closing.

She held up a hand. “Don't. I don't need excuses, Mac. I just need you to answer one question for me.”

He studied her, then nodded. She swallowed hard, determined to keep her voice level and not to play the tears card.

“Do you think I slept with you because I was afraid?”

“That's not what I said.”

“‘Adrenaline and fear' were your exact words, I believe.”

“Yes. But I didn't mean them that way. I meant . . . the excitement . . . It seeps into every aspect of experience while you're living it. Everything seems bigger, sharper, more colorful, more potent. That wears off eventually.”

“So you don't have any feelings for me. Just chemicals in your bloodstream that will fade in a couple of weeks.” She was proud of the flat, unemotional tone.

“Stop putting words in my mouth! I lo—”

Callie thought her heart might literally stop. She reminded herself to breathe, then said in as offhand a manner as possible, “You what?”

“I love you. Dammit, Callie, you know that. I could barely fucking breathe the whole time Lewis had you on that island.”

“It might have been nice of you to mention that before now.” She blinked hard, trying to stifle the welling tears. “As it happens, I love you, too.”

“No—”

“Yes. It's not fear or gratitude or any of those things. It's not even the great sex, which you seem to think could get better.”

Heat flared in his eyes, but it wasn't the heat that practically melted her into a puddle right there on the cold hospital floor. It was the hope. She walked to the bed and lowered herself onto the edge.

“You hardly know me.” But his hand gripped hers, sending a conflicting message.

“What's to know? Your favorite color? Your favorite food? Your favorite television show? I'm partial to blue, but if you want to paint the house red, that's fine. I'll eat just about anything except curry, and I have a DVR so we can both watch whatever we want.”

He chuckled then, a low rumble from deep in his chest. “You're a stubborn woman.”

“But you love me anyway.”

“I do. I really, really do.” He pulled her down and settled her head into the curve of his good shoulder.

Mac was stubborn, too. He insisted upon getting an apartment of his own so he and Callie could date before making long-term plans, and no matter how much she tried to wear away his resolve, he stood firm on the issue. He took the job Nash offered him, and although they had no further word on Falcone—which he and Nash both seemed to take personally—Mac frequently talked about how much he enjoyed the other aspects of the job. Callie began to realize he needed to prove to himself that he could be successful, so she stopped pushing him to move in with her.

She did, however, insist on Christmas. She invited Travis, who'd found a home on Long Island where he could keep a boat, and a few of the other folks from HSE who didn't have families, including Nash and Lexie. All but Travis declined, however. Erin cooked, and her brother flew in from California with his roommate, and the six of them ate and drank well into the night.

“I was worried about the holidays, you know,” she confided to Mac once they'd climbed into bed in the wee hours of the morning.

“What do you mean?”

“My mother was big into decorating the house, and cooking and presents, and even after she died my father and I kept it up. For the past couple of years, he came here and spent Christmas and New Year's with me and Erin and whatever strays we brought in. When he died, and I found that picture, everything changed. And when Erin started talking about Christmas, which she did as soon as she got home from work on Thanksgiving night, I wasn't sure how I would handle it.”

“Because it's supposed to be about family.”

“Yes.”

“From where I stood, you handled it just fine. But if you were uncomfortable, next year we can go somewhere, spend the holidays out of the country.”

Next year
. It was the first time he'd said anything to indicate that kind of permanence. And yet, even without the words, she'd known.

“No. Today was wonderful.”

“Sugar, of all people, you should know family's not about blood. You didn't lose all of yours when your dad died.” He tightened the arm he had around her shoulders, pressing her closer to his body. “On the other hand, maybe your family did get a bit too small. Maybe we should think about making it bigger.”

He couldn't be saying what she thought he was saying; she'd only just adjusted to the idea of keeping their relationship relaxed.
Shouldn't have had so much wine
. She pushed slightly away so she could look him in the eyes. “Bigger?”

He grinned and rolled them so he was atop her, arms braced on either side of her head. He bent his elbows and brushed her lips with his own. “Bigger,” he said huskily, “as in, a husband and a couple kids bigger. Does that work for you?”

Tears sprang to her eyes. “Yeah,” she said. “That works for me.” She looped her arms around his neck and pulled him down so the heat and strength of his body surrounded her, pressing her into the mattress. He tried to roll away.

“I bought you a ring.”

“It can wait.”

“I meant to give it to you as a Christmas present.”

“It can wait, Mac.”

And that argument, at least, she won.

Every book is made better by its editor and that has never been truer for me than with this book. Without Leis Pederson taking charge of development and copyeditor Matthew Patin riding herd on the timeline, both the characters and the details would have suffered immeasurably.

Although Paradis de la Mer was created specifically for this novel, most of the other places were not. I've altered the geography of the island slightly to make room for the new hotel on the French side. I've also altered the time a bit; by 2015 when this book is published and set, the rotting remains of the cabanas on the Mullet Bay property will be gone, but when I began writing they remained as blots on a lovely landscape and they seemed so appropriate as a foreshadowing that I left them in the story even when the actual property began to get cleaned up.

I have been visiting the island of St. Martin for most of my life, and I've never been subjected to any violence. It's important to me that you, my reader, understand that. The violence and pervasive corruption I write about here are entirely fictional though the landscape is real. The Princess Port de Plaisance, where Callie's friend has his time-share, is a real place. It has a lovely marina and a tacky casino and the people who take you to your room could not be nicer or more helpful. Calmos Café is a real beach bar and the people there are also as helpful and friendly as any you'll meet anywhere in the world. And yes, there really are goats who run through the shopping center in Marigot of an afternoon.

I hope you all make it to the island yourselves one day to check it out.