Matt—The Callahan Brothers (Brazos Bend Book 2) (38 page)

“Thank you. I’m thrilled to be here, Julie,” Torie replied, trying hard to mean it. “You always throw such awesome parties, and it’s certainly no hardship to spend a few days at your guesthouse on the French Riviera.”

“I trust Gigi is enjoying her stay?”

“You know she is. Although I still say having a chef prepare fresh food for her is going a little too far.”

The actress laughed. “Nothing is too good for Gigi or for you. You have fun tonight, Torie. Do something to chase away those shadows I see in your eyes.”

She tried. She pasted on a smile, and flirted and gambled and danced until dawn. At one particular low point, she considered accepting the French actor’s indecent invitation, but better sense prevailed. She wasn’t that self-destructive. Not yet, anyway. Now, had he been an Italian, or, better, a Scotsman, she might have had a weaker moment.

Still, she never really enjoyed herself. The glitz, the glamorous crowd with their tanned and toned perfection, didn’t appeal like it had done in the past. Also, she never relaxed. Maybe because throughout the entire night, she felt as if she was being watched. It was eerie. Uncomfortable. It reminded her of events she wanted desperately to forget.

Twice during the night, she attempted to leave. Each time her hosts found her and convinced her to stay. Only now, as dawn lightened the sky and the crowd had thinned to mere dozens, did they accept her thanks and allow her to go. “Give the valet your name on the way out. We’ve a car for you to use while you’re our guest. You can drive it down to the guest bungalow.”

The bungalow was a smaller version of the Mediterranean mansion the Jays owned, located down and around the hill with its own private beach. Five star luxurious from top to bottom, it was an isolated fantasy of a place, the perfect spot to do nothing more than sleep and read and heal her broken heart.

As she waited for her car, she yearned for the pampered comfort of the bed. Yet she wouldn’t spend the day in bed. Not today. She’d had enough of this vampire lifestyle, awake all night and sleeping the day away. It wasn’t healthy. What she’d do was catch a few hours’ sleep, then get up, take a swim, jog on the beach, and go to sleep at sundown.

The valet approached. “Miss Bradshaw? Your car is waiting. Would you care to follow me?”

He led her toward ... of all things ... a silver Aston Martin DB9. Against her will and with a pang in her heart, she thought of Matt. “I don’t suppose you have a Ford or a Chevy?”

“Pardon me?”

“Never mind.”

She tipped the attendant, slid into the seat of the luxury sports car, tossed her evening bag into the passenger seat and made the short drive to the guesthouse. She didn’t notice the envelope lying in the next seat until she lifted her evening bag from on top of it. Black ink calligraphy formed “Victoria Bradshaw” on white vellum.

“Hmm ...” Probably some special instructions about Gigi’s menu or something. She opened the envelope and pulled out a note card and a small gold key. The key unlocks the glove compartment, Victoria. Your first tool is inside.

“Tool? What do I need a tool for?” She unlocked the compartment and reached inside to discover a long, narrow, black velvet jewelry box. Flipping it open, she found a woman’s Omega Seamaster watch and a small, folded note.
Set the correct time to activate the homing device tracker.

“Homing device tracker?” she muttered. What in the world?

Curiosity got the better of her. Torie checked the time on her cell phone, then set the watch. As the minute hand moved, a faint beep sounded. When she moved toward the house, the beeping grew louder. “This is wild.”

And a bit unsettling. It hadn’t been that long since she’d been stalked.

Then she recalled the live game of Clue that Julie and Jack hosted in Hollywood a few years back. That’s what this must be. A game.

If somewhere deep inside she recognized that the Omega Seamaster was the watch that tracked the homing device in the Fabergé egg in
Octopussy,
she tried to ignore it, helped by the memory of Matt’s voice echoing in her mind.
Forget the Bond nonsense, Victoria.

The Jays had known of her Bond obsession, of course. They had probably set up this game because they thought she’d enjoy it. They didn’t know what had happened with Matt. She’d spent the last month pretending her time in Brazos Bend had never happened.

The beeping intensified in frequency and volume as she traced a path to her bedroom. When she spied the cigarette case lying in the middle of her bed, she felt a shudder run down her spine.

She punched off the alarm on the watch and tossed it onto the bed. She held her breath as she picked up the cigarette case. She flipped it open. Four cigarettes, an LCD screen, and another folded note. Her pulse tripped into high gear as she read.
Is it safe to hope that you will recognize the truth?

“
Moonraker.
The safecracker.” She glanced around the bedroom. Sure enough, a landscape hung crookedly on the western wall, the only item in the entire guesthouse out of place. She stared at it for a long moment, almost afraid. “The truth?” she repeated softly. “What truth?”

Did she really want to know?

Torie drew a deep breath, then exhaled in a rush. She crossed to the painting and lifted it down to reveal the wall safe behind it. Then she frowned down at the cigarette case in her hand. How did it work? She examined it closely and spied the small button on the side. On/off? She pressed it. A red light like a laser pointer shone from a small hole on the side of the case.

Chuckling with disbelief, she shone the red beam at the safe. Seconds later, three numbers appeared on the LCD screen. “I’m so not believing this. Has to be a setup.”

Nevertheless, she turned the dial on the safe right, left, right. A metallic click sounded as the lock released. She turned the handle and swung the door open.

Inside atop a flat sheet of paper sat another black velvet box. A ring box. A Tiffany’s ring box.

“Okay, Bradshaw. This is just a game Jack and Julie are playing.” Still, her hand trembled slightly and her knees felt a little weak as she reached first for the note.
Only you can harness these special features. Use this to shatter or to bond. Your choice.

“
Die Another Day.
The standard issue ring that can shatter glass.” She lifted the box from the safe and flipped it open. “Oh, wow.” It was a classic, classy, round cut diamond solitaire in a platinum Tiffany setting. Around two carats in size and perfect. Just perfect. “Oh, wow.”

Too much a female to resist, she went to slip it on. The moment she lifted the ring from its case, the voice spoke as if from inside the box. “Bring your answer to the beach, Shutterbug.”

Shutterbug.

“Matt.” She dropped both the ring and the box. When the box hit the floor, the insert fell out and revealed what she guessed to be a miniature recorder.

The diamond ring lay on the carpet like a ... like a ... promise. She swallowed hard.

No. Wait. Hold on.
She needed to stop. She needed to get hold of herself. She’d been up all night. She wasn’t thinking straight. This couldn’t be what she was thinking. She didn’t want it to be what she was thinking.

Did she?

Bring your answer to the beach, Shutterbug.

“Okay. All right. I’ll bring you my answer.” She scooped up the ring and headed for the door, muttering to herself. “You think a few Bond gadgets are going to solve the problems between us? You think I’m that shallow, just because I like a movie series? Because I take photos of celebrities for a living?” She paused on the staircase and called, “Gigi? Gigi? Where are you? Mama needs you?”

She heard a yip, then the rattle of Gigi’s tags. The dog met her at the bottom of the stairs, and Torie scooped her up into her arms and headed for the door that led out into the garden. “He thinks I can’t see past the game? Can’t see past the romance of his following me to Europe and setting up a treasure hunt with stuff he picked up from the Spy Store.”

She paused at the gate that opened up onto the beach and added, “And Tiffany’s. Okay, that’s pretty romantic, but real life is more than romance.”

She needed to think a minute, to rationalize it all out. He hated James Bond. Hated the comparisons. Why would he go through all this trouble?

Because he loves me.

She tried to refute the idea, but it was staring at her in platinum and diamonds—perfect platinum and diamonds—right? Only she would want a marriage proposal like this.

And Matt Callahan was the only man who could pull it off.

Because he loved her.

She took a dozen steps out onto the beach, then stopped and kicked off her heels. Then, she looked around for Matt Callahan.

He wasn’t here. She saw the cliffs rising behind her, the calm, azure Mediterranean in front of her. An empty beach all around her. Not even footprints in the sand. “Oh. Well.” She glanced down at Gigi. “Did I get it wrong?”

Gigi barked and Torie set her down. Her heart sank to her toes. What was the deal here? Hadn’t she heard his voice?
Bring your answer to the beach, Shutterbug.

“Oh, jeez. Did I imagine it? I’ve been up all night. Am I really asleep and dreaming? Awake and hallucinating?”

Do I miss him that much?

Yes, but reality was in her fist. She held out her hand and opened her palm. Sunlight glinted off the ring’s diamond.

“That’s real. I feel it. I see it. Oh, wow. Look at it sparkle.” She held it up to the sun, up toward the sky, to watch the diamond sparkle in the sunlight, and that’s when she saw it.

Saw him.

Matt.

At least, she thought it was Matt. He was still too far away for her to tell for sure. Too high. Up in the air. On a parasail.

“Just like
Live and Let Die.
”

***

“I’m gonna break my effing neck.”

It had been three years since he’d spent any real time indulging in this sport and he wasn’t so much worried about his neck as he was his leg. He’d had his share of bad landings in the past. Having one here would totally screw up his plan. He needed to pull this thing off if he stood a chance with Torie.

The idea was wild and desperate and made him feel like a fool, but that pretty much had been the status quo since about twenty minutes after she’d left him in Brazos Bend. That’s how long he’d waited for her to turn around and come back. Idiot that he was, he’d believed she wouldn’t walk away, not after he’d just made the biggest declaration of his life. Not after he’d said those three life-altering words. Well, he’d been flat out wrong. She’d shown him.

He’d been an idiot. He’d screwed the whole thing up. Him. Superspy, Übermeister of Undercover Work, Sultan of Scenarios—and he’d totally sucked at the most important game of his life. Loving her was all well and good, but she didn’t believe him and, even worse, didn’t trust him, so those three never-before-spoken words hadn’t meant a damn thing.

So now he had to put his money where his mouth was. Now he had to show her. He had to prove to her that he loved her. He had to win back her heart, and more importantly her trust. He’d spent three days trying to decide how best to grovel. He’d attempted to discern the most effective way to gut himself like a fish at her feet so that she’d know without a doubt that he meant what he was saying.

This Bond crap had been the answer. He’d gone on a Netflix binge and spent the next two days watching 007 classics, one after the other. In some ways, it had been torture. In others ... well ... the man did have a certain style. He liked the new Bond the best. He wondered if Torie had noticed that he and Daniel Craig had the same color eyes.

The same color eyes as that Frenchman she’d flirted with at the party. He’d wanted to kill the guy. Only years of discipline had kept him out of sight. It had been a hard won fight to spend the entire night watching the beautiful lady in red without ruining the plan. But he’d pulled it off. Now to nail this landing and grovel at her feet. With any luck, he’d have a James Bond ending to the scene. The man always, always got the girl.

Matt had to hope like hell she didn’t want to rewrite a classic.

He dragged his gaze off the beauty on the beach and focused on his landing target. Moments later, he brought the glider in like a pro about fifty yards up the beach from Torie. His knee held up and he took it as a good sign.

He unfastened the harness and secured the sail. Next, he took off his helmet, took a deep breath, and prepared to make the play of his life. He slipped the pack off his back and removed weapon number one from its snug little carrier. “Wake up, Bruiser, and go be charming.”

As he set the sleepy, male Pekeatese on the sand, Gigi let out a yap and bounded toward them. Matt darted a look toward Torie. Her mouth was hanging open. Good.

Then, trying his damnedest to be suave and debonair, he unzipped his flight suit and shrugged it off.

He heard Torie say, “OMG.”

This is it, Callahan. Do it right.

He shot the cuffs of his tux, straightened his black bow tie, and stepped toward her. Then he spoke the words his sister-in-law, Maddie, had assured him would be the most effective way to begin. “Victoria, I was wrong. I’m sorry.”