Heart & Soul: A Guitar Girl Contemporary Inspirational Romance (A Guitar Girl Romance Book 3)

by Hope Franke

  Callum started the car and drove off. Then he flipped open his phone. “Need security and a cleanup crew at safe house eight. Suspect is down and unconscious, but could come to at any time. Proceed with caution. Security unaccounted for.”

  Callum lay his phone down and reached over for Gabriele’s hand. “Are you all right?”

  Was she all right? She’d almost been killed and she’d just stabbed someone.

  “I think so.”

  “You did good. Really good. Most untrained women would’ve screamed bloody murder with no sense of how to fight back. Where’d you learn to fight like that?”

  “I took a self-defense class.”

  “That’s good. Every girl should take one. Though, jumping on his back wasn’t a great idea.”

  “It saved your life.”

  “It did. I should thank you for that.”

  She tilted her head. “I’m waiting.”

  Callum smirked. “Thank you.”

  “I should thank you as well. I’m losing count of how many times you’ve saved my life in the last day.”

  He cocked a brow. “I’m waiting.”

  She couldn’t help but allow a slight smile. “Thank you.”

  He patted her leg in a way that was too familiar and intimate. Gabriele felt herself close up like a flower at dusk. She had to protect her heart from this man. Sure, he’d saved her life, but at the same time it felt like he was slowly killing her, too.

  They approached the city center within twenty-five minutes. The lights on the turreted Tower Bridge reflected off the River Thames. The cabbie had been right. It was breathtaking at night. Was that taxi ride really only six days ago?

  Callum drove through congested traffic past the massive St. Paul’s Cathedral and further along the north side of the Thames. He pulled into a secure car park in a limestone building.

  “Thames House,” Callum announced. “Where the highly secure offices of the secret service are. Also known as the grid.”

  “What are we going to do here?”

  “I’m going to work. You’re going to wait.”

  Right. Wait until morning when she and Callum would say goodbye and never see each other again.

  Why did he have to kiss her? Why did he have to make her want him?

  She hated him now. If she could leave right this moment, she would.

  Callum sighed and Gabriele matched it, releasing a frustrated breath of her own. Callum eyed her carefully. He wouldn’t be much of a spy if he couldn’t detect the cold feelings she vented toward him.

  She followed him through a security check, much like what you had to go through at an airport. She was clean, with only the clothes on her back. Callum passed through without presenting his gun. She knew he had one, but he must’ve left it in the car.

  They went through another automated scanner before entering the grid. Gabriele was surprised by the number of people working there, most of them staring intently at their computer monitors.

  “Callum.” Paula waved them over. “Hello, Gabriele. Good to see you again. Sorry it’s under poor circumstances. Shurooq will take you to a room where you can rest.”

  A slender, olive-skinned girl with long dark hair greeted her with a smile. Gabriele smiled back, then glanced questioningly at Callum.

  “Go with her. I need to attend this meeting. I’ll check in on you later.”

  Shurooq led her past a number of occupied desks and down a short hallway where she opened a door to what looked like a guest room. There was a cot prepared along the wall, a side table with a lamp and a comfortable chair in the corner. It lacked natural light, so the atmosphere came off more clinical than cozy. A bathroom with a shower stall was off to the side.

  The girl opened the drawer in the side table and removed a thin mid-sized case. “You’ll find a toothbrush and toiletries in here along with a large T-shirt for sleeping.” She handed Gabriele the case. “It’s similar to what the airlines hand out when they lose your luggage.”

  “Thank you... Shurooq. That’s an interesting name.”

  The girl’s dark eyes held hers. “It’s Muslim.”

  Gabriele kept her expression staid, but inside her stomach swirled. “Forgive me, but I find it surprising that a Muslim would work for the British Secret Service.”

  “Why is that?”

  “It feels... incongruous. Aren’t most of the terrorists plotting against Great Britain in the 21st Century Muslim?”

  “They are.”

  Gabriele lowered herself on the cot. Shurooq appeared to change her mind about leaving and settled into the chair. “Tell me exactly what is bothering you.”

  “Well, for one, I almost had my neck broken tonight by someone who is most certainly Muslim, and, let’s not forget being shot at earlier today by the same guy.

  “Plus, and this is a big one, my husband had to flee the country because of something he found on his Muslim roommate’s computer, and he was killed anyway.”

  Gabriele breathed sharply through the heat of anger that assaulted her.

  “I’m truly sorry, Gabriele. Not all Muslims are like that. I’m not like that. Most Muslims follow a religion of peace, mercy and forgiveness, and the majority have nothing to do with the extremely grave events which have come to be associated with our faith.”

  Gabriele stared hard at the girl. “I’m a Christian. My parents are pastors of a street church in Dresden. I confess I don’t know that much about the Islamic faith, only that it scares me. If a Muslim says or does something that is offensive to me as a Christian, I may get mad, but I wouldn’t consider for a moment that I had the right to kill that person because of it. However, if I offend a Muslim, and I have apparently by marrying someone they consider an infidel, then my life is in danger.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I’ve never been hunted before.”

  “This is why I work for MI5,” Shurooq said carefully. “Because I’m against extreme Islam for the same reasons you are. Everyone should be free to live their lives and practice their beliefs without fear.”

  She stood to leave. “Is there anything else you need?”

  Gabriele shook her head. “No.”

  Shurooq held her gaze for a moment before stepping out the door. “Rest well, Ms. Baumann.”

  PAULA SHOT CALLUM A LOOK. “You look like crap. Why don’t you go clean up a bit before we start?”

  Callum had a spare set of clean clothes in a locker in the men’s room. He grabbed a fresh shirt and stood in front of the mirror. His shirt sleeve was streaked with blood from his nose and there was some caked in the bristles on his chin. He washed his face with cold water, wincing as his hands moved over the bruising on his jaw. He dried his face then donned the clean shirt. His abs burned as he stretched his arms out from the beating he took. Callum knew from experience that he was going to be stiff and sore for some time.

  At least Sati Habib was behind bars again. That meant Gabriele was safe. The cell group didn’t care about her. From the intel they’d gathered, she had been a personal vendetta, a revenge mark for Sati.

  Maybe it would be okay if she stayed in Emsworth? If she still wanted to, that was.

  The others were seated around the table in the meeting room when Callum caught up to them. It was a dull, sparse room and soundproof—fully secure when the door was closed. Paula Tate, Shurooq Massoud and their senior case officer, Joe Langstone were the lone occupants. The room was windowless with central air keeping it ventilated. It was lit with unflattering florescent lighting that reflected off Joe’s bald head.

  “What’d I miss?” Callum asked as he pulled out a chair.

  Joe answered. “Sati Habib isn’t talking.”

  “Not surprising, there,” Callum said. It wasn’t unlike the extremists to get tightlipped under custody. They knew the British law protected them from human rights abuses such as torture tactics to gain cooperation.

  “Agent Rebani is working on the inside. He has a wire, but most of the conversations are ambiguous,” Shuroo
q said. “The cell leader, Musa Fayad, is cocky and talks in broad strokes. Vague references to “the next imminent operation. We have every reason to believe something big is going to drop soon.”

  “Do we know in what form the attack is coming?” Paula asked.

  Shurooq shook her head. “Not exactly, but Rebani presumes it’ll be another bomb.”

  Joe tented his fingers over his belly. “And the target?”

  Shurooq answered, “Just that it’s a travel hub.”

  “That could be bridges, tubes, buses,” Callum said. “Airports.”

  “We need more information,” Paula said. “We need specifics.”

  “Agreed,” Joe said. “In the meantime, put out a high-security alert for all of London with particular attention to transit hubs. Callum, return Ms Baumann to Germany as soon as possible, then see me for further instructions.”

  Callum had let hope rise for a moment, that maybe there was a chance that Gabriele could stay, but Joe squashed it firmly with his words.

  And he was right. Gabriele would never be safe with Callum. There was a very real chance he may not make it home from work one day. Agents died on the field all the time. The last thing Gabriele needed was to have another guy she cared for die on her. It wasn’t fair of him to ask it of her. Best if she went back to Germany and met a nice, stable German man whose job was safe and secure. But was Germany the safest place?

  “They could find her there, too,” Callum said. “Just as easily as they found Mick.”

  Joe tapped the table with a thick forefinger. “She doesn’t qualify for our protection.”

  “And even if she did,” Paula said, “she would have to give up all ties to her family and friends. Disappear from their lives forever. Do you think she’d agree to that?”

  Callum shook his head. He knew Gabriele would be too stubborn to even consider something like that.

  “What’s the next best option?” he asked.

  “She should choose a different country and stay under the radar for a while,” Joe said. “Ask her what she thinks about Canada or Brazil.”

  Callum ground his teeth together, feeling helpless. They were right, of course. Germany was out of the question for now, yet he doubted she’d be willing to leave Europe entirely. He’d figure out a way to broach the subject with her tomorrow.

  They moved onto the next item of the agenda—ensuring sufficient security detail for the duration of the Israeli Prime Minister’s visit—but Gabriele Baumann remained on Callum’s mind.

  GABRIELE AWOKE to music from the clock radio on the side table, telling her is was 07:00. Shurooq must have set it. She sat up and turned on the light. On the floor by the door were all her things she’d left behind in the cottage and at Callum’s house: her suitcase and carry-on bag, her makeup kit and purse. Someone had retrieved the objects and delivered them here.

  There was no mistaking the message. She was leaving England for good.

  A sigh released from her lungs, long and slow. It failed to remove the burden of heavy emotion that had settled on her chest.

  The old adage was true. Ignorance is bliss. Meeting Clover, knowing that “Mick Leatherby” could’ve had a long life with her had he not stumbled across the Al Qaeda, had he not had to flee and leave her behind broken-hearted: knowing the truth about Lennon didn’t ease the pain.

  Gabriele couldn’t help but feel like she had been a reconciliation prize.

  But that wasn’t fair. Lennon treated her well. Showered her with adoration. He’d hid a large piece of himself from her, but she understood why now. Having been a target herself made Lennon’s motives clear. She’d have to do the same thing to protect her own family and she wouldn’t hesitate to lie by omission to do it.

  And now there was Callum.

  Callum who looked like Lennon, but was nothing like him. Callum was his own person, and though they shared some traits—like how to enamour a woman—his approach to life was completely opposite. When it came to fight or flight, Lennon was a runner. Callum was a fighter.

  Both aspired to peacekeeping, but from opposite sides of the coin.

  Gabriele showered and put on fresh clothes, her own clothes, leaving the ones Paula had purchased folded on the cot after she made it. She carefully applied makeup and blow-dried her hair. If Callum was so intent on saying good-bye, she wanted to burn an impression of herself on his mind.

  She answered a tap on the door, expecting to see him, but it was Shurooq on the other side of the knock. She held a tray with breakfast.

  “Good morning,” she said cheerily, laying the tray down on the side table. “I imagine you must be hungry. It’s not much, just a couple croissants with butter and jam and a cup of coffee with foamed milk.”

  Gabriele smiled. She obviously got her instructions from Callum. “It’s great, thanks.”

  “You have fifteen minutes before Callum arrives to collect you.”

  She left as dutifully as she arrived.

  Gabriele ate quickly, brushed her teeth and added lip colour to her lips. She zipped up her bags and when she turned around Callum was standing in the doorway. Her heart tumbled down a long hill.

  He wore trousers instead of jeans, a shirt, tie and suit jacket, looking nothing like a former soldier and everything like a government agent. His face was an assortment of bruises. Bluish-green spots peppered his jaw and cheekbone.

  It didn’t take away from his good looks. In fact, to her chagrin, she found him more appealing than ever.

  His eyes appraised her as she stood there like a dazed deer. “Good morning,” he finally said.

  “Good morning.” She turned her back to him, reaching for her suitcase, unsure how she was going to get through the twenty-minute ride to London City Airport. She inhaled and mentally challenged herself to be strong.

  There were fewer security measures when it came to leaving the Thames House and before long Callum had them driving through the city, this time in a classic, dark blue sedan.

  “Where do you really live?” Gabriele asked. “You’re not in Emsworth. You can’t have spent the night at the Thames House last night.”

  “I have a flat in the city.”

  Gabriele wondered what it would be like to live in a city like London. “Is it nice?”

  Callum glanced at her. “Pretty nice.”

  “I moved back in with my parents when Lennon died. Never moved out again. Pretty pathetic.”

  “It’s not pathetic, Gabi. It’s understandable.”

  She swallowed. There he was using her pet name again.

  “It’s why I came to England to see the cottage,” she continued. “I needed a push to get out of Dresden. To get away from my parents. They’re dear, don’t get me wrong, but they will care for me for their whole lives if I let them. I had to push myself out of the nest.”

  “Speaking of leaving the nest,” Callum began, “Germany is no longer safe for you. It’s our consensus that you should settle somewhere else, at least for a while.”

  Gabriele was stunned. “Like where?”

  “Canada and Brazil were suggested.”

  “ You’re kidding, right?”

  “Unfortunately, no. Take a couple days to think about it. Choose a place you’d like to live. You can tell your parents you got a job in Greece or Japan. We’ll arrange it, so it will be true. We can give you a new ID.” He shot her an apologetic glance. “But other than that, you’d be on your own.”

  The news just kept getting worse and worse. “You really think I’m not safe in Dresden?”

  “You could put your family in danger as well.”

  Oh, mercy. She had no choice then. She had to keep her distance from home for the sake of those she loved. She began to understand Lennon in a deeper way.

  “I need a day to process.”

  “Paula will be in touch.”

  Gabriele felt her throat grow thick with emotion. She opened up the glove box, hoping Callum had moved the extra pair of sunglasses he had stashed in the Smart
Car over. Good. He had. She put them on because she didn’t want him to see her eyes, the anguish that was building there.

  She also wanted to look at him. She shifted slightly in her seat so she could face him and watch his profile without being obvious. The truth was that she wanted to burn his image on her mind, too. This was Callum’s profile, not Lennon’s. She wasn’t confusing the two.

  “I can tell you’re looking at me.” He was so full of himself.

  “I’m not kissing you good-bye.”

  The corner of his mouth tugged up as if he acknowledged the challenge and would rise to it.

  Callum’s phone chimed. He checked it and answered. “Hi, Paula.”

  His face grew stern and his gaze darted to the rearview mirror.

  “Yes, there’s been a white van behind us for the last mile or so… What should I do? …I’m on it.”

  He hung up and glanced at Gabriele with a look that was hard to discern.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “The passenger in the van behind us is a suicide bomber. The driver has instructions to follow us to the LCY where he’ll drop off the bomber who will follow us to the check-in line.”

  A heavy flush of fear filled Gabriele’s chest. The lobby of the London City Airport was vast and bustling with people coming and going. There were long check-in lines, a busy restaurant, car hire booths, a book store, and other customer services. It wasn’t a huge airport like Gatwick, but an explosion could kill hundreds of people.

  She swallowed. “What are you supposed to do now?”

  He looked at her again with something close to regret. “Run him off the road.”

  “Won’t that set the bomb off?”

  “Maybe. There’s a good chance it’s on a timer to line up with your check-in time. I’m going to stop to let you out.”

  Callum signaled to pull to the shoulder, but instead of slowing down, the van rammed them in the back. Gabriele’s neck jerked back against the headrest. She cried out, “What are they doing?”

  “They don’t want me to stop. They don’t want me to let you out.”

  Gabriele didn’t understand. “I thought getting rid of me was personal to Sati?”