Calder liked to think his father hadn’t intended to die that day, that his death had been a consequence of a confrontation. But he’d never know. Perhaps it was his intention to take his own life so that he wouldn’t end up in the same prison where his daughter’s murderer had served less than a fraction of his sentence. Or maybe he’d always hoped to come home to his family again. Either way, Calder couldn’t be angry with his father. He’d only done what he thought he had to do to protect his family and avenge his daughter’s death.
It was the Naylor family who took the brunt of Calder’s anger. Roan Naylor, the smarmy politician who didn’t care about anything but his own ambition. Leslie Naylor, his beautiful wife who always looked half stoned whenever they were caught in public together. And Quinn, the redheaded spark who always had this false sort of smile on her full lips whenever she made a public appearance, whether with her parents or alone. She was just a year or two younger than Calder, a beauty even then. The whole state watched her grow up in the press until she suddenly disappeared, the politician’s press secretary announcing that Quinn and her parents were asking for privacy while she attended college. She’d show up at charity events and fundraisers from time to time, but all that ended five years ago.
Just about the time she learned the truth about Kaden Woodriff.
That was what was on the computer. Calder wouldn’t be doing his job if he didn’t investigate the possibility that Roan Naylor was behind his daughter’s recent bad luck.
Maybe a part of him was hoping to pin it all on Naylor. It’d always been something of a fantasy to bring down the man for what he’d done to his family. Naylor didn’t kill Andi, but he’d added insult to injury by releasing her killer. He didn’t pull the trigger, but he was just as responsible for Angus’ death as Angus himself.
“I miss him, too,” Calder told his mother. “I wish he was here, too. But I’ve accepted that he made his choice, and he did what he thought was right.”
His mother sighed. “Killing another human being is never the right thing, Calder.”
“Yes, well, it depends on how you define human being.”
She looked up, alarm written all over her face. She pressed her hands to either side of his face and forced him to look at her.
“Promise me you aren’t obsessing like he did. Promise you aren’t going after that man, that politician.”
She said the last word like it was poison she was trying to rid her mouth of.
Calder nodded, lifting one of her hands and kissing her palm. “I promise, Mom. That research is just for a case, nothing else.”
She studied his face a moment longer like she could read the truth in his eyes. He leaned forward and kissed the center of her forehead.
“I love you. I would never do anything to hurt you.”
“Okay,” she said softly.
“Speaking of which, I need to go. I have a work thing.”
She nodded. “I’ll take her to school. I need to stop at the store, anyway.”
He kissed her again, drawing her close against him. He’d promised himself that he would make things right for his mother the day they stood side by side at his father’s grave. He’d gone into the military because it was a quicker way to earn a living than college. And he’d gone into police work because it seemed that was the best way to protect her from the insanity that still existed outside the four walls of their home. And he’d brought his mother with him to Springfield not only so she could be the hands-on grandmother she’d so wanted to be but also to watch over her and protect her as he should have done for Andi and his father.
That shit wasn’t going to happen on his watch again. His mother was going to live out the rest of her days happy and safe, protected from the evil that existed in the outside world, or he’d die trying.
“I don’t know what I’d do without you, Mom.”
“You’d have a proper woman in your bed. And you’d be much happier.”
He groaned even as she smiled brightly up at him. He knew she was teasing, but he also knew she had her own thoughts of what their lives should be like now. He just shook his head as he went in for one final kiss, then he moved around her and called out for his daughter, swinging her into his arms when she came running out of the kitchen, maple syrup smeared on her teeny chin.
“Have a good day, Angel,” he said as he buried his face in her hair and breathed her in for a long second.
His mother thought he could be happier than this, but he couldn’t see how. These two women were all he needed.
Chapter 12
Springfield, Illinois
Downtown Springfield
Quinn didn’t want to give everything away during the first meeting. She simply wanted to find out if anyone would be interested in the things she had to say. The reporter seemed almost bored as she looked her over, her eyes taking in the cut on Quinn’s cheek, the fading bruises on her face. She hadn’t bothered to cover them with makeup, deciding it would be too much like trying to hide something, and she was tired of hiding things.
“What exactly do you expect to get out of this?” the reporter asked.
Quinn shook her head. “Nothing. I just want the world to know the truth.”
“And, to you, the truth is that Senator Naylor isn’t a nice guy?”
There was a little amusement in the question that annoyed Quinn. She sat back in the chair and crossed her legs, wiping her palms on her thighs.
“Senator Naylor is a sadistic bastard. He’s done things that you could never comprehend.”
“Has he?”
“And I have proof.”
A spark of interest ignited in the reporter’s dark eyes. “Is that right?”
“Of course. I wouldn’t come to you without it.”
The woman leaned forward. “What kind of proof?”
Quinn shook her head. “No. I don’t think we should get into it now. I just . . . I wanted to find out how interested you were. And where you’d publish a story of this nature.”
“It depends. If it’s political, it’ll run in the paper version and on the website. Something more explosive? That could run not only on our paper, but it could get picked up by most of the major papers across the country.”
“What do you consider explosive?”
The woman tilted her head, tapping her fingernail against her teeth for a second. “Well, with a politician, it would have to be proof of wrongdoing, an affair, a murder . . . you wouldn’t happen to have proof that he knew Angus Obre was going to kill that guy, Alexander Wallace, would you?”
Quinn’s head came up quickly at the sound of Alexander Wallace’s name. It wasn’t a name she’d heard spoken aloud in years. But it was a name she’d never forget.
After the news of what that girl’s father had done hit the news, Quinn researched Wallace’s crimes. At first, she only read what was available at the library and online. But then she broke into her father’s office and found the files the district attorney had sent him. The things that man did to that little girl—a girl who would have only been a year older than Quinn—and the other murders the cops thought Wallace had done but couldn’t connect him to for one reason or another were . . . horrifying! How could her father let that man go free?
The memory of it never left Quinn.
“I wish that was what I had. But it’s not.”
“Then what do you have?”
Quinn shook her head. “I’m shopping my story around. I have four more reporters to see today.”
“Hey! I thought this was supposed to be an exclusive!”
“It will be when I find a reporter I can trust with what I have to say. But I don’t think that’s you.”
Quinn walked out of the room, the woman muttering dirty words under her breath. She was clearly unhappy, but Quinn had to be very careful with this. She couldn’t tell this particular story to just anyone. It had to be the right someone.
Quinn took the elevator to the lobby and paused, intending to ask the recep
tionist to call for a cab. Her car was still here, downtown, in the lot where she’d left it. But she was afraid to walk to it from here since it was more than five blocks, and there was still a shooter after her. However, as luck would have it, she happened to see a taxi pull up out front to let out a passenger, and there didn’t seem to be anyone else waiting for it.
She rushed out the door, her fingers inches from the car door’s handle when someone grabbed her arm and yanked her back. She turned, her fist ready to mash itself into whoever’s jaw when she found herself staring up into Calder’s blue-green eyes.
“I told you not to leave the house!”
Relief washed over her as her heart slowly began to move at a regular beat.
“You scared me!”
“I hope so! What if the shooter had been out here? What if he’d decided not to miss this time?”
Her fear returned as quickly as it had begun to leave. That hadn’t occurred to her. Had the shooter purposely missed her yesterday? Was it all just a trick to try to scare her? If that was true, why . . .?
Calder pulled her toward the street and toward the same truck he’d driven her home in the night before. He didn’t so much help her inside this time as he tossed her in, slamming the door just a breath after she pulled her foot out of the way. The second he was behind the wheel, he barreled into traffic, bullying his way around slow-moving cars as he headed for the familiar roads that would lead them back to her house. His knuckles were white on the wheel once more, his grip almost as tight as the set of his jaw.
“What the hell was so important that you had to go to that building today? Without alerting my protection detail?”
“I had a meeting.”
“With who?”
She looked at him, wondering if he was asking out of curiosity or because he thought it might have something to do with her case. He didn’t take his eyes off the road. He just continued to rush around every other car on the road like they had less right to be there than they did.
“You’re going to get us killed if you keep driving like that!”
He let his foot up slightly on the gas pedal. “Answer the question.”
She shook her head, her eyes moving forward out the windshield. “I was talking to a reporter.”
The truck swerved slightly. “What reporter?”
She shrugged. “Some woman with the local paper. But I have interviews with the Associated Press, the Wall Street Journal, the—”
“What the hell are you thinking? Are you trying to get yourself killed?”
He finally looked at her, his eyes wide with something like disgust.
That wasn’t what she wanted to see.
“The only thing that makes sense in this whole thing is that my father or someone associated with him is trying to shut me down. It’s not like he hasn’t threatened to do it before.”
“You think your dad is trying to discredit you?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised. He tried to shut me up five years ago when he sent Kaden to romance me.”
“Shut you up about what?”
Quinn reached up to brush the hair out of her face, not sure she wanted to get into this family history with this man who was really nothing more than a stranger. She crossed her arms over her chest, staring out the side window now.
“How did you find me?” she asked after a minute.
“You’re not very good about slipping a guard. My man saw you leave and followed you.”
“But I went out the back door and had a taxi meet me three blocks over!”
He glanced at her again. “You do realize that the shooter, who came after you yesterday, could have been watching the house, right? He could have seen you leave? Could have shot at you again?”
“He didn’t.”
“But he could have. And you would have bled out in the street before someone noticed.”
That image turned off the fire under her indignation. She continued to stare out the window, feeling like a fool. And completely exposed with nothing but glass between her head and whatever might be outside this vehicle. Tears filled her eyes but she blinked them away, refusing to give in to that sort of emotion in front of him.
They drove the rest of the way in silence. When they arrived at the house, he insisted she wait in the truck alone while he checked the house. Another car had pulled up to the curb and Calder spoke to the man who sat behind the wheel. She watched in the rearview mirror, saw Calder gesture to the house a few times before he slipped a gun she hadn’t realized he had out of a holster under his sports coat. She sat up a little straighter as she watched him go inside, straining to see him through the covered windows, imagining what would happen if he encountered anyone inside. He apparently found nothing waiting for them within the confines of the four walls she called home. Calder waved to the other man, and he drove away just as Calder yanked open the door she’d been leaning her elbow on.
“Who was that man?” she demanded.
“Your protection detail.”
“Where did he go?”
“Home. He’s been sitting on you since last night.”
“So, what? You’re just giving up on me?”
“No. I’m staying with you.”
He pushed her into the house, dropping her keys into the dish by the door where she kept them. It was like he belonged here, like this house was more his than hers.
Maybe he’d be a better fit for it, anyway. She’d never taken the time to make it a true home. She’d been taught that a home was for show, not for comfort. Everything in its place at all times, including the inhabitants. If one little thing was out of place, there’d be hell to pay.
Maybe he’d know how to make it comfortable. Safe.
“Why do you think your father is trying to shut you down?”
Quinn turned from her thoughts, her eyes falling on him where he stood by the French doors that led out to the rose garden. He wasn’t looking at her. He was staring out at the garden, his head turned so he could look over his shoulder as he leaned casually against the glass. He almost looked like he was posing for a picture that was meant to appear in a national magazine.
“Does it really matter?”
“It could.”
She sighed as she kicked off her shoes and slipped out of the jacket she’d been wearing. “He knows I have things on him I can go to the press about. And he knew that a respected surgeon would be able to get people’s attention. A discredited doctor, on the other hand, probably wouldn’t have as much luck.”
Quinn settled on the couch, drawing her feet up under her. Calder had turned, curiosity in his eyes as he studied her.
“What do you have on him?”
Quinn hesitated, not sure she wanted to share it with him. Positive she didn’t want to share it with him.
“Why?”
“I need to know everything if I’m going to help you.” He came over to the couch, sitting on the coffee table in front of her. When he leaned forward, he was nearly touching her. “I want to help you, Quinn.”
She studied his face. “Why?”
She thought he might get frustrated with the same question over and again, but he simply shrugged. “Isn’t that what you hired Mastiff for?”
She snorted, moving around him to stand up. “You’re right,” she said softly as she crossed the room, dragging her fingers through her hair. “I hired you for this, and I haven’t been all that cooperative, have I? I can’t remember a damn thing about the night of the accident, and I never saw anyone yesterday when those gunshots were fired at my damn face!” She touched the stitches she’d replaced on her cheek the night before, five teeny stitches that would reduce the scar that would be left behind. “Don’t you think I know I’m asking for the impossible here?”
“You’re not making it easy for us to help you. Running off today without warning me—”
“I’m aware I put you in a bind. You don’t have to remind me.”
“You did, actually.” He got up and crossed
his arms over his chest, unaware of how intimidating he looked when he did that. “You took me away from my family earlier than I would have liked. But that’s neither here nor there.”
She glanced at him. “Your family? You’re married?”
She was a little surprised by the burst of jealousy that burned in her chest. She turned away, hating herself for even allowing herself to believe that he might be single. That he might be interested in her. All that time wasted on thoughts of him as she lay in bed last night . . .
“You have to keep me informed on everything you do. You have to let me know when you suspect someone of being part of this. I can’t solve this thing for you if you’re dead or you don’t tell me everything.”
She just nodded, turning away from him, too embarrassed to look him in the eye.
“Quinn,” he said softly, her name on his lips making hope burn where it should never have existed.
“I don’t know anything. I’m just grasping at straws! Don’t you get that?”
“I know this is hard. But, like I said, I can’t help you if you don’t trust me.”
“I don’t even know you!” She glanced at him. “I don’t even think you like me all that much.”
“What makes you think that?”
He smiled a little smile, but it didn’t quite make it to his eyes. And that hurt her in a way that nothing he could have said would have.
She marched over to the French doors and wrenched them open. He grabbed her, slamming the doors closed again with the weight of her body as he tossed her against them, tangling her in the sheer curtains covering the glass.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“I was only going to the garden! I need some space, some air!”
“You don’t leave this house until this thing is over.”
He was standing so close to her that she could see the flecks of gold in his eyes, could see the faded scar beside his nose. And she could smell the headiness of his cologne. It made her head spin with needs she had put on the back burner a very long time ago.
Mastiff Security: The Complete 5 Books Series Page 30