"I don't know anyone in Tulsa anymore. It could have been some rowdy kids -- or maybe someone with a grudge against my father."
"I don't think so."
Wanting see what had made Evan's forehead crease in concern, Callie tread over the carpet, ignoring the stinging cuts inflicted on the bottoms of her feet. Bile rose in her throat as she looked at the neatly blocked letters on the brick. BITCH.
She couldn't stop the strangled laugh. She clamped a hand over her mouth as another rose in her throat. "I thought being at home would make a difference," she choked out. "But you know, there's just no such thing as sanctuary."
Callie didn't protest when Evan rose and gathered her close. For an endless moment, she let herself be needy, allowing his strength to seep into her, taking the security he offered. Then he whispered, "I'll be your sanctuary."
The same weakness that had kept her hostage in an abusive marriage prodded her to give in, to let Evan take care of her. She stiffened, ashamed that she'd allowed herself even a small comfort in a man's arms. In Evan's arms.
"I don't need you," she said, stepping out of the embrace. "I don't need anyone."
"You're lying to yourself, Callie. You can't go through life alone and scared all the time. You have to lean on others -- and let them lean on you."
"I'd rather be left alone."
She didn't like the way he looked at her, as if she were a challenge -- not sexually, but emotionally. Uneasiness crept along her spine. She didn't want to be a project for Evan Madigan. She'd had enough of helpful people -- and those who were not-so-helpful. Callie put her hands on her hips and glared at him.
"Don't think you're going to turn into some kind of guardian angel. I don't want to depend on anyone. And I don't want anyone to depend on me."
"Too bad," he drawled, crossing his arms. "Because what you want and what you need are not the same things."
Frustration whipped through her. Damn the man, anyway. "Get out."
"No can do. I'm a cop witness to a crime. I have to report it. The whole process will probably take hours." His grin was unrepentant. "Guess I'll be here for awhile."
--------
*Chapter Four*
Callie sat on the couch, her cold hands wrapped around an even colder cup of coffee. She glared at Evan, who was talking to a couple of uniformed cops.
Enough of this. She trashed the coffee and interrupted their discussion. "How much longer will this take?"
"We're finished. Are you okay?" asked Evan.
She hesitated, drawn in by the concern in his eyes. Callie shook off the unfolding need to allow him to take care of her. She wasn't falling into that trap again. She'd learned to take care of herself. "I'm fine."
"How about dinner? I'll take you to one of the best places in town to eat."
"There can't be too many places to eat in this town."
"True. But I do know the best one."
She crossed her arms unable to believe she was actually considering his offer. "This is the second time you've tried to bribe me with food."
"It worked didn't it?"
"You're impossible."
She couldn't trust herself where men were concerned -- particularly those who made her pulse leap just by walking into a room. And Evan definitely did that. So did Dan, a little voice reminded. Callie swallowed the automatic fear. Daniel was dead. He couldn't hurt her anymore. She wouldn't allow anyone else to.
"I appreciate what you're trying to do."
"It's just dinner, Callie."
"Do you understand the word no?"
"I don't want you to be alone." His concern drove a chill of fear into her heart. She didn't want to be alone, either.
She sighed. "No."
"All right. But if you need anything..."
"I'll call you."
Her time with Evan had come to end. Instead of relief, she felt reluctance. Odd, she shouldn't feel that way. Callie walked to the couch. She didn't want him around -- right? She squeezed the back of the sofa, her fingers biting deep into cushion. "Look, I'll be fine. I need to go visit Daddy -- so I won't even be here for the next few hours."
"Do you want me to take you to the hospital?"
"No."
"Then I'll wait until you leave."
Evan was as good as his word. He waited as she locked the mansion's huge front door. He waited as she got into her father's Mercedes. He waited as she backed the car out of the driveway. He even followed her as far as Yale and then turned the opposite direction as she made a right on 61st.
Callie hummed with the song on the radio as she drove into St. Francis Hospital's parking lot. With a small laugh, she realized that she felt content. Even better, for the first time in forever, she felt safe.
* * * *
He watched the bitch drive into the hospital parking lot in her stuck-up Mercedes. He gripped the steering wheel of the Corvette, resisting the urge to kill her right now. He had the gun. But he had patience, too. It needed to be perfect. She had to know why she was dying. Had to know who was exacting revenge.
He'd known she would run home to Daddy. He'd been in Tulsa, cruising by her rich-ass father's house every single day for the last two months. After she took off from California, he'd tried to find her. Killing her at a rest stop would've been a lot more random; no one suspecting her death was deliberate. Well-planned ... well-executed. But her path had been erratic, her destination unknown, her journey hard to follow. He'd lost her in New Mexico. Who knew where the bitch had gone from there.
From the day he'd seen her car parked in the mansion's driveway, he'd followed her every move. He'd almost lost it when he saw the ambulance a couple of days ago -- thought that she'd done something stupid and taken away his chance at payback. He'd followed the emergency vehicle to hospital, relieved when he saw the old man.
He watched as she got out of the Mercedes, swinging the strap of a small brown purse over her shoulder. Bitch. Hatred rose like bile in his throat and he swallowed it. She'd taken away something precious to him, something irreplaceable. And she would pay for the priceless life she'd stolen.
He watched until she had gone into the hospital, then started the Corvette. The powerful rumble of the engine soothed him as he eased the car into gear and left the parking lot.
Soon, he promised himself, very soon. Then Callie O'Brian Connors would die.
* * * *
"Would you go get laid or something?" Jerry asked in a pissed-off voice. "You're on edge. Go get rid of some testosterone."
Evan looked at his partner with a raised brow. "What are you talking about?"
"You." Jerry waved the waitress over to their table. She brought the coffeepot and filled both men's cups. "Thank you, Emmie."
Evan watched in part-amusement, part-disgust as Jerry loaded his mug with sugar.
"What no creamer? That would finish ruining a perfectly good cup of coffee."
"You know I'm lactose intolerant. I can't eat ice cream without wanting to puke up my guts."
"That's disgusting."
"Speaking of disgusting ... how's your love life?"
"My love life has been satisfactory," Evan said as the image of Callie flashed in his mind.
"Your love life stinks. You should be a married man like me."
"Claire's one in a million." Evan sipped the coffee. "You're a lucky son-of-a-bitch."
Jerry smiled, his longish face reminding Evan of a Beagle. "Yeah, don't I know it. But we're not talking about me, we're talking about you."
Evan sighed and shifted against the red vinyl seat. The downtown cafe was one of their usual haunts. He'd been restless this morning, needing to talk, needing not to talk. He'd called Jerry and offered to buy breakfast. What he really wanted to do was call Callie and offer to do whatever she wanted. He hadn't seen her in two days and he couldn't get her out of his thoughts.
"Okay. Give."
Evan looked at his partner. Jerry's pale blue eyes were narrowed. "Give what?"
"What's her name?
"
"Who?"
"The woman who has your dick in a knot."
"Screw you."
"I'm married," Jerry said, batting his lashes. "But the offer's tempting."
Evan chuckled and shook his head. "She is none of your business."
"I'm your partner, man. Besides you owe me -- I saved your life. Now give me details."
"Walking in front of a B.B. gun and getting shot in the butt does not qualify as saving my life."
"Hey! Just think about where those B.B.'s would have gone if I hadn't walked in front of you."
"You exaggerate everything."
"So what? It makes life interestin'. What's her name?"
Evan gave up. His partner, when interested in getting information, was the old cliche -- like a dog with a bone. It was one of the reasons Jerry was such a good cop. "Okay. It's Callie O'Brian."
"Good name. Irish. Irish is solid, very solid."
"What are you babbling about? You're Jewish."
"Well, you're an asshole, but I don't hold it against you." Jerry's brown eyes twinkled. "So how'd you two meet?"
"I'm beginning to envy those guys who were tortured in the Inquisition."
"Callie ... hmmm. Wouldn't be the same Callie that you had Stephenson watch last night, would it?"
"Stephenson's got a big mouth."
Jerry grinned. "So does Harley. Says you called in a favor and he's going over there tonight to pull guard duty."
"I can't stake out her place tonight. Sharon's talked me into watching the triplets. I'll have enough woman problems."
"No kiddin'."
Emmie interrupted, sliding two plates of food in front of them. Evan inhaled the crisp scent of bacon and eggs. He scooped up some eggs, watching as Jerry slathered jelly on the lone bagel. "Claire got you on a diet again?"
"Hell yes."
Jerry tore into the bagel, his eyes on Evan's Heart Attack Special. Evan took pity on his friend and put some bacon on Jerry's plate. "Don't tell Claire. She'll skin me alive."
"I'd sooner die than rat on a such a generous guy."
They ate in silence and soon Evan pushed away his empty plate. Emmie, bless her knowing soul, came over and refilled the coffee cups.
"So why do you have this woman's place staked out?"
"It was vandalized. I got a feeling about this one, Jer. Something's not right -- the whole thing was directed at her. She didn't think so ... but I do."
"She doesn't sound like one of your usual projects. No husband or boyfriend beating her up?"
Uneasiness and a sliver of cutting truth made Evan's eyes narrow. "She's not a project. I don't have projects."
"Yes, you do. You think you're some kind of superhero. You like that damsel-in-distress stuff."
"You're full of shit."
"Nope. You just don't like facing the truth. You can't save 'em all. Isn't that the first thing we learned as rookies? You can't save 'em all."
"You sound like my sister. Callie's not a project. I like her. I don't want to see her get hurt. Besides, she's hell with a gun. She tried to shoot me, you know."
Jerry's eyes widened. "I didn't see that on any report."
"You tell a soul and they'll never find your body." Evan gave his friend the short version of his first meeting with Callie.
"All the good stuff happens to you." Jerry looked at his watch, then drained his coffee. "You almost done fixin' up that piece-of-crap house?"
"Sorta. I don't know where to begin."
"At the beginning."
"Thanks for the sage advice."
"So you need someone to watch Callie tomorrow night? We're supposed to go to my mother-in-law's for dinner." Jerry shuddered. "I'd do anything to get out of that visit."
"Sorry, bud, but I have plans for Callie tomorrow."
"So you two have a thing going?"
"Not yet," Evan said. "But I'm working on it."
--------
*Chapter Five*
Callie groaned when the irritating chimes of the doorbell interrupted the best part of the mystery she had been reading. Unfolding herself from the comfortable chair, she put the book down and hurried to the door before the unknown visitor could ring the doorbell again.
Hoping, yet not wanting, it to be Evan, Callie peered through the peephole. "Damn."
The porch light had gone out and dusk had long since faded into night. She saw the play of shadows outside; moonlight splattered on the landscaped yard. She did not see anyone on the steps. Frowning, she clasped the doorknob, then remembered every horror film she'd watched eagerly as a teenager. In those, stupid people always investigated dark corners and got their heads cut off. That thought should be funny, but a cold finger of fear trailed her spine.
Callie double-checked the locks and chain. She looked through the peephole again, then shrugged. Maybe the doorbell had an electrical short. The wind shrieked and Callie shivered. It had been trying to rain all day and a patter against the newly-replaced living room window told her the storm had begun. A gentle May rain it was not. Huge splats soon turned into pounding fists. She curled onto the couch, gathered an afghan around her, and tried to read. The book had intrigued her moments ago, but now she couldn't concentrate on the page.
After Callie read the same paragraph three times, she gave up finishing the chapter. She could read tomorrow. She yawned deciding ten o'clock was as good a time as any to go to bed. As she rose from the couch, the doorbell rang again.
Her knees shook. She took a deep breath. "Stop being, silly. You're home. You're safe."
Again, Callie couldn't see anyone on the porch. Either someone thought scaring her to death was hilarious, or the doorbell needed to be fixed. Biting her lip, she tried to shake off the uneasiness swirling through her. She walked to the huge picture window and drew aside the sheer curtains. The night was thick with rain; the moon had taken refuge behind the clouds. Funny, the streetlight had gone out, too. Hadn't it been on earlier? She pressed against the window, trying to see through the storm. The glass cooled her face. She usually loved storms; she entertained the idea of feeling the rain dance against her skin.
Thunder cracked across the sky. Startled, Callie jerked away from the window, her heart pounding. Lightning flashed, and a man's face appeared only inches above where hers had been seconds ago. Shock rooted her feet to the floor. Cold blue eyes chilled her and the slight smile, twisted at the corners, shredded her illusions about safety. Rain ran in rivulets down his chiseled face, giving her the impression that he was crying. Dan. Dear God. It was Dan.
Callie screamed, and the sound of her own terror forced her to turn away, stumble toward the phone. She grasped the receiver, her trembling fingers hovering above the numbers. Thunder rumbled again and her gaze locked onto the window. When the lightning flashed, the face she was sure had been Dan's did not appear. Callie sobbed and clutched the receiver. She was going crazy. She'd finally stepped over the edge of insanity. Tears blinding her, she looked down at the phone. Dark, cold knowledge flooded through her.
She had no one to call.
* * * *
Evan jolted awake. Running a hand through his hair as he stretched against the recliner, he groggily wondered if the triplets had awakened. Blinking at his watch he realized Sharon had picked up the girls more than an hour ago.
The phone trilled insistently. So that's what had interrupted a very interesting dream about Callie. An image of smooth, pale flesh flashed in his mind; his groin tightened. Another shrill ring echoed through the uncarpeted room. Evan reached down to the floor and grabbed the receiver. "Madigan."
Silence met his abrupt greeting. Prank caller? He pressed his ear against the phone and heard the shuddering breath. No. He'd heard this kind of silence before. "Hello? Can I help you?"
"Evan."
The whispery voice slid across his skin. He straightened in the chair. "I'm here."
"There was ... something in my window. I -- I think I'm going crazy."
The last words skitter
ed like cold water down his spine. "Callie?"
"I didn't have anyone else to call."
Her entreaty; her unspoken plea forced Evan to his feet. "Don't worry, sweetheart. I'm on my way. It'll take me ten minutes. Can you hold on for ten minutes?"
"Yes." He heard the strength in that one word and knew Callie O'Brian could hold on for much longer than ten minutes. Evan knew, somehow, she'd already proven that.
Her scream made him clutch the phone. "Callie, what is it? What's wrong?"
"The lights went out. The storm -- " Thunder punctuated her shaky words and Evan realized it was raining. Not just raining, but storming. He looked out the window. Lightning flashed, a bright stab of light against the night sky.
"I hate the dark," she whispered.
"I'm on my way."
"Evan, thank you. I feel so stu -- "
Several clicks followed by the dial tone made the hairs rise on the back of Evan's neck.
The storm knocked out the lines, that's all. Callie was okay. He put on his shoes; grabbed his keys and wallet. Yet neither the rain nor his self-reassurances stopped him from speeding down the expressway. The Mustang's tires squealed as he exited, barely yielding for stop sign. He fishtailed; straightened the car with a swift twist of the steering wheel. Within minutes, he was pulling up to Callie's house.
Harley's beat-up Mazda was parked across the street. Evan would deal with Harley in a minute. He needed to check on Callie. The rain pounded him unmercifully as he jogged up the winding sidewalk to the front door.
The darkened house looked like one of the mansions in a horror movie. Rain hit the sidewalk, sounding like a thousand pebbles rattling against stone. Thunder rumbled and lightning cracked the sky, a backdrop that reinforced Evan's initial impression of the house. He rang the doorbell, then pounded on the solid wood of the door. "Callie!"
No one answered. Evan tried the doorknob, but soon realized the door had been locked tight. "Damn it."
He knocked again, ringing the doorbell at the same time. Why would she call him and not answer the door? With a sick tightening of his gut, he answered his own question. She'd been hurt or worse -- by someone. And he hadn't been here to protect her. He jogged across the street to Harley's car and looked inside. Harley's head lolled to one side, the big man's mouth open. Evan banged on the window and called the officer's name.
Midnight Intentions Page 3