Raw Power by Jackie Ashenden (12)

CHAPTER 12

Callie didn’t trust herself to speak. Her emotions didn’t make any sense and she was tired of trying to sort them out.

Her arm where he’d gripped her wasn’t sore, but it tingled all the same, heat lurking beneath her skin as if his touch had burned her. The same heat was lingering in her mouth, where he’d kissed her, and she could still taste him from where she’d bitten him.

She’d been stupid to get into an argument about the guitar, but she’d been angry at him for turning her down and telling her he wasn’t going to sleep with her again. Half of her had hoped that the argument would generate the usual sparks, that he’d forget himself and lose control, take her right in the hallway.

But he hadn’t. And she’d ended up revealing more than she’d ever thought she would. About her music. About her fear it would be taken from her the way everything she enjoyed or loved was taken from her.

Yet something had shifted in her chest again at the anger that had leapt in his green eyes after she’d told him. Because that anger wasn’t directed at her. It was for her father. For what he’d done. A protective anger on her behalf and part of her had glowed in response. The part that loved his protectiveness.

No one had ever been protective of her, never ever.

As the car sped along the freeway into the city, she glanced out the window, not wanting to look at him. Because this feeling inside of her was bad. Very bad. In telling him about her music, she’d opened up a part of her soul, and he hadn’t refused her.

No, he’d simply turned around and gotten her guitar and loaded it into the car without another word.

He hadn’t asked her anything about it though. In fact, he said nothing on the drive in, completely ignoring her. But the tension that gathered around him was almost palpable, and she didn’t know whether it had something to do with her, or whether it was to do with their situation. Or maybe it was both.

Either way it made her feel tense.

“So what’s the plan now?” she asked, wanting to break the heavy silence.

“Too many people know where I live so we’ll go to a hotel, check in under a different name. I want you to stay there while I make contact with my team.”

“Oh? I thought you weren’t going to meet with them?”

“I wasn’t. But I need information on the situation and they have it.” This time he gave her a lightning-fast glance. “You’ll stay in the hotel.”

“Sure,” she said, because what else could she say? She wasn’t exactly going to go out sightseeing, not when she knew what would happen if anyone spotted her. Anyway, she could use the time to herself, think about her next step. And she had her guitar, too.

Jack’s expression was hidden behind his sunglasses again, but she definitely caught suspicion emanating from him.

She raised an eyebrow. “What? You really think I’m going to be running around the city or something? Come on, I’m not that stupid.”

He didn’t speak, merely let his gaze linger a second longer on her before turning his attention back to the road.

Five minutes later, his phone buzzed and he glanced down at it, then cursed.

Callie frowned. “What now?”

For an answer he simply handed her the phone. “Read the text.”

It was from a number she didn’t recognize and all it said was: Thought you should know that the senator has called a press conference regarding the kidnapping of his daughter.

“Oh no,” she murmured, her stomach dropping. “That’s . . . not good.”

“No,” Jack said curtly.

With shaking fingers, Callie quickly opened the web browser on the phone and checked out a few news sites. Her stomach dropped even further. “Looks like it’s made it onto the front page of various papers. Jack . . .”

“It’s okay.” His voice was flat with conviction. “No one can track us if they don’t know where we are, and they don’t know where we are.”

“But he’s got the police involved.”

“I’ll deal with it.” He gave her another brief glance. “Don’t worry. Like I said, we’ll have to keep our heads down, but we were going to do that anyway. Besides, I’ll know more once I’ve spoken to the team.”

Callie tried to feel reassured, but it was difficult as they drove in tense silence into the city center.

A press conference. Accusations she’d been kidnapped.

This was getting worse and worse.

Jack parked the car in a parking building, then made her put on her winter coat, drawing up the collar and instructing her to keep her face down. Then he grabbed a cap from the glove compartment and pulled it low down over his face, collected their bags, then strode out into the city.

The hotel wasn’t far, which was good since Callie suddenly felt very exposed walking on the city streets. But then they were standing in the lobby and Jack was checking them in.

It wasn’t the kind of hotel she was used to—barely three-star, really—the carpet worn, the lingering scent of cigarettes in the air. However, when they got up to the room, despite the dirty-looking curtains and the wallpaper that probably hadn’t been updated since the nineties, there was a window that faced the street so she could at least look out.

There was also a king-size bed.

“I’ll take the couch,” Jack said, frowning at the bed.

Callie stared at it too, the germ of an idea beginning to take shape in her head now that they were safely inside and away from anyone who might spot them. She couldn’t do anything to help her own situation and she didn’t have the power to get her father off her own back. But as she’d already decided in the car to his place, she had a certain kind of power all her own.

She had power over Jack.

Maybe it was time to test it?

He moved past her, going to the window and looking out, before turning his attention to the window frame and the catches. Then he began systematically checking over the room itself.

“I’m sure it’s fine,” she said, watching him. “No one’s going to come in and get me. Nobody even knows where I am.”

He didn’t answer, nor did he stop what he was doing.

Five minutes later, his check obviously complete, he turned to her, the green of his eyes intense. “I’m going out for no more than an hour. Don’t open that door. Not for anyone. Do you understand?”

Callie sat on the bed, putting her hands on the mattress and leaning back, not missing the way his gaze dropped down the length of her body. Which was very satisfying. “Not even room service? I’m kind of hungry.”

He scowled and turned away, moving to the door. “I’ll get you something before I leave.”

She opened her mouth to ask what, but he’d gone out the door before she could say a word.

* * *

The bar that housed the 11th Hour HQ was virtually empty as Jack strode in. Sabrina was behind the bar again, her long curly brown hair tied up in a ponytail on top of her head, squinting up at the shelves of bottles stacked behind the bar itself.

She glanced at him as he entered, then looked away. Then looked back again, sharply. Without a word, she moved over to the door near the bar itself that led to the back room and pushed it open for Jack.

He went past her without comment, moving through the series of connected corridors that finally led out into the massive space of the gutted building that was the HQ proper.

Isiah was sitting in the leather recliner in the quarter of the massive space that had been given over to the living area. He looked like he was in the middle of an intense conversation with Faith, who was sitting on the couch nearby, a displeased look on her porcelain features. Kellan was lounging in an armchair, observing the conversation with some amusement.

Jack didn’t give a shit.

Ignoring the way Sabrina tried plucking at his sleeve to slow him down, he strode straight over to the sitting area.

Isiah’s hazel gaze flickered to him, then narrowed abruptly.

Everyone else fell silent.

Slowly Isiah leaned back in his chair. “Where’s the girl?”

“Somewhere safe.” Jack held the other man’s stare, giving back as good as he got.

He’d changed his mind about coming in for the debrief on the drive into the city, because after going over various options in his head, he figured that meeting with the team was the best way to get information on how to deal with Hawthorne. Especially since the prick had now called a fucking press conference about his daughter’s supposed “kidnapping.”

He wasn’t going to tell anyone where Callie was though and that was nonnegotiable, especially now. At least not until he could be sure that she was safe.

Isiah’s expression was hard. “Care to explain why you pissed off an extremely valuable client by kidnapping the daughter you were supposed to be guarding? The police are involved now, which means Mr. Night is not happy. And when Mr. Night is not happy, no one is fucking happy, least of all me.”

Ah yes, the mysterious Mr. Night. Whom no one had apparently ever met or even seen.

“I don’t give a shit whether he’s happy or not,” Jack replied flatly. “My job was to protect Callie from danger so I did.”

“You kidnapped her, man,” Kellan pointed out. “She’s a fucking senator’s daughter. And now we have publicity happening, which isn’t good for the team’s reputation.”

Jack straightened, glancing first at Kellan, then Faith, then Isiah. Making sure each one of them was listening to him. “The danger to Callie wasn’t only from the death threats. Her father is an abusive asshole and I wasn’t leaving her there.”

There was a thick, uncomfortable silence.

Isiah and Faith shared a look, then Isiah glanced at Jack again. “You sure about this?”

“I’m sure.”

Isiah grimaced. “Shit, whatever the guy’s done, you can’t just pull the girl out of there like that. There are steps you could have taken initially that would—”

“If they involved the police, then no,” Jack interrupted. “I couldn’t have. The senator’s got the police in his pocket.”

Isiah’s grimace turned into a scowl. “Well, they’re fucking involved now.”

“I’m not apologizing. I had no option other than to kidnap her.”

“To be fair,” Kellan said smoothly, “he did mention to me that he thought the senator was being a sketchy prick with putting cameras in his daughter’s place.”

“That’s beside the point.” Isiah put his hands on the arms of the chair and pushed himself out of it. “You had a job to do and now there’s a media situation. You’re putting our reputation at risk—like Kellan just said—because you didn’t follow orders.”

Jack folded his arms and stood his ground. Sure, he guessed the bastard was essentially his commanding officer, but this wasn’t the Corps. These weren’t his buddies. These were, in essence, mercenaries, and what mattered most to mercenaries was money.

Yeah, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have principles. He had a line and not leaving someone like Callie to the mercy of a controlling asshole like her father was the fucking definition of that line. And as for the media, they could go to hell.

“There were no orders to cover this particular situation,” he said curtly. “So I did what I thought best at the time. And yeah, that was getting her the hell out of Boston and away from her goddamn father.”

Isiah cursed. “That’s none of our fucking business. Domestic situations haven’t got anything to do with the job.”

“Bullshit. In this particular instance they had everything to do with the job. She wasn’t safe. So I protected her.”

“And now her fucking father is on our back and talking about taking our entire operation down if his daughter isn’t returned, not to mention holding press conferences and getting the police involved.”

Ah. So Hawthorne was threatening the team? Well, he’d always known that taking Callie wasn’t going to endear him to the senator, though to be honest, he hadn’t thought about the effect it would have on the 11th Hour team.

Shit.

Faith, holding her phone to her ear, lifted a hand, giving Jack a cool look. “Mr. Night wants the girl delivered back to her father ASAP. No arguments.”

Jack narrowed his gaze at her phone. Was she talking to Night right now? If so, he wouldn’t mind a word. “Give it to me.” He held out his hand. “I’ll speak to him myself.”

Faith frowned, then turned away, muttering something into the phone.

“Jesus,” Kellan murmured. “When you fuck up, you really fuck up.”

Jack ignored him, staring at Faith instead. He was prepared to fight anyone attempting to take Callie back to Boston. Even at the expense of the team he’d been so desperate to join not a week or so earlier. Because they’d survive it. He wasn’t sure Callie would.

After all, Molly hadn’t. Molly, whose only crime had been to be born to a woman who kept going back time after time to a man who loved his children so much he’d put a pillow over his little girl’s face and suffocated her.

All because she wouldn’t stay in bed. Because she was his. Because he could.

Yeah, Jack wasn’t going to let something like that happen again to another defenseless girl. He wouldn’t. He wasn’t eight like he had been back then, he was thirty-two. And like his own father had since discovered, he wasn’t powerless anymore.

Eventually Faith turned back and extended the phone in Jack’s direction. “You have five minutes,” she said crisply.

He took it from her, lifted it to his ear, and without any preamble at all said, “Callie Hawthorne is not going back.”

There was a silence down the other end of the phone.

Then a very deep, very dark voice replied, “I’m afraid that’s not your call to make, Mr. King. It’s mine. And now that the senator has made the situation even worse, what the senator wants, the senator gets.”

Jack turned away from the others, stalking a few steps toward the gym area of the huge space, his fingers gripping tight to the phone. “Over my dead goddam body,” he growled. “The senator is an abusive prick and your precious fucking team isn’t worth her life.”

“Your opinion is noted. But she needs to be back in Boston within the next twenty-four hours.”

Jack gritted his teeth. “So you don’t give a shit that he might kill her? She’s defenseless. She has no support. She’s on her own. Does that not matter at all to you?” Because if it didn’t, this wasn’t a team he wanted to be a part of, that was for fucking sure.

Another silence. Then a long-suffering-sounding sigh. “Miss Hawthorne’s life isn’t the only one under threat and there are greater things at stake, I’m afraid. You have twenty-four hours. If she’s not back within that time, I’ll find her and take her to Boston myself. And believe me, you don’t want that. Things tend to get very messy when I take matters into my own hands.”

Jack opened his mouth to tell the asshole he could fucking well try, but then the phone call disconnected abruptly.

He growled, wanting to throw the offending piece of technology out the nearest window. Greater things at stake? What the fuck was Night talking about? What “greater things”? And why were they more important than one woman’s life?

Well, one thing was clear to him at least; he was on his own. Which was fine. Sure, he’d wanted a purpose, a team of people who had his back, but if that purpose and that team involved leaving a woman without protection, then he didn’t want any part of it.

And as for that twenty-four-hours bullshit . . . He and Callie may as well leave San Diego right the hell now and the mysterious Mr. Night could go suck it. If the police were now involved as well as the press, that would make things difficult, but Jack would make sure they wouldn’t be found, least of all by that prick.

He turned to find Faith standing right behind him. There was a strange look on her usually expressionless face, a crease between her dark brows. But she said nothing, holding out her hand for the phone.

As he gave it to her, Sabrina, who was standing over by the bank of computers that were the command center, suddenly said, “Jesus Christ, guys. So you’re just going to let this poor woman go back to an abusive father? Seriously?”

Isiah scowled at her. “We don’t know that he’s abusive. We only have King’s word for it. He’s also a fucking senator, don’t forget. If holding on to his daughter proves to be the wrong call, then that’s on us and our reputation.”

“It’s not the wrong call,” Jack said. “He’s sketchy as fuck. I’ve seen the bruises on Callie’s wrist.”

Isiah turned his scowl on Jack. “Bruises can come from anywhere. Jesus, why am I arguing with you? We have our orders from Night and our job is to follow them. End of story.”

Sabrina was shaking her head though and Kellan was looking at her and frowning. But Faith’s gray gaze was fixed on his, the crease between her brows deepening.

“What did he tell you?” she asked, almost uncertainly.

Strange. Didn’t she know all about Night and his business?

“He said she had to be returned to Boston in twenty-four hours or else he would do it himself.” Not that the prick would be able to. Not if Jack left with Callie now.

Faith’s frown deepened. “Anything else?”

“Only that there were greater things at stake than Callie’s life.” Things that quite frankly didn’t interest Jack in the slightest. Callie’s life might not matter in the bigger scheme of things, but it mattered to Callie.

It did. It mattered to him a lot. But he didn’t want to think about the reasons for that so he didn’t think about them. Instead he began moving toward the exit of the group’s headquarters without another word.

Except as he passed by Faith, her hand shot out unexpectedly, her fingers gripping his upper arm. “Wait,” she said quietly. “Don’t leave yet.”

He looked down at her in surprise. “Why not? There’s nothing more to say. Night may not give a shit about Callie, but her life matters to me.” The words seemed to settle down inside him, making him think that there was more to this than the past, than a little sister he wasn’t able to save and a mother who refused to listen. That it was more to do with a stubborn, challenging little blonde who was a lot braver and stronger than she gave herself credit for.

Faith turned her head slightly, as if she wanted to see if the others were looking at her. They weren’t. They were too busy arguing among themselves.

Then she said, “Don’t do anything until you hear from me.”

“What makes you think I’m going to do something?”

She didn’t respond, merely raised a brow at him as if he’d asked the most pointless question in the world. “Just . . . let me talk to Mr. Night. I might be able to get him to change his mind.”

Jack gave a short laugh. “I don’t need you to do that. Twenty-four hours is plenty of time to get Callie away where no one will ever find her.”

But Faith shook her head. “You won’t. Believe me, you won’t. If Mr. Night said he’d do it himself, then he’ll do it himself. No matter how well you think you’re hidden, he’ll find you and he’ll find her, too.”

Jack’s gut tightened. “No, he won’t.”

“Don’t underestimate him, Mr. King.” There was a warning note in her voice this time, her gaze very direct. “He has resources and contacts you can’t possibly imagine. And if he wants something, he’ll get it.”

Jack bared his teeth. “Then he’ll have to take her from my cold dead hands because I’m not giving her up just to return her to that fucking asshole.”

“Give me twelve hours then,” she insisted. “If I can’t get him to change his mind, you’ll have a twelve-hour head start. Seriously, if there’s a side to be on, it’s his. Because if I can get him to change his mind, then Miss Hawthorne will never have to worry about her father again.”

Jack stared at her, trying to figure out what her deal was. “Everyone else is on board with letting her go back to Boston. Why aren’t you?”

She shook her head. “Let’s just say I’ve got a bad feeling about this and leave it at that.”

Impatience gnawed at him, the need to leave, grab Callie, and go. Disappear.

The thought shifted uncomfortably inside him. Because yeah, it wasn’t much of a life, was it? Even if somehow they did manage to evade the all-powerful Night, they’d still have to remain in hiding because the senator wasn’t going to give up his daughter that easily.

Callie would simply be swapping one cage for another. Fuck, he couldn’t do that to her. He just couldn’t.

“Fine,” he said through gritted teeth, shoving that thought away. “Twelve hours.”

Faith gave a short nod. “I’ll need to deal with any issues if the police start sniffing around the team following that press conference, but that should give me enough time to handle Night.” She stepped away, making a few swipes on the screen of her phone before lifting it to her ear.

The others were still arguing, Sabrina glaring at Isiah and Kellan, her arms folded tight around her tall, slender body, her shoulders hunching.

Jack ignored them, striding straight for the door. He didn’t want to be away from Callie for any longer than necessary, especially since he wasn’t sure of the hotel’s security.

“Jack,” Kellan shouted after him. “Hey, wait up.”

Jack kept on going. He had nothing to say to Kellan. If the guy didn’t want to stick up for Callie, then he wasn’t a friend of Jack’s.

“Hey,” Kellan barked, following him out into the corridor. “Wait just a goddamned minute.”

Reluctantly, Jack stopped and turned. “What?”

Kellan came to a stop, his hands thrust into the pockets of his jeans, his blue eyes glittering. “For what it’s worth, I think Night’s wrong.”

“Oh yeah? Why didn’t you say anything back there?”

“Because he’s the fucking big boss. He bankrolls this whole operation and he’s in charge. Like Isiah says, we just follow orders.”

Jack began to turn, not wanting to hear any more excuses. “I don’t give a shit what he does. I’ll do this on my own if I have to.”

“We need to be sure. If we move on this ourselves, we have to be really fucking sure the senator is what you say he is.”

He stopped, glanced back at the other man. Was Kellan actually offering to do something?

Kellan didn’t look away. “Sabrina’s not wrong,” he said, as if Jack had asked the question out loud. “And you mentioned the guy wanted cameras in her apartment. That’s pretty fucking sketchy however you look at it.”

Jack wasn’t feeling particularly full of trust right now, especially not given Isiah’s response. Then again, if Kellan was actually offering to find proof, then he’d be stupid to pass up the chance. Especially if it would help Callie have a normal life.

“Okay,” he said shortly. “You want proof the guy’s an asshole? Check the security footage at the Boston Museum of Fine Arts. There was a fund-raiser there last night, in the Shapiro Family Courtyard. The senator took Callie into one of the corridors off it and threatened her. You’ll see it. Should be all the proof you need.”

If they could get it, that was. Then again, if they were as good a team as they were supposed to be, one of them had to be an ace hacker and it shouldn’t be a problem.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Kellan answered.

Jack merely gave him a short nod, then headed back toward the bar.

Five minutes later he was outside the hotel room where he’d left Callie, tugging the card key out of his pocket. He could hear music coming from inside the room, which was weird. Unless she’d turned the radio on. But it didn’t sound like the radio. The music was just a guitar and a voice, the melody low and contemplative.

Swiping the card, Jack stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.

Callie was sitting cross-legged on the bed, the guitar across her knees, her head bent, golden hair cascading everywhere.

The music was coming from her.

For a second Jack simply stood there, a part of him vaguely shocked by the sound of it. She’d been pretty clear that the guitar was important to her but he’d been so full of anger on her behalf at her goddamn father, he hadn’t thought about her actually playing it.

But she was playing it. And she was good. She was very, very good.

Her voice was low and full of emotion, and the melody itself seemed to reach inside him and wrap around his heart. It was sad, yet there was a hopeful note weaving through it that made him feel . . . Fuck, he didn’t know what it was, but it disturbed the shit out of him.

Hope was something he’d forgotten, something he never thought about, something that never occurred to him.

Life was a fucking bitch and then you died. End of story. And he was living, but that was about it. What more was there?

Except . . .

The light coming from the windows lit her hair, streaks of toffee, caramel, and pure shimmering gold. It was beautiful and he couldn’t stop looking at her. She wore only a T-shirt the same sea blue of her eyes and a pair of lacy pink panties, her legs bare, and her voice whispered over his skin, a low caress that made his breath catch. Made his heart squeeze tight in his chest.

He knew she was strong, he’d seen her steel. He’d seen her vulnerability, too. But he hadn’t seen her like this. And he . . . shit, he didn’t even have a name for what he saw in her, for what he felt.

He wanted to go over to the bed, pull the guitar out of her hands, rip her clothes off, have her hard and fast and rough right now. Right the fuck now.

Anything to stop her singing, to stop the strange feeling that was filling him. An emotion that was desperate and dark and possessive. An emotion that would crush the brightness right out of her, grind that lovely melody into dust.

But abruptly the notes died away, her hand covering the strings to silence them, and she lifted her head, her gaze meeting his. There was a defiant gleam in her lovely blue eyes, that challenge he knew so well.

“I’ve never played for anyone before,” she said. “You’re the first.”

That dark, intense feeling gripped him tighter. Territorial and satisfied, it wasn’t dissimilar to what he’d felt when he’d discovered she’d been a virgin. As if he was glad she’d saved this for him, that he was the first one to ever hear her music.

Hope. Satisfaction. Pleasure. Possessiveness.

Fuck, she was making him feel too many things and he didn’t want any of them, especially not that last one.

He thrust his hands in his pockets, curling them into fists to stop himself from going over there and ripping that guitar away, replacing all the disturbing emotions with one he at least understood—lust.

“Why me?” he forced out, his voice way thicker than it was supposed to be.

“To be fair, I didn’t realize you were there until the door opened, and then it was kind of too late to stop.” Color rose in her cheeks. “Plus, I guess I wanted to thank you.”

“Thank me?”

“For protecting me. For getting me away from Dad.” She swallowed and he couldn’t drag his gaze away from the movement of her pale throat, from the pulse that beat there. “I never thought it would happen. I thought I was going to be trapped there forever. But . . . you saved me, Jack.”

There was a giant hand wrapping itself around his chest, fingers tightening, making his ribs groan and crack, like an old house shifting in the sun.

He couldn’t breathe all of a sudden.

Turning toward the windows, he walked over to them, running his gaze over the frame, checking the catches automatically, looking for signs that anyone had tampered with them.

He’d told himself he wasn’t going to touch her, that he had to keep his distance, but how was he supposed to do that? When she looked at him like that? When she told him she’d never sung for anyone before, giving him a gift he hadn’t looked for and didn’t want, and then told him it was because he’d saved her?

He’d taken her out of a difficult situation, sure, but he hadn’t saved her. She was still in danger, still needed protecting. She still wasn’t free, so she shouldn’t be thanking him, for fuck’s sake.

He stared out the window, focusing on the building across the street and not on the accelerating beat of his heart. “Play it again,” he said shortly, even though he had no fucking idea why he’d want that. Perhaps to buy himself some time.

Twelve hours. That’s what Faith had given him. Jesus, he had to spend twelve hours in this room with Callie and her fucking guitar. With her sweet voice and her sweet smell. With the possessiveness that was raging inside him, demanding he make her his. That he not let her go.

Callie, who was making him feel things he didn’t want to feel and thanking him for things he hadn’t done.

There was a silence behind him.

Then she said, “Oh . . . uh . . . Well, it’s not finished. I need to think of a good ending and I haven’t found it just yet.”

“I don’t care. Just play it again. From the start.” Listening to her was better than touching her and he couldn’t act like the gift she’d given him didn’t mean anything. Because it did. She’d never played for anyone, but she’d played for him.

His hands clenched tighter in his pockets as she began to sing again, her low, soft voice filling the small room, that haunting melody moving through him, dragging hope in its wake, as if that alone could remove the weight that had settled down into his bones. The weight of the silence he’d given his mother for the last ten years. The weight of what he’d done to the man who’d hurt his mother, who’d killed Molly.

His father.

Jack stared out the window, Callie’s song filling the air, conscious that he couldn’t stay here. He couldn’t be in the same room with her, not with her so close. He’d told her he wasn’t going to touch her again and he meant it. His only option for the next twelve hours was to stand outside like a fucking guard dog.

A pulse of intense desire went through him, quickening his breath, his pulse getting faster, his cock already pressing painfully against his zipper.

He had to leave now.

While he still could.