Call Out

by L. B. Clark

  “Somehow, I’m not surprised.” I hugged Brian again. "Be careful. Both of you"

  As they headed for the elevator, I knocked on London's door. Ashe let me in, looking haggard. London sat with his back against the headboard, arms around his knees and head down. He forced his head up to look at me as I stepped into the room, and my heart did a backflip. He looked like ninety miles of bad road.

  "Was there another attack?"

  London nodded, the simple gesture seeming to take a great deal of effort.

  "This one was worse than the first," Ashe told me. "I don't know what London got out of it, but even the second-hand effects were bad. It's been a long night."

  I made a beeline for the bed, climbing up to kneel beside London and wrap my arms around him. He sagged against me, exhausted, and I stroked his tangled hair.

  "You should try to rest," I murmured, but he shook his head.

  "Good luck," Ashe said. "I've been trying to talk him down for the past hour. I'd say he's stubborn as a mule, but that'd be an insult to the mule."

  A knock on the door saved me from having to conjure up a response. It was room service with a cart filled to bursting with an array of breakfast comfort foods: French toast, pancakes, eggs Benedict, bagels with cream cheese. The second the scent hit me, I was ravenous.

  Between us, Ashe and I convinced London to eat. He seemed to think that if he shifted the tiniest bit of his concentration away from his shields that they would fall, making him vulnerable to another attack. I wasn't sure what that bitch had done to him – and I was more and more certain that she was involved somehow – but it had him rattled good and proper.

  When he'd finished his breakfast and was sipping on a second mug of coffee, Ashe informed us that we would be checking out of the hotel in a few hours.

  "Quinn's got connections everywhere," he said, "and he's found us a place to stay. When he gets back from his airport run, we'll head 'em up and move 'em out."

  "That still gives you time for a cat nap," I told London.

  With all the heavy food in his system, he couldn't fight the exhaustion any longer. I coaxed him into lying down with me, and he went right to sleep. I figured that Ashe had chosen the breakfast menu with that very result in mind. It backfired a bit, I noticed, making Ashe a little groggy, too. He fought back by staying busy and on the move, heading back to his own room to round things up for the move to our new digs.

  I lay beside London for a while, just listening to his soft snores. Even in sleep he didn’t relax, twitching at every sound. After a while, I crept from the bed, changed into street clothes, and began packing up our room. I started with my own things, then moved on to London's. It felt kind of weird picking up after a guy who wasn't technically my boyfriend.

  Did I want that? Even taking the magic stuff out of the equation, dating London Dahlbeck would be complicated, to say the least. I'd seen what Dylan had endured these last few months. Did I want a relationship that consisted of phone calls, text messages, and a few hours of face-time whenever our schedules aligned?

  God help me, I did. I wanted it. I wanted him. The thought scared me almost as much as his creepy ex-girlfriend.

  I pushed my doubts aside for now; there would be plenty of time for them later - if we didn't get ourselves killed. I pushed that thought aside, too, and fished out my laptop, needing something to occupy my mind.

  I immersed myself in 'housekeeping' -- catching up on email, firing off a note to let Alex know that things were okay here, paying a few bills. I was so caught up in what I was doing that when the door opened, I jumped like I'd been poked with a cattle prod. I pressed a hand over my racing heart and looked up, ready to tear into the culprit.

  "We've got to move," Ashe said before I could speak. "It's not safe here."

  Without a single question, I shut the lid on my computer and shoved it into my backpack, tugged on my shoes, and grabbed my bags. Meanwhile, Ashe shook London awake. He didn't even give London a chance to get dressed before he was urging us both out the door. We met the others in the hallway, and our herd moved toward the elevator. I noticed that Brian was ash-pale under his tan.

  While we waited what seemed like years for the elevator, London tugged on a t-shirt and then asked the question no one else had voiced. "What happened?"

  Brian shook his head, pulling Dylan closer and wrapping both arms around her. A look passed between him and Quinn, who said, “Not here.”

  The elevator chimed its arrival at our floor, propelling the guys into protector mode. Brian turned so that he stood between Dylan and the elevator, and London took a step forward, half-shielding me in the same way. Ashe and Quinn pushed past all of us, Ashe with one hand extended, palm out, while Quinn’s hand slid to the holster that had been hidden at the small of his back. The doors began to glide open, and Quinn drew the gun, bringing it down to rest against his thigh.

  The elevator was empty.

  I breathed a sigh of relief, but the men stayed tense, caught in the adrenaline high of the fight-or-flight response. Or maybe, in this case, fight-and-flight.

  The seven of us and our luggage filled the elevator like crayons crammed helter-skelter back into the box. We girls were pushed to the back. Ashe and Quinn took point near the doors, which was fine with me. Special agents for a secret agency had to be better in a fight than Dylan or me.

  We reached the lobby level, and Ashe and Quinn both tensed, ready to deal with any threats. The doors slid open and someone small and fast darted toward the elevator, stopping short at the sight of us. A split-second later I heard a shrill, deafening shriek, and I realized that the person I couldn’t see through the forest of tall men was a little girl. She turned tail and ran, screaming at the top of her lungs that ‘the man in the elevator has a gun’.

  With his free hand, Quinn pulled out a badge, the other hand still gripping the gun low and tight against his leg. A woman in a skirt suit who I figured had to be the hotel manager came over to talk to Quinn. I could tell that she knew him, knew that it was okay for him to be carrying around a handgun. She flirted with him for a few seconds under the guise of investigating the situation, and then waved us on and went to talk to the startled guests.

  We made our way out of the hotel to Quinn and Brian’s cars. Brian was still shaken, so Ashe took his keys. Brian let him, climbing into the back and sitting as near to Dylan as seatbelts would allow. London and I piled into the back of Quinn’s car, neither of us wanting to let the other out of our sight, and Adrian took the front passenger seat.

  The four of us stayed silent until Quinn turned onto I-4 and headed north, his eyes going often to the rearview mirror.

  “Where are we going?” I asked.

  “Winter Park. The agency has a safe house on the lake up there.”

  I nodded. “I know where that is. I used to live up in Winter Park. Nice place.”

  “And on the outskirts of Orlando,” Quinn added. “It’ll put some distance between us and the bad guys. Should make it a little harder for them to screw with us.” He glanced into the rearview mirror and met my eyes for a second. “Ashe told me what happened last night.”

  “What I want to know,” London said, “is what happened today.”

  “Yeah, about that. I don’t really know what happened.” Before I could ask, Quinn continued, “At least not all of it.”

  “What do you know?” Adrian asked.

  Quinn took a deep breath. “I know I fucked up. When they left us alone during the show last night and then hit with a psychic attack instead of a face-to-face one, it...it threw me off. I wasn’t careful enough, and I could have gotten myself and Brian both killed.”

  London sat up straighter and reached for my hand. “What...?” he began, but Quinn cut him off.

  “We dropped Kent and Miranda – his bodyguard – off at the airport with no sign of trouble. We waited around to be sure they made it through security with no problems, and then we headed back here. Not a hint of anything wrong. And then we’re
walking from my car to the hotel, talking about the playoffs next week, and all hell broke loose.” He executed a tricky lane change to get away from a batshit-crazy driver in the world’s ugliest sports car. “Fucking moron,” he mumbled.

  “Quinn,” I said, my voice a warning.

  “I’m getting there,” he promised. “One second we’re walking along bullshitting, the next this scary Amazonian redhead steps out of the shadows and grabs Brian. I’m a few steps ahead, right? So it took me a minute to realize something had happened. God, I’m such an idiot. Anyway, I don’t know what she said, but she was whispering in his ear, and then...he just...crumpled.”

  “The Taser thing?”

  “No. He wasn’t hurt. Not physically. I don’t know what the hell she did, but it wasn’t that. Anyway, I couldn’t shoot her – I was afraid I’d hit Brian – so I used magic. Combat magic is not my strong suit, but I stunned her enough she let go of Brian. I drew on her, but I still didn’t have a clear shot. She ran, and I had a choice between going after her and making sure Brian was okay. Since I didn’t know what she’d done to him, I didn’t know if leaving him alone was a good idea. I let her get away.”

  We were all quiet for a heartbeat. Adrian was the first to break the silence.

  “You did what seemed right at the time. No one here is going to blame you for choosing Brian’s well-being over catching Julia.”

  “It’s a choice I shouldn’t have had to make. I should have been more careful. I should have been prepared.” He sighed. “Maybe I’ve been out of the field too long.”

  “You don’t chase bad guys?” I asked.

  “I’m the brains behind the operations, these days. I plan and coordinate. Other agents follow my orders, and I try to avoid getting them killed.”

  “So Brian’s not hurt?” London asked.

  “No. Not hurt. He’s shaken. Bad. Bad enough he couldn’t tell me what happened. But not hurt.”

  I leaned against London, offering what comfort I could. He wrapped his arm around me as best he could within the confines of the car. I could feel tendrils of emotion seeping out from around his shields: worry, guilt, and grief. I hoped he couldn’t feel the flare of jealousy that his grief sparked in me. I couldn’t help it. I didn’t want him mourning his ex – the death of his dreams or what-the-hell-ever – while he was holding me. I understood it, but I didn’t have to like it.

  Chapter Nineteen

  No one had much to say during the rest of the drive to the safe house. Adrian turned on the radio, and I pointed him toward one of my favorite Orlando stations. One of DPS’s songs was on the radio, so Adrian hit the scan button. I gave him a couple of other good options, and he settled on a station that was playing classic rock. Tom Petty, Steve Miller, Steely Dan, the Eagles, and Queen kept us company for the rest of the trip, saving us from uncomfortable silence.

  I was lost in thought, wondering what had happened with Julia and if Brian really was okay, when the car stopped and Quinn shut off the engine. I glanced up to watch Ashe park the rental car beside us and then turned to look at the house. My jaw dropped in utter awe.

  When Quinn had said ‘safe house,’ I had imagined an aging frame house, surrounded by similar houses, set apart just enough to provide a safety buffer for the neighbors. I couldn’t have been more wrong. The refuge that Quinn had found for us was a massive lake house, modern and pristine. If we had neighbors, they were well hidden behind the trees that lined the distant edges of the property.

  The inside of the house was even more impressive than the outside. Here, where we could literally see danger coming from half a mile away in any direction, we all began to relax. Brian seemed more himself, though still shaky, and the excitement of the morning had cleared London’s head, for now at least.

  After Quinn and Ashe made a quick sweep to ensure the place was secure, we all grabbed a bag or two and headed inside. Dylan and I dropped our stuff in the living room and wandered through the house, leaving the menfolk to deal with the rest of the luggage. With huge, open living spaces and four big bedrooms, I felt certain we could all co-exist there without too much cabin fever. All of the bedrooms were done up in neutral tones – this was a safe house after all, not a family home. Two of the bedrooms were set up with pairs of twin beds, the third had a queen bed, and the master bedroom had the biggest bed I’d ever seen – something bigger than a king bed.

  “It’s London-sized,” Dylan said, drawing a hint of a smile from me. “Guess you guys get this room.”

  I shook my head. “It’s marathon-sex sized. Totally meant for you and Brian.”

  She laughed and went to look out the huge windows while I turned and headed into the massive master bathroom.

  “Speaking of sex,” I called out, staring around the tiled room.

  Dylan stepped into the doorway and breathed, “Wow.”

  “Yeah.”

  The over-sized shower with a rain showerhead and body jets was enough to put thoughts in a girl’s head, but the ginormous garden tub – more than big enough for two – sent my imagination into overdrive. My whole body felt tingly and my heart sped up. Then I remembered that London was off-limits and sighed.

  “Yeah, master suite is all yours,” I said, and turned and walked away.

  “Whoa, wait a minute.” Dylan caught me by the arm. “What’s up?”

  I gave her the condensed version of Ashe’s theory about London and magic and sex, and she hugged me.

  “I’m sorry, hon.”

  I shrugged. “Sex isn’t everything, right?” Dylan did her best Spock imitation – which isn’t very good at all – and I said, “Just pretend, okay? I need the moral support.”

  She smiled and patted my shoulder. “Whatever gets you through the night.”

  Once we had gotten the luggage sorted to the appropriate rooms, Quinn gathered us all in the library – the kind of library you read about in books but never really see, with leather armchairs and shelves and shelves of books – and showed us the monitors for the house’s state-of-the-art security camera system.

  “There are motion-activated lights on the property as well, a double-perimeter of them,” he explained. “No one can get close enough to disable the outer row of lights without activating the inner row. We’ll take turns keeping an eye on the monitors, at least until our backup gets here.”

  Ashe agreed that it was a good idea, but added, “I think we can give Brian and London a pass on this one.”

  Brian shook his head. “No. I’m all right.”

  Ashe started to protest, but Quinn stepped in. “We’ll give you last shift. Give you a chance to recover. You’ll need it, especially since I’m about to push you to tell us what happened.”

  With a tired sigh, Brian dropped into one of the leather armchairs and leaned forward to sit with his forearms resting on his thighs. Dylan sank down to sit at his feet, and he lifted one hand to comb his fingers through her hair.

  “Julia asked me to give London a message,” he said.

  London leaned back against the bookshelves, wrapping his arms around himself in a straight-jacket-like hug. “What message?”

  “She said...she said to remind you what would happen if you don’t help her.”

  The color drained from London’s face and he slid down the bookcase to sit huddled on the floor, the same way I’d found him huddled against the headboard earlier that morning.

  Quinn looked from Brian to London and back again. “Did she tell you what she meant? What would happen?”

  Brian shook his head and looked away. “She showed me.”

  “Oh, God,” London croaked, his eyes wide. He staggered to his feet and across the room, dragging another of the armchairs close to Brian’s, and put his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “It won’t happen,” he promised. “I won’t let it.”

  I saw the muscles in Brian’s jaw clench, watched him stroke Dylan’s cheek, and I knew that she was the bait. I went to join them, sinking down to sit where I could hug London’s leg and
still hold Dylan’s hand.

  Ashe moved to stand over us. “Don’t go getting any ideas, Stretch,” he said. “We don’t need you deciding to play the martyr.”

  “Not going to happen,” London said, but I wasn’t sure anyone believed him. In fact, I think we all knew that if it came down to a choice between him and Dylan, he’d do whatever it took to protect her, not only for Brian’s sake but because he believed it was the right thing to do.

  Quinn didn’t give us time to dwell on the situation. He gave us a crash course on surveillance and broke us up into teams of two: him and Ashe, followed by Adrian and Dylan, then Brian and me. I figured he set up the teams that way to minimize the potential for distraction. Quinn and Ashe settled down in front the monitors, and the rest of us wandered into the massive living room.

  London sprawled on one of the sofas, and Adrian plopped down on one end of the other couch. Brian dug out his guitar and took a seat on the edge of the heavy wood coffee table. Somehow I got the feeling that this wasn’t an uncommon scene for these guys. Dylan changed things up a little though by sitting down at Brian’s feet and laying her head against his knee. Brian paused his playing to run a hand through her hair a few times, then he went back to his music. I watched everyone for a long moment before curling up on the other end of Adrian’s sofa.

  A few minutes later, when Brian paused again, Adrian asked what song he had been playing.

  “Just something I’ve had in my head,” Brian said.

  Adrian looked thoughtful for a moment, and then wandered off without another word. He came right back with his guitar. In the next instant, the world outside of the two of them and their music disappeared.

  With a little shake of her head, Dylan got up, tapped me on the knee, and gestured toward the far door. I got up and followed her into the kitchen.

  “I’m freakin’ starving,” she said. “No breakfast, no coffee, and that goddamn little whore fucking with Brian...could a day get off to a better start?”