She reached out and reluctantly took the glass from him.
“I said drink it.” He stood over her until she had taken a tentative sip and then grimaced. “All of it.”
Callie drank, too weary to argue with Lijah over something so unimportant. She felt the burn of the alcohol all the way down her throat to her stomach.
“Okay.” Lijah crossed the room to make himself comfortable in the chair opposite, the booted ankle of one foot resting on his other knee as he stared across at her.
“Whose house is this?” Callie turned away to frown at their opulent surroundings. “I thought safe houses were usually cabins in the woods, with no amenities?”
Lijah grimaced at her attempt at humor. “Grayson Security prides itself on being the best. Besides, this estate belongs to Lucien Wynter.”
Her brows rose. “First his chauffeur and plane, and now this? He’s never seemed this obliging in the press.”
Lijah gave a hard smile. “He and Dair are more like brothers than cousins.”
“And does he make a habit of allowing his cousin to hide fugitives from the law in his homes around the world?”
He tensed. “We haven’t done anything wrong, and we aren’t fugitives.”
“Except leave—leave the scene of a crime.” Her throat moved as she swallowed.
“Your aunt’s house wasn’t the scene of the crime,” Lijah said gently.
No, it wasn’t. Callie knew her father had been shot, captured, and held prisoner somewhere else entirely. He had come back to her aunt’s house after escaping, only to die there. “I think I’m going to be sick again—”
“No, you’re not,” Lijah told her as he placed both booted feet on the floor and sat forward.
She closed her eyes to shut out the intensity of his glittering stare. She could still feel him sitting across the room from her, staring at her, but at least she didn’t have to look into those piercing indigo-colored eyes.
She swallowed. “As I said, when the men all went down to the basement for the jewelry, Michael spoke to me,” she began jerkily. “He told me—” She gave a shake of her head. Lijah didn’t need to know that Michael had told her he was in love with her. “I thought he said ‘get that bastard to stop’ but now I think it could have been “get that bastard Stock—” The men came back into the room before he finished speaking, there was a gunshot, and—and then Michael didn’t say any more.”
“So he didn’t actually say the name Stockton?”
She opened her eyes to frown across at him. “You think I’m wrong, don’t you?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.” She sighed as she placed her empty glass down on the coffee table in front of her. “A robbery is hardly the sort of thing you’re going to believe of a respectable US senator, now is it?”
“It’s…improbable,” Lijah allowed. “Not impossible, but improbable.”
“Because he’s rich enough to pay other people to do the robbery for him,” she said knowingly. “The man who spoke to me— I think he got off on it. There was this…excitement in his voice.” She frowned at the memory. “It was almost sexual.”
Lijah straightened. Now that he could believe. A rich and powerful man who could virtually buy or ask for and receive anything he wanted. Except the unobtainable or un-buyable. Like the Felix Griffith’s jewelry collection.
He could well see that the adrenaline rush from stealing something so uniquely valuable, literally from under the owner’s nose, would be equivalent to a sexual high.
“It’s okay if you don’t believe me, Lijah,” Callie accepted heavily.
It wasn’t that Lijah didn’t believe her, it was just— Hell, they were talking about Senator Jacob Stockton!
Except Peter had obviously followed the trail here to Washington, and died for it, which had to mean he’d found the man. Whether or not that man was Senator Stockton was still in question. Lijah needed to investigate this situation further himself before coming to any conclusion. And he needed to do it soon.
Because whoever had shot and held Peter prisoner would without a doubt now come looking for Callie.
And Lijah was responsible for having brought her into the heart of the lion’s den.
“Do you ever sleep?”
Lijah immediately turned off the news he had been watching on the television before turning to look at Callie as she stood in the doorway of the dimly lit kitchen.
She had gone up to one of the bedrooms over an hour ago, but Lijah had still felt too restless to be able to sleep. “Sometimes.” His answer was dismissive as he stood up to stretch.
He had actually been watching the local news to see if there was any story on the body found in the wealthy suburb of Georgetown earlier this evening. So far, two hours later, there wasn’t. Which probably meant the police were still checking into the authenticity of the information he had given them in regard to the identity of the dead man.
“I can’t sleep either.” Callie came farther into the kitchen, wearing one of Lijah’s black T-shirts, after predictably freaking out earlier when she discovered her father’s blood on her robe and nightgown. Lijah had since disposed of both of them.
“Maybe a tea or a coffee would help?” he offered. “Or another brandy?”
“No. Thank you.” Callie’s skin looked very pale against the black T-shirt, her dark hair loose and tumbling about her shoulders. Only her eyes had color as they gleamed the deep blue of sapphires. “Have you found anything?” She looked at her father’s papers which he had spread out over the breakfast bar.
Lijah gave a shake of his head. “No.” He wasn’t about to tell her—yet—of the research Peter appeared to have done into several other robberies that had taken place during the past two years. Robberies of jewelry, or other unique and collectible items—all of them virtually priceless. The curious thing was that none of the stolen items appeared to have ever seen the light of day again, just like the Felix Griffith’s jewelry collection.
Indication that these things had been sold on to another collector, or that the person stealing them was a collector himself. Or that he was keeping them as trophies.
The previous robberies had been kept low profile, mainly because the people who had been robbed were high profile and hadn’t wanted the publicity. The break-in at the Hammond gallery had only become so well publicized because of the murder of the owner.
Peter had found six more similar robberies that had taken place during the previous two years, and another one just three months ago. And Jacob Stockton had been in the same city on four out of the seven occasions they had occurred.
That wasn’t conclusive, of course, but it was certainly a high enough percentage to be considered suspect. The fact that Peter had been shot and killed since bringing his investigation to Washington now put that percentage much higher.
Even so, Lijah couldn’t ignore the fact there were also several minuses against it being the senator.
The robbery in London, for instance. Senator Stockton had an alibi for immediately after the exhibition at the Hammond Gallery. His wife had flown in from Paris that evening, and the two of them had met up at the bar in their hotel for a nightcap before retiring to their suite.
A wife could lie, of course, most especially a political wife bent on protecting her husband. But the senator was also sixty-three years old and would already have been tired from the hours of talks with the British prime minister during the day, followed by an evening viewing the private jewelry exhibition. It was stretching it a bit to think of him sneaking back out to steal the jewelry.
His security guards had also been in place outside his hotel suite all night, and despite discreet inquiries, Peter hadn’t been able to get any of them to admit to the senator being anywhere other than his hotel suite for all those hours.
Lijah worked for Grayson Security, and so yes, he knew security guards occasionally had to lie in order to protect their charge or for other reasons, but…
/> It always came back to a “but.”
That “but” was the fact that Peter had come to Washington to continue his inquiries, and he was now dead.
Because he had gotten too close to the truth?
It certainly seemed that way.
It was also possible the men who had held Peter prisoner for the past few days could actually have been part of the senator’s security detail.
All still conjecture at this point. But Lijah was inclined to think Peter had been following the truth. The fact the name Callie had now given him was Stockton’s was another nail in the senator’s coffin.
Or, as it had transpired, Peter’s.
Dair had been pissed earlier after Lijah’s initial telephone call to tell him of the older man’s death. Even more so by the time Lijah called him back after Callie went upstairs to bed.
Dair was now sending over four men to help in the investigation and help protect Callie. Every man who worked at Grayson Security knew Peter, and every single one of them would want to ensure justice for their friend. Privately or publicly.
None of which helped Lijah in regard to how to deal with Callie.
She would probably have been better off right now with anyone else who worked at Grayson Security other than him. He really didn’t have the emotional hardware to deal with a bereaved daughter. He had shut down those parts of himself when he walked away from family all those years ago. The work he had done since had only hardened him more.
Except.
He liked Callie, damn it. Whether she realized it or not, he admired her too.
Callie had witnessed her boyfriend being murdered.
The safety of her family had then been threatened by the murderer.
It may have taken her several months, but she had finally moved past that, out of concern for her father.
It had taken guts to go to Grayson Security yesterday. Even more so for her to come to Washington with him, and possibly risk coming face-to-face with Hammond’s murderer—
“Stockton’s voice!” Lijah slapped his hand on his thigh in realization. “Would you recognize the voice of the man who shot Hammond and threatened you if you were to hear it again?” he prompted Callie as she looked at him questioningly.
She frowned. “I suppose I might, yes.”
“Stockton is a politician, and like most politicians, he makes speeches all the time. He made one yesterday, in fact.” He picked up the television controller, clicking through until he had brought up the relevant news section. “Sit down, close your eyes, ignore the content, and just concentrate on the cadences of the voice itself.”
Callie did as Lijah instructed.
“Concentrate hard, Callie,” he advised. “Shut out everything else but the sound of his voice.”
Callie did exactly that. The timbre of the voice was right. The accent too. There was just something— “Turn the sound down slightly,” she requested. “Muted, like it was when he whispered threats in my ear.”
The volume lowered, and Callie listened even harder, and then harder still, desperately trying to match this voice with the one at the gallery that night.
She finally gave a frustrated shake of her head and opened her eyes. “I can’t be sure. Certain things sound the same, but the tone of the voice is just so different, it makes it difficult to say for certain.”
“I don’t think Senator Stockton is in the habit of threatening the American people,” Lijah drawled as he turned the television back off. “Television also tends to distort voices slightly.”
Callie gave an impatient sigh. “Then I need to hear his voice off television.”
He raised dark brows. “How do you suggest I arrange that? Invite him and his wife over for cocktails?”
“It’s not such a bad idea,” she said slowly. “This is Lucien Wynter’s house. He could always throw a party, invite a hundred or so prestigious guests, including Senator Stockton and his wife, and then forget to turn up?”
“I think you’re getting a little punch-drunk.” Lijah eyed her ruefully. “An event like that would take weeks, not days, to organize.”
And they didn’t have weeks, Callie acknowledged heavily. They had those days at most. Before whatever trail her father had left ran cold, and they had to give up through lack of evidence and take his body back to England with them.
The thought of her father’s death earlier was overwhelming enough. The thought of transporting his body back to England, arranging the funeral and other things, going through all his private papers, was just—
“Dair and I will take care of all the details.” Lijah stood and come round the breakfast bar to take her in his arms. “Getting Peter home. The funeral. All of it.”
“How did you know what I was thinking?” She looked up at him in the semidarkness.
He lifted his hands to smooth the hair back from her face. “The lost look in your eyes,” he murmured. “Callie, the people at Grayson Security are a family. Peter was part of that family. That makes you a part of it too. We take care of our own.”
She looked up at him searchingly for several seconds. “Where’s your own family, Lijah?” she prompted.
His mouth tightened. “Don’t have any.”
Callie didn’t believe that for a moment. “Eton or Harrow?”
His eyes narrowed. “Both.”
A frown creased her brow. “I thought it was an either/or?”
“I was expelled from Eton.” He shrugged.
She looked up at him. “Do I want to know why?”
“You might, but I’m not going to tell you, so you might as well save your breath.”
“Oxford or Cambridge?”
“Neither.”
“Why not?”
A scowl creased his brow. “Is this twenty questions?”
“If it is, I still have a few to go.” Callie had learned more about Lijah’s background in the past few minutes than in the previous thirty-six hours.
Lijah sighed. “I joined the army instead of going to university.”
“Sandhurst?”
“Regular.”
Interesting. The names of Lijah’s schools implied he came from a wealthy or prestigious family. Children had to be registered almost from birth to be able to attend either Eton or Harrow School, and yet Lijah had attended both. That he hadn’t gone on to university afterward was intriguing.
Callie’s brow cleared. “The rift with your family occurred when you were eighteen—”
“That’s enough.” Lijah released her so abruptly, she staggered before righting herself, his eyes glittering darkly as he faced her tensely. “I have some more work to do, and it’s time you went back to bed.” He turned away.
Callie knew that tone of voice from the few occasions when she had displeased her father.
The conversation was over.
She could consider herself dismissed.
Chapter 10
Lijah’s tiredness went right down to his bones as he walked wearily up the stairs a couple of hours later. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had time to rest, let alone slept.
His heart sank as he neared Callie’s bedroom and heard the soft sound of her crying behind the closed door.
His survival instinct said to open his own bedroom door, close it behind him, and then fall facedown on the bed for eight hours.
Another part of him said he couldn’t just walk away from Callie.
He wasn’t sure which part, and he didn’t want to know either. He just knew he couldn’t just ignore her and go to bed. Not when he knew Callie was crying as if her heart was breaking just feet away.
Only a complete and utter bastard would do that.
No doubt everyone he’d ever worked with would agree he was a cold bastard, but he wasn’t a complete and utter one.
Peter’s death was raw to him, and Lijah couldn’t even begin to imagine what it must be like for Callie.
Possibly because he would gladly see his own father six feet under. Might even dance on to
p of his grave afterward.
Maybe, but that didn’t change the fact that Callie was in that bedroom grieving.
It probably hadn’t helped that Lijah had been so terse with her earlier.
She had been getting too close, damn it. Wanted to know too much. About things he would rather not talk about.
No excuse, Lijah.
No, it really wasn’t.
Lijah didn’t bother knocking before reaching for the door handle and slowly turning it to push open the door. There was no light on inside the bedroom, just the moonlight shining in through the sheers over the windows.
“Go away!”
Ah. “Still pissed with me?” He heard what sounded like a cross between a sob and a laugh. “Do I hear an undecided?”
“Go away, Lijah!” was accompanied by a pillow flying across the room toward his head.
He easily caught it in midair before it made contact with his face. “Now that just isn’t nice.”
She gave a definite snort this time. “If you want nice, I suggest you go elsewhere.”
“I’m happy where I am, thanks.” Lijah walked over to the side of the bed to look down at Callie huddled beneath the bedclothes, cuddling a second pillow. “Like your other pillow back?”
“Thanks.” She held her hand up without looking at him.
Lijah struck, bringing the soft pillow lightly down on top of her head.
“What the hell—”
“Fair’s fair, Callie.” He sat on the side of the bed. “I just happen to be a better shot than you are.”
“Must be all those years you spent at boarding school.”
“No doubt.”
“Did you know I went to boarding school too?”
Of course she had. There had been no mother at home to leave Callie with when Peter went off on missions. Lijah had a vague memory of Peter leaving her with other families on base when she was younger, but then Callie had gone off to boarding school when she was about twelve.
He eyed her warily. “Does that mean you—”
Renegade Alpha (ALPHA 5) Page 10
