James let out a little grunt. “I’ll call her in a little bit. I’m sure this shit is nothing.”
“I hope so, for her sake.”
Chapter Four
James stared at his phone as he sat on the edge of his bed. A quick call to Charlyce, who still volunteered several days a week at the orphanage, had gotten him Calista’s number. Charlyce didn’t even ask why he needed it; she’d spent enough years working for him at the agency to understand that sometimes it was best not to ask too many questions when James Brownstone asked a favor. The incident didn’t warrant him calling in an infomancer or other official agency resources. It wasn’t like he needed an entire team to look into one teenage college girl acting strangely.
What do I do if she is a stalker? I can’t threaten someone from the orphanage, and I don’t want to get the cops involved if I don’t have to. Fuck. First things first; better make sure this shit actually is something and not just Shay being paranoid.
He dialed and waited, staring at his faded bedroom wall. They needed to paint it, but the idea sounded annoying. Maybe there was some artifact Shay had in the warehouse that would automatically paint his wall. He could always pay a magical. It’d be ridiculously expensive compared to hiring someone to come and paint it, but he wouldn’t have to be inconvenienced. He refused to ask one of the magicals at the agency to do that kind of thing. It didn’t feel right.
“Hello?” Calista answered, breaking him out of his painting thoughts. “Is this…Mr. Brownstone? The caller ID says so, but I’m having trouble believing it. You’ve never called me before.”
“Yeah,” James rumbled. “It’s me. I don’t think anyone would be dumb enough to try to fake being me.” He scoffed. “If they did, they’d last about as long as the Widowmaker did after pretending to be Shay.”
“The Widowmaker?” Calista sounded confused. “Who is the Widowmaker?”
“Don’t worry about it. That was a long time ago, and she’s dead.”
“O-okay,” Calista replied. “It definitely sounds like you. But why are you calling, Mr. Brownstone? I don’t think I’ve talked to you in a long time. I’ve seen you at church now and again, but it’s not like you’re chatty there with anyone other than the priests. I vaguely remember saying, like, a couple of words to you at the orphanage a few months ago, but I don’t even remember what the conversation was about.”
Is it just me, or is she trying too hard?
James might not be great at reading people, but he didn’t need to be sensitive or magical to hear the obvious tension in her voice. He couldn’t set aside the reality that people found him intimidating, and even if the orphans in recent years had gotten more used to his regular appearances, including Calista before her departure, dealing with him in that setting was different than getting a call out of nowhere from a class-six bounty hunter known for, as the reporter had mentioned, a history of violent encounters. Collateral damage was part of being in his world.
“I have something to ask you,” he explained, trying his best to dampen his default voice, something approaching the love child of a growl, an earthquake, and a distant explosion. “It’ll be quick, and then you don’t have to talk to me for a long time.”
“Oh, I almost forgot,” Calista replied. “I’ve never had a chance to say congratulations about your wife getting pregnant. I’ve been trying to volunteer, but I just haven’t had as much time to be at the orphanage this last year. It’s not like you’re there every day, and it just seemed weird to go up to you in church even after they announced it. I-I understand why you don’t come to the orphanage all the time, but you know, congratulations. It’s like the priests are always saying, children are a blessing and the future and all that.”
She’s definitely trying too hard to deflect. What the hell is she hiding?
“Let’s cut the bullshit, Calista.” James inhaled deeply through his nose and slowly let it out. “Are you in trouble?”
Her breath caught. “Trouble? Why you ask me something like that? I’m not in any trouble. My grades are excellent. My scholarship is fine. Did one of the priests ask you to call and check on me?”
“No, I don’t mean that kind of trouble.” James didn’t want to admit he hadn’t even thought of the possibility. “But if you aren’t in trouble, why are you driving by my house so much?” He let the rumble return to his voice. He didn’t want to scare the girl any more than she already was, but he couldn’t help her if she wouldn’t tell him the truth. A little push might be needed.
She had to understand one important truth about the world. There were a lot of frightening people in it, but none of them were scarier than James.
Is this really my business? It’s not like she could threaten Shay or me on her best day, and it’s not like she cared all that much about the visits at the orphanage. Why would she suddenly decide to stalk me?
“Your house?” Calista sighed. “I-I can explain.”
Wait. Shit. There’s one possibility. Damn it. Why didn’t I think of it before?
“You’re not a journalism major, are you?” James asked.
“No. I’m majoring in social work. Why did you think I was a journalism major?” Calista returned to sounding more confused than frightened. “I don’t think I’ve ever even thought about that.”
Okay. So she’s not an intern of some vulture reporter.
“I’ve not… Oh.” Calista let out a strangled laugh. “I get it now. It took me a while, but I realized I needed to think like a bounty hunter, even if you don’t do that stuff as much anymore. The driving by your house…is that the main reason you’re calling?”
“Yeah,” James replied. “You could say that.”
“You’re misunderstanding the situation, Mr. Brownstone. There is someone I’ve been meeting in your neighborhood. It’s got nothing to do with you. It’s a complete coincidence.”
“Meeting someone in my neighborhood?” James asked, his voice laced with incredulity. “Even though you slow down as you pass my house a lot of the times?”
“Yes. For school.” Calista sounded irritated. “It’s not a crime to slow down on a street, Mr. Brownstone. I’m not trying to be a bitch about it, but listen to yourself.”
“Who?” James asked.
“Who what?”
“Who are you meeting in the neighborhood?” James demanded. “I host a lot of neighborhood barbeques. I know everyone in this area, and half of them work for me. So, who are you meeting?”
“That’s not really your business,” Calista snapped. “Just because you donated to the orphanage doesn’t mean I have to get your permission for how I live my life. Back off.”
You think you can blow me off that easily? Try again, girl.
“What was the meeting about?” James pressed. “Social work?”
“You know what? This is turning weird. You’re acting like a stalker. I’m done with this. I appreciate what you did for the orphanage, and I always will, but don’t ever call me again, okay?” Calista killed the call.
James tossed his phone on the bed and grunted. Poking his nose into someone else’s business when they didn’t ask for help seemed like a good way to prove Shay right about how much he had changed. He had no concrete proof Calista wasn’t meeting someone in his neighborhood, other than the fear in her voice and her slowing down. Could she have been scared of him? Maybe she was taking selfies to impress friends at school. The orphans knew how much he abhorred media attention, so she might have thought he would be offended by her actions.
That explanation didn’t sit well with him. None of the kids at the orphanage had ever seemed scared of him. The last few times he’d dealt with Calista, she had been happy. She’d talked to him about what it felt like to go into the larger world, despite having a rough life. He could relate to that, just like everyone who had grown up at the orphanage.
I should leave this shit alone. I’m no superhero. It’s not my job to save every random-ass person in this city. I’m just a man with a new kid on
the way who likes barbeque and eats the occasional magic pineapple-tasting cow. This isn’t a problem.
James groaned and scrubbed a hand over his face. There was one problem with his logic. She wasn’t a random-ass person.
An hour later, James knocked lightly on an oak office door tucked in the back of his church.
If he tells me to back off, that’ll be enough. At least I’ll be able to let this go.
“Come in,” Father Rojas called from inside.
Father McCartney, despite his good works, had grown frail with the advancing years. He had been focusing in recent years mostly on Mass and parish administration, and the bishop had recently assigned Father Rojas to the church to aid with community outreach efforts, including the orphanage. James’ funding, combined with the efforts of dedicated volunteers, including Charlyce and former residents, ensured the current kids didn’t lack for attention or help.
James didn’t have anything against the younger priest, but he hadn’t grown up around him either, so it’d been an awkward transition. Father McCartney was almost as much as a surrogate father as Father Thomas had been. No one liked to confront the mortality of their parents, biological or otherwise.
Father Rojas smiled and looked up from his desk. He gestured to the chair. “I wasn’t expecting you today, James.”
“Sorry.” James sat on the offered seat. “This is probably stupid sh…” He took a few deep breaths. Being in church mandated more self-control than normal. For a brief period, he’d at least gotten out of the habit of cussing around Alison when she was younger, but that hadn’t lasted long. Maybe he’d do better with his younger child. His lifestyle changes had led to fewer trips to Confession, where he had to explain away killing dozens of gangsters.
“Is there something troubling you?” Father Rojas threaded his fingers together and set his hands on his desk. “I understand if you’re feeling a little nervous about your coming child. Children are a blessing, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t daunting. Feel free to visit me anytime to discuss this transition in your life. I’ve mentioned it to you before, but you’re welcome to attend any of our classes on being a new parent.”
James shook his head. “Nah, I already went through all that worrying about the kid stuff, and I’m fine. It was nothing a little barbeque couldn’t solve. You can solve most things with barbeque.”
“So I’ve heard you express many times.” Father Rojas smiled. “Then what’s troubling you? It’s rare that you seek counsel outside the confessional.”
“I don’t always pay attention to people during Mass,” James began with a nod in the general direction of the nave.
“I hope you’re at least paying attention to the priests.” Father Rojas laughed. “And you’re paying attention enough to at least participate when necessary.”
“Calista Everton,” James clarified.
Father Rojas tilted his head, still smiling, but confusion playing across the rest of his face. “What about her, exactly?”
“Has she been acting strangely?” James asked.
Father Rojas’s smile faded and was replaced by a slight frown. “What are you getting at?”
“I was just wondering if she’s been acting strange.” He tried to keep any hint of threat out of his voice. There were certain lines he wouldn’t dare cross, especially in a church.
The priest leaned back in his seat and sighed. “I suppose that depends on how you define ‘strange.’”
“Changes in her expected behavior, for one thing,” James explained.
“She has not been coming to church as much,” Father Rojas admitted. “But it’s not like that’s a surprise to any of us, with her starting college. It isn’t unusual for young people making the transition to college. It usually levels out, and the faithful return to more regular attendance. I asked her if she’s attending a church closer to the college, and she said no. She has to work extra hard as well, so that might play into it.”
James frowned. “Why is that?”
“Because she has her own apartment.” Father Rojas shrugged like the explanation told him everything.
“I don’t get it. You expected her to have a house?” James’ brow wrinkled in frustration. The priest might not purposely have been being cryptic, but the net result was the same.
Father Rojas chuckled. “I say this as a point of establishing a baseline and not to provide anything that might be perceived as an insult, James. But keep in mind you didn’t go to college. Your calibration is off, in a sense.”
James shrugged. “So what if I didn’t go? My wife is a college professor, and my daughter went to college. It’s not like I’ve never set foot on a college campus.”
He resisted pointing out that his showdown with the Vax had occurred at a college. The government probably wouldn’t appreciate him spilling a national security matter just to make a point to Father Rojas.
“Then let me be clear where I’m coming from.” Father Rojas lowered his hands and set them in his lap. “Regardless of whether the domicile is a dorm, apartment, or house, for financial reasons, most college students live in shared settings unless they have external funding. Calista spent most of her teenage years in the orphanage. She worked hard in school and earned her scholarship, but as an adult, it’s not like the church or the orphanage is providing her additional funds to live by herself. She’s chosen to live in her own apartment, and while it isn’t extravagant, it does mean she needs to earn a little more money on the side to be able to afford it. That’s all I’m saying. We’re trying to support her in this time of transition. She’s had a solid first year at school.”
“Why does she live by herself?” James asked. “Why not get a roommate?” He didn’t see anything all that wrong with that situation, but additional insight into the reason might help him understand how and why she might be in trouble. The fact that she needed extra money already pointed to a number of disturbing possibilities. It wasn’t like the average criminal would dare to screw with the orphanage or most people connected to him, but he doubted Calista went around advertising to everyone that she used to live at an orphanage mostly funded by James Brownstone.
“She lives by herself for the same reason I imagine you didn’t want a roommate when you left the orphanage,” Father Rojas replied. “After years of living in a crowded group setting, many of our former charges prefer their own space. It’s understandable. They want to get to know themselves as individuals.”
“Could she be having money problems?” James asked.
“She’s been working a lot more since the summer started. My understanding is, her plan is to save up enough that she can work less during the fall semester.” Father Rojas sighed. “James, what is this all about? Is Calista in some sort of trouble?”
“I don’t know,” James admitted. “My wife has seen her a few times in the neighborhood near our place, and when I called Calista to ask why, she sounded scared. It might be nothing, but it’s hard for me to let sh…stuff like this go. Did she say anything in Confession?”
The priest’s disapproving stare made James twitch. “Please, James. We all appreciate everything you’ve done for the orphanage, parish, city, and country, but Confession is sacred. Besides…” He looked down with an uncertain expression. “I haven’t been serving as her confessor. You could speak to another priest, but I’d strongly advise you not to do that. We both know Father McCartney wouldn’t appreciate it.” He raised his head, his face steely. “If this building has any meaning, it’s because we respect the sacraments of our faith. If you think Calista’s in trouble, then I encourage you to look into things. We’ll do our best to reach out to her, but you must do it without asking any of us to violate the seal of the Confessional.”
James grunted. “I understand. This might be nothing other than a moody college girl having trouble between semesters with a bad boss or something.”
Father Rojas smiled. “I appreciate that you care enough to check into her. The parish couldn’t ask for a bett
er guardian.”
Great. I’m locked into this. This better not be something stupid like she broke up with her boyfriend.
Chapter Five
James pulled off the street in front of the modest two-story apartment building. Peeling paint and a few cracks proved Calista’s landlord needed to spend more money on maintenance, but James had kicked in the door of many shadier places in his career. There were no obvious criminals or suspicious men lingering in the neighborhood, which was filled with nearly identical apartment buildings. Bright streetlights illuminated the area. He could see the appeal for a young, single woman.
Shit. I’m the stalker now.
James stepped out of his truck and slammed the door. He wasn’t sure if Calista was home, but another call to Charlyce netted him her general work hours. Calling ahead wasn’t an option. He couldn’t risk her running.
The stairs creaked under his heavy footfalls. As he crested the stairs, a man parted his blinds in a nearby apartment and grimaced. He then ducked, letting the blinds hide him.
James stared at the window. The apartment was two down from Calista’s, but being afraid of a large tattooed man wearing Resting Ass-kicking Face wasn’t inherently suspicious. Not everyone wanted someone like him around, even if they didn’t have a bounty. But if the man had been harassing Calista, a very loud conversation would be coming, one punctuated with a few new holes in the wall. James could always pay the landlord for the damage.
With an annoyed growl, James headed toward Calista’s place. The blinds were drawn, and the lights were off.
Shit. She’s not home. Or is she? I need to be smart about this.
He pulled out his phone and dialed her number.
Calista picked up after the fourth ring. “I-I thought I told you to never call me again, Mr. Brownstone,” she answered, her voice quaking. “If I wasn’t clear, then let me make sure you know now.”
Is she really that afraid of me? Or is she afraid of someone else?
Road Trip: BBQ Delivered with Attitude (The Unbelievable Mr. Brownstone Book 20) Page 4
