CALLEN (Second Chance Novels Book 3) (8 page)

We both sit silently and sip our beers for a few minutes. I serve us each another before I sit down and study my shoes again. The pit bull waits as I knew he would, so I decide to waste no more time.

"I had no reason, and I was tired of saying 'fuck' every third word."
 

"Yeah, I haven't fucking gotten over that yet," he says with a degree of humor within our tension.

"I noticed," I smirk at the floor before I look up at him and speak in total honesty. "Most of me blamed you. The other part missed having you to teach like a son. That was another purpose I lost."

He nods his head and studies the floor, which must be as interesting as my shoes. His voice breaks the quiet.

"I had to get the fuck away."

"I know," I nod to him. "But it took you two years to pick up the damn phone."

Shoes and floor keep our attention for a while longer before I pipe up again.

"And that's it," I tell him. "That's all I had until I saw Evvie. So I don't give a damn if I knew her for a month. I don't give a
fucking shit
if you think I loved the idea of a future more than I loved her. She changed me."

His shoulders drop before he leans his elbows on his knees, still staring at the floor. "I get it."

"When I saw her body laid out on the bed she shared with her worthless husband, bruised and strangled, I've never felt anger like that. Then when I saw her damn wedding ring resting on her throat, I honestly felt part of me break. The pain was physical, audible. Her husband is a fucking bastard who shouldn't be breathing…whether I loved her or not. And regardless of what you think, I did love her. I still do."

I don't think I've spoken that many words in a row in my life.

After a ridiculously painful night down memory lane with Mason, I would say I woke up this morning clear headed, but considering I never slept at all, there was no waking up, only standing up. The conversations of the past few days have ripped me open. Still, my feet carry me through the morning, straight up until I reach the prison. I've had hours to mull over every piece of my brain, but every nugget of clarity in my head becomes muddled by my heart…because I actually have one.

I prepare myself to see Quinn for the first time since I left her at her door, and all I can think of is the vision of her in that dress. While at the jail, she minimizes her femininity for obvious reasons. For our evening out, she did the opposite. Every detail of her body enticed me from the moment I laid eyes on her classy, subtly-sexy dress. Her slender waist defined her gently-curved hips, which lead to perfect legs and sexy ankles. Her high heels drew my attention sinfully. Ever since, I've imagined more of her. Every time, guilt turns my gut.
 

Evvie deserves better of me.
 

I make my way through security before I greet everyone in the executive wing with my well-practiced charm. Quinn may see through my façade, but no one else does.
 

"I brought donuts," I announce as I set them down in the break room table. People don't take long rummaging through the pastry box. A chorus of thank-you's and appreciative groans meet my ears as I make my way to my desk.
 

By the time I sit down, I glance up to see Quinn assessing me with an amused smile from the doorway. "Donuts? You definitely have an agenda."

"No agenda," I correct pleasantly. "Just donuts."

"Right." Her head shakes in spite of her grin, then tilts to gaze softly into me. "How's that emergency?"

I take a deep breath and close the door, ready to be honest with her, at least about Evelyn. Hopefully the scrap of information will be enough to satisfy Quinn's curiosity about me.
 

"A closed door meeting?" she asks.
 

"I owe you an apology," I say sincerely.
 

"Not at all," she shakes her head with a small smile.
 

"No, that phone call was bullshit, but I'm sure you know that."

She chuckles softly. "Not exactly an Oscar-worthy performance."

I smile and look down, appreciating her sense of humor. "Look, I— …well, you looked absolutely beautiful, and I was reminded of my last date. She was beautiful, too, and I haven't been out with anyone since she died. Working dinner or not, taking you out hit me hard."

"I'm so sorry," she said with genuine kindness and understanding. Her soft features are equally beautiful in concern as they are in thoughtful analysis. "And you don't owe me an apology. I understand."

"Nonetheless, I shouldn't have left you at your door when I promised you a night out," I say contritely.

 
Then, as I promised myself this morning I would, I push forward. Five days of nonstop thinking on the subject opened me to the possibility of making my way all the way through an working-dinner-only with another woman.
Without
a much-needed deep breath, I look Quinn in the eye.
 

"Let me make it up to you," I say with well-hidden nerves. "Wednesday again? Seven?"

 
"I'd love to."

"Good. Now that my apologies have been offered, I have some more ideas. I've been thinking about your suggestions with the interns. How would the guard rotation work with their schedule? There's no budget for additional security to cover the sessions."

We discuss the possibilities, flowing into a critical analysis easily. Unfortunately, though, I start again offering more insight than I should.
 

My two gut instincts war with each other in my head: concealing my mission, and fulfilling my inclination to spend more time with Quinn and help her. She keeps me so damn off-balance. Every time I give away too much, her facial expression subtly changes and reminds me of the moment she told me there was something
off
about me. I maintain my professional shell and pull back on the details, but she's already honed in on my extra efforts here.
 

I accomplish little else today, even after Quinn leaves my office. Instead of analyzing the jail and my ability to conquer its defenses, I think again of the war in my head. I can't afford this distraction, but I can't afford to ignore Quinn and her ability to see through me. I wish I could ignore my attraction.

Realizing the futility of working here today, I close down my computer. I say my casual goodbyes to everyone, including Quinn, and leave.

My next day is spent at Delta attempting to bring my client-work up to my personal standard. Apparently I've been more lax with this job than I realized. My focus is stretched across too many planes.
 

Time flies by, and the sound of Shelby coming through the front door snaps me to reality and makes me thankful I went through my schedule. Otherwise, I would never have remembered our appointment.

"Hey Bash," she says with a grin.

I shake my head at her. "That sounds strange from you."

"Yeah, but now that I understand, it fits."

"Want help with that?" I ask, taking the heavy equipment case from her. She gladly hands it over and pulls her computer bag from her shoulder as she glances towards Mason's office.

"He's not here," I assure her. She may be relieved or disappointed, but either way her emotions run strong. I see how hard she's working to make peace with the entire situation, and I see her failing miserably. As I've learned from having her as a true friend, Shelby's love runs deep. The upheaval of Mason's betrayal and the subsequent loss of her parents have affected her more than she'd admit. If I'm not mistaken, there's more going on she hasn't told me about yet.

"Help me unpack?" she asks. I set up her laptop on the conference room table, the same laptop I know to be more powerful than anyone would guess. I've paid enough attention to the group dynamic to know that she's smarter than people give her credit for, and also she hides her emotions too much. I think Ledger knows, but he's not invested enough to really see what's going on with her. His focus is centered on Cam alone. I like the guy, but he's a complete sap.
 

I remain angry at Mason for toying with Shelby the way he did, no matter how unintentionally. He's smarter than that, and now she's stuck navigating through the hurt mostly alone, her only map provided by an analytical, mathematical brain. Not much comfort can be had in numbers when a heart can't be quantified.
 

Within the next hour, we've discussed the need for a closed network to handle information storage. She promised government-level encryption for that system. Only another hour later we have our new anti-surveillance equipment installed, allowing our conference room to be safe from listening devices and other forms of digital encroachment.

While we work side-by side with drills and wires, I ask a question I know will piss her off, but needs to be asked anyway.
 

"How goes the hacking."

She regards me with a quick, annoyed glare.
 

"It's only a hobby."

"I know that," I say pointedly. "But you and I both know you could get in a lot of trouble for playing around like you do."

"What can I say? It occupies my time," she returns like a smart ass.

Not to be outdone, I snark back. "Then take up jigsaw puzzles."

She rolls her eyes before she chuckles at the thought.

"I should get myself a basket of kittens for my old-cat-lady starter kit."

Now I chuckle. Sadly, though, I know there's a degree of hurt in her humor. She doesn't want to be alone, but she can't conceive of a future with anyone right now.
 

I spend the next few days with more focus on Delta Security. I owe it to Mason and my future to build this enterprise as much as possible, no matter how firmly I'm mired in the past. I've made enough progress with the blue prints of the jail to get through, as well as hypocritically using Shelby's hacking skills to gain access to the recent video-security upgrades at the prison. As a consultant-only, I had no reason to ask for that level of detail.
 

I consider my upcoming re-try of a "working dinner" with Quinn, and I wonder if I truly believe my proffered motivation for asking her to Ledger's restaurant.
 

Two reasons I asked her are perfectly legitimate: to satisfy her curiosity, and the other to distract her from my intentions at the jail. With an appropriate amount of charm and intelligence, I can convince her of my role of consultant.

I have to consider, though, the possibility that my motivation rests in the concept of a date. I have no desire to get involved with Quinn or any other woman. However, budding attraction betrays my resolve. I can't deny I want to spend time with Quinn for many reasons. If I'm being honest with myself, little of me wants to "work" at dinner at all.
 

I clench my jaw at my train of thought and return my focus to my task, and to falling into the role I need to play on our pseudo-date. Little of my true self can attend tonight's outing.
 

I dress for dinner with Quinn, donning again my charcoal suit with the same noncommittal tie.

A deep breath precedes my drive to her house.
 

She's waiting on her front step, and I smile when I see her wearing the same dress. Not only is she beautiful, she's treating tonight as a do-over, as well. Her training in psychology keeps me on edge, but can put me at ease sometimes.

I walk to her with an appreciative smile, silently thanking her for the chance to correct my behavior.
 

"You look beautiful again," I offer.

I force my brain to push thoughts of Evvie to a different part of my mind, and allow tonight to be whatever it will be. I still question the wisdom of a date with Quinn Porter, but I'll take whatever comes.
 

"And you are quite handsome," she says with an accommodating smile of her own. She takes my arm when I offer, and allows me to walk her to my car where I open her door for her. I have much experience playing the gentleman, but the actions come naturally tonight. I smirk at myself as I walk around the car.
 

Class and elegance shine from Quinn, and I'm reminded of Evelyn. That's a dangerous road to travel, so I focus on the differences between the two women, hoping to keep myself in the moment. Where Evvie was elegant and sweet, Quinn has a tenacity and confidence to accent her obvious class. She walks with her head high in a world dominated by men and evil, yet holds her power among them. Both Evelyn and Quinn are exceptional.