Long Way Home (2 page)

She rarely gave away physical cues, which helped to explain how she’d fooled him for so long. That and the sex . . . Jesus, the sex. Hot and holding nothing back. He’d bought every touch and every moan. Dumbass that he was.

He knew better than to believe anything about her or from her mouth now. With her training, she stayed in control, and he’d already been burned. He had no interest in traveling down that road again.

But seeing her had his good intentions crumbling. Being this close and smelling that fresh citrus scent he now associated with her sucked. Hell, because of her he couldn’t eat oranges without having a weird reaction between his brain and his dick.

So he had to focus on the hard truth and shut everything else out. “She’s FBI.”

Grace stopped shifting around. “Again, former.”

“What the hell?” The information seemed to knock some of the amusement out of Declan. He even took a step away from her. Likely an unconscious move, but still obvious.

“You’re anti-FBI, too?” She blew out a long breath as she shook her head. “I guess the skepticism runs in the family.”

“Damn right.” And that was not an understatement. Callen knew from personal experience when you had a notorious con artist for a father, a man on the run in numerous jurisdictions who died with law enforcement closing in and the lawsuits piling up, you got stuck dealing with a ton of questions and accusations—never mind whether you did anything or not.

“You dated an FBI agent?” Sounded like Declan wasn’t ready to move from one topic to another.

And just like that, Callen felt the control shift back in his favor. “Grace, want to answer that one?”

Without a second of hesitation, she did. “Back then, Callen didn’t know what I did for a living.”

Declan took another step back, dragging his sneaker over loose stones before crunching them under his heel. “Oh, shit.”

“Yeah, your brother didn’t take finding out the news about my career choice all that well either.”

That sounded like she blamed him. The thought of that was enough to send a wave of angry heat crashing over Callen. “I don’t like being lied to. Didn’t then, and don’t now.”

She didn’t back down. Hell, she never backed down. “You should have stayed around for the explanation.”

That spirit, the strength, was one of the things he found so fucking hot about her. The face, the body, the smarts, the personality . . . the way she made him feel. Man, he’d been in for all of it.

For the first time in his life he’d let down his guard and gone stupid for a woman. Which had made her betrayal all the worse.

When Callen realized he’d crowded in and blocked her path to the car, he forced the knot between his shoulders to ease. Taking a step away took another few seconds. “There isn’t one. Not one that could make up for what happened.”

“There is, but I see you’re still not ready to hear it.” She tapped the heel of her boot against the stair before stepping down onto the same level as Callen. “Lucky for you, I’m not going anywhere.”

Oh, holy shit no. “Meaning?”

“I’m staying in town, at the Severn Motel.”

The historic place in the center of town, right next to the fire station and far too close to Shadow Hill. He could get in his car and be there with her . . . yeah, he needed more distance. “For how long?”

“However long it takes.”

Callen blocked Declan out. Pretended he wasn’t there, or at least couldn’t hear. “I’m serious here. Are we talking a day, more than one? What the hell does your cryptic comment mean?”

But Callen feared he knew. Grace Pruitt was not a woman to be ignored. From the way she looked to the confident way she carried her body, she demanded attention. Just seeing her on that bar stool that day nine months ago had him plunging under and scrambling to find air. They talked and flirted, and when he’d left three hours later he had her number. By the next night he didn’t need it, because he had her right beside him, most nights under him.

Or so he had thought. Apparently it had all been a part of a plan to collect information.

“Really, Grace, what do you want?”

“I don’t think you’re ready for that answer, so I’ll just say your running days are over.”

There it was again. She shifted all the blame to him, as if he were the problem, rather than her convenient memory loss. “I have no idea what you’re getting at. Do you have a plan?”

“To make you see reason.”

Declan snorted. “Little chance of that.”

“You, I like.” She shot Declan another smile as she stepped between the brothers and headed for her car. “Room two-eighteen.”

“I won’t be visiting.” For some reason Callen felt the need to say it. Maybe if he shouted it loud enough and often enough he could make it true.

She waved a hand in the air but didn’t turn around or say anything. Just kept going, those impressive hips swishing from side to side, until she got to the car. A chirp of the alarm and she opened the door and hopped in.

A minute later Callen watched her vehicle back down the driveway, inching away as that familiar sense of dread clogged his throat. He wanted not to give a shit, to write her off as a liar and not care. More than three months away and he hadn’t mastered that skill yet.

“A redhead.” Declan slapped Callen on the back as he stepped up next to him and watched Grace’s car disappear from sight. “Leah is going to love that.”

“Shut up.”

“She’s very pretty.”

Now that qualified as a massive understatement. “She does this thing where she wears skirts with boots, like motorcycle boots, or sometimes spiky ones. She has this pair of cowboy boots she wears with this long skirt with a slit up the center . . . damn.”

Declan whistled. “So fucking hot.”

“I know, right? Why does that look make me stupid?”

Callen never gave a shit about women’s clothes until he started living with Grace—then he noticed everything. The smell of her hair. The way she lined up multiple shampoo bottles in the shower but tended to use the same one over and over. How she curled into him when they sat on the couch and watched a movie. The softness of her skin when she lay under him.

“Any chance you’re going to tell me what’s going on with her, the FBI, why you left?” Declan moved in front of Callen and stared him down. “Feel free to answer any question.”

“She was Walker Reeves’ partner.” The FBI agent who’d been on Callen’s ass for what felt like forever and even now skulked around town, waiting to strike.

Reeves insisted Charlie’s con artist abilities ran in the blood and put a target on Callen’s back with the promise of one day arresting him and dragging him in. So far, Callen had avoided that big day, but he had a sense Reeves hadn’t given up. Grace showing up only supported the theory.

“Oh, sweet hell. She’s with Reeves?” Declan ran a hand through his hair as he continued with his list of impressive profanity. “I mean, really. What the fuck?”

“Exactly.”

It took another minute for Declan to wind down. “Well, I’ll say this. Grace seems pretty determined.”

Callen didn’t scare easily, and that scared the crap out of him. “Determined to do
what
, is the question.”

“Good news, big brother. It looks like she plans on sticking around long enough for you to find out.” With what sounded like a “pfft,” Declan turned and jogged up the steps.

Callen spun around. “Where are you going?”

“To call everyone we know and tell them you have a secret girlfriend named Grace.”

That was just fucking great. So much for privacy in this house . . . in this town. “Former girlfriend.”

“After seeing the way you looked at her, that won’t be how I tell the story.”

Callen refused to believe anyone could see the need burning inside him that refused to go away. “Damn women.”

“Yeah, this is going to be good.”

The meeting with Callen just about sucked the life out of her. The guy had the ability to make her hot and tense and ticked off all at the same time. It had been that way from the beginning. He’d sauntered over to her as she sat in that bar all those months ago like he was the poster child for tall, dark and panty-dropping handsome. Six-two with deep brown hair and intense green eyes, he knocked her off her game, and she had been running to catch up ever since—and tripping with every other step.

Even now, Grace sat at a corner booth in Rosie’s Diner and tried to keep her hands from shaking. Picking at the peeling green fake leather upholstery next to her thigh didn’t work, so she tried wrapping her hands around her mug of tea. The warmth seeped into her skin, but the free fall of trembling refused to stop.

That’s what happened when the man you loved dumped your sorry ass and traveled miles away just to escape you.

She had only herself to blame. Well, she owned most of the responsibility, but his stubbornness also played a role. The man could make a nun scream for reinforcements.

Grace didn’t realize she’d been staring into a space until a hand waved in front of her. When the person snapped their fingers, Grace nearly jumped out of the booth.

“Sorry, but you looked pretty out of it. You okay?” The woman slid into the seat across from Grace as she asked.

The big brown eyes and welcoming smile had Grace relaxing back in her seat. She didn’t recognize the woman, which wasn’t exactly a surprise, since she didn’t know anyone in town. No one in Oregon, actually.

“I will be.” Sure, that was a lie, and Grace had vowed to stop doing that, justified or not, but babbling about her relationship implosion to a complete stranger seemed a tad overboard in the needy department.

“The town is just small enough that a new face sticks out.”

Since there was a lot of truth in that and she wasn’t looking to make more enemies, she held out her hand. “Grace Pruitt.”

The stranger shook it, sending her bangle bracelets jingling. “Mallory Able.”

Another woman walked over. This one was older but of the could-be-anywhere-from-late-thirties-to-early-fifties type. The brunette bob and blue eyes gave her a younger appearance but something about the road-weary strain around her mouth made Grace think older.

“Everything okay over here?” The older woman possessed one of those gentle voices that soothed.

“This is Kim Hanover,” Mallory said.

The story Grace had started spinning in her head about the woman screeched to a halt. That name she knew all too well. “Did you say Hanover?”

Grace did a mental calculation on the chances of this Hanover being part of
those
Hanovers. In a town this size, the chances of a relationship had to be pretty good.

The older woman didn’t flinch. “Yes.”

“Is that a problem?” Mallory’s tone, now defensive, increased in volume. More than one person glanced over, and the waitress who was on the way to the booth took a sharp left turn and circled back toward the kitchen.

For the first time, Grace noticed the patrons scattered throughout the diner. The buzz of conversation had died down, along with the clank of silverware. It was as if the entire room were held in suspended animation, each person waiting to hear what came next.

She wasn’t in the mood to feed the rumor mill. Lowering her voice, she hoped to block out most of the not-so-subtle crowd. “Are you related to Callen?”

Mallory rolled her eyes. “Lord, what did he do now?”

“I’m his mother,” Kim said at the same time. “My boys are grown men now, but if one of them, even Callen, did something to offend you, I’m happy to drag him in here and make him apologize.”

“Let me do it.” Mallory practically bounced up and down at the idea of going head to head with Callen.

The last thing Grace wanted was to be at the center of more turmoil in Callen’s life. She’d played an unwitting role in making his life difficult once . . . and there was more to come. She didn’t need to add another sin to her already teetering pile. “It’s fine. We’re good.”

Kim’s eyes narrowed as her gaze searched Grace’s face. “You sure you’re okay?”

“It’s been a long day . . . a long month, actually.” Grace waved off the concern and the strange rush of tears that pressed against her eyes at hearing the motherly tone. She’d cried something like five times in her entire life, and now she wept at fast-food commercials. One more change she couldn’t control or understand.

Kim hesitated for a few more seconds before touching Mallory’s arm and stepping back. “I’ll go take care of the bill.”

The nodding and smiling continued until Kim got to the cash register at the counter across the room. Then Mallory reached over with her dark nails tapping against the chipped tabletop. “Okay, now spill.”

“Excuse me?”

“Is this about Charlie?” Mallory leaned in even closer.

“No.”

Grace got the distinct impression Mallory was not accustomed to whispering, since she did it in a gruff, but still loud, tone. Not that Mallory was one who blended in anyway. Her perfect pale skin contrasted with her dark hair. Between the ribbed tights, short skirt and curvy frame, she’d stun the crowd in any city, and in a small town she drew stares, both appreciative and not.

Grace was a fan of the look and a little envious of the confidence with which Mallory carried it off. Not really one to engage in long bouts of wallowing in low self-esteem—just the normal bouts—the whole package made Grace a little self-conscious of the extra pounds she’d put on and the oversized sweater hiding her usually trim form.

“But you know who Charlie Hanover is.” Mallory kept pressing, showing no signs of backing down.

Grace liked that about her, too. “Doesn’t everyone? His name was all over the news a while back.”

Four months with Callen and he had barely spoken about his dad. References in passing and an expression of clear distaste, but that was about all. The communication blackout was one of the things that finally ended them. One of the many things.

So, yeah, Grace got that Charlie did a number on Callen. She could only imagine the other Hanover brothers suffered from the same thing.

“I only know Callen.” Grace traced her finger over the edge of the paper place mat in front of her.

“Huh.”

Her palm flattened against the table. “That’s not quite the response I expected.”

“Look, Callen can be a complete ass, all talky and judgy and annoying until you want to punch him in the head, but underneath all that”—Mallory’s hands moved as she talked—“well, there’s another layer of annoying crud, but go a bit deeper and you find a pretty good guy.”

In many ways, Mallory’s description wasn’t far off. Grace knew the rough and tumble side of Callen. She’d also experienced the furious part. But under it all loomed a good man. Solid and dependable, loving and loyal. And totally clueless about how much he had to offer those around him.

Sleeping with him, loving him, taught her everything she needed to know about the man behind the gruff exterior. But they had been apart, and Callen wasn’t exactly a guy who went days without sex. When they were together they spent pretty much every evening wrapped up in each other. It wasn’t hard to see how Callen would land in town and find someone as striking as Mallory to keep him company every night.

Part of her dreaded the answer, but Grace he asked anyway. “How do you know him?”

“My best friend Leah dates his brother, Declan. She lives with the whole Hanover brood, so I end up spending some time there. It’s a kissing cousin sort of thing.” Mallory dug into the small purse strapped diagonally across her body. “Look, what I’m saying is, if you need to talk, you can find me here.”

Mallory slid a card across the table. Intrigued, Grace grabbed it. But that didn’t mean she knew what she was looking at.

She ran her finger over the raised lettering. Read and memorized the address across the bottom. The one she recognized as being downtown. “Gossamer?”

“It’s my store. An art store. A place to gather.” Mallory glanced at Kim and watched her talk with a man in a police uniform. “It’s in the middle of town.”

Grace really wasn’t sure what to say since Mallory’s mood had changed. Grace went with the least offensive option. “Okay.”

Without really moving, Mallory had become more guarded. If the looks she kept shooting in Kim’s direction were any indication, Mallory didn’t like seeing her with the policeman. Coming from a family of law-enforcement types, Grace found the shift and sudden wall of tension interesting.

Mallory’s attention zipped right back to Grace. “I know that tone. It means you have no intention of contacting me.”

The intensity shocked Grace. The only other person who could put her on edge and feel the heat of the spotlight like that was Callen. “I didn’t say that.”

“Didn’t have to.” Mallory looked down to where Grace kept picking at the edge of the place mat. “Are you heading out or sticking around?”

With a rip, Grace tore the paper. That got her to stop fidgeting. “Definitely sticking around.”

“This is a small place, and rumors fly fast. Knowing at least one person around here might help you not feel so . . .”

“On display.” Grace shot a quick glance at a nearby table of two older women, who stared and made no attempt to hide their interest. “Yeah, I usually blend in, but not so much here.”

“I can only assume you don’t own a mirror.” Before Grace could ask about that, Mallory raced on. “Look, come into the store for lunch the day after tomorrow. You can meet Leah, and we’ll gripe about Callen, or not. It’s your choice.”

Grace picked
not
. He was angry enough without her adding “invading his privacy” to the list of things he suddenly hated about her. “I bet he’d love to know he’s the topic of lunch conversation.”

“I’ve made it clear I can say whatever I want about him, whenever I want.”

Now that was interesting. “Made it clear to?”

“Callen.” Mallory shrugged. “We have an understanding.”

Actually, now that Grace thought about it, the word “interesting” didn’t even cover it. She fought off a little bit of awe for her new friend. “Which is?”

“When he acts like a dick, I call him on it.”

What little movement seemed to be happening in the diner stopped. It was as if someone had turned the sound the whole way down. Even Grace held her breath. She stopped once she realized she was doing it. “You might need to teach me that skill.”

“You’re on.” Mallory slid the card closer to Grace. “Friday at noon.”

***

After years of living in military housing, of dodging bullets and IEDs on deployments, Declan loved living at Shadow Hill. Even with the dusty rooms filled with stacks of paper and peeling wallpaper, it was the closest to a stable home he’d ever had.

His mom had tried. Charlie walked out, screwing over clients and dumping a heap of liability on his wife and sons. He didn’t pay support. Instead, he saddled them with his criminal reputation until people whispered so much that Declan’s mom couldn’t find a job. A few years later, Charlie came back and grabbed Callen to travel along on the nationwide scams, leaving their mother in a puddle on the floor.

Declan remembered it all. The crying, the days without food. Hating his father and blaming Callen for not breaking away and coming home.

But everything changed. More than twenty years had passed, and Charlie died on the eve of his trial. His mother, Declan’s grandmother, died soon after, leaving behind her house and all the questions about how she bought it and where Charlie hid the money and property he stole from his victims.

With the years of estrangement behind them, the house allowed the brothers to come back together. Declan refused to lose Callen again. If that meant escorting Grace out of town or holding back his mom from telling whatever other secrets she hid about their upbringing, Declan would do it. Callen needed a break, and Declan vowed to make sure that happened.

They all had to survive the next ten minutes first.

Mom busied herself at the farm sink under the window in the kitchen. She had her back to Callen and Declan where they sat at the kitchen table as she stirred a wooden spoon in a glass pitcher of what he guessed was iced tea.

When she turned around, she held the container in front of her like a shield as she stared at Callen. “I met a friend of yours a little while ago.”

Callen didn’t look up from the newspaper in front of him. “Didn’t realize I had any of those in this town.”

Her hands tightened on the glass. “Grace . . . something.”

He closed his eyes. “Damn it.”

This topic Declan could handle. “I met her, too.”

“Pretty.”

Declan looked from his mother’s painfully hopeful expression to the top of Callen’s head. “Very.”

“Let’s change the topic, preferably now.” He flipped a page and went back to reading. Looked like he found something pretty damn interesting in the want ads section.

Mom put the pitcher down on the wooden kitchen island with a loud clank. Even Callen glanced up as she wiped her hands on a towel, then threw it on the counter.

Crossing in front of them, she walked out of the kitchen and through the open doorway into the family room, closer to the front of the house. Without a word, she scanned the built-in bookshelves and picked out a few books, loading down her arms with them.

The chair creaked as Callen turned around to watch her. “Okay, I give up. What are you doing?”

She studied the spines. “Getting some things together.”

“Why?”

Declan wanted to let this play out, to give them a chance to work through the hundreds of things they needed to say to each other. And he would have if a thought hadn’t jumped into his head. “Are you leaving town?”

She faced them with her head tilted slightly to the side. “No, Callen is not that lucky.”

The legs of the chair screeched against the hardwood floor as Callen angled his chair to face her. “I didn’t tell you to leave.”

“This is the most you’ve spoken to me in the last five days.”

Callen stood up so fast the chair almost toppled to the floor. “Is that really a surprise, under the circumstances?”