Nobody's Hero (18 page)

“Someone with a huge agenda. If I can figure out who that someone was, I’ll probably have plenty of answers.”

“But see, that’s where fate comes in.”

“How so?”

She leaned forward on her elbows. “Out of all the reporters in town,
you
got the package. Whoever sent it could’ve contacted Mack or one of the sports guys or someone in LA.”

“But they didn’t. They sent it to me. And they probably know about Rand. They might even know about prom night and the month that followed. Who knows?”

Callah sat back surprised. She hadn’t even thought…no way. If anyone knew about that month, she’d have heard about it then. She still didn’t understand what had driven her to him. “No one knows about prom night or what happened afterwards.”

Riley shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. It’s something we’ve got to consider.”

“Your mind is a steal trap, isn’t it?”

He leaned forward, kissed her lightly. “Yeah. I know you make a mean bologna and cheese sandwich. You eat white bread, which has all the nutrients of glue. You drink Diet Cokes like they’re going out of style. And you look pretty damn fine in kitchen lighting.”

She laughed. “I’m not changing my mind. We can not spend the next few hours in bed.”

“Your call, Princess.” And then he turned serious. “I just don’t feel right about leaving you here.”

“This from the man who doesn’t believe in fate.”

“Fate and instinct are not the same. Not at all.”

“We’ve spent the last twenty-four hours on the run or on the hunt for the people who want me dead and answers to my past. I think any bad feelings you might have are completely justified.”

“And I think I’d be a lot more help against anyone out to hurt you than your best friend from California.”

Callah tried to ease his worry. “Jen’s tough. You ought to see the high heels she walks around in all day. And, hey, she’s pitched a few thrillers to movie execs and lived through the rejections. Trust me when I say she’s no pushover.”

“A rejected Hollywood mover and shaker is not my idea of quality protection.”

His worry was legitimate, but Callah couldn’t let him continue putting his life on hold.

“Back off, super reporter to the rescue,” she teased.
 
“Jen’s a survivor. As for quality protection, I’ve got that handy dandy revolver, remember? And I know how to use it. I put it in my purse this morning just in case.”

“That’s called breaking the law, Callah.”

She shrugged. “I’ll call it self preservation if I end up needing it.” She kissed his cheek, surprised at how normal everything felt. “Please, go to work, Riley. We need to get back to some sort of normalcy. I’ll be fine. I promise.”

 
It didn’t look like her promise made much difference, but after more frowning, he finally conceded. “Fine. I’ll go to the paper, work on sifting through the agendas, see what I can uncover. You be careful.”

She smiled serenely. “You gonna spend the night again?”

“You inviting?” And even though he asked, she knew he’d have been there either way. Their days might have to be steeped in reality, but not their nights. Not yet.

“Of course I’m inviting.” She touched her lips to his then stepped back. “Go to work, Ace. I’ll see you tonight.”

Chapter Twelve

As she slicked on her pale pink lip-gloss, Callah smiled at her reflection in the mirror and wondered if Jen would know just by looking that she’d spent the last day in bed with Riley.

She smoothed a wrinkle on her bedspread and sighed as warmth slid through her. Riley’d changed her. Made her whole. How would she ever find a way to repay him?

Ten minutes later her best friend in the world was standing in her kitchen, hugging her tightly.
 

“You look so good,” Jen said, and Callah stepped back, returned the words. “So do you.”

Not that Jen ever looked bad. Her model good looks and contagious smile had opened many a door in Hollywood over the last three years. The new jeans, boots and cowboy hat looked tailor made.

“I think home has agreed with you, Callah.”

Callah laughed because Jen was right. Burkette had agreed with her. Riley had helped cement that feeling. Burkette and Riley.

“So, tell me all about it. What the heck’s going on? I saw a news van out front, but only one reporter. Nothing like LA, but I bet news vans mean big stuff here.”

Callah hated that the press was still camped out, stalking her. At least they’d backed off some. “One van, huh? My twenty-four hours of big-time fame are over for now, I guess. As for what’s going on, you’ll never believe it, but I sure am glad you asked.” If anyone could help her make sense of the mess, her best friend could. With Riley, hormones got in the way.
 

So she told Jen everything. From the minute Riley appeared at her door until now. Leaving nothing out except the personal nature of her relationship with Riley.
 

Her friend listened to every bit of it. Took notes. Commiserated. And when Callah was done, Jen sat back against the couch and shook her head. “What a mess.”

“No kidding.” Talking to Jen hadn’t changed a thing, but she still felt better for the telling. And then, as she’d known Jen would, her best friend got to the heart of the story.

“So this Riley, he’s
the
guy, right? The one you told me about that night we had one margarita too many.”

Callah laughed. Maybe
this
Jen
could
help her with.

“Yeah. He’s the guy. And I’m not sure I know him any better now than I did then.”

“Do you want to?” Jen leaned forward, suddenly serious. “I mean, he’s obviously been good for you, but…” she left the rest unsaid, but Callah knew exactly what Jen meant.
 

“He likes to pretend he’s a bad boy, Jen, but he’s not really. He’s a mess in ways I don’t understand. In ways he won’t share. I like him, but…”

“But he’s a fling. Eye candy. Fun. Escapism. Like a book that takes your breath away or a movie that keeps you on the edge of your seat until the credits roll or one of those white tequilas that costs entirely too much but is worth every penny. Great while it lasts and then good for the memories.”

Leave it to Jen to nail it exactly. And maybe yesterday that had been true. Now, she didn’t know. Callah wrapped her arms around her middle and sighed thinking the memories Riley’d given her beat the hell out of any tequila she’d ever tasted. “I don’t know, Jen. If I’m not careful, I think he might be more than that.”

Riley tapped his pencil on his reporter’s notebook in time to the Brooks and Dunn tune playing in his mind.

“Sorenson.” Mack called him from across the newsroom, waved toward his office. “Come chat a minute.”

Of course Mack would want to talk now. He’d want the truth. In private. Damn if Riley knew what to tell him.

At least he didn’t have to worry about Amber Jackson. For whatever reason, she hadn’t reported in yet. Hell, who knew what or who she was covering right now? Whatever shot her career forward he figured.

Mack closed the door behind him, tossed him a bottled-water.

“Callah okay?”

So they were going to make small talk. Great. Riley sat in the chair across from Mack’s desk and wondered what his editor had on his mind. “As good as can be expected.”

“Your story definitely captured her.”

Riley didn’t like the tone in his boss’s voice. No sense pretending. “What’s up, Mack? I delivered what I could at the time without compromising an ongoing investigation. Same as you would’ve done. We’re talking national security here. When the investigation’s wrapped up, I’ll tell more.”

Mack sat in the leather chair behind his desk and crossed his hands, leveling Riley with a hard stare, and Riley knew his answer wasn’t enough. “Maybe you’re too close to this story.”

He had to be kidding. “No way.”

“Come on, Riley.” Mack tossed a photo on the table. He and Callah kissing in her kitchen. Yesterday. “You’re romantically involved with Callah Crenshaw. You can’t be the one writing the stories.”

Riley thought about the times he’d watched Amber Jackson sashaying in this office like she owned it. Funny that Mack was giving him the lesson on ethics.
 

“Amber give you that picture, Mack?”

“Who gave me the photo doesn’t change the facts, Riley. You can’t continue to cover the Crenshaw story. This photo’s bound to turn up elsewhere. Our readers need to trust our news. They can’t do that with your name on the byline for stories about her.”

“It’s a damn kiss, Mack. You know my story’s solid.”

“Doesn’t matter what I know. Doesn’t matter what I think. You’re off.”

For the first time, Mack felt like his boss. Somehow Riley had to make him see. He couldn’t stop the bitter laugh that escaped. “Let me guess. Amber picks it up? You know what she’ll do, Mack. She won’t care who gets hurt if it means a bigger headline.
The Standard’s
one stop on her way up the ladder. Callah’s her ticket to the big time.”

“Callah’s not anybody’s ticket, Riley. Give me some credit. I figured you knew me better and it ticks me off to have to tell you this. Amber Jackson won’t be covering the story. I will.”

“You?”

“Me. I didn’t buy my way to the editor’s desk, Riley. I earned it.”

If he couldn’t cover the story, Riley figured Mack was the next best choice. He wasn’t happy, but at least he trusted Mack. “Don’t screw with her life anymore if you can help it.”

“I’ll report the facts. Nothing more. Now get to work. It’s good to see you back.”
 

As Riley walked out into the newsroom with Mack behind him, he tried to figure out how to tell Callah he’d been pulled from the story and that their kiss yesterday morning had definitely been captured on film.
 

As he neared his desk, a new package caught his attention. Plain brown paper. His address as the return. Again.

Mack said something about him being the most popular reporter on town, but Riley didn’t listen.

Someone was playing games, and he didn’t like it. Didn’t like the idea that Callah might be in more danger. He thought about calling Agent McBride and company but discarded the idea. Despite his brother’s assurances, something about the man still struck him as off.

He poured the contents of the package out on his desk. Photos. Several. A beautiful woman laughed in one. And in the next, Callah. With the third, his heart dropped, and he took off running.

“What the…”
 

Riley cut Mack off. “Call the police. Tell them to get to Callah’s house now.”

“You wouldn’t believe the stories I’ve heard in LA, Callah. You just think you were tabloid fodder when Charlie died.”

As Callah listened to Jen speak, she realized she should be upset. Should want to call a lawyer, or a network executive, or maybe one of the Hollywood spin doctors Charlie had tried foisting off as miracle workers.
 

But she couldn’t seem to work up much anger over anything. For the first time in years she felt completely content. She didn’t care what rumors circulated, how many unnamed sources told her life story, or honestly, if she made an E!Tv Worst Ever count down.

“You know, Jen, I think I could walk out the door right now, face the camera flashes and the probing questions, and I’d be perfectly happy.”

Jen raised her eyebrows in disbelief. “Are you sure you’re the same Callah Crenshaw who left LA?”

Was she? Callah didn’t think so. She wasn’t sure when that had changed.

Still, Jen’s question reminded her of what she and Riley had discovered at the lake cabin.
 

“Have you ever Googled your name, Jen? Ever checked to see what people out there in the universe are saying about you or even to see if someone with your name is causing problems, making headlines?”

For a few seconds Jen didn’t say anything, just looked at her with the strangest expression on her face. “Can’t say that I have.”

That surprised her. Callah’d pegged Jen as the type who Googled her name on a regular basis. She walked over to her computer, logged on and showed Jen the results.

 
Callah’s stomach hurt when she showed her the obituary. Jen’s “that’s strange” sounded forced, which was crazy. Obviously, she’d been immersed in conspiracy and intrigue far too long.

Trying to lighten the moment, she showed Jen the other matches.
 
“17 Callah Crenshaws. My age. Most here in the States. It’s just weird. Here, let’s see what happens with you.”

She started to type in Jennifer Danelley, but her friend’s voice stopped her. “Callah, wait.”

Callah hit enter at the same time she turned away from the screen. “It’s okay, Jen. It’s pretty eye-opening really. Just look.” And she turned back to the computer and pointed to the results. Jen’s blog. Her resumé. A few stories from LA papers and trade magazines. And then the others. One with a criminal justice degree from Kansas. An attorney in Virginia.
 

“Lucky you,” she teased. “You’re the most popular Jennifer Danelley on the World Wide Web. But you’ve got a normal name so it makes sense that there’s a half dozen others here. Do you know I’ve never met another Callah?”