cobblestone street that fronted her building. Callie paid the fare with a surreptitious glance in both directions. No one there, thank God.
Quickly, she crossed the street and let herself inside. No small boy greeted her as she mounted the stairs, and though she knew she should be relieved that Tucker wasn’t waiting outside her apartment, her heart was curiously heavy as she unlocked her apartment door and closed it gently behind her.
The silence of the pastel-green rooms enveloped her. A silence she’d grown familiar with. She headed straight for the shower, stripping off her clothes and turning on the spray as hot as she could get it, which wasn’t saying a lot. She stood under the showering water until it was too cold to stand any longer.
Drying off, she wrapped her hair in the towel, then walked to the mirror above the chipped, white bureau. Naked, she could see every bruise and cut. Had that just happened this morning? It already felt like a lifetime ago.
Opening the bureau drawer she dug through her shorts and tops to find the cell phone and checked to see if it was charged. Barely, but enough for what she needed. She placed a call and when it was picked up, said, “Hello, Angie. It’s Callie Cantrell. Is William in?”
Chapter Six
West waited in the shadows of Callie’s street. He’d seen the taxi turn the corner and drop her off but he’d stayed hidden in the alcove of the front door of one of the buildings. He couldn’t see which exact building she’d entered, but he knew it was one of three. As the cab left he moved from his hiding spot, his shoes scuffing on the uneven cobblestones. It was dark and quiet along the street, the sultry evening air heavy with the smell of frying fish and the omnipresent tang of brine lifting off the bay.
He barely noticed. He was in a sullen rage that was almost entirely self-directed. Almost because a portion of his anger was meant for Callie Cantrell. A muscle jerked beside his jaw. Whoever the hell she was, she had something to hide, and she’d played him but good. It wasn’t often he found himself in this position. He was a pretty damn effective investigator and the fact he’d begun to believe her, against all signs to the contrary, stung mightily.
But hell . . . he had to let that go.
A light from a third-floor window switched on, spilling a trail of illumination over a wrought-iron balcony and into the street. West’s eyes were irresistibly drawn. He inhaled a sharp breath when he saw a female silhouette inside before the tiny gap in the curtains was twitched shut.
Callie . . .
He pressed himself back into the alcove. She hadn’t seen him and he wasn’t about to give himself away now, not yet. Not until he’d had some time to think.
He was aware that at that moment his interest in her was dangerous. Somehow she’d gotten under his skin in a way he would not have believed possible. A hot awareness licked through him that he recognized as the early stages of desire and he wondered about his own sanity. He had a new understanding as to why his brother had been so enamored of Teresa. Callie might not be Teresa, but she looked just like her. And maybe she knew Teresa, maybe had even posed as her once or twice? There was some reason they were practically twins and both connected to Martinique.
Whatever the case, the woman on the third floor was involved up to her eyebrows, at least at some level; he could feel it.
Callie ran the brush through her wet hair, shooting a glance at the cell phone she’d carelessly tossed on the bed. William had been on another line, and though Angie had assured her he was very eager to talk to her and would she please, please, please stay on the line, Callie told her to have him call her back. She’d put on another sundress, this one a pale pink that didn’t clash with her hair.
Setting down the brush, she walked into the living room, lost in thought. Her eye fell on the tiny gap in the balcony curtains and she
Quickly, she crossed the street and let herself inside. No small boy greeted her as she mounted the stairs, and though she knew she should be relieved that Tucker wasn’t waiting outside her apartment, her heart was curiously heavy as she unlocked her apartment door and closed it gently behind her.
The silence of the pastel-green rooms enveloped her. A silence she’d grown familiar with. She headed straight for the shower, stripping off her clothes and turning on the spray as hot as she could get it, which wasn’t saying a lot. She stood under the showering water until it was too cold to stand any longer.
Drying off, she wrapped her hair in the towel, then walked to the mirror above the chipped, white bureau. Naked, she could see every bruise and cut. Had that just happened this morning? It already felt like a lifetime ago.
Opening the bureau drawer she dug through her shorts and tops to find the cell phone and checked to see if it was charged. Barely, but enough for what she needed. She placed a call and when it was picked up, said, “Hello, Angie. It’s Callie Cantrell. Is William in?”
Chapter Six
West waited in the shadows of Callie’s street. He’d seen the taxi turn the corner and drop her off but he’d stayed hidden in the alcove of the front door of one of the buildings. He couldn’t see which exact building she’d entered, but he knew it was one of three. As the cab left he moved from his hiding spot, his shoes scuffing on the uneven cobblestones. It was dark and quiet along the street, the sultry evening air heavy with the smell of frying fish and the omnipresent tang of brine lifting off the bay.
He barely noticed. He was in a sullen rage that was almost entirely self-directed. Almost because a portion of his anger was meant for Callie Cantrell. A muscle jerked beside his jaw. Whoever the hell she was, she had something to hide, and she’d played him but good. It wasn’t often he found himself in this position. He was a pretty damn effective investigator and the fact he’d begun to believe her, against all signs to the contrary, stung mightily.
But hell . . . he had to let that go.
A light from a third-floor window switched on, spilling a trail of illumination over a wrought-iron balcony and into the street. West’s eyes were irresistibly drawn. He inhaled a sharp breath when he saw a female silhouette inside before the tiny gap in the curtains was twitched shut.
Callie . . .
He pressed himself back into the alcove. She hadn’t seen him and he wasn’t about to give himself away now, not yet. Not until he’d had some time to think.
He was aware that at that moment his interest in her was dangerous. Somehow she’d gotten under his skin in a way he would not have believed possible. A hot awareness licked through him that he recognized as the early stages of desire and he wondered about his own sanity. He had a new understanding as to why his brother had been so enamored of Teresa. Callie might not be Teresa, but she looked just like her. And maybe she knew Teresa, maybe had even posed as her once or twice? There was some reason they were practically twins and both connected to Martinique.
Whatever the case, the woman on the third floor was involved up to her eyebrows, at least at some level; he could feel it.
Callie ran the brush through her wet hair, shooting a glance at the cell phone she’d carelessly tossed on the bed. William had been on another line, and though Angie had assured her he was very eager to talk to her and would she please, please, please stay on the line, Callie told her to have him call her back. She’d put on another sundress, this one a pale pink that didn’t clash with her hair.
Setting down the brush, she walked into the living room, lost in thought. Her eye fell on the tiny gap in the balcony curtains and she
Similar Books
