Chapter 7

The house was unusually quiet. Lockwood kept a small staff on the property, but they'd all been sent away on paid vacation.

He moved through the rooms with his weapon drawn out of habit, checking windows and doors once again before heading upstairs and confronting Evie. It always gave him a bit of a surprise to walk through the private rooms and see pictures of himself mixed in with the ones of the Lockwood family. He'd always had a lot of respect for Nadine Lockwood. She hadn't batted an eye when Robert had brought him home the first time. They'd been living in DC at the time, on Dupont Circle.

He'd gone from street rat to upper crust overnight. But he'd never quite fit into their world. He'd kept his nose clean where his hacking had been concerned, but he'd found other ways to rebel, to show them that he didn't belong at dinner parties and glad-handing with politicians.

He'd graduated high school before his sixteenth birthday and had gotten his undergrad by nineteen. No one wanted a sixteen-year-old at their college parties, so he'd learned to find other ways of entertaining himself. He'd discovered his love for weights and exercise about the same time he'd discovered that there was something to be said for older college girls and their experience.

When he wasn't working for Robert he was partying and drinking in the underground, adding to his tattoos, or finding a warm bed to hone his skills. He was a perfectionist at heart and liked to do everything well. The only rules Nadine had laid out for him were that he was to respect Robert's position at the CIA, he wasn't to get in trouble with the law, and under no circumstances was he to be a bad influence on Evangeline. Those had been guidelines he'd been able to work with.

He stopped and picked up a photo from Robert's desk, his mouth quirking at the picture of the four of them on the shore in Palm Beach. Nadine had insisted they all wear white so she could get a proper photo, but the tide coming in had been stronger than they'd anticipated and a wave coming onto the shore had swept them all off their feet. They'd been drenched and sandy, and the look of incredulity on Nadine's face that nature would interfere with her family photo was worth the price. The rest of them had laughed until tears poured down their faces.

It was a good memory. One of many he had of the Lockwoods. They'd made him part of their family, despite his determination to keep his distance and bide his time until he could leave when he was eighteen. But he hadn't left. He'd been drawn into Lockwood's game of cat and mouse. Which made it even harder to accept that he'd so casually toss Evie to the wolves.

He set the photo back on the desk and headed up the stairs. The sun shone through the high windows and glared off white walls, tables and furniture. He always found it funny that the multimillion-dollar homes in this area were always decorated the same. Apparently being filthy rich meant you couldn't enjoy color.

When he reached the upstairs landing he made his way toward the west wing where Evie's bedroom was located. His senses were on high alert, listening for sounds from behind her closed door. But there was nothing. It was rare for Evie to sit in silence. She thrived in noise and chaos, usually choosing to do her work with something blasting in her ears.

He also figured she'd have had plenty of time to work up a head of steam after their kiss in the kitchen. Evie wasn't quiet when she was angry or upset. She paced, or tossed things around, or muttered under her breath.

He knocked on her door and waited for a response.

There was nothing.

"Evie?" he asked. "Open up. We need to talk."

But still there was no response.

His heart thudded in his chest as he put his weapon down at his side and tried the knob. It was locked.

"Evie, I'm giving you fair warning. If you don't open the door I'm breaking the door down."

He tried not to let fear get him. He knew the French doors were a vulnerable entry point. He never should have let her come back upstairs alone. What if Taber already had her?

Without a second thought his foot made contact with the door, and it splintered open.

"Evie!" he called out again as he made the perimeter, checking the closets and bathroom along the way. There was no sign of her. No note. Nothing. She was just—gone.

The French doors were unlocked from the inside and he swore.

Cal knew the house, inside and out. He'd spent countless hours there, visiting the family, vacationing at the beach, and playing golf at the course down the road. He'd familiarized himself even more by studying the security system and the plans in place for an emergency evacuation.

If Taber didn't have her it meant she'd left of her own volition. And if that was the case he was going to wring her neck for putting her life in danger. He hadn't been kidding when he'd told her they were going to stick together like glue. Where she went, he would be. And vice versa. That included their sleeping arrangements. She wasn't going to be happy about it—he wasn't that happy about it either because she was a temptation that would be hard to resist—but the only question she should have was what side of the bed she should sleep on. That's how close they needed to be at all times.

But it was a necessity. Her bedroom was a security nightmare. It was on the second floor, and a veranda ran the entire length of that wing of the house. Double staircases ran all the way to the third floor, and her bedroom had a wall of windows and a French door along the entire side of one wall. Huge palm trees surrounded the house, which provided cover for anyone who shouldn't be there, and there was a two-hundred-year-old live oak with strong and extended branches centered in the back courtyard.

He knew from experience how easy it was to jump onto a branch from the balcony and shimmy down to the ground. It was also easy to climb when trying to sneak into the house. The scenery was beautiful—a clear view of the ocean on a sunny day. But it was paradise to anyone who wanted to get in. And for someone like Taber, it was like wrapping Evangeline up like a present and handing her over.

The bedroom across the hall and at the opposite end of the wing was a much better and safer choice. He could set up security precautions to give them time to escape if someone breached the house.

He took a deep breath and calmed his mind, doing another pass through the bedroom. It was a room that suited the real Evangeline. Not stuffy and closed off like she pretended to be. But vibrant and full of life and color. It made him think of something a sultan and his harem might enjoy.

The bed was a massive four-poster monstrosity, dominating the room, and the comforter a rich blue silk. Sheers in different shades of blue and turquoise were draped from one corner to the other and pillows were piled high on the bed. Rugs with the same shades of turquoise were scattered along the hardwood floors, and there was a sitting area with a delicate settee in pure white and a chair upholstered in blue with thin gold stripes. Soft white sheers hung in place of curtains, but they were no protection against anyone who wanted to see in. It was the only room in the house with color.

There were no signs of struggle. She was a neat and organized creature of habit. She hadn't always been that way. It's as if a switch had been flipped that day ten years before.

The room was full of books—all kinds of books—from romance novels to technology guides, to memoirs. The shelves and every available surface were overflowing with books. And a lone, battered laptop sat closed on her desk. The pang of regret was sharp.

He checked his phone. There was no contact from any of the agents he had watching the house. She'd slipped out. Unnoticed. Unprotected. How did she do it?

He did another pass through the bathroom and noticed the clothes she'd been wearing down in the kitchen. They were folded neatly on the side of the tub. He went back over to the French doors and opened them, stepping out onto the balcony.

He dialed a number on his phone and waited for the answer.

"James," the agent said.

"Evangeline is gone," Cal said. "Give me a report. Who's got eyes on the back of the house?"

"Curtis," James said. "But we had a slight hiccup. He's in one of the boats watching from the water, but the tide shifted and the winds picked up. He got set off course and lost visual for a few minutes."

"A storm is going to be coming in tonight," Cal said. "If you've got boats out there you better make sure the agents in them are experienced sailors. Things are going to get rough, and that's exactly the time that Taber will strike."

"Yes, sir," James said.

"She went off her balcony and climbed down the tree. I can see her footprints on the sand. Do you see her?"

"I don't have a visual," James said. "She must be hidden behind the rocks. There's a cove that's pretty secluded."

"I feel like I'm keeping a pretty good hold of my temper by not coming down there and beating the hell out of all of you, and then finding people competent enough to keep track of one woman."

"It won't happen again, sir," James said.

Cal disconnected. His anger was directed at Atticus. This is what happened when he pulled in local field agents instead of hand-selected agents. Dynamis agents would never have made such a mistake.

The smell of the sea was strong, and he could feel the heaviness of the rain in the air. He looked over the white railing of the balcony and saw the footprints in the sand below. He swore, thinking that holding on to Evangeline was like holding a fistful of sand. He could practically feel it slipping out of his grasp.

He closed and locked the French doors behind him and kept his weapon in his hand as he jogged back down the stairs toward the back of the house.

He followed the footsteps down the beach, relieved to see there was only one set. The closest neighbor was almost a mile in either direction—the Lockwoods had complete privacy in their little stretch of paradise. No trash littered the ground and the sand was white and pristine.

His walk had turned into a run by the time he came upon the outcropping of rocks. The footprints disappeared right at the smallest boulder, signifying she'd started climbing at that point. And then he heard the squeal and splash and his heartbeat went into overdrive. His first thought was that she'd fallen and hit her head on the rocks. His second thought was that someone had been hiding on the other side and attacked her.

He climbed the rocks, staying to the outer edge, thinking he'd have the advantage by attacking the culprit from above. He held his weapon up and waited patiently, moving slowly toward the sounds that were getting louder.

There was a split in the rocks—large enough for a man to fit through—so he hunkered down for a better view and to assess the situation. What he saw was nothing his imagination could've conjured in his wildest dreams. It was a spectacular hiding place. Or a hell of a place to be ambushed.

A small lagoon was nestled inside the rock formation, completely invisible to the outside world unless you were perched above like he was. A natural waterfall rushed down the rocks and into a crystal-clear pool. It couldn't have been deep, maybe a few feet, because he could see all the way to the bottom.

And there was Evangeline, climbing the rocks until she was at the top of the waterfall, her hair slicked back from her face and her body barely covered in a skimpy bathing suit. The baggy clothes she'd spent the last decade in were an injustice to her. She was lush and beautiful, and there was sheer joy on her face as she jumped into the lagoon below, laughing as she came up from the depths of the water.

His heart was racing a mile a minute and he laid his head against the cool rocks to find his balance. She'd scared years off his life. Maybe that reckless girl hadn't disappeared after all.

He holstered his weapon in the small of his back and stepped through the opening of the rocks. She didn't notice him, at least not right away. Not until his shadow crossed her face.

She gasped and looked up at him, her hand shielding her eyes so she could see who'd intruded on her space.

"Have you lost your mind?" he asked as calmly as he could manage. "Do you not understand there's a madman after you? A man who tortured and dismembered the last witness who tried to testify against him?"

He saw the fright on her face before she masked it with a look of indifference.

"You said the house is surrounded by agents and we're protected. And this is a completely secluded spot. I felt perfectly safe."

"I also told you that we were to stick together like glue," he said through gritted teeth. "I can't protect you if I'm not with you. He could have had you in his scope from a mile off."

"Ridiculous," she said, treading water. "That doesn't fit his profile. If he wants to capture and torture me that means he's an up-close-and-personal kind of killer. He won't take a cheap shot."

"Which is exactly why you don't need to be more than an arm's length away," he said, stripping off his shirt. He unbuckled his belt next and found a perverse pleasure in the worry on her face.

"What are you doing?" she asked, treading backward toward the waterfall. She bit her lip nervously.

He pushed down his jeans until he was in his boxers and laid his weapon on one of the lower rocks so he could reach it easily. "I'm getting in the water. What does it look like I'm doing? Sometimes I feel like words come out of my mouth but you're not actually listening."

"I've heard enough words coming out of your mouth to last a lifetime," she said, sarcastically. "I try not to listen more than I have to."

"Then I'll repeat myself again. Where you go, I go. If you're going to swim, I'm going to swim. If you're on the couch, I'm on the couch. If you're in the shower, I'm close enough to hand you the soap."

She gasped and her eyes narrowed. "My father could not have approved of this."

"It was his idea," Cal said. "And I don't report to your father. Atticus Cameron is scarier than your father could ever hope to be."

"And how am I supposed to sleep?"

He grinned, but there was no humor in it. "I get to be the big spoon. Does that answer your question?"

She disappeared under the water and he could see the ribbons of her hair as she went under the waterfall. It was fine with him. She could come to grips with reality however she needed to. It didn't change the fact that this was her reality now.

He took the opportunity to swim a couple of laps across the lagoon and back, keeping an eye on the rocks and the weather. He hated that his presence had taken the joy from her face that had been there just a few minutes before. But it couldn't be helped. There was too much between them. Too much history, too much anger, and too much attraction.

When she surfaced again her eyes met his, clear and dry, and his breath caught at the sheer beauty of her. No makeup. No persona. Just Evangeline.

"We don't want to stay out too long," he said. "The weather is going to turn bad before too long."

"How do you know?" she asked, looking at the sky. "It looks clear and sunny to me."

"Because the wind shifted and the waves changed," he said. "I grew up on the water. My dad was a shrimper in the South Carolina Lowcountry. I could pilot a boat long before I got a driver's license, and I could read the signs of upcoming weather before I started school."

"So how come you're a hacker instead of a shrimper?" she asked, curiosity written across her face.

It was the first time she'd ever asked about his childhood. When they'd been kids she'd just accepted him for who he was. She'd never commented on his drawl or that his manners weren't refined and his clothes didn't have designer labels. And he'd never bothered to offer up the information. As far as he was concerned that part of his life was over, and if he tried hard enough, he could pretend it never happened at all.

Cal shrugged and swam closer to the waterfall and to her, close enough he could feel the splashes on his face.

"My dad liked to drink," he said. "He had big fists, and he liked dangerous waters and rough bars. He was killed in a knife fight when I was seven. He was drunk and picked a fight with the wrong man. My mother was relieved I think. I guess I was too."

Her mouth opened in an O of surprise, but she stayed silent, watching him out of those eyes that had always been too big and too wise for her face.

"We'd been poor when my dad was alive," he said, remembering back to the two-room cabin they'd lived in along the marsh. "After he died we were really poor. Mom went out to find work. Sometimes she came home, and sometimes she didn't. That left me to my own devices. I'd always done well in school, even skipped the first grade, and the first time they put a computer in my hands I thought I'd died and gone to heaven. When I wasn't in school I was at the library using the ones there. It was then I realized that I could do everything I needed to do to make life easier with just the stroke of a few keys. I made it my mission to get my own setup."

He wasn't sure why he was telling her all this. He'd just opened his mouth and the words started pouring out. It had been a long time since he'd thought of those early days—the days before Robert Lockwood had tracked him down and taken him into custody.

His smile was grim. "That's when I started to take a turn toward the dark side. I was a ten-year-old kid with no supervision. I was big for my age, and I knew how to fight to get what I wanted. I also knew how to steal and keep out of sight from the law. I made friends with grifters and thieves. I hacked into my first bank before my eleventh birthday. I was never a stupid kid. I kept going to school. I knew that if I stopped I'd be wanted for truancy. I had no idea where my mother was at that point, so I made one up.

"I set up different accounts, siphoning money from different places so it would take longer to track down. And then I hired this woman, Mary Louise Cobb, to pretend she was my mother. They wouldn't exactly let a ten-year-old rent an apartment by himself, so she and I made a deal. She got a nice kickback and she left me to my own devices and never asked questions. It was a setup that worked well until your father broke down my door."

"Wow," she said. "I can't imagine having that kind of ingenuity at ten."

"Survival skills kick in when you need them," he said.

"Whatever happened to your mother?"

"I have no idea," he said. "She never came looking for me. I was just a mouth to feed, and she was having a hard enough time filling her own. It worked out for the best, at least until I was fourteen. Your dad gave me a chance to walk the straight and narrow or go to prison. It seemed like the best option at the time."

She looked at him strangely, and he wondered what she was thinking. But she didn't ask any more questions. Instead she said, "We should probably go back to the house."