Long Way Home (18 page)

“You can see where I’m sensitive about the women in my life hiding things from me.”

“Never again.” Grace took his cheeks in both hands and willed him to believe. “Really, Callen. Never.”

“Okay.” He managed to pack a lot of doubt in that one word.

“You think I’m giving you a line.”

He hand pressed his hand over the back of one of hers. “I feel battered and bruised, Grace. I’m not going to pretend that’s not the case.”

“Then let me help you feel better.” Her hand tunneled under the covers to his thigh. He still wore the briefs, but nothing else.

He pulled back, and his gaze searched her face. “I thought you were tired.”

“Oh, I plan to lie here and let you do most of the work.”

For the first time since he came in he looked relieved, and the expression quickly turned to something else when his hand slipped up her T-shirt and settled on her breast. “Really?”

“You are really good with that mouth.” She put a hand over his and dragged it down to where she wanted it.

“I’m at your service.” He sounded gruff and anything but worried and angry now.

“Be forewarned. It’s going to take a lot to please me.”

But he was already placing a trail of kisses over her collarbone. When she lifted her arms, the tee came off. And then his body slipped down hers, creating a heated friction, and he peeled off her panties.

A second later she forgot all about sleeping.

The woman wanted pancakes, so they went out for pancakes. Who was he to deny a pregnant lady? Not that Callen could say no to much of anything where Grace was concerned these days.

They’d reached a tentative peace after yesterday’s blowup. He’d crawled into bed and told Grace about his mom not because he thought he had to win her over, but because he wanted to share. And because Leah and Declan’s comments hit home. Callen wasn’t ready to lose Grace. Couldn’t do it again.

Now that he saw what providing a little information did for her mood, he was tempted to unload more. Of course, even with her strength, she might have a breaking point. How much could a woman hear about the man she slept with, even one she professed to love, before it got to be too much?

She folded her menu and laid it on the table. “Blueberry.”

The smile and pink cheeks . . . Damn, she looked good. She was this bundle of energy, so alive. Excitement thrummed around her.

He had no idea if it was the sex or the food, and he didn’t care. Whatever gave her that happy glow was fine with him. If it meant more sex, even better.

They had to get through breakfast first. “You’ve changed your mind three times.”

She winced as she opened the menu again. “The regular are tempting. Then there’s buttermilk.”

At this rate they’d be eating them for dinner before she decided. He flattened a hand over hers and shut the menu again. “Leah said you eat here all the time, so you’ll probably be able to try more than one.”

“Is that still going to be true?”

He watched her play with her silverware and wondered what was going on in that head. “I have no idea what that question means.”

“I thought maybe we’d eat some meals at the house.” She traced her finger over a drip down the side of her water glass. “Or is the plan to go back to ignoring me?”

Looked like there were still some doubts floating around. He understood. He hadn’t exactly been the king of the clear message where she was concerned. “Did it seem like I was ignoring you last night?’

She flashed him a naughty smile. “As to that, a pregnant woman needs more sleep.”

“Sorry.” He couldn’t make that sound genuine.

“No, you’re not.”

“No.”

She glanced over his shoulder. It was the fourth time in about ten seconds. Something happening behind him had her attention. In this town, he was almost afraid to turn around. Could be anything or anyone, but since she didn’t look worried, he guessed he was safe enough.

He was about to signal for the waitress. The poor woman had come to the table twice and been sent away during the great pancake debate.

“Is Oregon an open-carry state?”

He dropped his hand as soon as he lifted it. “What?”

“That guy has a gun.” Grace nodded in the direction of a man getting out of a booth wearing a coat and showing no visible signs of a weapon. “I didn’t think to check before I headed out here but I’m guessing you can carry firearms in public here.”

That was a scary thought in light of Marc Baron’s growing insanity.

Callen studied the supposed gun-carrying guy as he walked past and headed for the door. He looked like every other fifty-something guy in the county. Jeans and a coat, dark hair with a face that blended in. There was nothing . . . but then his coat flapped open for one second and Callen caught sight of what looked like the end of a gun by his waist.

“How did you see that?” He figured it had something to do with all those years of FBI training. Probably paid off to be able to notice things like that.

“My daddy taught me.” She drummed her fingers on the top of the plastic menu and somehow seemed oblivious to the thwapping sound she made. “Follow me around the room.”

“This should be interesting.”

She gave a quick nod to his right. “Couple in the process of breaking up in the corner booth. The body language on the woman is not good.”

Since the lady looked ready to burst into tears, Callen wasn’t quite ready to be impressed. “Obvious one.”

“Okay, the guy at the counter is contemplating taking the tip sitting two seats down before the waitress sees.”

“The guy on the end?”

She nodded. “He keeps eyeing it. Looks like he’s mentally counting it.”

“Or he wants part of the muffin left over on the other guy’s used plate,” Callen joked, but he thought she was right. There was something. A vibe the guy gave off.

And Callen knew all about the about-to-take-something vibe.

“And I count four more concealed weapons, and I can’t even see the people behind me.” She leaned back in the booth. “Well?”

“Impressive.” And it was. She had good instincts and didn’t sit back and wait to become a victim.

“Daddy wanted his little girl to stay sharp and notice things.”

Every time she talked about her father, love and respect poured off of her and filled her words. Callen envied that closeness. Didn’t really understand the concept of a healthy father-child bond.

“Good instincts for someone in law enforcement.” He tried to keep the conversation light, because if they started talking about skills passed on by fathers, this conversation could go rapidly downhill.

This time she motioned for the waitress. The poor woman came over. As soon as Grace said blueberry pancakes the waitress was off again—almost as if she wanted to race to the kitchen before Grace could change her mind. Callen got in a comment about remembering to pick up her tip on the counter, but he didn’t think the woman heard him.

“It’s a shame I didn’t like the work,” Grace said once they were alone again.

Even with the interruption he knew what she was talking about. “Tell me about that scar.”

“The part about being stabbed in the back was true. I just happened to be undercover at the time.”

He’d traced a finger over the small pucker of skin so many times. The first time he saw it he froze. Hearing about her being in danger made everything inside him clench with fury. Knowing that she’d likely been armed and hopefully had backup didn’t ease the flush of heated anger that overtook him every time he closed his eyes and imagined her bleeding out on the pavement.

If the idea plagued him, it had to chip away at her. “Is that when you left?”

“Yeah, but I wanted to go long before that. Being in the FBI takes a special kind of personality.” She kept running her fingers over the side of her water glass. “I thought I had it, but I didn’t.”

“At least you had that time with your dad.”

“He taught me a lot. He was a good man.” She glanced up again and her smile faded. “I’m sorry.”

“Why?”

She shrugged. “You and Charlie probably didn’t have much bonding time.”

That’s where she was wrong. He’d had months—years—of uninterrupted time with Charlie. Hours where he would play a sick and twisted game of training Callen. He wanted Callen to notice things, too, but not to be safe. To be ready to pounce.

Sitting there listening to her work around the room brought back a rush of memories. Most of them not good. All of them centered on Charlie training him to become the perfect partner.

She wanted to know the real man. Time to give her a peek.

“The woman at your nine o’clock recently lost her husband.” Callen didn’t move his head or signal. If he closed his eyes, he could describe everything about the woman, right down to her shoes. “You can tell because of the way she rubs the wedding ring.”

“When did you—”

“Eats alone, and at her age, it’s a good guess. Seems dressed up, like heading out of the house is important to her.”

He noticed because the skill was ingrained and he did it without thinking. That’s the kind of sick fuck he was, and in that moment he needed Grace to know that. Needed her to see what they were passing on to a kid so maybe she could help him make sure the con man gene stopped with his generation of Hanovers.

“The younger-guy scam would likely work best on her. Bring back memories of a son or grandson. You do something to get her attention. Stage a fight, pick something up off the floor pretending you think it’s hers.” A kick of self-loathing hit him, and he let the anger seep into his words. “You need to get in and build trust. Charm her and get her interested.”

Instead of running away or being repelled, she reached across the table and covered his hand with hers. “What are you telling me?”

He pulled back, because he needed to finish this. Wanted her to understand. He didn’t deserve comforting, and she would see that soon.

“The take has possibilities. The watch is expensive, and the diamonds look real.” Callen could hear Charlie’s voice in his head as he did the rundown. “You’d need a closer look, but she might have money at home or assets that could be accessed once you trick her into giving up the password.”

“Callen.”

“Eating alone suggests no family, or at least none nearby. Use that. Don’t push. She needs a friend, so be the confidante.”

This time Grace grabbed his hand. “Stop.”

Instead of pulling back, Callen kept holding on. She provided a lifeline, and he needed that right now. “There’s more, but you get an idea of what Charlie taught me on the road.”

“He took you with him on his scams.”

“All across the country.” He’d never admitted that before. As punishment he remembered the faces of the people he’d stolen from and the women he’d tricked long enough for Charlie to move in.

“There’s never been any proof.”

But Walker knew. On this, the guy had been dead right all along. Maybe that’s why Callen hated him so much. Walker saw underneath to what had happened before. Other people accused Callen, and he’d been questioned by the police many times, either when someone assumed his name automatically meant he was a con man or when they were digging for information on Charlie’s antics. Nothing stuck, but the taint was there.

“Charlie used me in bait-and-switch moves and to lure people in. Younger women he wanted to sleep with, older women he wanted to steal from.” The days blurred in Callen’s mind, but the cons didn’t. “Have a cute kid go in and help or whatever and the con got easier.”

“How old were you?”

It was tempting to take the excuse but he didn’t. “Old enough to know it was wrong, and I did it longer than I should have. Into my teens.”

Her thumb rubbed over the back of his hand and the softness in her eyes stayed at the comforting level, never tipping to pity. “But you were just a kid.”

“And most of the people we conned were nice, just like that woman probably is.” Of all the regrets, and he had a truckload full, the damage he did to innocent people stayed with him. Maybe he didn’t actually take the jewelry or forge the names, but he played a role, and that was a stain he couldn’t wipe away.

She kept holding his hand. Stayed leaning in close. “Why are telling me this?”

“You wanted to know more about me.”

She shot him a nice-try look. “That’s not really it, is it?”

Sometimes she was a bit too smart. Made it hard to slide anything by her. “I haven’t told my family, though they clearly suspect. Telling brings it back and makes it real and reminds me that for some period of my life I let that be okay.”

“But you’re telling me now.”

“Yeah.” He had a sudden need for her to know everything.

The instinct rose up on him before, back when they lived together, and he beat it back. It was a form of self-preservation. But having her track him down and fight to stay in his life chipped away at the wall he’d built to separate his past from the people it might hurt.

“You’re being too hard on yourself.” She squeezed his hand even tighter. “You didn’t have a choice.”

“I ran away at fifteen. I could have left before that.” He dropped her hand then, because it was too easy to talk when she sat right there, touching him. “Guess that’s where the running started.”

He’d never looked at his tendency to pull up stakes that way before, but he did now. The haze lifted and he saw his choices so clearly. It would have been easy to dump this on Charlie’s doorstep as well, but the truth was Callen ran because it felt cleansing to get out. To leave and not look back. He’d always been so damn good at it . . . until her.

“This is Charlie’s sin, not yours.”

A part of Callen loved that she wanted to whitewash his mistakes and see him as this good man. Life would be easier if he could sit back and let her think that, but that wasn’t fair to her or their baby. “It’s my legacy, Grace. It’s part of who I am and what we’re saddling this kid with.”

She dropped back hard against the booth. “Are you telling me you want out?”

“No.” Despite everything she did and he did, everything he was and how much of a mess he’d made of his life, he didn’t.

“Okay.” Between the narrowed eyes and the way she made the word last for something like ten syllables, her skepticism wasn’t exactly a secret.

“I’m telling you the truth so you can make an informed choice about whether you really want in.” He blocked out the other diners and the hum of conversation, the smash of a glass as it hit the floor a few feet away and the chiming bell over the door. Nothing mattered but her and her answer.

“I do.” She didn’t hesitate. The words came out easier than ordering her breakfast, as if all he had dumped on her fell right off of her.

Callen tried to think of another way to explain those years. Maybe he wasn’t clear, or maybe she needed time for it all to sink in. “God, Grace. Think about it and be sure.”

“I am. You’re stuck with me.” She downed the rest of the water in her glass, then looked around the diner.

He put his full glass in front of her. Hell, he’d give her just about anything right now. “Are you sure that’s what you want?”

“Yes. You and my pancakes.” She stared right at the kitchen as if willing to the food to arrive.

And that was it. She listened and moved on. No dramatics, no blame. Most importantly, no demand for explanation and no pity.

Maybe he’d been right all along and she was the one woman for him. Almost made him feel sorry for her.

“Five more minutes and I’m sending you in there on pancake recon.” The grumbling suggested the waitress had a lot less than five minutes to make this happen.