Long Way Home (20 page)

“And he loves her.” Leah held gestured to the couple right as Callen dipped Grace over his arm. “I mean, come on. Look at that.”

His mom made a humming sound. “Think he knows it?”

“He’s fighting it.” Declan recognized the signs, having fought this battle a few months ago himself.

Leah snuggled in closer to his chest. “He is going to lose.”

Declan kissed her hair, inhaling the fresh scent of her shampoo. “We always do when faced with the right woman.”

“Damn straight.”

His mom snorted. “I didn’t raise idiots.”

After two days of rain and a communication blackout, Grace sat across from Walker in a booth at the diner. He wore his usual black suit, which made no sense in light of him being on leave. He also rapped his knuckles against the table. The knocking echoed in her head until she thought her brain might explode. If he wanted to slowly drive her nuts . . . well, congratulations.

She reached out and flattened his hand. When he tried to move it, she pressed down even harder, daring him to make a scene. “Walker, I’m about out of patience. Stop staring at me and growling under your breath and generally being a pain in the ass.”

“And you wonder why I’ve ignored your calls.”

The man had a smartass response ready at all times. She sat back in her seat, not buying his act for a second. “You’re the one hiding from me.”

He scoffed. “Like hell.”

Looked like a heaping cup of denial was on the menu today. Not her favorite thing. She zipped to the one topic she thought might knock him out of it. “Did you make up with Mallory?”

Something that looked like sadness moved through his eyes, then disappeared. The fatigue and anger came rushing back. “That’s not your business.”

If only he could see how much he cared about Mallory and how this was ruining every aspect of his life, including his relationship with her with his vendetta. “Since when?”

“Since you went back to Callen Hanover.”

Walker just never stopped with this. His whole life had become this rush to take Callen down, and that made her ache for all of them. “You have to get over this.”

“Because you’re pregnant?” Walker leaned in and lowered his voice. “Don’t you see that he did it to trap you? You give him legitimacy.”

This wasn’t exactly a comfortable topic to chat about in public . . . or anywhere. But there was no way she was going to let Walker turn her relationship all around as a new way to blame Callen. “Okay, I was there and know how it happened and, trust me, Callen was not alone and not scheming when this baby happened.”

Walker made a face as he held up a hand. “Spare me the details.”

“I plan to.” She played with the napkin, lining her silverware up with the top of it. “Can you tell me why?”

He didn’t pretend to understand. “People need to pay for their choices.”

That’s where this all fell apart for her. Vengeance, personal vendettas—she understood those on some level. But she needed Walker to spin out of it and she needed ammunition to make it happen. This festering anger, the type that covered and destroyed everything, didn’t appear to have any basis. She didn’t know how to fight it.

She tried logic one last time. “Being born a Hanover was not a choice Callen made.”

“Right.” Walker brushed something off his jacket. Shifted and picked something off the seat next to him.

The whole scene looked like a big stall tactic to her. “Now tell me the real reason.”

“That’s it.”

“You’re going to lose your job.” He loved the work. Studied and trained and worked his way up. He had the respect of his superiors. The whispers didn’t start until he got taken off the Charlie Hanover case for losing perspective. The official word was that the agency wanted a “fresh pair of eyes,” and they claimed Walker would still be on the task force. She knew differently. He’d been moved to another case and went out on leave right after.

“I’m not.”

Denial. There was no other explanation. Grace tried again, using something more personal this time. “Mallory.”

“I’m not talking about her.”

He didn’t have to. The way his shoulders slumped and his mouth dropped down even further said it all. “I really like her.”

“If I asked you to leave town for me, would you?”

The pleading in his voice got to Grace. “Tell me why.”

“This is personal.” He stumbled over the words, stopping between each one to glance around the diner.

It was the first time he’d admitted even that much. “Obviously.”

“I need to see this through.”

The truth hovered right there. She could feel it. They were right on the edge of figuring this out and being able to handle it. “What is ‘this,’ exactly?”

He knocked his fist against the table one last time. “Tearing the family apart.”

Her stomach dropped and the blood rushed out of her head. “What are you—”

A shadow fell over them. Grace looked up to see Marc Baron standing there. He wore his usual furious scowl and stomped around until people looked over at him.

Talk about piss-poor timing.

With his palms against the table, he leaned down, not bothering to lower his voice. “Are you two or anyone in the FBI finally going to do something about those Hanovers?”

“No,” she said.

“Yes,” Walker added at the same time.

“Callen is the mastermind, but Declan is the problem.” Marc kept his attention focused on Walker.

For some reason, that annoyed the crap out of her. “Because he’s sleeping with your daughter?”

He turned on her then, red-faced and full of fury. His words came out between clenched teeth, and his hands balled into fists. “What the hell do you know?”

Walker slid out of the booth and stood up. With a hand on Marc’s arm, he pulled him away from the table. “That’s enough.”

Marc jerked out of the hold and looked back at Grace. “You’re up there, sleeping with the oldest. What is wrong with you women? No sense of self-respect at all.”

He was screaming now. Everyone, from the diners to the wait staff to people standing outside, started staring.

She refused to be intimidated. She didn’t do anything wrong, and this guy was way out of control. “Mr. Baron, we’re done here.”

“You don’t get to talk to me.” Marc turned back to Walker. “And you. Do your job.”

“I am.”

“Don’t think you can placate me.”

Walker took the older man’s arm again, this time in a white-knuckle hold, and pulled him into the aisle. “Come with me.”

Marc flailed and yelled. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Grace didn’t know whether to be grateful or scared for Walker. Older or not, Leah’s dad or not, the man bordered on crazed. Marc threw his arms around and tried to stop Walker’s momentum while practically hyperventilating.

Walker kept his usual calm as he moved Marc back and walked him in a two-hand hold toward the door. “We’re going to visit Chief Darber.”

She stood up and raced after them. “Walker?”

He barely spared her a look. “We’re done, too, Grace.”

The words sliced through her. She guessed that was the point—to hurt her. Fine. He could take whatever shot he wanted, but she still loved him as a friend and wanted to help. She tried one last rescue.

“This is where you’re heading.” Walker glanced at her then. “This madness, this anger. You are zooming right for it, and I am begging you to stop.”

Walker didn’t say anything as he led Marc out the door and through the group of people gathered on the sidewalk.

***

Callen waited until the dinner dishes were cleared and Leah had gone upstairs to shower to get to the topic that had been picking at him all afternoon. He’d rather do this alone, but Declan stood right there by the sink, drying the last of the dishes from the pasta dinner Callen made for them all.

Sitting across from Grace, he watched her studying a clothing catalog with the same intensity Beck used when he poured through legal documents. She flipped one page after another, folding down the top edge now and then. He guessed that meant something.

“How was your lunch?” he asked. Such a simple question, yet so important.

Almost in slow motion, she lifted her head and lowered the magazine. “Excuse me?”

“I think you heard me.”

Nothing in her affect suggested fear or shame. She sat up straighter and aimed every ounce of her female indignation in his direction. “Are you checking up on me?”

“It’s hard not to hear about you having lunch with Marc Baron and your pal Walker.” People flocked to Callen at the grocery store to talk about it. Seemed everyone now knew he was with Grace, thanks to whatever Marc had said—and it can’t have been nice, because most of those spreading the gossip sided with her and expressed concern about Marc’s behavior these days.

It also sounded like Walker played the role of hero. In this one instance, Callen could give him some credit for that.

Declan walked over to the table with a dish towel draped over his shoulder. “What are you two talking about?”

So much for privacy. “This isn’t—”

Grace bulldozed right over Callen’s we-need-alone-time speech to his brother. “I was meeting with Walker at the diner to see if I could get him to stop hunting you all down.”

The snort came out before Callen could stop it. “How did that go over?”

She ignored him and kept talking to Declan. “Marc stormed into the diner and threw a fit. Apparently that’s his one skill. Making a stupid scene.”

Declan swore under his breath. “Sounds like the guy I know.”

“He’s dangerous.” Grace’s expression was stark now. “I mean, truly.”

“You’re talking about Declan’s future father-in-law.” Callen loved pointing that out, even as he feared for Declan’s safety.

There was no question in Callen’s mind that Marc’s desperation would end in something bad. The Hanovers uncovered his secret, and he couldn’t let his role in the long-ago scam against the town get out after he’d invested so much time in playing the victim. No amount of reassuring him through third parties—in this case, his lawyer friend, who was there when the lies unraveled—convinced Marc to back off and quiet down.

“Fuck me,” Declan mumbled as he dropped into the seat at the head of the table.

Now that he’d pushed the lunch subject, Callen asked the only question that mattered to him. “Are you okay?”

Grace eyes narrowed. “What?”

“It was a pretty simple question.”

“I thought you were accusing me of conspiring with your enemies.”

He hated her being in the firing line because of him. Those were the words he couldn’t say. “Enemies is a strong word but I guess it fits.”

“Callen.” She heaped a lot of warning into saying his name but issued one anyway. “Get to the point.”

“I asked about lunch.” Callen turned to Declan. “You heard me.”

“Jesus, don’t bring me into this.”

She shoved the catalog to the side, nearly knocking it off the table. It would have taken flight if Declan hadn’t caught it. “If you’re saying you think I did something wrong today, just say it.”

Talk about missing the point. He didn’t doubt she sat in that diner trying to talk to Walker. Callen knew she would keep trying to talk sense into Walker unless and until he left town. The guy could give lessons in being stubborn.

The bigger issue was her history of omissions. “I know Marc came after you today, which pisses me off. I guess I’m trying to figure out why
you
didn’t tell me. Why I had to hear it from other people.”

“You don’t exactly handle news about Walker well.” She’d used that excuse before, and dragged it out again here.

“She has you there,” Declan said.

Her jaw unclenched and her tight fists gave way to placing her palms against the table. Maybe Declan’s support did it, but something had the anger visibly seeping out of her. “You’re the one who’s all about privacy, Callen. Then there’s the part where it just happened a few hours ago. Because I stopped off to see Mallory, I’ve only been home for an hour and we spent most of that time eating.”

All good points. No dodging there. And Callen had to admit he liked seeing Declan and Grace team up. It meant something that Declan liked her, and vice versa. After so many years alone, Callen needed the people he cared about to care about each other as well.

Still, she wasn’t being totally truthful. “You texted me about shoes yesterday.”

“Your point?” she asked, but the sudden wariness those intelligent eyes gave her away.

He waited for her to fidget but she stayed still. “You seem to be able to get in touch with me when you know I won’t get angry about the topic.”

“Did you know what she was talking about?” Declan asked.

“With the shoes? No clue.”

She opened her mouth, then closed it again. Callen waited. Even Declan seemed to be holding his breath, waiting to hear what she’d say.

She treated them to a sigh. “Okay, that’s fair. I should have told you before telling Mallory.”

That seemed pretty damn obvious. Callen wasn’t sure why it took her all day to figure it out.

“It’s scary when they agree. The women, I mean,” Declan said. “Makes me think trouble is brewing.”

Callen couldn’t agree more. “Damn right.”

The tension fizzled and the energy radiating off her eased back to a normal level. The building anxiety in his chest died down. They’d crossed some bridge, but he still wasn’t sure how.

“So, who exactly are you angry with?” she asked.

He knew from the question she’d lowered her defenses enough to have a conversation. “Marc Baron for being a dick and Walker for not protecting you sooner.”

She waved her hand. “I’m fine.”

“Are you?” Declan asked.

“Yes.”

On top of everything else he’d told her and all the information he’d spilled, Callen needed to issue this one last warning. She thought she wanted to be with him, and he still didn’t get that, but hanging out with the Hanovers meant dealing with backlash. “Look, we’ve had a lot of experience with this.”

Declan shoved his chair back and got up, dragging it with a screech across the floor. “Understatement.”

“The police, Walker, Charlie’s victims. It can be a lot to take in.” More than once Callen had buckled under the weight. His go-to response had always been to run. He no longer had that option.

“At least that woman is gone.” Declan rested his hands on the back of the chair he had just left. “What was her name, Kristin something?”

“Accord.” The name and the woman were imprinted on Callen’s brain. She chased him from state to state, insisting they needed to talk. At first he thought she was a Charlie victim. Then he worried she was some kind of freaky groupie, because he’d run into a few of them.