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"And with me."
"When you filled them in, did you tell them about your dad being seen outside his former gallery in Laguna Beach?"
"I should have, but I didn't. There are more concrete clues to follow first. Gretchen could have easily been lying." He paused. "Or maybe I'm just telling myself that, because I don't want to go there."
"My brain is really muddled right now, but I know one thing for sure, Flynn."
"What's that?" he asked, meeting her gaze.
"Whatever your dad did, whoever he is, you're not him. You're a good man. And I trust you."
He grabbed her hand once more, his fingers curling around hers, sending a rush of warmth right through her.
"I hope I don't let you down, Callie."
"I hope you don't, either." She paused, thinking that probably wasn't the best thing to say. "I should have said I know you won't, but these drugs are like a truth serum."
He grinned. "Good to know. I'll have to see what other secrets I can get out of you on the way home."
Chapter Seventeen
Callie sleptall the way back to Los Angeles. Flynn spent most of the two-hour drive dividing his gaze between her and the road. Part of him wanted to wake her up, just to make sure she was all right, but the doctor had said it was perfectly fine for her to sleep and that she needed rest to recover. He was grateful she would recover. She'd been lucky. She could have been shot instead of just knocked out. But her assailant probably hadn't wanted to alert him to his presence in the house.
The man had to have seen their car out front, but that hadn't deterred him from entering the property. And they'd made it incredibly easy for him. He realized now that they'd left the patio doors open when they'd stepped outside. The guy hadn't even had to break in.
He shook his head in self-disgust. All this was on him and there was nothing anyone could say that would change his mind.
He'd made a tactical error taking Callie to Palm Springs. He couldn't let that happen again. Although, as much as he needed to push her away, he also needed to protect her. She wasn't just a witness to Arthur's murder anymore; she was also a witness to the attack in Palm Springs. He needed to make sure that no one came after her again, which meant he had to stay close. He just needed to be smarter about it.
As he glanced over at her sweet face, something inside him shifted. He didn't know what it was about her that had gotten so deep under his skin, but he couldn't deny that she was becoming important to him in a way he'd never imagined. He needed to slow it all down, but all he really wanted to do was take her to bed and see how hot the flames could be.
She might even want that, too.But she was injured and on painkillers, and he wouldn't take advantage of that. She trusted him.
Her words rang once more through his head, and her trust touched him. He didn't know if he had earned it after everything that had happened, but he wanted it. And he wanted to trust her, too. So many people had let him down in his life. His father was at the top of that list and now Arthur was on it. He'd put them both on a pedestal of good, and they'd tumbled off, shattering into a thousand broken pieces. Maybe he'd been a fool to put them there in the first place. He needed to be more careful about who he chose to believe in.
But he didn't think he needed to be careful with Callie. He knew her agenda. She wanted to protect her mother, and he could understand why she was so fierce about that. He respected the depth of her love, her willingness to put her own needs aside for someone else. He just hoped they wouldn't come to a point where he would have to choose between getting justice and protecting Callie's mother.
As much as he wanted to lean away from Juliette being involved in Arthur's death, every time he started to move in that direction, something changed. Like the fact that there were only a few people who knew about the house in Palm Springs. Like the fact that Juliette had been missing at the time of Arthur's murder, and that she'd received damning information about her husband having an affair. Like the fact that she had had access to the museum's security systems. She might have even been able to get someone in security to help her out.
On the other hand, he didn't believe she was a serial killer or that she had painted the belladonna. There was no way she had had anything to do with the previous murders.
But the pattern of this particular serial killer was to punish people in the art world. And he was starting to see why someone might have believed that Arthur needed to be punished.
Did the serial killer get information about a potential victim before going after them? Was there always someone else involved?Someone else who had been damaged in some way?The first victim had also been having an affair.Had his wife wanted him punished? Had she gotten someone to help her do that?
He still had too many questions to clear Juliette. Hopefully, tomorrow he could talk to her directly. Maybe she would be able to tell him something that would point him in another direction.
And hopefully that direction wouldn't lead to his father.
He was trying not to think about his dad, but two women had mentioned that his father might be back in business—Victoria and Gretchen. And both those women had known his father before he'd vanished into thin air. But Victoria had said her knowledge came from Arthur.
Was it possible Arthur had been buying stolen art from his dad?That seemed impossible to believe. Arthur had seen firsthand how his father's crimes had affected him.If he'd been involved with his dad, why on earth would Arthur have asked him to come to the museum, to help him?It didn't make sense. He was missing a piece of the puzzle, something that would tie everything up, but he didn't have it yet, and he didn't know where to find it.
As his exit came into view, he changed lanes, checking his rearview mirror to see if anyone was following them off the freeway. There was one car behind him, but it moved into the left lane, turning in the other direction at the stoplight.
A few blocks later, he pulled into the garage of his two-story townhouse, located in a duplex in Santa Monica, a few blocks from the beach and his office, making it the perfect location. The other side of the duplex was owned by Beck, so he also had the perfect neighbor. They'd put a security system on the entire building, with individual controls for each townhouse. Work rarely followed him home, but occasionally they needed to put a witness or a fellow agent somewhere safe, and his apartment or Beck's apartment could double as a safe house.
As the door shut behind his vehicle, the lights came on in the garage. He put his hand on Callie's leg.