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CHAPTER TEN

T he back seat of the car Ghazi had sent was spacious enough for Callan to stretch his legs out, but that didn’t mean he was comfortable, not with the tension wafting off Alyssa beside him and the fear in her eyes whenever she looked his way.

Nor was he comfortable with the driver, who hadn’t spoken a word since they’d left the hotel.

They crossed the Charles into Boston, went east on Soldiers Field Road adjacent to the river, then turned west on Comm. Ave. to St. Paul Street. The driver continued past the Episcopal church and then snaked through neighborhoods, seemingly willy-nilly.

Callan knew Boston well enough, but they were outside the city now in an area he’d never been to before. Based on the fancy homes, the wide and perfectly manicured lawns, and the expensive cars in the driveways, they’d reached Brookline.

It irked him that he didn’t have his phone, but he’d anticipated that. This wasn’t his first field assignment, after all. On the other hand, this wasn’t a run-of-the-mill op. Normally, he went into the field with trained agents, not beautiful computer hackers who had no clue what they were doing.

The driver had powered down both their phones, but that wouldn’t keep Malcolm from tracking Callan’s. Of course, the Agency knowing where they were would do Callan and Alyssa no good if they didn’t have a way to call for help if they needed it. Callan had his laptop, though. Hopefully, Ghazi wouldn’t take that away when they got to the house.

If he did, Callan would figure it out. This was what he did, and he was good at it.

It was trouble on the home front he didn’t know how to deal with.

“You promised us, Callan.” His mother’s words played on repeat in his head, the tone not accusatory but disappointed—which was so much worse. “You have a child to take care of now.”

Did she think he’d forgotten about Peri? Did Mom really think his eight-year-old daughter was ever far from his mind? Since he’d discovered her existence the previous fall, he’d thought of little else. He’d given up his dream job for Peri. He’d changed his life for her.

Not that he resented it. Not that he shouldn’t have done those things. Of course he should have. He was her father.

But he had a career, and his work was not just time-consuming. It could be all- consuming. Which was why it made sense for Peri to stay with Mom and Dad when Callan had to be in Boston.

They were retired. They had time for her. They had help, with Hannah living so close, and Callan’s sister adored Peri.

And they knew what the heck they were doing.

Whereas Callan was clueless.

Peri was better off with his parents than she’d ever be with him. She knew it, his parents knew it. Hannah knew it.

Everybody knew it, even if they were too kind to say so.

Finally, the car turned into a narrow driveway, giving Callan something to think about besides the daughter he was failing in every way.

The driver stopped at a wrought iron gate. Interesting, considering the other houses on this road had no such security—just normal driveways for normal families.

Well, normal rich families.

The other houses they’d passed on this street had expansive lawns, but not this house. A tall, thick hedge made it almost impossible to see a white structure beyond.

The driver entered a code on a keypad, the gate swung open, and they moved slowly forward and around a bend.

The house came into view.

Three stories tall, it resembled buildings he’d seen in Italy, where he’d been on assignment. Romanesque with grayish-white stucco siding, a Spanish-tile roof, and dark green shutters, it was surrounded by trees and bushes and flowers everywhere he looked.

He squeezed Alyssa’s hand. Since they were supposed to be in love, and they weren’t supposed to be nervous, he smiled at her. “Nice digs, right? Of course, this is probably old hat to you.” Her family’s money wasn’t exactly a state secret, so there was no reason for him not to mention it.

“It’s an impressive building.” She focused on the driver. “Any idea when it was built?”

Saying nothing, the man climbed out of the car and slammed the door.

Alyssa’s fake smile faded, and her eyes widened with terror. She held Callan's hand in a death grip as if she saw him as her protector.

He didn’t hate that.

Callan was trying to sell a story, which was the only reason he leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to her lips.

That was exactly the kind of thing a fiancé might do.

The fact that the kiss felt so natural…

He didn’t hate that either.

“It’s going to be okay,” he whispered. “If we get separated and you need me, just scream. Wherever you are, I’ll find you.”

Before she could answer, the driver opened her door.

She held Callan’s eye contact another moment, then let go of his hand, shouldered her giant purse, and climbed out.

Callan exited from his side, reached back in for his laptop bag, then stood and stretched, relaxed as could be. “Wow, this place is beautiful, isn’t it?” He headed to the trunk, where they’d stowed their suitcases. The driver had already unloaded them both.

“I got these. Go on.” The guy nodded toward the front door.

Callan took Alyssa’s hand, and they walked along paving stones set in a bed of ground cover. The garden was thick and wild and smelled of sweet flowers, fertile soil, and springtime. He was no gardener himself, but the scent brought him back to his childhood, to playing hide-and-seek in the woods and racing his sister and the neighbor kids to the boulder at the edge of the pond.

Would Peri have any happy childhood memories? Or was the joy of childhood behind her now that she was stuck with her dad?

That was a question he preferred not to ponder.

The front door opened, and Dariush Ghazi stood on the other side. He wore jeans and a short-sleeved button-down that looked brand new, as if it’d come straight from the store. As if he’d purchased the clothes for exactly this occasion, in order to create an impression. “Welcome, friends. Please, come in.”

Alyssa preceded Callan up the steps. “Hello, Charles.” Her tone was formal, a stark contrast to the man’s exuberant greeting.

“Nice place you got here.” Callan climbed the steps, noting the placard inlaid in the stucco wall that dated the building to 1916. He stuck out his hand, grabbing Ghazi’s in a firm grip. “You lived here long?”

“It’s only temporary while I conduct my business in the States.”

His British accent was a little like his clothes—too perfect. Too practiced.

He stepped back, and Callan joined Alyssa in a modest foyer that had doors off both sides and a hallway that led toward the back of the house. The hardwood floors looked original. Light paint on the walls. The antique furnishings must have come with the place. A staircase that led both up and down wasn’t grand but simple and utilitarian.

“Would you like a tour?” Ghazi asked.

“I’d love one.” Callan infused enthusiasm into his voice. He angled to face Alyssa, hoping she read his mind. Say yes. “Wouldn’t you?”

“I’d like to get started, to tell you the truth.”

She wasn’t so great with unspoken communication.

Ghazi seemed amused, a smile playing at his too-thin lips. “I’ll have my housekeeper show you around, Caleb, while Alyssa and I get started.”

A woman materialized in the hallway as if she’d been conjured by the man’s words. She was about five five, not slender but more solid than fat with the look of a woman who spent as much time in the gym as Callan did. She had short spiked blond hair with purple tips and wore black jeans, sensible black shoes, and a long-sleeved black button-down shirt.

Nothing about her said housekeeper.

Ghazi waved her forward. “Ah, here she is now. Molly, take their coats and bags, and then show Mr. Thompson around.”

They slipped out of their jackets. Reluctantly, Callan handed over his laptop while Alyssa gave the woman her purse.

“I’ll give him the grand tour.” Her Boston accent was more North End than Southie.

Callan took Alyssa’s hand and tucked it in his elbow. “We’d prefer to stay together.”

“I’m afraid that’s not going to work.” Ghazi managed a regretful tone. “Alyssa and I have some business to discuss.”

Callan scowled. “I’m not a corporate spy, man. I’m not here to learn all your secrets.”

“It’s all right.” Alyssa jumped in, just like a good fiancée should. “You go ahead and have a look around while Charles and I talk. You can join us after.” She focused on Ghazi. “Right?”

“Certainly.” He didn’t look away from Callan. “I only ask that you remain on the far side of the room while Alyssa works, so as not to accidentally see something you ought not to see.” He smiled, adding, “Of course I don't suspect you of anything.”

Callan had the strongest impression that he did, in fact, suspect Callan of something.

“I guess that’s okay”—turning to Alyssa—“as long as you’re sure you’ll be okay without me for a little bit.”

“Of course. Go on.” She sounded cool and confident.

“Not that I’d have a clue what you were doing.” Callan gave her a warm smile, then looked at Ghazi again. “I work with hardware. All that software stuff is”—he passed his hand a few inches above his scalp—“way over my head.”

Alyssa rose to her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “See you in a few.” She turned to Ghazi. “Lead the way.”

Ghazi gestured toward the staircase, and the two walked to the second floor, side by side.

Callan stared after her a few beats too long. Had she really just kissed him? Like it was nothing?

She would have made a great agent. She was good at pretending.

Even so, the thought of her stepping into dangerous situations made him feel ill.

The fact that she was in this dangerous situation made him want to follow her and not let her out of his sight.

“This way, Mr. Thompson.”

He smiled at the guard playing the part of housekeeper—seemed everybody was playing a fictional role here. “This place is amazing. Have you worked here long? Did you like, come with the building, or did Mr. Sanders hire you? You must love it.”

He’d keep up a steady stream of ridiculous conversation. His goal was to act like he had no clue anything unusual was going on.

To convince Ghazi and his people that he wasn’t a threat.

Right up until the moment when he took them down.