Page 13

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

A lyssa was trying to concentrate, but it was no easy task with Charles watching her every keystroke and Callan’s refusal to settle down.

All an act, of course. He’d shown none of this manic restlessness the night before, nor during their years in college together. He was going for maximum irritation. She didn’t know how it was affecting Charles, but Callan was certainly irritating her.

Finally, the driver who’d picked them up stepped into the room holding Callan’s laptop bag.

Callan launched himself off the chair—which he’d settled into about thirty seconds prior. “Thank you.”

The man didn’t hand it over, though.

“Please, Caleb, sit down.” Charles stood and walked toward the men. “Benson needs your help with something.”

Alyssa tried to focus on her work, but she couldn’t help listening.

“With what?”

She heard movement, but nobody spoke, so she levered up to peek over the screens.

The driver—Benson—opened Callan’s bag and slid his laptop out while Charles pushed a small table in front of Callan.

Benson set the laptop on the table. “Unlock it.”

Callan launched up from his chair so fast that Benson took a step back. “I must’ve misunderstood.” Warning hummed in Callan’s tone.

Benson was about six feet—slightly shorter than Callan—but he was plenty built. He nodded to the laptop between them. “You heard me.”

Uh-oh. What did Callan have on that? Would they be able to find anything that indicated who he really was?

Surely not. But Callan wasn’t backing down.

Callan turned his back on Benson to face Charles—effectively discounting the guard entirely.

By the rage that filled the driver’s expression, he’d picked up on that.

“Look, this is my work computer,” Callan said. “I can’t let your guy here look at it. Sorry.”

“Ah. Then I think we have a problem,” Charles said. “You see, I can’t let you work on it unless we examine it.”

“Why? What are you…?” He spluttered as if utterly shocked. “My work has nothing to do with you or Alyssa or anything. This is… You can’t be serious.”

Callan was very convincing.

“I’m afraid I am quite serious.” Charles shifted sideways, his back to the windows, and nodded toward Alyssa before addressing Callan again. “You see, until last night, I didn’t know you existed.”

“So what? Who she spends time with is none of your business. Do you expect her to give you a rundown on her life? All of this is already”—he gestured to the room and the house and the grounds—“paranoid beyond comprehension. But demanding to look at my laptop? You have no right.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way.” Charles flicked his gaze to Benson. “Please, drive our guest wherever he would like to go.”

Alyssa’s anxiety spiked. She needed Callan here, with her. How could she do this without him?

She pushed to her feet. “Caleb, just let him?—”

”You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Ignoring her, Callan was focused on Charles. “To get rid of me.” He strode forward, stopping one pace too close to the terrorist.

She rounded the desk. “Don’t do that, Caleb. Just let them look at your computer. It’s not like you’ve got state secrets on there.”

He glared at her, and the look was so authentic that she froze a few feet away.

“ Company secrets. Maybe that means nothing to this guy, but our client database is on there. I could lose my job.”

“Charles doesn’t care what you do for work. I promise. He’s not going to steal anything.”

“If it makes you that uncomfortable,” Charles said, “feel free to leave the laptop with Benson and find a book to read. As you can see, there are plenty.” He gestured to the wall of shelves.

“I need to work.”

“It’s a simple choice. You will let Benson have a look at your system to confirm it is what you say it is, that there’s nothing questionable on there, or you will not use it on my property.”

Callan’s mouth set in a firm line. He looked from Charles to Benson and back.

Tension buzzed like a swarm of angry bees.

Then Callan sat, turned the laptop so none of them could see the screen, and typed. “There. It’s open. But you’re not taking it. I’m watching everything you do.”

Satisfaction in Benson’s expression, he sat opposite Callan’s chair and turned the laptop toward himself.

Callan leaned against the wall beside him and watched over his shoulder, arms crossed.

She guessed Benson took his time poking around, just to annoy him.

Charles resumed his seat and nodded for her to do the same, but she pretended not to notice. She wanted to be ready in case Benson discovered something that gave away who Callan really was.

If that happened, what would Benson do? Would he say something? Or take out a gun and shoot him?

More likely, he’d take Callan away, maybe try to get information out of him.

What would Alyssa do? Make a run for it? Try to help?

Her heart pounded with fear.

Nobody spoke, the only sounds coming from the man’s thick fingers on the keyboard. The tension in the room mixed with the heat from the gas fireplace. What had felt drafty before was now stuffy.

Stifling.

She shouldn’t be worried. Callan’s security was tight enough that this guy shouldn’t be able to get past it.

After minutes that felt like hours, he set the laptop on one of the footrests. “It’s what he says. A client database, a portal to a computer company.”

“Thank you, Benson.” Charles smiled at Callan. “Sorry we had to do that.”

“You didn’t have to do it.” He snatched his laptop.

Dismissed, Benson stepped out.

Callan, still acting angry, gave her an unhappy stare.

“Please, get back to work,” Charles said to her.

She sat and focused on her screens. She’d found the gateway to the private server. Now, to find a way in.

And a way to fix this company’s system so that, no matter what Charles did, he wouldn’t be able to follow the breadcrumbs she’d dropped.