Chapter 4
FOUR
Caleb
Agitated and annoyed, I hurry back to Brooke with a nurse in tow, praying I didn’t just make a huge mistake. Leaving Brooke alone wasn’t smart. Second day on the job and I’m already losing sight of why I came.
When I see her beside the tree, intact and still breathing, the tension eases. Stupid move to leave her out here, even if I had her in sight the entire time. Shaking off the thought, I let the apologetic nurse wheel Betty back inside.
It’s not even her fault.
Betty was left outside due to a staff shortage and an oversight at shift change. It shouldn’t have happened, and I’m going to make sure it doesn’t again.
I say goodbye to Betty and gesture for Brooke to head back to the Nissan. From the wry smile on her face, she’s got plenty to say about my interference.
“What did you do?”
I didn’t do anything. I wish I could’ve. “Reminded them of their duty of care.”
Her eyebrow hikes. “How?”
I unlock the truck and toss the camera inside. “Why?”
“I’m curious. I’d like to know your method. Or did you just grunt and flex your muscles?”
I bark a laugh as she hops in the passenger seat. “You’re supposed to be in the back.”
Her eyes narrow, and she glances past me out the window. “Walter is watching us.”
I follow her gaze toward the entrance and grimace. He’s talking to several staffers I put the hard word on.
“Yeah. Okay. Time to go.”
I pull my belt across my lap and wait until Brooke does the same before reversing and driving off, faster than the five-mile-per-hour speed limit.
“Not that I don’t appreciate you getting Betty immediate help,” she says, “but next time, loop me in.”
I glance at her, surprised. “She needed help. I got it for her.”
“You did,” she says, gentler now. “Short-term, that matters. But long-term? Betty, and probably a lot of other residents like her, need more than a rescue mission. They need exposure. Accountability.”
I press my lips together as I drive, taking the route faster this time. The sooner I get her home, the sooner I can figure out whether this is about to blow up.
“You think writing a story is going to be enough?” I ask.
“Maybe not on its own,” she says, “but it’s what I can do. Getting the truth out might be the only way to make something happen. Her family might see the report. They might come for her.”
My forehead bunches as I process that. “So your goal is to shame her son into doing something about it?”
“Sure. Whatever works.”
The light switches from green to amber and I miss my chance. I ease my foot on the brake and roll the vehicle to a stop.
“Except her son is on active duty in Germany. And this is the best he can afford.”
“Oh,” she says.
I flick a look in the rearview. Nothing. Nice and quiet.
“If you publish a story about his mother being neglected, he’s going to feel like dirt because he can’t do anything about it.”
“But the story needs to be told. ”
“Maybe. But people need to be helped first. Tell it after we fix things.”
“Fix things? How? By intimidating people?”
I send her a look. “That’s not usually how Hightower works.”
“Really? Then tell me how it does work.”
I jam my lips together. She’s trying to get me to talk about Hightower. Not something I’m going to do.
“Oh right. I forgot. None of you can talk about Hightower.”
I don’t reply. Glad we don’t have to have that conversation again.
“When’s your story due?” I ask.
“Friday. But I have two others I need to get done, and I’m researching another one.”
“Good. You can work from home. We both can. I want to see if I can track down Betty’s son.”
I can feel her surprise when she speaks. “I thought you didn’t want him to know?”
“I said publishing it before Betty is helped will make him feel lousy. If I can talk to him directly and let him know his mom is going to be looked after, it’ll soften the blow.”
“That’s… really sweet.”
The side of my mouth twists. “I’m not doing it because it’s sweet. I’m doing it because it’s the right thing to do. ”
She lets out a tinkling laugh. “Oh, that’s right—big, tough men aren’t allowed to be vulnerable.”
My fingers tap the steering wheel as the pavement flies under us. This woman is getting under my skin.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about, lady. I’ve seen grown men crying for their mamas. I’d call that plenty vulnerable.”
“Mmm. Where was that?”
I glance at her and flinch when I find her furiously scribbling in her notepad. “What are you doing?”
“Writing down what you just said.”
Checking behind me first, I pull over to the side of the road and extend my hand. “Lemme see.”
She snatches it up and holds it to her chest. “No! Why? It’s in shorthand. You won’t understand it.”
I wiggle my fingers. “I want to see.”
She heaves a sigh, then slaps the notepad into my hand. “I’m telling you?—”
With a smile, I rip the note off, along with three sheets underneath, just in case she decides to go old school and use a pencil to recover what she wrote. As she mutters under her breath, I crumple the paper into a ball and toss it over my shoulder.
“Nice try. But I’m not interested in being in your story.”
Her shoulders square. “I wasn’t going to put you in it. I don’t even know how to explain you to my boss, let alone write a story featuring you.”
I lock eyes with her. “Then why were you taking notes?”
At the slightest dip of her chin and the flash of annoyance in her eyes, I know I’ve caught her in a lie. I need to be careful. She’s an ally, but she’s also far too hungry for recognition.
“Consider everything I say to you off the record and confidential.”
Her nostrils flare. “Are you always this guarded?”
I shake off her comment. “You always this nosy?”
She chuckles, and the sound makes warmth spread through my bones. “I’m paid to be.”
I flick a look in the rearview and swing out onto the road again. “And I’m paid to be cautious.”
“Do you get paid per square inch?” she says.
“Funny,” I say.
“Well, do you?”
I blink, grind my teeth, and clench the wheel tighter. “What I get paid, and everything else to do with Hightower, isn’t up for discussion.”
“Couldn’t you at least tell me about the structure?—"
No. I can’t. The structure and everything else about Hightower are strictly need-to-know.
“This isn’t a negotiation.”
She harrumphs but doesn’t say another word .
As I try to focus on the road, and not on her questions, I start to pray—for help, for mission clarity.
By the time we reach Brooke’s tiny house, my focus is back on target. This is a temporary assignment. Just another job.
As soon as I confirm there’s no viable threat to Brooke, I’m out of here.
Brooke
Caleb doesn’t say a word as we exit the vehicle. It’s like an internal lever has been tugged; he’s back to Action Man mode.
With a sigh, I let him open the front door, pulling my thoughts together and away from the hulking man now inside my home.
As I wait, my phone beeps in my pocket. I slide my hand inside, and my stomach flip-flops at the message on the screen:
I need to meet.
Glancing inside, I angle my phone and type a hasty reply.
I was outside the library last night. Where were you?
Seconds pass. No reply. Caleb appears and gestures for me to enter. With a grumble resembling a bear, he retreats, leaving me standing in the hallway. What is up with him?
Ignoring his boorishness, I head into the kitchen, willing her to reply as I pull out a mug and switch the electric kettle on. I need to type up my notes, and I have to check in with Lawrence and let him know Caleb accompanied me to the retirement community.
From where it sits on the table, my cell chimes.
I glance over. Unknown number.
Caleb is nowhere in sight, so with my heart jumping to my throat, I snatch up the cell and press it to my ear. “Brooke Weston.”
A shaky female voice echoes down the line. “I can’t talk for long… he’s I think he knows I contacted you. I can’t do this.”
Heart in my throat, I ease off the chair, close the door, and hurry back to the table. “You’re going to be fine. We have whistleblower laws.”
She exhales a long, shuddering breath. “I don’t know… you don’t know him. He’s connected.”
I straighten. I need to meet with her. Now.
A hasty prayer slips out before I speak again. “I know this is scary. But you came to me for a reason. I never reveal my sources. No one will know it was you who came forward.”
“I… just?—”
She’s unraveling. Every second that passes, I can feel her resolve slipping through the cracks .
“You can do this. I’ll help you. I’ll be with you every step of the way. You won’t be alone.”
Nothing.
Seconds tick on, making my hope deflate further.
“Promise me he won’t find out,” she finally says.
I chew on my lip, uncertainty making me hesitate. But I can’t quit now. She needs reassurance, and if I don’t give it to her, I’ll lose her for good.
“I promise. Nothing will happen to you,” I say.
She releases a shaky breath. “Meet me tonight. Same time. Tumamoc Hill. Park in the Anklam Road lot across from St. Mary’s.”
My toes curl in my sneakers. Caleb is not going to be happy about that.
I open my mouth to ask if we can meet earlier, but she’s already gone.
I blow out a puff of air, trying to think of a way to tell Caleb. He’s going to insist on coming with me. All because I opened my big mouth and told Mick about the slashed tires. Annoyed, I tap out a text to him without thinking:
I can’t believe you did this to me. I don’t NEED a bodyguard.
I don’t wait for a reply. I get to my feet, ready to confront Caleb and tell him I’m going, whether he likes it or not.
I yank open the door—and almost smack into him. If possible, his expression is even more intense as he looks me over.
His eyebrow cocks. “I found the son. He’s a Staff Sergeant stationed at USAG Bavaria, working out of the Grafenwohr Training Area.”
My eyes pop. “That was fast.”
His eyes crinkle as he smiles. “I took an educated guess and called the largest U.S. Army training center in Europe first.”
Momentarily distracted, I back up so he can tell me more. “He’s part of the 7th Army Training Command. He’s been wanting to relocate Betty for a while now. I told him I’d take care of it before I leave Tucson.”
Not for the first time today, my jaw slackens. “You’re going to move her?”
He nods and gives me a grin that sets off a chain reaction of heat spreading through my body. “Already in progress. Like I said. It’s the right thing to do.”
Since it’s the perfect segue into my own purpose, I ignore my physical response and steer my thoughts back to safer waters. “Then you’ll understand why I need to chase the truth, no matter how risky it might appear.”
His smile disappears. “You’re putting your life on the line for something that may or may not be authentic.”
I step closer—too close—but I’m making a point. I will not be intimidated by him. “I have no reason to doubt her. What she’s given me so far checks out.”
He crosses his arms over his sizable chest. “I’d like to hear about it. The more information you give me, the better I can assess the threat.”
The man is like a broken record, playing the same tune over and over. “I’m not sharing details about this story with you or anyone else. Not even my editor knows.”
Caleb’s brow knits as irritation flickers across his face. “Has she made contact again? Is that why you shut the door?”
I lift my chin, knowing full well the impact my words will have. “She did. She wants to meet.”
His face tightens. “Where?”
For a moment, I consider withholding the information. His eyes narrow—almost as if he knows what I’m thinking. “Tumamoc Hill. It’s a walking trail. She’s meeting me in the parking lot across the street at St. Mary’s Hospital.”
A muscle tenses in his cheek. “When?”
This is the part he’s not going to like. One bit. “Nine thirty… p.m.”
His expression hardens for just a second before shifting into something neutral. “Change it.”
I toss my head. “Not possible. She’s scared out of her mind.”
He considers me for a split second before answering in a clipped tone. “I want you wearing a vest, and you do what I say when I say it. Otherwise, it’s a no-go.”
Of all the nerve. “You do not get to order me around, Caleb Evans. I don’t care how many muscles you have or what size gun you carry, I can take care of myself!”
His lips flatten, nostrils flaring, chest visibly tightening, like he’s fighting off a laugh.
Without thinking, I swing to punch his arm.
In a blur, his hand snags mine mid-strike, twisting my wrist just enough to throw off my balance. I stumble forward, right into him.
Heat floods my skin. His eyes lock on mine, sharp and unyielding.
“Sorry,” he says, voice low. “Reflex.”
I yank my hand back, cheeks burning. My pulse thunders in places it shouldn’t. I try to laugh it off, but my voice catches. “It’s okay. I shouldn’t have taken a swing at you.”
His expression shifts—controlled tension giving way to something softer. He swallows hard, a flush creeping up his neck.
“You didn’t hurt me,” he says. “Did I hurt you?”
I shake my head quickly. “No. I’m fine.”
I am so not fine.
My hand’s already forgotten. It’s the realization of just how strong he is—how easily he stopped me, how close I still am—that’s the bigger problem.