Chapter 28
Calloway
My fingers crush Jiya’s hand, and I feel her bones grind together. I can’t let go. The air in the library feels thick, unbreathable. My world has shrunk to the single, glowing eye of the tablet in my hand. If Ramirez finds us, if she gets a warrant, if she connects the dots…it’s over.
On the screen, Xander’s entire demeanor shifts. The awkward tension in his shoulders melts away, replaced by a look of professional chagrin, a perfect performance of a man realizing a minor, embarrassing mistake.
“Oops, sorry. That would be me,” Xander says, rubbing the back of his neck.
Ramirez’s gaze snaps to him. “You?”
“I’m his security expert as well,” Xander explains, gesturing between Thorne and himself. “I was running a diagnostic on his device, checking for a reported software vulnerability. I must have routed the signal through my local server here. My apologies.”
The lie is smooth, casual, and convincing. Xander’s too damn good at this.
A long, charged silence hangs in the foyer. Ramirez doesn’t blink. Her gaze is a physical weight, pressing down, searching for a crack in the story. “What kind of vulnerability?”
Xander straightens, his demeanor shifting from apologetic to guarded. “Detective, with all due respect, that’s privileged client information.” He taps his own chest. “Confidentiality is the foundation of my business.”
I exhale slowly. Brilliant.
Thorne steps forward, his imposing height somehow made less threatening by the slight tilt of his head.
“Detective Ramirez, I appreciate the diligence. Truly.” His voice is warm, cultured, the sound of old money and absolute power.
“I am, of course, happy to cooperate with any official investigation. Perhaps we could schedule a formal interview during business hours? I can have my assistant coordinate with your office and provide any relevant club records.”
He’s not refusing; he’s offering a different, more difficult path.
Ramirez doesn’t respond, and I know she’s weighing her options. Push now without evidence, or return with more leverage?
“That would be appreciated,” she says, handing Xander back his credentials.
“Excellent.” Thorne’s smile is a masterpiece of disarming charm. “You know, I followed your work on the Brightwater case last year. A masterclass in deduction.”
A flicker of surprise, and of pride, crosses Ramirez’s face before she can mask it. “Just doing my job.”
“And doing it exceptionally well.” Thorne walks her toward the door. “My uncle was on the force. Boston PD, forty years. He always said the best detectives don’t just see evidence; they read people. You have that gift.”
I watch, amazed, as Thorne transitions from suspect to charming host in under a minute. By the time they reach the foyer, Ramirez’s shoulders have relaxed, and she’s smiling at him. Unbelievable.
“Call my office,” Thorne says, opening the heavy door. “We’ll set something up.”
“I’d appreciate that,” Ramirez says, her tone warmer than when she arrived.
“Goodbye, Detective. Drive safely.”
The heavy door thuds shut, and the sound echoes in the sudden, suffocating silence of the library. I release Jiya’s hand. Angry red marks bloom on her skin where my fingers had crushed hers.
“Sorry,” I breathe, the word rough in my throat.
Jiya doesn’t seem to notice. Her chest rises and falls in ragged breaths, a flush creeping up her neck. Her eyes find mine, pupils blown wide and dark with a hunger I recognize because it’s a mirror of my own.
“That was—”
Jiya closes the distance in a single, fluid motion, her hands locking behind my neck, pulling me down with a strength that surprises me. Her mouth crashes against mine. It’s desperate and punishing, her teeth scraping my lower lip, a low groan vibrating from her throat straight into my bones.
I slam her back against the bookcase. Leather-bound volumes tumble to the floor with a series of dull thuds. My hands find her hips, digging in, anchoring her to me.
Her fingers twist in my hair, pulling just hard enough to make me gasp, and she uses the opening to deepen the kiss, turning it into a frantic, wordless battle. She hooks a leg around mine, trying to climb me, to consume me. I’m lost in the raw, jagged edges of her.
“Calloway,” she whispers, her voice rough with want.
The first sign we’re no longer alone is a dry, loud clearing of a throat.
We break apart so fast I stumble. Jiya’s eyes stay locked on mine, her lips swollen and parted, her face a mask of pure, unadulterated want.
Thorne bends down to pick up a fallen book, examining its spine before placing it back on the shelf. His expression is neutral.
“Detective Ramirez has left,” he announces, straightening another volume that’s been knocked askew. His eyes flick to the floor where several more books lie scattered, then to my face. “All clear.”
I try to adjust myself without being obvious. It’s a complete failure.
“You okay there, Calloway?” Thorne asks. “You look a bit...” His gaze drifts down my body and then back up. “Hard.” The last word hangs in the air between us. “You can come out now. If you’re done ruining my library.”
My face burns.
“Fuck off, Thorne,” I mutter.
“Eloquent as always.” Thorne adjusts his cuffs, the picture of composure. “I’ll leave you to…tidy up.” He gestures at the fallen books before turning to leave. At the door, he pauses. “Oh, and Calloway? Next time, try not to defile the first editions. They’re quite valuable.”
The door clicks shut. I groan, leaning my forehead against the cool wood of a shelf.
I reach down to adjust my pants, wincing. “We’ll need to finish this another time.”
“Promise?” Jiya asks, watching me with that expression that makes me feel like prey. She stretches against the bookcase, not bothering to fix her rumpled clothes or the lipstick smudged at the corner of her mouth.
Fuck, she’s perfect. I don’t deserve her.
We emerge from the library into the main hallway. Xander is already in motion.
“I need your phone,” Xander says, palm extended. “Now.”
I pat my pockets and hand it over. “What’s wrong?”
“Phone tracking of that nature requires a warrant, which means they have evidence,” Xander explains, his fingers already a blur as he connects my phone to his tablet. “Something concrete linking you to one of the disappearances.”
“What kind of evidence?” Jiya asks, her face pale in the dim light.
“Something linking Calloway to a murder.” Xander’s fingers fly across the screen. “Or multiple murders.”
The Gallery Killer. My careful, artistic murders. My secret portfolio of justice.
I fucked up.
“I bullshitted about the emulator, but now I need to kill the signal.” Xander’s fingers tap against his screen. “I don’t want her to track your signal while we drive out of here.”
“That was some fast thinking back there,” I say.
My pulse still hasn’t returned to normal. Thorne was right, I should have stayed low.
“So this is what The Hemlock Society’s tech support looks like,” Jiya says, peering over Xander’s shoulder. “I expected more pentagrams and blood sacrifices, less...whatever iOS update that is.”
I catch a hint of a smile on Xander’s face. He doesn’t look up from his work.
“The pentagrams are just for Tuesdays,” he replies. “Blood sacrifices are more of a quarterly thing. You know, end-of-fiscal-period stuff.”
Xander hands the phone back to me. “Done. Your GPS signature is now a sixty-year-old woman in Boca Raton who loves bingo. It’s like a brand new phone.”
I turn the phone over in my palm, examining it as if I might see physical evidence of what he did. It looks exactly the same.
“My contacts?”
“Backed up to the secure server,” he interrupts. “I’m not an animal.”
“And my Spotify playlists?”
“Those I deliberately deleted,” Xander says with a smirk. “You don’t need more Backstreet Boys.”
“It was NSYNC and you know it,” I mutter.
Thorne clears his throat, drawing all attention. “Ramirez has a thread, but nothing more. For now.” He gives me a pointed look, then shifts his gaze to Jiya. “Let’s ensure it stays that way. No loose ends.”
“Her vehicle hasn’t left the immediate area,” Xander interrupts, his eyes still on his tablet. “She’s watching the gate.”
“Then there is only one exit strategy,” Thorne says, his voice leaving no room for argument. “You’ll both be leaving in the trunk of Xander’s car.”
I stare at him. “You want me to fold my six-foot-two frame into the trunk of that tiny car?”
Jiya drapes an arm over my shoulder, her tone light and teasing.
“Don’t be a baby. It’ll be cozy.” She leans in, her lips brushing my ear.
“Think of it as a two-person mobile coffin. Besides, I’ve always wanted to cuddle with a man who just bowled a spare with a human head. It really completes the fantasy.”
Thorne smiles. He turns his full attention to Jiya, the earlier tension of the interrogation gone, replaced by a quiet, final assessment.
He gives a single, sharp nod.
“That phone ping was not a lucky guess, Calloway. She’s on you.”
He takes a step closer, his voice dropping to a low, intense command.
“Xander’s fix is temporary. From this moment, you are a photographer.
Nothing more. You go to your studio. You go to the gym.
You go home. You live the most boring, predictable life you can imagine, because she is watching.
And the first time you step out of line, the first time that phone goes anywhere that it shouldn’t. ..she’ll be there.”