Chapter 5
FIVE
Callum held a death grip on the steering wheel, trying like hell not to notice the dangerously high slit of Brielle’s skirt.
In the two days since he had kissed her, he’d replayed the scene in his head a million times and it always ended in painful frustration.
He wanted her and he could have had her if he wasn’t sucker-punched by his newfound conscience.
Tonight, he faced no such assault. Except, of course, for the incredible urge to pull off the road and pick up where they had left off.
He shifted in his seat, thinking how her vanilla-bean scent smelled good enough to taste. And that damn hair of hers. God, what he wouldn’t give to tangle himself in it. He snapped off the air conditioning and rolled down the windows to air out the car.
“Something wrong?”
“What?” He looked over at her and shook his head. “I’m sorry. Did you say something?”
“No, but you looked like you wanted to.”
Had he? There were tons of things he had to say to himself recently, but nothing meant for her ears. “I’m fine, but is there something wrong with you? You haven’t insulted me once tonight.”
She sighed, then mercifully closed the slit on her skirt. “If you must know, I’m a little nervous. I’m worried I am overdressed for a place called, ‘The Eager Beaver.’”
“I know what you are thinking, but it’s a sports bar.”
“Leave it to my father to frequent a place like this.”
Callum kept his eyes on the road and his mouth clamped shut. Any mention of Big Frank could mean a lead, especially from Brielle’s perfect lips. “He gets under your skin, huh?”
“He’s always treated me like a show pony. I win, I’m his darling. I lose and he doesn’t speak to me for a week. It’s weird, but since my attack, he’s been nicer to me than he ever has.”
“He’s probably worried about you.” Without thinking, he placed a comforting hand on her knee. “Look, I know I can’t speak for him, but I’m sure he feels for you. Just have a little faith.”
“So where is this place?” she asked, squinting into the darkness. “There isn’t much out this way.”
“It’s up about a mile, on the right.”
From the corner of his eye, he watched her fidget with the buttons on her thin, white sweater. She slipped it off then adjusted the stringy straps on her sun dress. “What do you think, Callum. Sweater on or off?”
Seriously?
He licked his lips. With most women, he would interpret the invitation to check her out as a come-on.
But not Brielle. She really did just want to know if she looked okay, and he loved that she trusted him enough to ask.
“You’re kidding, right? You are going to start a riot in there. Put the sweater back on.”
She took his advice and he mentally kicked himself in the head. When would Callum Harrison ever encourage a beautiful woman to put clothes on?
He pulled into the lot and parked the car. He got out and took a few steps before noticing she was still in her seat. “Aren’t you coming?” he asked, coming around to her side of the Porsche.
She stared out the windshield, her eyes reflecting the light from the blinking neon sign. “What if he’s in there?”
“What do you mean. He who?”
“The guy who attacked me. This is a bar, right? I’ve never been to a place like this. In movies, this is where the bad guys always hang out. Seedy bars.”
“Brielle, this is a restaurant. It’s not some dive by the airport.” He bit his lip regretting his dismissive tone. “Kids and families will be in there. I promise you. He’s not here.”
“But how do you know?”
He squatted down to her level and rested his arms on the open window. “Look, I do know this, if he is in there, I’ll find him. Why don’t you just enjoy yourself and let me do the worrying.”
She looked at him, then down at the floorboards, then back at him. “Okay,” she finally agreed. “But these are Prada shoes. Somebody spills beer on them, I’ll know who to blame.”
She pushed the door open, almost knocking him to the ground. When he righted himself, he followed her, unable to stop himself from staring squarely at her behind.
Brielle walked a few steps ahead of Callum, feeling more comfortable knowing she was in his plain sight. When she went through the door, she could feel every eye turn toward her. Something inside her was glad to see no one had forgotten who she was in her absence.
“Hey, you two! Over here!”
Big Frank waved his hand in the air, motioning them over to a big circular table near the back. He was surrounded by the usual guys, with a few empty seats across from him. Callum pulled out a chair for her and sat down beside her.
“Where the hell have you been?” Frank asked glancing at his Rolex. “I expected you a half hour ago.”
“Sorry Daddy,” Brielle said, making sure she sounded believably sincere. “I didn’t know what to wear.”
“Does it matter? You’re gorgeous. Hey everyone, tell my baby she’s gorgeous.”
“You're gorgeous.” The stooges answered in unison.
“I’m glad you guys made it,” Frank looked at Callum. “I thought by now you could use a night out.”
A waitress brought a pitcher of beer to the table and placed mugs in front of them. She almost dropped her tray when her eyes fixed on Callum.
“Oh, my good God,” the girl stammered, as if she’d just seen a ghost. Before he could answer, she turned to the rest of the patrons, cupping her hand around her mouth. “Hey, everybody! Streak is back!”
Cat calls and applause filled the bar. Brielle sat there stunned when she saw Callum raise his hand, offering everyone a small wave.
“Drinks are on the house, baby.” She leaned over and kissed him, the red remnants of her lipstick sticking to his cheek.
“Thanks, Courtney.”
Brielle turned in her chair and scanned the bar.
Smiling people wielding pens and paper began leaving their tables and barstools.
A small crowd of people formed around Callum’s chair, watching him like they would a zoo animal.
When he smiled, so would they. When he laughed, they did, only louder.
He was every bit as charming as she was used to from him, but he was guarded.
Like all the attention somehow embarrassed him.
This was the type of reaction she was used to getting when she was out on the town. It was a switch being a spectator, and in a way, it was nice. But also unnerving.
What did the rest of the world know about him she didn’t?
“Quite a reception, huh, Cal?” Frank kidded as he poured some beer into his glass. “I know you hate the attention, but I thought it might be nice for Brielle to socialize,” her father said as if this were a PTA meeting. “It’s good to be friendly, right kid?” He looked at her.
“Right, Daddy.”
A boy in a NASCAR t-shirt pushed his way in between them. “Excuse me? Are you Streak Harrison?”
“I was.” Callum answered, then placed his beer back on the table.
The kid’s face hit every shade of red before he thrust a tattered baseball cap in front of him. “Can you sign this, please?” he squealed. “You’re my favorite driver ever! I still wear your number. See?”
The boy shoved the hat further in his face.
Brielle craned her head around to read the embroidered number thirty-seven with a white lightning bolt through it. She watched Callum run his fingers over it. Finally he smiled, then pulled a pen from his jean pocket.
“What’s your name, kid?” he asked.
“Charlie” he replied. “Hey, do you still have shards of metal in your head? I heard you were burned over half of your body from the crash.”
“Charlie!” A woman’s voice carried from across the restaurant. “We’ve got to go!”
The boy turned back to Callum, his eyes as wide as his gap-toothed smile. “Thanks again, Streak!” He disappeared into the sea of giddy people as quickly as he had materialized.
“Who the hell is Streak?” Brielle asked him.
“Brielle, don’t raise your voice,” Frank laughed as he lit a cigar.
“What accident? And why do you have metal in your head and why is everyone staring at you?”
“Well, look who is out on the prowl.” A woman in a short, black business suit leaned over to Callum’s ear. She whispered something. A cockeyed smile spread across his blushing face.
“Leslie.” Callum stood and kissed her on the cheek. “Long time, no see. You look great.”
“You, too,” she gushed, pushing her short auburn hair behind her ear with a French manicured finger. “I’ve missed seeing you. You haven’t been out with the gang much lately.”
“I’ve been busy.” He motioned to Brielle. “Big case.”
“Callum was supposed to call me,” Leslie laughed, taking the empty seat beside Frank. “Funny, my phone hasn’t rung in weeks.”
“Aw, cut him some slack,” Frank kidded. “He’s a hard-working kid.”
“Always has been,” she agreed. “Just like at school. He was always the last one to leave the library.”
“And the last one to leave a party, I bet,” Frank added.
Again, Brielle felt like she had walked in on the middle of a movie. This Leslie woman didn’t match her father’s stooges. She was way too put together. Pretty yes, but not in a bimbo way. Certainly nothing like the women she figured Callum would hang around with.
“We met in criminology class,” Leslie explained with a self-important air that made Brielle nauseous. “I was doing research on insider trading and he let me borrow a few books. I’m not a criminal minds expert like he is, but I like to think I am good at what I do. Frank seems to think so.”
“Yeah, she’s doing some business consulting for me.” Frank gnawed on the end of his cigar. “Doesn’t seem fair for the FBI to know where to invest their money and not anyone else. It’s nice of her to share her insight.”
“And wait a minute, I’m confused. Investment consulting?” Brielle posed the question to the table. “What does that have to do with criminal psychology?”
“Nothing.” Frank explained simply. “She works for the FBI in the White Collar Crimes Division. She tracks insider trading.” He leaned across the table and winked. “Thanks to her, I just paid cash for a new condo down in South Beach.”