Chapter 11
THE SUN HAD ALREADY crested the treetops when Meaghan stirred. The scent of pine drifted through the slightly open window, mingling with the fading warmth of Callen’s body in the bed beside her. Only… he wasn’t beside her anymore.
She reached for him instinctively, her hand brushing over cool sheets and empty space. Her fingers closed on nothing, however, and her heart clenched at his absence.
For a moment, she lay still, blinking up at the old wood-slatted ceiling. Her body ached in places she hadn’t remembered could ache, but it was a good kind of ache, tender and grounding. Like being reminded she was still alive, still capable of want, of need. Of feeling something real.
She stretched beneath the rumpled blanket, her palm grazing the spot where Callen’s body had been hours before, warmth traded for emptiness, silence replacing breath.
Her limbs were heavy, pleasantly sore in places, as if her body still echoed the memory of him.
She pulled the sheet up to her chest and stared at the ceiling, heart drumming softly.
Last night had been… more than sex. She could still feel the weight of his body above hers. The reverence in his hands. The way he’d said her name—like it meant something more than history. Something like home. It had been years of silence cracked open. A wound revisited. A tether rediscovered.
But now, in the morning light, none of it made the fear go away. Instead, the ache settled in her chest. Older. Deeper.
Her father’s voice echoed in the back of her mind. This is what’s best, Meaghan. You don’t understand the pressure I’m under. Just trust me.
But the kids—her students—had nearly died. Their families were still out there, unaware, possibly in danger. And none of this—not the gunmen, not the silence in the news, not the fire that still simmered in her gut—made sense until she heard the truth from the man who started it all.
She rolled to her side and sat up, the morning light spilling across the cabin floor in golden streaks.
She dragged the blanket with her, wrapping it around her bare shoulders.
Her toes curled against the chill of the floor.
She sat there for a long moment, elbows on her knees, pressing her palms to her face.
Somewhere in the cabin, a kettle clanked as she heard the creak of wood. Quiet movement.
Callen.
She wasn’t ready to face him yet. Not with her thoughts still spiraling around the conversation she’d avoided since they’d first stepped foot in the cabin.
The kids were still asleep, and she needed to start breakfast, but the weight of what had happened the day before, of what could’ve happened, refused to fade.
She had seen the fear on their faces. Had felt the weight of three little lives in her arms.
And it all circled back to her father and his dirty dealings.
Her fingers trembled as she braided her hair back and pulled on a hoodie and leggings.
The softness of the fabric contrasted with the raw tightness in her chest. She padded into the kitchen barefoot, planning to keep quiet, mindful of sleeping children and a man who’d risked his life to get them here, but it was pointless because the moment she stepped into the kitchen, the noise hit her like a wave.
Sophie was in the middle of an impromptu musical number using two plastic cups and a pot lid. Lucas argued with Willie over whether wolves or velociraptors would win in a fight, using gestures so exaggerated that Meaghan had to duck to avoid an accidental blow.
Callen stood in the corner, looking like he’d aged ten years since last night. He had flour on his shirt and syrup on one forearm as he met her gaze with something between relief and resignation.
“Your turn,” he deadpanned.
She cracked a smile. “I’m surprised you let me sleep.” She laughed as she patted his shoulder. “I’ll take the morning chaos shift and give you a break. I’m sure you deserve it.”
“Godspeed.”
While she ushered the kids to the table and tried to salvage what could pass for pancakes after whatever Callen had done to them, her thoughts kept circling. Her father’s face. His voice. The confident way he made everything sound fine, even as he eroded trust one deflection at a time.
She moved through the motions on autopilot, mixing pancake batter, prepping the griddle, stacking plates with military efficiency.
The scent of cinnamon filled the room as she cooked.
She added it without thinking. Callen always liked cinnamon in his pancakes, if she recalled right.
He used to joke that it made them taste like a memory, but he would never tell her what memory.
A faint smile crossed her face but didn’t last long before her expression collapsed again. Because for all the sweetness of this temporary safety—of Callen, of firelight, of pancakes and coloring pages—there was still a truth she hadn’t faced.
Her father had gotten her into this, and she needed answers if she was ever to get out of it.
She then glanced over at Callen as he slid into a chair at the table, coffee cup in his hand. Taking a deep breath, she placed a flour-covered hand on her hip and braced for his refusal. “I need to call him.”
He didn’t answer right away. Didn’t even question to whom she referred. Just took a slow sip of his coffee, doing his best to ignore the hyper kids behind him.
As he lowered his cup, he turned his dark eyes toward her. “Are you sure? You already know what he did.”
“No,” she admitted. “I’m far from sure about anything. But I have to do it, anyway.” She expected an argument and braced for it.
Callen’s jaw ticked, the muscle jumping once. He slid back out of the chair and walked to a large black duffel he had pulled out of his SUV and pulled out the satellite phone from a side pocket. He didn’t offer it right away. Just held it for a second, studying her.
“He’s going to lie to you about everything,” he said finally. “You know that, right?”
“I know,” she whispered.
Callen placed the phone in her hand, brushing her fingers with his. “Don’t let him rattle you. You don’t owe him more than five minutes of your time. Get the answers you need and hang up.”
Her fingers wrapped around the phone. Cold. Heavy.
“I’ll finish breakfast,” he told her.
With a curt nod, she slipped outside, stepping out onto the porch for privacy, clutching the phone like it might bite.
The porch boards groaned beneath her bare feet as she stepped into the morning sun.
The air was crisp, dew clinging to the tall grass just beyond the clearing, her breath visible in the early light.
She stared at the keypad, thumb hovering for a long, silent moment.
Then she dialed.
It rang once.
Twice.
Then his voice, polished, clipped, half a world away it seemed filled her ear. “This is Senator Roger Harrington.”
She took a deep breath. “It’s your daughter.”
“Meaghan. Finally. I’ve been worried sick since the school shooting hit the news. What took you so long to call?”
She didn’t answer, her temper boiling just below the surface.
He sighed. “I assume you’re safe and with Callen, since I haven’t heard from him either.”
“You assume?”
“Of course I did,” he told her as if it was just another day. “You’ve always had a flair for the dramatic, making everyone worry about whatever you’ll do next. Not sure why I thought this would be any different. Disappearing with children, not calling, letting everyone panic—”
She clenched the phone tighter. “Are you seriously making this about you?”
There was a pause, and she could hear him shuffling in his chair, the leather creaking, almost worn, but he would never get rid of it.
“I’m simply saying I’ve had to do a lot of damage control. The press hasn’t made a connection between the senator’s daughter and the school shooting. That’s the last thing we need. If they had—”
“If they had,” she cut in, voice shaking, “it would force you to admit that your own choices put me and my students at risk.”
“Don’t be so dramatic, Meaghan.”
“Oh, don’t you dare,” she snapped. “You caused this mess.”
“Now wait just a second.”
“No, I’ve waited enough.” She paced the porch, her hand gripping the railing until her knuckles turned white.
“Blaze, Callen’s contact on his team, already found the trail, Dad.
New Horizons Acquisition Group? The one skirting EPA laws and bribing zoning officials?
You’re getting major kickbacks, milking people for money. And don’t bother denying it.”
“You don’t understand how politics work, sweetheart—”
“I understand more than you want me to, you mean,” she said, cutting him off once more. “I understand you put children—my students—in danger because you couldn’t keep your hands clean.”
His voice rose. “I had nothing to do with—”
“Bullshit.” The word tore out of her, sharp and ragged.
Her father sighed. “Meaghan, look, I didn’t have all the details. These deals move fast. That’s the nature of this type of deal.”
“Didn’t have the details?” she echoed, her voice rising. “You didn’t care about the details, you mean. Only the bottom line, right? And now three of my students are hiding in a cabin in the woods because someone wants leverage over you.”
“Sweetie, you’re being emotional.”
“No. I’m being real,” she snapped. “And this is the last conversation we’ll ever have unless it’s you apologizing. I’m done.”
“But they’re not in danger anymore. Callen got them out.”
“They were never supposed to be in danger at all!” she screamed, and then jerked her attention to the door, worried the kids had heard her. “I wasn’t supposed to be in danger. They only came after me because you pulled some shady shit.”
His silence this time was telling. There was nothing left to say. She stood there for another second, fighting for composure, throat burning. “I’m done, Dad.”
She hung up.
Her hand shook as she placed the phone on the railing, gripping the wood and squeezing as if she could shove her fury into the railing. She stared out into the woods, counting her breaths, wishing he would have at least been honest with her.
After a few moments, she managed to collect herself, and snatched the phone off the railing. It felt heavy in her hand as she walked back into the cabin with her shoulders squared, but her insides felt like glass, cracked and sharp and ready to shatter.
Callen rose from the table when he saw her, wiping hands on a dish towel, tracking her every move as she crossed the room.
“You okay?” he asked as he moved over to pour her a cup of coffee.
She nodded once.
“Do you want to talk…”
“No.”
He turned to hand the mug to her. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure,” she assured him, but not harshly. Just final. She was done talking about her father.
He leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “Want me to say he’s a bastard?”
She scoffed. “You can. But I already know.”
She sank into a chair and pressed her fingers to her temples, taking a long breath. Sophie peeked up from her coloring, sensing the shift in energy more than likely. She was always a perceptive kid.
“Miss Harrington?” she whispered, leaning against the back of the couch.
“I’m okay, sweet pea,” she said with a smile. “Just had to talk to a grown-up who made a terrible choice.”
Lucas frowned. “I sometimes feel sad after talking to my dad, too.”
His words tugged at her heart. “I’m sorry, sweetie. No one should feel like that.”
She looked at Callen then, really looked at him. His jaw was tight, but his eyes were soft.
“We need to get them home,” she whispered. “They don’t need to be a part of this madness anymore. They have homes, even if they’re messy or half-broken or made up of sisters and aging grandmothers. They have them.”
He gave her a quick nod. “We will. I’ll make a call and see what we can do.”
As she went about clearing the dishes and cleaning up after breakfast, she thought about everything her father said.
She also thought about what he hadn’t said.
There would be fallout. There always was. But this time, she wouldn’t be the one cleaning it up.
She’d protect the kids until she could get them back to their families.
She glanced over at him, eyes glassy but fierce, soap suds coating her hands. “Thank you. For last night. For this morning. For not asking me to be someone I’m not.”
He turned, setting the coffee cup on the counter before brushing a knuckle against her cheek. “You’re enough, Meaghan.”
Her breath hitched.
She turned away before she could fall apart. There was too much to do.
However, when this was over, she’d choose her future.
Not the one anyone handed her. The one she would choose for herself.