Chapter Twenty-Three
She’d lied to him. Again.
Maeve had kept vital information from him concerning the investigation around his sister’s disappearance, and he’d been blind to it the entire time.
The fact that she hadn’t carried her sidearm into the park, that she didn’t seem to be in contact with anyone but the law enforcement rangers, that she’d gone out of her way to Hurricane to process the fingerprints on the Taser recovered at the scene of both disappearances.
No missed calls or check-in messages with a partner.
No collaboration with Springdale PD investigators.
Hell, even her thorough search of the latest crime scene where he’d assumed she’d already been twisted into a new light.
She’d walked that riverbank as though she’d never been there.
Because she hadn’t. Everything—from the moment she’d shown her face at Kolob Arch to her standing at the bottom of that stairwell, looking up at him—had been a complicated game she’d put into play.
And he’d fallen for it. Fallen for her.
In a matter of days, she’d worked her way back into his life and beneath his skin, and he’d welcomed it.
Wanted it. Dreaded her leaving when the case concluded.
This case had sparked something in him. Not just due to the lead she’d uncovered at the river or that his sister’s killer had felt threatened enough to show himself after a year of dead ends, but because Maeve had been right here. Within reach.
Turned out, that dread had been misplaced.
She wouldn’t have gone back to Vegas when the investigation ended because she hadn’t transferred to that office to begin with.
Her career with the FBI had ended mere days after they’d broken up—another piece of the puzzle she’d kept to herself—and he couldn’t help but feel responsible for that.
For what she’d suffered. He’d forced her hand by asking her to step into Lauren’s investigation—a case neither she nor the FBI should’ve had any jurisdiction in—and when the entire case had fallen apart, Maeve had taken the punishment without telling him. To protect him.
But that didn’t make up for what she’d done. Because now there would be no additional support to continue the search for Iliana Meyer, no resources Springdale PD hadn’t already used up, and no justice for Lauren or this latest victim. Maeve had made sure of that.
Callen wrung both hands around the SUV’s steering wheel.
With his truck still at the bottom of the Virgin River until police managed to get the equipment they needed to haul it out, he was stuck driving back to Springdale in one of the park’s vehicles.
Inky velvet blackness consumed both sides of the freeway as Hurricane dimmed in the rearview mirror.
What promise had she made to bring Lauren home?
To whom? His mom? And why hadn’t Maeve told him the truth from the beginning?
Why did she feel the need to keep everything so close to the vest?
He could’ve helped her. He would have, knowing Maeve was doing this all for his family.
Except…he’d cut off all contact with her after the breakup.
Ignored her calls and messages, then blocked and deleted her number when the temptation to answer became too much.
He hadn’t given her the chance to ask for help.
Hell. None of it mattered. It wasn’t like he’d see her again.
He’d meant what he said. They were done.
There wasn’t a single cell in his body that wanted to face her again after her lies had come to light.
She’d compromised Lauren’s investigation all over again.
Only this time, another victim would pay the price.
“Damn it.” All he’d ever wanted was to keep his family from falling apart.
But by allowing the one person who’d recovered the first real piece of evidence in over a year back into his life, he’d destroyed any chances of success.
He didn’t know what he was going to say to his parents.
How he would explain what Maeve had done.
Their daughter was currently resting in a funeral home basement masquerading as a morgue, and she would stay there until someone who didn’t even know Lauren decided to let her go.
For how long? Days? Weeks? Months? Another year?
How was he supposed to tell his mother she had to keep waiting?
That the woman she and his father had once seen as a daughter in her own right had ruined their chances of getting the closure they deserved?
Maeve had justified her actions by laying the blame for lack of progress in his sister’s case at Springdale PD’s feet, and maybe she was right in that regard.
Manpower, funding, priority—these were things every police department had to work through to get results, but it was the victims who suffered in the end.
It was Iliana Meyer who would be the one to suffer.
Because the shooter was still out there, targeting people he believed to be in the way of getting what he really wanted: Maeve.
Callen scrubbed one hand down his face, catching the edge of the massive bruise on the left side of his head where he’d slammed into the driver’s-side window as his truck was tossed downriver like a child’s plaything.
Exhaustion blurred the oncoming headlights coming from the other side of the freeway.
He’d be back in Springdale in twenty minutes, give or take, but every mile felt never-ending, leaving him with nothing but his thoughts. His accusations.
If Maeve had just done her job right the first time—logging Lauren’s notebook from the scene of her disappearance into evidence that night—none of this would’ve happened.
Iliana Meyer never would’ve been taken. Callen wouldn’t have nearly drowned.
And Maeve…wouldn’t have been shot throwing herself in front of a bullet meant for him.
His throat dried. He could still feel the warmth leech from her body as he held her on that riverbank, swore that no matter how many times he scrubbed his hands her blood remained under his fingernails.
And he’d left her back in that stairwell still bleeding.
Her face and hands had been so pale, her legs practically shaking from the effort it took to remain upright, but learning the truth had cut him off from feeling any kind of sympathy.
He was just so angry. At Maeve for compromising the case, at the man who’d tried to kill him in the first place, at Lauren for leaving, at his parents for not needing him, at Cieron for throwing his life away on drugs and alcohol and who knew what else instead of facing the truth.
Lauren was gone. Their baby sister was gone, and no amount of coping mechanisms was going to change that.
His head pulsed in rhythm to his racing heartbeat.
That anger burned as though he’d caught fire, and he didn’t know how to make it go away.
Callen twisted the steering wheel, and he slammed on the brakes.
A dust cloud kicked up all along the SUV as he skidded to a stop on the side of the road.
Cars he didn’t really see shot past as he stared out the windshield, his head wrapped up in the moment he was sure Maeve had taken her last breath on that riverbank.
The stillness and silence that’d descended, as though the entire world had come to a full stop, the lack of life in her features, the way his entire body had become numb as he stared down at her.
And all he’d been able to think about was that they hadn’t had enough time.
He’d thought he’d known heartbreak when Lauren had gone missing, then when he and Maeve had separated. He’d been an idiot.
An inhuman roar filled the interior of the SUV, shocking him back into the moment. Raw pain clawed up his throat, and only then did he realize the sound had come from him. His knuckles strained against the backs of his hands and stretched the lacerated skin around his wrists.
She’d died. In his arms on that riverbank.
Maeve had died, and he’d ignored the hollowness in his chest that said a piece of him had died right along with her for days.
But he couldn’t ignore it anymore. He couldn’t ignore the grief and the rage from losing his sister anymore.
Couldn’t hide behind that anger of watching his brother fade year after year anymore, of watching his parents succumb to the sorrow and pain of losing a child.
It’d all tangled into thin knots he was sure he could handle, and he had for the most part.
One by one, he’d faced trying to get Cieron into a program that stuck, taking care of things around his parents’ house when he came up to see them so they didn’t have to, remembering birthdays and anniversaries and arranging family dinners when he got into town.
He sent Christmas presents and made weekly calls while not expecting a damn thing in return from the people who relied on him, but it hadn’t been enough.
He hadn’t been enough as all those strings combined into a vise that left him breathless and sometimes a stranger in his own body.
As he stared at the ceiling in his bedroom night after night as though the damn thing could provide answers.
And all those strings? They’d stemmed from the same source: guilt.
From not being able to help his sister, for ending things between him and Maeve the way he had, and from failing his parents in every way that mattered.
He’d ruined the most important and fulfilling relationship he’d ever had—something that’d been solely selfish and undeserving—by taking out his anger on Maeve when it should’ve been on him from the start.
But Callen shut it down. He shut it all down as he pressed his back into the driver’s seat, out of breath as though he’d sprinted the last twenty miles.
He’d left her.
Maeve had been standing at the bottom of those stairs, asking him to understand why she’d lied, and he’d left her there.
Bleeding. Weak. Vulnerable. Heat that had nothing to do with the warm air blowing through the vents ticked up his body temperature.
He wasn’t this man. At least, he didn’t used to be.
Right? He’d helped build an entire empire on protecting those who couldn’t protect themselves, and he’d left Maeve open to the threat that was still out there.
To fight alone. Told her to make her way back to the hospital on her own.
How could he have done that to her? How could she ever forgive him?
Callen checked over his shoulder, hauling the steering wheel in a tight turn.
There was no official crossing between both halves of the freeway highway patrol liked to use to catch speeders, but he didn’t care.
The SUV could handle a little off-roading.
Clear from potentially T-boning another vehicle, he slammed his foot against the accelerator and dropped the SUV into the desert gap and jerked onto the southbound lanes.
One minute. Five. Fifteen. The lights peppering the small town of Hurricane became clearer with each passing minute. Time seemed to have sped up now that he had a purpose again: getting to Maeve.
Maneuvering into the Metland Funeral Home’s semicircular driveway much too fast, Callen clipped the curb and shoved the SUV into Park. He shouldered free of the vehicle and rounded the hood before sprinting for the glass double doors. He jerked the door toward him. “Son of a bitch.”
Locked. He pressed both hands around his eyes, filtering out the streetlights to search through the doors.
It was dark, with no sign of movement. Backing up, Callen studied the windows framed with black shutters on either side of the door and noted the security sensors.
Dr. Yarrow might still be inside, but he doubted it.
It was well past the ME’s operating hours.
He knocked on the glass. Just in case. “Maeve!”
He stepped into the bushes to test the nearest window.
Glass crunched beneath the sole of his boot. A nearby streetlight cast a dull yellow glow across the screen of a broken phone. Dread pooled at the base of his spine as Callen collected the device. A familiar photo lit up through the cracked screen as he raised it.
Of him and Maeve taken the night he’d asked her to marry him.
She’d kept it as her background all this time?
The screen darkened as it tried to read his face to grant him access and failed, and he tipped Maeve’s phone down.
Catching sight of the dark stain spread across the pavement.
That hadn’t been there when he’d left. Crouching, Callen swiped his index and middle fingers through the thickest rim of liquid.
Coming away with fresh blood.