Collateral

  Contents

  COPYRIGHT

  Collateral by Callie Hart

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  EPILOGUE

  callie

  I Have Questions!

  Wanna Meet Zeth & Callie?

  About The Author

  Your Favorite Bits

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Collateral

  Callie Hart

  Copyright © 2014 Callie Hart

  Smashwords Edition

  copyright © 2014 Callie Hart

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

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  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to peoples either living or deceased is purely coincidental. Names, places and characters are figments of the author’s imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously. The author recognises the trademarks and copyrights of all registered products and works mentioned within this work.

  There are so many ways in which the human body reacts to stress. Elevated heart rate. Insomnia. Panic attacks. Trouble swallowing. Chest pains. Dizziness. The list is absolutely endless. I think I experience each and every item on that list as Zeth and I drive across state lines back into Washington.

  A smart person would be heading in the other direction. A smart person would be hightailing it straight through the whole damn state to freaking Canada and changing their names, buying a small hardware store in the back of beyond, and hoping to all things holy that no Mexican or English gangsters find their way up there. Not us, though. Oh, no. That would be far too sensible. No, we’re on our way to meet with a certain DEA agent—a woman personally responsible for screwing up my residency at St Peter’s and also for shooting my sister. I have absolutely no desire to ever see Agent Lowell again, but it doesn’t look like I have much choice, seeing as my sister’s surprise husband is burning along behind us on the loudest motorcycle ever invented. I swear, there has never been a motorcycle louder than this one. My teeth have been vibrating together for the past sixty miles. The situation’s not helped by the four other bikers following a hundred feet behind him, apparently keeping an eye on things. We’re driving Rebel’s Humvee, and Michael’s passed out cold on the back seat, oblivious to the throaty roaring of the bikes at our rear.

  Zeth’s been relatively silent since we set off at dawn, and I haven’t felt much like coaxing him into conversation, though now we’re drawing closer to our destination I can sense he wants to say something. He reaches over and places his hand on top of my thigh, stilling my jittering knee. I hadn’t even realized I’d been bouncing it. “You know what you have to do when we get there, right?” he says.

  His hair has grown since he brought Lacey into the ER all those weeks ago. I somehow can’t picture him doing such administrative things as visiting a barber to get a trim. He seems too…alien for that. Like for some reason, something so very human and necessary shouldn’t really affect him.

  His aviators shield his deep brown eyes, but I know the kind of look he’ll be wearing: Concern. Displeasure. Irritation. He’s been switching between those outward displays of emotion ever since Rebel decided I needed to go and meet Agent Lowell on my own. Not Zeth’s idea of a smart plan, apparently, but then again, neither is either he or Rebel turning up to the meeting and getting their asses arrested right off the bat.

  That’s left me solely in charge of negotiations with the Drug Enforcement Agency, and I’m hardly relaxed about the prospect. Hence the bouncing knee. “Yeah, I know what I need to do,” I confirm. “Don’t back down. Don’t give her any information that will lead her to you. Don’t stay too long. Make sure I’m not being followed when I leave—”

  “They’re definitely going to be following you when you leave. You just have to make sure you lose them before you get on the Metro.” Zeth grips hold of the steering wheel so hard his knuckles blanch. He goes back to staring out of the windshield, his jaw clenching and unclenching. “You shouldn’t be doing this,” he growls under his breath.

  He’s worried about me. He hasn’t said the words, but I know this confusing man more and more each day, and I know he’s sweating this decision. And he’s sweating it hard—to let me do as Rebel asks so my sister will be safe. I shouldn’t be doing this for her anymore. I should have washed my hands of her long ago. But while I doubt I’ll be speaking to Alexis any time soon, I still don’t want Lowell to get her hands on her. She’s my sister. She may not act like it, but that means something to me. Besides, part of Rebel’s bargaining system is that he’ll also help us find Lacey if we help him with Lowell, and so far we need all the help we can get on that front.

  Lacey.

  We’re still reeling from that one. I just can’t wrap my head around it—how she could have gone with Charlie after everything he’s put Zeth through. After he tried to run me off the road. After he killed that poor woman in the gas station, for no good reason other than to cause a scene.

  Zeth won’t even say his sister’s name.

  I know how he feels.

  Despite that, I can’t help feeling nauseous. Is Lace okay? Is she freaking out? Is she coping, given it’s been forty-eight hours since Charlie took her to see the Duchess, the catatonic woman has no doubt died by now? She must have. Oliver didn’t think she had long left at all, and Lacey believed the woman was her birth mother. That will be playing havoc with her head.

  “Sloane? Are you listening? Which line are you going to catch?” Zeth’s gravel-filled voice interrupts my thoughts, demanding I concentrate.

  “The 458. I get off at the university and change over. I meet you guys at Fresco’s, and then we get the hell out of there.”

  Zeth grunts, chewing on his bottom lip. I’ve never seen him do that before. His shoulder muscles are so tense they’re even giving me a headache. “And what are you going to tell her?” he asks. “What are you going to tell Lowell?”

  I play the script out in my head, making sure I’ve got it all memorized. Not hard, really, when Rebel wants me to tell the truth. “I don’t know where my sister is. Rebel, on the other hand, is waiting at an undisclosed location for her guarantee she’s going to do as we ask, at which point he will hand himself over into her custody. I get the paperwork, including a decree from a county court judge clearing you, Michael and me of any and all charges against us, and then I tell her where he is.”

  Zeth exhales down his nose, nodding sharply. “Fucking stupid idea,” he says under his breath. I think it’s a fucking stupid idea, too, but then again we’re bang out of options. “Just make sure you get through this, all right?” Zeth tells me under his breath.

  I raise an eyebrow at him, feeling slightly victorious. “Why? Are you worried?” I tease him, even though I shouldn’t. He gives me a flat look out of the corner of his eye.

  “Am I worried?” He laughs softly, and it’s not a humorous
laugh; it’s a pained one. “I’m fucking shitting myself, Sloane. There’s no reason why this bitch won’t just arrest you and use you as leverage. She’s smart. She knows if she has you, she’ll have a huge bargaining chip.”

  “Yes, but it’s not like you’re stupid. You wouldn’t just go charging down there on a rescue mission. You wouldn’t just hand yourself over if she did that. It would be pointless, her just arresting me.” Silence falls over the car, and my heartbeat thrums in my ears. Zeth clenches his jaw again and a sick sensation washes over me. “Zeth? You wouldn’t do that,” I say.

  He doesn’t flinch. “Wouldn’t I?”

  I swivel around, wrestling against the seatbelt so I can face him. “No, you would not. I seriously doubt Lowell’s going to pull anything like that. She knows she’ll never get Rebel if she does. Either way, if things get messy, you and Michael must go and find Lacey. That’s what you do. You do not hand yourself over just to free me. I can handle a couple of nights in a cell. She can’t realistically keep me any longer than that.” Zeth makes a choking sound in the back of his throat; I ball up my hand into a fist and pound it against his arm. “What, you don’t think I can handle a few nights in a jail cell? I can. I will if I have to.”

  Zeth reaches up and removes the aviators so he can look me in the eye. I can see the anger he’s battling to tamp down inside himself. “You will never need to spend the night in a cell on my account, Sloane. Never. I’ll die before I let that happen.” He blows out a frustrated breath and goes back to glaring out the window. My stomach churns like it’s filled with battery acid. I feel a little stupid. Zeth spent time in prison. He spent countless nights in a cell, probably locked up with a complete psycho, with nothing but time on his hands and no way out. He knows what it means to be shut away from the world, how awful it must be, and here’s me making light of it. Making out like I could hack it, when I honestly doubt I could.

  “Sorry,” I whisper. “I wasn’t thinking.”

  Zeth doesn’t say anything for a moment. He drives, eyes forward, tattooed forearms corded with rigid muscle. And then he takes a breath and says something that breaks my heart. “I want to make you happy, Sloane. I want to keep you safe. This life isn’t what you deserve. Risking your freedom to find my sister and help Rebel—that isn’t something you should ever have to consider doing. So yeah, if Lowell does arrest you, the very first fucking thing I’m gonna do is hand myself over. Rebel, too. I’ll hand over anyone she fucking wants in a motherfucking heartbeat. Because there is no way I’m going to allow you to be put in danger or discomfort, to be locked up with hookers and crack addicts, if there’s a single thing within my power I can do to prevent it. Not for one minute, Sloane. Not for one fucking second.”

  I don’t really know what to say to that. It’s madness he would do that, but that’s not the reason I’m stunned. I’m stunned because of the passion in his voice. The determination in his eyes. He’s never spoken to me like that before. I want to make you happy, Sloane. I want to keep you safe.

  It doesn’t matter that I’ve told him I love him and he hasn’t said it back. This matters. This statement right here is all I need to hear to know I haven’t been absolutely crazy in believing in him this whole time. I would never have dreamed those words would come out of his mouth a month and a half ago. I wouldn’t have even been able to imagine it. But there’s a soft side to Zeth he’s finally showing to me, and every time I catch a glimpse of it, I feel myself falling harder.

  The aviators have remained on the dash where Zeth placed them. He gives me a glance out of the corner of his eye, and a small, cautious smile forms on his lips. “Tell me you can handle this,” he says. “’Cause I need to hear you say it.”

  “Lowell?” I ask, even though I know that’s not what he’s referring to. He blinks at me, the beginnings of his smile fading. I reach over and take his right hand from the steering wheel, holding it in my own. It’s a brave move—we’ve not really gotten to stage yet where we’re very tactile with one another outside of sex. I’m ready to be, though. I want to be. I don’t know how he feels about being touchy feely—until he laces his fingers through mine and holds onto my hand tightly. Relief surges through me. Everything, every small little action, every carefully thought-out word feels like an experiment right now. An experiment that could either be gloriously successful or blow up in my face. “I can handle this,” I say, making sure to look him right in the eye. “I can and I will take whatever you throw at me, Zeth. I’m stronger than I look.”

  He shakes his head slightly, another small, barely there smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. He looks straight at me, like he’s looking into me, and then does something that makes my heart sing. He lifts our hands to his mouth and lays a gentle kiss on my wrist. “It doesn’t matter what you look like, Sloane. You’re the strongest person I know.”

  ******

  Zeth pulls the car up outside the entrance to Marlewood Shopping Mall, ignoring the angry beeping from other motorists that have to filter into another lane to get around the Humvee. Michael doesn’t even wake up. The man can sleep through anything.

  I grab my purse—the one I’ve somehow managed to retain throughout this madness—and get ready to open the door. Zeth grabs my wrist and grips hold of me tight. “Wait.”

  I wasn’t going to make a big deal out of leaving the car. Saying goodbye, even if only for a few hours, should everything go according to plan, seemed like a bad idea. More tension. More stress to add onto everything else. But I see the indecision in Zeth’s eyes. It wavers, and then it’s no longer indecision but resolve. He leans across the seat and carefully places his palm against the side of my face.

  “Don’t do anything stupid,” he murmurs. “Don’t make me have to come get you, okay?”

  I nod, and Zeth closes the final few inches between us. And he kisses me. Kisses. Me. For as long as I live, for as long as we’re together, I will never be complacent about receiving a kiss from this man. Ever. I waited so long for the first one that now this and every other time he reaches for me and places his lips against mine will be an action to be treasured. His mouth is hot and demanding. The careful touch of his palm against my cheek quickly evolves as he lets go of my wrist so he can hold my face in both his hands. His breathing comes out ragged and fast, but not because the kiss is turning him on. It’s not that kind of kiss. It’s because he means it.

  When he lets me go, I experience the biggest wave of doubt. We shouldn’t be doing this. We should honest to goodness be ditching Rebel and heading for the hills. I know Zeth doesn’t think we’ll be safe until Charlie’s out of the way—I refuse to acknowledge the fact he believes the old man needs to be dead—but if we changed our names and bought fake IDs, how hard could it be to run and hide? The reality of it, what running would mean, flashes through my head as I consider it. Not staying in any one place for too long. Working menial jobs. Never finding Lacey. Not being able to put down any roots.

  Not being able to be a doctor.

  The ship may have already sailed on that one, but the very thought of it still sinks through me like a stone. Fuck. When I look up at Zeth, his forehead pressed against mine, staring intently back at me, I can practically see the same thoughts running through his head. He knows we have no other way out of this. And besides, he’s not a man to turn and run from anything.

  “You’ve got to go,” he whispers.

  As if to cement that fact, there’s a sharp rap on the passenger window of the Humvee. Fucking Rebel. He’s wearing a grim and distinctly impatient look on his face. I want to castrate the man. Zeth lets me go, and I climb quickly out of the car. I don’t look back. I can’t. For some terrifying reason, it feels as though I’ve just said goodbye to Zeth and won’t be seeing him for a very, very long time.

  “Awesome way to fly under the radar, blocking a lane of traffic outside the place you’re supposed to be attending a covert meeting,” Rebel says.

  “You want me to do this or what?” I snap back
.

  “Just saying. Here.” He reaches into the pocket of his black jeans and pulls out a thumb drive; he hands it over to me, using both hands to curl my fingers into a fist around the object like it’s sacred. “Don’t lose that. It’s password protected.”

  “What’s the password?”

  “Accordia,” he says slowly, as though the word holds meaning to him.

  My chest squeezes painfully when the Humvee behind Rebel pulls away from the curb and vanishes from sight. I slip the thumb drive into my purse, frowning at Rebel. “Where’s your bike? Where’s your entourage?” The other Widow Makers are nowhere to be seen.

  “Hidden in plain sight. Remember, don’t tell her where to find me until you have the paperwork, and don’t give the password to the drive until she’s held up her end of the deal, either.”

  “Okay. Fine.” I turn and make to head into the mall—I’ve had enough of talking about this. I just want to get it over with—but Rebel places a strong hand on my shoulder. “Sloane, you have to go see your sister. Please. Once you’ve got those papers, you need to head to New Mexico. She’s waiting for you. And she won’t…she won’t forgive me for not coming back.”

  I feel like telling him I could give two shits about Alexis right now, but I get the feeling that won’t expedite this situation. He’ll only argue the point, and I’m almost late for the meeting. “All right. Shit.” I scrub my hands over my face, trying to keep my cool. “I’ll go and see her. But it’s not on me to fix your relationship bullshit, Rebel. And what the hell kind of name is Rebel anyway?”

  The Widow Maker beams at me—not the look you’d expect from a man who’s about to willingly turn himself in to the DEA. “One designed to piss off my father,” he replies. “Tell Soph I’ll be home soon.” And then he’s turning and jogging off up the street.

  I am alone.

  I haven’t been alone in so long now that the realization comes as a shock. No one watching me. No one guarding me keeping me from harm. And no one preventing me from just walking away. Pins and needles prickle down my arms and backs of my legs. I could just do it. I could walk away. Then the pins and needles turn into a sick, paralyzed feeling. As if that’s an option. Seriously, I wouldn’t be able to if I tried. The man I’m in love with would always pull me back. I enter the mall with a small part of me screaming inside. I think it’s the part that’s in charge of my self-preservation instincts.