CALLEN (Second Chance Novels Book 3) (18 page)

With shaking intensity I stand and lean my forearms on my Monte Carlo. Killing Spades may be the hardest thing I'll ever do, but he doesn't deserve to live. Who knows how many innocent people he's killed for money?

I'm sick, too, at the vision of Quinn waking up alone. She will be confused, or at the very least disappointed. I fear she'll feel manipulated, and she doesn't deserve that treatment from me. Still, I couldn't stay, not when I envisioned Evvie's beautiful face gazing on me in disappointment, too. And with Quinn, I could too easily get myself lost in her arms and never leave, but avoidance of my anger will only cause her pain down the road. I need to sort out my shit before I can promise myself to her. I need Evvie to rest. I gave into my need for Quinn too soon, which may hurt her too much for forgiveness.

If last night was a mistake, it was the most goddamn beautiful mistake I've ever made.

Breaking away from my thoughts brings my entire body into a state of increased tension. Action and purpose take over and propel me forward. With strong movements and a determined stride, I make my way to the driver's seat.
 

Within a very tense hour, I'm in the office alone, carefully rooting through Spades' desk. As I suspected, nothing on the surface indicates he's anything other than a skilled employee at a security firm.
 

His computer draws my attention next. Shelby taught me enough to know where to look for hidden files and secret hard drive partitions. I find more than one, but I don't have the skill to decipher them, at least not quickly.
 

I text Shelby with
office 911
, and I don't have to wait long before she shows up red-eyed with last night's hair-do pulled into an uneven ponytail. She managed to dress in a pair of jeans, but she obviously had a hard time getting out of bed. I can't worry about her hangover right now, but I file the conversation for a future date.
 

"What's going on?" she asks through a haze…until she sees my expression. "Cal? What the hell happened?"

I explain in one simple sentence through a tight voice. "Spades was the hit man."

Her eyes widen as her brain clears the fog of last night's drunken escapade. She takes a moment to consider all the implications.

"What are you going to do?" she barely can speak the words.
 

"Don't ask. Just get me access," I say gravely, picking up the wireless mouse and placing it in her hands.

She pauses, regards me with cautious eyes, then nods in serious understanding. Her ponytail hangs long down her back as her eyes scan the screen and her fingers dance quickly across the keyboard. I appreciate her friendship and her skill more than I ever have.
 

After a few moments of navigating through Spades' system, she pulls a flashdrive from her purse and plugs the little fob into a USB slot on the keyboard. Instantly the screen shifts into a new program. A few more keystrokes push the system into an decryption algorithm. Shelby stands and stares straight into me.
 

"That will take at least a half hour. Now make me some coffee so we can talk."

I glare for a moment before I say, "Not in the mood."

"Talk, or no flashdrive."

I clench my jaw and force myself to breathe deeply before I turn away and speak. "Let it go, Shel."
 

She's more stubborn than I realized. I hear the chair creak as she sits down again, and I turn to see her reaching for the flashdrive. No hesitation slows her movements. God damn it.

"Don't—" I bark out. Her eyes flick to mine, daring me to refuse her again.

"Go make my coffee, Callen. We have a half hour of time, and I'm going to keep your brain here for every second of it."

I grit my teeth again, but give in. I don't have much of a choice in the matter if I'm going to get enough information to deal with Spades and keep myself out of jail. Planning this mission is key, no matter how desperately I want to give into the rage.
 

Shelby follows me to the break room and sits while I serve her a damn cup of coffee. I brew myself one, too, simply to avoid talking with her for another forty-two seconds.
 

"You're sure about Spades?" she asks directly.
 

Still with my back to her, I nod. "I worked the inmates until I could turn one of them. He didn't know Spades' identity, but he knew the protocol to contact the killer. From there I dropped bread crumbs from a new identity I set up."

"How did you find out it was him?"

"All communication was digital, at first. I followed that trail fairly easily. He refused any direct contact until I upped the bid. I told him I needed to look into his eyes, because that's the closest I would get to personalizing the deed. Once I showed him the inflated contract money in an offshore account, he was willing to meet."

"Jesus."

"Yeah," I say bitterly. "So I set up plenty of surveillance cameras for the meet. I figured I'd use facial-rec to id the guy. But when I saw Spades lingering at the meet, I froze."

"But that doesn't make sense," she says thoughtfully. "A member of your unit wouldn't be stupid enough to be seen like that. Maybe it wasn't him."

"That's what I thought, too. There had to be a mistake, but no one else showed up. He waited nervously, then left. I was sick, Shel."

"God, Callen. I'm so sorry…"

I finally sit down and stare at the table for a while as Shelby sips her coffee and searches for something to say. Sharing the details with her doesn't ease the pressure in my chest. I earn no catharsis, no relief.

"Does Mason know?" she asks like Quinn did.

"Mason doesn't need to know."

"He'd help you."

"He can be an impulsive, hot-headed idiot at times. That's what got him booted from the Army, and I won't let that possibility affect my need to handle this."

She gives me a frustrated stare. "You
know
he'll help. And if you're worried about him being such a hot-head, don't. You are his commanding officer. He'll follow orders and you know it."

Commanding officer
. The two words ring in my ears.
 

"Callen," Shelby says softly. "You've been lost. Take back who you are. Take the help of your teammates. Riggs will stand behind you, too."

I glare at the table, hating that her words hold both truth and logic. She's too damn smart, and she knows me too well. No wonder she's the best friend I have.

"This fight is mine," I finally argue with little conviction.

"Bullshit. If Spades turned on his training, he turned on all of you. And think about it this way: you said yourself you came here to because Mason needed a teammate. You defended Sofia like she was your own, because she belongs to your brother. Do you think a single one of them wouldn't avenge Evvie for the same reason?"

My eyes meet hers painfully. I hate the truth.
 

"Look," she continues. "You dealt with Bennett yourself, your way. Let your brothers help you finish this. I hate seeing you go through this alone."

I shake my head and stare at the table. "You sound like Quinn."

"She knows you, too," Shelby says quietly. She reaches over and squeezes my hand. With understanding and sympathy, she continues. "I'll go work on Spades' system. You have some phone calls to make."

She leaves me staring at the table. In the background I hear cars on the street, the clicking of Shelby's mouse, and the pounding of blood behind my ears.
You have some phone calls to make.
She makes everything sound so simple.
 

With a heavy breath I borrow resolve from Shelby's words and I reach for my phone.

"Go," Mason says with a sleep-rasped voice and crystal clear mind, demonstrating his readiness for any reason I may call at this four a.m.
 

"We have a problem. Get Riggs and get here."

I hang up and rest my forehead on the phone. My heart pounds heavily at the thought of telling Mason and Riggs about their brother, and all four chambers thud painfully over leaving Quinn this morning. None of this is right.
 

I grieve again. If Bennett hadn't hired Spades, Evvie and I would be waking up lazily together this morning, But if Spades hadn't killed Evvie, I wouldn't have experienced Quinn's comfort and genuine love last night. The injustice coupled with irony burns a hole straight through me.
 

Shelby continues to click away in the background as I hear Mason and Riggs come through the back entrance. Another heavy sigh precedes our difficult conversation. I find them waiting in the conference room. I'm grateful to Shelby for staying. I know being near Mason remains difficult for her even though much time has passed. That's another conversation we need to have, but I file that lecture away, too.

Mason and Riggs sit at attention and wait for me to talk. Shelby's earlier words bolster me. As the commanding officer, I remain standing.
 

"Spades is out of the loop on this one," I say darkly.

The men in front of me remain silent, but concern and confusion tighten their features.
 

"Because he's the target."

Heavy silence drops over all of us as my words soak in. I can hardly believe them myself. I only pause a beat before I return to my role as their leader. I speak efficiently and without emotion. I lay out crucial details of Evvie's murder and the path which lead me to Spades' guilt. Mason shakes with anger. Riggs darkens with Spades' betrayal. Only one more beat of silence gives us a moment to process once I've finished the briefing.
 

I sit with my remaining brothers and look each of them solidly in the eye. "I have one path. You have no obligation to join me."

"In," Riggs says darkly.

"In," Mason repeats, barely masking his rage.

Shelby walks into the room with a grave face, and hands me a flash drive. "You'll want to look at this."

All eyes are on Shelby as she walks out without another word. I plug the flashdrive into the conference room computer and grit my teeth.

"Gambling debt. That's why he was careless enough to be identified. He was desperate for the ridiculous payday. His training didn't fail him, his lack of character did."

My partners quietly rage before me as I speak one word. "Strategy."

We instantly fall into our training and experience, formulating possibilities based on past missions and current circumstance. Phrases such as "that mission in Malta," or "the assassination in Chechnya," start floating through our conversation. Our training will serve us well. Combined with Shelby's help, we have access to nearly all intel possible.
 

As much as I loathe this course of action, there is no other option. Evvie deserves justice. My gut aches for vengeance. Closure has eluded me for month upon damn month. I will end this fight, and finally give myself over to a future worth having. My past and present can't continue in this hazy mix of hope and anger.

I can think of little else for two solid days. Spades.
Fucking Spades.
The shock hasn't worn off, nor has the humming presence of constant adrenaline. Sleep eludes me completely.
 

Early stages of strategizing with Mason and Riggs only days earlier centered me on mission point and allowed me to detach myself from the hatred and sickness over our target. The moment I walked out of the Delta conference room, however, a certain reality hit me again. Clarity and familiarity drift into my consciousness: Spades, a murderer, has been tried and judged by a jury of his closest peers, and will face execution for his heinous crimes. Sometimes the most basic truth allows for simplicity.

Complexity hovers nearby, however. Killing Spades will be killing a part of myself. Quinn came to the identical conclusion, and added yet another point I need to consider. How can I possibly recover from such an act? How can I know this is the right path? In the past three years of my life, my decisions have been questionable at best.

Mason's perspective on the issue is one I also need to consider. During our strategy, his big-picture analysis offered the opposite view of Quinn's.

We are a single unit who delivers justice over the entire globe. Our reason for this life is our ability to work without emotion. Spades changed into something evil. We'll dispatch this enemy as we have all the others. Killing him won't kill a part of ourselves. No.
Not
killing him would take care of that for us.