CALLEN (Second Chance Novels Book 3) (9 page)

I keep my mind as focused on Quinn as I can, which becomes easier as we drive. I nearly chuckle when my brain pops to the metaphor shared by the other women in my circle. Cam has been Ledger's dove since the moment he saw her. Mason understood Sofia as a phoenix as soon as he got to know her. Evelyn was to be my swan. Quinn, however, shines in the vision of a nightingale.
 

Those birds, though small and mild, manage to find a way to sing in the darkness. Quinn lives surrounded by evil, but manages to remain unaffected. She continues to metaphorically sing with intelligence and class inspire of her chosen place in the world. She is a nightingale, and in labeling her so, I realize I consider at least part of her mine. Jesus.

I force myself from those thoughts. Simple conversation flows as we make our way to Ledger's best restaurant, but work isn't a topic of discussion. During a comfortable lull of silence, however, a quick 'hmm' inadvertently sounds from her chest.

I look over and chuckle. "What was that
hmm
about?"

"Nothing," she grins embarrassedly. "I'm simply gaining insight. I stand by my original assessment. This will be interesting."

I shake my head, more amused than I am cautious. Co-analysis is much more fun with someone well-armed. To call tonight
interesting
is a sore understatement.

"Agreed," I allow. "But I feel you should share your new insight."

"Fair enough," she states clinically. "You have two personalities. Two reasons for everything you do."

God damn.
 

"Fair enough," I have to admit under her skilled scrutiny, now utterly exposed. "But there aren't two reasons for
everything
I do."

She looks over at me and smiles gently at my lie. "Yes there is."

"Oh really?" I ask as a challenge. "Then what are my two reasons for our evening?"

"Actually, there are three," she corrects. "One, your ploy that this is a working dinner as an excuse to ask me out. Second, you're trying to show me a specific side of you. Three, you wanted to see me in this dress again."

I laugh genuinely. "I guess I'm more obvious than I thought."

"Just to me," she promises. "And that third one…your fake phone call was as obvious as your appreciation of my dress."

I sit in awe of the woman in the passenger seat. Intelligence and confidence are two of her strongest assets, yet she has a soft kindness about her, too. The physical beauty is simply an accent of the woman she is. As evening falls, I know for certain how well suited she is for her new station as a nightingale.

"Then allow me," I say pointedly, "to own up. You look phenomenal, and I plan to
obviously appreciate
the dress the entire night."

She shakes her head with a smile and looks out the passenger window.
 

"Don't bother," I call her out, reciprocating. "I know you turned away because you're blushing."

"Definitely interesting," she muses as she turns to me with a faint rose color highlighting her soft features.
 

By the time we're ordering wine, we've shared assessments about each other on at least two different topics, including her attempt at holding a position of power in every interaction she has.
 

"Guilty," she finally admits. "But I hope you'll allow for the necessity of that. I work amongst convicts and the alpha-males who keep them in order. Exuding power is the only way to survive and be effective in my position."

"I can allow that," I smile. "Which brings me to my next question. How did you end up as a prison psychologist? I'm sure you know you could get any job you want. Why a jail?"

She looks up in thought for a moment. I wait for her to form her answer, and I'm surprised at the length of time she needs to explain her choice. My fascination with her lifts to a higher level. Watching the gears of her exceptional mind clicking seems a privilege few ever see.
 

When she finally makes eye contact again, her voice speaks from a hidden part of her. "We'll save that question for another conversation."

Again I'm taken aback by her. Few people surprise me, but Quinn rises above the standard of my experience. "Of course," I say quietly.
 

Without meaning to, I reach across the table and cover her hand with mine. A gentle squeeze brings her eyes to our joined hands and she smiles softly.
 

"Thank you," she nods shyly before taking a breath and righting herself. She twists her hand to hold onto mine, and offers me a squeeze in return.
 

After an intimate moment, the waiter interrupts us with an offer of dessert. I look at Quinn and smile. "No thank you," I tell him. "I'd rather enjoy a dance."

I stand and offer Quinn my hand as the waiter bows politely and leaves us. Quinn demonstrates mild surprise, which mirrors my reaction to my spontaneous offer. I had no intention of such an intimate moment, but sharing so much this evening has brought me closer to this nightingale. Guilt simmers to the background as Quinn looks to the mildly-populated dance floor and then to the pianist before resting her hand in mine again.
 

"I wasn't expecting a dance," she says softly. I suppose we can surprise each other.
 

"It's just an excuse to see more of the dress," I say in a light attempt to keep the moment from weighing too heavily. "If only for a moment."

I lead her to the large square of hardwood floor in the center of the restaurant, then guide her lightly into my arms. We sway gently to the music as I appreciate her feminine form resting against me. My hand at her lower back takes in the texture of her dress, and my other hand holds hers against my heart. I've held this dance position many times in the past, but never have I connected with the woman I'm holding.
 

The thought of never having danced with Evelyn bubbles into my consciousness, but I push the regret away. I'm having a beautiful dance with a beautiful woman, and I realize in this exact moment that I can allow no more room in my life for lost opportunities. I send a silent apology to Evvie as I pull Quinn closer to me. Quinn rests her cheek on my chest and I sigh almost sadly without meaning to.

"Your last date?" she asks in understanding.

"Something like that," I reply.

I keep Quinn against me for two songs before I tip the musician and walk Quinn to our table with my hand at her lower back. I place cash in the leather folder waiting for us and guide Quinn to my car. Our ride home is quiet and comfortable, up until I walk Quinn to her door. Only one awkward moment passes before she looks up at me.
 

"I had a beautiful evening, Callen," she says with a smile. "And I don't care how many reasons you had for taking me to dinner. I'm glad I said yes." She lifts herself to her toes to kiss me on the cheek.
 

"And I'm glad I didn't walk away again," I say with a soft smile.

I kiss her once gently on the lips, but I allow myself no further indulgence. I say goodnight and turn to my car. The guilt doesn't fully hit me until I'm two blocks from home. Spending time with Quinn shines at the level of phenomenal, but kissing her stung.
 

I should never have asked Quinn for anything but inmate files from the beginning, and my shoulders slump under the weight of my continued inability to offer anything to Evvie. I look at my knuckles and wonder if I ever should have let them heal.

Coming off the confusion of the evening, all I can do is strip to my boxers and crash in bed. I'm nearly ready to try for sleep when I hear a knock at my door. I throw on a pair of cotton shorts and grit my teeth as I walk toward the interruption. My mind has enough to chew on without adding another social interaction to the pile.
 

I open my door to see a set of sad eyes resting above grayish shadows on Shelby's face.
 

"What happened?" I ask her as I let her inside, forgetting my own problems for a moment.
 

"We got a notice at work today. They're downsizing. Staff reductions will be announced next week."

"Shel," I say sympathetically. "Do you know how bad it is?"

"I have no seniority in my department."

My shoulders slump. "Come here," I whisper.

Shelby walks slowly into my arms and lets me wrap her up. She rests against my chest for a long time. I rub her back gently, hoping I can comfort her. My own problems thankfully drift aside as I focus on my friend. She clings to me and grips my back.

I worry about her, especially after this. I'm not sure how much more loss she can take.
 

She steps away eventually and looks around my house awkwardly. I smile gently and take her hand. My intention is to walk her to my couch so we can talk, but she drags me to the kitchen and reaches for a bottle of Patrón.
 

"Not a great idea, Shel," I tell her. I've seen her reach for alcohol too often recently. "Let's just sit."

Her face shows frustration, but she lets me walk her to the living room anyway. I sit with my arms around her and pull her back to rest against me. Her frame relaxes somewhat as her fingers lace themselves into mine. She snuggles in deeper and turns to bury her face into my neck. A tiny press of her lips puts me on guard.

As much as I want to comfort her, I don't think sleeping with her would be a good idea.
 

"Another bad idea," I say gently.

"I need you," she whispers. She looks up into my eyes, causing my heart to break. I don't want to be one more disappointment, but Shelby deserves the right kind of care. I know the emptiness of attempting to push away pain with random sex, and I also know how our friendship would be affected if I offered her that form of comfort.

"And I'm here…but not like that."

Her eyes close and a sad breath falls from her lips as her head drops to my chest. She nods, but her sadness remains. I may not be willing to push away her pain how she wants, but I can offer her comfort as friend.
 

"Relax," I tell her. "I'll help you escape."

I sit behind her and cover her eyes with my hand. I gather her wrists in my other. Whether she realizes it or not, her entire body releases tension, and her breath eases gently from her chest. Covering her eyes takes her away from reality, and being held captive passes her burdens to other hands. I smile to myself for understanding her so well. The rest of my world may be up-ended, but I'm able to read Shelby and become what she needs. Finally, a familiar experience offers me a form of confidence. The expert reader-of-people I am has the ability to bolster me rather than frustrate me.

I keep her wrists in my hands and hold her strongly. I simply wait for her to soak in my strength. She doesn't need to hold herself together when someone stands strong for her. I remain fascinated by her complexity.

I take her arms and pull them backward around my neck. She whispers in confusion again. "I thought you didn't want..."

"I only want to help you," I whisper. "Let me be your strength for a while."

I release her wrists and move my hands around her belly again. Her arms begin to drop, so I offer her the direction she needs.
 

"Keep your arms up," I tell her. "Breathe deep."

I bring my hands to her ribs, and let them float on her skin with the rise and fall of her chest.
 

"Everything is falling apart, Cal…What am I going to do?" she asks.
 

"You're going to learn to let go when you need to."

A breathy sound escapes her lips as she considers my words. "I don't think—"

I cut her off. "
Don't
think," I say directly. "Just be. Let me help you. You have to let yourself relax."

She sighs as she lets me take over. I truly hope she finds someone who will understand this about her. I hope she's willing to communicate her needs if he doesn't catch on.
 

"Ok, Shel. Sit up so I can rub your shoulders."

She complies immediately and allows me to knead the muscles at the base of her neck and dig my thumbs gently into her shoulder blades. I work along her spine and watch her become pliable under my touch. She's ready for my words.

"You'll get through all of this, you know," I murmur gently. "You're brilliant. You'll find another job easily."

I move my hands to her biceps and squeeze softly. "I know you miss your parents, but they raised you to be a strong woman so you could stand on your own when they're gone. You're honoring them with your strength."

"I don't feel strong," she whispers.

"But you are," I promise her.