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“Whatever you say,” she said.
Isobel pushed past her and got back to work.
As soon as Callum ended the call with Isobel, he knew what he had to do. He was just putting it off until he had the words he needed to do it. They were in over their heads. Whatever Isobel had stumbled into was much bigger and much more dangerous than he’d first thought.
He rubbed his thigh and wheeled his chair into the kitchen, where he’d left his phone. Once back from Campbeltown, knowing he’d be at Isobel’s house for another night, he’d taken the opportunity to give his legs a rest from his prosthetics. He also needed to charge the things, something he hadn’t quite gotten used to. But the processor that powered the legs and made them function almost exactly like real legs needed to be charged. He thought of Isobel and what her reaction might be if he told her he needed to take his legs off and recharge them. Not that she would ever find out about his missing limbs. But he thought her reaction might be humorous. He could see her getting a kick out of saying, Callum’s charging his legs.
He looked at the clock, knowing he was running out of time. It was now or never. It was time for him to swallow his pride and ask for help from the people he’d turned his back on months earlier. Callum swivelled his chair towards the bedroom, to pick up his legs, and hesitated.
Since walking out of Benson Security four months earlier, Callum had only seen and spoken to his partner Lake Benson. He’d avoided everyone else. He’d ignored calls, deleted emails and refused to open his door when they called. Part of him wanted to continue to keep them at a distance, to write an email asking for help, or leave a message. But they deserved more than that. They deserved to see him in the raw, without pretending to be something he wasn’t. They deserved to see him face reality. And that reality was that he was half a man, in need of help.
With determination, or bloody-mindedness, Callum rolled to the corner of the kitchen and stared up at the camera, the one he’d been too damn busy to remove.
“Elle? You there? I need you to listen to me. I figure, knowing you, that you’ll have some software running to alert you if I suddenly start ranting about killing myself. So I’m going to sit here and say every word I think might trigger your program, until you text me and let me know you’re listening. And, for the record, Betty, I know you’re watching too, and I don’t want you to call. This is between me and the London team.”
There was silence. Callum kept his eyes on the camera and started a list of words that would freak Elle out. “Death, suicide, gun, bullet to the brain…”
He didn’t get very far before the phone in his pocket vibrated. Callum dug it out and found he was holding his breath as he read the message:
We’re here.
Good. That was good. Okay. He could do this. He’d done worse. He could do this. He broke out in a sweat and had to fight the urge to rub his palms on his jeans.
“Thanks,” he said to the camera. “So here’s the thing. I have a bit of a situation and I…I need help.” He folded his hands tightly against his chest, aware that if they were loose in his lap, Elle might see the tremble.
He’d rather crawl through a war zone, with enemy fire aimed at his head, than lay himself bare before anyone. But he owed them this. He owed them honesty. He owed them part of himself—even if it meant he had to tear off a bloody piece and hand it over.
“One of the local women, Isobel Sinclair, has stumbled into something dangerous. It looks like there are smugglers using the local cove for access to the road system. Yesterday these unknown men left a dead body on the beach. And Isobel, in her infinite wisdom, thought the best thing to do with it was put it in her freezer and call me instead of the cops.”
He looked around for a second, searching for the right words. None came to him. All he could do was stumble on. Were they laughing at him? Were they scoffing about his sudden need for help when he’d been so quick to kick them out of his life months earlier? He swallowed hard. Damn, he wished he could look them in the eye and see how they were taking this. He’d never humbled himself before anyone in his life, and here he was doing it to a camera instead of a person. Anxiety made him want to rage, to tell them he’d changed his mind and storm away to be alone. But he’d spent too much time by himself already. Now he needed help. He needed his team.
He looked back at the camera. “I know I was a bastard when I left. I haven’t changed. Don’t think that. I didn’t ask to be involved in Isobel’s problems and I wish I wasn’t. I’d walk away if I could.”
He wet his suddenly dry lips. “I think Isobel might be pregnant. With my child. Until I know for sure, one way or the other, she’s my responsibility and this mess is my mess. Which means I’m asking one of you to step into my personal situation—and you know how I feel about running personal missions for the team.” Memories of whining about helping Dimitri find his sister and Julia get her grandmother out of jail flooded his mind. “Like I said, I’m an arsehole.”
It was humiliating coming face to face with the reality of just how much of a dick he’d been.
“I don’t know what I’m dealing with here, but my instincts are going crazy. I know you’re overloaded with work.” More so since he’d walked out. “Any help you can spare would be good. I’ll pay the going rate.”
There was nothing else to say. Either they forgave him, or they didn’t. It was out of his hands now. “Let me know what you think. I’ll be at Isobel’s and I’ll have my phone.”
He turned away from the camera and rolled down the hall to the bedroom, feeling painfully raw and vulnerable. He tried to tell himself that he didn’t care whether or not they wanted to help him. If push came to shove, he could phone Lake and organise for him to send a man from the Invertary office. Or he could go it alone. Which was what he’d wanted when he kicked everyone he knew out of his life. But the truth was that he didn’t want some random guy he didn’t know from Lake’s team. He wanted his team at his back.
His hand was on his bedroom doorknob when his phone buzzed. With trepidation, Callum checked the message.
On our way.
Boss.
And Callum smiled.
CHAPTER 13
ISOBEL WAS PUTTING DINNER ON the table when Callum arrived. He had a sports bag over his shoulder and a grim look on his face.
“We’re having spaghetti bolognaise.” Isobel threw the door wide for him to come in. “There’s plenty. Come eat.”
“You don’t need to feed me.” He followed her into the house.
