Page 15 of Protecting You
“Just tell me what you’re looking for.”
He stepped back. “Anything that’s not clothes. Anything that doesn’t belong. It’ll be tiny, maybe no bigger than a fingernail.”
She scooped all her personal items into her arms and carried them to the bureau. She picked up a pair of socks, checked each one, and then folded them again and set them in a drawer.
Confident she was being thorough, he focused on the suitcase itself, probing every pocket and fold with his fingertips.
“Nothing that doesn’t belong.” She closed the drawer and faced him. “You?”
“It’s clean.” He zipped the suitcase and slid it into her closet. “I think we’re safe here.”
“Wearesafe here.” Alyssa grabbed the knob on the door that led to the living room.
This was the second time he’d gone into Alyssa’s bedroom in a matter of hours. Mom would slap him upside the head for his rudeness.
Mom was so tiny that she’d need to climb a step stool first.
“The entrance is always locked,” Alyssa explained, “and the bellhop doesn’t let people in without Jonathan’s say-so. Jonathan only opens to people he recognizes. Others have to buzz for entrance and explain who they are and why they’re there before he’ll allow them inside.”
Callan had known, theoretically, that such places existed. His family vacations consisted of tent camping. They went fishing and hiking and cooked hot dogs over a fire. If they wanted to splurge, they’d rent a canoe.
Her life wasn’t even in the same universe as his.
Tangible proof that he didn’t belong with this woman. Not that she’d ever shown the slightest interest in him.
Knowing that had never kept him from wishing things could be different.
* * *
Consideringthe maze of hallways they’d navigated to get here, Callan was surprised when he looked out the window to find they faced the street and not an alley. He usually had a good sense of direction, but he’d gotten turned around.
He closed the drapes against the darkness and rolled the desk chair closer to the sofa where Alyssa had settled. Sitting with his back to the window, he propped his feet on the coffee table. He refused to be intimidated by furniture. “Your father takes security seriously. Which makes sense, considering what he does for a living.”
“The understatement of the century.” Her eyes narrowed. “You know my father?”
“I know of him. I’ve never met him personally, but I’ve heard him speak. So, do you believe me now?”
“That something weird is going on? Sure, but what? Why would Charles break into my apartment minutes after I agreed to work with him? I still think you could be wrong about him.”
“If I’m wrong about Ghazi, then so is the entire intelligence community.”
“It wouldn’t be the first time. But I’m saying maybe my client isn’t this Ghazi person. I never work with anybody without doing a background check on them, and he checked out.”
Callan opened his phone and navigated to a website. Then, he handed the phone to her.
She scrolled down, scanning all the fake information about the fictional Caleb Thompson.
“Go ahead and click the links,” Callan said. “You’ll find social media profiles and posts. You’ll find old addresses, where Caleb went to college and high school. You’ll learn that Caleb volunteers to feed the homeless occasionally—there are photos of that. He teaches Bible study at his church.”
She handed him the phone back. “So everything I read about Charles Sanders was a lie.”
“Sorry to prove to you, once again, that you’re not infallible.”
“I never said I was.”
“You spent four years in college trying to prove you’re better than me.”
“Iambetter than you.” She glared.
