Page 55 of Protecting You
He’d hoped the guy would go away, but no. He stayed right where he was, leaving Callan no opportunity to find out what Alyssa was working on.
Callan could wait. And meanwhile, he’d work on a way to get out of this situation. Because he seriously doubted that, once Alyssa finished this job, the man planned to let them walk away.
CHAPTERTHIRTEEN
Alyssa was trying to concentrate, but it was no easy task with Charles watching her every keystroke and Callan’s refusal to settle down.
All an act, of course. He’d shown none of this manic restlessness the night before, nor during their years in college together. He was going for maximum irritation. She didn’t know how it was affecting Charles, but Callan was certainly irritating her.
Finally, the driver who’d picked them up stepped into the room holding Callan’s laptop bag.
Callan launched himself off the chair—which he’d settled into about thirty seconds prior. “Thank you.”
The man didn’t hand it over, though.
“Please, Caleb, sit down.” Charles stood and walked toward the men. “Benson needs your help with something.”
Alyssa tried to focus on her work, but she couldn’t help listening.
“With what?”
She heard movement, but nobody spoke, so she levered up to peek over the screens.
The driver—Benson—opened Callan’s bag and slid his laptop out while Charles pushed a small table in front of Callan.
Benson set the laptop on the table. “Unlock it.”
Callan launched up from his chair so fast that Benson took a step back. “I must’ve misunderstood.” Warning hummed in Callan’s tone.
Benson was about six feet—slightly shorter than Callan—but he was plenty built. He nodded to the laptop between them. “You heard me.”
Uh-oh. What did Callan have on that? Would they be able to find anything that indicated who he really was?
Surely not. But Callan wasn’t backing down.
Callan turned his back on Benson to face Charles—effectively discounting the guard entirely.
By the rage that filled the driver’s expression, he’d picked up on that.
“Look, this is my work computer,” Callan said. “I can’t let your guy here look at it. Sorry.”
“Ah. Then I think we have a problem,” Charles said. “You see, I can’t let you work on it unless we examine it.”
“Why? What are you…?” He spluttered as if utterly shocked. “My work has nothing to do with you or Alyssa or anything. This is… You can’t be serious.”
Callan was very convincing.
“I’m afraid I am quite serious.” Charles shifted sideways, his back to the windows, and nodded toward Alyssa before addressing Callan again. “You see, until last night, I didn’t know you existed.”
“So what? Who she spends time with is none of your business. Do you expect her to give you a rundown on her life? All of this is already”—he gestured to the room and the house and the grounds—“paranoid beyond comprehension. But demanding to look at my laptop? You have no right.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way.” Charles flicked his gaze to Benson. “Please, drive our guest wherever he would like to go.”
Alyssa’s anxiety spiked. She needed Callan here, with her. How could she do this without him?
She pushed to her feet. “Caleb, just let him?—”
”You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Ignoring her, Callan was focused on Charles. “To get rid of me.” He strode forward, stopping one pace too close to the terrorist.
