Page 55 of Shadows Relived
THE ROOM WAS STILLand dark, except for the faint glow bleeding in through the curtains. Somewhere in the woods, a lone owl called out into the silence. Beside him, Meaghan slept with her hand resting over his chest, her brow faintly furrowed even in sleep, like part of her still waited for the next blow to fall.
She was exhausted and deserved this peace, and he had no intention of taking it away from her. Besides, if she were awake, she’d never let him leave or insist on going with him.
The wound in his side throbbed, but that wasn’t what kept him from sleep. His mind had been moving all night, parsing angles, voices, loose threads. Blaze’s warning, Tex’s dig, Gage’s suspicion, and the senator’s slippery denial—it all churned together like a storm caught behind his ribs.
Meaghan lay curled beside him, her breathing slow and even, the soft weight of her arm draped across hisstomach. Dawn hadn’t broken yet, but Callen knew he wouldn’t be sleeping again. The ache in his side was nothing compared to the storm churning in his chest. He needed to fix this, make her safe, and he only saw one way to do that.
He gently shifted, inching her hand off his chest and slipping from under the covers. Her fingers curled instinctively, reaching for him in sleep. It nearly stopped him cold.
Nearly.
He brushed a kiss against her temple before slipping out from under the blanket. She murmured something in her sleep, but didn’t wake.
Good.
Every muscle ached, his body reminding him that pain didn’t wait for permission. He dressed with practiced ease: dark jeans, a shirt, a holster. His side throbbed in protest, but pain was an old friend. He strapped on his sidearm before slipping on tactical boots he could move in. Knife in the ankle sheath, phone in his back pocket, his go-bag in hand.
He stepped into the hallway with the ghost-silent tread of a man used to breaking out more than breaking in.
Didn’t matter if it hurt.
He had a job to finish.
The safe house was still. No footsteps, no voices, just shadows, lit only by a faint green glow from the battery backup panel near the entry. It smelled of bleach, iron, and the synthetic plastic tang of unused equipment. Outside, the world waited, suspended in that breathlesshour before dawn, when the sky hovered in bruised navy, and everything felt like it was holding its breath.
He made it as far as the front room before a figure stepped out of the kitchen, leaning casually against the frame.
Elvis. And he looked as if he’d been waiting all night.
“I thought I heard someone sneaking about,” the other man said. “And your ears are drooping, hound dog. What’s going on? You heading out to grab us all some breakfast? Or is something more nefarious going on here?”
Callen gave a quick grunt, more acknowledgment than greeting. “Neither. I’m going to find her father. Get some answers.”
Elvis straightened, all pretense dropping. “By yourself, Wraith? Not a good idea.”
Callen winced at the nickname, one he had avoided using since he left the Rangers, but probably fitting with the way he was sneaking out of the safe house. It clung to him from his Ranger days, from missions where he vanished into enemy territory, did what needed to be done, and came back with blood on his boots. It wasn’t a name he liked. Not anymore.
“Has to be me. It’s the only move I’ve got left. We’re out of time. And Meaghan… she deserves to know what the hell he’s gotten her into. And she needs to get back to her life, to her students.”
“Gotta give me more than that, man. You know that lady of yours is going to notice when you’re gone, and it won’t be good.”
Callen adjusted the strap on his shoulder, exhaling slowly. “Yeah, I know she will.”
“Then take her.”
“If I bring her, he’ll spin it. Twist her up. Or worse, he’ll make her doubt everything. I need him off-balance in order to get the truth. She wants answers, and I need to get them, and we both know it might not happen simply by asking. She doesn’t need to be dragged into that. No guilt, no manipulation. Just the truth. And I’m going to get it for her.”
Elvis crossed his arms over his chest as he cocked a brow. “And you think ghosting her is the way to protect her? Callen, that woman saved your life. She deserves better.”
He looked toward the hallway where she still slept, quiet and safe. For now. “I know she did. And I’d burn the world to keep her breathing. But I have to do this my way.”
“Look, I don’t know the history between the two of you, but from watching you both, it’s obvious there is one. But I also know your lady isn’t some porcelain doll. She’s fire, that one. And if you go without telling her, she’ll come after you. Probably punch you, too.”
“I can live with that if it keeps her safe.” He moved to the door.
Elvis studied him for a moment longer, then tilted his head. “You always were a stubborn son of a bitch.”
“Yeah, well… you didn’t sign up for this gig because we all played nice.”
