Antwan stood as the door opened. Immediately, Callie tensed at the sight of Hamish being escorted in by two deputies.
“I don’t understand w-what’s going on! I didn’t—” Hamish stopped when he looked up and his gaze locked with Callie’s. “Callie! I didn’t do this. P-please believe me. I didn’t kill anyone. I w-wouldn’t do that!” He tried to veer toward her, and both Lock and Antwan shifted in front of her as the deputies guided him toward the hall.
“I believe you.” Callie’s words were quiet, but when Hamish’s features eased, Lock knew he’d heard.
Lock frowned. Her words, and her words alone, eased Hamish’s fear…as if all that mattered was that she believed him.
Was it true? Could he have killed someone to protect her?
He tightened his hold on Callie’s waist, suddenly wanting her as close as fucking possible.
CHAPTER 22
Callie glanced in her rearview mirror. Her father only lived five minutes away, but right now it felt longer. Maybe because she was so on edge. Had been on edge for days.
Dead. Lucian was dead. Because someone had murdered him.
It didn’t feel real.
Lock was supposed to come with her to see her dad, but he’d been called out on a last-minute job. He’d wanted her to wait, but she’d said no. Why, exactly, she wasn’t sure. Because she didn’t want to hide? Because she didn’t want this person to scare her or impede her life?
Christ, she just wanted Eastern to find the guy and be done with it.
This is why she needed to see her dad. He was her calm. He’dalwaysbeen her calm.
She frowned at the gray BMW in the rearview mirror. Had they been there since she’d turned off her street? Or was she just being paranoid because of everything that was happening?
Instead of taking the next left like she was supposed to, she continued straight, turning right when she reached the end of the road. The car turned right with her.
Her pulse picked up speed as her breathing came out a bit shorter. She took another right, watching the road behind her more than the road in front.
But this time, the car continued straight.
The air whooshed from her chest.
Good God, Callie. Get a grip. The whole world is not out to get you.
She turned around and headed back to her father’s house. When she arrived, she took a moment to deeply exhale before getting out of the car. She didn’t want her dad to see her so on edge. She’d already caused him enough stress with the notes and the guy in her backyard—he didn’t need this too.
After picking up the tray of cannelloni from the passenger seat, she climbed out and headed for the front door. Instead of knocking, she used her spare key to enter the house. She’d just stepped inside when she heard a crash from the kitchen.
Her heart shot into her throat, and she ran toward the noise. “Dad?”
She stopped inside the kitchen, breath catching at the sight of him pushing up from the floor behind the island.
“Dad! Oh God, are you okay?” She set the tray on the counter and helped him up.
“I’m okay.”
He was out of breath, pale, and didn’t sound like himself.
“What happened?” she asked.
Once he was on his feet, she helped him over to a stool.
“I just tried to move too fast and fell.”
Muscle stiffness. Impaired balance. Loss of automatic movements. All symptoms of Parkinson’s disease.
