Grace wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that.He let her stay in his arms until she was ready.
“I’m not in touch with my old attorneys.I promise.”
He nodded.“I believe you.”
“Do you swear?”
He nodded again.“I trust you.”
Something was happening with her phone that she didn’t understand.This was the same dread that had churned in her gut the day the FBI had raided Marino’s penthouse in Las Vegas.“I didn’t talk to them, but even if I did, why would they want to get a hold of me?”
He casually rubbed her back.“I don’t know.My office is talking to them.”
His phone signaled an incoming call.This time she wasn’t worried about whether he was married with kids.
“Give me a minute.”He swiped the screen on his phone and pressed it to his ear, staying on the couch beside her with an arm still draped around her shoulder.“Hey, yeah.She’s not in contact with them.”
He pulled the phone away.“Just to confirm, no calls, voicemails, emails?Nothing?”
“Nothing,” she confirmed.
“Nothing.”He pulled his arm from around her and cradled his forehead for a moment before dragging his hand through his hair.“I’m sure.”He glanced her way, then pushed off the couch to stare out the window, lowering his voice.“Doesn’t look like it, unless she’s one hell of an actress.”
They didn’t believe her.
But Callum did.
That should have made her feel the slightest bit better.She wasn’t sure if it did.Grace was too busy trying not to freak out more than she already was.
“That was my thought, too.When you know more, let me know.But that’s the understanding we’ll operate under.”He ended the call and didn’t move from the window, keeping his back to her.
“What’s the understanding?”she managed.
He joined her on the couch again and tossed the phone onto the coffee table.His shoulders bunched and relaxed, and he bent over, elbows on his knees, head in his hand as he thought.“Give me a second to think.”Finally, he lifted his head.“Did you ever get my voicemails?”
“No.”
He nodded, as if he could see the missing pieces.Callum picked up his phone.“Give me the best number to reach you at.”
She did.He dialed.“Where’s your phone?”
“The kitchen.”It was a bare-bones burner, not exactly something she’d keep by her nightstand to scroll social media.
“Is your ringer on?”
“Yeah.”
His phone rang through.Her phone wasn’t registering a call.
A generic prerecorded voicemail message answered on Callum’s phone.A beep signaled that he should record his message.“Hey, Grace.Checking in.If you get this, call me.”
Callum ended his call and strode to the kitchen to grab her phone.After a quick glance, he handed it to her.
“No missed calls.No messages,” she said.
He rubbed his jaw.
“What’s going on?”
