“I’ve got a few more possibilities.” Sean tried to shrug casually. “You get any sleep? It’s going to be another long day.”
“I crashed for three hours. After that . . . off and on.” He took a swig of coffee, wincing as the steaming brew hit his tongue. “I kept having dreams about Callie needing help, being alone, crying. I couldn’t take it. I know she’s a very capable woman, but . . .”
Sean shot him a rueful smile. “I’m in the same camp, man. I woke up wondering if I’m crazy. How well do I know this girl? I know the person she showed me. I loved that woman. But is she the real Callie?”
Thorpe paused for so long, Sean wasn’t sure he intended to answer. “I want like hell to lie to you and tell you that everything you saw was BS. But that’s not what’s best for her.” He sighed. “Yeah, you saw the real Callie, especially that last night on the dungeon floor. She lowered her walls for you. With anyone else, she’d gnaw her own arm off before trembling or showing vulnerability. She’d avoid that kind of eye contact, and run screaming from that much . . . intimacy. She cared what you thought, how you felt. Her taking off probably doesn’t say that to you, but I know Callie better than anyone else. Believe me, you saw her.”
Suddenly, Sean understood one of the many things that ripped at Thorpe’s guts. “You’re not used to sharing that soft, secret side of her. You wanted it for yourself.”
The big man across the table paused, froze, then crushed the empty plastic creamer container in his fist. “If I couldn’t have any other part of her, I was willing to accept that. Seeing her wanting to please someone else felt like a never-ending kick in the balls. But you’re better for her, so . . .”
Yeah, he should probably let that go. It was in his best interest to let Thorpe think he’d ruin Callie or whatever bullshit trolled through his head. But the man had been brutally honest with him today, and they’d been through too much in the last thirty-six hours for that crap. They weren’t friends, but they shared a new respect forged in fire. Both of them knew bone deep that the other would do anything—everything—to keep Callie safe.
Sean swallowed. “You’re not bad for Callie. She looks to you for so much—comfort, security.” He had to force out the next truth. “Even love. She wants you in her life. I’m probably the interloper here.”
With a tight squeeze of his eyes, Thorpe blocked him out, looking as if he worked hard to hold himself together. “I love her more than I believed myself capable of loving any woman. You have no idea how difficult it is for me to say that, but I feel compelled to confess since you called me a coward and rubbed my nose in my feelings like dog shit. I’m painfully aware that Callie needs the tenderness you’ve given her. I’m not capable of it.” He rubbed at his forehead. “Ask my ex-wife, for starters.”
“Tenderness isn’t all she needs.” Sean prayed he had everything inside him she required to be whole. Nights at Dominion when he’d wondered exactly how to give her boundaries that would both bind her to him and let her fly free . . . That’s when he’d felt unsure. That’s when he’d wondered if Thorpe was the better man for her.
“Oh, she needs a lot more.” Thorpe snorted. “Starting with a thorough paddling.”
“Damn straight.” He picked up his coffee cup, and clinked it against Thorpe’s, who still clutched his in hand.
They each took a sip and resorted to silence, as if this much getting along was unnerving.
Their food arrived, and Sean wasn’t terribly hungry. By the way Thorpe pushed his eggs around his plate, it looked like the other man couldn’t find his appetite, either. Still, they forced the meal down, knowing they’d need the energy. Nothing was said about how long they would stay here and what they would do if Callie was still missing in a week, in a month . . . or longer. Sean wasn’t about to give up, and he’d bet his badge that Thorpe wasn’t either.
“I’m trying to decide if it’s good or bad that we haven’t run into anyone in a uniform looking for Callie,” Thorpe said suddenly.
“I’ve had the same question, but I have to think it’s good.”
“I know she managed to leave the airport without a hitch, but how do we know someone hasn’t already found Callie and . . .”
Captured her? Killed her? Sean swallowed. Fuck, Thorpe was all but reading his mind. But he didn’t want to voice any of those fears. “We just need to keep looking. Stay strong and be persistent. We have one thing going for us that no one else does.”
Thorpe lifted miserable gray eyes to him, looking like the gloomiest day. “What? Give me anything to feel good about.”
Sean was no cheerleader, but in this case, he refused to believe anything except they’d gotten a jump on the ass**le hunting her down for one reason alone. “Callie isn’t just a case to either of us. She means something. Hell, everything. We know her desires, her habits, her secret yearnings. She can’t bury all those parts of herself forever. When she needs . . .” Sean nodded, willing Thorpe not to lose faith. “When she comes up looking for a sense of home or connection or affection—whatever—we’ll be waiting.”
But twelve hours later, he was losing hope. They’d hit even the worst of the worst places downtown. Terrible, seedy, dirty, filled with the dregs of humanity. He couldn’t picture Callie here. She’d shine too bright, be too beautiful. No way she could hide here for long.
As they continued pounding the pavement, they stumbled across a motel with a blinking turquoise neon sign that proclaimed it Summer Wind. Given the fact that this was Vegas, it had to be a nod to one of Sinatra’s classic tunes, but its faded façade made Thorpe stop in his tracks.
“Callie’s favorite season,” Thorpe murmured.
“‘Summer’ was her safe word, too.” Sean swallowed, hope brimming.
Thorpe zipped a sharp stare in his direction. The knowledge looked like it hit the big Dom right in the gut. “It fits. We have to look here.”
It was a crapshoot, but Sean totally agreed.
The place looked beyond run-down. It had to be cheap. But it seemed like the first place in over twenty-four hours that made sense for Callie to have come.
He and Thorpe pushed their way inside. Wow, it was easily one of the crappiest motels he’d ever seen. The windows hadn’t been washed in the last two decades. In the lobby, the carpet beneath his feet was sticky. The air reeked of cigarettes, vomit, urine, and cheap disinfectant. Rent by the week or the hour—apparently the management wasn’t picky about how long anyone stayed as long as they paid.
Inside stood a woman who was probably in her late thirties but had lived so damn hard she’d easily be mistaken for fifty. She lounged against a scarred white Formica countertop permanently stained yellow, wearing a thrift store castoff of a tank top that showed cle**age wrinkled from too much sun. The woman’s lined lips wrapped around a slim smoke and she sucked in hard before blowing the smoke his way with a bored stare.
“You two looking for a room?” Her voice rattled from her lungs. “If you need more than an hour for your ‘business,’ you might have to come back. We’re pretty full up.”