reluctant to talk about it time and time again, changing the subject every time he brought it up? Goddamn it. He’d thought that it was an ex-boyfriend or that she’d gotten into a rough situation. In what reality would he have connected the dots to guess that she was the one to put Brendan out of his misery?
Even now, with her confession ringing in his ears and her grainy image on a tape in front of him, he was still trying to wrap his mind around it. Every cell of his being rejected the idea that she could kill someone in cold blood. He dialed her again, already knowing that it’d go straight to voice mail. Her phone was off. She wasn’t going to give him a chance to talk her out of this.
“I never would have guessed.”
“You and me both.” He stared at the image, half-sure that it’d morph into one less familiar. “She had bruises on her throat the night we announced our engagement. He choked her.”
“I’ve heard that’s how Brendan got his kicks.”
Had he…Fuck, Teague couldn’t think the words. Callie hadn’t acted like a woman hurt in that way. Not that he was an expert. But even taking into account people dealing with that kind of assault in different ways, he didn’t think she’d have let him near her if she’d been hurt like that. He released a breath he hadn’t been aware he was holding. “What if it was self-defense?”
“Do you really think Victor Halloran cares? His son is dead, and it sounds like she’s responsible.”
Victor might not care but Teague cared. He looked at his brother. Aiden had aged years in the last few days. The hard exterior he presented the world was cracked and flawed, and the exhaustion was starting to leak through. If Teague had half a brain in his head, he’d go to the FBI and throw both himself and Callie on their mercy.
But they hadn’t done shit to help him before now, and he couldn’t trust her life in their hands.
He never thought he’d trust Aiden again—not after what he’d done to put them all in danger—but desperate times called for desperate measures, and twenty-seven years of looking up to his older brother weren’t something he could shake off in the space of two weeks. “I need your help.”
Aiden didn’t hesitate. “Anything.”
Chapter Nineteen
Callie walked into the pub even though all she wanted to do was throw herself into the SUV and drive to Teague’s house. She picked up her pace, ignoring the stares of the men scattered around the tables despite the early hour. The bartender was a big man who didn’t look particularly happy to see her. He coughed. “You’ve got the wrong place, ma’am.”
Ma’am. The irony of being addressed so politely when she was here to turn herself in wasn’t lost on her. She didn’t bother to attempt a smile. “I’m Callista Sheridan. I’m here to speak with James Halloran. Is there some way you could convey that to him?”
He stared at her so long, it was an effort not to shift. She could hear chairs being shoved back as the men rose behind her, sharks scenting blood in the water. The bartender finally propped his meaty forearms on the faded wood. “This isn’t the place for you.”
God, would people please stop trying to give her an out? She was teetering on the edge of fleeing as it was. She took a deep breath, smelling stale beer and other things that she didn’t want to name. “Be that as it may, I need to speak to him.”
The bartender nodded as if she’d said more than she had. He narrowed his eyes at something over her shoulder. “You boys don’t want to be crossing James, now do you?”
Someone cursed. Another said, “Fuck, Tommy, we was just lookin’.”
“Sit your asses down before you do something that we’ll both regret.” He waited a long moment and motioned to a booth situated in the back corner. “Take a seat. You might have a long wait.”
“Thank you.” She didn’t look back as she made her way over and slid into the booth. There was no telling how close those men had been, or what was truly on their minds. It seemed foolish to be grateful the bartender had warned them off when she was walking willingly into her probable death, but she was grateful all the same.