Page 56 of Shadow Dance

It took last night to make me see that Callum is capable of anything.

“She’s just a girl I’ve met a couple times,” Jaime begins, gripping the steering wheel tighter before loosening up. I’ve spent enough time with him in the car to know that’s where he carries his stress: in his hands. His facial expression might be neutral, his tone measured, but his hands always tell me when he cares more than he lets on. “I wouldn’t say I really know her.”

“What’s her name?”

“Raya.”

“Pretty.”

“It didn’t mean anything, okay?” he says, blowing out a harsh breath. “We didn’t fuck.”

But I can hear what he’s not saying. “But you wanted to.”

His jaw is set in a tense line and for a moment, I catch a glimpse of vulnerability in those big, brown eyes. “She sucked my dick, and I let her because I like the way she does it. I can’t have you, so what does it matter?”

My stomach curdles. I turn toward the window, resting my forehead against the cool glass. “You really have a way with words, Jaime. You know how to hit where it hurts.”

“I don’t know what you want from me, Maeve,” he says gruffly. “We’re not together.”

“Oh, trust me, I know.” I give a serrated laugh, feeling like I’m on the brink of hysteria. “I’m with Callum and no one knows that better than me.”

Chapter 15

Jaime

Ican hear it in her voice—she’s trying not to cry. Guilt tears through me like a gust of wind, leaving my emotions scattered and messy. This is exactly why we should have just left each other alone. What the hell am I supposed to do now?

“You said yourself that he’d kill us,” I remind her. And he would, too. As bad as Cal can be around Maeve, she’s never seen him at his worst.

“I know,” she whispers, nodding. “You’re right.”

We drive in silence for a while, each lost in our own thoughts. Yeah, I felt conflicted when I brought Raya to my place last night. But technically I’m unattached, and the one girl I want is with someone else. Maeve may not be happy in her relationship, and she’ll probably leave soon, but she’s not available and I hate the way that makes me feel. Maybe last night was about more than just physical release. Maybe it was me punishing Maeve for not being mine.

Downtown Berkeley whizzes by the Audi’s tinted windows. I pull up to the cafe that sells that shitty excuse for Cuban coffee and watch Maeve walk inside. She seems off today, emotionally shaky the way she used to be when we first met.

Keeping one eye on Maeve, I open the GPS app I use to monitor Caland the guys. I have federal clearance for it, just like the trackers I’ve hidden beneath their vehicles, and the Stingray I use to extract texts, photos, and other shit from their phones. Normally I use the data for investigative purposes, forwarding the good stuff to Lewis and the team, but today I’m consulting this app for personal reasons.

I don’t trust Cal and I need to know where he is at all times. Sometimes he stays out of town longer than he says he will, but other times he comes home unexpectedly early. He might come off as hardheaded and foolish at times, but he’s also cunning and sly. I have to always assume that he might be suspicious of me. After all, I live on his property and spend a lot of time with his girl. I’m the only member of his inner circle he didn’t grow up with.

If I were him, I’d be watching me at least sometimes.

So I stay a step ahead, making sure he only sees what I want him to. I regularly screen his property for surveillance devices to ensure there aren’t any besides the ones I installed. I can access the video feeds and alter them if necessary, looping or deleting small segments to mask my movements. Or Maeve’s, like the night she went from the pool to my guest house.

And now, I’m making sure that he is, in fact, still in Las Vegas. The last thing I need is Cal catching Maeve and me chilling or fucking around when our relationship is supposed to be purely professional.

She hands me a cup when she gets back into the car. “I want to go to the movies.”

I set it into the cupholder. “Right now?”

“There’s a noon showing ofThe Godfatherat the Rialto.” She scans her phone as she sips gingerly at her coffee. “Let’s see that.”

“The Godfather?” I don’t know Berkeley like she does, so I put the theater’s address into my navigation before pulling onto the street. “Is that supposed to be ironic?”

“Maybe.” She gives me a tiny smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “I just want to disappear for a while.”

Besides an elderly couple near the front, the theater is empty. I take the back row, where I can keep an eye on anyone coming or going, and Maeve follows, sitting beside me. We watch the opening scenes in uncomfortable silence, awkwardly aware of one another. I feel it, and by the stiff way she holds herself, she feels it too.

Then hersmall, cold hand closes over mine. “I just wanted to be alone with you,” she whispers.

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