“Just constantly.” Thorpe smiled faintly. “I have an urgent phone call to make, so I appreciate your assistance.”
“Always happy to help.”
When Lance disappeared, and Axel headed back to the dungeon, Thorpe indulged in one thing he never did during the club’s business hours. But in this case, he figured he was entitled. He poured himself a stiff scotch, plopped into his chair, and downed it. Then he broke his own rules again and called a client to beg.
Logan Edgington answered his phone on the third ring, the noise from a television cluttering the background until he killed it. “Thorpe. ’Sup, man? It’s getting late.”
“I have a situation. I need some information. I’d like to speak with your wife, if that’s all right.”
The former SEAL hesitated for a moment. “Yeah. We were just watching a movie. Tara’s due in about two months and is having some problems with insomnia. If I don’t keep her occupied, she’ll be up ‘nesting’ half the night, which is code for moving furniture without consulting me or asking for help.”
“Hey,” he heard Tara protest in the background. “The twins are active at night. I can’t sleep when I’m being constantly kicked. I said I was sorry.”
“Yeah, after I added another infraction to your quickly growing list for after these babies are born. You’re racking them up, Cherry.” When his wife sighed noisily, Logan just laughed. “My brother’s wife, Kata, is five months behind her and still in the tired-all-the-time phase, so she conked out for the night. If you can occupy Tara’s brain right now, you’ll be my hero.”
“I’ve definitely got a winner,” Thorpe promised. “Are you sure she’s up to it?”
Logan scoffed. “Her ankles may be swollen, but there’s nothing wrong with her mind. Here you go.”
After a quick scuffle, Tara’s voice sounded over the line. “Hi, Thorpe.”
“Hello, sweet girl. I’m sorry it’s so late, but I need your help.”
“Anything. Name it.”
“Do you still have contacts at the FBI from your analyst days?”
“Absolutely.” She shuffled in bed again. “Can’t find a comfortable position. Sorry. One second . . . There. What do you need?”
“Background on someone new here at Dominion. He’s a potential problem.”
“So are you looking for his arrest record, criminal background . . . that kind of thing?”
“Precisely,” Thorpe confirmed. “Anything you can find out, really. I’ve thought for some weeks that there’s something about him that seems off. His story checks out on the surface, but it feels awfully pat. I suspect he’s not who he claims.” He hesitated. “He’s fixated on Callie.”
Tara grunted. “You’re calling me about her?”
“I know she isn’t your favorite person.”
“Um, not exactly. She wanted my husband.”
“No.” He didn’t want to divulge Callie’s secrets, but he needed to set Tara at ease so she’d provide answers. “Actually, I believe she was trying to get my attention with her brattiness and misbehavior.”
“Sounds like she got it.”
And then some. “She used Logan to reach me because she knew he wouldn’t be quiet about her antics. He was a big target.”
“He still is.” Tara sighed. “All right, who is this guy?”
“He uses the name Sean Kirkpatrick. I’ll send you a picture when we hang up. It’s not fabulous since it’s security footage. I don’t know much about him. Early thirties, says he’s from Scotland. Supposedly, he’s a freelance project manager who travels for a living.” But he sure as hell had a mean left hook for a desk jockey.
“Know where he went to school? When he came to the U.S.?”
“Sorry.”
“Send over the picture. I’ll see what I can do.”
“Thank you. Call me with anything, day or night. My time is short. I don’t trust this asshole.”
Tara hesitated. “Do you think he’d hurt her?”
His gut said no. For all of Kirkpatrick’s faults, he seemed as fiercely protective of Callie as Thorpe himself. But would Sean separate her from him and steal her away from Dominion? Absolutely.
“Let’s say I’m not taking any possibility off the table yet.”
“All right. Give me a few hours. I’ll see what I can dig up.”
“Thanks.” Thorpe smiled into the phone. Taking action felt good.
Facts would help him decide how to proceed with Kirkpatrick. Personally, Thorpe hoped the Scot had something dirty and blackmail-worthy in his past so he could hang it over Sean’s head to make him disappear from Callie’s life.
Then . . . he’d set about figuring what to do once he had her all to himself again.
SEAN paced the sterile corporate apartment he’d been forced to hang his hat in for the last eight months. The bland beige walls were closing in like a trash compactor about to squeeze the life out of him. He had unreturned messages and a boss who wanted to know what the fuck was going on.
Getting screwed by the competition. How’s that for a goddamn update?
Sighing, he stared at his phone, willing Callie to call him. He had a million questions for her, needed to hear what was in her head. Mostly, he wanted to know if she was all right. And what that son of a bitch, Mitchell Thorpe, had done to her.
After stalking to the little desk that sat beside his bed, he sorted through a pile of file folders and came to the one he sought. Pulling it open, he scanned the information he already knew backward and forward. His nemesis was thirty-nine. His wife had divorced him and was now remarried with two kids. He came from a thoroughly upper-middle-class background. Good schools in Connecticut. Yacht club parents. Yale University graduate, then a stint as a stockbroker in New York City in his early twenties. Owner of Dominion for the last dozen years, with an interest in BDSM for even longer. But Sean read nothing in the paperwork that would tell him how to get the upper hand again.
He’d miscalculated tonight, ranking his desire for Callie above everything else. He had a feeling that by fucking her, he’d roused the competitor in Thorpe. The man didn’t intend to lose.
“Too bad, asshole. That goes double for me,” he mumbled.
Tossing the folder back on the desk, he paced to the front door and back again. It only took eight steps.
Shoving his hand into his pocket, he yanked his phone out and dialed Callie. Immediately, her voicemail greeting chimed in his ear. Sean cursed. Either his lovely hadn’t remembered to charge her phone again . . . or she wasn’t speaking to him.
Whatever the reason, he couldn’t afford to let this silence between them fester or grow. But he also couldn’t go back to Dominion tonight. After the right cross to Axel’s eye, he figured that not only was he off the club’s membership roster for a while, but he’d better watch his back. Normally, Sean would break into the club. Though challenging, it wouldn’t be impossible. But if he got caught, Thorpe would throw him out for good and everything he’d worked eight months to build would swirl down the toilet. Things weren’t dire enough to risk that yet.
Still, he had to find some way to reassure himself that Callie was all right.
The one silver lining was that Thorpe had prevented her from fleeing Dominion—at least so far. She intended to. Of that, Sean had no doubt. He really hated to give Thorpe any credit, but he had to since the man had cuffed her to her own bed and taken her car keys. Sean knew he would probably have opted to reason with her and shower her with affection first.
He wondered now if that tactic would have backfired.
She requires a firm hand.
Thorpe’s assertion echoed through his head. Damn, but the sly bastard might be onto something.