Axel leaned out the door, then came back dangling Callie’s collar on one finger. “I don’t think she’s your sub anymore. She took this off before she shimmied out the window.”
The sight of Callie’s collar glinting in Axel’s hand staggered him like he’d fallen under the weight of a giant redwood. He stumbled back. Son of a bitch, he should have listened to his instinct and pushed Callie for answers. He’d known something was troubling her.
Sean grabbed the collar from Axel and clutched it in his hand, then glared Thorpe’s way. “What did you do to her?”
“Nothing I hate worse than a fake accent,” the club owner muttered to the security beefcake. “I admit it had me fooled for a long time, but now it just makes me grit my teeth.” Finally, the man regarded him again. “What the fuck kind of question is that?”
“The kind where you explain to me what you did to distress my wee lovely. She’s been upset since last night, when you saw us together in the dungeon. She seemed more than a mite on edge tonight.”
“Are you suggesting that I’m the one who ran her off?”
“That I am. I’ve no idea what she likes about you, but she does by her own admission. You pushing your attentions on her last night confused the poor girl.”
“You blurting that you love her didn’t? Are you going to tell me her tears then were fake?”
Axel stepped between them. “Guys, this isn’t helping us find Callie.”
True, and he had to keep it together. He’d invested nearly a year’s worth of work on her . . . and without meaning to, his heart.
“I’m going to check in with the rest of the staff, question some of the members who were in the parking lot earlier, and make a few phone calls. Be-fucking-have, you two,” Axel demanded, then strode out the door, shaking his head.
As the other man disappeared, Sean got back to the matter at hand. “Callie didn’t say a word to me about leaving. We drank some wine, talked a bit, then made our way to the bed. That’s the last thing I recall.”
“No idea if she figured out you’re a fed?”
Sean’s blood ran cold. “A fed? You’re arse end up. I’m telling you—”
“A birdie told me there are lots of files from the FBI about me and everyone else who frequents this club in your apartment. And of course every known fact about ‘wee’ Callie.”
Shit, Thorpe knew exactly who he was. And who she was, too. The good news was Thorpe was protective of the girl. The bad news was that might change now that he realized he’d been having feelings for and harboring a fugitive all this time.
If Thorpe hurt her, Sean vowed to kill him.
Hurdling the rim of the tub, he jumped in Thorpe’s face and, despite his nudity, shoved the annoying asshole against the wall. “I should have you fucking arrested.”
No sense in faking the accent now. Thorpe had crossed the line, invading a federal agent’s turf. But Sean knew he should kick his own ass, too. He should carry information in a more discreet way. He should use some high-tech way to lock it up. But he’d been raised by his grandparents. High tech wasn’t his thing. Certain in the belief that no one at Dominion had seen through his cover, he’d allowed himself to slack. And now he was going to pay.
“Thank you,” Thorpe spit. “That accent was driving me mad.”
“It was my grandfather’s, and it’s spot on. I’ve tested it in Scotland, in his hometown. Fuck off.” He stomped on the wet tile, sloshing around, before he grabbed Callie’s towel off the rack. It was still damp. And damn if it didn’t smell like her. Sean nearly went weak in the knees. He had to believe that he’d smell her skin again soon. She couldn’t be gone forever in an instant.
“Will the real Sean step forward?” Thorpe drawled “Or is that even your name?”
“I don’t have to answer that.” Sean wrapped the towel around his waist, still clutching the delicate weight of her collar.
“I think you do, unless you have no interest in finding Callie.” Thorpe crossed his arms, and the seams of his coat struggled to contain the bulk of his shoulders. “Because I’m not going to tell you what I know until you do.”
He’d learned quickly from observation around the club that Mitchell Thorpe hid behind a veneer of civility, but under it all, he could be unflinchingly ruthless when something or someone he valued was threatened.
“Special Agent Sean Mackenzie. I have every interest in finding Callie. She’s not just the subject of an investigation to me.” He cleared his throat. “I love her.”
“Not sure I believe you.” Thorpe paused. “And I’ve got about a million questions, but not until we have some idea where Callie has gone.”
“Fair enough.”
“Did she give you any indication where she might be headed?”
“Like I said, she didn’t indicate that she was going at all. I suspected, but . . . Can we head back to the bedroom so I can have my clothes? Unless you like me naked or something?”
“Fuck no.” Thorpe moved out of the doorway.
Sean ambled into Callie’s room, looking at the window with a frown. “She crawled out that window with the bars?”
Thorpe nodded, seeming both vexed and oddly proud of Callie. “I took a flashlight and examined the area where she’d loosened the bars in one corner. It appears that she did it some time ago to make sure she had an escape route.”
“So she’s always had a plan, I suppose.”
“I think she always does. How else could she manage to elude you guys for so long?”
Sean nodded and located his clothes in the mess Thorpe had made searching the room. Setting Callie’s collar on her nightstand, he swore he’d have it around her neck again, someday, somehow—for real. Then he slipped on his pants. “I’ve studied her patterns. From what I can tell, she came most recently from Oklahoma City. I don’t see her going back there. I’m sure you’ve looked at the security footage. Did she leave in her car?”
Thorpe hesitated. “She did, but I don’t expect her to keep it long.”
“Agreed. It’s a liability. She wouldn’t want to run the risk of us putting an APB out on her or being arrested by the first overzealous cop who runs her license plate.”
“No.” The club owner didn’t add a single other word to the conversation. Obviously, he wasn’t going to lift a finger to help.
“I wished I’d listened to my gut and put a GPS tracker on her car.”
“You don’t have any other way to track her?” When Sean shook his head, Thorpe sighed in frustration. “Are you fucking kidding me? You knew she was a flight risk.”
“I had devices in both her collar and her purse. She conveniently removed the first and left the second behind. If I was going to play the pointless blame game, I’d ask why you didn’t check the bars on her windows to make sure they were secure. After all, you knew she was a flight risk, too.”
“Fuck off.”
“We don’t have Axel to referee for us now. Are we going to narrow down where we might find Callie or just fight?”
Thorpe clenched his fists, looking ready to spit nails. “We’re going to find her.”
“Good. I’ve got some theories. She wouldn’t head anywhere north or northeast with winter coming,” Sean mused aloud.
“What makes you think that?”
“Don’t treat me like I’m stupid.” He bristled. “Callie dislikes the cold. And over the last nine years, we’ve tracked her through eight states. We’ve often missed her by days, sometimes even hours.” Sean couldn’t help but admire her guts as he slipped on his shirt. “But she always chases the warmth. You know, we’ve been aware for some time that she was in Texas. We even suspected Dallas, but couldn’t pin her down.”
Thorpe swallowed thickly. “How did you find her?”