Dangerous Pursuit (OSI Dark Ops #3)

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

“Hang on, Dad.” Calliope hurried around to the passenger door. She’d been worried about him being able to climb up into her rig, so she decided to pick him up in his truck. “Let me help you.”

Her granddad was over at a neighbor’s place helping them rebuild their chicken coop after last night’s big storm blew through the area and tore it apart. He’d called as they were driving home to let her know he was done for the day and would meet them back at the house.

“I’m fine,” her dad groused as he unfastened his seat belt. He swung his legs out of the truck and stood. “You don’t need to baby me.”

“The doctor said you have to take it easy.” She walked next to him as he made his way toward the steps.

He grabbed the handrail and walked right up to the front porch without much trouble at all.

Maybe she was babying him.

She wasn’t used to seeing him at anything less than one hundred percent. He was always so strong, seemingly invincible, and had been the one who took care of her . This whole thing was a harsh reminder that he was getting older, as was her granddad.

“I think I’ll just sit out here on the porch for a bit and get some fresh air.” He turned to her with one bushy brow lifted. “Assuming that’s okay with you, of course.”

She thought about what the doctor said, that her dad would be back to his old self in a week or two, and shooed away her maudlin worries for now.

“Okay, okay, fine. I’ll stop fussing over you.” A little. “Can I at least bring you something to drink? Lemonade, iced tea?”

“I’d love a big glass of that sweet tea, if there’s any left.” He moved over to his rocker, gripped each arm so tightly she could see his white knuckles, and started to lower himself into the chair.

Her dad was a proud man, and she had to fight against the urge to run over and help him.

His face contorted, and he stifled a groan, but he managed.

“And maybe a piece of that pie you made for us?” His head rested back against the chair, and his eyes lowered shut.

“I think I can make that happen.” She gave him a long look.

Perhaps she should let him nap first.

“I’m just resting my eyes, kiddo,” he grumbled .

“Right, okay.” She swung out the screen door, unlocked the main door, pushed it all the way open and put a wedge beneath it to keep it that way.

She went back to her bedroom, removed her weapon from the holster, and put it in the back of the drawer next to her bed. They had other weapons—pistols, rifles, even a compound bow with a quiver full of arrows—strategically placed throughout the house and outbuildings. Since it was only the three of them there, they rarely locked them up.

You don’t live in the middle of a swamp without learning how to defend your home from all kinds of intruders—two-legged and four-legged. Knock on wood, over the years they’d only ever had to deal with the four-legged variety in the form of two deer, one juvenile gator, three raccoons, and a bunch of sneaky ninja rabbits with a keen interest in their garden.

Calliope swung open the fridge, grabbed the big pitcher of tea and a can of soda and set them on the counter. She shut the door with her hip and pulled her dad’s favorite insulated cup from the cabinet—the one with OSI engraved on the side—added some ice, and filled it with tea. She grabbed a knife and fork from the dish strainer and walked over to the table where the apple pie was stored in a container. Doc said her dad could eat whatever he wanted, so she cut him a nice big piece. He’d more than earned it.

She stood on her tiptoes to grab the wooden tray from the top of the fridge and loaded everything on it. As she walked out of the kitchen, she heard her granddad’s voice outside.

“How’s our girl doing today?” he asked.

Calliope stopped in her tracks at his question.

“She’s doing fine,” her dad said. “Apparently, she’s chosen to simply not talk about him.”

“Well, that’s just plain ol’ silly.” Granddad’s response made it clear her dad had shared what she’d told him about Lucas.

Just great. That’s just what she needed—for them to be worrying about her love life or lack thereof.

“I agree.” Her dad elevated his voice loud enough for her to hear. “And she’s treating me like I’m some kind of invalid.”

Great, he’d caught her eavesdropping.

She pressed her butt against the screen door to open it and stepped onto the porch.

“Here, let me take that from ya.” Her granddad took the tray from her and set it on the table next to her dad. He popped the top on the can of soda and handed it to her, then he eyeballed the wedge of pie. “Please tell me that isn’t the last piece.”

She was relieved when he didn’t press her to talk about Lucas. They both knew the harder they pushed, the harder she pushed back. Not always but often enough. She recognized it was a less than stellar personality trait and was working on it.

“Nope, there’s one piece left.” She sat on the porch rail facing her dad and crossed her arms.

“If ya want, Callie Girl, I’ll split it with you,” he said. “On one condition.”

“And what would that be?” She already had an idea of what he would ask for in trade.

“I’d like you to talk to us about yer fella.” He gave her a questioning look and waited.

“He’s not my fella,” she mumbled.

“You know you want some of that pie, so you might as well agree to his terms.” Her dad forked up a piece of apple pie and slid it into his mouth.

“Fine.” She stifled a growl. “I accept your terms, sir.”

Maybe the more she talked about what happened—or didn’t happen—between her and Lucas, the less it would hurt.

Granddad walked over, bent forward, propped his hands on his knees, and looked her in the eyes.

“The pie is great, but you’re the apple of my eye.” He kissed her on the forehead and straightened to his full height.

“Oh, my gawd, Granddad. That was so corny.” She rolled her eyes and stood. “Why don’t you sit down, and I’ll get your pie for you. I’ll fill your tumbler with ice, too, so you can have some iced tea. ”

“That’d be great.” He dragged his sleeve across his brow. “That old chicken coop was completely torn apart. We had to practically put up a whole new one.”

“You weren’t doing that all by yourself, were you?” Even though he was acclimated to the heat, the temp today was in the mid-nineties, and the especially high humidity made it worse.

“Nah, her two boys were there to help.” Those boys were in their thirties. “Ever since her husband died last year, they’ve been comin’ ’round to see her pretty regular, makin’ sure she has what she needs and all.”

Poor Mrs. McCreary. Her husband had suffered with Parkinson’s for a long time before the disease finally took him from her.

“I’ll be right back.” Calliope hurried inside, grabbed Granddad’s OSI tumbler from the drying tray, loaded it with ice, and plated the last piece of pie. She headed back outside, opened the pitcher to pour him some tea, then handed his tumbler to him. “Here ya go. And you can finish that pie.”

“You lettin’ me have that whole thing so you can get out of our deal?” His throat slid up and down as he guzzled his drink. “Ahh, that hits the spot.”

“No. I’ll just make another pie later.” Calliope’s senses sharpened at the far-off cacophony of a bunch of birds screeching and bursting into flight, followed by the sound of a vehicle making its way down the gravel and dirt road on their property.

“You expecting company?” She looked at her granddad, who shook his head. “Dad?” His tea was halfway to his mouth.

“Nope.” He took a long swallow, surprisingly unbothered by the idea of someone paying them a surprise visit.

Still on edge from the mission in Colombia, she dashed inside and grabbed her pistol, tucked it into the front of her waistband and pulled the bottom of her tank top over it. By the time she made it back to the porch, a shiny new truck with a rental company barcode sticker on the bottom left corner of the windshield was pulling up and parking next to her truck.

Her eyes narrowed, but the windows were tinted, and she couldn’t see who was driving.

She moved to the top of the steps and propped her hands on her hips. If necessary, she could have her weapon raised and ready to fire in a matter of seconds.

The deep rumble from the engine cut off, and it became suddenly quiet. The sun bounced off the driver’s-side window when it started to swing open.

Calliope slid her hand beneath the bottom of her shirt and wrapped her fingers around the pistol grip.

“Don’t shoot him.” Granddad smirked and tucked a bite of pie into his mouth.

A chuckle came up from deep in her dad’s chest .

“What are you two—” Calliope was stunned into silence when one long leg, then the other appeared just before Lucas O’Halleran—his reflective aviators covering his eyes—revealed himself.

He swung the truck door shut, tilted his perfectly chiseled chin up to her, and unleashed one of his charming smiles. “Hey there, Sunshine.”