Bodyguard by Melanie Shawn

55

Savannah

Gage,Bear, and I stood around the kitchen island, staring at the encrypted satellite phone that Bear had set in the middle of it.

I could feel the tension in the room.

It was no surprise that I would feel tense. After all, Gage was about to make a call that would start us down the path to either saving my father and setting me free, or to all of us likely dying by the end of the day.

Not to mention, at that very moment we did have two kidnapped people secured in various places in the safe house.

So, yeah. All in all, a pretty stressful situation.

But Bear and Gage never hesitated. They were always confident, always decisive.

I didn't know if I felt comforted not to be alone in my tension, or freaked the fuck out that the two people who had led us this far—and with such impressive command presence—were now hesitating.

I mean, obviously, 'freaked the fuck out' was winning that race. No question.

Gage looked at me and we locked eyes.

That's when I saw it. The root of his hesitation. It wasn't about any trepidation he felt. He was waiting to see if I was ready.

I wasn't. Clearly. Who could be? But it wasn't like that was going to change in the next five minutes, or the next five hours. So there was nothing to do but just dive right in.

I put my hand over his and squeezed, then gave him a small smile and a little nod.

He searched my eyes deeply. "You're sure?"

I swallowed. I knew I wouldn't be able to speak over the gigantic lump in my throat—not to mention through the Sahara Desert of dryness that had suddenly overtaken my mouth—so I settled for repeating the nod.

Apparently that was good enough, though, because he picked up the phone and punched in the digits he'd memorized from the would-be cabin assassin's burner phone.

"Here goes," he murmured, putting the phone up to his ear.

"Who the fuck is this, and what makes you think you get to call this number and live, motherfucker?"

The phone wasn't on speaker but I could hear Barlowe's voice loud and clear on the other end. Apparently no one had ever told him about the 'speak softly' part of 'speak softly and carry a big stick.' He thought the phrase was 'shout loudly and be a huge prick.'

It had worked for him pretty well up until now. I could see from the look on Gage's face that it was about to get a whole lot less effective.

"Mac."

That was all Gage said. But it was enough. As opposed to the bluster that had come through from Barlowe's end before, now there was only strained silence.

Gage did the thing that was both hardest and most effective in situations like this. Nothing. Said nothing, explained nothing. Just waited.

Finally, Barlowe exploded. "Listen to me, you asshole. I don't know what you're thinking calling this number and saying that name—"

"I have him." Gage cut Barlowe off mid-rant. I admired the tactic. Saved time and established dominance, all in one fell swoop. Sort of a two birds, one stone move.

Gage rattled off some of the particulars about the kid. Things that wouldn't have been in the public record. Things that Mac had let slip when he was babbling incoherently while Gage and Bear were securing him the night before.

I felt another stab of guilt at what we were doing to Barlowe’s son, but again I pushed it down by remembering what Barlowe was doing to my father. This wasn't for revenge. This was to rescue my father. It was the only reason that I would have been a part of something like this—and it was a damn good one.

Silence again, then, "How do I even know he’s still alive?"

His tone could best be described as sullen, at this point. I took that as a good sign. Gage was wearing him down.

Gage’s jaw tensed. I felt a stab of fear in my gut. I recognized that as one of his tells, going all the way back to when we were teenagers.

He was losing patience.

I really didn't think that he would do anything rash, though. Not with the stakes as high as they were.

But I was still nervous.

When Gage spoke, his voice was low and tight. "I tell you what," he said flatly. "Ask me something that only you and he would know. I'll ask him and tell you the answer."

I had to give a small smile. It was a clever tactic, not to mention a way to tweak Barlowe. Gage must've known that there would be nothing like that. If the kid had no relationship at all with his father—which, by all outward indications, he didn't—then there wouldn't be any shared information there. There would be no way to form a question like that.

I wondered how Barlowe would respond, though. Would he explode? Was what Gage had just done been tantamount to poking the bear?

Shit. Was this something that would end up getting taken out on my father?

I wondered vaguely, in the back of my mind, if it wouldn't be better for me to just go back to the bedroom. To sit and wait for Gage to come in and tell me the result of the conversation, and not to have to suffer through my heart jumping into my throat at every tiny twist and turn.

But, realistically, I knew that there was no way that was going to happen. Even if I had wanted to—even if I had thought it was the best idea in the world—there was simply no way that I would be able to force my feet to move, to put one in front of the other and make them carry me back to the room.

I was here for this conversation, for better or worse.

I just hoped to God that it wasn't for worse.

"Fine, God damn it. What the fuck do you want?"

Apparently Barlowe had decided to cut to the chase. The only thing that I thought I would ever agree with him on.

"You snatched a cooker off the street about a week ago. I want him, and I want you to stop coming after him and his daughter. Forget they ever existed. If you do that, I'll forget your son ever existed. Simple as that."

I was going to throw up. This was the moment of truth.

Of course, Barlowe could always agree to the switch, even if my father were dead already, with the idea that he would be able to take control of the situation, get his son back, and kill all of us. And, hell—maybe he would be able to do that. How could I know?

But, if he spit out that my father was dead, then I would know it was really over. That the short window of hope I had enjoyed was just a delusion, and I would be plunged right back into the unbearable grief I had been trying unsuccessfully to push aside before I found out there was a chance he might still be alive.

The suspense was almost too much to take. My body literally could not hold still under the weight of the immense pressure. My hands were trembling, so were my knees. I wondered vaguely if I would pass out when I heard whatever words came out of Barlowe’s mouth next.

I hoped not. That would just be a distraction. But I wasn't entirely sure that I could stop it.

"Fine. Name your terms."

I was so lightheaded with relief at the response that it was hard to concentrate on the rest of the conversation. After that, it was really just terse negotiations over where the swap would take place, when, and who would be there.

Finally, Gage put the phone down and looked at me, then Bear, his face blank and steely. "It's on," he said. "We've got seven hours to prep. And you can bet your ass his side is doing the same."

Bear grinned. "Well, then. We'd better get to work."