“Of course,” Sean soothed, but he didn’t try to touch her. He only made himself available in case she wanted the support. Bless him.

But she wasn’t ready.

“Is there any chance that Holden and your father argued about Charlotte’s pregnancy?” Thorpe asked. “That Holden shot him, then maybe he and your sister wrestled over the gun?”

“No. There were no voices in the house, just gunshots. My father was a quiet man, and he might not have raised his voice with Holden if he’d known about Charlotte’s pregnancy, but Holden would have yelled. He was rebellious and wanted to be heard. And heaven knows that Charlotte would have put in more than her two cents. Neither one of them could shut up. Besides, he wouldn’t have been smart enough to wipe the gun clean and plant it in my room to frame me.”

“The crime scene reports make the whole event sound methodical. Professional,” Sean said in agreement. “Whoever did this knew exactly what they were about.”

“They came to kill. There were no struggles or scenes. As far as I know, they didn’t try to extort money from my dad or rob the place. He had millions worth of art in the house and an underground safe with a lot of cash in his office.”

“Whoever killed him blasted their way into the safe,” Sean confirmed. “But the cash was still there, as well as the art.”

“Whoever did this wanted something specific.” Thorpe crossed his arms over his chest, visibly restraining the urge to hit something since he couldn’t find the someone who deserved it.

“I can’t imagine what.” Callie shrugged.

“And no one else had an ax to grind with your father?”

She’d really tried to figure it out, and of course she didn’t know everything about her father, but . . . “The only possibility I can think of is a woman. After my mother’s death, Dad didn’t date or really get involved. He kept a mistress in a loft by his office downtown. About twice a week, he’d disappear for a few hours. He’d get cranky when he moved one out and had to find another. That happened about every six months, as soon as one got comfortable enough to want more out of the relationship than baubles and sex. I overheard him once on the phone. He told whoever she was that she wasn’t his first mistress and wouldn’t be the last. The woman moved out the next day. But that was at least three or four months before his murder. He had a new mistress by then, I’m sure.”

“This wasn’t a crime of passion,” Sean pointed out. “It was a surgical strike.”

“Any greedy family members you’re aware of?” Thorpe asked.

“Dad was an only child. Mom was an orphan. So no. I’m not supposed to know that I have an illegitimate older half brother. He’s definitely bitter, but last I heard, he had two kids and sold cars for a living. Why would he wait into his twenties, then decide to come after his father? If he’s pissed about missing out on the money, why resort to murder rather than blackmail? He wasn’t mentioned in my dad’s will.”

Pacing, Thorpe speared Sean with a glance. “And the bureau has no other suspects?”

“We’ve combed phone records and financial transactions. Nothing suspicious. Your father didn’t keep tight security, much less video surveillance, so that’s a dead end. The staff we interviewed were either gone or asleep when it happened. Their hands were all tested for gunpowder residue and came up clean. They were openly weeping when they realized your father was dead. It’s not impossible one of them was guilty, but again, wouldn’t they have stolen something if they’d gone to the trouble of killing him?”

“They loved him.” Callie shook her head. “They had been with him for decades, in most cases. He didn’t part with our nanny until Charlotte turned thirteen. Most of our classmates didn’t have a nanny much past ten. And the only reason Dad let Frances go was because she had to take care of her elderly mother. One thing about my father, when he loved someone, he was as loyal as the day was long.”

Sean scrubbed a hand down his face and joined Thorpe, pacing in the small galley. They bumped shoulders and grunted a nonverbal apology at one another. “We’ve got to be missing something. Let’s try looking at this from a different angle. Tell us what made you bypass Logan’s contact at the Vegas airport.”

“That was really weird. I had my disguise, just in case. I know security in airports can be ridiculously high-tech, so I was all ready. I changed on the plane. Since I was last off, no one noticed. I stopped in the bathroom to check myself and found a red pull-along someone had shoved in the trash can because one of the wheels was stuck. But it disguised my duffel, so I swiped it. I was ready to meet Elijah. Logan had shown me a picture of him before putting me on the plane. I had his number, too.” She shrugged, remembering that day. “When I hit baggage claim, the first thing I noticed was some big guy in a uniform. I drifted toward the smoking area and watched him through a window. Imagine my shock when I realized that he was flashing a picture of me—taken in the New Orleans airport just a few hours earlier.”

“And you panicked,” Thorpe guessed.

“Hell yeah! Instead of waiting around, I left. I was worried this guy would figure out the connection between me, Logan, and Elijah, and hunt us down. I didn’t want to make the guy’s life harder since I knew he had a wife and kids.”

“So you went into the city with the idea of getting a job as a stripper?” Thorpe raised a brow at her.

Boy, for a man who’d seen a lot of nudity at Dominion, he was acting like it was a big freaking deal that she’d taken half her clothes off for a few dollars.

“Mitchell Thorpe . . .” She put her fists on her hips.

He grabbed her arm. “Watch your tone, pet. I have no problem putting you over my knee again. If your ass isn’t sore enough yet for you to mind your manners, I can fix that.”

A fact she was beginning to know well. “I’m just saying that I’ve worn bikinis with less material to Dominion pool parties, and you didn’t have a spaz then.”

“No, I just watched you like a hungry dog all afternoon, then went back to my room and jacked off. But I digress.”

Seriously? Callie blinked at him. She hadn’t guessed that he had more than a fleeting thought about her sexually in the last two years.

“The amount of clothing isn’t the issue,” he continued. “It’s the intent. You meant to arouse other men with what I considered mine. I know Sean felt the same.”

“Exactly, lovely. You could wear a skimpy bathing suit at such a party, and if you meant it for us, I would probably smile. And get into a fight with any asshole who thinks he’s going to lure you away. But a striptease for money for all those strangers . . .” Sean gnashed his teeth.

Had they gone to the same caveman school? Apparently so. They’d both graduated with honors, too. “Look, I didn’t have a lot of money, so I had to get to the city and find work fast. I had to secure a place to live, buy food, and make enough money for a bus ticket out of town. It wasn’t like I hopped on that stage as a big ‘fuck off’ to either of you.”

They exchanged a glance. It was clear that neither of them liked the direction of this conversation. Thorpe bristled, crossing his arms over his chest to glare down at her with a gaze that promised hell later.

Callie melted back in one of the galley’s chairs, biting her lip. She’d pushed the Dom in him too far. Best if she shut up and picked her battles. If she was smart, she’d change the subject now and distract him. “Don’t you want to talk about the man in uniform at the airport?”

Sean rolled his shoulders, as if trying to shrug off tension. “He didn’t look familiar?”

“No.” She shook her head, grateful to him for the return to business. “Just the uniform. It looked military . . . but it didn’t exactly seem standard issue.” She tried to picture what was different in her head, but drew a blank. “Something was off. The color, maybe?”

“Were they BDUs?” Sean asked.

Callie frowned. “What?”

“Camo,” Thorpe supplied.

“No. They were a pale blue.”

Sean scowled. “Like the Coast Guard? Pale blue shirts with navy pants?”

“No. Both the coat and pants were the same color. More of a pale grayish blue. And they were dressier, for sure. Almost formal. The coat had patches and medals and stuff.”

“You mean insignia?” He looked amused.

“Yes. Lots of chevron stripes and braided rope and crap.”

“Did you recognize any of it?”

Callie held up her hands. “When would I have had time to study military uniforms?”

“Point taken.” Sean scowled. “Did he wear a hat?”

“Yeah. One of those beret things. It looks funny on a guy built like the side of a mountain. He thought he was a real badass, too. I could tell.”

“Did you overhear him give his name or rank or branch of service?”

“No, he didn’t say any of that. He told people that he was meeting his girlfriend, but that she hadn’t come off the flight. A few people remembered seeing me get on, so he knew I’d been on the plane. He had old ladies searching the bathroom. When some dude headed for the smoking lounge, I slipped out with my bag and caught a cab. You know the rest.”

“And you’ve never seen that uniform before?” Thorpe asked.

Callie paused, scanning her memory. “No, I think I have. But it seems like it’s been forever ago. I just can’t place it.”

Now that she remembered it, she flipped back through memories, years, locations. Not since she’d arrived at Dominion. Not while she’d been running before then. At home. With her father.

“Wait! A man came.” Her heart pounded. “To our house. Not long before the murders.” The memory sharpened, coming into clear focus. “An older man—not like the young guy from the airport. But I think they wore the same uniform. My father took him into his office. They argued. I remember it because Dad almost never raised his voice. He did that day. When I asked him about it later, he just said the man was pressing for a political donation and didn’t want to take no for an answer. I let it go.”

Sean frowned. “Did you ever see the older man in the uniform again?”

“No. My father was largely a recluse. He met with very few people, especially at the house. When I was a kid, the only person who came over with any regularity was some sort of medical researcher, Doctor . . . Aslanov, I think.” Callie frowned. “But he stopped coming around when I was ten or so.”

Sean searched around for a piece of paper and jotted some notes. “Yes, I know who he is. Doctor Aslanov researched cancer. I know your father funded quite a bit of his work for about five years.”

“Yeah. Like he thought it would bring my mother back.”

Thorpe came closer then and wrapped his arms around her. “I’m sorry, pet.”

About her mother? Yes, she was, too. He seemed very sorry about Holden and Charlotte, as well. They both did. She drew in their sweet empathy.

Callie softened in his arms, and Sean joined them. They cocooned her in warmth and acceptance. Love. She kissed them each briefly, then backed away. They still had work to do.

“I think it’s fair to say that the man who came to your house in uniform didn’t drop in on your dad for a political donation,” Sean said. “Any guesses about why he was really there?”

“None. I didn’t get involved in Dad’s stuff. I was a typical teenager, too wrapped up in my own.”

“So . . . if we don’t know who visited your house in uniform and we don’t know what he wanted, let’s talk about what the police found at the crime scene after the murders.”

“You said my home was ransacked?” Callie frowned and wrapped her arms around herself. “I remember that big, gorgeous house like it was yesterday. Double grand staircases with white marble, wrought iron railings, and so much natural light. The house always seemed so . . . pristine. It was a reflection of my mother, and Dad never changed it. I can’t imagine it torn apart.”

“I saw the pictures,” Sean said softly. “They didn’t have a lot of time in the house before the police arrived, but they searched in every nook and cranny, every drawer, closet, and niche.”

That shocked Callie. “They had to have worked fast in over sixteen thousand square feet.”

“Sounds like they knew the layout of the house,” Thorpe surmised.

She shrugged. “It was public record. Architectural Digest had done a spread on the house about a year prior. It showed the floor plan.”

Sean sighed. “I’m looking for logic. Why would anyone come in, kill the occupants of the house, then tear it apart to take one item?”