How in the world did she manage to be so confident? Callie snapped the curtains shut. “Then let’s get started.”
They went through the room from top to bottom, looking for anything they could use as weapons or tools to scale the outside of the house. While she was certain she could survive a fall from the second story, she didn’t like their chances of doing it without some kind of injury that would prevent them from being able to run.
Because escape was the only option now.
James had made it perfectly clear that he wasn’t going to honor the promise to release Carrigan now that he had Brendan’s murderer. If he wouldn’t do that, there was no reason to believe the Hallorans would call off their dogs, either. And with each passing hour, her faith in her contingency plan diminished. The war would continue whether she died or not.
So she was going to do her damnedest not to die.
She opened the closet. “There’s other clothing in here if you want to change.” Considering Carrigan must have been wearing that dress for two days now, she was surprised when the woman shook her head.
“I’m good.”
“You’re going to scale the side of this house in that dress?”
Carrigan turned a sharp look at her. “I’d rather keep this dress on than change into something of his.”
That brought Callie up short. His? She must mean James, but there was a wealth of rage in her voice that seemed significantly more personal than this situation warranted. Not that she was an expert on such things but…She spoke without turning from the closet. “He didn’t…hurt you?”
“No.” She muttered something that sounded like I did that all on my own, but before Callie could question her, she said, “Fuck. Fine. Grab me those sweats.”
She obeyed because she was pretty sure if she said anything else, Carrigan would turn on her. She went to hand them over, but the woman indicated that she should drop them on the floor on the side of the bed furthest from the door. When Callie raised her eyebrows, she shrugged. “No guarantee that he’s not going to come check on us. If I’m wearing his clothes, that’s a sure sign that we’re up to no good.”
“Good thinking.” It was something she should have considered on her own. Callie rubbed a hand over her eyes. They still didn’t have a way out of the room. While tying bedsheets together worked well enough in the movies, James only had a fitted sheet on his bed. That wouldn’t get them anywhere near the ground on its own.
She moved to the window again, and muscled it open. The cooling air was heaven against her face, and she spared a brief moment to close her eyes and just breathe it in. They would figure this out. They had to. She leaned out the window a little, careful to keep an eye out for anyone below. As she’d suspected, it was a straight shot to the rocky ground. There was no way they could jump without turning an ankle—and that was the best-case scenario.
She leaned out a little further, angling to get a view of the windows on either side of them. Both had the same setup. Damn it. A little further. There. Three windows down on the right, the garage cut out from the house. It would still be a drop, but seven feet was better than twenty. Callie ducked back inside and carefully closed the window. “I have a plan.”
“I’m all ears.”
They both froze at the sound of a heavy tread coming down the hall. Carrigan kicked the sweats under the bed. “Hurry!”
She tossed Carrigan the cuffs and she threw herself onto the bed and slipped them loosely around her wrists in the approximate spot she’d been in before. For her part, Callie spun in place, trying to figure out if they’d moved anything or if there was any indication that they had no intention of sitting here and waiting to be murdered. Nothing. Or, at least, she didn’t think so. Damn it, she couldn’t be sure.
But it was too late to do anything more. The footsteps stopped outside the door.
She dropped onto the bed next to Carrigan, hoping she could shield any inconsistencies with her body. They both looked over as the door opened, and Callie’s stomach lurched into her throat. Brendan.
The man moved fully into the room, and the image shattered. Not Brendan. But they were close enough in looks that this had to be another brother. He eyed them, his gaze lingering too long on Carrigan’s bare legs for Callie’s peace of mind. She shifted, trying to draw his attention, even though his creepy blue eyes gave her chills. “What do you want?”
“So you’re the bitch who killed my brother.” He leaned against the wall, but she wasn’t fooled. His body was tensed, ready to spring into motion at a second’s notice. “You’re prettier than I expected.”