Taunting Callum (Big Sky Royal 3)

When we pull into the lake house’s driveway, Alice is standing by the path leading down to security headquarters, smiling with excitement.

“Hello, darling,” she says to David when we step out of the car. “I was excited to see you and thought I’d meet you here.”

“Did you have a nice evening?” David asks his wife before kissing her on the forehead.

“I did. I baked some treats for tomorrow’s breakfast.”

“Alice, I have a favor to ask,” I say, an idea taking shape in my mind. “Would you mind building me a picnic tomorrow? Dinner for two? Well, three if you count this guy.” I point to David, who just smirks.

“Of course, I will. I’ll have something wonderful ready by midday if that suits?”

“That would be perfect, thank you. Have a good night, you two.”

I turn to walk away, but David stops me.

“Callum, I have something for you.” He reaches into the car and comes back with a file folder. “Sir, you know I never try to interfere in any way when it comes to the women in your life…”

He swallows hard, and I narrow my eyes, listening.

“However, you need to read this file in its entirety. There are things about Aspen Calhoun that you should know before you pursue her any further. For your sake, and for hers.”

He passes me the folder.

“I’ll read it tonight,” I reply and then pause. “Is she in danger?”

“No, sir,” he assures me. “She’s safe.”

I nod and then walk down the path to the water. I can hear David and Alice walking behind me, but I pay them no mind as I reach the boathouse, key in the code to the door, and climb the stairs to my flat above.

The staff left the light on over the sink. I flip it off and walk in the dark to the bedroom, where I strip out of my suit and exchange it for a white T-shirt and a pair of athletic shorts, then I pad barefoot into the kitchen, fetch a Guinness from the fridge, and carry the folder to the sofa.

I flick on the lamp next to me and open the file. David has organized the information we have on Aspen chronologically by age. Her name then wasn’t Calhoun, but Hansen. I skim over school reports and medical records from Tennessee and stop when my eyes see the words foster care.

I lean forward, my elbows on my knees as I read through report after report of Aspen being moved between homes until she turned sixteen.

It seems she was emancipated at that tender age and taken out of the system.

What isn’t in these reports is emotion. I can’t interview anyone or ask questions. I can’t ask why a child of sixteen was sent off on her own to fend for herself the way an adult would. How did this happen? I regret that Aspen’s beginnings started this way, and I wonder what atrocities she endured at the hands of the adults who were supposed to protect her.

I feel the burn of anger simmering in my gut for the young girl who would become such an amazing woman.

I turn the page and blink several times, sure that what I see is wrong.

A death certificate for a Greg Calhoun. And another for Emma Calhoun. Emma was seven. They died five years ago. The cause of death is listed as: accidental.

I swallow the bile in my throat and look up from the paper, staring into the darkness.

Aspen was married. She had a child.

I read on in horror as newspaper articles describe in detail what happened to Aspen’s family. A tragic boating accident while camping. Search and rescue were called in, and the bodies weren’t discovered for two days.

I rub my hand over my face. Jesus, what a bloody mess.

The last piece of paper in the folder is the proof of purchase for Drips & Sips several years ago. It seems Aspen left Tennessee to start a brand-new life in Montana.

I close the file, set it aside, and reach for my stout. I would rather have heard about this from Aspen herself. Spending late nights in the dark listening to her sweet voice as she tells me about her past. Holding her, consoling her.

But I understand now why David was concerned and wanted me to read it for myself.

First and foremost, it’s a warning to tread lightly with Aspen. To be careful.

And to be aware that her past could muddy up any relationship I might choose to pursue with her, at least in the eyes of the press—and potentially my family.

I lean my head back and feel fatigue set in. Aspen’s past doesn’t put me off in the least. If anything, it only makes her stronger and more resilient in my eyes. I have no intention of backing away.

But I do have questions, and I hope to have them answered very soon.