To top it off, a storm had arrived. Trees swayed in the wet gusts and the clatter of rain on the roof and pavement intensified several decibels. Of course, she’d left home in a hurry with no umbrella. Nothing for it but to brave the elements. Harper rushed into the night. By the time she’d crossed the street, her clothes were drenched and her hair plastered to her cheeks and neck.
Only a few vehicles remained in the concrete parking deck. She spotted hers right away and dug out the keys from her purse.
There was no inexplicable warning sound, only the mechanical hum of the overhead lights, but Harper knew the instant she was no longer alone. Probably another visitor like herself, but she quickened her pace and clicked the remote to open her car door. The responding beep of her vehicle in the parking deck echoed, loud and jarring, accompanied by the explosive flash of her headlights.
Harper got in the car and locked it before starting the engine. See, you’re fine. Nearby, another car engine sounded, but no headlights flashed on. She hit the gas and exited, relieved to leave the gloomy concrete lot. Liam waited at the door with a nurse when she pulled up to the entrance.
“Take good care of him,” the nurse said, waving goodbye.
Liam eased into the seat, a wince creasing his face.
“I hope they gave you some pain pills in case you need them before the pharmacy opens.”
He held up a plastic bag. “They’re in here, though I don’t plan to take one.”
She drove away and followed his directions, on past the outskirts of town, leaving behind the quiet, deserted streets for a country road without streetlamps. Inky darkness pervaded while sheets of rain slashed at the windows.
“Another mile before we get to my place,” Liam said. “Sorry you have to drive in such bad weather.”
Headlights suddenly flashed from behind, drawing closer and closer. As though rushing forward to consume them. She pressed her foot on the gas pedal. Liam turned in the seat, frowning.
“They’re going way too fast and getting way too close. Especially on these wet roads.”
“Too bad we aren’t in your cruiser. Bet if we turned on the blue lights they’d back off in a hurry.”
Harper lifted her chin to peer at the rearview mirror. Through the pounding rain, she was able to make out the vehicle’s outline.
“Oh, great, not again,” she muttered. “A black pickup truck.” Not her favorite after nearly being run down by one on her own front lawn.
An explosive sound rang out. “That wasn’t thunder, was it?” she asked.
“Hell, no. They took a shot at us.” Liam reached for his right pocket, then swore. “Bryce took my sidearm at the hospital for safekeeping.”
Harper’s heart beat painfully as she floored the accelerator. The tires squealed, and the vehicle swayed from side to side as she hydroplaned. Stay calm. She eased her foot off the gas and steered it back to the right side of the road.
Liam called for emergency assistance. But by the time help arrived, it would be too late. She had to do something, anything. Think. The truck started to pull up around her on the left. Its headlights were on bright and the beams blinding. Time for drastic measures. Less than an eighth of a mile ahead was a cutoff road. Again, she sped up and at the last possible second, turned the steering wheel sharply to the right.
“What the hell?” Liam braced his hands on the dashboard as her car skidded dangerously. But their pursuer was in an even worse predicament. The driver slammed on his brakes and the truck spun in circles.
Harper took a deep breath. Up ahead was another turn she could take and then reverse direction to head back in town. With any luck, the truck driver would either lose sight of them or he’d be reluctant to pursue them once they’d hit city limits.
“I think you’ve managed to lose him,” Liam said, staring back at the truck. “Way to go. There’s already an officer responding.”
“Who are they after—you or me?”
“Maybe both of us.”
From a distance, sirens wailed. Harper turned on a side street.
“Damn. He’s getting away.” Liam returned to the dispatcher on the phone and reported that the truck was speeding north on County Road 78.
“Think they’ll catch up to him?” she asked.
“Doubtful.” Liam eyed her appreciatively. “Smart thinking back there. Probably saved our lives.”
“Now what? Shall I drive to the police station?” They were back in Baysville, and her tight grip on the steering wheel relaxed.
“Pull over a minute.” He held up a finger, listening to the dispatcher. Harper stopped the car by the side of the road and watched his face for long minutes.
“Thanks. Not a bad idea. See you in the morning.” Liam punched a button and laid the phone down.
“Well?”
“The truck was long gone by the time they arrived. Bryce is sending an officer to periodically drive by my house all evening, just to be safe. I think you’d be safer staying with me tonight than driving home and being alone.”
“Can’t say I relish the idea of being alone, either.”
Harper pulled back onto the road and drove to Liam’s, keeping a wary eye out for another round with their mysterious truck driver. By the time they arrived at his home and got out of the car, her knees were unsteady, and exhaustion had set in. They made a dash through the rain and then Liam unlocked the door.
She entered his neat, well-kept ranch house. Leather furniture, a large-screen TV, wooden coffee and end tables—it all screamed Standard Bachelor Decor. No knickknacks, artwork, pillows or froufrou of any kind graced the masculine abode. Which was fine—minimalism was a statement of its own, and as an interior designer she could appreciate the style. Yet it lacked a personal touch.
“You’re renting this place, I take it?” she asked.
He hobbled over to the couch, eschewing her outstretched arm offering support. “How’d you guess?”
“Nothing on the walls. No photos anywhere.” Or books or anything else to indicate his tastes or family life. “Can I fix you something to drink?”
“I’d say a beer, but I imagine that’s off-limits with the meds they plied into me at the hospital. Water, please.”
She found a water bottle in the fridge and returned to the den. His face was pale, and fine lines pinched the corners of his eyes and lips. He was obviously still in some pain, whether or not he wanted to admit it. Pinpricks of guilt assaulted her. She couldn’t shake wondering if her poking into Presley’s death had anything to do with everything that had happened tonight. “Need anything else?” she asked, handing him the bottled water.
“I’m good. Thank you...for everything.”
He took a long swig while she fidgeted with the cuffs of her sweater. “Do you think the shooting and tonight’s chase had anything to do with you helping me look into Presley’s death?”
Liam slowly lowered the bottle and shook his head. “Don’t see how.”
“Maybe Allen...” She let the suggestion slip unsaid into the gulf between them.
“Spencer might be a creep and scumbag, but a rogue shooter? He’s too much of a coward. I don’t see it.”
“He could have hired someone to do the dirty work,” she insisted.
“I don’t believe he’s that creative or has those connections, but I can have another talk with him.”
She nodded and took a look around. “So do you have a spare bedroom? If not, I can sleep on the sofa. It’s only a few hours until dawn, anyway. If you need me for any reason, I’ll be here.”
“Your idea has one serious flaw.”
“What’s that?”
“We should stay in the same bed.” He quickly held up a hand. “I’m not saying we should have sex.” Liam’s voice dropped to a deep, gruff tone. “Although if you want to...”
A smile crooked one side of
his mouth.
It shot through her like lightning, then relief—and a tad of disappointment—whooshed out of her lungs, and she gave a shaky laugh.
“Seriously, though, after all these potshots at us, I’d sleep better where I can keep an eye on you.” Liam rose to his feet, still careful to keep most of his weight on his right leg.
Heavy static suddenly crackled through the den, and she spun, searching for the source.
“It’s okay, I’ve got a police scanner and a two-way radio,” he explained, pointing to the maze of boxes and wires on top of a table on the far side of the room. “Even an old-fashioned landline phone and an answering machine.”
Disembodied voices talked in some kind of cop code about an incident three streets over. She gathered that a citizen had called in complaining of a strange person creeping through their backyard.
“Must be the Shadow Dweller,” she said with a tired smile.
He groaned. “Not you, too. Any time property goes missing or someone’s roaming where they shouldn’t, y’all are quick to blame it on this mysterious Shadow Dweller.”
“He’s a local legend.” She walked to the scanner, her hand hovering over the power button. “Don’t you want me to turn this thing off? Listening to it is above and beyond the call of duty. Especially when you’re supposed to be resting.”
“Leave it. I like to keep a pulse on what’s happening, in case I might be needed. That’s why I even keep the landline as a backup to my cell. Never know when something big might break.”
“What kind of things go on in our small town?” she asked curiously.
“You’d be surprised. Besides the homeless men killings, there’s plenty of talk about a gambling and prostitution ring, not that I’ve been able to verify it.”
“Here in Baysville? I’ve never caught wind of that kind of activity.”
Liam hobbled across the den and into the hallway. “It’s kept on the down low.” He glanced into the kitchen. “Hungry?”
“I’m good. Want me to fix you anything?”
“Nah.”
She followed him into a clean, though stark, bedroom with dark wood furniture and utilitarian blinds over the lone window. The bed loomed before her, and again her face flushed with heat. Liam sat on the edge of the mattress, kicked off his shoes and patted the empty space beside him. “Come here.”
Self-consciously, Harper kicked off her shoes as well and eased onto the bed beside him.
“I want you to feel safe, and I want to know you’re safe. You can sleep here on the bed. I’ll lay a few blankets down and sleep on the floor.”
The thought of him, with his injuries, sleeping on the hard floor, appalled her. “No, you won’t!” she said forcefully, and then wondered if she was sending the wrong message. “I’ll take the floor if you’d rather not share the bed.”
“It’s not that I don’t want to share. I want you to be comfortable.”
“I am comfortable. I trust you.”
His fingers interlaced with hers, and they lay together staring into the darkness, a falling rain pattering on the roof like a lullaby. The warmth of his body beside her was both comforting and intimate. So much nicer than tossing and turning in her own bed at home, waiting to hear unexplained scratchings and whispers that defied rational explanation. His fingers lightly traced a pattern, circling up from her palms and then the inside of her forearms up to her elbows. She’d never considered that an erogenous zone, but everywhere Liam touched her leaped to an awakening of her senses.
“You must be exhausted,” she finally commented.
“A little, but also a bit wound up. Talk to me awhile if you’re not too tired. Tell me more about your family.”
“It’s too sad. They’re all gone. I’d rather hear about yours. What are your parents and siblings like?”
A tired grin ghosted across his wan face. “Noisy. Full of energy. Growing up with three brothers and two sisters, plus all of their friends that hung out at our place, there was always something going on.”
It sounded wonderful to her. The Catlett home had been much too quiet after Dad and Presley’s deaths. The kind of heavy silence that weighed on a person’s mind and soul, a dreadful emptiness that hammered at the heart from the absence of loved ones. “What about that Uncle Teddy of yours you mentioned? Is he the reason you’re so kind to the homeless men that hang out by the railroad tracks?”
“I don’t do that much for the men,” he protested. “Just take them out some food and clothing from time to time. I’d like to think that someone did the same for my uncle when he passed through here.”
She rolled on her side and regarded him in surprise. “How do you know he was ever in Baysville?”
“He’d been arrested a couple times for holing up in vacant buildings. Even spent a few days in the local jail.”
“That’s so sad.”
“Let’s not talk about sad stuff tonight,” Liam said softly, gently squeezing her fingers. “Thank you for being here.”
For a few moments, they rested in silence, but she could tell he couldn’t sleep, and neither could she. There was a connection between them, something beyond the case of her sister’s death, the homeless man’s murder and Liam’s shooting. She genuinely cared for him. She wanted to be closer to him, and after the events of the past few days, she wasn’t in a mood to wait.
She kissed him full on the lips, conscious of the heat of his body, the woodsy scent of him. Her core tightened with hunger, and she moaned in protest when he broke the kiss.
“I promised to keep my hands to myself,” he explained gruffly.
Maybe I don’t want you to. But she bit back the words and squeezed his hand. The poor guy had just taken a bullet to his leg tonight and was pumped up with pain meds. He needed rest.
Harper settled into a peaceful lull as Liam slowly drifted to sleep, listening to his slowed breath, her hand resting on the rise and swell of his chest. The rightness of this moment couldn’t be denied. Liam had come into her life for a reason, she was certain of it, even if the timing was all wrong.
Liam made her feel as though no obstacles were too difficult to face. A resurgence of optimism made her lips tug into a smile. Quietly, she eased off the bed and tiptoed into the hallway. A small glass of water, a trip to the bathroom, and then she’d lie back down beside Liam and—hopefully—fall into untroubled sleep.
“Andrews, you there?” The deep, male voice cut through the quiet house—abrupt and demanding. “It’s Eason. Pick up the phone. We need to discuss the next gambling game and arrange a meeting with the women.”
Harper pulled up short. Gambling? Women—as in hookers? What did Liam have to do with any of this?
Mattress springs squeaked, followed by heavy footsteps pounding the floor. Liam raced past her, surprisingly fast considering his injury, and grabbed the phone in the den. “Eason? Why are you calling me on this line?” A short pause and then, “No. Not yet. I need more time. Obviously, I’ve made progress. If you come now, it’ll ruin everything.” Another pause. “Yeah, yeah. I’m fine, no problem.”
Liam hung up the phone and slowly turned to face her. The blue glow from all the equipment on the table cast an unnatural pallor on his harsh features. She didn’t know this man like she thought she did. He’s not who he says he is. What else didn’t she know about him? And to think she’d been so content moments ago. Harper swallowed past the knot in her throat.
“Who are you?” she whispered.
* * *
BLOODY HELL. JUST WHEN they’d reestablished trust. But it was his own damn fault. He’d forgotten to take his cell phone to the bedroom. Naturally, Eason was worried once he’d gotten wind of the shooting and there’d been no response to his text messages. He’d been much too distracted from his usual routine by a combination of sedatives and a certain beautiful redhead—who now stared at him with a wide-ey
ed skepticism.
He approached slowly, palms held open at his sides. “I don’t suppose there’s any chance you could just forget what you overheard?”
“Not a chance.”
He sighed. “Didn’t think so.”
Her eyes darted past him, to her purse lying on top of the coffee table. Was she actually afraid of him and wanting to make a quick getaway? There was no hope for it. He had to come clean. Even if it means blowing your cover? Sacrificing all these months of work? He could practically hear Eason’s outraged words at what he was about to disclose.
“What’s going on?” She took a step back, eyes narrowed.
The easiest way out of this mess was to show her. Liam walked forward, and she backed against the wall, avoiding his touch. “I’m going to get my wallet out of my pants pocket,” he explained.
He strode past her and flipped on the bedroom lights, picked his pants up off the floor and retrieved his wallet. He turned, relieved to find that Harper stood in the doorway—he’d half expected her to grab her purse and run. Liam pulled a badge from his wallet and handed it to her. “I’m working undercover for the Virginia ATF field division.
“ATF?” she asked, squinting at the badge.
“Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms.”
She handed him back the badge. “What’s that got to do with gambling and prostitution?”
“The name doesn’t fully encompass our range of authority. We also investigate any threat to public safety from organized crime.”
“Really?” Her lips twisted, and she placed her hands on her hips. “Seems like your bureau could have chosen more likely towns than ours to infiltrate. We must be small potatoes compared to larger cities.”
“But not all towns have a string of unsolved murders like Baysville.”
“The homeless killings?”
“We have reason to believe the killer, or killers, are involved in an organized crime ring related to gambling and prostitution.”
Unmasking the Shadow Man Page 8