And then nothing, for so long she thought he’d hung up. In the silence, she thought she heard the faint sound of breathing.
“Hello?” she asked, tentatively.
“Harper.” It was Cara’s voice.
Unlike Hunter, she didn’t sound angry. She sounded sad.
“Cara, I know I’m the last person on the planet you want to talk to right now.”
“Well, you’re definitely not who I was hoping to hear from.” Harper heard her let out a breath before she continued. “If you think I killed Xavier, you’re wrong. Yes, we had problems. Yes, we argued. But my God, I loved him.” Her voice quavered. “It’s funny, I can’t even describe how much I miss him. I sleep with one of his shirts in bed with me just so I can smell him.” She paused. “I think I miss his smell most of all. He smelled amazing. Like cinnamon and sandalwood and fresh air. I’ve never met anyone whose scent alone was enough to…” Her voice trailed off. A moment passed before she spoke again. This time, her voice was stronger. “I wanted to marry him. I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him. Someone took that away from me. And to be blamed for it … It’s the most exquisite pain I can think of. Because it takes away my right to mourn. I don’t know if you can understand that. But I hope you can.”
Harper rested her head on her hand. “I can,” she said, quietly. “I understand completely. And I am truly sorry I hurt you.”
There was a pause, and then Cara spoke again.
“Good.” She sounded satisfied. “I want you to be sorry. That means there’s still hope for you. You can go out there and find the real killer. Because all I’m living for now is seeing that person pay.” Steel entered her carefully calibrated voice. “You find that person, Harper. You’re a good reporter and I think you can do it. You were wrong about me, but I think you’re right about one thing. I think it was somebody close to him. Close to us.”
“You do?” Harper couldn’t keep the surprise out of her voice.
“It makes sense.” Cara talked with steady determination, her voice low. “And if it was someone in this house, then I’m in danger, too. So, you have to figure it out. As fast as you can. I need you to.”
This was absolutely not what she’d expected from this call. “Do you think it was Hunter?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” Cara admitted. “Three days ago I would have called you crazy. But now anything’s possible. The police haven’t found a single threat from fans. They can’t find anyone with a motive. That’s why they think it must be me. Because it’s always the girlfriend. If it wasn’t me…”
“… it had to be one of the others,” Harper finished the sentence for her.
“How could it be them, though?” Cara stifled a sob. “Oh God. I’m so scared.”
“Is there somewhere else you could go?” Harper asked.
Cara drew a shaky breath. “The police say I can’t leave town. I found a place I could rent in Savannah, but Allegra saw me looking at it and she asked a lot of questions. I panicked and made up an excuse—I told her my mom was coming to see me. I’m trapped. I think they’re watching me.”
There was so much fear in her voice, Harper believed her. This wasn’t acting.
Luke had said he was convinced someone in the house was the killer. If he was right, and Cara was telling the truth, then she really was in danger.
“Listen,” she said. “Sit tight. Keep playing along. I’ll talk to the detectives, see what I can find out. Do you have their number?”
“Yes,” Cara whispered, tearfully.
“If anyone threatens you, call them,” Harper ordered. “They will help.”
“Okay.” Her response was muffled, she was crying in earnest now.
“Text me your number,” Harper told her. “I don’t want to have to call Hunter if I need to reach you. I’ll work as fast as I can.”
“Thanks,” Cara whispered.
Harper hesitated before saying, “Cara? I’m really sorry about that article.”
“I know,” the actress said.
22
That evening, Harper paid Cara back. She kept her article short and clean. But she fixed what she’d broken.
Cara Brand Tells Her Side
By Harper McClain and DJ Gonzales
As detectives continue their investigation into the murder of local musician Xavier Rayne, his girlfriend, Cara Brand, spoke of her pain at being included on the list of suspects.
“I wanted to marry Xavier. I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him. Someone took that away from me. And to be blamed for it is the most exquisite pain I can think of. Because it takes away my right to mourn.”
Detectives this weekend again verified that their investigation has focused mainly on those who were drinking with Rayne the night he died. That includes Brand, and the musician’s housemates Hunter Carlson, a keyboardist in Rayne’s band, and Allegra Hanson, a singer.
All three deny involvement in the shooting death of the charismatic singer/songwriter.
She was filing the story when Luke called. “I got us booked in at the firing range,” he told her.
“Oh good.” Harper’s voice held no enthusiasm. She was starting to regret ever buying that gun.
He didn’t seem to notice. “Can you be there at ten tonight?”
She didn’t want to go. But he and Blazer were right—she needed to be ready. And being ready meant doing whatever it took to stay alive.
“I’ll be there,” she told him.
* * *
The police firing range was a dingy warehouse-like building at the edge of downtown, in the industrial area near the river. When Harper pulled in, just before ten, the small parking lot was largely empty. A dark sports car she recognized as Luke’s was parked near the door. The only other vehicle was a pickup truck in a spot designated for staff.
The door was unlocked. Inside, the front lobby was small and scruffy, with scuffed wood-paneled walls and a few battered chairs. The air held the faint, metallic tang of gunpowder and oil. The rudimentary reception desk, with its myriad notices demanding that officers “BE SAFE—BE AWARE” and warning that “GUNS MUST BE SECURED AT ALL TIMES ON THIS PREMISES,” was unmanned.
A single door led from the lobby back into the firing area, and she pushed it open cautiously. The room on the other side was dimly lit.
“Hello?” she called. Her voice echoed back at her.
“Over here, Harper.” Luke’s voice came from a shadowed corner.
The long, narrow room was barely more than a barn with a concrete floor and metal walls. The acrid smell of recent gunfire was much heavier here. She could taste it on her tongue.
Ahead, she could see two men standing in front of a low counter beyond which lay five separate firing lanes. One was Luke, in jeans and a button-down shirt. The other was a burly man with short, dark hair and a graying beard.
As Harper walked up, Luke gestured at him. “Harper McClain, meet Jerry Lester. He’s in charge of things around here.”
“Welcome.” Jerry held out a meaty hand that all but consumed Harper’s. He examined her with piercing eyes. “Trying out a new weapon, I hear?”
“Yes.” Her tone was apologetic. “It’s just a used Glock.”
“Mind if I take a look?”
Setting her bag down on the counter, she wrestled the gun from the depths and held it out to him, with the barrel pointed down.
If Luke noticed she wasn’t wearing the gun as Blazer had dictated, he didn’t show it. He watched as Jerry checked the pistol with the quick movements of an expert, snapping back the bolt to peer inside, listening as it slid into place. He popped the clip out and then slid it back in before staring down the sights at the targets at the far end of the room.
When he was satisfied, he handed it back. “It’s in good shape,” he told her. “Someone took care of it.”
“You’re happy for us to try it out here?” Luke asked.
“Fine with me. Just don’t shoot out the lights.”
“I
’ll do my best,” Harper promised.
He gave her an approving look and then glanced at Luke. “Well, I better git. You’re okay to close up?”
“No problem,” Luke said. “I’ll bring the keys back in the morning.”
There was an easiness between the two men that made Harper think they might be old friends.
Jerry held out a scrap of paper with a number scribbled on it. “Here’s the alarm code. Eat it when you’re done.”
“You got it.” Luke folded the paper and tucked it in the pocket of his jeans. “Thanks again for fitting us in.”
Jerry grinned. “What Larry Blazer wants, Larry Blazer gets. I abide by that rule and it has kept me gainfully employed for years now.” He aimed a warm smile at Harper. “Good luck with that weapon, Miss McClain. Just do whatever young Walker here tells you to, and you’ll be perfectly safe.” He turned away and headed for the door, his last words floating back behind him. “Y’all have a good one.”
His footsteps faded until, a few seconds later, the clang of the door closing echoed hollowly.
Harper glanced at Luke, who was gathering ear protectors and goggles from a locker.
“I didn’t realize the place would be closed.”
“Yeah, it was the only way to get it done today. Hold this.” Luke handed her a stack of targets, the shape of a man’s head and torso at the center.
“Thanks for doing this,” she said. “I’m sure you have better places you could be.”
He closed the locker. “This is important. You need to be ready.”
She followed him to the middle lane, where he set the supplies down on the counter.
“I like Jerry,” she said.
A smile flickered across Luke’s face. “Yeah. Jerry’s good people.” He pushed a button, and a used target rattled noisily to them from the end of the lane. He removed the old target from the clip that held it in place, talking as he worked. “I went to school with his kid brother. Jerry’s ex-Marine. Served in Iraq. Left the military with distinction.”
He held the target up so she could see how the holes were clustered in the center of the head and chest. She wondered if he was the one who’d put those holes there.
“He taught me to shoot. Now I’m teaching you.” He replaced the used target with a clean one, then pushed the button and sent the pulley rattling again as it swept the target to the far end of the lane. Once there, it seemed impossibly small.
Harper stared at it doubtfully. “There’s no way I’m ever hitting that.”
“You might surprise yourself.” Luke pointed at the gun, which lay on the metal counter. “Pick up your weapon.”
After a momentary hesitation, Harper lifted it, without enthusiasm. He showed her how to do all the things Jerry had just done—remove the bullet clip, check the chamber, ensure it was empty. He made her do it over and over until she could go through the motions with quick assurance.
“Now”—he motioned for her to face the target—“let’s look at your stance.”
Squaring her shoulders, she lifted the gun, using her left hand to brace her right wrist as she stared down the sights at the tiny target.
“Lower your shoulders—they’re up by your ears,” Luke advised, pressing down lightly on her upper arms. “Spread your feet wider to give you stability.”
He walked around her, looking at her critically. She was conscious of him behind her, looking over her shoulder. He placed his hands on either side of her waist, fingers firm against her body. “Straighten your hips or you’ll aim crooked.”
He was so close.
Swallowing hard, she did as he instructed.
“Now move your left hand from your wrist and cup it around the bottom of your right hand,” he instructed. “It’ll give you more support.”
Harper tried, awkwardly holding one hand with the other.
“No,” he said, “you need to cup it like…”
Standing behind her, he slid his hands down her extended arms, until his hands covered her own. His body was pressed against her back. She could feel the warmth of him against her. She had to fight the urge to sink back into his arms. Instead, she stood stiffly, as he lifted her left hand and arranged it around the hand holding the gun.
“The Glock has a powerful kick.” His breath stirred her hair. “This will brace you so you don’t lose the shot.”
When he let go and stepped back, she felt colder.
“Let’s try this for real,” he said, and for a second she didn’t know what he meant. But then he picked up the ear protectors and handed them to her.
Hoping her confusion didn’t show in her face, Harper hurriedly set the gun down and slid the headset on.
The ear protectors filtered out most sounds, but she could hear Luke’s voice, muffled but clear. “Line yourself up.”
Forcing herself to focus, she went through the steps he’d shown her, aligning her hips, spreading her feet, lowering her shoulders, raising her hands with the gun clasped firmly, finger light on the trigger guard.
Slipping on his own ear guards, Luke stepped behind her again.
“I’m going to help you get started.” He put his arms around her, holding her hands in his. “Finger on the trigger. Be ready for the kick. Fire when you’re ready.”
Lining up the sights on the target’s chest—because it was bigger than the target’s head—Harper peered down the barrel. She could feel Luke’s chest moving as he breathed in and out, and she found herself syncing her breath with his.
Goose bumps rose on her arms.
Exhaling slowly, she squeezed the trigger.
A huge bang split the silence. The gun seemed to leap in her hands, but Luke held her steady, barely flinching from the recoil.
“Again,” he said, his lips close to her ear.
Harper aimed at the target. Waited until she felt Luke breathe.
She fired.
This time she was ready for the kick. The gun moved, but only a little.
“Again,” he ordered.
She aimed and fired.
Dropping his arms, he stepped back. “On your own now.”
Harper kept her eyes on the black silhouette. When she pulled the trigger this time, the kick didn’t feel as bad. On her own, without Luke’s hands covering hers, she was holding the Glock steady.
She fired again and again. Until she heard his voice. “Stop.”
Harper lifted her finger from the trigger and looked at him questioningly. The air smelled of hot metal.
“Drop the clip, check the chamber, set down the gun,” he instructed. “Go through the steps.”
She did as he ordered. The gun was very warm now. When the empty weapon lay on the counter, he recalled the target. Removing it from the holder, he held it up to the light.
About half of her shots had missed the silhouette completely, but the rest hadn’t. A few holes were right in the middle of the chest.
“Not bad,” Luke said approvingly.
Harper stepped closer to see, her shoulder brushing his. “I can’t believe I did that.”
“Let’s do it again and see if you can get a bit more accuracy,” he said. “But this is damn good for a first try. You’re a natural.”
Warmth spread through her. She was surprised by how much his opinion mattered, and caught off guard by how much she enjoyed shooting. The skill required—keeping her hands steady and her eyes focused—was strangely relaxing.
They went through the same process for another half hour until Luke decided they’d done enough. By then her aim was better. Most of her shots hit the silhouette.
“We can come back in a few days if you want,” he told her, as they stacked the gear back in the storage locker. “Get in a bit more practice.”
She lifted her head to smile at him. “I’d like that.”
Luke’s expression grew dark and serious. “I hate that you’re going through this. I feel so helpless.”
Harper looked for the right words to say but couldn’t find them. For a
second, neither of them spoke. Moving slowly, as if unable to stop himself, he reached out and caught an errant strand of her hair and let it run between his fingers.
Every part of her felt that touch.
“I’m sorry we blew it,” he said quietly, out of nowhere. “I don’t think I ever said it before. But you knew, right?”
His unexpected honesty took the air from her lungs.
“I’m sorry, too,” she said.
“I always thought we’d find a way to make it work.” His voice simmered with suppressed emotion. “It seemed like it had to work. We just fit, you and me.”
He was so beautiful, she had to clench her hands into fists to stop herself from cupping his face and pulling his lips to hers. She knew exactly where that could go: amazing sex and wishful thinking. Followed by weeks of loneliness.
She couldn’t keep making the same mistake.
“But it didn’t work,” she reminded him. “Every single time we tried, it didn’t work. And we both got hurt.”
A flash of surprise and hurt in his face. “I know. I wish it wasn’t like that.”
“It is like that, though,” Harper said. “It will always be like that as long as you’ve got your job and I’ve got mine. The second we even think about getting together everyone figures it out, you take heat at work, and it all falls apart.” Her throat tightened. “It hurts too much to go through that.”
He looked at her then, with those regretful eyes, and she had to tear her gaze away or she knew she’d ignore everything she’d just said and pull him to her.
“Besides,” she said, staring at the targets in the distance, “don’t you have a girlfriend now?”
Her words echoed in the long silence that followed before he finally responded. “Yeah.”
Hearing him confirm it caught her short. It took her a second to summon enough false enthusiasm to respond, “Well, that’s great. Is it someone I know?”
He watched her guardedly. “It’s Sarah Blake.”
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