“Following you?” He was surprisingly calm, moving to the side of the door, pushing her gently out of the way so he could look.
“I think so,” she said. “I parked. I got out of the car. All of a sudden they were coming at me on foot. Fast.”
He crossed to the other side of the door in one long step and peered in the opposite direction, talking as he searched the street. “They didn’t address you? Threaten you?”
She shook her head. Suddenly she felt foolish. Maybe she’d overreacted. She was paranoid.
“It was nothing, probably.” But even as she said it, she thought back to that moment on the street. And the steady, focused energy of the two men. The shorter man could have been Martin Dowell. Seventeen years older than the most recent picture she’d seen. White haired. Smaller than she’d expected. But she wasn’t certain.
The guard kept his eyes on the street outside. He was the youngest guard at the paper: African American, maybe early thirties, with short hair and a lean build. She knew little about him except that he was an off-duty Savannah cop who worked security for extra pay.
“Nobody’s out there now.” He turned to look at her, his expression hard to read. “The street’s empty.”
The men had been less than a block away when Harper ran inside.
“They must have turned around,” she said, momentarily bewildered. “Why would they turn around?”
They exchanged a long look as the implications of this became clear to each of them.
Ice settled in the pit of Harper’s stomach. It was him. It had to be.
“Describe them,” the guard ordered.
Harper told him about the stocky, gray-haired man and the taller man walking beside him. “I think it was Martin Dowell and his son,” she said. “But he’s supposed to be in police custody. So it can’t be him.”
The guard didn’t ask anything else. He pulled out his phone with one hand and punched the door-release button with the other. “Stay here,” he barked.
Harper watched through the smudged glass as he spoke on the phone while scanning the street in both directions then disappeared, heading toward where she’d last seen the men.
After no more than three minutes, a patrol car prowled past, moving slow. It stopped in front of the building. The guard leaned forward to speak to the cop through an open window, gesturing down the sidewalk. Moments later, the patrol car took off in the direction indicated.
Harper’s breath fogged the glass. The guard looked both ways one last time before letting himself back into the lobby. “The PD are searching the area. If those guys have any sense, they won’t come back this way. If it was Martin Dowell—and I do mean if—they’ll find him.” His face grave, he pointed at the desk. “Nine times out of ten when you walk through that door I’ll be right there, but after dark, you should call the desk before you get out of your car. Tonight I was just getting a cup of coffee and you could have been hurt. I don’t want anything to happen to you if I step away for two minutes.”
Harper nodded, her stomach in knots. Was this really how she was going to live?
He gave her a reassuring look. “I don’t think they’ll come back tonight. Not with the PD hunting for them.”
As she climbed the stairs to the newsroom, Harper kept remembering the way the gray-haired man smiled. Had she just seen the man who ordered her mother’s murder?
Pulling her phone from her pocket, she typed a quick message to Lee:
I think Martin Dowell was outside the newspaper tonight. He saw me.
But had she, really? She needed to see a picture of him again to be sure.
When she reached the newsroom, she crossed straight to her desk and logged into her computer before she even sat down, bending over the keyboard, fingers flying.
DJ swung around in his chair. “How’d it go?”
“Badly,” she said, typing Martin Dowell’s name into the system. “I haven’t got a story.”
“Baxter won’t mind. It wasn’t going on the front page anyway.” He rolled closer, excitement lighting up his warm brown eyes. “That dead body earlier—it turned out to be a homicide.”
Harper was only half listening. Her computer had opened up dozens of pictures of Dowell, and she stared at the images of a stocky man with a pugnacious face, short hair the color of steel, and cold, small eyes. It could be the man she’d seen outside. But she wasn’t certain. If it was him, age had done its work. His face had been deeply lined. His build bulkier.
“Was he shot?” she asked, without looking up. “Some sort of robbery?”
He shook his head. “Stabbed. Nothing stolen. They found the body at this no-tell motel on Veterans. I’m still waiting on the police information guy to call me back. But I overheard some of the detectives talking. Said he had a card in his wallet identifying him as retired FBI. They were running him through the database to see—”
“DJ.” Harper went cold. He must have heard the shock in her voice, because he gave her an odd look. “The dead man. What was his name?”
“I think it’s Howard. Let me check.” He picked up his notebook as she waited, unable to breathe. It couldn’t be him. It couldn’t.
“Yeah, here it is.” DJ turned around. “Lee Howard.”
He said something else but Harper didn’t hear it.
Last night Lee had promised to get to Dowell before Dowell got to her. And now Lee was dead.
“Harper?” DJ’s frown deepened. “What’s wrong? Do you know him?”
She nodded, her lips tight, and picked up her cell phone, dialing with shaking hands.
Behind his glasses, DJ’s eyes were filled with worry. “Was he your friend?”
She couldn’t find the words to explain and she didn’t trust herself to speak. She walked away, her steps wooden and stiff. She was in the hallway by the time Luke answered. “Harper? Everything okay?”
“Your homicide victim. Lee Howard.” Her voice trembled. “He’s the guy who told me about Dowell. I talked to him last night.” She took a shuddering breath. “He’s six-three, about one-ninety, late fifties, gray hair, recently shaved mustache…”
He interrupted her. “Wait. Hang on, hang on.… You saw him last night? What time?”
“He left my house at three thirty in the morning. I told Blazer.” She leaned against the wall, her forehead hot against the cool plaster. “Luke, it was Martin Dowell, wasn’t it? He got away from the police. And I think I saw him on Bay Street five minutes ago.”
“My God.” Luke sounded stunned. “How the hell could the state lose someone like Dowell?”
Harper didn’t have to answer. They both knew how. Dowell was good. He’d been planning this for years.
“Everyone underestimates Martin Dowell,” Lee had said.
“Check the hotel room for anything that could be Dowell’s,” she told him, pressing her fingers against her eyes. “Anything that might make the state withdraw his parole.”
“You can count on it,” he said, tightly.
“And tell Blazer. He was planning to put a deputy outside my door tonight.” She took a shaky breath. “Tell him that deputy better be a damn good shot.”
“Harper, wait. Are you sure you should go home? Can you stay somewhere else?”
“Where, Luke?” Her voice quavered. “I could stay at Bonnie’s but he would kill Bonnie to get to me. I could stay at a hotel and he’d have me alone in a room on the sixteenth floor. Where am I supposed to go? I can’t sleep at the police station.”
“I don’t like you being alone out there,” he said.
“Me neither.” She swallowed hard. “But if Dowell just killed an FBI agent, nowhere is safe for me.”
There was a brief pause before he replied. “I’ll talk to Blazer as soon as we hang up.” Through the phone, she could hear the rough edge to his breathing. “Harper, don’t worry. We’re going to get that son of a bitch.”
In the silence after he hung up, Harper stood for a long time in the empty hallway with her back to the
wall, thinking about the predatory man she’d seen on the street and the tall, quiet FBI agent who’d tried to save her.
30
By the time Harper left the paper that night, the weather had begun to turn. The wind was picking up. The night sky had a greenish hue that drained the color from the city.
A smattering of rain fell as she walked out to her car. The security guard stood at the edge of the street, keeping watch. A blue-and-white Savannah patrol car sat behind the red Camaro, its engine loud in the quiet street.
Harper jumped into the driver’s seat, starting the engine with a roar.
The patrol car accompanied her as far as the city limits, dropping back right when she turned onto Highway 80. After that, for an unnerving few miles, she was alone. But, just before she hit the marshes, a Chatham County sheriff’s deputy appeared in front of her, rolling slow. As she neared, he sped up and stuck with her the rest of the way. When she pulled into the driveway at Spinnaker Cottage, he backed into the entrance and parked there, facing the street. Effectively blocking anyone from getting in or out.
As she walked from the car into a slow, steady rain, Harper lifted her hand and saw the faint movement as the deputy responded.
She hurried up the steps to the porch, finding Zuzu, high and dry on the chair, waiting. Harper scooped her up and unlocked the door. Inside, she looked around, her gaze lingering on the blue chair where Lee had sat not twenty-four hours ago.
Unexpectedly, the room blurred.
Why had he come here last night? Had he somehow known he wouldn’t make it through this? Was he planning even then to confront Martin Dowell in that hotel room?
Every word he’d said to her seemed weighted with meaning now.
“Maybe I’m as obsessive as Martin Dowell. But I need to finish this case.…”
“Well, your case is over now,” she told the chair, her voice breaking.
Forcing back tears, she stalked around the house, checking each window as she went—all were locked tight.
In the kitchen, she got the gun out of her bag and set it on the counter before grabbing the tall, slim bottle of Jameson whiskey from the cupboard and pouring herself an unhealthy measure. She drank it down fast, and drew in a long breath.
She needed to calm down. With the deputy outside and every cop on the coast keeping an eye on her, she had to be safe.
But maybe she was now underestimating Martin Dowell, too.
Setting the glass down with a bang, she ran back to the front door and pulled the sofa in front of it, using her weight as leverage.
When she’d finished, she stood, hands on her hips, looking for anything else she could do. Crouched in the bedroom doorway, Zuzu watched her doubtfully.
Harper realized she’d forgotten to feed her. Guilt washed over her. None of this was the cat’s fault.
Returning to the kitchen, she took a can of food from the shelf and emptied it into Zuzu’s bowl. She checked that her water dish was full, then picked up the gun and slid down to the floor to watch as the gray tabby ate, her whiskers tucked back delicately.
“I’m sorry about all this,” she whispered, resting her head on her knees. “All you wanted was a safe place. I let you down.”
In her pocket, her phone vibrated. Luke’s name was on the screen. Harper answered without getting up. “Hey.”
“I’m outside your place,” he said. “Can I come in?”
She nearly dropped the phone. “What? Now?”
“Yeah. Sorry I didn’t call first. It’s been crazy.”
She was already scrambling to her feet. “Hang on,” she said. “I just barricaded the door. Give me a second.”
She heard him say, “You did what?” But she was already dragging the sofa back.
When she opened the door, Luke was on the small porch, his hair damp from the rain. His eyes swept her face, as if looking for damage.
Stifling a sob at the back of her throat, Harper stepped toward him. When he folded her in his arms, she let him. His chest was solid and familiar beneath her cheek. His arms held her tightly.
“You shouldn’t have come.” Her words were muffled against his jacket, and she made herself let go. “But I’m glad you did. Do you want a drink?”
He nodded.
“Whiskey okay?” She was already walking to the kitchen.
“Better than okay.”
She poured them each a glass, and they stood in the small, windowless kitchen, leaning against the counters listening to the rain patter against the windows. Luke’s eyes flicked from the bottle to the gun lying next to it.
He drank half of his shot before looking up at her. “It was Dowell,” he said. “He slipped the state police last night. They don’t know what time, exactly. Sometime between midnight and six A.M., he left the hotel where they’ve been keeping him, cut off the ankle bracelet, and threw it in a dumpster. Blazer’s furious. The FBI’s involved, after the murder tonight. But Dowell’s got a head start.” He shook his head in disgust. “Now that the shit’s hit the fan, the state cops are backtracking and making excuses. But it’s too late. Dowell’s on the run.”
Harper felt gut-punched. This was every bit as bad as she’d feared.
It was hard to think through the low roar of panic filling her ears. “When I saw him tonight, he wasn’t alone.” Her voice was thin and tight. “He was with a younger man. Maybe in his forties. Taller, thinner.”
“That’s almost certainly his son, Aaron. The FBI thinks the two of them planned this whole thing together. Aaron helped him escape. He’s a chip off the old block.” Luke looked down at the amber liquid in his glass. “We collected blood at the scene and ran it. Preliminary tests say it’s a DNA match for Dowell.”
“How bad is he hurt?” she asked. “Was there a lot of blood?”
“Enough.” He met her eyes. “Your guy put up a hell of a fight.”
“Dammit.” She covered her face.
Taking the glass from her nerveless fingers, he set it on the counter, and pulled her close. She knew she shouldn’t let him. But he was always the one she went to when she needed to feel safe.
He stroked her hair. “We’re doing everything we can. This place is Fort Knox. County’s on board, too. You’ll be protected.”
“He’ll get to me,” she whispered, her voice muffled. “He’ll find a way.”
“He’s out of his territory,” Luke reminded her. “This isn’t Atlanta. Every cop in town is looking for him. The FBI is tracking him. He can’t hide for long.” Taking her by the shoulders, he waited until she looked up at him. His eyes were deadly serious. “We’ll get him, Harper. I promise.”
She knew he’d come all the way out here in the pouring rain on a night he was unlikely to get any sleep just to tell her that. The thought filled her with so much gratitude she couldn’t speak.
Standing on her toes, she pressed her lips against his cheek, the slight bristle of his whiskers soft against her skin. “Thank you,” she said.
She felt him tense. His hands slid up her arms, holding her close to him.
She leaned back to see his eyes darken as he stared back at her. The moment seemed to slow. And then his lips were on hers. She could taste the salt of her own tears and the soft, familiar sweetness of him.
God, she wanted this. To forget. To be safe. To be with Luke the way they used to be.
She ran her hands up his chest, tracing the hard outline of his muscles, until she found his neck and pulled him down, deepening the kiss.
“Luke…” She breathed his name against his lips. Pushing him back against the cheap cabinets.
His fingers tightened against her hips. In one, smooth move he lifted her until she was sitting on the countertop, her back to the cupboard, her legs wrapped around his waist, her arms around his neck. His hands were under her top, touching the warmth of her skin.
“Wait.” She cupped her hands on his cheeks, gently lifting his face, so she could look into his eyes. “We can’t,” she said. “Sarah.”
Still, neither of them pulled away.
“What is it with us?” His voice was low and bewildered. “I’ve tried everything to let you go. But I keep coming back.”
Harper thought of Dells. Of kissing him by her car. It had been a good kiss. But it hadn’t felt like it did with Luke. Luke felt like home.
She could feel his heart, beating as fast as hers. “You’re the only one I want,” she said, simply. “I try to date other men but I keep coming back to you. I don’t know why. I know it’s impossible. Except, then I see you and I forget what impossible is. But I can’t have you. Can I?”
He hesitated. “The only thing that matters right now,” he said finally, “is that you survive.”
It was the wrong answer. She twisted to get away, but he held her tight. “Wait, Harper. Dammit.” His face flushed. “Let me finish what I’m trying to say.”
Reluctantly, she stilled.
“You need to live first,” he said evenly. “And then we have to figure this out. If we keep finding ourselves here, there has to be a reason, right? So whatever I thought I was doing with Sarah to put you behind me, it’s not working.”
Harper could think of a whole lot of arguments against almost everything he was saying, but she couldn’t bring herself to say them now. Besides, what good would it do? Things were what they were. He wasn’t wrong.
Besides, she’d tried to put him behind her as well. And failed.
“Okay,” she said. “I accept that.”
He watched her for a second, and then moved back. She slid down from the counter, feet thumping on the floor. Picking up the whiskey he’d set down a few minutes ago, she finished the shot and then lifted her head.
“Now. Let’s talk about Martin Dowell.”
31
Luke stayed another hour. He would have stayed all night, but everything between them was confusing enough. Sex would have made it worse.
“I’ll sleep on the couch,” he insisted. “I don’t like you being alone.”
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