“Lucas, what are you doing! Go back! Help them!” Harper tugged on his arm, her eyes fixed on the cars behind them.
“He has his job. I have mine.” Nothing would happen to Harper on his watch. He glanced at his rearview, saw the Accord’s doors open and two men step out, hands in the air. He took a right turn toward his apartment.
“So what now?” Harper released his sleeve and sank back in her seat.
Good question. A lot depended on what those men in the white Accord had to say. “We move you to someplace safe.”
“Where?”
“My apartment.” For now, at least. A safe house tonight. But he didn’t want the fight, so he kept that information for later.
“Your place?” She laughed, but with an edge of panic. “Excuse me, but that doesn’t sound safe.” Him, her, privacy? She wasn’t wrong.
Ten minutes later, parked on the curb a block from his stoop, Lucas hustled Harper up the brownstone’s steps, continuing to scan the street for unsavory types. Once the front door shut behind them, he caught Harper studying his apartment. It forced him to see it through her eyes. A year later, it still looked as if he’d just moved in—opened boxes strewn about and not much furniture. It suffered by comparison to Harper’s home. His mattress, metal bed frame, television, and an easy chair with side table were the extent of his luxuries. He was his father’s son; two men, neither monks, but neither with a successful relationship under their belt. Both used to living alone.
He hurried to gather essentials Dane hadn’t thought to collect and stuffed them into an overnight bag. Jeans, T-shirts, more underwear and a toothbrush. Hurrying back into the living room, he found Harper holding the picture.
The picture.
He panicked, stood stock-still, and waited for her reaction. He knew there’d be one.
“Why do you have this?” She looked at it, almost as if she didn’t know what it was, but Lucas wasn’t fooled. She knew exactly what that picture was and what it meant that he had it on his side table a year after they’d broken up. Lucas didn’t know what to say.
A framed picture of Harper at a party. Someone had taken it and posted it on Facebook. Lucas had it printed and framed. No big deal, right? Except he hadn’t been at the party, and the party had been after she broke up with him. Shit. Now she’d think he was a stalker.
“What?” He shrugged. Maybe if he played dumb…
She turned the photo so he could see it, as if he didn’t already know, and the frame made a thump noise when she pressed it to her chest. “This. Why do you have this picture?” She indicated the side table next to his chair. No other photo graced his walls. No other knickknacks gathered dust. Only her picture. He had no idea how to spin this and not look like he’d been mooning after her for the last year. “And this. What is this?” She pointed at an open box against the wall. Mementos from their year together. A flyer to a museum. A plastic lei from a party. Tiny, worthless things he hadn’t been able to part with. They filled the box. “What the hell, Lucas?”
“I don’t see what the big deal is.” He shrugged again, slinging the overnight bag over his shoulder. “We were dating just before I moved, and I packed everything up.”
“So you won’t mind if I keep this photo then?” She was angry and had every right to be, but he didn’t want her to take it. It was his favorite picture of her. Yet the alternative was to suggest he was pining, and that would not do.
“Sure.” He hoped to project a casual, confused attitude. As if he wanted to calm her but didn’t think it should be a big deal. “Whatever. If you want it,” he said.
Lucas suspected he’d gone too far when her anger ratcheted up. Suggesting her issue with the photo was that she wanted it gave her the opening to call him on his shit, but she took a pass. Instead, Harper glared at him, turned on her heel, and stormed out of the room. Not, however, before she threw the picture in his wastebasket.
The glass broke on contact, making him flinch. Fishing it out of the trash, he set the picture on the counter to deal with later. Flinching again when the door slammed after her. “Shit.” She was outside with no protection. His cell rang as he ran after her.
“Sullivan here.” He hurried down the front stairs, his long legs quickly eating the distance between them. “Harper! The car is this way. You’re going the wrong way.” She pivoted and headed the right way.
“It’s Dane. The two guys following you were feds. FBI, in fact. We had to let them go.”
Just then, Lucas saw the white Honda Accord turn the corner and drive toward him. “I’ll call you back.” He tugged Harper back the way they came, toward the apartment stairs, but her resisting was causing a delay they had no time for. He tugged harder.
“Stop it! What are you—” Harper slapped his arm repeatedly.
Lucas half ran, half carried her up the stairs. When they reached his apartment door, he handed her the keys. “Inside. Stay put.” He dropped his bag, turned, and ran back down the stairs. He heard the door slam behind her as he reached the curb.
Feds, huh? Well, he and the feds were going to have a conversation whether they liked it or not. The white Accord was worse for wear, crushed a bit in the front where Marnie had rammed it. Lucas was five feet from the driver’s window when it lowered with a whir. By the time he saw the gun it was too late.
“Fuck.” Lucas lifted his hands in the air. Now what?
Chapter Eight
Her palms and forehead pressed to the apartment window, Harper watched, hyperventilating. Gun! That was definitely a gun she saw poking out of that car. Her breath fogged the glass, obscuring her view, so she wiped it with a slash of her hand, her attention glued to Lucas, the gun, and the hand attached to it.
Lucas stood with his chest bumped out, looking like a rooster seeking a fight. Normal people would call the cops right now, but for all Harper knew it was a dirty cop in that car.
Dane. She’d call Dane. Shaking, feeling unequal to the moment, Harper pulled out her phone.
“Put it down, Harper.”
She squealed, jumped, and her arms splayed with fear, making her cell phone fly from her hand, hitting the hardwood floor.
“Shit! Charlotte!” Marnie’s mother, the mysterious Charlotte Pleasant, in the flesh.
Dressed in a black overcoat, in mid-August no less, she wore black head to toe. A black baseball cap covered most of her bobbed silver hair, and she was bone thin, and wore no makeup. Not much for niceties, or showers, she seemed drug-free at the moment—no shakes, pupils normal, clothes clean and neat. Not like the last time she saw Charlotte, at Marnie and Dane’s wedding. Drunk, she’d caused a scene.
“Do you remember me, Charlotte? I’m Harper. Marnie’s sister-in-law.”
“The only reason why I’m here and you’re not tied to a chair in some shit hole downtown is because my Marnie is fond of you. Otherwise, I wouldn’t care. Give me the list.” She reeked of cigarettes, and her voice was deep and grating, like she hadn’t had water in a week. There was an unfamiliar glint to her eye that spoke of reined-in violence and a craftiness more primal than calculating. Sure, they’d never shared a Thanksgiving table, or exchanged Christmas fruitcake, but they were family, and when Charlotte popped into Harper’s world these last two months, she’d always seemed nice enough. For a felon. “Now, Harper. Give me the list.” She pulled a gun from her overcoat and aimed it at Harper. It didn’t waver, and her index finger cupped the trigger automatically, no hesitation. As there was no hesitation in her stare. Charlotte gave every indication she would shoot her if she didn’t produce the list…that Harper didn’t have.
Her throat closed. It didn’t ask first. It just closed, and as her panic escalated to blinding fear, Harper opened her mouth, hoping something…some sound would make it past that restriction to buy her time. Charlotte frowned, not at all pleased.
“Harper?” Marnie’s mother dropped the gun and rolled her eyes. “You really are not good at this.”
Sucking in a breath, Harper nodde
d, seeing an opening to press her case. “I don’t have any list, Charlotte! It’s a rumor. Not true!”
“Bullshit.”
“Joe asked me to tell Dane he was sorry. That’s it, no list.”
Charlotte gave Harper’s excuse some thought and then shook her head, lifting the gun again and aiming it square at Harper’s belly. “Folsom didn’t have feelings, Harper, and you’re trying to tell me he dragged you into this mess to say he was sorry?” Charlotte shook her head again. “You ratted out your brother, fucking his chances to bring down the company. You were working with Folsom. Don’t lie. Give me the list. There are people who want it and will pay well when I give it to them.”
Harper was stymied, and then suddenly even more afraid than she’d already been. Harper and Joe’s secret apparently wasn’t a secret at all. He’d told someone, maybe just Ian Whitman, but others knew now. Charlotte knew. Seeing the situation through Charlotte’s eyes made the rumors on the street more understandable. They thought Harper was dirty and had betrayed her brother, working the whole time with Joe. Why wouldn’t she have a list?
“No, Charlotte. It’s not what you think. I’m not lying. Joe tricked me. Dane doesn’t know about it, but—”
“Give me the list, and then we’ll talk.” She waved her gun again.
Harper could not handle the muzzle staring her in the face for one moment longer. “Please!”
With a frustrated glare, Charlotte put the gun back in her pocket. “You’re so lucky Marnie loves you. You want me to keep your secrets? Sure. Give me that list and we’ll be even.” Harper stepped back, feeling as if her legs were about to collapse beneath her. She knocked against a box, which challenged her balance. “Maybe my buyers will make a deal,” Charlotte said, then held out her hand. “There’s only so much I can do, though. I’m really doing you a favor here. They’ll kill you to keep the information hidden. I take it from you, it disappears, and everyone can go about their lives.” Charlotte stepped close, peering into Harper’s eyes, hand still outstretched. “Last chance. The list.” She squinted, leaning closer, and then Charlotte’s shoulders dropped. “Damn. You’re not lying.”
Harper inhaled, filling her lungs with relief, and then released her breath in a burst. “I’m not.”
“Hmm. That is not good for you.” Charlotte turned, walking deeper into the apartment. “Don’t trust Sullivan. That’s a piece of free advice I give only because my Marnie loves you. Normally, that would have cost you.” Charlotte disappeared down the hall, toward what Harper could only presume was Lucas’s bedroom.
Someone knocked on the front door. Harper jumped, lunging for the door, peering through the peephole. “Lucas!” She opened the door, confused. Last she saw he was facing down a gun. “What happened?” And why did Joe, Caleb, and Charlotte all think he was dirty?
Lucas grimaced. “You okay? Dane said he called a moment ago and you didn’t answer.”
Her phone. Harper found it where it had fallen, on the floor near the kitchen counter. She retrieved it and caught sight of the picture of her on the counter. The glass was broken, but it was neatly propped up, retrieved from the trash. It was hard to look at. Though she was smiling, she could see it was forced. Girls’ night out. They’d been trying to cheer her up after her breakup with Lucas and failed miserably. Just looking at it reminded her of that horrible time.
She grabbed the photo, intent on trashing it again, but instead cut her hand on broken glass. “Damn!”
“Harper, settle down.”
He took the picture from her and put it back on the counter before guiding her into his tiny bathroom, sitting her on the closed toilet seat. She kept wondering if Charlotte had gone out a back way or was waiting in his bedroom for them to leave. Either was just as likely. That lady had no fear and telling Lucas about the visit seemed unwise. Oh, by the way, Lucas, Marnie’s mom has a buyer for that list. She’ll tell Dane I colluded with Joe if I don’t give it to her, and yeah, she said you’re not to be trusted.
Positioning her injured hand under the faucet, he cleaned the wound. It stung like a bejeepers. “It’s not that bad.”
“No?” Her blood swirled in the water pooling in the sink. “It looks bad.”
“It’s not deep. Does it hurt?”
“Yes.” She was confused, in shock, and didn’t know what to do. “What is up with that picture, Lucas? Why do you even have it? My hair is sticking up at an odd angle and it’s frizzy.”
“I think you look good in it.”
Harper replayed his words and wondered if it could be just that simple. He thought it a good picture of her, so he had it printed and framed? Too many layers of what the hell to wade through when her hand hurt, and Charlotte might play whack-a-mole and pop out of the back bedroom.
“Who was in that car and pointing a gun at you?” She moved her head, trying to get him to meet her gaze but Lucas avoided it, drying her hand with a white towel. Her wound stained it red.
“That call I took when we were leaving the apartment?” Lucas finally met her gaze, asking her to remember. Harper shook her head, not remembering. “It was your brother. The men that followed us from the school—”
“It was the same car. How did they escape Dane?”
“He let them go.” He seemed as baffled as she. “Had to. They’re FBI.”
Now the FBI was after her? “What do they want?”
“That’s the thing.” Lucas opened two Band-Aids and covered her cut with one. “It doesn’t make any sense.”
“Why stop now? Tell me.” She felt the weight of the world crash down on her and didn’t know if she could handle one more piece of bad news.
“They said they’re not following you.” Lucas was never more attractive than when he was giving good news. This was definitely good news. Still. He was right. It made no sense.
“They were at the school,” she said. “Are they denying that? They definitely followed us here and then parked out front. I saw the gun pointing at you from their car window.”
“They said”—he pressed the last Band-Aid in place—“they’re following me.”
Harper’s brain shut down. No thoughts marred the perfect stasis of her bafflement. It was a relief after days of stress and anxiety. She wanted to linger there, but the sting of this revelation would not be ignored. “Are you saying this whole thing isn’t about me, it’s about you?” Joe, Caleb, and Charlotte had warned her. Now the feds were involved.
He shook his head. “I don’t know. They’re not telling. Their orders were to keep an eye on me and my whereabouts. That’s all they’re willing to say.”
“You have FBI bodyguards?” Harper was incapable of hiding a thought. She knew her disbelief was on full display.
“That wasn’t the impression they gave me.” He had to know how bad this looked.
“FBI. They do federal crimes, cross-border crimes.” Criminals were the ones giving Harper the heads-up that Lucas was dirty, and the FBI was tailing him. This wasn’t nothing and Lucas was giving her no explanations.
“I haven’t broken the law, Harper, so wipe that look off your face. Believe me,” Lucas said, “if I had that kind of moral flexibility, no one, not even the FBI, would know about it.”
“Really? And why is that?”
Lucas smiled. “I’m just that good.”
Harper couldn’t have agreed more. And her judgment couldn’t be more flawed. She could discount the criminals in her life, but the FBI? They were holding a neon sign saying Don’t Trust Lucas.
“All better now.” Lucas bent his head and kissed the bandage. He was gentle and concerned. All the contradictory information hitting her at once made it impossible to know what to think. Was Lucas lying, working her? Was he also looking for the list, thinking she had it? Was it a coincidence he’d followed her to Manchester around the time the Whitman Enterprises case hit, or was it by design? He’d said he was offered the job a month before she left him, but…there was no way for her to know for sure this was the same
job.
When he lifted his head, their gazes met. His was filled with sympathy and anxiety. She preferred the confident version of Lucas, the guy with all the answers. This version was too human, and Harper was already feeling in over her head. Something was going on with him, and he was either not in the know or he was keeping it from her. Either scenario meant she was screwed. Again. Her inclination to trust had just put her in the middle of another dicey situation.
“Take me home,” she said.
That night, Harper was still processing the day’s events. Caleb’s guards were still patrolling the property, and Lucas kept his gun out, either in hand or on a table nearby. No one was taking security for granted. Certainly not Harper. Her gun was upstairs, under her pillow. She prayed she’d never have to use it.
Lucas remained adamant he had no idea why the FBI was tailing him. It weighed heavily on them both that the special agents were parked out front. Their presence created an uncertainty that prevented Harper from confiding to Lucas about Charlotte’s visit…and it was bursting to come out! Dane was off-limits, and Marnie seemed an iffy outlet since it was her mother causing the problem. Harper didn’t know what to do.
In the dining room, Lucas glared at whatever he saw on his laptop’s screen. “Any closer to answers? About the FBI?” she said.
He stopped typing, glancing up. “The lieutenant says he’s looking into it, but I can tell he’s stonewalling. For some reason, he’s not pulling me off the case, though. In his place, it’s the first thing I’d do. What about you? Have you decided I’m trustworthy, or do you want me to call your brother or Smith to stay with you?”
“That’s a bit aggressive, don’t you think?” She opened the refrigerator and took out leftover Chinese. Sniffing the carton, she hoped the fragrant sweet-and-sour sauce would rouse her appetite. He was focused on the laptop screen again, but there was a mulish hurt hovering about him. It’s his pride, she told herself.
“If you have questions, ask them,” he said.
Tempted by a Touch (Unlikely Hero) Page 12