It was time for Harper to take care of them for once—close Lucas’s case, give Dane and Marnie the freedom to live their lives without this hanging over them, and finally, to produce the good news Elizabeth deserved and needed to continue her recovery.
Harper stole her brother’s keys off the foyer table, knowing she was stranding them all at the farmhouse, because Dane had picked her and Lucas up last night. Lucas’s car was at her house and hers was at the shop. But stranding them was necessary. She couldn’t have them stopping her, and if they had a car, they would. So she quietly left the house, drove away undetected, and when she took the on-ramp to I-93, she remembered they’d taken her phone. Her stomach did a flip. She was completely on her own now, no back up. Only then did the fear kick in, and it kicked in hard.
Being a target was a bitch.
Chapter Eleven
Dane, Marnie, and Lucas still hadn’t hammered out a good plan. When Dane’s daughter, Elizabeth, called and asked for some clothes to be dropped off at Millicent’s house, they decided to take a break, and Lucas went in search of a much-needed shower. He paused outside Harper’s room, one hand on the knob, the other poised to knock, and then stopped himself. Instinct drew him to her, his need to comfort her, tell her everything would be okay, but lying didn’t come easily to Lucas. Not to Harper, not to himself. She was in serious danger and would be until the list was in the open. She knew that. He knew that. Better to avoid the subject until they’d all hammered out a solution.
He stepped away from her door and into the bathroom, shucking his clothes. The water was hot, his mood somber, and no amount of shower spray seemed to show him a way out of their dilemma.
When the bathroom door burst open, Lucas poked his head out from behind the shower curtain. “What’s happening?” Shampoo leeched into his eyes, stinging them.
“The car is gone and we can’t find Harper.” Dane left the room as quickly as he arrived.
“Fuck!” Lucas rinsed, got out, and then tugged on his clothes without drying himself. He’d just attached his holstered gun to his jeans when Dane returned.
“My keys are gone, so Harper took it.” He held up her iPhone. “And no way of contacting her.”
Lucas forced himself not to panic. “What kind of a head start did she get?”
Marnie appeared at the door. “Half hour max,” she said. “Not enough time to make it to the bank. Harper is a drive-the-speed-limit kind of gal. Not that it matters. It was the only car we have between us.”
“There’s a motorcycle in the garage.” Dane rushed down the hall and then stairs, Lucas hot on his heels.
“Give me the keys,” Lucas said.
Dane ignored him as he rushed into the kitchen.
“Give him the keys, Dane.” Marnie stepped in front of him, forcing her husband to listen. “I’m pregnant. Do you really want to lose your job now? And look at Lucas. He’s furious. She can’t wrap him around her little finger the way she does you. He has a chance to make her see reason.” Dane hesitated.
“The keys?” Lucas extended his hand.
Dane opened a drawer and gave him the keys. “Harper is what’s important, Sullivan. We clear? Put her before the case.”
Lucas ran outside, only then aware he’d forgotten his shoes. “Damn.” He hurried back, pulled them on, and on the way out Marnie handed him a biker jacket and helmet.
“Go get her, Romeo.” Marnie winked.
The jacket and helmet came in handy as the hundred-mile-an-hour race down I-93 dragged on. He arrived at the bank in time to see Harper disappear into the building. Wanting to hail her but fearing the attention it would bring, Lucas instead scanned the parking lot and saw not one familiar or suspicious face. He parked and then took his time crossing the lot and entering the bank, helmet in hand.
…
Even midmorning, the TD Bank on Elm Street was busy. Harper saw lots of business suits and women in skirts and heels and supposed the crush was local company-related traffic. Everyone but the very old was staring at their iPhones. It took five minutes to move up the member-services line to the wooden counter. The name plate on the desk said Janice. A middle-aged woman with short, graying hair and a headset said, “How may I help you?” She, presumably Janice, nudged her glasses higher on the bridge of her nose and then rested her hand back on her keyboard.
Harper smiled. “I need access to my safe-deposit box.”
“Of course. I need to see your identification, please.”
Harper handed over her license. Janice pushed a button on the switchboard and then waited. “Peter? We have a member who needs access to the safe-deposit box vault.” She frowned, pulling the microphone closer to her mouth, while peering at Harper’s license. “Her name is Harper MacLain.” She handed Harper her license and indicated a set of upholstered mauve chairs in the corner. “If you could wait there, Peter will be right out to assist you.”
A large hand grabbed her elbow, startling her. Lucas. Her shoulders dropped with relief.
“What do you think you’re doing?” He tugged her to the chairs, glancing around the waiting area. “We need to leave before the associate arrives and he starts asking questions. You picked a horrible time to develop a death wish, Harper, what the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“Everyone a favor. No one wanted to admit it, but it had to be me.”
He was keeping his voice low, barely above a whisper, but it felt as if he were yelling. “You’ve willfully put yourself in danger—”
“To protect my family. I’d do it again.” She glanced around the quiet room with milling strangers. Blending in with the crowd had never been more important. “The odds of me getting caught here are practically nil. We’re the only ones who know about the safe-deposit box.”
“You don’t know that. You, for some reason, seem to be the last person to know anything lately.”
“Hey, that sounds personal.” If it was, Harper thought Lucas’s timing was horrible.
“You scared the shit out of us. Not cool, Harper. Not cool.”
She refused to feel guilty. She’d done the right thing for the right reasons. “The farmhouse’s location would have to be compromised for someone to tail me here, so even if they wanted to follow me, they wouldn’t have been able to.”
“Unless they were waiting here for you.”
“You’re paranoid.”
“It’s my job. Did you even bring your gun?”
“I left it in the car. This is a bank. Where is yours?”
“I’m a detective. It’s on my hip.”
“Well, okay, then. We’re safe. Right?” She touched his arm, trying to placate. “Admit it. I did us all a favor.” Harper gently tugged her elbow out of his grasp and only then noticed he hadn’t realized he was still holding it. When she sat, she patted the chair next to her. “I’d forgotten about the motorcycle. You got here quick.” She found herself relaxing for the first time since she left the farmhouse. Lucas was here. Everything would be okay.
He sat next to her, nerves strung tight. “I broke a few laws doing it.”
Feeling sheepish, she didn’t know what to say to that. He was mad, but…well… “You’re here now.”
“This is not safe. Between the three of us, we would have hashed something out. Why didn’t you trust us to do that?”
She glanced left and right, not wanting to be overheard. “Because there are four, not three of us. I’m not a child. This is my life. I’m taking risks on my terms. I decided the risks were minimal, or at least at a level I was comfortable taking, because I believe the payoff will be worth it. That list, if it’s even in that safe-deposit box, will end the threat to my family. I’m surprised you didn’t anticipate me taking the problem into my own hands.”
Lucas opened his mouth, as if to berate her some more, but sighed instead, leaning back in his chair. “What do you mean if it’s in the safe-deposit box? Do you know something that would suggest otherwise?”
“No. But the document didn
’t say this is where the list is, did it? No. It could be a parting gift of disaster from Joe. It would be his style to fill it with anthrax or something.”
“Or Al Capone’s vault.”
“What?” Harper wasn’t sure she heard him correctly.
“An empty hole in the wall. Everyone was expecting something important, but what they found was nothing. We should leave.”
“So why aren’t we?” Because he knew she was right.
“Because”—his expression grew dark—“I have no claim over you.” He said it like that was Harper’s choice. So incredibly unfair.
“Lucas Sullivan, if you want to discuss fair and unfair—” Harper got in his face, but then a suited man approached, forcing her to put a pin in it. A big pin, because she had a lot to say.
Mid-thirties, medium build, muscular but not in a showy way, the employee had close-cropped brown hair and an easy smile. Harper found him attractive, so she smiled back, ignoring Lucas’s disgruntled reaction to her charm offensive. The man held out his hand to Lucas. They shook, and then Peter shook Harper’s hand, smiling.
“Hello. My name is Peter Thompson. How may I help you?”
“We need access to a safe-deposit box,” Lucas said.
“Of course. This way.” Peter led them into the back of the bank, passing cubicles of upscale-casually dressed admin people, most wearing headsets, speaking to clients or whomever. They were led down the hall until they arrived at the vault door. It had two locks; one to the left and one to the right of it.
“I’ll need your license again, or whatever you showed Janice. A government-issued picture ID will do.” Harper showed him her license. “Thank you.” Peter handed her a key and pointed out the lock on her side of the door where she needed to insert it. “We need to turn the keys together.” He pulled a key attached to a retractable keychain affixed to his belt and inserted it into the lock on his side of the door. “Now you.” She inserted the key. “When I say go, turn the key.” He held Harper’s gaze and then said, “Go.”
They turned their keys, and the door clicked open.
Peter addressed Lucas. “There are protocols affixed to this particular account. Only Ms. MacLain is allowed in the room when the box is opened.”
“No.” Lucas folded his arms across his chest and glared. “Not acceptable.”
Peter was unfazed. “Of course, sir.” He retrieved Harper’s key. “I fully understand if you’d prefer not to have access to the box today. Maybe if you speak with my manager he could find a way around that protocol, but that would require paperwork signed and accepted, and it will most likely take a few days to process.”
Harper saw Lucas’s expression harden. He was about to open his mouth and suggest just that, dragging the process out longer. If Charlotte Pleasant weren’t riding her ass, if the FBI weren’t sniffing around Lucas, and, yes, if everyone didn’t want to snatch Harper for the list, maybe she’d agree. Caution. Wait until her safety was a sure thing. But life hadn’t been that kind to Harper. She was in danger and needed this over.
“I’m going in, Lucas. Wait here.” Then she smiled at Peter. He was big. “You’d know if anyone was already in the vault, right?” Now she was getting paranoid.
“If there was, I’d be in there already, waiting while they conducted their business in the viewing room.” Peter’s answer was reassuring enough to prompt a reluctant nod from Lucas.
“Fine,” Lucas said. “Let’s get this done.”
Peter looked over his shoulder, as if searching for someone, but abandoned the search to push open the door, leading the way inside. Harper followed down a short hall into a twenty-by-twenty-foot room with safe-deposit boxes lining the walls.
Peter went to the back wall and motioned her over. “If you would place your right thumb here.” He pointed to the small glass portion of the lock on the safe-deposit locker’s front. She pressed her thumb on it, and the door clicked opened, showing the box inside. “The viewing room is through that door.” He pulled the small safe-deposit box from its locker, metal grating on metal, and walked to the viewing room door. He held it open for her, waiting until she entered to allow it to swing closed behind him.
For all her courageous talk, seeing the box made her wish Lucas was with her. So innocuous in and of itself, it represented grief and pain, and the potential for more.
The room was eight-by-ten feet, carpeted in plush taupe and the sole item inside was a polished wood table. Peter put the box on it with a thump and slid it toward Harper.
“Thank you,” she said.
“This box also has a right thumbprint lock. Press your thumb on the screen and the box will open, just like we did on the locker.” He pointed to the door’s casement and a small button affixed about five feet up from the floor. “This is our buzzer. I’ll wait out there until you’re done. Buzz me when you’re ready and then I’ll put the box away.” He turned, leaving.
“Okay.” She nodded, laying her hands on the cold metal, wondering what she was going to find inside. Harper hated her fear. Joe, and all his perfidy, might as well be in this box.
The door swung closed behind Peter as she pressed her thumb to the lock. It opened with a click, and a neon-yellow flash drive was the lone item inside.
Peter’s foot slammed against the door, and stopped it from fully closing. Harper immediately assumed he’d forgotten something, so when he poked his head inside the room, she forgave him the intrusion.
“I’m sorry,” he said. And he did look sorry—in fact, totally distracted and self-deprecating. When he approached, the look on his face told her his behavior wasn’t appropriate, but the fear in his eyes, triggered hers. She stepped back in fright. “I’m so sorry,” he said.
Before she could shout, he pressed a smelly rag over her mouth and nose, his other hand capturing the back of her neck, controlling her as she flailed. She couldn’t breathe, her vision faded, and then she lost the strength in her limbs.
Chapter Twelve
“She’s inside the vault,” Lucas said to Dane via his cell phone. “I’ll leave the motorcycle at the bank for now and drive the sedan back when we’re through.”
“No worries,” Dane said. “How long has she been in the vault?”
“Not even a minute. I’ll call you when I have news.” He hung up and then stewed in his discontent. He didn’t have long to wait. The door opened and Lucas was relieved, until he saw Peter was alone. A stab of disappointment quickly turned to irritation.
“I was called up front for a dispute or something. I’m sorry. I will be right back.” Peter closed the vault door behind him. “I told Ms. MacLain to leave the box on the table and I’ll put it away when I return shortly.” He extended his hand for a shake. “If there’s anything else I can do for you? We have coffee available while you wait.” He waited, expectant.
Lucas shook his head, feeling disgruntled, but unwilling to take it out on Peter, so he shook the man’s hand and ignored the offer, too distracted by the attendant’s sickly-sweet cologne to interact further. He was thankful when Peter moved on, disappearing around the nearest cubicle, until he realized he too now reeked of the associate’s scent. Lucas wiped his hand on his jeans, struggling to restrain himself from banging on the door. She knew he was waiting outside, worrying about her. What could be taking so long?
His phone rang. Marnie. “So? What’s happening?” she said.
“I told you I’d call.” Lucas hung up and knocked on the door. A glance over his shoulder revealed his behavior hadn’t garnered attention yet, so he knocked again. Nothing. “Fuck.”
Five minutes later, Lucas waved down a passing associate. “My girlfriend has been in there too long. I’m afraid something happened to her. Can you find Peter?”
“Peter?” The bank employee wore a navy blazer with the bank’s logo on its lapel. In his mid-twenties, clean-cut and confused, he gave every indication of being intimidated by Lucas’s intensity. In his current mood, Lucas was okay with that. The guy glanced
at the vault door. “I thought he was still in the vault.”
Lucas pointed to the door. “Whoever can open this door needs to do it now. I’m a detective with the Manchester Police Department. I need it opened.” He pushed the leather biker jacket behind his holstered gun and unclipped his badge from his belt, waving it around. “Now. Are we understanding each other?”
“Yes, sir.” But he didn’t move.
“Find me the manager.” Lucas shoved the associate toward the growing crowd. “I need a manager over here!”
He didn’t have long to wait. An older gentleman approached, escorted by two security guards looking for a fight. Lucas flashed his badge some more, calming all. “My girlfriend has been in there too long. I’m afraid something’s happened. Open the door.”
The manager, his name tag spelled out ‘Mr. Zelazny’, was balding, and sported a gray halo of hair on his perfectly round head. The man hurried to comply, handing a guard a key. They opened the door as he’d earlier seen Harper and Peter open it. Lucas rushed inside, saw no one, and then rushed through the inner door.
“Harper!” She was on the floor, unconscious. “You!” He pointed to the young associate. “Call an ambulance!” He knelt next to her, felt for a pulse at her neck. She was alive. He checked for blood on the floor and then on her body. Nothing. Pressing his face to hers he shuddered with relief when he felt her breath on his cheek. She was breathing, thank the heavens. And then the sweet, chemical smell of Peter’s cologne hit him, triggering a memory. “Chloroform. She’s been drugged.”
“Is she breathing?” Hands clenched, Mr. Zelazny teetered between inconvenienced and horrified. The security guards came and went, immediately leaving to keeping gawkers at bay as Lucas gathered Harper into his arms.
“She’s breathing.” He rocked her, holding her tightly against his chest. It was a harsh reminder of how delicate she was. Just a tiny thing, really. It wouldn’t take much to render her unconscious. Had she been overdosed? Lucas had no way of knowing and it was driving him mad. “Harper, sweetheart, wake up. Wake up.” He jostled her, fear blotting out everything else as he pressed his lips to her forehead.
Tempted by a Touch (Unlikely Hero) Page 15