by Mandy Baxter
Harper stopped at the crosswalk, toe tapping with impatience. Hurry up, you stupid streetlight. “Okay, I’ll give you that one. I’m still a little freaked out about it, but I’m not going to let some asshole scare me into hiding. Plus, you’d think I was the criminal the way I’m being treated. I guess it could be worse, though. I could be locked up in a room somewhere.”
“You and solitary confinement?” Sophie remarked. “Probably not the best match. God, I hope they find the asshole soon.”
“You and me both.” The little man on the crosswalk sign lit up and Harper took off across SW Main. “Anyway, my day’s going to be a total wash until I can get my notes. I guess I’ll just hang out at the apartment. Stop by if you want. It’s not like I’ll be going anywhere any time soon.”
Sophie laughed. “I’m working the late shift today, but maybe tomorrow or Wednesday I’ll swing by and we can watch a movie or something. So”—her voice took on the conspiratorial tone that signaled trouble—“tell me about the new bodyguard? Cute? I need the lowdown. You know, I’m not opposed to sexy older men.”
The anxious knot unfurled in Harper’s stomach and fluttered as though blown by a strong wind. Curt hadn’t been Sophie’s type, but the guy they’d brought in to replace him sure as hell was. “Sophie, you wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“Well, in that case, I’m definitely coming over tomorrow night. I’ll text you. Let me know if you need anything, okay?”
“I will.”
“Um, Harper? Why do I hear the sound of traffic in the background?” Harper smiled at Sophie’s suspicious tone. “You didn’t ditch again, did you?”
Sophie knew her all too well. “No one comes between me and my notes,” Harper replied, admitting to nothing.
“Harper, I hate to be the responsible one in this situation, but you really shouldn’t be running around the city without an escort. Get your notes and get your ass home. See you tomorrow.”
“Bye.” As Harper disconnected the call, she hit SW Broadway and jogged down the sidewalk toward The Oregonian’s offices. That had to have been the fastest seven blocks she’d ever walked. Knowing she was being pursued by an annoying deputy U.S. marshal probably had something to do with her new land-speed record, though.
As she headed into the building, she couldn’t help but worry about what would happen once Galen managed to catch up to her. Would he drag her off against her will to a safe house somewhere or would he actually take her home? A day trapped in her apartment with the star of her sexual fantasies for the past twelve months. What could be better? Dental surgery. Filling out a twelve-page marketing questionnaire. A visit from pushy missionaries. Door-to-door encyclopedia salesmen.
She could only hope that whatever happened, he’d go light on her. After all, spending time alone with him would be punishment enough.
Galen’s car idled at the stoplight while he stared across the street, mouth agape. He watched as Harper blended in with the pedestrians scattered on the sidewalk. She appeared to be well-practiced at stealthy getaways. Her pace wasn’t quick enough to draw attention but wasn’t slow enough for him to keep an eye on her. She made sure to stay away from the street side of the sidewalk and remained close enough to the person walking near her that she appeared not to be alone. Smart. Of course, he’d known that about her. Not that ducking her protective detail was currently an accurate representation of her intelligence. Galen cursed as he pulled his cell from his pocket. What was she thinking, taking off like that?
Guess he’d asked for a rough go of it, what with his presenting her zero options in her situation and all. More oftentimes than not, intimidation tactics made it easier for him to do his job. He had plenty of practice at behaving like a disconnected dick. Sort of came with the badge. If you pushed hard enough, most people wouldn’t push back. It was how he controlled a situation. Apparently, he hadn’t pushed her hard enough because she was one of the rare witnesses who hadn’t responded to his tactics. Damn it, he was not in the mood for playing games. Add to that the fact that he’d painted himself into a corner with Harper by pretending not to know her and subsequently treating her exactly like a cup being passed around, and his day—hell, maybe even his entire year—was basically shot to shit. Too late to worry about it now, he supposed. He pulled his cell from his pocket and dialed the office. Not even five minutes out of the building and he was already calling his supervisor for help. Awesome.
“Monroe.”
Christ. As if this weren’t humiliating as hell. “What’s The Oregonian’s address?” Only a year gone and he had to reacquaint himself with the city. Lord. “And when I get there, what floor is her office on?”
“You lost her already, Galen?” Monroe all but blurted. “I figured it would be at least a few hours before she managed to dodge you.”
Galen cringed. By tomorrow he’d be the office joke. “Yeah, well, she’s . . .”
“Feisty?” Monroe ventured.
“Something like that.” This detail was going to be the death of him.
“1320 South West Broadway. Second floor,” Monroe said through a bout of laughter. Ha. Ha. Ha.
“Thanks.”
“Keep an eye on that one, she’s trouble when she gets a donut craving.”
Okay, that was new. Witnesses had tried to give him the slip for various reasons but never for pastries. “Noted.”
Galen ended the call and pulled out into traffic. He could drive the seven blocks to the newspaper’s offices faster than she could walk if the traffic lights changed in his favor. His fists gripped the steering wheel tight, his knuckles turning almost white. Was the tangled knot forming in his stomach one of anger or worry? Nothing pissed him off more than a difficult witness. But was that all there was to it? Or did the underlying sense of dread that caused his death grip on the steering wheel have more to do with his concern for Harper’s safety?
Seven blocks felt more like seventy as he kept his eyes peeled for any sign of her. The morning rush of traffic didn’t do much for his uptight attitude and the commute of pedestrians made it impossible for him to spot her. He reminded himself that Harper wasn’t stupid. She knew the seriousness of her predicament. Her running probably had more to do with asserting control over her situation than a disregard for her safety. That didn’t mean it didn’t rile the shit out of him, though.
Galen turned onto SW Broadway and pulled up in front of The Oregonian. As he cut the engine and got out of the car, he caught sight of her, beelining it to the entrance, head down, arms swinging with purpose. A smile threatened and Galen tucked it away. Her comical stride was not amusing.
“Harper, hold up!” Galen called after her, but she headed into the building without even a glance back. He hit the key fob and locked the car, sprinting to keep up. Once through the entrance, he got a glimpse of her auburn hair as she ducked into an elevator, the doors sliding behind her and shutting him out. Damn, she was fast. “Goddamn it,” Galen ground from between clenched teeth.
More times than not, the ones who ran always took the stairs. If she was hoping to ride the elevator up and take the stairs down, he’d cut her off. Plus, by taking the long way up, he’d give himself a few minutes to cool off. If he came face-to-face with Harper right now, he’d be tempted to cuff her to him. And that probably wouldn’t go over too well.
The second floor was separated into several large rooms for the various departments. He found a set of double doors marked newsroom and went inside. The wide-open space was pretty much what Galen had expected: lots of cubicles. A maze of desks and partitions designed to aggravate him to the point of spontaneous combustion. Flat-screen TVs hung high on the walls, dialed in to regional and national news outlets. The clicking of computer keys mingled with murmured voices and the ringing of phones. He’d go bat-shit crazy in this anthill environment day in and day out. There was too much hustle and bustle. And that was saying a lot considering what he did for a living.
A woman with her face plastered to the scree
n of her smartphone approached, and Galen reached out to tap her on the shoulder. She looked up and around as if she had no idea where she was, and gave him a bright smile.
“I’m looking for Harper Allen. Have you seen her this morning?”
“Yeah.” She put a hand on her hip and canted her head to the side. “She’s in Sam’s office. Can I help you with something?”
“No,” Galen said, looking around. “Sam is . . . ?”
“Editorial.” She pointed to the back of the building toward a set of enclosed offices. Her expression grew wary, and Galen had the impression he was being inspected and logged into the woman’s personal memory bank. “Is Harper expecting you?”
Right. Of course everyone here knew what had happened. And likewise, it was nice to know her coworkers were looking out for her. He swept his jacket aside to show her the badge affixed to his belt and she relaxed. “I’m with the U.S. Marshals Service.” He held out his hand. “Galen Kelly.”
“Tiffany.” She shook his hand. “If you head straight back to the far wall, Sam’s office is on the left.”
“Thanks.” Funny how accommodating people became when they found out you had the power to arrest them.
Galen took off toward Sam’s office. Monroe’s mocking laughter echoed in his mind as he realized that keeping track of Harper might be a little tougher than he’d thought. Dignitaries expected you to be close. Welcomed the human shield who was ready to take a bullet for them. He’d thought the high-profile assignment would keep him on his toes. But nothing could have prepared him for what he’d come home to. Hey, Galen. Welcome back! How ’bout you spend the next few months with the best sex of your life while you try not to think about the fact that she cheated on her boyfriend with you. Sounds like fun, right? Woo-fucking-hoo.
He knocked twice and entered Sam’s office without being invited. If Harper was prone to wander, as Monroe had indicated, he could fix that particular problem in two little words: tracking anklet. Sam looked up and Harper turned around as Galen closed the door behind him. Her expression fell, and her shoulders slumped. Nice to see her deflate like an old balloon the second she laid eyes on him.
“You know, you’d think since I’m doing you a favor by not setting you up in a safe house, you’d do one for me and stay close like I asked. I don’t know what you thought you were doing, Harper, but taking off like that isn’t going to fly with me. This place is off-limits.”
Harper cocked a brow and settled back into her chair. “You call that taking off? It took you, what, ten minutes to catch up to me. I guess I better be careful when we get back to my place. Don’t want you to think I’m taking off when I slip into the bathroom for a few seconds.”
Galen gnashed his teeth together until he thought his jaw might break. He fixed a pleasant expression on his face, and reminded himself that witnesses under protection, like errant teens, had a tendency to test the waters with their appointed guardians. Sometimes witness security was a lot like parenting. In some ways, Galen felt like a temporary foster parent for troubled adults.
“Sam?” He looked past Harper to the older man seated at the desk. “I’m Deputy Marshal Galen Kelly. I’m in charge of Harper’s protective detail. I wonder if I might have a moment alone with her.”
Chapter Nine
Great. Now what? He was going to take her to task for ditching him, lecture her on the merits of playing it safe, and remind her once again how he was so freaking magnanimous for not carting her off to a hotel somewhere and tagging her with a new name and Social Security number before setting her loose in the wild? Sam gave her a questioning look and she nodded. Might as well get it over with now. Harper sat in the chair, staring at the wall behind Sam’s desk and the framed IRE, Polk, and Northwest Journalism awards, milestones of a career decades in the making. Would she ever get to hang anything like that on her own wall? For that matter, would she even live long enough to be something more than a hot news story herself?
What’s the real issue here, Harper? Are you tired of your every move being followed and cataloged? Are you scared? Or are you simply that pissed he doesn’t seem to remember anything at all about that night?
Yes, yes, and yes.
She could be upfront with him. Galen might not remember anything about her, but she remembered everything about him. No lies. No bullshit. They were mere hours into what could be a weeks’—maybe months’—long relationship. Strike that. Whatever this was, it wasn’t a relationship. It wasn’t even a partnership. She could safely call this a whatevership. She was a responsibility. A work assignment. The equivalent of a professional shrug. Whatever. And when it was all said and done, she’d return to her life and he’d return to his. Everything would go back to normal. It was what she wanted. So why did she already feel such a profound sense of loss? She released the sigh that had built up in her chest. Damn, she was tired of this game and it had barely begun.
“I didn’t know it was a gunshot at first,” she said before Galen could lay into her. She sat facing Sam’s desk, Galen behind her. It was easier to talk to him if she didn’t have to see his face. “It sort of sounded like a car backfiring. A loud pop. And then he just . . . fell. He pulled me down on top of him and I noticed he was bleeding.” She hadn’t talked about what had happened since the night the FBI had questioned her. Her chest constricted and Harper found it hard to breathe. “I—I shouted for help, but I knew that he wasn’t going to make it. Not with the way he was bleeding. And then I realized that whoever shot him had to be close and all I could think was how stupid I was for calling out. I should have run, but I crawled under his car like an idiot, waiting to be killed.”
The carpeting in Sam’s office muted Galen’s footsteps, but Harper knew the second he was within touching distance. The charge in the air sparked along her skin, and her pulse quickened.
“I have to know. I need to know why my life’s been uprooted, why someone is trying to scare me.” She’d never said the words out loud. It sounded so callous, as though she were more concerned with the whys than the man himself, but that wasn’t the case. “Ellis’s family deserves to know why he died.”
“The best way to get that, Harper, is to keep a low profile and let the FBI do their job.”
His voice tingled through her, sending a shiver down her spine. If she closed her eyes and focused on the warm timbre, she could almost pretend she was standing in her dark apartment again, his breath warm in her ear. “My parents are freaking out over this. They want me to come home. Ever since I got that crazy voice mail, Sam ordered me away from the office and threatened to fire me if I came back before the investigation is complete. My own peers have smeared my face across every news outlet in the country. I suppose it’s poetic justice. A determined political reporter finds herself at the center of a political scandal.” She scoffed. “Hell, I’d report on it.”
Galen came from behind her and settled on the edge of Sam’s desk. Funny, but she sort of liked having him at her back. Despite the fact that she was nothing more than another day at the office for him, she felt safe. He studied her with those intense blue eyes, his dark brows furrowed. If she’d ever wanted to crawl into someone’s thoughts it was right now.
“I know this is new and uncomfortable for you. But it’s not for me,” Galen reassured her. “I’ve done the high-profile thing. I’ve worked details that lasted a week and others that have lasted months or longer. The point is, we’re here to make sure not only that you’re protected, but that you’re not overwhelmed. You don’t have to take on more than you can handle, Harper.”
She’d never been good at asking for help. Asking for help meant you were weak. That you couldn’t hack it. From the time she was a kid, her dad had drilled that philosophy into her brain. His side of the family was huge: brothers, sisters, cousins all coming out of the woodwork to stand in line with their hands out. They were constantly asking for loans, favors, a helping hand. And Tom Allen didn’t want his daughter to be the type of person who couldn’t stand o
n her own two feet. He wanted her to know the satisfaction of being independent, of not having to owe anyone for anything. Harper had depended on herself for so long, she didn’t know if she could allow herself to depend on anyone else. Once she opened that door even a little, would everything she’d worked for come crashing down?
Galen’s words were so sincere, his gaze so clear and focused. If only she could let go. Allow herself to give up control. If only there weren’t history between them. She averted her eyes and stood, unwilling to see the honesty in his. “I got what I came here for. Let’s go.”
The trek back through the office didn’t do anything for Harper’s dour mood. Pitiful glances and commiserating half smiles followed her out the door and into the hallway. Poor, sad, pathetic Harper. Was ten in the morning too early to start drinking? She hated the pity that wafted off of everyone she passed. She didn’t need Galen’s concern. Didn’t want his softly spoken words to comfort or warm her. It was easier to hold on to her anger when he acted like the hotshot arrogant deputy marshal, and it helped to lessen the sting of his . . . what? Rejection? You had to remember the person you’d slept with in order to reject them.
“Curt always left after eight and another deputy took over the evening shift, along with a second deputy who’s usually posted outside of my building for the night. Is that going to change now that you’ve been assigned to my detail?” God, if Galen had to spend the night in her apartment, she’d crack for sure.
Galen pushed the button to call the elevator and took a step back. “Nothing changes. I’m the deputy in charge of your detail, so everyone else on shift reports to me. We want you to feel comfortable, and let’s face it, no one sleeps well with a stranger camped out on the couch.”
Harper’s lips spread into a reluctant smile. Nothing like waking up to an armed man on your sofa to start off the day. “Curt assigned a female marshal to stay in the apartment over nights.”