by Mandy Baxter
“That’s not going to change. Everyone who’s been assigned to your security will remain on your detail.” The elevator doors slid open and Galen stepped inside. Harper followed and tucked herself in the opposite corner of the tiny car. Last year’s elevator ride with Galen had been decidedly steamier, and she needed to put a little distance between them. “If you’re uncomfortable with anyone or have any questions, just say the word. A lot of witnesses get nervous.”
“I’ll be fine.”
Galen’s brow furrowed. He looked like he wanted to say more, but thankfully he kept his thoughts to himself.
“Do you really think whoever shot Ellis is a threat to me?” It was a stupid question. One she’d asked the FBI, the police, and Curt the first night she’d met him. Harper didn’t really need any more confirmation, but for some reason, she wanted to hear him say it. “He didn’t confide anything to me”—except for a bunch of gibberish I barely remember—“but Curt says the shooter can’t afford to take any chances.”
“If it was me,” Galen said, thoughtful, “I’d take you out in a heartbeat. No questions asked.”
The mere two-story elevator ride was one of the longest of Harper’s life. Despite the fact that Galen had assured her that her life was in danger, all she could think about were her legs wrapped around his waist and the hard length of his erection as it brushed against her core.
“Are you okay, Harper?” Galen asked as the elevator doors opened. “You look a little flushed.”
Oh, God. Not at all embarrassing that he noticed the blush her memories evoked. Harper Allen, wanton slut right here, folks! “I’m fine.” Mind out of the gutter, Harp. Keep it clean. She needed to get that night out of her head once and for all. He certainly didn’t remember it, so why should she? Um, how about because it was the best sex of your life? Okay, so maybe it would take longer than a day to quit thinking about that night. At least she had work to occupy her in the meantime.
Galen made a silent vow to avoid elevators for a while. The second the doors slid closed, all he could think about was his hands on Harper’s body and how damned good it had felt to kiss her. And wasn’t he a king-sized asshole for fantasizing about their passionate elevator ride together while she was obviously upset over the situation she was in. Nice, dude. You earned your dickhead-of-the-month membership today.
While he was trying not to picture Harper without her clothes, a thought did cross Galen’s mind. With the high-profile nature of this case and the yet-to-be-determined motive of Senator Ellis’s murder, chances were good that the bastard responsible was holed up somewhere, doing his research on the sole witness. He already knew where she worked. It wouldn’t be long before he knew everything about her. Where had Harper said she’d grown up? Iowa? No. Shit. Where the hell was it? He’d have to check in with Monroe, find out if he’d sent anyone to keep an eye on Harper’s family. More times than not, suspects took the backdoor approach, using the witness’s loved ones to get to the witness.
Once free of the torturous elevator, the rest of the morning took a nosedive from there. Harper didn’t speak and her pensive mood was starting to rub off on Galen. He climbed into the car—from one enclosed space to another, it seemed—and he gave himself a mental pep talk as he pulled out into traffic and headed south down SW Broadway.
“You’re going the wrong way.”
Galen kept his eyes on traffic. Had Harper moved? She said he was going the wrong direction, but the Regency Apartments were on Broadway, not far from the newspaper. Wow, dude, how pathetic is it that you remember where she lived ? Maybe they weren’t headed to her apartment. The thought that he might have to deal with being stationed at her boyfriend’s place made Galen want to turn the fuck around and head back to the office.
Harper pointed behind them and said, “My condo’s off of Burnside, on Northwest Uptown Terrace.”
“Gotcha. Thanks.” Galen switched lanes and circled the block, backtracking to SW Jefferson. Monroe had sent all of Harper’s pertinent information—work info, home address, apartment number, cell number, etc.—to his phone, but he hadn’t thought to look at it yet. The fact that she might have moved was a sore reminder that a hell of a lot had changed over the course of a year and he had no business living in the past.
The twenty-minute drive to Harper’s condo passed in silence. It was clear she wanted him to give her a little space, and to be honest, he wasn’t interested in trying to make small talk. When they pulled up to her building, a cold lump of dread settled in the pit of Galen’s gut. The last things he wanted to see were pictures of Harper and her boyfriend, his clothes scattered around the house, or worse yet, the guy in the flesh. That would be the cherry on top of a stellar day. Yeah, he’d been played. A fucking year ago. So why did it feel like it just happened yesterday? Fair didn’t work into the whole life equation. Was it fair that his dad had cheated on his mom more times than he could count? No. Was it fair that she’d abandoned him and Michelle because she couldn’t snap out of her depression? Nope. So what good would it do him now to be angry over something he had no control of whatsoever? Nada.
If he hadn’t killed the engine, Galen doubted Harper would have even noticed they’d stopped. She looked up at her building, and then at him. God, he wanted to comb his fingers through her hair, take her face in his hands, put his mouth to hers, and make the past year disappear. Her face was drawn, her usually sparkling hazel eyes dull. She looked exhausted. Knowing that she wasn’t his to comfort, to touch, sliced through him like a knife to the chest. She belonged to someone else.
There was no use sitting out here in the car like some sort of pussy. Life wasn’t fair. Suck it up. If the boyfriend was there—fine. If he had to endure the sight of them together—fine. He was a professional, damn it. He would not let this get under his skin.
“Ready?”
Harper sighed and got out of the car. “I’m on the sixth floor.” She’d devolved from snarky smart-ass with a comeback for everything into a passive, nonverbal passenger who seemed to be just along for the ride. Galen liked the smart-ass side of her personality much better than the quiet brooder. At least the snark kept him on his toes. Hell, at this point he’d settle for passive aggressive.
Harper looked up at her building, almost as though she were preparing herself for the arduous journey to the sixth floor. Maybe she wasn’t any more excited to have her boyfriend meet the guy she’d had a one-night stand with than Galen was to be meeting the ass hat who’ d managed to snag her. What was his name again? Camden? Carl?
“Curt brought his laptop so he could work,” Harper remarked as she stepped up onto the sidewalk and headed for the building. “You’re probably going to be pretty bored. I don’t have anything but basic cable and a weak DVD collection.”
Galen stepped up beside her and cocked a brow. Whereas Monroe’s administrative duties usually kept him chained to his desk, Galen spent a lot of his time in the field. “I’ll be fine.” He motioned Harper up ahead of him while he scanned the building and surrounding area, gathering a mental cache of information he would later use to develop a risk assessment. Already, he spotted several areas—the parking garage next door, an alley across from her building, not to mention an abandoned storefront fifty yards down the street—that made perfect cover for a shooter with even marginal aim. The fire escape was a huge risk as well. Funny that something put in place as a safety measure could actually put Harper closer to danger.
Though he wasn’t thrilled about the neighborhood—honestly, her tiny studio on Broadway would have been safer—Galen felt a little better about Harper’s living situation once they made it past the lobby. The condo complex was older, but it did have twenty-four-hour front-desk staff. He made Harper wait for him at the elevators, well within his line of vision, while he checked the interior stairwells. All equipped with emergency exits that led to the fire escapes and sturdy doors that opened up onto each floor.
“Curt and his team did the whole marshal treatment on the buildi
ng a couple of days ago.” She stepped into the empty elevator car and raised a brow as if daring Galen to step inside. Holy hell, that one look was enough to stir his blood. He took a deep breath and forbade himself from thinking of two things on the ride to the sixth floor: Harper’s naked body, and well, Harper’s naked body on his naked body.
“There are deputies positioned around the block.” Talking about work was sort of like taking a cold shower. Harper’s eyes wandered to his mouth and his gut clenched. Shit, it was going to take a hell of a lot more than office banter to cool him down. “And, um”—he cleared his throat—“of course, the FBI have personnel in the area as well. If I have to evacuate you—”
“Why would you have to do that?” Her voice dropped an octave, the low, seductive quality sending an electric jolt through Galen’s body.
Soccer. His grandma. Gunshot wounds. Damn it, he needed to get his mind off the thick locks of her auburn hair. A tangle of curls he wanted to bury his face in . . . Landon in a bikini. Okay, that would be straight-up hilarious. “We’d do our best to intercept any potential threats before anyone could make their way to your apartment, but I like to hope for the best and plan for the worst.”
“Do you really think he’d be stupid enough to come after me in my own home?” She worried her bottom lip between her teeth, and Galen swallowed a groan. Was she doing this to him on purpose?
“I think a desperate man is capable of anything.”
The elevator deposited them on Harper’s floor. Never had Galen been so thankful to be free of an enclosed space. In fact, he might swear off elevators from here on out. Taking the stairs everywhere they went couldn’t be too bad. He could use a little more cardio in his workout routine.
“I didn’t see anything. And if there is anything incriminating on my voice recorder, it’s not like I have it anymore. Why not just disappear and leave me alone?”
While Harper led the way to her unit, Galen acquainted himself with the layout of her floor, the exits, and closest neighbors. Surely Curt already had names and pertinent information.
“I think he had a plan. And you weren’t part of it. He doesn’t have room for liabilities and you’re a loose end that needs to be tied up.”
Harper stopped in front of the door marked F6. Keys in hand, she put her back to the door and faced him. Galen’s heart hammered in his chest and he stuffed his hands into his pockets to keep them from balling into fists at his side. Just like on that amazing night a year ago, her expression became unsure. As though letting him into her condo would change everything.
“So now I’m a loose end?” she murmured.
What are you doing here? You should not be working this assignment. He reached out and took the keys from her hand. Her hazel eyes shined with emotion, something almost hopeful that damn near choked him.
“A threat. Unfinished business. In this case it’s all the same.” Galen reached around her waist and slid the key in the lock. His arm brushed her torso and she shifted away. Hopeful? More like uncomfortable. Way to go, dickhead. Where was a brick wall to bash your head against when you needed one?
Harper turned, the action abrupt. Yeah, definitely uncomfortable. She opened the door and retrieved her key, heading deep into her apartment in a nervous rush. One of the most important aspects of protective detail was to make sure the witness felt safe. So when she acted like she was afraid to be alone with you, it sort of hit high on the epic-fail-o-meter.
Galen gave her some space—God knew he needed a little—and did a mini sweep of the condo. The sixth floor was safer than the ground level at any rate, but that didn’t do much to put Galen at ease. The fire escape provided easy access to Harper’s apartment, and if Ellis’s shooter was as determined as Galen suspected him to be, it would be no great feat to get to Harper. The sliding patio doors that led out to her terrace were cheap and flimsy, the lock easy enough to break given the proper motivation. Likewise, the blinds in every window were pulled up to expose Harper’s movements to anyone who cared to look. And while the thought of Peeping Toms watching her undress made him want to break something, he was more concerned with how easy it would be to take her out with a single shot from a sniper rifle.
Christ, he felt unprepared. Monroe had basically thrown him into this assignment. Off the plane and back to work. He had a lot of catching up to do before he’d be confident in his ability to protect Harper. Galen didn’t like going out half-cocked and he wouldn’t feel completely ready until he had every detail on his assignment down to Harper’s shoe size.
To the left of the living room was a galley kitchen, a much bigger space in comparison to her previous place. Then again, her last apartment had been the size of a saltine cracker. Harper stood in front of the sink, her eyes unfocused, her expression lost. Her beauty sucked the oxygen right out of Galen’s lungs. He’d been so sure when he met her that she was someone he could trust. The hard truth of her betrayal burned like a hot cinder in Galen’s throat.
Honesty was his number-one rule. As he lost sight of everything but her, he reminded himself that a lie by omission was still a goddamned lie.
Chapter Ten
What was it about Galen that made Harper break out into a full-body sweat? Three hours. After an entire year apart, one hundred and eighty measly minutes together had her undone. Two elevator rides in one day had prompted fantasies about him stripped naked with her wrapped around him like a second skin. And when he had her back to the door, caged in by his arm as he unlocked it . . . the memory of what his hands had felt like on her bare skin was enough to send her blood racing through her veins. She pulled away when his hand brushed her side, but only because she was afraid he’d sense the tension in her body. Or worse, the low thrum of desire that pulsed between her thighs. If she hadn’t put a little distance between them, she would have pounced and ridden him right there in her hallway with all the abandon of a cowgirl at the county rodeo.
Sooooo ladylike.
Where was her pride? This was a guy who’d slept with her and disappeared the next morning without even a “Thanks for the good time!” He couldn’t have known what that night meant to her. She wasn’t a one-night-stand sort of girl. But apparently, Galen Kelly was well-practiced at the one-nighter. So practiced, in fact, he couldn’t even remember Harper. She suppressed a disdainful snort. He’d probably picked dozens of women up in bars. And there were probably many more he couldn’t bother himself to remember.
The kitchen seemed like the safest place to hide. At this point, she was vacillating between wanting to kiss him and wanting to kick him. A low countertop separated the kitchen from the living room, and unless Harper wanted to vault it like an Olympic gymnast to get to him, she was marginally safe from making a fool out of herself either way.
“You want a grilled cheese?”
Galen’s brow furrowed at the question and Harper stood there, jaw slack, brain cranking to keep up with her mouth. Really, Harp? “You want a grilled cheese?” You couldn’t think of anything else to say? Did she even have cheese? Or bread? Argh!
Galen’s lips quirked in a half smile, and his eyes lit with amusement. “I love grilled cheese.”
You’d think after one brief encounter almost a year ago, he would have diminished in her memory somehow. But he was just as perfect as she remembered. It was totally unfair that in addition to being under house arrest for who knew how long, she was forced to endure the torture of his nearness and suffer the constant sting of his rejection. Oh, not to mention the fact that she had to pretend as though they’d never met before today. Hell might be a nice place to vacation once this ordeal was over. “Is Gruyere okay or are you a traditionalist?”
Galen took a seat on a stool at the bar and leaned his arms on the surface. Harper caught herself wishing he’d take off that ridiculous sport jacket. And while he was at it, his shirt too. Focus, Harp!
“I’m good with anything. Cheddar, Swiss, provolone and yes, even Gruyere. I don’t discriminate against any cheese.”
> His body was permanently etched in her mind, and his wit had remained firmly anchored in her memory. She was glad that aspect of his personality hadn’t changed. But, damn, fate was certainly turning the screws on her. “Lightly toasted or darker?”
He smiled. “A little on the burned side.”
“Really?” Harper grabbed a pan from the rack hanging above the bar and went to the pantry in search of bread. More than two slices would be preferable. Not moldy, even better. She grabbed half a loaf out of the cupboard and checked it for freshness. Score! “Burned grilled cheese is sort of gross, you know.”
“Blasphemy. You just say that because you’ve never tried it. How do you like your grilled cheese, then? Soft and soggy?”
“Golden brown,” she said defensively. “Just crunchy enough.”
“Ah.” His voice became solemn. “So you’re one of those.”
Harper tried to remain aloof, but a burst of laughter put the kibosh on that plan. “One of those what?”
“A grilled cheese snob.”
“I am not.”
He stretched his arms out on the counter, and Harper forced her gaze from wandering to his hands, fingers splayed out on the surface. Man, did she want those hands on her.
“I bet if the bread is toasted even a shade darker than gold you won’t eat it.” Harper gave him a look as he continued to tease her. She slapped some cheese on the bread and grabbed a plastic container with butter. “I like mine with a lot of butter,” Galen added.
She slathered the bread with a generous slice of butter. “Me too. Guess I’m not the only grilled cheese snob here.”
“I admit to nothing.”
While they ate their grilled cheese, Harper kept the conversation light. It didn’t do anything for the lump of regret that congealed in her stomach, however. Galen was so easy to talk to once he let down his I’m-in-charge-here attitude. This had to be the real him. The guy she’d met at the bar that night. Not the guy who’d left without saying a word. And not the bossy know-it-all.