by Mandy Baxter
Puff pastry surrounded an entire baked apple, the core removed and the negative space filled with brown sugar, honey, cinnamon, pecans, and all sorts of delicious flavors Harper couldn’t identify. The entire culinary masterpiece sat in a shallow pool of warm vanilla bean custard and the plate rimmed with fresh Marion berries. Her eyes rolled back in her head and she groaned as she took yet another bite. Would it look weird if she chewed reeaally slowly, just so she could savor the taste for a while longer?
“I told you,” Michelle said with pride. “Is it not the best apple fritter ever?”
“Oh my God,” Harper all but moaned. “So good. I could live on these.”
Michelle was a spitting image of Galen: dark hair, intense blue eyes, a quick smile, and charm in excess. She had an easygoing personality that put you instantly at ease and a fun sense of humor that made Harper think she’d be up for all sorts of shenanigans. This morning’s pit stop was the perfect remedy for Harper’s anxiety over her impending interview with Special Agent Doucheba—uh, Davis. Too bad Galen wasn’t feeling the happy-go-lucky vibe this morning.
Harper had to admit, there were times during their conversation that Michelle treated Harper more like Galen’s girlfriend than simply another case assignment. Although, to be fair, she doubted Galen brought many of his charges to his sister’s bakery for breakfast. At least, she hoped not.
“Galen hasn’t dated in almost a year, you know.”
“Michelle, there’s a customer at your counter. Don’t you think you should go see what she wants?”
“Did you know that Galen is a member of the Marshals’ SOG team? They only take a certain number of deputies for the program.”
“Michelle, I think I heard your phone. You better go check.”
“Did you know he speaks French? French!”
“Shel—”
On and on it went, volley after volley, like a verbal tennis match. With every compliment or fact about Galen’s skills, childhood, or hygiene, his scowl grew darker. After this morning, Harper was willing to bet this would be the first and last time they visited A Slice of Heaven. Together, anyway.
When Michelle finally seemed to run out of steam, Galen pushed his chair away from the table and stood. “Harper’s interview is across town and we don’t want to be late. I’ll call you later.” That last little bit sounded too much like a threat for Harper’s peace of mind and her heart took a nosedive into her gut. No doubt he was none too happy about his sister treating Harper like she was more than a work acquaintance. Was there a better way to start the day? A harsh reminder that the guy you wanted didn’t want you back followed up by a grilling from an FBI agent who’d apparently watched too many FBI movies. Awesome.
“Can I get a fritter for the road?” Harper asked as Galen ushered her toward the door. If anything, she could bury her sorrow in puff pastry and baked apple goodness when she got home.
Galen’s scowl seemed permanently etched into his face as he let out a deep, burdened sigh. That’s what she was, wasn’t it? A burden. An assignment he probably hadn’t wanted in the first place. Galen’s sour mood had managed to rub off on her. She could officially consider today a total wash.
“Here you go, Harper.” Michelle handed her a beautiful pink and white decorated pastry box tied with a black bow that was in itself a work of art. “Come back soon, okay?”
Harper gave her a wan smile. “I’ll try. Thanks.” She motioned for Galen to go ahead of her out the door, no longer interested in any mock shows of gallantry.
Once in the car, Harper turned her attention out the window, watching the traffic pass them by as they traveled down Cascades Parkway toward the FBI building. Past a scattering of hotels, an ITT Tech, and a Target, the friendly retail façade melted away to be replaced by the well-manicured, orderly presentation of federal buildings, jutting straight and tall like giant soldiers. Harper suppressed a shudder. She was more nervous about meeting with Davis than she cared to admit. Maybe they could take a detour at Target. She could stand for a little retail therapy.
Galen hadn’t made a sound since they’d left A Slice of Heaven. His hands planted firmly on the wheel at two and ten, his gaze straight ahead, he was the epitome of U.S. marshal professionalism.
They pulled up to the building and Harper let out a deep sigh. So far, she hadn’t heard anything from Liz on Blue Lake or Jason Meader. Today’s visit with Agent Davis would have been better if she could’ve brought something useful to the table. Now, she had nothing to offer the cocky FBI interrogator. And if he was going to start treating her like a suspect, she wasn’t sure she’d want to offer him anything without an attorney present.
“Should I have gotten a lawyer?” The question was redundant. She didn’t expect Marshal Cranky Pants to actually offer up an opinion. Harper’s dad had suggested it, but of course, she’d brushed off his concern. Now, she wasn’t so sure.
“Honestly, when a person of interest comes to an interview lawyered up, it sends up a red flag.”
Huh. He speaks. In a tone nominally more friendly than a growl. “So, I’m a person of interest now? You said I wasn’t a suspect. That this was standard in a high-profile case.” Too bad Harper couldn’t control the escalation of her own voice.
Galen turned in his seat. His expression, serious and stern, should have been a total turn-off, but it wasn’t. Likewise, the angry fire in his blue eyes was more alluring than it was frightening. The straight line of his jaw, the tiny crook in his nose just below the bridge, the way his brows drew down and his forehead crinkled when he frowned. All of it should have pushed Harper away, but instead, she found herself wanting to reach out and brush his dark locks from his brow, smooth those furrows, trace the stern line of his clenched jaw, and the hard line of his lips. What was she really upset about? The fact that she had to endure another pummeling from Davis, or the fact that she’d once again been the victim of Galen’s hot/cold treatment. Did it really matter which one?
“Harper.”
“Never mind,” she snapped, reaching for the door handle. “Let’s get this over with so I can go back home and sit in solitary for the rest of the day.”
They checked in at the front desk, Harper turning over her ID while Galen flashed his credentials and handed over his gun at the security checkpoint. Once through the metal detectors, they took the stairs—what was it with Galen and stairs?—to Davis’s office on the fifth floor.
After yet another check-in at yet another reception desk, not to mention a lengthy stay in the waiting room that went on for just shy of forever, Agent Davis stepped out of a long hallway. Harper looked him over from his military-precise haircut, to the black, emotionless depths of his eyes, over the flawless mocha skin and down to his suit and polished loafers that seemed totally out of place on him. The color of his ensemble, gray, fit him to a tee, though. Blank and emotionless. Just like him. His eyes narrowed when he noticed Galen and he motioned for Harper. “Follow me, Miss Allen.”
Chapter Thirteen
Not a suspect, my ass.
“Could you tell me why blah, blah, blah, blah, Miss Allen?” Harper had quit focusing on anything coming out of Agent Davis’s mouth about a half hour ago. “And when did blah, blah?” What a jerk. “What about blah? Did you blahblahblahblahblah?”
“You can ask me the same questions, a million different ways, in whatever order you want, Agent, and you’re still going to get the exact same answers I gave you a couple of weeks ago. I was in the parking garage because Senator Ellis refused to grant me an interview and so I went after one. I’d only been talking to him for about five minutes when I heard the gunshot. No, he did not give me any indicator as to who might have shot him or for what reason because as far as I know, he wasn’t a psychic and had no idea he was about to be murdered. Yes, I called for help. Did you not read the police report? And no, I didn’t get a good look at the shooter as I was hiding under a car at the time. Anything else I can answer for you, Agent?”
Smoke should have
been billowing from Agent Davis’s ears by now. His frustration stifled the air in the tiny interview room until it sucked up all of the breathable oxygen. Beside her, Galen sat relaxed, one ankle resting on his knee, arms folded across his chest. But Harper knew it was all an act. He might have looked calm and disinterested, but his eyes were hard and focused, his jaw clenched so tight a muscle twitched at his cheek.
Apparently, he didn’t like the FBI agent any more than she did.
From her insistence on interviewing the senator, to her knowledge of his schedule, Davis laid into her, one ridiculous question after another. Why do you think Ellis refused to meet with you? She had no idea. That’s why she’d had to stalk him in a parking garage and corner him into an interview in the first place. Didn’t his refusal to speak to the press come off as a bit suspicious? Had you ever met the senator before the night he was shot? Nope. Do you have any knowledge of the senator’s personal life? Nothing that he hadn’t already made public, hence the interview. Did you ever fantasize about being with the senator in a sexual way? Ew! He was older than her dad. Big no. What about your finances? Any reason you might have wanted to blackmail the senator? Maybe a piece of information you’d dug up on him? What kind of a person did he think she was? As a reporter on the political beat, her responsibility was to report the facts to Ellis’s constituents and the truth was, he’d slacked off on the job in the past few months. He’d been dodging the OLCV for months, and that was out of character for him. Any idea why that might be? And . . . they were back at square one. No, she didn’t have any idea. That was why she’d wanted to put Ellis on the spot. On and on it went for another hour, round and round until Harper’s head began to throb and a knot the size of a goose egg welled up in her throat.
She looked to Galen, hoping that he could see she needed a lifeline. Tears stung at her eyes and her mouth was almost too dry to speak. Falling apart right now would make her look guiltier than ever in Davis’s eyes, but damn it, she was stressed out. And when she was stressed, she cried.
Galen straightened in his chair, his expression, fierce. His blue eyes seemed to darken and spoke of a brewing storm. “Sean, can I see you out in the hall for a second.”
It wasn’t a question. Not even a polite request. Galen’s tone meant business, and Agent Davis stood there, staring. Eyes wide as though he couldn’t believe Galen would actually have the balls to order him around. Rather than wait for a response, Galen opened the door and stepped out into the hallway. Davis looked from Harper to the hallway and back at Harper, his lip curling as he stormed out with Galen, slamming the door behind him. The walls practically rattled with the force, and Harper cringed, knowing all too well that Galen was about to get a major ass chewing if not worse.
A fresh round of tears threatened and Harper dug through her bag for a tissue because, damn it, she did not want either Agent Davis or Galen to see her with mascara running down her face. The large hobo bag was great for carrying all the things Harper needed, but not so great when she actually needed to find something. Most people cried when they were sad or distraught. Not Harper. She cried when she was overwhelmed or just plain pissed. Right now, she was both. She mined her way to the bottom of the bag, through notebooks, pens, her wallet, her backup digital recorder, several tubes of lip gloss and lip balm, a hair brush, sunscreen, a paperback copy of Full Blooded (because who doesn’t love a good werewolf book?), and a pair of ballet flats—oops, those were Addison’s, better give ’em back—until she found a wadded-up tissue.
And one more thing that didn’t belong to her.
Harper rolled the silver thumb drive in her palm. Where had it come from? She was obsessive about backing up her work. She had a mental catalog of every single one of her backup drives and she was absolutely freaking positive this one wasn’t hers. She’d been to the paper a total of two times since the night Ellis had been shot, and the rest of the days had been spent in her condo, or riding around in a car chauffeured by a marshal. She doubted the flash drive belonged to Curt, or Peggy, or even Galen. Which really only left one option in her mind: the drive belonged to Senator Mark Ellis.
If Harper had actual Spidey senses, they’d be tingling like mad right about now. Would it look suspicious if she bolted? Because she wanted to go back home so badly she was practically vibrating with excitement. A mystery awaited her. The story she’d been digging for months to get, perhaps. Some answers as to why she was wrapped up in this nightmarish situation. Or possibly all the drive contained was a long lost sci-fi manuscript Ellis had been dying to publish. Heh. Either way, she was damned antsy to get back to her laptop and find out.
The door to the interview room swung open, and Harper buried the thumb drive in the bottom of her bag. As with the wardrobe leading to Narnia, she had to hope that the bag would still contain the flash drive when she dove back in.
“Let’s go, Harper.” Galen held open the door, his expression even darker than it had been before he’d stepped out into the hall. Ugh. The ride home should be loads of fun.
Agent Davis stood right outside the doorway, making her exit more than a little uncomfortable. She had to sidle past him to get out of the room, which had obviously been his plan. A little alpha-male chicanery to make her nervous. Well, it worked. Frankly, Davis scared the ever-loving shit out of her even when he wasn’t playing the big-bad FBI guy. And after today’s interrogation—because no way was this an interview—she had even more reason to watch out for him.
As she walked down the hallway toward the staircase, she felt Galen at her back, his footsteps nothing more than a whisper on the industrial carpeting. She picked up her pace, worried that she wasn’t moving fast enough for him, or worse, that he’d step on her heels if she didn’t get her butt in gear. But instead of backing off, he matched her pace, so close now that the heat from his body engulfed her.
Harper took a right where two hallways met, toward the stairs, but Galen stopped her. “Take the elevator.” His tone was harsh as though harnessing a barely restrained rage. Harper shuddered at his commanding words as she veered left, uncertain if fear or excitement had caused the tremor. And how sick was that?
She hit the down button on the wall of elevators and waited. She didn’t need to turn around to know that Galen stood to her right, close enough to touch. If she simply reached her hand back, she’d surely brush his arm. Why was he suddenly crowding her? Was he angry with her, too? Taking a page from Agent Davis’s intimidation tactics manual?
When the doors slid open, a jolt of anxiety seeped into her bloodstream. What would Galen do once they were locked up inside that stupid metal box? Had Davis convinced him of her guilt as well? Would he confront her? She had nothing to hide and she’d always been straight with Galen. The question was, would he believe her?
As the elevator began its descent, Harper’s stomach did the same. The silence in the car was deafening. The air, stagnant.
“Don’t push Davis’s buttons, Harper.” Galen’s voice sliced the quiet like a swath of shadow through sunlight. “He’ll go after you for no other reason than to cut you down, do you understand me?”
Harper was playing with fire and she had no idea how close to the flame she was. If the evidence against her weren’t circumstantial at best, Davis would have had Harper locked up in a super-max by now. Davis. What a cocksucker. Harper’s quick responses and witty, biting retorts had done nothing to cool the FBI agent’s jets. If anything, he’d be more up Harper’s ass than ever. A fact that clouded Galen’s vision with a haze of red.
“I won’t.” Harper’s voice sounded tiny in the enclosed space. “I—I think maybe I’d better get an attorney.”
Unfortunately, Galen agreed. “Do you know anyone you can trust?”
“My friend, Sophie, her dad’s a lawyer. I’ll see if he can recommend someone.”
Galen’s hands clenched into tight fists at his side, more to keep them from shaking than anything. He’d never been so close to slamming a colleague into a wall, but Davis’s head
would have made a great dent. Rage still burned through Galen’s bloodstream, his inability to control the situation making his anger that much worse. No doubt he’d get a call from Monroe after what had happened in that hallway. Namely, him backing Davis against the wall as he’d warned him to stay the hell away from Harper and lay off her as a suspect.
Way to keep it classy, man. No doubt that move would advance his career. Yeah, right. Desk duty, here I come.
“Harper, can I ask you a question?” Not that it mattered. He didn’t believe for a second she had anything to do with Ellis’s death.
She answered slowly, “Sure.”
“Why were you so obsessed with Ellis?”
“I wasn’t obsessed,” she said with disdain. Great, he’d pissed her off and managed to put her on the defensive. “I was curious.”
Cryptic. Looked like he’d have to coax it out of her. “Curious about what?”
The doors slid open and Harper made her way to the reception desk to turn in her guest badge. She waited by the door as Galen did the same, her expression thoughtful. His firearm was returned to him and he slipped it in the shoulder holster before heading for the exit. Harper stayed a few steps ahead of him all the way to the car, and even after he unlocked the doors, she stood there, staring at him over the hood.
“Have you ever had an itch you couldn’t scratch?” she asked. “You know, one that’s just under the skin and no matter how you try, you can’t make it go away?”
Galen nodded. He opened his door, but Harper stayed where she was.
“Ellis was that itch. I mean, he copped to everything. Shamelessly. Most politicians try to hide their misdeeds or hang their heads and grovel when they’ve been caught. They cast blame. They lie, try to cover up the truth, or follow the old deny, deny, deny tactic. He ran this huge campaign based on honesty. He stood in front of the cameras and laid his life bare for the people, admitting to everything and denying nothing. He was apologetic, but so human in his admissions. ‘I’m not perfect. I make mistakes. So does everyone.’ Of course he’d win the election. People are tired of being lied to by their lawmakers. They wanted to believe that even though Ellis had a laundry list of faults, there was at least one honest man in Washington. In the course of the election, he’d duped everyone into believing that he had nothing more to hide.”