“Morning.” I begin to make Harper’s favorite coffee.
Channing just stands there, watching me.
I glance at him as I turn on the coffee maker. “What?”
“You look different today. More relaxed than you have in a long time. What gives?” he asks.
I shrug and move to the refrigerator. I’ve never been one to share details about the intimate aspects of my life unless things are going to shit. Even back in high school, I’d been tight-lipped about Harper. That also includes the girls I’d screwed. I didn’t need bragging rights back then, and I certainly don’t now.
The waffles in the toaster pop up, and while Channing makes his breakfast, I grab the orange juice from the refrigerator and pour myself a glass.
Channing sets his plate on the island counter and looks at me. “Since when do you not confide in me?” he asks, moving to a stool.
I sigh and walk over, snagging a stool for myself. “I just don’t want to make a big deal out of it.”
Channing digs into his waffles. “Out of what?” he asks around a mouthful.
“Harper and I are going to try working things out.”
He pauses, and then grins. “That’s great. What changed?”
“This shit that’s going down has put things in perspective. Colt talk to you yet?” I ask, moving the topic away from my relationship with Harper.
“About what?”
“He and Bryce think there’s a connection between Carrie’s murder and what’s going on with Harper.”
Channing sets down his fork, his eyes sobering.
“Exactly,” I say grimly.
Nineteen
Harper
After my shift has ended for the day, I expect to see Gabe waiting for me in the lobby since he has the day off.
Instead, I find Bryce.
He’s standing by a narrow rack of books, flipping through one about birds. No one would ever know he’s a detective by looking at him since he’s dressed in regular clothes. However, if one were to assess him by his physique, they would easily come to the conclusion that he’s not a ‘sit behind the desk’ type of guy. There’s also an aura he emanates that hints at confidence and authority.
This isn’t a social call, and nerves flutter in my stomach as I readjust my bag over my shoulder and approach him.
He hasn’t looked up to acknowledge me yet, but he does close the book and slide it back in its place. It’s likely that he’d been aware of me the moment I’d stepped into the lobby. He turns to face me, his expression relaxed. “Harper,” he greets.
“Bryce,” I murmur.
He politely motions me towards the glass doors, and he escorts me outside into the late afternoon sunlight.
My car is in its usual space, and parked beside it is Bryce’s SUV. As we walk down the sidewalk toward the parking lot, I look at him inquiringly. “Have you found any solid connections yet?”
“I have further questions for you. Would you mind if I followed you home?” he asks, sidestepping my question.
“Sure.”
After he sees me safely to my car, he follows me the entire way to the house. Once we step beyond the front door and into the living room, I look at him expectantly. “Can I get you anything to drink?” My eyes drop to the folder in his hand. “Or is this supposed to remain strictly professional?”
Bryce smiles. “I won’t be recording anything, so a drink would be nice.”
I nod, leading him to the kitchen and opening the refrigerator door. “We have beer, water, soda, and lemonade.”
“As appealing as the beer sounds, I’ll stick to lemonade.”
I’m just pouring lemonade for Bryce and myself when Gabe appears in the doorway. “Lemonade?” I offer.
He shakes his head. “I’m good, thanks.” His attention shifts to Bryce, and his eyes drop to the official looking folder. “You want me to disappear for a while?”
Bryce looks at me. “That’s up to you.”
I carry the glasses to the island. “He can stay.” If Bryce is going to dump more bad news on me, I’d prefer Gabe to be around. “Should we sit in here?”
“We can sit wherever you’re most comfortable,” Bryce replies.
We settle in at the island, Gabe to my left, and Bryce to my right.
“This official?” Gabe asks him.
Bryce sets the folder on the granite surface of the island counter. “Yes and no. I’ve been here numerous times and have socialized with you both, so this is more casual than what would be normal.” He looks at me. “I know this has been tough, so I want you to feel as comfortable as possible as we discuss your case. Last time, I had to stick to formalities. Today, we can forgo them.”
I nod, drawing in a deep breath and exhaling. “Okay, hit me with what you’ve got.”
Before my eyes, Bryce pulls on a professional mask, and his eyes sharpen as they connect with mine. “I’m not here to scare you, Harper, but eighty percent of victims knew their killer. If Carrie knew him—which seems likely—you might know him, too.”
I shiver, and Gabe immediately places his warm hand on my knee to give me comfort, and I lay my hand over his. I’m so glad that he’s here with me. “Go on,” I say steadily to Bryce.
He opens the folder and pulls out a list of printed names. He sets it in front of me. “This is a list of people that saw Carrie at the party. Do you know any of them?”
I pull the list closer and begin scanning the names. “I’m familiar with at least half of them.”
“Can you think back to that night and recall any of them acting out of the ordinary?”
At his request, I try to visualize their faces, but the entire night is such a blur. After a long minute, I sit back and rub my temples. “I was drunk, it’s all a blur,” I say with frustration.
“That’s okay,” Bryce says kindly. “I expected that but needed it verified.”
“If I saw something that night, do you think there’s any way to regain that memory? Like hypnosis?” I ask.
“If you did stumble across something, even in your inebriated state, you may not have taken notice—even though the killer did. I’m not sure if you could regain that memory since alcohol is involved. If you’d like, I can ask our police psychologist what she thinks?”
I nod. “Please. I just want this over with so I can go back to my normal life.”
“That’s understandable. Have you recalled anything new?”
I shake my head, feeling disappointed.
“You said the killer never spoke to you?” Bryce prods.
“I only heard him curse.”
“You didn’t recognize anything distinctive in his voice?”
“No. His voice was masculine, but nothing stood out in my mind.”
“Do you know if the German Shepherd bit him?”
“I didn’t look back to see.”
Bryce nods. “We didn’t find any traces of blood, but we did get a few fabric fibers. It isn’t much of a lead, though.”
“I certainly don’t mean any disrespect, but how can there not be any evidence to point you in some sort of direction?” Gabe asks him.
“It’s a valid question, Gabe. Some cases are much easier than others. This one’s been difficult from the beginning. A DNA sample would have been ideal, but this guy took down the dog before he could do much damage to him. Other than a partial footprint, we have nothing. The attack at the clinic was well-planned. There wasn’t a forced entry, and no fingerprints to be found—likely because he wore gloves. Harper didn’t get close enough to gather any DNA evidence from him—and as much as it would have helped—thank God it didn’t progress that far.”
“Are you certain the cases are connected? Carrie wasn’t killed with a knife,” Gabe points out.
“Which leads me to believe that he hadn’t planned to kill Carrie in the first place. At the time, he’d made use of whatever he had on hand. In Harper’s case, this is premeditated. He wants to tie up any loose ends.” Bryce’s eyes slide to me.
“That loose end is you,” he says, stating the obvious.
“This might sound foolish, but what are the odds that this guy might break into the house?” I ask.
“Not a foolish question at all,” he assures. “I would say doubtful because of your living arrangement, but I can’t make that promise. He doesn’t want to create more witnesses, so with you living with four men and two women, it seems unlikely that he’d want to mess with that scenario. I would recommend not being in the house by yourself, though. He wants you alone, and if you give him the opportunity…”
“He’ll take it,” I finish.
Bryce nods. “Anything else you can think of?”
“Not really.”
“If you think of anything or have any other concerns, I want you to call me.”
Gabe and I walk Bryce to the door, and as soon as he’s gone, Gabe pulls me into his arms. I rest my head on his chest, my arms wrapping around his waist as he presses a kiss to the top of my head. “We’re going to get through this,” he promises.
I nod without pulling back. Even as we hear an engine pull up in the driveway, I remain in his embrace. I’m finding that this—right here—is my favorite place on Earth. Gabe doesn’t seem to be in any hurry to release me either, and we hear the door open and close behind us.
“Something happen?” Colt asks.
We finally pull apart, and as we turn to face him, Gabe’s arm remains around my waist. “Bryce was just here with further questions,” he explains.
Colt’s eyes don’t miss Gabe’s hold on me, but he doesn’t comment on it. “Any new developments?”
I shake my head.
“We’ll nail him, Harper. He’s going to fuck up sooner or later,” he tells me.
“Until then, I’m thinking we need to prepare for a confrontation,” Gabe says grimly.
I look at him sharply. “What do you mean?”
His eyes meet mine. “As much as I don’t want to think about it, this bastard might catch you or any one of us unaware. I should brush up on some fighting techniques, and you should have more lessons.”
Colt nods in agreement. “I think that’s a wise idea. My evening’s free. What about yours?” he asks us.
Gabe looks at me questioningly. “Up to you.”
“I’m game,” I agree. We hadn’t had plans, and the distraction would be welcome.
“I’ll meet you guys at the gym in thirty. Don’t eat a full meal,” he warns before heading further into the house.
I frown and look at Gabe. “Why not a full meal?”
He smiles with wry amusement. “You think any part of tonight is going to be a breeze?”
“Oh. Probably not.”
“I don’t think you want to hurl in front of the big boys.”
My nose wrinkles. “I’ll stick with a granola bar.”
“And water,” he adds.
“We’re riding together, right?”
“You’re not driving yourself,” he firmly agrees.
I arch an eyebrow. “Bossy much?”
“If you want to drive that badly, I can handle sitting in the passenger seat,” he says mildly.
“Wise answer.”
We make our way to the kitchen, and I open a cupboard. I believe I have a box of granola bars in here somewhere.
“By the way, if you’re sore later, I’ll give you a rubdown that you’ll enjoy,” I hear Gabe tease.
I look over my shoulder at him, amused. “I just bet you will.”
His eyes sweep over my body. “Wear something tight tonight,” he says seriously.
I just shake my head and turn back to the cupboard, closing the door after pulling out a wrapped granola bar. I like that Gabe finds my body so attractive, but I can’t pull off booty shorts or tight leggings.
I hear movement, and then Gabe’s arms slip around me from behind, his lips nuzzling my neck. “Haven’t you noticed how the men watch you when you’re in public?” he murmurs.
“Maybe.”
“Then why do you doubt yourself when you’re with me?”
“Because I didn’t care what they thought.”
His lips trail along my jawline. “But you do with me?”
“Mmmhmm.”
“I love every part of you, Harper,” he whispers.
My eyes widen over his choice of words as his hands slide up to cup my breasts through my shirt. I tell myself that the declaration wasn’t of importance. He enjoys my body and wants me to know it.
“I could stand here like this all day,” he teases, lightening the mood.
I laugh and push at his hands. “Well, you can’t. I need to change.”
***
I hadn’t planned on showering at the gym, but by the time my lesson with Jude is finished, I’m a sweaty mess.
I’d naturally assumed that I’d work with Beck or even Colt, but Beck wasn’t here tonight, and when Jude had come over to greet us, Colt had explained why we were here. Jude, at that point, decided to work with me while Colt sparred with Gabe.
I slip on my shirt and dig around my bag for a hairband. People don’t easily intimidate me, but Jude is a man that radiates controlled violence. Of course, he had once been a pro MMA fighter, so that’s to be expected. He also hadn’t gone easy on me, because as he’d said, a real attacker wouldn’t go easy, either. There were no mock defense scenarios. Jude had come at me and had expected me to use my full-strength to ward him off.
Truthfully, I learned more tonight with Jude than I had with Beck. Not that I’ll ever tell Beck that. Both men just happen to have different teaching techniques. Whereas Beck is patient, Jude expects me to be able to execute the move after only a couple of practice tries.
As I pull my damp hair back into a ponytail, I note that my shoulders are already beginning to stiffen. I’m going to take advantage of Gabe’s rubdown offer.
After I’m dressed in fresh clothes, and my hair is secured in a ponytail, I sling my bag over my shoulder and exit the locker room. When I reach the lobby, I find both Gabe and Colt waiting for me.
Gabe looks up. “I was beginning to think you’d gotten lost inside the locker room.”
I make a face at him. “I needed a shower.”
He nods and slings an arm around my shoulders. “Me too.”
The three of us walk through the lobby and stroll out of the building. Colt looks at us. “Want me to follow you guys?”
“Nah, we’re good.” Gabe looks at me questioningly. “Hungry?”
“Starved.”
“We’re going to grab something to eat on the way back,” Gabe tells him.
He nods. “Catch you both later.”
We begin walking to Gabe’s car as Colt crosses the parking lot to his big truck. It’s nice snuggling with Gabe, and I rest my head on his shoulder.
He lowers his head to brush a soft kiss across my forehead. “How’d it go with Jude?”
“He was hard on me, but I learned a lot.”
Gabe uses his free hand to pull his keys from his pocket. “Colt said he’s a complete hardass, but he knows what he’s doing.” When the car is unlocked, I slide into the passenger seat as Gabe climbs in on the other side. He looks at me. “Drive-thru or restaurant?”
“Drive-thru is fine.”
He nods and starts the engine. “No salads. You’re getting a burger and fries,” he informs me.
“Gabe.”
“You can’t tell me that your mouth doesn’t water at the thought,” he challenges as we back out of the parking space.
I’m tempted to forget my diet, and I press my lips together.
Gabe glances at me and grins. “Just what I thought. I’ll even toss in a milkshake.”
“You’re relentless,” I say, giving in with a laugh.
His smile lingers on his lips. “Later, you’ll enjoy my relentlessness.”
My lower belly warms from the promise in his tone. “I’m looking forward to it.”
As we drive to the nearest fast food restaurant, I find myself w
atching my side mirror. I’d been thoroughly distracted earlier, but now it’s back to reality. Every set of car lights that shine in my mirror has me wondering if he’s out there tonight, watching my every move.
Gabe seems oblivious to my fraught nerves and pulls into the drive-thru. After he places our order, we wait our turn to pay, and then pick up our meal at the last window. He hands me the bag and milkshake before pulling away from the window, and the scent of burgers and fries fills the interior of the car. I carefully place the milkshake in the cup holder between our seats and set the bag on my lap.
“I’m so damned hungry,” Gabe says as we leave the drive-thru behind.
“I figured as much when you ordered three burgers.” My eyes slide to the side mirror once again.
“I’m going to miss our evenings,” he comments, reminding me that for the next four days, he’ll be working until late.
“Me too,” I murmur.
We both fall into a comfortable silence, and I continue watching the mirror until I realize the same set of lights has been following us. I debate whether to comment on it or not when I notice that we’re approaching a set of stoplights. Gabe switches to the right lane, and I watch in the mirror as the lights behind us also shift into the lane—directly behind us.
My heart quickens, and I stare into the mirror as we turn, the car right on our tail. “Gabe?”
“Yeah?”
“Is that car following us?” I ask as calmly as I can.
He glances in the rearview mirror. “The one directly behind us?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t think so. Why?”
“It’s made the same three turns that we have,” I tell him.
He peers into the mirror a second time. “I’ll turn up here and see what happens,” he says lightly.
My fingers tighten on the paper bag in my lap as Gabe slows at a four-way stop, switching on the blinker to turn left. With anxious eyes, I watch the headlights in the mirror as we turn. The headlights swing towards the opposite direction—turning right.
Blackout (Revolving Door Book 2) Page 17