Harkham's Choice (Harkham's Series Book 2)

by Chanse Lowell

  Her mom snorted when Mari told her about the brightly painted, neon-orange hubcaps at the foot of her dad’s bed. She cackled when Adam told her about some odd chair that looked like it was made out of chicken wire in the laundry room. It was misshapen in places, but probably would be okay as a garden seat somewhere if a cushion covered it.

  When they were done sharing all the eccentricities and odd finds they’d thrown out, Adam shoved his hand in his pocket.

  “Mari found some great photos in the bottom of a box. If you don’t mind, we’d like to keep them for ourselves,” he said.

  Her mom nodded and wiped a residual happy tear away. She was still smiling about the crazy chair.

  “I have something for you, though,” Adam said and revealed it by sliding it across the table, setting it before her.

  “Oh my gosh!” Her mom covered her mouth, and Mari’s hand slapped at Adam’s arm, then her claws dug in.

  “I can’t believe you found that!” Mari almost yelled.

  His smile was so wide, he was all teeth. “It was in the safest place I could think of.”

  “Where?” Mari gripped him harder and sat on the edge of her seat.

  He grinned and drew out the silence. She kicked his foot under the table.

  His leg wobbled, but he kept smiling.

  “You have to guess,” Adam said.

  “His car?” Mari asked.

  “Nope.”

  “His closet?” Michelle tried next.

  “Nope.”

  “In his laptop case?” Mari went for a second one.

  “Better . . . I found it in his old police jacket—inside pocket. It means he carried it with him everywhere.” Adam pulled out another picture. “He had this one in there, too. It’s of you, Michelle.”

  She was dressed in her wedding gown, her hair pulled back with flowers pinned all around, and she wore a serene smile as she leaned against a tree.

  “He had that on him all those times he was on duty?” Her mom gasped.

  “I think so. They look to me like he touched them a lot, because they’re pretty crinkled at the corners.” Adam pointed at one of them.

  Both ladies gaped, and their breaths caught.

  “I thought it was good to know he had you with him as much as he could.” Adam set his hands in his lap.

  The room stayed silent, and her mom’s eyes twitched and watered.

  He got up, went over to her and pulled her into a grand hug.

  Mari was next.

  He held them both as they cried quietly and kept staring at those old pictures that proved they once had happy times and lots of love.

  “Thank you, Adam,” her mom whispered.

  It was all he ever needed to hear from that woman to know she really did like him after all.

  * * *

  That night, Mari was restless.

  “What’s wrong?” Adam whispered, trailing his hand down her thigh. He was awfully light with his touch tonight. No whimpers and no grabbing at her, giving her that look like he would die if she didn’t jerk him off.

  “I could ask you the same thing,” she said, sighing. She turned around. “No more spooning tonight in bed until you talk to me about what you said in the car on the way to my mother’s house.”

  He blinked but remained silent.

  “That’s it? That’s all I get? A mute lying in my bed?”

  He released a tight, winded-sounding breath. “I don’t know what to say. I like your mom. I always did.”

  “I’m not talking about my mom,” she said, her voice edgy. “I’m talking about you saying you want to kill Samara. Where did that even come from?”

  “I didn’t do it. I don’t know where Sam is,” he said, his voice completely innocent and slightly defensive.

  “I know you didn’t kill her. How could you?”

  “Well, I could try much harder to track her down and go after her with a weapon. She likes knives, so that might be my choice, too.” He sort of shrugged.

  She sighed with a grating sound. “Be serious, Adam, for one second, please.”

  “I am serious. Knives are very dangerous. Even surgeons don’t go carrying them around with them everywhere, even though they could be handy if they came across someone on the street needing an emergency appendectomy.” He looked her in the eye and stroked her hair. “Knives can be very scary. They’re not a toy.”

  “I’m asking you why you said you want to kill her. Did you hear something new about her? Did she contact you?”

  He sighed, his shoulder wiggling in the process. “Sometimes I hear her voice in my head, counting. I thought she was the one leaving us flowers. I didn’t know if they were poisoned or what. I was going to tell you not to touch them anymore until I can get them adequately checked for noxious substances.”

  Okay, she couldn’t help but smile at that cute one. “Noxious substances? How hard would that be for her to put some poison powder on flowers? And why go through such trouble for something like that?” She ran her toes down his shin. “No—that’s not her style.”

  “It sure the hell is,” he said, his voice raising.

  She covered her pursed lips with her finger so he’d keep quiet and not wake his dad.

  Choppy stirred at the foot of the bed.

  “When have you ever seen her do anything that well thought out?”

  “Mm-mm-mmuh,” he said, mimicking the sound of “I don’t know” with a hum.

  “Exactly.” She cupped his jaw. “She doesn’t plan ahead like that, honey. She’s erratic, and it hits her spur of the moment. If anything, if she was going to plan something out, I doubt it would involve anything nice like flowers. And she’d probably hire out a hit man on me instead. Quicker and more of a guarantee I’d be dead.”

  “Stop that.” He brushed her hand off him.

  “Stop what?”

  “Don’t talk about mean men gunning you down. I don’t like hearing those icky words. It’s like a knife to my gut.”

  “Now see? That’s more Sam’s style.” She stifled a giggle. “Sorry.”

  “Yes, you are. Sorry for making me think sad thoughts of you bleeding again. Unless you’re bleeding because it’s a menstrual time of the month, I don’t want to hear about you and blood—ever.” He nodded with a firm jerk of his head, and that was hard to do while his head was on a pillow.

  “What should we do about her voice in your head? Tell Dr. Harkham?”

  “I already told her. It all started after Sammie attacked you. It stopped shortly after I shared that with Amelia right after we got back from Alta, but then the flowers made it come back. Weaker, but it was there.” He paused, kicking the sheet a little bit down his legs. “I’ll tell her again, though, next time we see her.”

  “How did telling your doctor make it stop?”

  “She told me worrying about Sam like my tail was on fire wasn’t going to be any good for me or make it any better. And then I thought about how if Sam found Choppy, she might set her tail on fire, because I’d done that to her phone. It made me see numbers real bad, so I couldn’t think about it anymore if I didn’t want to have a lot of ugly episodes. Then it stopped.”

  “Oh. I guess that makes sense.” He really loved that dog tremendously if that was the result of simply telling Dr. Harkham. She held her breath for a second. Shit. This sounded bad, though—the fact he had heard Sam’s voice in his mind. “Sweetie, is there anything I can do in the meantime to banish your sister’s voice in your head if it ever comes back and stresses you out?”

  “Yes, you can let me have my dick inside you.” He grinned. “That will cure it immediately. I won’t hear anything else at all anymore—only you.”

  “Oh no, buddy.” She giggled. “I’m not falling for that.”

  “But it’s the soreness—that’s what really makes me hear meanie sister’s voices in my head.” He tickled at her nipple. “It’ll make me feel a lot better. I promise it’ll banish the numbers and Sam in my head for good.”

 
“Ejaculating inside me isn’t going to do that.” She cupped his hand over her breast. “Nothing will do that, I’m afraid. At least, not like some magic bullet.”

  “Great. Now I’m thinking about my sperm being shot out of me like a gun.”

  Well, that was better than him thinking about assaulting his sister with a handgun—which was where her thoughts were going.

  Definitely—out of the two of them—he was the better adjusted.

  To make up for the imbalance, she lifted her shirt and offered him her tits.

  It wasn’t as good as a therapy session with Dr. Harkham, but for now, it would do them both some good. And maybe they’d be able to get a good night’s sleep.

  * * *

  The next morning, Mari checked the doorstep while Adam was occupied with the dog. He seemed edgy about it the second time they were drive-by flowered.

  It was getting ridiculous. Was some psychotic florist out to mess with some strangers for kicks? Because she honestly couldn’t fathom who would keep doing this—and with different handwriting both times.

  “Oh Jesus fucking flowering Christ,” she muttered under her breath.

  She trapped her breath in her chest a second later at the sight of a new one.

  Her head swung around wildly to see if she was being watched.

  She picked it up, quickly pulled it inside, then locked the door and checked the card.

  This one read:

  I can never make up for what I’ve done, but I can apologize. This is me saying I’m deeply sorry. I hope you’re doing okay after the loss of your parent.

  That was it. Nothing else. Different writing once again, but still recognizable.

  It was driving her batty that she couldn’t place any of the cards to an owner.

  She sighed, tilted her head to stretch her neck and then put the flowers on the table in line with the other two.

  He’d probably be upset when he saw it, but he’d see them if she trashed them, so she might as well be transparent about it.

  Adam ran in the house, smiling, and gripped her. In a flurry, he had her in the backyard.

  “Watch this!” he said. He patted his chest, and Choppy jumped up high and barked.

  “Cool, huh? She’s so smart!” he said. “If it wouldn’t kill her, I’d give her a chocolate donut as a reward.”

  She stood back and watched how engrossed he was with his buddy as he continued to play with Choppy.

  Why hadn’t his parents thought to do this before? Had Dr. Harkham spoken against it?

  That reminded her—they had an appointment this weekend.

  She watched him for several minutes, and then excused herself back inside.

  The novelty of having a dog had already worn off for her. Having Choppy on her bed was when it dissipated completely. Romance was less inviting with a pooch trapping his legs.

  Mari was packing up their lunch for school when there was a knock at the front door.

  Without thinking, she opened it.

  “Uh, hi, Mari,” Tara said, barely looking her in the eye.

  “What are you doing here?” Mari’s spine immediately curled away from this nasty freckle-nosed, dark-haired ho.

  As Mari looked over this wretched girl, it honestly baffled her that she once thought Tara absolutely beautiful with how tall and thin she was—and that it was all Mari could do to work out more than any sane person would at the gym, all to try and look like her.

  “I know I’m the last person you want at your house, but here.” Tara shoved a wad of cash into Mari’s hand.

  “What’s this—Rory’s drug money? I don’t want it,” Mari said, trying to give it back.

  Tara backed away, and there was a look of pity in her eyes. “It was Kendra’s idea. When we heard about your dad and what you had to do at his house, we felt awful. We wanted to say sorry for the things we did.”

  “Why you? And where are they? Hiding behind the bushes across the street, having a secret laugh at my expense as you pretend to be sorry?” Mari let her gaze roam around, searching.

  “No. Nothing like that.” Tara shook her head and looked completely mortified that Mari would even think such a thing. “We agreed it was my turn. You beat them both to a pulp, and I got off without a dent in the fender. It was my turn to face all this. And I feel really awful about how I kept fucking with Adam—calling him fruit-of-the-loon boy. He’s not fruity or loony. He’s just nice and kinda sweet.” She tilted her head to the side a little and tucked her trembling hands in the long sleeves of her sweater. “He didn’t deserve any of that mean treatment—and neither did you. So, there. I’m sorry. We’re all sorry. We won’t bother you again.”

  Mari’s eyes went to slits. “How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

  “Have we said another word to you or Adam at school? Have you gotten our flowers?”

  Mari opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out.

  “We hate that we listened to his sister, and for that whole mess at that Mediterranean restaurant. That went way too far, and we both felt hideous inside afterward. It was stupid—all of it—and all the times we tormented you both at school and off campus, too. Rory and Kendra have decided to keep away from each other as well. They’re through. They realized they’re bad for each other—using somebody for sex isn’t something they can—”

  “Thank you,” Mari cut her off. “This means a lot to me.” She set the money down, right inside the door. It looked like a substantial sum.

  “And Kendra said to tell you she’s sorry for all the times she copied your homework.” Tara smiled with kindness in her eyes. “Can I ask you why you ever allowed her to do that?”

  Adam crept up behind Mari and spooned her, wrapping his arms around her waist. Mari leaned her head back onto his chest.

  “I wanted to watch her flounder when the tests came. I figured she’d fail, and I could laugh my ass off at graduation. Now I wish I hadn’t. I don’t want her to be miserable like I used to be.” Mari’s hands landed on Adams, and she ran her fingers over his.

  “You two really are happy, aren’t you? This is for real? You’re not faking it?” Tara’s voice got a little choked up.

  “It’s as real as it gets. We love each other and we’re marrying the day after graduation.” Mari sighed. Her heart was fluttering. There was something amazing about telling her past enemy—and what she perceived as a threat to taking Adam’s affection away from her—that they were honestly in love.

  “Well, good luck to you both. I won’t expect a wedding invitation, but I’ll make sure to keep anybody else from bothering you. I’d love to see you graduate, Adam. I know it’ll mean a lot to you.”

  “It will.” He smiled.

  “Okay—I’ll go now. See you at school, but from afar, of course.”

  “What about the money?” Mari asked.

  “Keep it. We want you to have Samara’s blood money. We couldn’t keep it in good conscience. We all wish we’d never taken her bribes to torture you both.” Tara waved and left.

  Mari leaned over and picked it up, her mouth hanging open.

  She counted it through. Holy hell.

  “How did Samara have this kind of money?” Her voice shook.

  “How much is it?”

  “Fifteen hundred.” Mari’s eyes were drying out as she failed to blink.

  His jaw dropped, and she stood there, stewing. If she’d had this a week ago, she could’ve done some things differently on that trip.

  “Let’s use it for our wedding,” she said, pushing thoughts aside of ever wanting to use this money on anything other than Adam.

  “Okay. My dad will like that, too. If we tell him.” Adam smiled at her.

  “We should definitely tell him.” She paused, grinning back. “Because secrets arrrre what . . . ?” She drew it out, waiting for him to fill in the end of the sentence.

  “For sweaty bald men who hide in alleyways?”

  She laughed and swatted at his arm. He pulled her int
o a hug.

  “No, you silly man. And I have no idea where that thought came from.” She kissed his nose. “Secrets are for fruit-of-the-loons, and I don’t see any of those around here, so that means we’re telling.”

  “Yep. Rotten-fruit girl would want us to, and I think it’ll be good for her.” He rubbed his moist nose on hers.

  She giggled. “Why would Tara care? It’s not like she’s ever going to speak to us again—not after this.”

  “Because now she’s with the good guys. And the good guys always root for the other good people—and that’s us.”

  She couldn’t stop smiling.

  Oh, Adam. If only it was that simple . . .

  * * *

  “Mari, please, come in,” Amelia said, welcoming her into the office.

  Adam bounced out the door and kissed Mari real quick before taking his spot in the waiting area.

  “Thanks,” Mari said, walking straight pass Dr. Harkham’s sign hanging on the door with her name and credentials on it.

  She took one last glance at the room before sitting down. It sure was homey for a doctor’s office.

  “You too, Jeremiah,” Amelia said, waving in a scrawny, moppy, light brown-haired kid about ten years old to join them.

  Mari stood to the side. She was unsure where to stand and what to do. Should she sit in the seat where she was last time? Or was he going to occupy that spot?

  The boy smiled at Mari as he made his way in and plopped right down into the seat she had stayed away from.

  Amelia shut the door.

  “Dr. Harkham, I’m hungry,” Jeremiah said.

  “I’ve got an apple I’ll give you in five minutes. I want you to talk to my good friend Mari here, for a minute. Can you do that for me?” Amelia asked.

  “I guess. Is she nice?” Jeremiah eyed Mari.

  Mari waved.

  “She’s very nice. She’s going to marry case number one.” Amelia turned back to her. “Mari, meet case number three.”

  Mari’s mind immediately wondered where case number two was.

  “He’s too far away—number two moved across the country,” Amelia said, answering her unspoken question. “Plus, he was kind of antisocial. You would have had a hard time talking to him.”