I watch him for a moment, trying to ignore how attractive he is as feelings of failure build inside me. I had one job to keep Mom safe, and I messed it up before I even got a finger on a lick of information.
“How did you know I was in here?”
“I saw you walking off in the wrong direction. When you didn’t come back out, I left your mom to redirect you and found my door broken. Thanks for that, by the way,” he growls.
I wince, betting money Mom is beside herself right now, thinking we are eating each other’s faces in here.
“Right … Look, are you going to help me?” I beg, knowing I’m being ungrateful. I just broke into this man’s office, damaged his property, and now I want his help? For Mom, I will do anything. “I just need whatever you have on—”
“We have a hell of a lot on him, Phoenix—”
“Nix, please,” I cut him off. He looks less than pleased that I interrupted.
“Fine, Nix. Your mother provided us with proof from the bank statements she was able to get ahold of that he’s been extorting money into overseas accounts. There is a paper trail leading to many corrupt cops, politicians, and various government officials. Add on the unsavory, known criminals he was photographed having dealings with, and your father is fucked. He was arrested two nights ago and already warrants have been issued out for many more in his organization.”
“Wait. What?” I gape, unaware my father was arrested. My mind then races to figure out what this now means for me, for Mom, and for our future.
Feeling overwhelmed and overheated, I remove my gloves. There is no use for them now.
“Even if you took what we have on him now, it’s already too late—copies are already circulating. There is no backing out of this. Your father is screwed.”
I’m torn between feeling relief and terror.
“Fuck, you broke my desk?” he complains, finally noticing the slightly ajar and wrecked desk drawers.
“So, if he’s locked up, he won’t be able to hurt my mom, right?” I stop pacing so I can look Harvey in the eyes when he gives me this answer, not caring about any stupid drawers right now.
Instead of verbally answering me, though, he stands up and takes a step around his desk. “Your father might be locked up, but he has many people working for him. Hell, even his lawyer could get out a message to the right person if your dad wanted them to,” he ruthlessly tells me, not bothering to sugarcoat.
“Shit. So, my mom could still be in—”
I don’t get another word out, freezing when loud bangs and pings shoot around me.
I don’t understand what’s happening, but Harvey catches on much quicker.
By the time I realize we are being fired upon, Harvey has already charged me, and then we both crash heavily to the floor.
Any pain from having a grown man throwing himself on top of me and to the ground is soon forgotten as bullets continue to tear through the room around us, loud enough I fear my ears are bleeding, as bits of wall and glass drop everywhere.
I lift my arms to cover my ears and close my eyes, as if the fact I cannot see the carnage means it isn’t happening.
In spite of my ears ringing, I hear when the gunshots stop. Then, a few moments later, they start up again. This time there is more glass shattering and now I can hear people screaming, but it sounds farther away.
Harvey’s body tenses again, his arms coming down on either side of me where he huddles in, his head level with mine, his ear against the back of my hand that is still protecting my ear. With his body level with mine, he completely surrounds me.
The second blast of bullets only lasts for perhaps half a minute before a squeal of tires echoes. Then there is a moment of deadly silence before screams and cries break out.
“Shit, fuck, hell, shit …” Harvey mutters, his body still tense.
When I finally open my eyes, I discover his office is a mess. His blinds are shot up, glass and debris splattered all around, plus his desk, computer, and the wall are pocked with holes.
“Harvey?” I murmur, my voice so quiet I can barely hear it. I clear my throat before trying again. “Harvey?”
He doesn’t stop muttering to himself. It’s like he’s in a trance.
I don’t exactly feel uncomfortable having his weight over me, but all the same, I tug on his arm. When that doesn’t rouse his attention, I lift my hands to his collar and pull until his head lifts, giving me room to weasel my hands in so I can hold his head up.
My palms scrape over the day-old stubble that I can’t help brushing my fingers over before I let my eyes focus on him, only to see he is not at all focused on me. I’m not even sure we are in the same room.
“Harvey?” I snap a little louder.
His cuss mantra finally stops as his eyes focus and his breathing begins to calm.
“You okay?” I ask, which is probably the dumbest question. This man is clearly not okay, but it’s all I got.
“Shit. Are you okay?” He finally comes to himself, his eyes darting around my face.
As he lifts himself up, I release my hands. Glass sprinkles off him, falling around us and likely onto me, but he doesn’t seem to notice. He also doesn’t move entirely off me, straddling my thighs as he looks me over.
“Cuts,” he mutters to himself, grazing my chest and arms with his fingers.
I glance down at myself to see my sweater is cut in places, but I don’t feel anything, other than slight stings from the places his touch hovers.
“You have some glass …” I gasp, my voice faltering as I see a shard sticking out of Harvey’s bicep, blood welling up around the wound. Wasn’t I just admiring those arms minutes before?
He briefly looks down at himself, but doesn’t seem concerned.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks again, his voice softer. I swear his gaze is on my lips. Lips that now feel dry under his scrutiny. And when I lick them, it’s like the action billows the fiery intensity in his eyes.
He brushes his hand lightly over my chest again. I hold my breath when he then gently leans toward me.
Is he going to kiss me? Do I want him to? Is that at all appropriate given what just happened? Do I actually care what is appropriate or not? We nearly died!
I’m saved from having to figure out what I want, or what Harvey is about to do, when his office door is thrown open.
A man I recognize from the party charges in, and Harvey’s descent toward me pulls up short.
“You guys okay?” the man asks breathlessly, his eyes bouncing around the office before they look back at the door I cut into.
“Yeah. You all?” Harvey doesn’t even sound stressed as he lifts himself off me then holds out his hand for me.
I dazedly grab it, allowing him to lift me to my feet. However, I’m not very steady, so he lowers me onto the couch in the corner.
“Place is fucked, but no one is too badly hurt. A few bullet grazes and some minor cuts from the glass. Zander and Joey took chase,” the man mutters, taking in the destruction of the room before he focuses back on Harvey.
“Any ideas who the fuck it was?” Harvey demands, turning to face the bearded guy and giving me an unobstructed view of his ass.
With the way he’s resting his hands over his hips, the back of his shirt pulls, giving me a clear view of his shoulder width, as well as showing off the new holes in his shirt and pants, which are bloodied.
“No. Hoping you can answer that. Your office and the main lobby were the only places targeted.”
My stomach drops. This is my father’s doing. He knows it’s already too late to stop the train he boarded, so he’s getting payback. He’s getting revenge.
“Where’s my mom?” I ask breathlessly, fear eating me alive that she’s been hurt.
Then, over the cries and chatter travelling through the open door, I hear her calming voice filter through. She’s talking to someone. In fact, I’m certain she’s telling someone how to get rid of bloodstains.
Seriously?
<
br /> “She’s okay. Not even a scratch,” bearded man assures me.
I sink back down onto the couch. My father just tried to kill my mother tonight, along with a bunch of other innocent people.
Can this mess get any worse?
Apparently, it can.
Chapter 2
It takes me many minutes before I can stand on my feet. Even then, I have to lean heavily against Harvey as he takes me out into the hallway and down toward the lobby.
Terror and shock is beating against me. No matter how pathetic it sounds, it takes Mom hugging me and telling me it’s all going to be okay before I start to calm down. Not that the feeling lasts long. Then we are all taken outside where police and ambulance crews are arriving.
All my wounds are superficial. I don’t even need stitches. Thankfully, Mom truly doesn’t have a scratch on her, and the few people standing near us all look unharmed, not that this fact changes how furious I feel toward Dad.
Hours later, after we make a statement to the police and are cleared by the on-site medics, we are allowed to leave.
“Sweetie, don’t fret,” Mom says, standing beside a waiting cab as she grabs my hand. Her words do little to calm me. They don’t soothe me whatsoever. In fact, I round on her, furious she’s not taking this as seriously as I am.
“Those bullets were for you! Dad sent those fuckers here to kill you!” I snap. Considering the placement of the first attack, there was likely a hit taken out on Harvey, too.
Her fake smile drops. “I know that,” she grounds out, tears welling in her eyes. “I had no idea your father would resort to such tactics.”
Mom has always had a lot to take on in her life. Being married to Dad was certainly no picnic, but seeing her haggard appearance now is like a knife in my chest. I hate myself for worrying her.
I quickly wrap her in a hug as she dissolves into tears. “I know you didn’t have any idea. None of this is your fault,” I quickly assure her. “But you need to get out of the firing line. I know you want to see him taken down, but it’s not safe. You need to take Marty up on his offer. You need to leave,” I push, already having wished a million times this past week that Mom had gone with Marty back to his home in New Zealand.
“But I have to testify. I need to—”
“You’ve done plenty,” I snap. “That lawyer told you Dad was going to be locked away for a long time, with or without your testimony.”
“But after what he did to me, to us, I need him to see me on that stand. I want him to feel betrayal like I did when he turned on us,” she cries, moving her head back so she can look pleadingly up at me.
“He will feel nothing but happiness if you are killed. He wants you dead, and you staying here in Chicago means others will keep getting injured. Your best revenge is to leave with Marty and be happy and free.”
She shakes her head, but doesn’t verbally deny my words.
Marty Brown is a businessman my father tried to bribe to his way of thinking. Marty wouldn’t budge, and through a few chance meetings when my mother was around, he fell head-over-heels for her.
A divorced man himself, with several children, he didn’t want to rock the boat when it came to my mother. For the past two years, though, they have been having an affair.
For four years, Mom slowly collected evidence so she would have the means to leave my father and make sure he was put away for a long time. Then, after she gave everything to Harvey, Marty begged her to fly away with him. Most of his business keeps him in the States, but when he knew drama would be dropped on us, he offered Mom a holiday in New Zealand where she could lay low.
She turned him down, and now I’m going to fight to change her mind.
“Running away isn’t my style.”
“You’re not running away, Mom. You’re running to Marty, to love. There’s a difference.”
“I-I never thought this would …” She glances around us again, at the people still looking shell-shocked and scared.
“Please, Mom, please do this for me,” I beg.
“What about you? You should come with me.”
“I have a restaurant to run, and Dad isn’t angry with me,” I tell her softly.
She is braver than me. I was relieved to get out of my childhood home and leave that life behind. I immersed myself in work and studying. It took me five years of hard work to be approved for a business loan, and every cent I earn goes back into the restaurant.
I didn’t want some overpriced, fancy restaurant, either. I wanted something you take your family to, somewhere you want to meet up with friends and share a beer over a good meal. I wanted something fun, happy, and affordable. And after all my hard work, I am not giving it up because of my father.
“I won’t leave if you don’t—”
“Mom!” I bark. “This isn’t about me. This isn’t even about you. This is about these people.” I wave my arm around me while not sparing anyone else a glance. “They’re at risk, so you need to suck it up and call Marty. Then call your lawyers or whoever you need to, but don’t tell them where you’re going, and stay hidden until this is dealt with. Got it?” I finish, having never used this harsh tone with her.
I don’t say aloud my true fear, that Dad is never going to stop wanting her dead. He is furious he’s been brought down, and if my mom wants to stay safe, she may never be able to come back home.
Thankfully, she finally nods her agreement, tears falling down her face. I hug her tightly.
“I hate him so much,” she wails into my shirt.
“I hate him, too,” I heartedly agree.
“I don’t want to leave you.”
“You must, but it won’t be forever. You’ll be back soon, and if not, then I’ll plan a trip to see you,” I promise.
“Maybe you won’t be alone. You could bring someone with you,” she says through hiccups.
I don’t follow what she means until she pulls away from me and glances over her shoulder. When I follow her gaze, I unsurprisingly find her eyeing Harvey.
He’s in a new shirt after being bandaged up by the paramedics, focused on something the bearded man is showing him.
“Mom, seriously? How can you even think about that after what just happened?” I shake my head at her. Unbelievable. An earthquake could tear down half this city and she would still be on me to put myself out there and try to meet Mr. Right.
“He’s your type, isn’t he?” As her pleading eyes lock on mine, I feel the guilt she’s getting ready to throw at me.
Guilt is Mom’s specialty. She has no idea who my type is, given her assumption is: as long as a man likes to eat red meat and is hot, he must be suitable.
I do have to admit, even if it is just to myself, Harvey straddling me earlier did give me some wild thoughts. Add in his heroic dive to get me out of the firing range and selflessly protecting my body, and yeah, Harvey is my type in every way.
“He’s a man and he’s gay, Mom.” I sigh, hoping I come across as unaffected; the opposite of how I really feel. “Look, I’m fine, my sex life is fine, and it will continue to be fine while you’re out of harm’s way. So, will you call Marty?”
She stares at me a moment longer before her eyes drift back to Harvey. Then she nods, pulling out her cell phone and pulling up Marty’s number.
Finally!
Chapter 3
You would think being in a building that was shot to hell would be life-changing in some way. That the near-death experience would mean I’m different, or that it would at least put things in perspective. But the next day, the restaurant is buzzing, my meat delivery is late, one of my chefs is a no-show, and I have to deal with two customers from hell. It all feels so routine and mundane that I almost question if last night even happened.
Maybe it was some strange dream. One where things went from awful to potentially hot then back to awful again.
Then Harvey Newberry strolls into my restaurant, his eyes already locked on mine, and I’m bombarded with memories, not all of them bad.
“We need to talk,” he says as he comes up to the bar I’m wiping down.
I glance over his shoulder to the restaurant, finding everything is beginning to wind down. The lunch rush is over, and soon we will close up so we can set up for dinner.
I nod at Harvey then lead him around back to my office.
As I let him enter first, I purposely ignore my head waitress, Scarlett, as she winks at me and gives me the thumbs-up. She’s almost as bad as my mom when it comes to me dating.
“Is everything okay?” I ask as I close the door, moving around Harvey, who takes up a lot of room in the closet-spaced office.
I sit at my crowded desk, papers scattered everywhere. I haphazardly pile them together in the corner to at least give the semblance that I’m organized. Although, the fact that I don’t even straighten the pile up likely doesn’t give much weight to that hopeful theory. I do have one other chair in here, and for once that isn’t buried beneath a pile of paperwork.
“Zander, my boss, and Joey, a coworker, were able to get the license plate from the car that fired at us last night. It was traced down to a local gang who were hired to shoot the place up. They were given printouts of the office with my specific office marked off. They took it upon themselves to add the extra touch at the front.”
I try to take this in, not sure what it means.
“So, you were the target?” I finally gather.
“My office definitely was. We can’t link it to your father yet, but I doubt it was anyone else. No other case I’m working on, or have worked in the past, is as hot as this one.”
“He wanted you dead?” I snap, feeling my anger rising again.
“Perhaps. Or he just wanted to send a message. We didn’t turn any lights on, so there was no reason to believe anyone was inside.”
Right, because I was attempting to steal the paperwork I needed so I never turned a light on.
“I’m sorry about last night,” I finally say, embarrassment working its way through me. “I swear I’ve never done anything like that before. It’s just …” I sigh, tapping my foot nervously. “My dad is …” An asshole? A selfish bastard? A murderous criminal who won’t stop trying to ruin my life? “Well, you know. I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do.”
I Broke Into His Office (Love at First Crime Book 4) Page 2