Harlequin Intrigue January 2021 - Box Set 2 of 2

by Elle James, Nichole Severn

  She froze, her other hand stalling in Chance’s fur, as his long fingers threaded through hers. The unexpected contact made her skin tingle.

  “I didn’t dislike you as soon as I knew who you were. I just—”

  “Distrusted me?”

  “Yes.”

  She hadn’t expected him to admit it. Even though she’d already known it was true, the quiet word seemed to leave a physical mark on her chest. She slid her hand free and glanced away, hoping he hadn’t seen that he’d hurt her.

  She looked back just as quickly, tired of having to explain herself, tired of being judged by what people read in newspapers about her past instead of by who she was or her actions now. “Everyone thinks they would have gotten help right away, that they would have spent all those years hating the people who’d raised them. But if you haven’t lived it—”

  “I’m not judging you.”

  “No?”

  Chance lifted his head from her lap at her sarcastic tone.

  “Do you know why my fa…Julian was killed in jail?”

  Peter frowned, gave a brief shake of his head.

  “He was protecting a twenty-year-old kid who was being preyed on sexually. The predator stabbed Julian in the chest sixteen times for it.” She choked on the last words, imagining the man who’d raised her being cornered, brutally attacked and dying on a filthy prison floor.

  Peter reached for her and his intent to pull her into a hug was as clear as the confusion in his eyes. He was struggling to reconcile his idea of a child kidnapper with a man who’d risk his life to protect someone he barely knew.

  She blocked his hug with a hand to his chest, resisting the urge to fist her hand into his sweatshirt and yank him toward her. To accept his hug along with the friendship he offered. Friendship she still couldn’t tell was real or fake.

  Standing, she swallowed back the tears that threatened every time she thought about the report the prison had issued. “I think I should go.”

  He stood, too, but slowly, caution in his expression. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I have no idea what your life was like. All I know about the Altiers is what I’ve read in the papers or a law enforcement bulletin. I know better than anyone how those things can spin a story. But I spent years in war zones and I also know this—no one is one hundred percent good or bad. Everyone lives in gray areas, making right decisions one day and wrong ones the next. Sometimes the way we think of people is based on what side of the line the majority of those decisions lie. Sometimes, it’s based on a single, dramatic incident.”

  His hand twitched upward, the way she’d seen it do before, and she had a sudden realization. He had his own single, dramatic incident. “What happened?”

  He stared at her a long moment, not even pretending to misunderstand, before he nodded and sank back onto the couch.

  Chance moved his head to Peter’s leg, offering his quiet support in a way Alanna had seen him do hundreds of times at the nonprofit where she worked. From the very beginning, when she’d had him certified as a therapy dog so she could bring him to work with her, he’d had a sense of who needed him most.

  “I was a war reporter,” Peter said, and she nodded, having seen his bylines a time or two. Mostly, she remembered his name from an incident a few years ago, with a picture that had made national headlines: Peter, less fit than he was now, wearing a helmet and covered in sand and blood, one hand to his ear and an expression of horror and disbelief etched on his face.

  “You were covering some kind of hostage release,” she said, realizing that must have been the incident.

  “It was supposed to be smooth and simple. I’d been in far more dangerous situations. The military had brought the ransom money. We were just tagging along—my camera guy and me—to catch the exchange. The hostage-takers hadn’t covered their faces—they didn’t think they could be identified or they didn’t care. The CIA sent one of their officers to make the exchange. She was supposed to walk halfway and leave the money. Then the hostage would walk to us and the hostage-takers would pick up the money and leave. Well, they did take the money and leave.”

  Peter’s hand went halfway to his left ear, then he set it on Chance’s head instead, slowly petting the big dog.

  “The hostage had been captive for almost six months. She’d watched the other two people who’d been kidnapped with her get killed. We thought she’d be running toward us. But the closer she got, I could see…”

  He trailed off, his brows furrowed and his gaze on the wall of photographs across the room.

  “What?” Alanna prompted softly.

  “I’ve been to a few hostage exchanges before, where they’re expected to go smoothly and our country wants a little good press. Sometimes, the hostages look terrified that something is going to go wrong at any second and they’ll be yanked back into the hell they’d been living. Other times, they’re crying with relief that it’s finally over. And occasionally, they seem like they’re not even aware of what’s happening. Not this hostage. She was…calm, focused. Stoic, even.”

  His hand stalled on Chance’s head and Alanna set her hand carefully on top of his, offering silent support the way he had for her. The same way she might at work with a survivor or a family member she’d gotten to know over months of visits.

  He met her gaze briefly, a hint of a smile twitching on the edge of his lips. Then he looked back at his photos. “I was standing closest when the explosion went off.”

  Even though she’d seen the photos, had known he’d been close to an explosion, she still gasped at the idea of him being nearest to a bomb. Her fingers clenched reflexively over his. Chance’s head tipped up, his attention bouncing to her, then back to Peter.

  Alanna tried to remember the details of the article she’d read two years ago, but all she could recall were the details of the photo. Of Peter’s face, dripping with blood. Back then, it had been a horrible sight, but now, knowing Peter made every detail more painful. She felt an ache in her chest thinking about what he’d experienced. “What happened? The hostage-takers threw a bomb during the rescue?”

  He gave a humorless laugh, his gaze focused on her once more, all his intensity and cynicism directed at her. “They didn’t throw anything. It was strapped to the hostage. She set it off herself when she got close to us.”

  Tension bloomed between them as she stared back at him. Suddenly, it all made sense. His instant distrust of her, his insistence that she must be working with Darcy. He thought she was just like the hostage who’d almost killed him: willing to do whatever it took to help someone she should have wanted behind bars, at the expense of anyone else. As that realization dawned, Peter said softly, “I quit my job after that. I’d wanted to be a reporter my whole life, but after that moment, I never wanted to go into another war zone. I sat around for a good six months, then saw a job posting for a police officer. This hostage almost destroyed that dream, too. The police have strict fitness and health requirements, and with the extent of my hearing loss… They only took me because they were desperate for officers.”

  His hand went up again, and this time, he did touch his left ear. “I lost most of the hearing in this ear in the explosion.”

  Alanna’s heart gave a sudden, painful ache. He thought she was the same as that woman who, in the face of rescue, had destroyed herself and tried to take out everyone around her in the process. No wonder Peter didn’t trust her.

  He was never going to trust her.

  * * *

  ALANNA WAS SILENT in the passenger seat as Peter drove her and Chance in his truck the long way around the base of the mountain the next day. They were headed for Luna. Five years ago, Luna police had stopped the Altiers and arrested them. They’d loaded her and her “siblings” into a police car and driven them to the Luna hospital to be checked out. It was the last place she’d seen any of the people she’d called family for most of her chil
dhood.

  Last night, Peter had asked if she wanted to go there, to get checked out at the hospital after being trapped in that avalanche. But she had no desire to go back to that hospital, to those memories. And besides still feeling cold and being exhausted, she’d been okay. The worst of it was calling her rental company to let them know what had happened to their truck.

  The fastest way to get to Luna was actually to drive up into the mountain and then back down. But after the avalanche yesterday, that wasn’t happening. So, she and Peter had spent an awkward hour and a half in his truck. They had at least another hour to go before they made it to the far side of town, where Alanna thought one of Julian’s hideouts might be.

  She’d spent a long time last night trying to decode the old cipher she and her “siblings” had created, without much luck. But in the morning, she’d had an epiphany about one of them. Hopefully, she was right, because she’d convinced Peter to trust her and come along without notifying his department.

  There was a new tension between them since he’d admitted what had happened to him. The uncomfortable silence was worse than sleeping in Peter’s guest bedroom, hearing him move around one room over. Smelling like his soap and shampoo, and knowing he hadn’t insisted she stay at his place because of the roads, like he’d claimed. The truth was, he didn’t trust her not to go off on her own, even though she’d promised she wouldn’t.

  She squeezed her hands tightly together and said, “Maybe that woman didn’t blow herself up. Maybe the explosive had a remote detonator.”

  “No,” Peter replied, not even sounding surprised to hear the suggestion after an hour and a half of near-silence. “There was an investigation. She set it off herself.”

  “Well, you don’t know what they told her. Maybe she felt like she had no choice. Maybe they threatened to kill her family if she didn’t do it. I’ve heard that more than once from victims of violent crime. The person who did it threatens someone they love if they ever talk. After the things they’ve suffered, the victim believes it. This could be a more extreme version.”

  “Maybe,” Peter agreed. He glanced her way, looking intrigued, and she realized that he didn’t know what she did for a living.

  “I work for a nonprofit back home.” Calling anywhere home besides Desparre still felt strange, especially now that she was back in Alaska, but it was true. Chicago had become her home now.

  The thought wiggled around in her brain, bittersweet. Maybe she was truly starting to let go of the people she’d loved most of her life.

  Her parents, Kensie, Colter and Flynn had all worked hard to bring her into their lives, to show her how much they loved her. There was still so much missing, so many memories with them she’d never be able to have, but she’d never stopped loving them, either.

  Shaking off her musings for another time, Alanna said, “The nonprofit works with victims of violent crime.”

  “You’re a therapist?” He sounded surprised.

  “No. It’s not that kind of place. We do have support groups, and I’ve gotten Chance certified as a therapy dog so he can come and sit with people. But we also help people navigate the legal system, act as an intermediary with police when necessary and help them transition back to their regular life. Technically, my job is as a case manager, so I help identify what people need when they first come to us.”

  “Why did you choose violent crime?”

  She darted a glance at him, expecting to see suspicion on his face. When most people heard about her past and her career choice, they assumed she’d been harmed during her years with the Altiers, despite her insistence otherwise.

  “I guess I just…” She sighed, wishing it was something she knew how to put in words. “When I came home, I got a lot of attention. All these people I didn’t know wanted to help me. They meant well, even if it made me anxious to have them come up to me and ask for details, looking like they just wanted a good story. But in some ways, it was a good thing. The fact that we were all found after so many years inspired a pair of ex-cops who lived near me to start a cold case club. They’ve solved a dozen cases since then.”

  Peter nodded, his gaze catching hers briefly before he looked back out the front windshield. The road had been cleared yesterday, but had a new dusting of snow from the morning. “You’re doing it out of guilt.”

  She frowned. “Not guilt—”

  “I don’t mean it in a bad way. Just—I get it. You feel like these other people who had it worse than you should be getting the attention, the resources, you did.”

  “Sort of.” She fidgeted in her seat, uncomfortable sharing this but somehow feeling he’d empathize. No one else had understood it quite so well. “I also understand how confusing it is to try to fit back into your normal life. I don’t identify with the way most of these people have been harmed. But I understand some of it. My case got a lot of press, so most of them recognize my name. They tell me it makes them feel more connected to me, because I’ve personally experienced some of it. And I like helping people.”

  “You’re a good person.”

  There was such honesty in his voice, mixed with just a hint of surprise, that Alanna wasn’t sure what to say. Her “thanks” was delayed and too quiet.

  Peter shrugged, giving her a little grin that sent a flutter of awareness through her. “Don’t thank me. That’s all on you.”

  She felt herself grin in response and the tension that had filled the truck since they’d sat together at his breakfast table this morning finally eased. Even Chance seemed to feel it, scooting forward and shoving his head through the space between the seats.

  Alanna stroked his silky fur as she stared at Peter’s profile. She had a sudden vision of the first moment he’d approached her four days ago, the way he’d angled his body, making his weapon more visible. But his right side wasn’t just where he kept his gun; it was also the side with his good ear. He’d done it so he could hear her better, not to intimidate her.

  Maybe there were other things she was misinterpreting, too. Yes, he’d admitted he hadn’t trusted her when he’d met her. But he’d let her stay in his house. He’d called in to work this morning and she’d overheard him telling someone he was running a lead today and would be late for his Sunday shift. He hadn’t mentioned her involvement.

  It was the deal they’d struck. She’d share the location she thought she’d figured out from the ruined list and they’d check it out, just the two of them.

  So far, he was keeping up his end of the bargain. She had her doubts that he would continue to do so if they actually found Darcy, but this seemed to be the best way forward.

  She’d insisted on secrecy because she’d feared if police showed up, it would escalate everything and Darcy might do something stupid. Alanna’s gut clenched at the memory of Darcy and Johnny shooting at Kensie five years ago. If the police were there this time, they would see the kidnapper lifting a weapon as a legitimate reason to open fire in return. Her concern had been that Darcy would end up getting herself killed.

  But suddenly, she was struck with a totally different worry.

  If it was just her and Darcy, Alanna wanted to believe she could talk some sense into the woman who’d raised her since she was five years old. She wanted to believe that if Peter’s presence threatened Darcy, Alanna standing in front of him would keep him safe. But was that realistic?

  Or was she fooling herself?

  As Peter met her gaze again, giving her a quick, genuine smile, she tried to smile back.

  He was prickly, and she still wasn’t totally sure where she stood with him. But he was smart and capable and he’d run to save her when he could have just as easily stepped back and saved himself from that avalanche. From the moment he’d wrapped his fingers in her coat and held on even as the snow threatened to send them both over a mountain, she’d started to care about him. Probably more than she should.

 
If she was wrong about Darcy, was she risking Peter’s life by bringing him with her?

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Peter stared at Alanna across the tiny wooden table in the overcrowded coffee shop in downtown Luna. She was back in the jeans and light purple sweater she’d been wearing yesterday, but he couldn’t stop picturing her the way she’d looked last night in his too-large sweatpants and long-sleeved T-shirt.

  She flushed at his stare, redirecting her gaze to the steaming cup of coffee in her hands. At her side, Chance sat patiently, his size making him look like her protector.

  The coffee shop had been here since he was a teenager and he’d spent hours in front of the fireplace over the years. Playing board games from the stack the owners always kept on hand or reading a book from the shelves on the far wall. With a first date or a long-term girlfriend. With family or a group of friends. Or, in those first six months after coming home, feeling adrift and unsure of what the rest of his life held, by himself.

  They were less than twenty minutes from the location Alanna thought she’d identified from the Altiers’ coded list. Peter had told her he wanted to stop here to take a break from driving, to rest a little before a possible confrontation with Darcy. The truth was, he needed to give his fellow officers a chance to catch up.

  He’d called in to the station that morning, giving the story he and Alanna had agreed upon: he was running a long-shot lead and would let them know how it panned out. She’d been just around the corner, listening in, not realizing he could see her reflection in the mirror across the hall.

  When she’d slipped back down the hall, he’d quickly texted Tate with the real story. He felt guilty about it—and Tate had also reminded him that technically, the Desparre police department had no jurisdiction here. But he trusted his partner. He didn’t know the Luna officers. He had no idea what Darcy would do if she was cornered, but he wanted to make sure Alanna was safe.

  Still, he didn’t like betraying her trust.