We pull into the driveway a short time later, and after Colt unlocks the front door, we step inside. “Meet me in the kitchen in five?” he asks.
That confirms my earlier suspicion. “Sure.”
We both part ways, and I go upstairs to my room and close the door. My eyes fall upon the unmade bed. I hadn’t had time to change the sheets this morning, and I can still smell Gabe’s distinctive scent lingering in the air. A smile curves my lips. As Gabe had put it, last night was ‘damned nice.’
The smile begins to fade. Now that we’ve been intimate, I know my body’s going to crave more the next time I see him. I release a wary sigh, unsure how I’m going to handle our mutual attraction.
Colt’s probably waiting on me, so I quickly change out of my scrubs and slip on a comfortable tank and shorts. I redo my ponytail before heading downstairs, my bare feet silent on the wood flooring in the foyer.
Colt’s already at the island, sitting on a stool with a beer at his elbow. He’d switched his uniform for a shirt that clings to his muscles, and a pair of jeans. He watches me as I open a cupboard and pull out a glass.
After filling the glass with water and a few ice cubes, I walk to the island and sink onto a stool. “Did you find out something new while I was at work?” I ask, assuming this has to do with yesterday.
He studies me. “You were at the same party as Carrie Johnson,” he states.
His statement brings a look of puzzlement to my face. “Everyone knows that. What does it have to do with anything?”
“You saw her, right?” he prods.
“Briefly. I believe we said hi as we passed each other. It’s why I never came forward to be interviewed about it. I was drunk, I barely recall that night.”
“But you were found wandering around two blocks from the party?” he asks steadily.
My nose wrinkles. “I hate being reminded of my moment of stupidity. Thank God those moments are few and far between,” I say dryly.
“You don’t recall wandering around?” Colt presses.
I take a sip of my water and shake my head. “Nope, and I’m just fine with that.”
He looks at me intently. “Carrie was murdered that Friday night, and on the following Wednesday, you and Brandie dealt with an attempted mugging.”
The tone of the conversation has changed, and I set the glass down. “Where are you going with this?”
“You knew Carrie. You were at that party. Then, less than a week later, you’re attacked. You—not Brandie. That’s way too much of a coincidence, if you ask me.”
I stare at him. “You think there’s a connection?”
He gives me a sardonic look. “Have you done anything lately to piss anyone off?”
“Of course not.”
“There you go. I don’t want there to be a connection, but there’s just something telling me that it can’t be ignored.”
I turn on my stool to fully face him. “I didn’t even have a conversation with her, Colt.”
“What did you see when you were wandering around after you left the party?”
“I have no idea, I don’t remember.”
He gives me a meaningful look. “That won’t matter to whoever murdered her.”
The color begins to drain from my face. “Oh God.” Had I seen something that I shouldn’t have? Am I a witness?
Colt sighs and leans over, touching my shoulder. “Bryce is on his way over to ask you a few questions.”
I swallow and look at him apprehensively. “Do you really think I saw something that night?”
“Yeah, I do. Maybe not the actual murder, but I wonder if you saw the killer with Carrie, and now he wants to tie up loose ends.”
“If so, why didn’t he go after me that night?” I whisper, feeling sick. “I was in no condition to fend him off.”
“He was probably focused on Carrie. You were completely inebriated, so maybe he thought he’d catch up to you later, but instead, your friends brought you home.”
I’m silent as I process what he’s telling me.
“Has this guy ever said anything to you when he’s been after you?”
I shake my head.
“He just wants to kill you, no questions asked. No reasons given.”
My eyes search his. “Colt? This isn’t going to end until he’s behind bars, is it? Or else when I’m dead. Whichever comes first,” I say in a hollow voice.
Colt rests both his hands on my shoulders, eyes firm on mine. “No one’s going to let him hurt you.”
We hear a car pull up outside.
“I spoke with Bryce on my break earlier when I’d begun having my suspicions. He’s working Carrie’s case, and because this is a possible connection, he’s here on official business.”
I nod.
The doorbell rings, and we go to the living room. Colt answers the door, and Bryce steps inside, greeting Colt before turning to me. “I wish I wasn’t here under these circumstances.”
“Me too,” I say. I’m chilled from this new development, and I wrap my arms around myself.
“Why don’t you guys talk here in the living room,” Colt suggests.
Bryce nods in agreement, his hazel eyes focusing on me as he says to him, “I’d like to speak with Harper alone.”
“I expected as much.” Colt’s eyes shift to me. “Will you be okay?” When I nod, he turns and leaves us.
Bryce politely motions to the sofa, and I walk over and sit down, drawing my legs beneath me. Once I’m seated, he takes a seat on the opposite end and studies me. “I know this has probably been very traumatizing, but there are questions I have to ask.”
“I understand.”
He’s wearing a light, fitted jacket, and he pulls out a small recorder from the inner pocket. “Do I have your consent to record this conversation?”
“Yes, of course.”
He presses a button on the recorder and sets it down. “Please state your full name, the date, and that you’ve given consent to the recording of this conversation for investigative purposes, and as an official statement in reference to the Carrie Johnson case,” he says in an official tone, also giving the case number.
I repeat the information he’s requested.
“Did you see Miss Johnson in the days prior to the party you attended on Friday, the sixth?”
“I don’t think so. It had been a while since I’d seen her.”
“How would you describe your relationship with Miss Johnson?”
“Acquaintances, I would say. We didn’t go out of our way to seek each other out. Most of the time, we ran across each other in social settings. She was friendly and nice—very easy to be around.”
“Did she ever seem troubled to you?” he asks.
I shake my head and then recall that he’s recording the conversation. “No. She always had a smile on her face.”
He nods his encouragement as he continues with the questioning. “Are you familiar with the people she liked to spend her time with?” he presses.
“Yes.”
“Did you ever notice anything unusual?”
“No.”
“What about when you saw her at the party?”
“I was…pretty inebriated that night. I believe we passed by each other and said hi.”
“Did she look happy?” he inquires.
“I believe so.”
“What time did you leave the party?”
“I have absolutely no idea.”
He nods. “Do you remember leaving the party?”
My face warms. “No.”
“What do you remember?”
“Nothing. I woke up the next morning feeling sick from the alcohol I’d drank.”
Bryce is quiet a moment, and then he smoothly transitions to the attempted mugging. “Can you tell me what happened the night you and Brandie Thompson were attacked?”
I calmly describe that night with as much detail as I can, and then he leads me into yesterday’s events. I tell him everything I know, and he asks a lot
of the same questions the attending officer had.
“Have you noticed any strange vehicles that seem to be following you when you’re out running errands or socializing?”
“No.”
“Have you been in any social settings since the attempted mugging?” he asks.
“Yes. I’ve been out to a few restaurants, and I went to a party.”
“Did anyone seem more interested in you than normal?”
“No.” I refuse to give him Rem’s name, because I know he had nothing to do with any of this.
The interview winds down, and Bryce ends it and then repockets the recorder. “Thank you, I know that was difficult.”
I look at him searchingly. “Do you really think this is all connected to Carrie’s murder?”
He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his expression serious. “This is all a guessing game until I find actual evidence that could tie it all together. Do I think it’s possible? Yes.”
I draw in a deep breath before slowly exhaling. “What happens next?”
“You watch your back. Don’t go out alone, and I’ll see about increasing the nightly patrols in the neighborhood.” He digs out a business card and pen, and I watch as he writes something on the back. “I don’t usually give out my personal number, but you and I have ties through Colt.” He holds the card out to me. “If you notice anything suspicious—I don’t care how minor you think it is—you call me, day or night,” he instructs.
I take the card and give him a grateful look. “Thanks, Bryce.”
“I’m going to put this bastard behind bars, Harper.”
***
Sleep won’t come easy tonight, and I lie wide awake in my bed. I’d thought yesterday had been rough, but after my interview with Bryce, I’m feeling worse. It was scary knowing someone was after me, but now that I know he’s killed before…
My ears strain when I think I hear a car pull up out front. I glance at my alarm clock and note that it’s likely Gabe. I’ve been lying in bed for over an hour, my lamp shining brightly as I stare up at the ceiling.
Almost helplessly, my eyes are drawn to my closed door. I’m hoping Gabe will stop by my room to check on me. I really don’t want to be alone tonight, not after the revelation that this could all be connected to Carrie’s murder. Though I know I’m safe, I still have this ridiculous fear that this guy will break in during the night and kill me in my bed. I’ve been doing my best to brush off the absurd workings of my overactive imagination, but it’s difficult. When it’s daylight and life seems normal, I can handle everything that’s happening. But in the dark…
Everything becomes far too real.
I listen for the sound of footsteps on the stairs. Some time has passed since Gabe came home, and my heart sinks. He’s not going to check on me, and I mentally kick myself. I need to stop relying on Gabe to get me through this. It’s not fair to him, and all I’m doing is complicating things. Not to mention that I’d made it clear to him last night—and this morning—that having sex hadn’t meant anything. Of course, he’s not going to seek me out. If I were him, I wouldn’t either.
After another few minutes, I give into the need to climb out of bed and stretch my legs. Maybe I’ll go get a bottle of water, because it’s going to be a long night.
There’s a sweatshirt on the end of my bed, and I slip it on over my thin tank in case I run into anyone. I’m not the type of woman that can walk around braless.
When I reach the bottom of the stairs, the foyer light is still on, and I can hear low voices coming from the vicinity of the kitchen. Knowing others are awake has my anxiety easing. It’s when the house is completely dark and silent that’s going to chip away at my already frayed nerves.
Curious now, I silently walk down the hall, but when I hear my name included in the conversation, I pause and strain my ears, listening.
“You’re telling me that this is all connected to Carrie Johnson’s murder?” Gabe is asking incredulously.
“Yes,” Colt replies.
“You’re certain?”
“No, but Bryce agrees there might be a connection.”
“Christ, Colt,” Gabe bites out. “He killed Carrie, this guy isn’t going to hesitate to kill again.”
“If anyone can crack this case, it’ll be Bryce,” Colt says confidently.
“What about Harper in the meantime?”
“He advised her to stay alert and be careful—”
“That’s it?” Gabe cuts in. “Just be careful?”
“Gabe, there isn’t anything that can be done at this point. Without solid evidence that Harper’s case is connected to Carrie’s, it’s just speculation.”
There’s a heavy silence, and I wait to see what will be said next.
“Right now,” Colt says, “the best thing we can do is remain calm around her. Stay alert and watch for anything unusual in the neighborhood. I already spoke with Sebastian and Channing. Until this bastard is caught, someone should be following Harper home from work daily, just to be on the safe side and guarantee she isn’t coming home to an empty house.”
“Does Bryce expect another attempt on her life?” Gabe asks grimly.
I hold my breath, bracing for the answer.
“If this is all connected, yes. The key is to catch him before he can get to her.”
My mouth goes dry. I’d already known that another attempt would likely be made on my life, but hearing someone else say it is unnerving.
“How’s Harper handling it?” Gabe asks after another prolonged silence.
“I blindsided her today,” Colt says with regret. “She never saw the connection.”
“She in bed?”
“Yeah.”
That’s my cue to go back upstairs before they catch me eavesdropping. I silently turn back around and hurry through the foyer to the stairs. I take them two at a time—careful to keep my footfalls light.
Once I’m back in my bed, I lie down and wait to see if Gabe’s going to come up and check on me.
The minutes tick by, and after a half hour passes, I know that he’d likely gone to bed.
I roll onto my side, staring miserably at my alarm clock. I’d just lectured myself earlier on not relying on Gabe, and yet here I lie, wishing to be near him. I think it’s time to admit that Gabe belongs in my life whether I want him to or not. I need him in ways that I’d never considered, now they’re right here, staring me in the face.
Out of everyone in the house, it should be Colt that I’d be gravitating towards. He owns a gun, and with his MMA background, I should be hovering closer to him. Instead, it’s Gabe that I feel the safest with. I trust him with my life. It’s becoming evident that I need to find a way to trust him with my heart, but I’m just not sure how to go about that.
As I dwell upon my situation with Gabe and the direction my life has taken, an hour passes by.
Then two.
By two in the morning, my eyes are gritty, but I just can’t manage to fall asleep. My body’s too wound up from my conversation with Bryce. I don’t think I’ve ever been this scared in my entire life. Thinking about it certainly isn’t helping.
If I don’t get at least a few hours of sleep, I’m going to be a miserable mess at work. Gabe had told me that he’d always be there for me when I needed him, and I’m desperate enough to go to him.
After turning out my lamp, I grab my sweatshirt and quickly make my way through the darkened house. My feet are silent as I approach Gabe’s closed door.
I lift my hand to knock and hesitate. He’s likely sleeping, and I’d rather not wake him. I know he’s not going to mind if I slip into bed with him, so I carefully turn the knob and enter the room, closing the door behind me.
The room is dark, but moonlight streams in through the open blinds across his window, and I can see him clearly in the bed. He’s sprawled on his back, his chest bare, and the sheets bunched at his hips. As I inch closer, I can hear his deep, steady breathing that confirms he’s sleeping. I’m st
ill holding my sweatshirt, and I set it on the end of the bed before pulling back the top corner of his sheet.
I gingerly climb in, and as I slowly lie down, Gabe shifts in his sleep, his arm stretching towards me. “Harper?” he asks in a deep, rumbly voice.
“It’s me,” I whisper.
He turns onto his side, drawing me into his arms so that our bodies are aligned. His warmth invades every part of me, and the tension inside me begins to ease.
Gabe’s breathing has evened out once more, and I close my eyes.
***
My shoulder is gently shaken. “Harper?”
I bury my head further into the pillow. I could have sworn I’d just closed my eyes a moment ago, it can’t possibly be time to get up.
“If you’re going to work, you’ll want to get up,” I hear Gabe say in a light tone.
It dawns on me that I’m sprawled on my stomach, and the pillow beneath my head smells like Gabe. That’s right, I’d snuck into his room last night.
I shift onto my back and find Gabe lying on his side, his head propped in his palm as he gazes down at me. His lips curve upwards. “You’re a fine sight to wake up to.”
“I couldn’t sleep…”
His expression sobers. “I wanted to check on you, but I wasn’t sure if that’s what you’d want.”
I hesitate and then confess, “I sleep better when I’m with you.”
His eyes search mine. “My bed is available to you anytime, Harper.”
There’s so much going on inside my head, and I don’t know what to say or how to make sense of any of it. Everything he makes me feel is wrapped in such confusion.
“Colt told me about the new development,” Gabe tells me.
“I want them to be wrong.”
He says nothing, and emotions flicker in his eyes until he moves away and sits up, running his hands over his face.
The way he’s acting warns me that he has something he wants to say, but he’s holding back. I sit up, watching him. “What’s wrong?”
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