SMILING, MAC GLANCED through the bedroom window to Harley’s cottage. He’d noticed his SUV parked up the street and assumed she was inside with the workmen, hopefully finding the extermination progressing satisfactorily. He made a mental note to ask her later.
He’d stopped home to activate the surveillance equipment before Nice and Neat’s arrival. The armored pinhole cameras they’d placed in the vents would record for up to forty-four hours, but several of the other devices, including the remote receiver video and the audio recorders, had less duration.
Skimming his gaze over the dresser, he took in the colored pen camera he’d placed near the jewelry box. The cloisonné bracelet sat inside with the diamond chain of the nipple clamps dangling outside as if the piece had been carelessly tossed in.
When Mac heard the key in the door, he glanced at his watch, which confirmed the cleaning service wasn’t scheduled for another two hours yet.
“You up there, Gerard?” Harley asked. “I saw your car.”
“In the bedroom.” A place he would have enjoyed meeting up with her if not for their impending visit from Nice and Neat.
He heard her footsteps on the stairs and then she appeared in the doorway, looking delectable in fitted black slacks, a cream shell and black blazer.
Her expression was a different matter altogether. She glowered, jaw set, nostrils flaring, blue eyes blazing. She locked her arms across her chest defensively—a mannerism he’d learned usually meant she was itching to draw her gun.
“Any trouble down at your place?”
“You paid for the exterminator, didn’t you?” Her voice was sharp like broken ice. “You faxed me bullshit paperwork so I’d think that there was some no-interest, no-payment special, and then you paid the exterminator to do the work.”
Okay. This wasn’t what he’d wanted to tackle today. “What makes you think that?”
“There’s only one man I know who would ever take it upon himself to pay that bill, Gerard. But it so happens that he hocked his ass to the bank to buy a new building. He couldn’t afford to front me the parts for my transmission let alone pay ten thousand dollars to some exterminator.”
“So you think I did?”
She spit out a sound of frustrated rage and bore down on him. Suddenly she was jabbing her finger into his chest. “Who else do I know who throws around that kind of money?”
A rhetorical question, undoubtedly, so Mac just admired the way anger fueled her cheeks with a flush that made her deep blue eyes seem bluer, her mouth lusher, more kissable.
“Who else do I know who’s arrogant enough to charge in like he’s some sort of freaking Prince Charming?”
“I wanted to help.”
“As usual it’s about what you want. I don’t care what you want. I didn’t ask for your help.”
No, she hadn’t asked and he hadn’t cared about that at the time, a very sobering reminder that he was guilty as charged no matter how noble his intentions.
Unfortunately, his intentions hadn’t been all that noble.
When he’d first discovered she had termite troubles, he’d assumed from her conversation with Anthony that coming up with the money was a problem, so he’d made some routine inquiries into her finances to learn she was deeply in debt.
He had wanted to help. Not only because Harley clearly cared about her home, but he’d wanted to help her clear her plate so she could focus on other things—like him. If helping her out happened to give him an edge over Anthony down the road…better still.
His reasoning had seemed pretty straightforward at the time. But looking back, Mac knew he’d been in over his head with his feelings for her even then.
He had wanted to play Prince Charming.
“You needed the money, Harley. I knew you wouldn’t take it if I offered.”
“Of course I wouldn’t have taken it. I can’t pay you back.”
“I didn’t ask you to.”
“Argh!” She thumped her hand against his chest hard enough to make him brace himself. Clearly that wasn’t the answer she’d been looking for.
“Listen,” he said, catching her hand and hanging on so she couldn’t get away. “You’re right. I did act presumptuously, without thinking about anyone but myself. I’m sorry.”
Her eyes widened, and he might have laughed at her reaction—she obviously hadn’t expected him to own up to his mistake—but he heard a noise downstairs.
The sound seemed to be coming from outside the front door. They both spun toward the landing and, sure enough, a key rattled in the lock, before the door creaked open.
Harley recovered first. She bolted to the window to peer out at the street. “Nice and Neat.”
They couldn’t be caught inside the house. They’d made it clear that no one would be home during the day, hoping to generate a false sense of security with the cleaning service. If they were caught home on the first visit, they’d set their work back by weeks, possibly more.
“In the closet.” Mac eased the door of the long wall closet open, slipped into the clothes at the back, just as Harley landed against him. She closed the door and arranged several of his suits in front of them, so they wouldn’t be easily seen if the cleaning person opened the door.
Adrenaline had his heart pounding and his breaths coming hard, but he wouldn’t miss an opportunity to pull Harley into his arms. His arms around her, he forced her to lean back against him for balance. He buried his face in her hair and took total advantage of her inability to stop him.
Self-serving was self-serving, and sometimes he just couldn’t fight his basic nature. The last time they’d been sandwiched inside a closet together had been during the teamwork training session when he’d realized that standing so close to her threw his hormones into overdrive.
His hormones were in overdrive now. The scent of her hair snared his senses, ignited memories of the previous night with her warm and willing beneath him, her soft sighs in the dark.
And Harley noticed. Suddenly she was wiggling her bottom back against him. She wasn’t as self-serving as he was, but she was vengeful, which meant she wanted to torment him.
“Control yourself,” she hissed.
“Oh, I am,” he breathed into her ear, gratified when she shivered. “Trust me.”
She elbowed him hard enough to make her point—no small feat given the way they were wedged together, his suits and her leather crowding them. A shoe rack prevented him from spreading his legs to secure his position, and despite the distraction of her nearness, their quarters soon grew stifling.
Mac considered why the cleaning person had shown up so early. A cancellation in the schedule, perhaps. He had no idea how long it would take to clean the house, but time ground to a standstill as they stood there, barely daring to breathe.
Finally he heard someone dragging some heavy piece of equipment up the stairs. A vacuum maybe. His oxygen-deprived senses went on red alert. Harley’s, too, given the way she tensed against him.
Footsteps moved around the room. They could hear the scuff of soft soles on the tiled bathroom floor and then the sound of a cabinet opening and closing. Water running.
It wasn’t until their suspect reemerged into the bedroom that they heard the electronic beep of a cell phone, a woman speaking. “Grandma, if you’re there, pick up.”
He recognized the voice as Caroline Thompson’s and, if the way Harley froze against him was any indication, she’d recognized the woman, too.
“Oh, good, I’m glad you’re home,” Caroline said. “I’m in the Gerard place right now. Yeah, I’m early, but I wanted to have time to look around.” She paused, inhaled breathlessly. “Grandma, I think you might be right. I wouldn’t have noticed anything if you hadn’t warned me, but the Gerards left some really expensive stuff lying around.
“This is the first time I’m cleaning here, so they’re either careless or setting us up. Do you think I should tell Mom that I want to service this account? At least until we figure out what thefts these people are trying to frame us for. I don’t want to put any of our employees in a dicey position.”
Harley tilted her head back enough to meet his gaze, and there was no missing the accusation in hers.
Then it hit him. There was only one way Mrs. Noralee could have known Nice and Neat was under suspicion of theft—if his grandfather, Miss Q and their friends had told her.
BY THE TIME Caroline Thompson had completed her work and left the house, the forced confinement had given Harley too much time to analyze this unexpected turn of events and her anger rose with each possible explanation.
Even though Gerard claimed he had no idea what was going on and seemed genuinely annoyed himself, she didn’t believe him. Wouldn’t believe him. She’d married this man, damn it, had gotten her feelings all tied up in knots over him. Someone had to be responsible for this stunt and it needed to be him.
Only knowing that he was responsible, that he’d purposely and selfishly manipulated her, would help her rein in all these stupid emotions she didn’t want to feel for him. Would make her stop melting inside every time she thought about him paying off the exterminator because he knew she wouldn’t accept his help.
Yes, he’d been presumptuous and self-serving. Yes, he’d been outrageous and excessive.
But no man would invest this much time and energy and money into her without caring. No man would look at her with that sort of expression unless he cared.
And Gerard couldn’t care about her. One of them with runaway emotions was bad enough, but two… Her chest suddenly felt tight, as if someone was sitting on it. She couldn’t breathe.
“Harley, it’s all right,” he said, his expression going all soft around the edges, one of those expressions that Josh reserved for Lennon. That their groom friend had reserved for his giddy bride.
Only Harley couldn’t let his expression make a difference.
“We’ll go talk to my grandfather and find out what’s going on.” Gerard knew she was losing it, knew she was struggling not to get sucked further into his web.
She couldn’t believe him.
“Why did you make me marry you?” She fought hard to keep from turning away, the impulse to run so strong she could barely meet his gaze.
“I told you. I wanted a chance to seduce you.”
She laughed, a hysterical, broken sound. “The money, Gerard. There’s nothing I do that’s worth ten thousand dollars.”
His expression grew more gentle still and he reached out to stroke her cheek. “Everything you do is priceless.”
She pulled away from him so fast that she stumbled. He caught her arm, pulled her toward him, looked down into her face with translucent eyes so honest her heart seemed to stall in mid beat. “I don’t know what my grandfather’s doing, but we’ll find out. I’m not real thrilled myself right now. I was starting to make headway with you and now you’re angry with me again.”
That was enough to bring Harley to her senses. She broke away and squared off with the bed between them. She wanted to scream. “You said you wanted a fling. I slept with you. That’s it, we’re through. I’ll figure out some way to pay you back.”
“You’re my wife, Harley. Everything I have is yours.”
“Why are you doing this?” she demanded, knowing the instant the question was out of her mouth she wouldn’t like his answer.
“I’m in love with you. I’m surprised you haven’t figured that out yet.”
Harley did scream then, loudly.
AFTER SWINGING BY his family’s house, Mac learned that his grandfather wasn’t at home but at the Eastman Gallery for a meeting of the Second Story Society. He’d never heard of this particular organization or his grandfather’s affiliation, but if the group met at the Eastman Gallery, Miss Q was somehow involved. She’d been the benefactress behind the memorial gallery inside the local art museum.
Christopher and Lennon, both longtime friends, had shared their stories about how Miss Q had involved herself in bringing about their recent marriages. Miss Q had shown up in Judge Bancroft’s chambers to witness his own marriage, too. But since she’d been a victim of theft and Josh had owned the firm hired to investigate her case, Mac hadn’t questioned her presence.
Now he had a really bad feeling. He needed some answers and they needed to be good enough to get him off the hook with Harley. But when he escorted her into a conference room in the art gallery and took one look at the table filled with all his grandfather’s friends, Mac knew he wouldn’t get them here.
Noralee Thompson sat beside his grandfather, along with Miss Q and several of their friends from their Garden District neighborhood. These were friends who’d all shared lifetimes of adventures, not unlike his own long-standing relationships with Christopher and Lennon.
One glance around that table, and Mac knew they’d been had.
“Grandfather, if you wouldn’t mind, Harley and I need a private word with you.”
His grandfather didn’t get a chance to reply before Miss Q clapped her hands. “It’s the newlyweds,” she said with a smile. “Come in, dears. We were just discussing you.”
The men stood to greet Harley, whose eyes were growing wider by the second. Mac slipped his arm around her shoulders, a show of support he knew wouldn’t make any difference.
“Friends,” Mrs. Noralee said. “Meet the new Mr. and Mrs. Mackenzie Gerard.”
Miss Q and Mrs. Noralee burst into a humming rendition of “The Wedding March,” reinforcing that eccentricity abounded in this room. Sitting around the table as they were, Mac’s grandfather and his friends looked like a geriatric version of the Little Rascals.
“We so enjoyed watching the videotape of your wedding,” Mrs. Noralee told them. “But we’ve decided we’d like a real wedding. You know, to firm up the deal.”
“The next logical question would be to ask why Harley and I were the topic of conversation at your meeting,” Mac said to segue past all talk about weddings. “But I don’t think I need to. The thefts were a setup, weren’t they?”
“A setup?” His grandfather frowned. “What makes you think that, Mackenzie?”
Mac looked at Mrs. Noralee. “We overheard Caroline’s conversation with you.”
“Oh, hang that girl.” She scowled darkly. “I knew I shouldn’t have picked up the phone.”
“If she’d left a message, we’d have overheard anyway,” Mac said.
“Now, Noralee, it’s not Caroline’s fault,” Miss Q said. “She was just trying to save your family business, that’s all.”
“She really thinks Nice and Neat is under suspicion of theft, and we put her up against professionals.” Christopher’s grandfather, the man Mac’s friend had been named for and whom he had always known as Mr. Christopher, swept his gaze over them with a respect Mac didn’t feel they earned. Their closet surveillance had been nothing more than chance.
Miss Q smiled. “The acorn didn’t fall far from the tree. Caroline’s protective of her family. She’s to be commended.”
“Indeed she is,” his grandfather agreed. “I’d say she has earned a medal of honor for services rendered.”
Mr. Christopher made a notation in a notebook. “I’ll make the arrangements with approval.”
Mac watched in amazement as his grandfather tapped a wooden gavel on the table and said, “We need a motion.”
“I move to recognize Noralee’s granddaughter for her service to the Second Story Society,” Miss Q said.
Mrs. Noralee raised her hand. “All right. I’ll second the motion, but the girl is still going to get a talking-to.”
The gavel banged sharply. “So moved. Christopher, you’re in charge. Noralee, as recording secretary, you make sure the motion gets entered into our minutes and submitted for board approval.”
Harley’s mouth popped wide open and Mac’s mood took a sharp decline.
“Grandfather, what’s this all about?” he asked. “Exactly what is the Second Story Society?”
Miss Q reached out to pat his grandfather’s hand as every face at the table turned toward them.
Before his grandfather could answer, Harley spoke up. “The name suggests you’ve all taken up burglary as a sideline. Except you haven’t stolen anything and nothing was really stolen from you, was it? So basically the function of your Second Story Society is to plot and plan fake thefts.”
She looked recovered, cool and distant with her shields so completely in place a nuclear blast couldn’t have shaken them loose. “The real question here is: what was the point?”
Faces broke into smiles. Someone—Mac didn’t catch who—began to clap and the applause increased until Harley was the recipient of very noisy acclaim.
She folded her arms across her chest and stared stoically around the table, wouldn’t glance his way. The applause finally died down and his grandfather said, “Brava, Harley.” He winked at Mac. “She’s sharp as a tack, Mackenzie.”
“The point, my dear,” Miss Q added cheerily, “was to get you and Mac together, of course.”
“The Second Story Society was formed to promote the happiness of our members’ loved ones,” Noralee explained.
Mr. Christopher nodded. “That’s our mission statement.”
This was the absolute last thing Mac wanted to hear, and he glanced at Harley again, who might have been standing behind an invisible brick wall for the expression on her beautiful face.
“I see,” was all she said, leaving him to ask the obvious question. “Why?”
“Mackenzie, how can you ask me that?” His grandfather frowned. “After seeing you and Harley at Christopher’s wedding, it was obvious you two are crazy about each other—”
“And too stubborn to admit it,” Mr. Christopher added.
Miss Q smiled. “We thought we’d give you a little nudge.”
“A little nudge?” Harley asked, her voice so thin Mac was surprised it didn’t crack. “I married this man.”
Miss Q fixed her with that sparkling smile. “I hope you made love with him, too, dear, so it’s a real marriage.”
“Hear, hear.” Mrs. Noralee chimed in. “We wanted to keep you together long enough to come to your senses. Did we accomplish our mission objective?”
Mac winced. Harley just glared at him accusingly.
“You can’t possibly think I was involved in this?” he said.
“Were you?”
“No!”
“When you pass judgment on us, Harley,” his grandfather said. “Please bear in mind that we only wanted to make you a part of us. We take our own very seriously. Mackenzie needed help to win your heart, whether he realized it or not, and you’re too special a young lady to let get away.”
Harley leveled that stoic gaze around the table and Mac honestly couldn’t tell what she felt in that moment. Anger maybe, or perhaps she simply thought that all members of the Second Story Society had lost their minds. He didn’t have a clue. She was closed to him in a way she hadn’t been since they’d first made love and her inscrutable expression drove home the fact that this turn of events might have cost him all the headway he’d made with her.
“Harley—”
“Allow me to recap,” she said, cutting him off. “Just to make sure I get everything straight to report back to my boss. You decided to help Gerard win my heart, so you staged the thefts, hired Eastman Investigations to catch you, then watched the action over tea and crumpets.” She tipped her head at the refreshment sideboard. “Does that about sum things up?”
His grandfather nodded. “I knew if I told Mac his grandmother’s wedding set had been stolen, he’d be personally invested in the outcome of the case. And I figured it couldn’t hurt to give him a chance to prove to you that he has what it takes to be a good investigator. He does, doesn’t he, my dear?”
She gave him a tight smile. “Yes, Stuart, he does.”
Before Mac could even absorb that admission, Harley said, “I’m sure Josh will make contact if he has any more questions. Thank you all for answering mine. Good day.”
Then she turned and walked out the door. Mac started after her, but his grandfather said, “Mackenzie, a moment please.”
He paused in the doorway as Harley moved down the hall, all long-legged strides and bristling pride, before he turned back around to find everyone looking worried.
“We honestly thought we’d buy you more time,” his grandfather said. “We didn’t think you’d catch us so quickly.”
“Which is an argument against any of you going into crime as a sideline.” He couldn’t criticize these meddlers when he’d been guilty of the exact same crime—believing he’d have time before Harley discovered his arrangement with her exterminator.
Everyone had been meddling in her life, all well-intentioned actions that manipulated her mercilessly in the process. But what struck Mac was that if he hadn’t acted, if none of them had acted, he would have never stood any chance at all at getting past Harley’s defenses. Loving her had been a no-win situation all along, except for a few brief moments when he’d actually stood a chance.
Was that chance gone now?
“The girl is so in love, she’s scared half to death.” Miss Q smiled thoughtfully. “You can still win her, Mac. Trust me.”
Mac wasn’t so sure.
He took off without saying goodbye, but his delay had given Harley enough time to disappear. She wasn’t in the lobby or at the car. So he returned to the museum and questioned the security guard to find she’d left in a cab.
So he stood on the steps of the museum, peering out into the busy French Quarter street, where strangers rushed around working, sight-seeing, partying, living, while he felt as if his whole life had just vanished into thin air.
He only had a chance with Harley if she wanted them to have a chance. He didn’t think she did. He’d watched her retreat behind her shields, hiding behind that tough exterior she showed the world, safe from the Second Story Society and from him.
So what did he do now? Push her to choose between him and Anthony? He’d lose that contest, not because Harley didn’t care about him, but because she felt safe with Anthony.
Mac wanted to know what the man had done to earn such unswerving devotion. Unfortunately, he didn’t think Harley, or anyone else who knew her, would answer that question. She trusted the people in her life for a reason—they were all fiercely protective of her.
Mac needed some answers about her involvement with the DiLeo family and the only way to get them was to stick his nose in places he had no business sticking his nose. None of them had the right to interfere in her life or manipulate her—not him, not the Second Story Society. No matter how well intentioned the interference was.
But Mac couldn’t get past the fact that if they hadn’t acted, he’d have never gotten close enough to Harley for her to care about him at all.
And yes, Harley cared, but did she need him, or Anthony?
A question she would have to answer.
Mac stared out into the bright street, isolated from the passersby by the turmoil inside him. It went against his gut to even consider stepping aside to let Anthony DiLeo have the woman he loved, the woman he hadn’t cherished enough to claim as his own a long time ago. But Mac knew in his heart that if he wasn’t the man Harley needed, he would back off.
He loved her that much.
Which meant he needed to know whether to push her into making a choice. Answering that question meant digging into her past, an action that would surely cost him every shred of her trust if she ever found out. It was a huge risk. One he was willing to take.
He loved her that much.
Mac went back to his car and headed downtown to the only person who could help him—his sister Courtney.
He was lucky to catch her in the social services office so late on a Friday afternoon. Her load of casework was routinely staggering and she usually went into the field after completing her office work for the day. He stuck his head through her open door, found her sitting at her desk behind a mountain of paperwork, glued to the computer screen.
“Courtney, the receptionist said to come in.”
She glanced up, gave him a fried-around-the-edges smile. “Surprise, surprise. What brings you here, little brother?”
“I need your help.”
She waved him in. “Close the door.”
Mac did as she asked, leaning against the side of her desk and proceeding to give her a rundown of the events that had led him to marry Harley, including a nutshell version of the Second Story Society’s involvement. He gave her the unadulterated truth. Mac trusted his big sister to have his best interests at heart and to keep her mouth shut when it counted.
Courtney listened without interrupting, but she sank back in her chair to stare at him, her jaw slackening as his story progressed and, when he finally finished, she said, “Whoa.”
“Yeah, whoa is right.”
“And you love her?”
He nodded.
“Jeez, Mac.” Thrusting fingers through her hair, she gave him a weak smile. “When you said you wanted to shake your life up… Whoever said ‘Be careful what you wish for, you just might get it’ knew what they were talking about, hmm?”
He gave an equally weak laugh. “At this point, the good is still outweighing the bad. I’d like to keep it that way.”
“Think that’s possible?”
“I don’t know,” he said honestly. “I have to try.”
“What exactly do you want me to do?”
“I need to understand how Anthony DiLeo and his family fit into Harley’s life. I need to understand why she feels so safe with them.”
“Did you ask her?”
“You’re kidding, right? She let me believe she’d worked as a stripper in a sex dungeon.”
Courtney frowned. “This isn’t sounding like a solid basis for a marriage. You do realize that, don’t you?”
“That will change, if Harley decides to let me in. If I can earn her trust. But I don’t know whether to push. I don’t want to hurt her, but I don’t want to lose her, either. And I’m in trouble now. Our grandfather pushed me back five steps today.”
Mac gave a frustrated laugh. “And I can’t even blame him. If it hadn’t been for him and his crazy idea, I’d have never married Harley in the first place.” He exhaled heavily, met Courtney’s eyes. “She deserves to be treated a lot better than the way Anthony DiLeo treats her, but he makes her feel safe. I want to know why. I know she goes way back with his family.”
“My poor little brother,” she said, not unkindly. “You do have it bad. But how am I supposed to help you—” Understanding dawned. “Her parents died. Was she involved with social services?”
“I need you to tell me.” He detailed Harley’s involvement with Judge Bancroft and the clues that had all led him to his conclusion. “I’d never ask you to jeopardize your career, Courtney, you know that, but if you could go into the archive and take a peek. See if the name DiLeo shows up anywhere.”
Courtney scowled. “Don’t you have friends with the D.A.’s office who can help you?”
“All my connections will go through the police and I can’t risk Dominic DiLeo finding out that I’m inquiring.”
Mac was gratified and grateful when she pushed her chair back to stand without further deliberation. “Only for you, little brother.”
“Thanks, Courtney.”
“Thank me by reassembling these files.”
“You got it.”
He put her files back together, wondering exactly what, if anything, she would find, and as it turned out, he didn’t have to wait long. He’d no sooner closed the last folder than she reappeared carrying a file at least four inches thick.
One glimpse of Courtney’s face and he knew she’d already looked inside. She reserved that expression for her tough cases, the ones that made her struggle to keep her distance.
“You aren’t going to get into any trouble, are you?”
“Not if you’re quick.” She placed the folder in front of him. “I’ll go grab coffee while you look through this.”
“Stay.”
Courtney shook her head and left the office without another word, pulling the door closed behind her.
Mac looked at the folder.
Case number LA743874: Harley Price.
He’d been right, and he hadn’t realized until that moment how much he wished he wouldn’t be. Flipping open the cover, he skimmed school records, copies of medical and police reports. He thumbed through each, noting names, dates, learning a local elementary school had filed official complaints with the state about Harley’s situation as early as her second-grade year.
Mrs. Price had left home when Harley had been five, and given the police report copies in this file, her abandonment came as no great mystery. Harley’s father had been an alcoholic with a tendency toward violence.
Mac had seen the M.O. often in his years with the D.A.’s office and had prosecuted his share of domestic-abuse cases. What he didn’t understand was why Harley’s mother would leave her five-year-old daughter at the mercy of a man out of control.
Nothing in the file explained that. Yet someone had meticulously researched Harley’s life, perhaps to compile the case for Judge Bancroft, as Mac suspected he’d been the man responsible for ultimately making her a ward of the state.
Three school clinic reports of various injuries. Another reporting that Harley as a kindergartner had contracted a skin infection. She’d been sent home early from school four days running before the principal had personally delivered her home to explain the need for medical attention before she could return.
Harley had gotten medical care. She’d arrived back at school the following day with a prescription and no idea how to apply it since she hadn’t learned to read yet.
Mac’s chest grew tight as he scanned a guidance counselor’s report from her fifth-grade year detailing a twelve-day unexcused absence where all attempts to contact her parent had failed. Harley’s explanation upon her return: she’d had to cover for her father at his job because of an illness.
“She worked for him sometimes. Joe would’ve cut the unreliable bastard loose a long time before he died if not for Harley,” Delilah had told him.
Mac forced himself to keep skimming the documents, blindly processing each bit of information, refusing to stop long enough to dwell on what he read. Not yet. Not until he could somehow reconcile the woman he loved with this neglected child and still keep himself together.
But then he came across transcripts of Judge Bancroft’s first interview with Harley, which confirmed his suspicions about their connection.
“Why did you lock yourself in the closet, Harley?”
“My dad was drinking.”
“From what I see in these reports, your dad has drunk before. Do you always lock yourself in the closet?”
“No.”
“What was different about this time? What made you think you had to hide to protect yourself?”
“He tried to touch me.”
“Touch you? Do you mean he hit you?”
“No, he didn’t hit me. He touched me. I think he got me mixed up with my mom. I know he didn’t mean to. He was just drunk, but I needed to hide.”
“For three days, Harley? Couldn’t you find a way to get out in all that time.”
“He was drinking. Sometimes he got quiet and I thought he might have passed out, but I wasn’t sure. My dad’s sneaky like that when he drinks.”
“How long did you plan to stay locked up?”
“Until Anthony came to get me.”
“Anthony? Is this your neighbor, Anthony DiLeo? Why did you expect him?”
“He always checks on me to make sure I’m okay. But his grandma died so he went away to Baton Rouge with his mom and everyone. I had to wait until he came home.”
Anthony DiLeo had indeed gone to check on Harley. Mac read the report summary that detailed how a thirteen-year-old Anthony had gone up against her drunk and combative father, broken his nose and knocked him out. He’d dismantled the closet door to rescue an unconscious Harley and had helped himself to his sixteen-year-old brother’s car to drive her to the emergency room rather than call an ambulance and run the risk of her father regaining consciousness and confronting them.
Mac understood. This black-and-white smudged copy of a long-ago interview explained why Harley trusted Anthony—he protected her no matter what.
For Anthony’s efforts that time, he’d spent the night in a juvenile detention center until Judge Bancroft had ruled his assault justifiable self-defense and lectured him on the consequences of grand theft auto and driving without a license.
Judge Bancroft had placed Harley in protective custody, which struck Mac as a little late given she’d wound up in the hospital recovering from severe dehydration.
There was also a petition from an attorney on behalf of Mrs. DiLeo, who’d tried to adopt Harley. Her petition had been denied. Then she’d applied for foster status, also to no avail. Her socioeconomic situation as a widowed mother with six children of her own to care for had rendered her ineligible.
But according to the remainder of the reports, Harley hadn’t taken no for an answer. She’d repeatedly run away from each of the foster homes she’d been placed in during the next seven years.
She’d run home to the DiLeos. And the DiLeos had welcomed her every time.
“I was a juvenile delinquent, Gerard,” Harley had told him.
She’d claimed to be a troublemaker, and Mac supposed in some regards that was true. Most kids would have obeyed the law. But not Harley. She’d wanted to live with people who loved her and wouldn’t take no for an answer.
The pieces fit. Her devotion to Anthony and his family. Cajun Joe. Her volunteer work at the domestic-abuse shelter. She knew children in social services needed all the help they could get because she’d been a child in the system and it had failed her in every way that mattered.
Mac was standing at the window when Courtney returned. She stopped in the doorway when she saw him, that expression back on her face. She felt bad for him and he wanted to tell her that he didn’t need her sympathy. He hadn’t had the childhood from hell. In thirty-three years, he’d never faced anything that had even come close to what Harley had lived through.
But all he could ask was, “What do I do with this?”
He was so far out of his league it was a joke. He didn’t know how to prove to Harley that he loved her or how to handle the ugly truth about her past.
But Courtney did. She covered the distance between them, slipped her arms around his waist and hugged him. “You just love her, little brother. You just love her.”