Harper worked to pull air into her lungs until her breathing was normal again.
They were gone. She was alone. Still, she didn’t move.
Cold from the asphalt seeped through her jeans, soothed the pain in her right wrist. A shopping cart wheeled past. She told herself to rise but didn’t. Because if the people walking by were good people, they’d call the police, who’d want her to answer a bunch of questions. She had no information to give them. No idea what the attackers had been driving or what they looked like. There was nothing the police could do for her. They’d just slow her down.
Red. She had to get back to Red.
When the noises faded, she sat up, took a deep breath.
The cold air revived her.
Using the front fender for help, she pulled herself to a standing position. Her back ached from where the man had stomped it, but she could move. It was only bruised, nothing worse.
She twisted her right wrist in every direction. Painful, but it wasn’t broken. Just a sprain.
Tentatively, she touched her cheek and winced.
It hurt, but she was fine. She inhaled another deep breath of that sweet, sweet oxygen and made it to the driver’s door.
She was fine. She’d be fine.
She grabbed her keys and purse from the seat, slid in, then slammed the door and locked it.
She was safe. For now.
Only then did she begin to tremble.
She glanced at the clock on the dash. Thirty minutes had passed since she’d walked out of the grocery store.
Two for the assault, twenty-eight for her to drag herself to her car. Not very good numbers.
She used to be so much tougher than that.
What if Red had woken, gotten confused? Her heart pounded a rapid-fire rhythm. She had one job—take care of Red. What if she’d blown it tonight? What if something happened to him while she was gone trying to help him?
All this for Gatorade.
She backed out of the spot and hurried to the mansion she’d had the gall to call home.
Ten minutes later, she pulled to a stop in the garage, hit the remote to close the garage door, and popped the trunk. Before she exited the car, she checked her reflection in the rearview mirror. She was pale, but no bruises had formed. She angled so she could see her neck. The cut was angry and red, and a trail of blood led to her golf shirt. She lifted the collar to hide it and pushed open the door.
She lifted one foot and set it on the concrete floor, then turned to get the other out. The motion sent a shot of pain through her upper back. She breathed through it, shifted until she was facing out, and stood.
So far, so good.
It seemed that if she kept her back straight, didn’t twist or bend, it was fine. Walking as stiffly as possible, she made her way to the trunk. It was crazy to think her attackers had loaded the bottles for her, but something had been rolling around in there on the drive back.
She peeked inside, and there were the drink bottles.
What kind of attackers…?
The professional kind. The kind who attacked because it was their job, though that man’s smile…
She shook it off, bent at the knees, and managed to pull out one bottle. She carried it into the house and set it on the counter. Then she moved as fast as she could into the living room.
Red woke with a start, glared at her. “Where’s the fire?”
The anxiety she’d been holding whooshed out. She turned off the lamp on the table beside him, sat on the couch, and stared at the stupid game show on the screen. He was fine. Nothing had happened.
Not to him, anyway.
The room was dim, soothing with just the one small lamp on. Dim was good. Dim meant Red, with his failing eyesight, wouldn’t be able to see her well.
His chair creaked, and the footrest on his recliner slid back beneath the seat. She turned to find him looking at her. His scowl was gone. Somehow, so was the strange behavior from earlier. He seemed normal. Like a drunk who sobered up in a crisis. “You okay?”
For the first time since the assault, tears filled her eyes. She sniffed, nodded. “I’m fine.”
“What happened?”
“I… I slipped and fell in the parking lot at the grocery store.” She pulled the collar up on her shirt, just in case. “Landed on my back.”
He reached across the space and took her hand. The strength of his grip always surprised her. “Should we go to the ER?”
“No, no. It’s nothing. Just a bruise.” She wiped the few tears, met the old man’s eyes, saw kindness and concern there, which only made her want to cry more. She squeezed his hand. “I’m fine, really. I got your Gatorade.”
He still watched her, his eyes piercing as if he could see through her lies. “You sure they aren’t back?”
“They who?”
“Whoever…” The slur returned to his voice, and he waved his hands toward her. “Whatever it is puts that haunted look in your eyes. Makes you jumpy.”
“Oh.” He was more perceptive than she’d realized. “There’s nobody. Just my own silly fears.”
He studied her a minute more before he nodded. “Just sit with me and rest. Okay?”
She smiled and sat back in the chair.
A few minutes passed, and Red shifted his focus to Pat Sajak and Vanna White on the screen.
As much as she’d like to get lost in the puzzle on TV, Harper had a call to make.
“I’ll be right back.” She stood carefully, returned to the kitchen, and fixed him a glass of Gatorade. After she set it on the end table beside him, she returned to the kitchen and pulled her cell phone from her purse. She was still trembling.
Derrick answered after the second ring. “Hey.” His voice was tentative. “Is Gramps all right?”
“I need you to come right away.”
“Is he sick?”
She told herself not to analyze the tone of his voice, but the word hopeful sprang to mind. “He’s fine, but we have an emergency. How soon can you be here?”
“This time of night… Probably forty-five minutes. I’m on my way.”
After she hung up, she returned to the living room and watched TV with Red, careful of the sharp pains in her back. They were already better than they had been. After a night’s sleep, she’d be good as new. Red was quiet, dozing. If not for the strange illness, he’d be studying her, trying to figure out what was going on with her. Even healthy, he’d never guess in a million years that she’d been assaulted. Funny how something so life-altering could be so easily hidden. Shoved to the back-burner. Forgotten. As if having her life threatened were nothing noteworthy. As if having strangers capture her, attack her, and leave her writhing in pain on the pavement were no big deal.
But she knew better. Knew the two minutes tonight in the parking lot would plague her for a long time.
Finally, a soft knock at the front door was followed by the sound of the key sliding into the lock. The door opened, and she walked through the formal dining room and met Derrick in the foyer. She stayed on the far side, crossed her arms. In the dim light, she saw the man she’d nearly fallen for. The brown hair with its widow’s peak hairline, the kind hazel eyes and glasses that made him look geeky and kind. Everything about Derrick seemed normal, down-to-earth, gentle. She should have known better.
He looked at her, blinked, stepped closer. “What happened?”
“Quite a few things, actually.”
He flipped on the chandelier. “Are you bleeding?”
She pulled her collar up to hide the cut. “Not anymore.”
He reached toward her. “Let’s go sit down. Is Gramps okay?”
She stepped back, out of his reach. “Go out to the Caddy and grab the Gatorade from the trunk. Please. Then we’ll talk.”
“Uh…”
She stepped into the half bath off the foyer, wet a tissue, and dabbed at the dried blood that had left a track along her skin. Thank God Red hadn’t seen the cut. She added some antibacterial lotion and a bandage, then returned to the kitchen, where Derrick was setting down the bottles of Gatorade he’d carried in.
“It’s not like you to run out of Gatorade. You want them in the garage?”
“Set them on the counter.”
He did, then they both sat at the table. The light was brighter here than it had been in the foyer, and when he sat, he studied her. “Geez, Harper. What happened?” He reached out like he might touch her face, the red spot she’d barely glanced at in the bathroom. She leaned back, and he dropped his hand on the table.
“You’re saying you don’t know?”
“How would I?”
Based on the confusion on his face, he had no idea. But she’d quit believing anything Derrick said. He reached for her hand, and she jerked away.
Pain shot through her upper back, and she froze, breathed through it.
Derrick lowered his hand. “You’re hurt. I need to take you—”
“You’ve done enough, I think.”
His eyes narrowed. He leaned back just enough. “What are you talking about?”
“Have you had someone watching me?”
“Of course not. Why would I?”
Either he was the best liar in the world—and that was entirely possible—or he had no idea. Still…
“They told me to tell you they stopped by.”
The color in his face faded. “Who?”
“The men who did this to me.”
“Men?” He leaned toward her. “What men? Where were you?”
“This was about you.”
“I don’t know why someone would—”
“I assume they were trying to send you a message,” she said. “Maybe if you’d let them know we broke up—”
“No, Harper. This wasn’t… Whatever happened, it didn’t have anything to do with me. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“So you know nothing about the men who beat me up in the grocery store parking lot?”
He reached across the table. When she didn’t take his hand, he left it there, palm up, an invitation she’d never accept. “Please, start at the beginning.”
The memory of it had her rubbing her wrist. He caught the motion. “Here, let me—”
“No. You don’t get to cause this and then comfort me. Whatever’s going on with your goon friends, tell them we’re not together anymore.”
He stared at her with that fake innocence. She couldn’t stand to look at him. “Go see Red. He misses you.”
“I don’t know what’s going on.”
“You still owe people money?”
His expression gave away nothing. After a moment, he nodded.
“I thought you said it was taken care of.”
“I’m working on it.”
“Apparently, it’s time to renegotiate your payment plan.”
His head dropped forward. He dug his fingers in his hair and kept his face hidden for a long time. When he looked up, his eyes were red, worried. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s going on. I’ll… I mean, if this had anything to do with me, then I’ll see what I can do.”
“Unless your grandfather is into shady business, Derrick, it has to be about you.”
He swallowed, nodded. “You’re probably…” Tears filled his eyes, but he didn’t look away. “I would never hurt you. You have to know that.”
But he had hurt her. A lot.
“I’m trying to fix it. I’m going to get it fixed. I still haven’t gambled. And I haven’t come by because I wanted to be able to tell you that it was all taken care of. I thought it would be, sooner than this. But things just… Nothing seems to work out for me.”
Wow. She’d been assaulted tonight, and he had the nerve to feel sorry for himself. She couldn’t even muster the anger he deserved.
“Go see your grandfather.”
Derrick stood. “It’s late. I’ll visit this weekend.”
She stared at this man she’d thought she might someday love. “I keep thinking you might surprise me. You might turn into the man I thought you were when I first met you.” She stood. “Don’t make promises you don’t intend to keep.”
“I never meant for you to get hurt. I love you, Harper.” He wiped a few tears from his eyes.
The tears were authentic, but they weren’t for her. He didn’t love her. She wasn’t sure what love was, but it wasn’t this. It wasn’t lies and manipulation and broken promises.
“I know I should have come sooner,” he said. “It’s just… It’s hard to be here with us like”—he indicated the space between them—“like this.”
She closed her eyes. “Just get out.”