Harper couldn’t face going to be Big House after she left the sheriff’s office. She’d begged off, promising she’d talk to Ms. Patti later, once she got her thoughts together. And she didn’t want to go back to her apartment. There was too much rolling around in her brain, there’d be no way she could relax and spend a quiet Sunday. Not after the past couple of hours.
The FBI thought she was a murderer. A serial killer who’d slaughtered at least five men.
Chance had pulled her aside, into Rafe’s office and hugged her until she stopped shaking. Assured her he’d handle everything, get the FBI off her back. Told her he knew she hadn’t done anything wrong, and she’d have all the Boudreaus behind her. Which was kind of intimidating and kind of reassuring at the same time.
She’d only met the Boudreaus through Jill when they’d been working together at the insurance company. To think that they’d step up like this, help her when she was accused of something so hideous made her want to cry. All the Boudreau men treated her like a sister, and that was great with her, because while they were all gorgeous and a testament to masculinity, she wasn’t attracted to them in that way. Nope. Her stupid libido only seemed to kick in when she thought about Brian McKenna.
Don’t think that’s going to work out in our favor, Harper. Not with the whole he-wants-to-toss-you-into-a-jail-cell thing.
The entire morning seemed surreal, like she was watching a made-for-TV movie, only she’d missed part of the plot and couldn’t figure out who was the good guy and who was the bad guy.
“I guess I’m the bad guy.”
Chance had given her a ride back to her apartment, assuring her he’d look at everything Brian sent over, and he’d have some answers for her the next day. She didn’t bother going into her apartment, simply climbed into her car, and headed toward the cabin. Somehow the space Ms. Patti loaned her for work had become her refuge. There was something about it that inspired her, made her more creative, and she looked forward to spending all her free time there. Even when she’d been in Flagstaff on Friday and Saturday, she’d still planned to head toward the cabin this morning and get in several hours of painting.
She’d almost finished the commission piece, but that’s not what she wanted or needed to work on today. After the morning she’d had, she needed something harder, edgier. Splashes of color against the stark white canvas.
Slamming the car into park, she sped up the steps, tossed her purse onto the table, and headed straight for the blank canvases leaning against the wall. Moving the landscape off the easel, she carefully placed it onto a hook she’d nailed into the wall. It would be safe there, out of reach over by the bed. Which was a good thing, because with the mood she was in, the paint might be flying.
She whipped her shirt off and pulled on the one she used for painting. Covered in a plethora of colors, it had become her favorite thing to wear while she was working. The soft T-shirt had been laundered to a soft cotton that felt smooth and cool against her skin. And it didn’t matter if she got paint on it because that’s why she wore it.
Grabbing the case holding her paints, she pulled out the cerulean blue, the cadmium yellow, a sap green, a crimson red, and a pale purple. Squirting a little of each color onto her palate, she picked a flat brush and dipped it into the crimson red and swished it across the top of the canvas. The vibrant color against the stark white gave her an instant rush of power. A second swoosh an inch lower joined the first. Picking up an angle-tipped brush, she dipped it into the cerulean blue and stroked it across the bottom edge of the canvas. With each movement of the brush, she felt freer, like a weight lifted from her shoulders. She didn’t have to think about anybody or anything except the hues and shades taking shape on her painting.
She reached for a fan brush, wanting to add a little yellow to the top, but her hand frozen at the sound of a knock. Why, why couldn’t people leave her alone? Didn’t they realize she was at the end of her tether, and one more thing might be the one to make her snap? Like let loose with a primal scream until the ground shook and the walls trembled? Whoever was at the door, it better be life and death important, or she might give them a good swift kick.
Wiping her hands against the hem of her shirt, she opened the door, and drew in a shocked breath.
“What are you doing here?”
“Saw you take off through town like a cat with its tail on fire and followed you. I think we should talk.” Brian studied her, and the corners of his lips quirked up. She knew exactly what she looked like, with her hair pulled up into a messy knot and a ratty old paint-spattered T shirt on. Didn’t matter, he hadn’t been invited.
“Well, you can just get in your car and head back to town, because you’re not welcome here, Mr. McKenna. You want to talk to me, call my attorney.”
“Harper.” Her name was whispered softly, and she felt a little tingle low in her core. “Please, let me explain.”
“I think you’ve made yourself crystal clear. You think I’m a killer. That I murdered five men in cold blood.” She glared at him, hoping he’d get the message and take a hike, because having him standing in front of her, looking like a dream in his dark blue jeans, light blue button front shirt, and cowboy boots was like waving catnip in front of a kitten. Almost irresistible. The key word being almost, because she wasn’t about to fall for his charm and good old boy smile.
Burn me once, shame on me. Not sticking around to be burned again. Jerk.
“First, I never said I believed you killed anybody.”
“Isn’t that what this morning was about? Or do you deny that you’ve been investigating me, looking into my background? Did you dig up all the dirty, juicy details of my past? I’m sure sealed juvenile records wouldn’t stop a determined FBI agent. My life hasn’t been a picnic, but I’m not the same person I was. I’m never going back to that life.”
“Harper, please. Can I come in?”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea. I mean, I’ve got sharp instruments in here. You’d be taking your life into your hands, being around a serial killer.” She swung her hand, pointing to the interior of the cabin.
Brian moved past her into the cabin, glancing around, and she wondered what it would take to make him leave. Obviously being belligerent wasn’t going to do the trick. Maybe she should just let him get his spiel out of his system and send him on his way. Though she wasn’t sure how much more she could handle today.
“Nice place. Bet it works well for your painting.”
“Yeah, I’m lucky to have it.” She paced over to the kitchen and pulled two sodas out of the small refrigerator, and grudgingly handed him one. Darn those Southern manners that had been drilled into her as a little girl. Couldn’t even have the enemy in her place without offering him something to drink. “I thought you were supposed to head to the Big House this afternoon.”
“I called Ms. Patti and told her I needed to clear things up with you. Don’t be surprised if she shows up before too long. You’re one of her baby chicks, she’s not going to leave you unprotected.”
Harper blinked back the tears his words caused. She’d never felt more like she had a family, an actual family, who cared about her. Nothing like her biological parental units, who’d made her life a living nightmare until she’d been old enough to get out of the untenable conditions she’d grown up with.
“Just tell me what you feel you need to and leave. It’s been a rough day so far, and I’m not sure how much more I can handle.”
Brian started to reach for her hand, and stopped inches away, his hand falling to his side. He shook his head before popping the top on his soda can and taking a long drink. If she didn’t know better, she’d swear he was nervous. Surely not? Mr. Big Bad FBI guy couldn’t possibly be having second thoughts?
A sudden horrible thought occurred to her, and she needed to know. Otherwise, thinking about it and not knowing would torment her.
“Have you been following me? Watching to see what I do? Is that how you knew about this place?” She remembered him admitting to setting up their meeting outside Jill’s bakery, when they’d had their first—what should she call it? It wasn’t an actual date, but it had felt like something more than simply grabbing a cup of coffee.
“First, I want to say this so you understand. Harper, I do not believe you are guilty of killing those five men. That’s why I didn’t say anything until today. I’ve been trying to dispute the evidence, prove you couldn’t have done it.”
“Why me? I’ve never hurt anybody. Heck, I pick up spiders out of the shower and taken them outside instead of washing them down the drain. I’m the girl who will walk away from an argument rather than hurt somebody’s feelings. Yet the FBI believes I could murder people in cold blood?”
Brian watched her closely, studying her as she asked the question, and he slowly shook his head.
“In the beginning, after the first killing, there wasn’t even a viable suspect. It seemed like it might’ve been a random thing, possibly a burglary, though there was no evidence anything was taken. I wasn’t assigned to the case. Not exactly my field of expertise. But I was talking to a friend, and he mentioned the Oklahoma City thing, and I got a feeling. Call it instinct. Call it intuition, but I just felt I needed to look at the file.”
He walked over to stand in front of her canvas, the one she’d started before he arrived. The vivid colors popped against the stark plainness of the white background. Could he feel what she tried to express when she’d swirled the colors, the patterns? Distinguish the anguish, the anger, the confusion tormenting her after the morning’s interrogation?
“What made you focus on me? I mean, you must have noticed something to put me in the crosshairs.”
He turned. “Not you specifically, but something did jump off the page. Shiloh Springs. You might not know this, but I lived here once upon a time. At the Big House with the Boudreaus.”
“Really? You’re one of Ms. Patti’s Lost Boys?”
He chuckled. “Why does everybody insist on calling us that?”
“That’s what the family calls y’all, and I guess it stuck. I’ve heard a little bit about the ones who didn’t stay. I didn’t know you were the Brian Ms. Patti talked about. Now it makes sense. How you seemed familiar with the town. Why you were invited to Liam and Ruby’s reception.”
“Yeah. I have a habit, almost a hobby you might call it, of looking at any cases I find that mention Shiloh Springs. I feel a little—protective—of Ms. Patti and her family and keep my ears open for anything that might cause a problem.”
Harper drummed her fingers on the top of her can, thinking about what he said—and what he didn’t. Now that she’d connected him directly to the Boudreaus, she remembered some of the things Jill had mentioned about Ms. Patti’s Brian. How he’d shown up out of the blue, riding to the rescue when Chance’s fiancée, Tina, was kidnapped. Helped when Ruby was in trouble, too. It tracked that he’d be in a profession that dealt with protecting people. Still didn’t ease the hurt of knowing he’d practically accused her of being a killer.
“You saw my name and noticed I lived in Shiloh Springs.” Her words weren’t a question, simply an observation. Maybe if he kept talking, she could follow his train of logic, figure out how she’d become a part of the FBI’s Most Wanted.
“You’re right. I investigated your background. Determined you were no threat and dismissed you. Everything pointed to you being exactly who you say you are, an artist who makes ends meet by working in an insurance office. So, I let the special agent assigned to the case work it from his angle, and I went on to another case. I should make it clear, I was never officially assigned to the case. Everything I did was off the record, in my spare time. Like everything else having to do with Shiloh Springs and the Boudreaus.”
“What changed your mind?”
He walked over and stopped in front of the landscape she’d been working on. The commissioned project. It was a softer style, a lovely scene of the Texas Hill Country with gentle rolling hills and an old red barn in the distance. The sky was painted with various hues, depicting a gorgeous sunset, with just a hint of dusk appearing on the horizon. It was a companion piece to one she’d also done for the same client, her anonymous angel, who’d sent several photographs of the scene they’d wanted. They’d been pleased with the initial oil painting and requested the sunset depiction. She’d had to improvise the sunset, because none of the photos included one, but she’d done it justice. At least she hoped her client felt she had because she really needed that commission.
“We had another case where Shiloh Springs popped.” He turned and smiled at her, and she felt a little tingle of something deep inside. Why, why, why did her stupid libido have to want him? She was around handsome men all the time. Just look at the Boudreaus. She could have had any of the single ones if she’d wanted. Except they hadn’t turned her on, not the way Brian did.
“I guess that would be the second dead guy.”
“Yeah. I have a friend who’s good with computers, works with me at the bureau. Got him to write a program that pinged whenever certain words hit the system. Again, off the record. I’m trusting you with this information, because if my bosses find out, I won’t be the only one who’ll be hung out to dry.”
She shrugged and bit her lip to keep from smiling. Right now, being open and upfront, he reminded her of the man she’d had coffee with at Gracie’s Grounds. The one she’d felt an instant rapport with. Of course, that was before she found out he wanted to put her in prison for life for murdering five people.
“Keep going. I can’t wait to find out how I’m connected to the next victim.”
“The computer got another hit for Shiloh Springs. As soon as I checked, your name popped. Thought it was a coincidence. Dallas isn’t that far from Shiloh Springs, so there’s no reason you wouldn’t have driven up, right?”
“Sure. When was my supposed trip to Dallas?” Maybe she could straighten this out before it went much farther. Clear up the misunderstanding. She tried to remember when she’d last been to Dallas. Had to be at least six months earlier. She’d gone to an exhibit at the Kimbell Art Museum. They’d had an exhibition of Asian art. Had she stayed overnight? Darn it, she couldn’t remember.
“Early April. The seventeen to be precise.” Brian walked across the tiny space and sat back down across from her. She didn’t know if that was better or worse. At least with space between them she could think, not be distracted by his jaw line, or the muscles beneath the blue button down that stretched the fabric with every movement.
“That sounds right. I went to the Kimbell. The museum got in a private collection, on loan, of ancient Asian artifacts. I knew it wouldn’t be there long, but it seemed like every time I planned to go, something came up. I didn’t want to miss it, so I took a chance and spontaneously drove up. I’d turned in a painting I had finished to Esme, and simply hopped on I-75 and headed north. Nobody knew I left town.”
“Who did you see when you were in Dallas?” His deep voice held compassion with a touch of strength. The questions might be asked politely, but he wouldn’t brook her refusal to answer. At least this question was easy.
“Nobody. I didn’t see or meet anybody. I drove straight through from Austin. The Kimbell is in Fort Worth, not Dallas. I was never in Dallas itself. I spent hours touring the exhibit, which was amazing by the way. I stayed until about an hour before closing. I know the Kimbell has security cameras all over the place. I’m sure you can get them, see that my story checks out.”
A small smile kicked up the corners of his lips. “Already did.”
She rolled her eyes and came really close to flashing him her happy middle finger. If he already knew, why was he still digging in like a bulldog? Then she reminded herself that he was trying to prove her innocent, not build a case against her. At least that’s what he was claiming. Hopefully, she wasn’t digging a deeper hole by talking to him without Chance being present.
“I drove to a restaurant, decided to splurge since I was in the city. A lovely French place. I can recommend the coq au vin.” His laugh made her grin. “By the time I finished, it was late. I was tired. I got a room, went to bed, and drove home the next morning.”
“No detours. Didn’t run into anybody you knew?”
“Nope. Museum, dinner, hotel.” She ticked them off on her fingers. “Straight home afterward.”
“Okay. You’re doing great. Do you know a man named Stanley Jones?” At her raised brow, he continued, “I know, it’s a common name. He lives in Dallas. Runs a software company, successful businessman. He was about to take his stock public.”
“He’s the second victim?” At his nod, she continued. “I don’t know anybody by that name. I wouldn’t have any reason to know somebody with a software company. I’m not super high tech. I know enough to get by at the insurance company and answer my e-mail at home. I can open a word processing document and type and print. That’s about the extent of my knowledge when it comes to anything software related.”
Brian pulled out his phone and swiped through several photographs before turning it around, displaying a young man, maybe early to mid-thirties. Light brown hair, brown eyes, slight scruff on his cheeks. Hair was a little long, touching the top of his collar. His expression was serious, and she wondered what was going on behind those light brown eyes.
“Recognize him?”
“Never seen him before. Is that Stanley Jones?”
“Yes.” He swiped through a few more photos before turning it around to face her again. “This is a photo of you in the hallway outside Mr. Jones’ condo on April seventeenth, Harper.”
Grabbing the photo from his hand, she studied the picture, frowning because something was off. When she realized why, she huffed out a frustrated breath and handed the phone back.
“That isn’t me.”
“Look at the picture again, Harper. It’s clearly you.”
She shook her head and pointed to the phone. “That’s most definitely not me. For one thing, those weren’t the clothes I wore the day I drove to Dallas. Secondly, I’ve never been to Mr. Jones’ condo, wherever that might be. Thirdly, the hair is all wrong.”
“What do you mean the hair’s wrong?”
“In April, I didn’t have the purple highlights anymore. In April I had navy blue ones. Extensions I put in myself. I like to play with different colors, and don’t usually stick to one color for too long. At Christmas I had red and green ones, braided together for the holidays. In January I changed those for some royal purple highlights. Those stayed in until the end of March, when I changed them out for the navy ones.”
Brian studied the photograph again, then looked back at Harper, taking note of the hot pink streaks in her hair. Reaching forward, he pulled loose a strand, running it across his fingers, teasing the end against her cheek.
“So, no purple in April? Any way to document when you changed it?”
Her slow grin was all the answer he got. Reaching into her jeans pocket, she pulled out her phone, pulled up a photo, and handed him the phone. “You can check the date. Navy blue, end of March. Just like I said. If you need more, I can probably get a receipt from the hairdresser I bought the extensions from.”
“Might be a good idea. Give it to Chance. But it’ll help.”
“Still think I’m a mass murderer?”
Brian stood and walked around the table, squatting beside her chair. He cupped her cheek, rubbing his thumb along her skin. “Didn’t you hear me earlier? I do not and have never believed you are a killer. You are many things, Harper Westbrook. Beautiful. Quirky. Funny. A breath of fresh air. Sunshine on a gloomy day. But you are not the person who killed these men.” Leaning forward, he brushed a tender kiss against her forehead.
“Brian.”
“You are not guilty, and I intend to prove it.”
Without another word, he stood and walked out of the door, leaving Harper stunned. And hopeful.