As Gage performed a security check on all of the rooms throughout the Nashville Manning family home, Harper waited in the two-story foyer in front of the massive staircase, surrounded by gold-framed ancestral paintings dating back to the Revolutionary War. It was surreal being here again, even if for only a few days. The last time she was here, she’d wavered between the euphoric high of discovering that Shane might still be alive to a bottomless well of despair fearing that the whole thing was a hoax.
It was no hoax. The first lab had proved that. Or at least, she’d thought it had. But Mason’s lab claimed that Gage wasn’t Shane’s father. She’d immediately assumed his lab was mistaken. After all, she knew for a fact that Gage was the father. But it was hard to believe that with the full resources of the Justice Seekers behind the lab, and so much riding on the results of the tests, that they’d be careless enough to make that kind of mistake. Other possibilities had crept insidiously through her mind, sinking the talons of doubt deep into her soul.
What if Mason’s lab hadn’t made a mistake?
The only way for that to be possible was if the hair sample from the ransom note wasn’t Shane’s.
She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to reason it all out. The first lab had done two tests, one on the hair sample from the note, and one from her. The conclusion was a mother-son relationship. That was what had proved to her that her son was still alive. That’s what had given her hope. But Shane was the only child she’d had. If the hair wasn’t from Shane, then the lab had to have made a mistake when testing her hair. Was it even possible for a lab to find a mother-son link between two DNA profiles if they weren’t related? Was it possible for another lab not to find a father-son link between two DNA profiles if they were related?
It was all so confusing. She couldn’t reconcile any of it, no matter how she looked at it. And nothing explained what had happened at her home, the attack by five gunmen who’d clearly been trying to kill her. Was that completely unrelated to the ransom demand? Or was it something far worse, something so sinister that goose bumps rose on her arms as she tested and weighed suspicions seeded by Gage’s comments at the hospital?
Could someone in her own family want her dead?
As if against her will, her gaze was drawn to the right of the massive staircase to the open double door that led into her father’s office. Not long ago, she’d gone into that cavernous room with her father and stepmother. They’d sat in the U-shaped grouping of couches in front of the fireplace and she’d showed them the ransom note, the dark hair in the baggie. Her father had seemed overjoyed at the prospect that Shane might still be alive.
But did he really feel that way? Or had it all been for show?
He was the one who’d suggested they involve Gage. She’d understood his desire to keep things quiet, to protect his legacy and to protect future leaders by not setting a dangerous precedent for making deals with criminals. But had he taken it a step further? Had he hired someone to eliminate her and Gage to ensure the ransom was never paid? So that nothing about the ransom ever made it into the media? Would he really trade his own daughter’s life for his legacy?
Opulence surrounded her, enormous sums of money spent by a frugal man solely because appearances mattered. Appearances truly were everything to Earl Manning. And he, more than anyone, knew the public would look much more favorably on a grieving father than on a hypocritical former president who’d broken the rules and policies he’d touted his entire political career to ransom his grandson. Would he go so far as to hire someone for a bogus assassination attempt so he could later pin his daughter’s death on similar zealots, out to hurt him by hurting his family?
She shivered and reflexively rubbed her arms.
“Harper?” Gage asked.
“Sorry. Did you say something?”
He smiled. “The past few weeks have to feel like the longest weeks of your life. You’re exhausted, aren’t you?”
Exhaustion didn’t come close to covering how she felt. And she really didn’t want to deal with her family once they got home. She was barely holding herself together right now.
“I guess I am. I could use a nap. So could you. At least I got some sleep last night. You didn’t. There are guest rooms in the back hallway beneath the stairs.” She rolled her eyes at herself. “Why am I telling you? You know this house as well as I do.”
“Thanks for worrying about me. I’ll go to bed soon. But first, I’ll escort you to your room.”
“I grew up here. I think I can find it on my own.”
His smile dimmed as he picked up her overnight bag, which he’d left in the foyer while he’d made sure there was no one waiting for them inside the house. “I’m sure you can. But with your sore ribs, I’d like to carry this up for you.”
“Oh.” Harper’s face heated. “Sorry.” What else could she say? Things were...awkward between them now. While he seemed to think he’d cleared the air, her heart had been shattered.
Gage followed her up the stairs, stopping at the open railing that ran about thirty feet across the gallery that looked down into the foyer. “You remember the plan I explained on the way here?”
“I remember. It’s all set?”
“It is. I didn’t want you to be surprised.”
She headed down the hallway, stopping in front of the next-to-last door on the right.
Gage opened the door and set her bag just inside. “I hear cars outside. Your stepmom and siblings are probably here with the pizza they said they’d bring. I know it’s closer to bedtime than dinner at this point. But you have to be hungry. I don’t think you ate anything at the hospital today with everything going on.”
“I really couldn’t eat if I tried. Everything hinges on tomorrow, on the kidnapper making contact. And yet, nothing seems to have been resolved. What are we going to do when he sends the note with instructions for the exchange?”
“I think we’re closer than you think to having the answers we need. Come morning, we’ll have a plan in place.”
“I hope you’re right.” She headed into the room and locked the door behind her.
BISHOP LISTENED TO the click of the lock then leaned against the wall outside Harper’s door. Everything was set for tonight’s plan. All the parts were in place. But he wished more than anything that he could undo so much of what had happened today.
He’d hurt her.
That was the last thing he’d ever wanted to do. Even when he’d thought she was the reason his career had imploded at the Secret Service, even with the resentments he’d carried for so long, he’d never wanted her hurt.
There was a time, when he was still assigned as the agent to protect her, that he’d considered quitting his job and exploring the attraction between them. His whole life he’d wanted to be a Secret Service agent. And yet the thought of a future without Harper in it had had him second-guessing whether his career mattered like it once had. But then things had gone horribly wrong and he’d turned bitter and resented her, blaming her for everything that had happened.
Yesterday, after seeing the picture of a little boy with a familiar birthmark, hope had flared inside him. A picture of a little family, the three of them, had taken root in his chest and expanded his heart. Everything he’d done since then had been with that picture in mind. Then Mason’s comment about him not being Shane’s father had destroyed that dream. It had filled him with pain, and resentment that Harper had lied to him.
But she hadn’t lied.
He didn’t need a lab test to tell him the truth that he’d seen in her eyes when she’d told him about Shane. Even though he still couldn’t remember that night in the pool house, he absolutely believed her about it. Because it was the missing piece of information he’d searched for all this time. It was the one fact that made what had happened all fit together. It explained how she could have been carrying his child even though he had no memory of sleeping with her. It also spoke to another question he’d never been able to answer—how she could have been seeing someone else without his knowledge as her protector.
Because of all the incidents back then where people had harassed her or threatened her over her father’s political views, Bishop had stuck to her like glue. He knew who her friends were, who she’d associated with, and where she’d been at all times. He’d racked his brain over the years trying to think of who could have fathered her child and had come up empty. That was why he’d believed she’d lied about the pregnancy.
Now he knew differently.
He’d seen the pain in her eyes, heard the grief warring with hope in her voice as she’d pleaded with him to help her get her son back safely. Out of everything that had happened, that was the one constant, the one thing he knew to be true. She’d had a son. She’d named him Shane. And he was their son. His son. He never should have let the hurt and shock of Mason’s announcement about the lab results sink in for even a moment. He never should have hesitated when Harper had asked him whether he believed her about the pool house. That one lapse had destroyed any hope left inside him that the picture of his future, a future with her, could be realized.
“Bishop? Harper? Are you up there? We’ve got the pizza.” Julia’s voice carried up the staircase from the foyer.
Bishop straightened away from the wall and headed for the stairs. He’d just reached them when Julia crested the top with her eleven-year-old son, Tyler, in tow. From the way he was yawning and rubbing his eyes, there was no question where they were going.
Bishop got down on one knee so he could look the little boy in the eye. “Hi, Tyler. My name is Bishop. I worked here a long time ago. You were only five. You might not remember.”
Tyler stared at Bishop and cocked his head, as if studying him. “You took us to fly kites, me and Harper.”
“Yes. Yes, I did. A few times.” He smiled. “I’d forgotten about that. It’s good to see you again.”
Tyler let out a huge yawn.
Bishop laughed.
Julia tousled Tyler’s hair and gave Bishop a wary look, no doubt remembering their unpleasant encounter in Harper’s hospital room. “The nanny had already fed him but this little guy heard we were getting pizza and insisted that we stop and get him some chicken nuggets on the way. He’s full, and sleepy, and about to pass out.” She glanced down the hallway behind him. “Where’s Harper?”
“Just as tired as your little guy there. She’s not coming down for dinner.” He stood, but kept his smile, not wanting his size to intimidate the dark-haired little boy who looked so much like his father. Tyler’s wide-eyed stare seemed to indicate he wasn’t sure about the big man standing in his house, even if he did remember flying kites with him.
Julia tugged on Tyler’s hand. “Come on, kiddo. I’ll see you downstairs, Bishop.” She turned left and the two of them disappeared into one of the bedrooms that faced the backyard.
Bishop headed downstairs. He wasn’t particularly hungry. But other than Dean, who’d claimed at the hospital that he needed to go back to the dorm for something, the rest of the people on Bishop’s short list of suspects were all here. He might as well keep an eye on them to see if any of them slipped up and gave anything away.
When he entered the dining room, the sideboard had been set up with drinks, three different pizzas to choose from, and an array of real plates and silverware. The Mannings were probably the only people he knew who ate take-out pizza in a formal dining room on fancy china instead of on paper plates and with their hands.
Bishop kept silent for the most part as he ate a slice of pizza. He knew his earlier actions had everyone feeling unsure around him, not just Julia. But they seemed to gradually relax around him and the talk began to flow freely once Julia returned.
It was interesting to see the camaraderie between Faulk and the two women. Their relationships seemed far more casual than Bishop had allowed his to be with Harper when he was guarding her. In addition to trying to maintain his professionalism, he’d been struggling with his wild attraction to her. So he’d made a point of not joining her for meals very often in spite of her constant invitations. Most of the time he patrolled the property. And he’d slept in the pool house, relying on the security gate and alarms to alert him if anything happened at the main house.
Faulk seemed more like a friend than a bodyguard. And he’d chosen to stay in one of the guest rooms downstairs in the hallway beneath the stairs rather than the fully equipped pool house. That only made Bishop more suspicious of him. He could easily picture him and Julia, or maybe him and Cynthia, trying to make money off the ransom scheme, especially since Faulk and Harper didn’t seem to share a close relationship.
Harper barely glanced at Faulk other than polite greetings whenever they saw each other. She’d been much warmer and more outgoing with Bishop than she ever was with Faulk.
When the leftover food was put away and the women headed up to their rooms, Faulk went outside to patrol the perimeter. Bishop headed into his guest room under the stairs. Much later, after Faulk had gone to his room and the house had settled down for the night, Bishop snuck out of his room and headed up the stairs.
A BARELY AUDIBLE click sounded from the direction of the bedroom door. Seconds later, a faint puff of air indicated the door had opened and then closed behind whoever had just snuck inside. It was too dark to see anything, but a whisper of fabric indicated the intruder was heading deeper into the room.
Heading toward Harper’s bed.
Another second passed. Two. Three. The light flicked on overhead.
The man whirled toward the door then stopped and slowly raised his hands in the air.
Bishop stepped out of the open closet doorway, aiming his pistol at the man’s chest. “The only reason I haven’t shot you yet is because Harper isn’t here.”
Faulk’s brows rose in surprise. He half turned to see the empty bed. “Where is she?”
“In a guest room, with a bodyguard. I took her usual bedroom to see if the person who was trying to kill her would take the bait. Looks like he did.”
The blood rushed from his face, leaving him pale and gaunt-looking. “Kill her? I’m not trying to kill her. I swear it.”
“Says the man who snuck into her room, in the dark, with a gun.”
“The gun’s in my holster. Part of my job, as you well know.”
“Maybe I’ll go ahead and shoot you anyway. Just be done with it.”
“No, no, no.” A bead of sweat popped out on Faulk’s forehead and began to roll down the side of his face. “Let me explain.”
“I’m waiting.”
Faulk swallowed hard. “I needed to talk to Harper in private, away from her family. I wanted to warn her. And I couldn’t do that in front of anyone else. I’d lose my job.”
“Start making sense, fast. I’m losing patience. And this pistol’s getting heavy.”
“All right, all right. I was here a few months ago protecting the current president when he came for a visit. The whole family was here, all of the Mannings, including Harper. As you can imagine, there was a lot of security. Too many for all of us to be inside without being underfoot. So I went outside, patrolled the perimeter. On the way back, I heard a couple of people talking near the back kitchen doorway. I didn’t want to intrude, so I ducked behind some shrubs to wait. I heard some things that...well, alarmed me. I mean, there wasn’t a specific threat. Nothing I could really act on. But there was frustration, and anger.”
“Directed at who?”
“Earl Manning.”
“What’s that got to do with Harper?”
“Everything. They were talking about using her to get back at him. But they went inside before saying anything else. I knew if I told Mr. Manning, he wouldn’t take it seriously. He’d laugh it off. But the anger in their voices...” Faulk shook his head. “I felt it was a credible threat. But I had no proof. I didn’t even know what they were planning, or when. So I did the only thing I could do. I asked for temporary reassignment to the Manning home so I could figure out what was going on.”
“Thompson said you were reassigned because you screwed up.”
“Yeah, well. That’s Thompson for you. When has he ever not been a jerk? He’s just ticked that I wouldn’t tell him why I asked for the change in assignment. He’s the last person I’d trust with my career.”
“I’m with you on that. So why did you sneak in here tonight?”
“To tell Harper what little I know. I didn’t tell her before because, quite honestly, I began to doubt myself. Nothing else had happened since then. But after hearing about those gunmen who went after you two, I’m convinced that I know who’s behind it.”
Bishop slowly lowered his gun. “Tell me exactly what you heard that night. And who you heard.”
Twenty minutes later, Bishop carefully lowered himself into a wing chair in one of the guest rooms downstairs.
Across from him, sitting at the small desk by the window with his laptop open, Mason poured a glass of whiskey and offered it to him.
“No, thanks. I’m running on empty right now. It’s going to be hard enough getting up in a few hours without alcohol in the mix.”
“I should probably take the same advice, but I’m going to drink a glass anyway. Brielle’s with Harper?”
“She is. Harper’s not thrilled to have Brielle camped out on the floor by her bed while I took Harper’s usual suite. But once she hears what happened, I have a feeling she’ll be far more accepting of the inconvenience.”
Mason took a sip from his whiskey and sat back. “So our would-be killer took the bait, only he wasn’t our guy.”
“I’m not marking Faulk off the short list just yet. But it seemed like he might be telling the truth.”
“What about Thompson? He hasn’t been sniffing around the Mannings since this started. But he was here a lot over the years for inspections and assessments while Faulk was assigned here. Could he be our guy?”
Bishop shook his head. “I wish I could say yes. Being arrested couldn’t happen to a nicer person. But I called in some favors with some Secret Service agents I still know. Thompson’s schedule has taken him a lot of places and his movements are pretty well accounted for. I don’t see him having the opportunity to set all this up. Or, frankly, the motivation. His finances are healthy. His investments are solid. He won’t be hurting once he retires. I think we can safely cross him off the list.”
“That leaves us with the family.”
Bishop sighed heavily. “Yes, it does. But even given what Faulk said, we don’t have anything to tie a bow on this and offer it to Radley. He heard frustrations, generalities. Nothing concrete. I think they were in the early planning stages and hadn’t really come up with a strategy when Faulk overheard them.” He checked the time on the new phone he’d bought to replace the one that had been destroyed in the creek. “It’s really late, or really early, depending on how you look at it. I don’t suppose the discarded soda cans we collected at the hospital have already been tested? And that the fancy lab you hired has results this fast?”
“For what I paid them, they should have had everyone on staff working all day and evening on our stuff. If nothing else, I’d expect them to at least have blood types by now, even if full-blown DNA takes several more hours.” He pulled out his cell phone and made a call.
It took another hour to get preliminary results, with final results promised by morning to be one-hundred-percent conclusive. Still, the preliminary ones had a high rate of confidence. When Mason clicked the emailed report and displayed it on the screen, he and Bishop both stared at it a long, solemn moment.
Mason finally shook his head in disgust. “You were right to ask the Seekers to follow the family and get those discarded sodas for DNA testing. And I’m equally glad we got those additional blood tests.” He shot Bishop a concerned glance. “You realize what this means?”
Bishop straightened away from the computer. “I do.”
“I’m really sorry, Bishop.”
He gave him a curt nod. “I hope Radley hasn’t already gone to bed. If he has, he’s about to be woken up.”