Chapter Eight

Her palms and forehead pressed to the apartment window, Harper watched, hyperventilating. Gun! That was definitely a gun she saw poking out of that car. Her breath fogged the glass, obscuring her view, so she wiped it with a slash of her hand, her attention glued to Lucas, the gun, and the hand attached to it.

Lucas stood with his chest bumped out, looking like a rooster seeking a fight. Normal people would call the cops right now, but for all Harper knew it was a dirty cop in that car.

Dane. She’d call Dane. Shaking, feeling unequal to the moment, Harper pulled out her phone.

“Put it down, Harper.”

She squealed, jumped, and her arms splayed with fear, making her cell phone fly from her hand, hitting the hardwood floor.

“Shit! Charlotte!” Marnie’s mother, the mysterious Charlotte Pleasant, in the flesh.

Dressed in a black overcoat, in mid-August no less, she wore black head to toe. A black baseball cap covered most of her bobbed silver hair, and she was bone thin, and wore no makeup. Not much for niceties, or showers, she seemed drug-free at the moment—no shakes, pupils normal, clothes clean and neat. Not like the last time she saw Charlotte, at Marnie and Dane’s wedding. Drunk, she’d caused a scene.

“Do you remember me, Charlotte? I’m Harper. Marnie’s sister-in-law.”

“The only reason why I’m here and you’re not tied to a chair in some shit hole downtown is because my Marnie is fond of you. Otherwise, I wouldn’t care. Give me the list.” She reeked of cigarettes, and her voice was deep and grating, like she hadn’t had water in a week. There was an unfamiliar glint to her eye that spoke of reined-in violence and a craftiness more primal than calculating. Sure, they’d never shared a Thanksgiving table, or exchanged Christmas fruitcake, but they were family, and when Charlotte popped into Harper’s world these last two months, she’d always seemed nice enough. For a felon. “Now, Harper. Give me the list.” She pulled a gun from her overcoat and aimed it at Harper. It didn’t waver, and her index finger cupped the trigger automatically, no hesitation. As there was no hesitation in her stare. Charlotte gave every indication she would shoot her if she didn’t produce the list…that Harper didn’t have.

Her throat closed. It didn’t ask first. It just closed, and as her panic escalated to blinding fear, Harper opened her mouth, hoping something…some sound would make it past that restriction to buy her time. Charlotte frowned, not at all pleased.

“Harper?” Marnie’s mother dropped the gun and rolled her eyes. “You really are not good at this.”

Sucking in a breath, Harper nodded, seeing an opening to press her case. “I don’t have any list, Charlotte! It’s a rumor. Not true!”

“Bullshit.”

“Joe asked me to tell Dane he was sorry. That’s it, no list.”

Charlotte gave Harper’s excuse some thought and then shook her head, lifting the gun again and aiming it square at Harper’s belly. “Folsom didn’t have feelings, Harper, and you’re trying to tell me he dragged you into this mess to say he was sorry?” Charlotte shook her head again. “You ratted out your brother, fucking his chances to bring down the company. You were working with Folsom. Don’t lie. Give me the list. There are people who want it and will pay well when I give it to them.”

Harper was stymied, and then suddenly even more afraid than she’d already been. Harper and Joe’s secret apparently wasn’t a secret at all. He’d told someone, maybe just Ian Whitman, but others knew now. Charlotte knew. Seeing the situation through Charlotte’s eyes made the rumors on the street more understandable. They thought Harper was dirty and had betrayed her brother, working the whole time with Joe. Why wouldn’t she have a list?

“No, Charlotte. It’s not what you think. I’m not lying. Joe tricked me. Dane doesn’t know about it, but—”

“Give me the list, and then we’ll talk.” She waved her gun again.

Harper could not handle the muzzle staring her in the face for one moment longer. “Please!”

With a frustrated glare, Charlotte put the gun back in her pocket. “You’re so lucky Marnie loves you. You want me to keep your secrets? Sure. Give me that list and we’ll be even.” Harper stepped back, feeling as if her legs were about to collapse beneath her. She knocked against a box, which challenged her balance. “Maybe my buyers will make a deal,” Charlotte said, then held out her hand. “There’s only so much I can do, though. I’m really doing you a favor here. They’ll kill you to keep the information hidden. I take it from you, it disappears, and everyone can go about their lives.” Charlotte stepped close, peering into Harper’s eyes, hand still outstretched. “Last chance. The list.” She squinted, leaning closer, and then Charlotte’s shoulders dropped. “Damn. You’re not lying.”

Harper inhaled, filling her lungs with relief, and then released her breath in a burst. “I’m not.”

“Hmm. That is not good for you.” Charlotte turned, walking deeper into the apartment. “Don’t trust Sullivan. That’s a piece of free advice I give only because my Marnie loves you. Normally, that would have cost you.” Charlotte disappeared down the hall, toward what Harper could only presume was Lucas’s bedroom.

Someone knocked on the front door. Harper jumped, lunging for the door, peering through the peephole. “Lucas!” She opened the door, confused. Last she saw he was facing down a gun. “What happened?” And why did Joe, Caleb, and Charlotte all think he was dirty?

Lucas grimaced. “You okay? Dane said he called a moment ago and you didn’t answer.”

Her phone. Harper found it where it had fallen, on the floor near the kitchen counter. She retrieved it and caught sight of the picture of her on the counter. The glass was broken, but it was neatly propped up, retrieved from the trash. It was hard to look at. Though she was smiling, she could see it was forced. Girls’ night out. They’d been trying to cheer her up after her breakup with Lucas and failed miserably. Just looking at it reminded her of that horrible time.

She grabbed the photo, intent on trashing it again, but instead cut her hand on broken glass. “Damn!”

“Harper, settle down.”

He took the picture from her and put it back on the counter before guiding her into his tiny bathroom, sitting her on the closed toilet seat. She kept wondering if Charlotte had gone out a back way or was waiting in his bedroom for them to leave. Either was just as likely. That lady had no fear and telling Lucas about the visit seemed unwise. Oh, by the way, Lucas, Marnie’s mom has a buyer for that list. She’ll tell Dane I colluded with Joe if I don’t give it to her, and yeah, she said you’re not to be trusted.

Positioning her injured hand under the faucet, he cleaned the wound. It stung like a bejeepers. “It’s not that bad.”

“No?” Her blood swirled in the water pooling in the sink. “It looks bad.”

“It’s not deep. Does it hurt?”

“Yes.” She was confused, in shock, and didn’t know what to do. “What is up with that picture, Lucas? Why do you even have it? My hair is sticking up at an odd angle and it’s frizzy.”

“I think you look good in it.”

Harper replayed his words and wondered if it could be just that simple. He thought it a good picture of her, so he had it printed and framed? Too many layers of what the hell to wade through when her hand hurt, and Charlotte might play whack-a-mole and pop out of the back bedroom.

“Who was in that car and pointing a gun at you?” She moved her head, trying to get him to meet her gaze but Lucas avoided it, drying her hand with a white towel. Her wound stained it red.

“That call I took when we were leaving the apartment?” Lucas finally met her gaze, asking her to remember. Harper shook her head, not remembering. “It was your brother. The men that followed us from the school—”

“It was the same car. How did they escape Dane?”

“He let them go.” He seemed as baffled as she. “Had to. They’re FBI.”

Now the FBI was after her? “What do they want?”

“That’s the thing.” Lucas opened two Band-Aids and covered her cut with one. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Why stop now? Tell me.” She felt the weight of the world crash down on her and didn’t know if she could handle one more piece of bad news.

“They said they’re not following you.” Lucas was never more attractive than when he was giving good news. This was definitely good news. Still. He was right. It made no sense.

“They were at the school,” she said. “Are they denying that? They definitely followed us here and then parked out front. I saw the gun pointing at you from their car window.”

“They said”—he pressed the last Band-Aid in place—“they’re following me.”

Harper’s brain shut down. No thoughts marred the perfect stasis of her bafflement. It was a relief after days of stress and anxiety. She wanted to linger there, but the sting of this revelation would not be ignored. “Are you saying this whole thing isn’t about me, it’s about you?” Joe, Caleb, and Charlotte had warned her. Now the feds were involved.

He shook his head. “I don’t know. They’re not telling. Their orders were to keep an eye on me and my whereabouts. That’s all they’re willing to say.”

“You have FBI bodyguards?” Harper was incapable of hiding a thought. She knew her disbelief was on full display.

“That wasn’t the impression they gave me.” He had to know how bad this looked.

“FBI. They do federal crimes, cross-border crimes.” Criminals were the ones giving Harper the heads-up that Lucas was dirty, and the FBI was tailing him. This wasn’t nothing and Lucas was giving her no explanations.

“I haven’t broken the law, Harper, so wipe that look off your face. Believe me,” Lucas said, “if I had that kind of moral flexibility, no one, not even the FBI, would know about it.”

“Really? And why is that?”

Lucas smiled. “I’m just that good.”

Harper couldn’t have agreed more. And her judgment couldn’t be more flawed. She could discount the criminals in her life, but the FBI? They were holding a neon sign saying Don’t Trust Lucas.

“All better now.” Lucas bent his head and kissed the bandage. He was gentle and concerned. All the contradictory information hitting her at once made it impossible to know what to think. Was Lucas lying, working her? Was he also looking for the list, thinking she had it? Was it a coincidence he’d followed her to Manchester around the time the Whitman Enterprises case hit, or was it by design? He’d said he was offered the job a month before she left him, but…there was no way for her to know for sure this was the same job.

When he lifted his head, their gazes met. His was filled with sympathy and anxiety. She preferred the confident version of Lucas, the guy with all the answers. This version was too human, and Harper was already feeling in over her head. Something was going on with him, and he was either not in the know or he was keeping it from her. Either scenario meant she was screwed. Again. Her inclination to trust had just put her in the middle of another dicey situation.

“Take me home,” she said.

That night, Harper was still processing the day’s events. Caleb’s guards were still patrolling the property, and Lucas kept his gun out, either in hand or on a table nearby. No one was taking security for granted. Certainly not Harper. Her gun was upstairs, under her pillow. She prayed she’d never have to use it.

Lucas remained adamant he had no idea why the FBI was tailing him. It weighed heavily on them both that the special agents were parked out front. Their presence created an uncertainty that prevented Harper from confiding to Lucas about Charlotte’s visit…and it was bursting to come out! Dane was off-limits, and Marnie seemed an iffy outlet since it was her mother causing the problem. Harper didn’t know what to do.

In the dining room, Lucas glared at whatever he saw on his laptop’s screen. “Any closer to answers? About the FBI?” she said.

He stopped typing, glancing up. “The lieutenant says he’s looking into it, but I can tell he’s stonewalling. For some reason, he’s not pulling me off the case, though. In his place, it’s the first thing I’d do. What about you? Have you decided I’m trustworthy, or do you want me to call your brother or Smith to stay with you?”

“That’s a bit aggressive, don’t you think?” She opened the refrigerator and took out leftover Chinese. Sniffing the carton, she hoped the fragrant sweet-and-sour sauce would rouse her appetite. He was focused on the laptop screen again, but there was a mulish hurt hovering about him. It’s his pride, she told herself.

“If you have questions, ask them,” he said.

She set the sauce-covered chicken and rice on plates and stuck one in the microwave, turning it on. “If you have something to tell me, tell me.”

He glanced at her before returning his gaze to the screen. “There’s nothing to tell.”

Now that she found hard to believe. Joe could be written off as trying to screw with Lucas, but Charlotte Pleasant and Caleb Smith? They weren’t the kind of people you took home to Mama, but Harper knew they weren’t colluding. Smith disapproved of Charlotte on every level, and neither had anything to win by making her wary of Lucas. So, no. Harper wasn’t ready to put the FBI incident out of her mind, or to buy Lucas’s squeaky-clean avowals. He was hiding something. But, she had to concede, so was she. Maybe all was not cut-and-dried with him, but maybe he kept secrets for a good cause. Like she did.

“So far,” Harper said, “I’ve been in danger twice. Once because my brother kidnapped me, and the second time because the FBI were tailing you. I’m beginning to believe we’ve been reading this whole situation wrong. I might be the weakest link, but I am not the target.” The microwave binged. She took out the plate and put the other in to cook. She hit the on button.

“And if you’re wrong?” His dismissal was quick and final. “I’m not willing to risk it.”

“What are you risking?” Other than a pause in typing, and an obvious decision to not respond, he gave nothing away. It made a girl wonder.

The heavy silence dragged out, interrupted only by the microwave binging two minutes later. Carrying the leftovers to the table, she accepted his mumbled thank-you before gathering two water bottles from the refrigerator. She wanted to stay down here with him, because even with all the unknowns between them, she still preferred being with Lucas rather than not, but she knew herself well enough to know she wouldn’t be able to leave the elephant in the room be. She’d poke and prod. Maybe confess when she shouldn’t. It was more sensible to run and hide, like she did a year ago. Yeah, she’d been protecting him when he tried to push back into her life after Alice’s murder, but she’d been protecting herself, too. How would she have felt when the crisis was over and he left?

Harper took her dinner upstairs to eat alone, and that’s where she stayed until, hours later, tossing in bed, she couldn’t lie there a moment longer chewing over her fearful thoughts and regrets. Turning on her bedside table lamp, she gave in to curiosity and slid open the table’s drawer. Joe’s silver locket was tucked in the back. She didn’t want to touch the keepsake, a symbol of that year they’d survived together, something once precious, now sullied beyond repair. Then she couldn’t help but touch it. Grabbing it by the delicate chain, she lifted her hand until the locket, no bigger than her thumb, dangled and swayed to the rhythm of her heartbeat. It didn’t burn to touch. It had no magical properties that brought Joe back from the dead. It was okay to look at, and its existence changed nothing.

Joe had said the locket would explain everything.

She’d supposed Joe was speaking metaphorically. She didn’t know, but if there was a message in its existence, the metaphor was too cryptic for her to unravel. As a practical matter, the locket was no less tightfisted with its secrets. Studying it from all angles, she dangled it under the lamp’s glow, frustrated with Joe’s insistence it mattered. She saw nothing she hadn’t seen a million times before, except now the keepsake was a clue.

Dejected, she gripped it in her fist and lay back on the pillows, clutching it to her chest. Joe was dead. She’d thought he’d taken her secrets with him, but she should have known better. A secret wasn’t a secret if more than one person knew it, and Charlotte already tried to leverage it for the list. The nonexistent list.

It was time to tell Dane.

She whipped the locket against the wall, furious with herself. When it broke on contact, angst dispelled her rage as quickly as it had come. Though the sentiment behind the locket had been a lie, it had been real to Harper for a long time. She slid off the bed, gathering the pieces off her pastel rug. The hair clippings had scattered, but she was surprised to find something affixed to one of the locket halves.

A two-gig SIM card. “Oh my gosh and fucking golly.” The locket will explain…

Her immediate response was to run to Lucas downstairs, but something made her pause. Joe had given her this SIM card to keep it safe, not Harper, so it was important, but to what end? Turning on her laptop, she slipped the SIM card into its slot. It contained one file, which contained one sentence: Harper MacLain, TD Bank, Elm Street, Safe-Deposit Box 1244-8488.

“Oh, no.” The list. It had to be. And it had her name attached to it. Rumors, and more rumors…was this where they started? Or did they just solidify suspicions? Who else knew about this safe-deposit box? “Joe, you piece of shit.” He’d screwed her from the start, putting her in the center of the biggest scandal to hit the East Coast since Whitey Bulger. If she was right, Harper was the only person who could access the list. So how the hell did everyone else know before her? She rested her face on her hands. “Thanks, Joe. Thanks a bunch.”

Harper closed the laptop and mulled over her problem. It all came down to who she trusted. Dane, completely, but two for two, he’d been more trouble than help. Kidnapping her, ramming the FBI’s car? She needed a more level head. That left Lucas. She had to trust him. Was he keeping secrets from her? Obviously. Yeah, the FBI, the many warnings Lucas wasn’t to be trusted from her surprisingly long list of criminal acquaintances…they all scratched at her sense of caution. They didn’t, however, negate what she knew…what was painfully true. Lucas lived for his job and would never do something to jeopardize his ability to be a cop. She’d give him the SIM card and he’d do the right thing. If he didn’t? Shoot me now.

Stripping off her T-shirt and boxers, Harper walked naked to her closet and moved her hangers to the side, until she found the silk nightgown in the back. It was the one Lucas bought her. His favorite. Slipping it over her head, she smoothed it in place, and shivered as its coolness clung to her breasts, belly and thighs. She studied her reflection in the mirror affixed to the closet door and saw her red curls drape over her pale, wide shoulders and full breasts, her hair’s color a sharp contrast to the cream-colored silk of the nightgown. The last time she’d worn it, she’d thought she would be with Lucas forever. Now, she’d be happy with just tonight.

Barefoot, Harper hurried downstairs and found him sleeping on her too-small couch, naked but for his briefs, a quilt half on and half off him, oblivious to the air-conditioning blasting. He didn’t look comfortable with his legs hanging over the side, his muscular bulk ready to roll off onto the hardwood floor.

Harper sat on the ottoman across from him, the silk of her nightgown moving against her skin with every breath, teasing her. She was so close she could feel the heat radiating from him, tempting her to touch and feel his burn.

He broke her heart…but she’d long since stopped blaming him. It was her fault. All of it. Lucas wasn’t the one who’d changed that night in the restaurant.

Worry tugged at his features even in sleep; though he was still handsome and intense. She’d never met anyone who made her feel like Lucas made her feel—happy, silly, aroused, safe. Sometimes all at once. Her instinct was to curl next to him and wrap his body around hers, hiding in his strength. She wanted to belong in his arms. It was the crux of their problem. She didn’t belong there. Never had. She’d just been renting space.

When she woke him, gave up the SIM card, things would happen fast. He’d contact IA, the lieutenant, maybe Dane. Harper would be asked questions that would require her to give up her secret, to confess it all, and she’d do it, hoping the list would be consolation enough for her brother to forgive her…himself. She wasn’t looking forward to the next few hours, though she knew they were necessary, and was having a hard time getting the ball rolling. So she sat there, watching him sleep. It was agony, and precious. The last two days had opened old wounds, and like an addict, she’d savored her fall into bad habits.

Handing over the card represented an end to Harper’s involvement in the case, and therefore an end to Lucas in her life. But not yet. Not yet.

She reached out. His eyes opened before her fingers connected. “Hi,” she said.