Chapter Six

Dane and Marnie took their car home, and Caleb arranged for a ride to transport Harper and Lucas to her house where Lucas had left his Chevy. When she stepped through the door, her relief was at odds with reality. The lock and handle were busted from the break-in, a stark reminder of how she wasn’t safe here. They couldn’t leave it like that, so after Lucas offered to fix it, Harper directed him to the basement, where spare wood could be found. She made sandwiches—tuna on rye with chips—as he nailed the door in place. She ate, gun in hand, and kept a lookout as Lucas hammered away. Caleb’s driver still sat in his car outside, an added layer of security she was grateful for.

“Thanks for doing this.” She took a bite of her sandwich, hungrier than she’d been in a long time. “I’d help, but…” Last time she’d used a hammer she’d nearly broken her thumb.

“Nothing to help with. It won’t be pretty, but it will keep the door shut so no one will wander in and clean your place out while you’re away.” Still in his briefs, dirty and covered in abrasions from their trek in the woods, Lucas was sexy as sin. Fact was, she’d always found watching Lucas more enjoyable than most things in life. Even a good tuna on rye. She took another bite, if only to stop her drooling over his rippling muscles.

“Your tuna sandwich is behind you.” She pointed to the foyer table where she’d set the plate amongst day old mail.

“My favorite.”

“I know. Least I could do after you saved my life.”

He nodded, hammering in the nails. “Any time.” His muscles rippled some more, and it was magnificent.

She took a bite of her sandwich, feeling repressed, and depressed because her door would have to be replaced. It had survived generations of MacLains intact. It didn’t survive Harper. “How many movies have we seen where the hero is nailing doors shut? It’s like we’re having our own zombie apocalypse.”

“Or aliens who can travel light-years but are baffled by kitchen locks.”

“Exactly! I’d take one of those threats over what we’re dealing with.”

“The unknown?” He stepped away from the door, perusing his handiwork.

“You always could read my mind.” She stuffed some chips in her mouth and thought a wine chaser was in order.

Lucas flipped the hammer in the air and caught it by its handle. Smiling, nearly naked, he couldn’t have been more tempting. “Not that it did me any good.”

His comment was in itself a door, demanding to be opened. Harper didn’t want to go through. To distract herself, she ducked her head, accessed her voicemail, and put it on speaker so she could continue eating. “This is Mrs. Coterie, secretary at Smyth Road School. The principal, Ms. Nougat, would like to schedule an interview with you tomorrow morning at nine, if that’s convenient for you.”

Harper’s second interview. Yesterday she would have danced about the room at the opportunity to teach second grade at a school she’d grown so fond of, but today there were more obstacles between her and the job than simply impressing the principal.

“Interview, huh?” He nodded, giving the impression he was excited, if distracted.

“I can go, right?” His dour nod told her he wasn’t happy about it, but he’d make it work. “I’m going to gather some of my stuff.” She headed to the stairs, bringing her sandwich with her.

Lucas brought his plate of sandwich and chips with him as he followed her upstairs. “And I should dress. Do you have any of Dane’s old clothes?”

Harper glanced over her shoulder, saw him take a bite of sandwich and wink at her when she glanced at his briefs. She tripped on the first stair, barely catching herself in time to prevent a facer. They’d created a new normal in the course of the day. Usually when Lucas popped into her head, she’d force herself to think about something else. It had been impossible today, and it was taking a toll on her resistance to him. She liked him, desired him, missed him…and being around him was making her forget why she’d left him, or rather, that her reasons to leave him were valid. Harper feared, at this rate, she’d never get over him. Worse yet, she feared she didn’t want to.

“I am such a masochist,” she said, rushing up the stairs.

“Today wasn’t your fault.” Lucas stayed close, gun in hand.

“What?” Harper walked to her bedroom, trying to follow where he’d taken the conversation.

“Believing the lieutenant doesn’t make you a masochist. You took a risk that Folsom would give you the list. We all did. If it had panned out, we’d be drinking champagne now. Can’t win them all.”

“I guess.” She allowed his take on her remark to stand, mostly because she didn’t want to explain it. The fact was, her record for good judgment was taking another serious hit. She’d trusted Lucas. She’d trusted Joe. She’d trusted the lieutenant. The only person she’d trusted who hadn’t let her down was her brother, and he was the one she’d injured. Her heart clutched when she thought about having to tell Dane what she’d done…she’d do it, just not today. Later. When he could handle it better.

Harper rushed to pull together an overnight bag, still chewing the last of her sandwich. An outfit for the interview, and then T-shirts, pants, a couple of sweatshirts if the nights became cool, and she’d wear her sneakers. Then she found an old gym bag of Dane’s in one of the spare bedrooms, left over from when he and Elizabeth had lived here.

Lucas was similar in size to Dane, so the sweat pants fit, the T-shirt, and even the sneakers. The holstered gun was too heavy to attach to the waistband, so he kept it in hand. “We’ll go to my place for the night.”

“Or a bar.” Harper was in the mood for a stiff drink. She rushed past him to the bathroom, gathering up her necessities.

“I’m on the clock. But when we have the list and word on the street is you’re no threat, I promise, I’ll take you to the Dublin House.”

She stuffed her pocketbook and bathroom kit into the overnight bag and slung it over her shoulder. “It’s a college pub. Everyone would stare. We’re too old.”

“I’m twenty-eight and you just graduated. You act like we’re ancient.”

“I’m twenty-four. To them, I am ancient.” She couldn’t repress a smile, just thinking about the times they’d had there. “We did have fun.”

“Yes, we did.” He smiled back at her. “So we make new memories, go local, somewhere downtown. Strange Brew, near the Merrimack River. You, me, knocking back a few. What do you say?” He left her bedroom and took the stairs down two at a time.

Following at a slower pace, Harper felt her heartstrings tug. He was a constant reminder of why she fell in love with him. The pull to say hell, yeah to this idea was on the tip of her tongue. She couldn’t think of a better way to spend a night. Her, Lucas, Strange Brew. But she knew better.

When she reached the living room, he was waiting for her, his gaze scanning the room as if he’d lost something. It was his hands on his hips that tipped her off. Lucas was organizing his thoughts. Shit. He wanted to talk.

“I’m sorry.” The words burst from his mouth as if it took all the air in his lungs to push them out.

“About what?” Unless he’d gotten into some mischief between upstairs and down, she wasn’t aware of Lucas doing anything that required an apology.

His confusion was swift and all encompassing. “That you believed I wouldn’t, or couldn’t, be there for you when your family crisis hit. That’s on me. Somehow, words or deeds, I’d convinced you that you were expendable, that you were only in my life because of…I don’t know, as an accessory? Is that what you think? Because that’s not how I felt. How I feel. Well, we’re not together now, but I mean, if we were, that’s not how I’d feel now.” He cringed. “I’m not making sense.”

“You’re making perfect sense. That’s how I know you’re completely off base. No, Lucas. You have no apologies to make. I knew what we had. You were very clear.”

“Not clear enough if you thought—”

“I thought exactly the truth. You’re a kind, loyal, righteous man that wouldn’t go against his conscience. Ever. I knew the moment you realized I was in need, you’d pull out all the stops, no matter our relationship status. We’ve been over this. We broke up, Lucas. People do that every day. I never took emotional support from you or invited you back in my life when Alice was murdered because…” Harper approached, rested her hand on his chest. “Because you’d have given it to me. You’d have come back into my life, and then we’d be back where we started.”

“And that would have been so bad?”

“It wouldn’t have been right for me. And you know it.” She suspected this conversation was about Lucas seeking closure. “You’re a good man, Lucas. Your ambition in the force is a good thing, an admirable thing. You were born to be a cop, and I support you in that in every way. You have to return the favor with me.” One day she’d meet a man who made her feel like Lucas made her feel, and that man would want marriage and children. She had to believe that, or sacrificing what she had with Lucas would be for nothing.

Lucas covered her hand on his chest and opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Just imagining what he might say, what she wanted him to say, was enough to make her crazy. Harper couldn’t handle it. Not after the day she’d had. Joe dying. Being convinced she and Lucas were going to die. The shipping container. His hands caressing her once again, kissing her, reminding her what she gave up…

“Harper—”

“Listen.” She pulled her hand from his grasp and stepped back. “We have bigger fish to fry. Dane and Marnie’s panicked attempt to keep me safe has officially freaked me out. All we have are rumors, and my life has been upended. I wasn’t the only person to see Joe today. You and the officers that led him in and out of that interrogation room also saw him, and probably had more private time with him than I did. My rational mind isn’t sold on the idea that the people who killed Joe are coming after me, but my nerves are shot, and believe me, you’ve all convinced me it’s time to buy a cemetery plot, so don’t worry. I’m on board about this run-away thing, but I’m tired. Can we just go to your apartment?” She turned her back on him and headed toward the kitchen, through the back door, not the front, because that door was broken. “I have first dibs on your shower.”

“Yeah,” Lucas said. “Sure.” Then he grabbed her arm and stopped her from going further. “Wait, though. Give me a chance to make sure there’re no surprises outside.” Harper nodded, feeling safer already. Pulling his gun, he nudged the drapery aside and peeked outside. Harper’s gun was in her pocketbook, and as she waited, she contemplated pulling it out. Then Lucas reared back, shock making him pause. “What the hell?” He threw the door open.

Caleb Smith was standing on the porch with three burly men, dressed much like him, but from less expensive stores. Each was in his mid- to late twenties, each sporting suspicious, gun-shaped bulges around their hearts. If Harper wasn’t mistaken, Caleb had come calling with armed backup.

“Hey,” Caleb said.

“Hey,” she said back. Peeking outside, and behind them, she wasn’t sure what she expected to see, but she saw an empty backyard, just as she’d left it this afternoon. Lucas drew her back into the kitchen and gave her a look that said be quiet and stay put. Harper ignored him. “Any more of you?”

“No. Three is enough.” Caleb kept his eyes on Lucas, studying him, as if he were expecting a reaction. “Just wanted to let you both know that I have men watching the house.”

“Oh.” She glanced at Lucas, relieved. “We don’t have to go to Lucas’s apartment then. Great. Thanks, Caleb.”

“Yeah.” Lucas grimaced. “Thanks, Smith.” Then he slammed the door in Caleb’s face.

“Lucas!” Harper pushed him aside and opened the door again. “Sorry about that.” Caleb was the only one remaining on the porch. A quick glance left and right showed his men had blended into the shadows around her house. “He’s in a mood.”

Caleb ignored Lucas and was all business with Harper. “You have my number. You need me, call me. My men will be here round the clock.”

“Okay.” She was about to say good-bye, but he was already gone, and Harper was left looking out her back door, wondering how her sedate, cozy yard had suddenly turned into a scary place of shadows and the unknown.

Lucas pushed the door closed, and the resulting slam made her jump. “He thinks I’m going to kill you.”

“He thinks a lot of things I don’t. What do you care?” Harper held his gaze and saw his speculation. “No, I don’t think you want to kill me.”

“Did I say—”

She showed him her palm and walked away. “I need a shower.”

Lucas hadn’t said anything, but he’d wondered. He’d needed confirmation. The whole thing seemed silly to Harper, so she shrugged it off and rushed from the kitchen and up the stairs. Shadows in every corner of the house had her tense and poised to startle. She hated that the silence in her house, once a comfort, had become ominous.

Her shower was quick but satisfying, and then she gathered sheets, quilts, and a spare pillow and brought it downstairs to the couch. Lucas was standing in the dark, nudging the drapes aside with the barrel of his gun, peering at the street.

“Stay away from the windows,” he said. “You hear anything suspicious, don’t investigate. Run to me. Understand?”

She held up the bedding. “I’m not in the mood to be a hero. If a bad guy somehow fights his way through Caleb’s men, you, and my gun, I’m screwed and I know it, so why worry. Right?”

Lucas seemed taken aback, but then laughed. “Exactly. Don’t worry.”

Harper was freebasing worry. “But I’ll keep my gun handy, just in case, and hopefully I’ll take one or two of them down before I die.”

“That’s the spirit.” He nodded, resuming his own version of worrying. Sentry duty.

After she made up the couch for him, Harper hesitated. It seemed odd to retreat upstairs and resume her bedtime routine with Lucas in the house, yet the alternative was to stay, keep him company, and become more comfortable with the idea of having him around.

She hurried upstairs, wishing she’d stayed home this afternoon and waited for the call from Smyth Road School. Screw the lieutenant, she thought, slamming her bedroom door. He wasn’t the one sleeping scared tonight. As soon as she finished her thought, Harper was reminded of why she’d taken the bait—the list, stopping Joe from hurting Dane again. Fail, double fail. Reality was, her getting involved hadn’t changed that outcome. Joe was dead, the list was a ruse, and Dane was definitely hurt.

Standing in the middle of her bedroom, her toes curling into the plush rug, Harper felt at odds with herself. A thump on the window had her flinching, but it was only a bee or a wasp flying into the glass pane. She heard the water turn on in the bathroom. Old house, thin walls. Lucas was finally getting his shower. He’d settle on the couch soon and probably sleep like a log. Someone as big and capable as Lucas probably never missed a moment of sleep simply because his life was in jeopardy.

Harper played with the idea of asking him to sleep next to her. No sex. Just protection. She’d feel safer. The idea had merit, but obvious dangers. They’d been together—she glanced at her watch—less than twelve hours and had barely avoided having sex three times. Sleep probably wouldn’t be all they’d do in her bed.

When he touched her, her reason shut off and autopilot clicked on—arms up, lips opened, pleasure centers activated. Blinded to her past, present, and future. Even after a year avoiding him, Harper was still tempted by his touch.

Releasing a ragged sigh, Harper stepped to the wall that separated her from Lucas…standing naked in the shower. Pressing her forehead to the drywall, palms against its coolness, Harper closed her eyes, imagining being with him under that spray, his hands on her body, his hard length wet and slick.

Then fantasy was hit by a harsh dose of reality as she remembered bloodstained water pooling at her feet. Joe’s blood. His murder. Harper didn’t want to be next. She turned her back to the wall, sagging against it.

Her crumpled and soiled T-shirt and boxers were still on the floor where she’d dropped them before her shower. They caught her eye, reminding her there was a place for everything and everything in its place. But not today. No one would pick them up if she didn’t. Perks of living alone—no one cared. You could stay up late, eat dinner over the sink, or even leave your dirty laundry on the floor. It was great. She sniffed, wiping a tear that tickled her jaw.

Desire and self-disgust batted her back and forth, fighting for dominance, making her shake with the effort not to cry, and the sound of the shower berated her, a constant reminder of Lucas, naked, willing. Desperate for distraction, Harper plugged her iPod into its docking station. My Chemical Romance blared and “I’m Not Okay (I Promise)” came out of the speakers full blast, concealing the sound of the shower. It was a relief. She closed her eyes, cracked her neck, and attempted to shake the tension from her limbs as she breathed deeply, seeking peace. The song’s beat was rhythmic, the melody angst filled. Harper swayed to it, finding comfort as she leaned this way and that, moving with grace and then aggression. She danced and danced, cleared her mind, retreating into a place of strength, where thoughts were anathema and feelings purged. When she was out of breath, the song finished and another beginning, Harper fell on her bed, staring at the popcorn ceiling.

The verdict was in. She still loved him. And that was okay. He was a wonderful man. She should love him, but that didn’t mean she had to sacrifice her needs to his wants. One day her love for Lucas would mellow, and she’d find someone who wanted commitment, marriage, a family. She wiped a tear off her temple, blinking at the ceiling. It was all good.

When a chill distracted her, Harper sat, staring at her discarded clothes on the floor, having come to terms with what they symbolized. Yeah, she was alone, but it wouldn’t be forever, and it was enough that picking up her clothes mattered to her…not Lucas, not some other, but her, because she mattered, too.

Harper tossed her clothes in the hamper and then turned off the music. No sound of Lucas in the shower. All she heard was…silence. It was jarring and depressing, because she was still tempted to seek him out and find passion in his arms. He was probably downstairs, doing patrols with Caleb’s men, or maybe he was on the couch, worrying, staring at the ceiling and listening to bees hitting the window. Was he thinking about her or the case? Was he secretly smug or awkward because of what they’d done today? The kissing, the heavy petting… It was humiliating to know she would have gone all the way each time if Lucas, or circumstances, had allowed it.

Pride in tatters, Harper climbed into bed and pulled the covers to her chin, a shield against the unknown. Sleep didn’t come quickly, and when it did, it was well into the early morning hours, so when her alarm woke her, she was scratchy-eyed and irritable.

Tripping down the stairs at seven a.m., desperate for coffee, she was surprised and pleased to smell it already brewing. The sizzle and scent of something cooking caught her attention, and had her sniffing the air and following her nose.

“You made—” Egg seemed to be on nearly every surface of the kitchen, most especially burning on the glass-topped stove. “—a mess.” Bacon grease was splattered on the counter, and crumbles of burned toast littered the sink, as if Lucas had upended the toaster at some point. It used to be a familiar sight, now it was almost reassuring. Some things would never change. Lucas—the part that didn’t reject her—would never change.

The toaster popped, and burning bread flew from the appliance, toward her. Lucas caught it mid-flight, juggled it between his hands, and then set the smoking toast on a plate.

“Sit down. I got this,” he said. “Don’t worry. I’ll clean up the mess. Just sit and enjoy the meal.” Lucas guided her out of the galley kitchen into the breakfast nook and set a plate, not burned—perfect and steaming—before her. And coffee. There was lots of coffee.

Harper gulped back a moan of ecstasy and sipped the proffered brew. He was pampering her, and it was nice. The sounds of birds chirping in the backyard came through the bay window, and the sun’s heat streamed in, warming her. She had to blink twice to believe the shadow near her hydrangeas was a patrolling bruiser in Caleb’s employ, but even that reminder of her precarious situation didn’t ruin the moment. The coffee was tasty and the food delicious.

“Thank you, Lucas.” He was wearing a new suit. This one was black, slim cut, and his shirt was crisp and white, accessorized with a black tie. He looked hip and sexy. “I don’t think Dane owns a suit, and even if he did, it wouldn’t be in that ratty gym bag we found. Where’d you get the clothes?”

“Your brother stopped off at my apartment before he came by to check on you this morning.”

“I like it. It suits you. Ha! Forgive the pun.” Biting into toast, she acknowledged she did feel better this morning. More in control. Lucas was smiling, chewing, nodding. “I’ve missed your breakfasts,” she said. She peeked toward the hydrangeas again, but Caleb’s guy was not in sight.

“I’ve missed making them for you.” He kept his gaze on the backyard, too, presumably also curious to see if the men were visible. “Damn, this is a gorgeous view to wake up to.”

Harper nodded, loving the half-circle nook of the bay window. It put the dining area essentially in the backyard. “I love it. See that?” She pointed to the left. “It’s a raised vegetable garden. I have tomatoes, cukes, and carrots growing there. I’ve lettuce seedlings sprouting on the back porch.”

“I see the roses,” Lucas said. They lined the back fencing.

“My mother planted blueberry and raspberry bushes at the property corners. Do you see them?” At his nod, she pointed out other features. “My father bought that birdbath for a Mother’s Day gift. The feeders around it came the following year.”

“It’s weird to see so many birds and squirrels running around. Especially in the city.”

“Yeah.” She sipped her coffee, viewing her backyard oasis. “It’s where I make things grow, where things that nourish me live.”

Lucas tapped his watch. “Your interview.”

“Yes.” She emptied her coffee cup, and set it on the table. “Wish me luck.”

“I’m going with you.” He raised his brows, sharing his surprise that she would think otherwise. “You didn’t think I was here for show, right?”

“Don’t you have to work? I just assumed Caleb’s men…” She shrugged, a bit confused.

“I am working.” He sipped his coffee. “I called your brother last night. We discussed it and decided we had to bring Lieutenant Zimmerman in on this, otherwise it would be too hard to explain my absence.”

“You discussed it, huh?” Arching a brow, she could imagine the fight that ensued. “So you won. Good to know. Next time I want to win an argument, I’ll bring you along.”

Lucas pretended he didn’t understand, but she detected a faint amusement. “The lieutenant was sympathetic. He put you in this position, so he okayed the time. For now, anyway. He, like you, is skeptical there is an issue.”

“Hard to prove a negative,” Harper said. “Did you tell him what Dane and Marnie did?”

“No.” He laughed, with zero humor. “I didn’t want them arrested.”

“No. But if you’d asked me yesterday, I might have had a different answer.”

“They came to the same conclusion we did: that you were in danger. They did what they thought best. Or so I keep reminding myself.”

“This will work out. It has to. I don’t know where the list is and sooner or later people will figure that out.” Hopefully before she gave in to the temptation of Lucas.

“And if they don’t?” He arched his brow. “IA or the lieutenant might decide to ship you off. You know that, right? And truthfully, I’m thinking they’d be right. Better safe in protective custody than dead.”

“No. Don’t even go there.” She stood.

“Which? Protective custody or dead.”

“Either.” She shook off her growing anxiety, or tried to, anyway. “You’re an amazing investigator, Lucas. You can find the list, I know. And keep my brother out of it. He deserves a little peace. Can you do that for me?”

Lucas lounged back in his chair, looking up at her. “You don’t think I’m trying? Believe me, Harper. I’m trying. My snitches are working overtime.” He studied her over the rim of his coffee mug and then sipped. “But if either department takes control of this case, I’ll lose control of you. Where you go won’t be my call.” He put the empty mug down. “The lieutenant warned your brother off for the second time this morning, but neither Dane nor Lieutenant Zimmerman think he’ll stay out of this case now that you’re in danger. So Zimmerman is pissed. If your brother kills this case, he’ll have a line of people waiting to take a piece from his hide. I’ll be standing at the front of it. The DA and the lieutenant close behind.”

“How will he kill it?”

“Shredding chain of evidence. If a defense attorney can prove evidence was tampered with or planted, they can petition the judge to not make it admissible in court. Like it never existed.”

“Dane would never do that. I mean tamper with evidence, or plant it. After what he went through last year?” She shook her head. “Never.”

“You know that, I know that, but it’s a jury that will need to be convinced, and the precedent is reasonable doubt. Dane has a lot to win or lose with this case. He can’t be anywhere near the evidence. Keeping him out of harm’s way is what you want, right?”

Harper saw his hesitancy, as if he wasn’t sure of her answer. Strangely enough, she found it reassuring. When they’d been together, from ordering at a restaurant to planning out their weekends, Lucas had always been sure he knew what Harper wanted. Now, he hesitated. It made her wonder how culpable she was in their relationship’s failure. Maybe she should have been less compliant and more forceful about what her needs and wants were. Who knows, she thought, because when she and Lucas were together, their minds tended to be clouded with sex, or wondering when they’d find their next opportunity to have sex.

“Yes. I want Dane safe,” she said. “I’ve relied on him my whole life. My habit is to run to him when I’m in trouble.”

“You can always run to me.”

She saw his defiance. Harper wasn’t sure what game he was playing, but she had no time for it. Pushing away from the table, she dropped her bomb. “I think Marnie’s idea of using me as bait might be our solution to bringing this list rumor to a head.”

“No.”

She shrugged. “You know the lieutenant’s patience is frayed. He’ll pull you off my security detail in a few days, and then I’ll be bait whether we want it or not.” When all he did was frown and shake his head, she upped the ante. “Or I could bring this idea to the lieutenant directly. I’m sure he’d be more receptive.”

“Your brother—”

“Is not involved,” she said.

“My case. My decision. Lieutenant Zimmerman won’t override me.”

“I’d rather do it with you around. If more gunmen come, and I’m alone…I won’t have someone to tell me not to eat the McDonald’s.”

“Stop it, Harper. It’s not happening. Your brother, IA, and the lieutenant won’t go for it. They’d put you in protective custody first.” His lids lowered with menace. “Or a shipping container.”

“Well, maybe they don’t need to know.”

“Go rogue?” He stood so quickly, his chair flew back, sliding across the kitchen. “Is that it? What is wrong with you MacLains? Don’t you do anything by the book?”

“The book hasn’t worked so well for us.” She folded her arms over her chest. “If you can convince me I’m wrong, I’ll follow the rules, do what you suggest and go on my merry way, waiting for the scales of justice to catch up with karma. Can you?”

He folded his arms, mirroring her posture. For one long moment, she thought he was going to argue. “What do you have in mind?”

She hadn’t expected that. “I’m the bait. That’s as far as my plan goes.”

Lucas rolled his eyes and put his hands on his hips, showcasing his suit and the amazing body that filled it again. The urge to run her hands over his sleek lines was overwhelming. So much so, she came up with an idea to suggest his tie was crooked so she’d have an excuse to fix it. To touch him. She suppressed it immediately.

“Go dress for your appointment,” he said. “I’ll clean up here.”

“What does that mean?” Was he ignoring her suggestion that she be bait, or going along with it?

He glanced at his watch. “It means you have to get ready for an interview you’ve spent four years earning. Let me worry about your safety.”

“But what about—”

“Let me worry about that, too.” He stacked their dishes and brought them into the kitchen.

“You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

“It doesn’t matter.” He waved her upstairs. “If you’re worrying about it, leave it to me. You have a job to win. Go.” He opened the dishwasher, rinsed the plates, and caught her watching him. “Unless you’ve something else in mind.” He wiggled his brows, bringing her up short.

Harper left without another word, forcing her steps to be measured, her demeanor to be blasé, at least until she was out of view. Then she took the stairs two at a time, needing to expend nervous energy…because it would have been so easy to say yes, and she would have enjoyed the hell out of it.

Her shower failed to cool her ardor, and her ritual of taming her curls and applying makeup failed, too. It was insane! Even with the pressure of her job interview and the looming threat of someone trying to kill her, the thought of making love to Lucas again had become her prime concern. She wanted him now. Any way she could get him. Where had her pride gone?

Standing before her closet, naked but for a bath towel wrapped around her chest, Harper grimaced at her wardrobe. This interview was important. The outfit she’d chosen last night was still stuffed in her bag, unwearable now, so she didn’t know what to wear. Should she dress solely for the interview? Or maybe she should dress for the possibility of running for her life? Skirt? Or something that could hide a gun? Flats or wedges? She was so lost in thought she startled when Lucas poked his head in the room. “Ten minute ticker.”

Whatever Lucas had been expecting, he hadn’t expected to see her near naked. His jaw dropped, his eyes took their fill. Harper flushed and quickly turned her back to him as a squeal escaped. Though her eyes were on the hanging clothes, in her mind’s eye, she only saw him. This tableau had once been the norm. Lucas in the bedroom, her dressing. She heard the door close, she glanced over her shoulder and saw he’d entered and was leaning against the door, his gaze hot on her, his expression hungry.

“You should wear the red dress.” Quiet, gentle, his tone was like a caress. “With the bow at the shoulder.” It was his favorite dress. One she never wore because it reminded her of him.

It was clear that Harper had a choice to make. She could drop the towel and see how quickly he dropped trou. Would she chance being late for her all-important meeting, or would she tell him to leave?

“Not many redheads can wear red,” he said.

One word. Just one word from her and she’d hear his zipper tug open, the distinct sound of pants falling to the floor. Her heart raced.

“But with your complexion, you make it work,” he said.

She wanted to see him naked again. Wanted to taste his skin again. Love him. Be in his arms. But it would be a surrender unlike any other she’d made before. She was safe for the moment, gunmen patrolling her property, so the excuse of fear clouding reason wouldn’t shield her pride. Welcoming Lucas into her bed now would be admitting defeat, that she’d given up on finding someone to love her forever, instead of for now.

“It’s an interview, not a wedding.” She reached in the closet and pulled out a cream-colored floral pencil skirt, and a summer-weight rose sweater. She paired the outfit with taupe sandals.

“That’s nice, too,” he said.

She refused to turn and acknowledge him again. One more look, and he’d see the invitation she couldn’t hide. He’d approach, and she’d buckle because she was only human.

He continued to lean on the door. She suspected he was waiting for—no, daring her to look at him. Hands trembling, breath shallow, she wanted to look…wanted to do more than look.

Harper dropped her towel, yet remained conflicted. She wanted but didn’t, needed but knew better… Lucas caught his breath. She could feel his gaze as it burned her skin, as she imagined where he looked, where he’d touch her first. Her knees quivered, and it was hard to hide the catch in her breath. By the time she stepped into her lace panties, he was on the move. She gasped. Her bedroom door slammed on his way out, muffling the stream of expletives filling the hall, until even that faded as he hurried downstairs.

Harper’s poise fled, leaving her leaning against the closet door, stripped of energy but not pride. He’d cried uncle first, and to her mind, that was all that mattered.

Making quick work of dressing, she grabbed her purse, her shoes, her folder of credentials and ran downstairs, not stopping until she found herself in a spotless kitchen. It was, in fact, cleaner than he’d found it. More coffee was in the pot, so she poured herself another cup and then set about worrying. She continued to worry after Lucas nodded good-bye to Caleb’s security team, and then while he drove her to the school, then when she was buzzed inside, and still now, as they sat outside the principal’s office waiting to be called. Worrying was exhausting.

Lucas shifted on his seat and leaned against her shoulder—by accident or design? His lips touched her earlobe, creating a luscious shiver of desire she was incapable of disguising. “Kick ass in there,” he said.

Harper scanned the hall, wondering if anyone overheard. “Security is tight. No one gets past Mrs. Coterie.” She indicated the school secretary, who had the power to buzz people in. Lucas righted himself on the chair, no longer pressing against her. Sighing, as if preparing for an argument. “Look, I know you. This is not your thing. I’ll be safe here. I’ll wait for you to pick me up. Come back in two hours.”

“Trying to be rid of me, huh?” He crossed his ankle over his knee, not looking in the least inclined to leave. “You should know better.”

“Fine.” She was convinced he was itching to go to the precinct and do whatever cops did, but Lucas, being Lucas, was on a mission. Or rather, he was doing his job. Same thing. “You were warned.”