Harper Hall Investigations Complete Series

by Isabel Jordan

  How could she forget Leon Steinfeld? She hadn’t known him when they both worked at Sentry, but after vampires came out and Sentry folded, Leon had taken a job working for Mischa in accounting at TEV Technologies. He was a certified genius, and always felt he was above the job. His attitude had been complete shit.

  And in truth, he probably was above the job. But with Sentry research on his resume, he wasn’t likely to find anything else. Certainly not anything in his field.

  Which is why Mischa had been surprised to learn that instead of being grateful to TEV for hiring him, he decided to embezzle money from them.

  Too bad for Leon that Mischa was also a certified genius and caught on to his scam before he was able to steal more than a few thousand bucks. TEV had fired him immediately, but didn’t bother to prosecute him. Lucky bastard. If it had been left up to her, he’d be someone’s prison bitch right about now.

  “Yeah,” Mischa answered. “Why?”

  “I need you to track him down. Ask him if he can help synthesize an antidote for whatever poison Sentry used to kill cleaners.”

  Mischa’s stomach sank into her bunny slippers. “Harper, that might be a problem. Leon isn’t exactly a fan of mine. He’s more likely to spit in my face than help me with anything.”

  “I’m sorry, hon. I wouldn’t ask if I had another plan B.”

  And plan A was letting her fiancé fight in the Arena. She suppressed a shudder. Just the thought must be giving Harper chest pains.

  “Maybe you can get Lucas to help you,” Harper went on. “Or, better yet—”

  Mischa wished Harper could see her narrowing her eyes menacingly. “Don’t finish that sentence.”

  There was a pause on Harper’s end. “Fine. I won’t. It’s just that…wouldn’t it be nice to have someone who can read minds with you when you talk to Leon?”

  She closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. Even in a crisis, her friend was matchmaking. “You’re the devil, Harper. I hope you realize that.”

  “I’ve been told.”

  Then it occurred to Mischa that if Harper really did only have a few days to live, she didn’t want their last conversation to end with name calling. So, she swallowed the lump that suddenly threatened to occlude her throat and said, “Harper…you know I love you, right? You’re like a sister to me.”

  “Sweet Jesus,” Harper groaned. “I’m not dying! Pull yourself together, woman.” Then, after another short pause, she grumbled, “And just for the record, I love you, too.”

  But before Mischa could get too caught up in the emotion of the moment, Harper broke into an overly dramatic rendition of Wind Beneath My Wings.

  “It would so serve you right if I let you die, you horrible bitch,” she said without heat.

  “Yeah, but you won’t. ‘Cause you luuuvvv me.”

  She sniffed. “I did, but I’m over it now.”

  “’Did I ever tell you you’re my hero?’ You’re everything I wish I could be…’”

  Mischa told her to fuck off in Italian, and hung up on her before she could burst out laughing.

  Now, she just had to formulate a plan to convince Leon to help her find or create an antidote for Harper. Surely she could complete that one little task without asking for help from a cocky, ridiculously hot, overbearing, jackass of a vampire. Right?

  Cane, her beagle mix, curled up on Mischa’s bunny slippers and gazed up at her adoringly. “What do you think, baby? We can do this, right? We don’t need Hunter.”

  At Hunter’s name, Cane’s tail began to thump frantically.

  She sighed. “Yeah. That’s what I was afraid of.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Riddick didn’t come back to the hotel until dawn. Harper followed him into the bathroom when he walked right past her without even bothering to greet her, as if nothing had happened the night before.

  He whirled around to face her when he found the bathroom empty. “Where the fuck is he?” he growled.

  She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him. “Good morning to you, too, Sally Sunshine. Nice of you to come home.”

  Riddick grabbed her wrist and hauled her to him. “Where. The. Fuck. Is. He?”

  She grabbed his hand and gave his thumb a hard yank backward until he winced and let her go. She should feel bad about it, but she didn’t. He should’ve known better than to manhandle her when she was sleep-deprived and angry at him. And he’d taught her that move, anyway. Dumbass.

  He continued glaring at her until she jerked her thumb toward the balcony. “I moved him out there last night.”

  His incredulous look pissed her off, so she hissed, “You weren’t here and I had to pee. I made a judgment call, OK?”

  “Perfect,” he muttered under his breath, turning his back to her as he started washing his hands.

  That’s when she noticed his appearance.

  She’d gotten used to the bluish circles under his eyes. He barely ever slept anymore, so those were to be expected. But the angry gash on his cheek and dried blood stains on his knuckles? Those were new.

  “What did you do?” she whispered, moving to stand behind him.

  He glanced up and met her gaze in the mirror, but didn’t turn. “I told you I was going hunting. That’s what I did.”

  Her blood ran cold at the hollow look in his eyes. He wasn’t just pushing her away emotionally as Romeo suggested, he was shoving her away, hard, and trying to slam the door shut in her face.

  Yeah, well, fuck that.

  She’d gone through this once with him and she’d be damned if she’d let him do it again. She told herself a year ago that all of his I-can’t-be-with-you-because-I’m-a-big-mean-dangerous-slayer crap was never going to darken the doorstep of their relationship again, and by God, it wasn’t.

  Harper ducked under his arm and wedged herself between him and the sink so that they were nose to nose.

  He eased back a half step and pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger. “Harper, what the fuck?”

  “What the hell’s going on in your head? Why are you pushing me away and not talking to me?”

  “I’m not pushing you away.”

  She narrowed her eyes on him. “And now you’re lying to me. What the hell, Riddick? And don’t tell me this is all about Romeo and the cleaner killer, because I know that’s only part of it. You haven’t been sleeping for months. What are you so stressed about?”

  His jaw set mutinously, reminding her of Romeo. She assumed he wouldn’t appreciate the comparison, so instead of pointing that out, she guessed, “Is this somehow about your ridiculous, overprotective need to guard me all the time?”

  This time she actually heard his teeth grind together. She wasn’t sure if that indicated she was making progress or not.

  “It’s not ridiculous. I let my guard down here and you were kidnapped. The last time I let my guard down?” He paused, shaking his head as if he could dislodge the memory. “You almost died.”

  “I was kidnapped by a serial killer,” she said, somewhat dismissively. “I hardly see how that was your fault.”

  “The guy was only trying to get to me, remember?”

  Harper rolled her eyes. “Of course I remember. But I’m fine. Really, I don’t know what more I can do to convince you it wasn’t your fault. The guy was completely batshit. It could’ve happened to anyone.”

  His look was disbelieving. “Now that’s ridiculous. Stuff like that just doesn’t happen to girls who date accountants and lawyers and shit.”

  She rested her palm against his cheek. “And there’s probably not a lawyer or accountant alive who could’ve saved me the way you did. All’s well that ends well.”

  He closed his eyes and turned into her touch ever so slightly with a deep sigh. “It’s not all’s well and it will never end,” he said quietly.

  “You have to learn to stop worrying all the time. I can take care of myself.”

  His eyes opened and irritation sparked there again. “Obv
iously not. You could be dead in a week! Shit, Harper,” he said, tunneling his hands through his hair. “How can you be so cavalier about this?”

  Harper put her hands on her hips and tipped her head to the side as she looked up at him. “I’m not going to be dead in a week. Do you know how I know?”

  He threw his hands up, obviously beyond frustrated. “No, but let me guess. Because Romeo, the lying sack of shit, would never really hurt you? Or because you have a completely misguided sense of faith in me and think I’ll find a way to save you that doesn’t involve the Arena? How about that? Am I right?”

  He was totally stressed out, so she’d let his sarcasm slide. This time. “While all that is true, that’s not the real reason I’m pretty confident I won’t be dying anytime soon. See, you and Romeo and even Mischa—who is the smartest person I’ve ever known—all failed to remember one little thing about me.”

  Riddick didn’t say anything, but tipped his palms up in a what-the-hell gesture.

  She smacked him in the stomach with the back of her hand. “I’m psychic, dumbass! I saw us getting married, remember? We were happy. I’m going to be alive at least long enough for us to get married and be happy about it. And I’m not planning to get married until this thing is settled. Are you?”

  His dumbfounded expression was almost worth the drama of the entire night. Almost.

  After a few minutes of silence during which they did nothing more than stare each other down and breathe heavy, Riddick finally muttered, “Shit. I am a dumbass.”

  “Yep. And even if it weren’t for my vision, you and I are the best team I’ve ever seen, Noah Riddick. We’re going to figure this out and fix it. I have complete faith in us, even if you don’t.”

  He still looked skeptical. “But even so, we can’t just sit around and assume everything will be OK based on your vision and your faith in us,” he argued.

  She nodded. “I agree. Which is why I asked Mischa to track down an ex-Sentry biochemist she used to work with. She’s going to try to convince him to synthesize an antidote for me.”

  “That’s a good idea,” he said, grudgingly.

  “I have those every now and then.”

  He was coming around. Slower than she cared for, but definitely getting back to rational. “I still think we should go along with Romeo’s plan until we know whether or not Mischa can get the antidote. We can’t assume—based on your vision—that I’m not meant to fight. Maybe that’s how to save you.”

  She hated it, but he was right. There was no way to tell if it would be Mischa or Riddick who would eventually get the antidote. Or hell, maybe she’d get it for herself. Regardless, they needed to cover all of their bases. “OK. You’ll need my help to get into the Arena, according to Romeo.”

  His displeasure was evident, but thank Jesus, he didn’t argue again. “I’m sorry,” he grumbled.

  She raised a brow. “Really? For what? For going off half-cocked? For being short with me and trying to shut me out of your life? Or for not having any faith in my ability to get myself out of this mess?”

  Still no smile. “All of that,” he said. Then he asked, “How often have your visions been wrong?”

  She held his steady gaze as she said, “Never.”

  Which was no lie. In her experience, her visions of the future were set in stone. There’d been times, years ago, when she’d tried to change the course of events leading up to her visions, with the hope that she could keep them from happening. It had never worked. In the end, every road taken led right back to her original vision.

  And with that one word, the sleepless nights and stress seemed to finally catch up to him, because he fell to his knees in front of her and wrapped his arms around her waist. Resting his forehead on her belly, he whispered, “I don’t know how to do this.”

  She slid a hand around the back of his neck and one into his hair. “Do what?”

  “Deal with all of these…emotions. The constant fear that something’s going to happen that I can’t control. That I’m going to lose you. That I could lose control and hurt you.” He lifted his head and the sheer desperation she read in his eyes almost brought her to her knees with him. “You need to leave me. When this is over, when you’re safe, you need to get as far away from me as you can. No matter what you saw in your vision, you can’t marry me.”

  Panic clawed its way up her throat. “What are you talking about? You don’t want to marry me anymore?”

  His hands tightened reflexively on her waist. “I want to marry you more than I want air,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “But you deserve better than this-—than me. I’m a train wreck, Harper. You need to get away from me before I ruin your life. And God help me, I’m too selfish and too fucking weak to be the one to leave. It has to be you. You’re the strong one.”

  His words hit her physically. Just the thought of leaving him…

  Tears quickly filled her eyes and spilled over her lashes, down her cheeks. She brushed them away impatiently. “No. I’m not going anywhere. We’ll figure this out together. You know, maybe some of the techniques Hunter taught me to control my visions can help you control whatever kind of rage it is you hold in all the time. Like Bruce Banner learning to control the Hulk, you know?”

  He opened his mouth to say something else, but she laid two fingers over his lips and shushed him. “And if you leave me, I swear to God, I will skip-trace your sorry ass and drag you back home with me, do you understand?”

  He looked torn between relief and frustration. “We’re so fucked up,” he eventually said with a sigh.

  “Totally. Which is why we’re so perfect for each other. No one else could tolerate us.”

  He snorted. “That’s certainly true of me, but you could have anyone you wanted.”

  Another fugitive tear slid down her cheek. “I have exactly who I want right here.”

  He brushed her tear away with his thumb. “Don’t cry, Sunshine. I can’t take that.”

  “Then tell me you’re with me. Promise me we’ll figure this out together. That you won’t pull away from me again.”

  He wanted to argue. She could tell. He probably thought, in his own misguided alpha male way, that he’d be protecting her by pushing her away. But in the face of her tears, he seemed unable to deny her. “I promise,” he whispered.

  She bent down and dropped a quick, gentle kiss on his mouth. “I love you, Noah.”

  He stared up at her, jaw clenched tight as if he was holding himself back. “Say it again,” he demanded.

  “I love you, Noah.”

  She kissed him again and still, he held himself rigid.

  “Why aren’t you kissing me back?” she asked against his mouth.

  “I’m still too on edge. I can’t stop at just a kiss, and I don’t think I can be gentle right now.”

  Harper sucked his bottom lip into her mouth and caught it between her teeth for a moment, then pulled back fractionally. “Who says I want you to be gentle?”

  And with that, his control snapped and his arms tightened around her. He came up off the floor, taking her with him. Before she knew what was happening, he’d planted her on the sink. She moaned as his mouth captured hers again, desperately, hungrily, his tongue tangling with her.

  She could feel his need, his shattered self-control, his desperation. It was overwhelming, all-consuming, and at the moment, it was exactly what she needed from him. She needed him to lose control, to completely and utterly surrender to what he wanted, all thoughts of what he should do and how he should act obliterated.

  His hands were shaking as he grabbed her nightshirt and ripped it down the middle, not even bothering with the buttons. She didn’t care. Not when Riddick was looking at her as if he’d die if she turned him away now.

  Harper wished she had the strength to rip his shirt off, too, but thankfully, he seemed to understand that she didn’t, because he pulled back and impatiently tugged the offending material over his head, tossing it into the corner of the room befo
re kissing her again.

  Without warning, he pulled her off the sink, forcing her to wrap her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist to keep from toppling to the floor. He moved them to the shower, his mouth never losing contact with hers, and turned the water to hot before setting her on her feet.

  With ruthless efficiency, he pulled back and finished stripping both of them of what little clothing they still wore, and tugged her under the spray with him.

  She tried to grab his head and drag it down for another kiss, but Riddick had other ideas. His hands spanned her waist and he lifted her. He leaned into her, pinning her to the shower wall with his weight.

  When she moved to touch his chest, he pressed both her hands to the wall above her head and held them with one hand. And with his free hand, he explored.

  He ran his fingers down her temple, over her cheekbones, across her lips. She moaned when he traced a water droplet down over her tightly pebbled nipple. That same water droplet slid down between her legs. His eyes lifted to hers, dark and almost as crazed and needy as she felt.

  “Now,” she whispered. “Don’t make me wait any more.”

  His answering kiss was vaguely apologetic as he completely ignored her demand, lowered her to her feet, and dropped to his knees in front of her. She gasped as he grabbed her leg and threw it over his shoulder.

  Her hips bucked at the first touch of his tongue. It was too much. The pleasure so intense it was almost painful. And when she was sure she couldn’t take it anymore, he slipped a finger inside her, then another and…oh, God.

  She came with embarrassing speed, tremors wracking her, knees buckling, sharp cries echoing almost deafeningly through the tiled shower.

  But before her breathing could even return to normal, he had her in his arms, up against the wall again. He looped an arm under her butt to hold her in place.

  With one shift of his hips, he slid up and into her, capturing and swallowing the choked moan that fell from her lips. The slick, hard glide of flesh against flesh drove her wild, and she rocked her hips forward as he thrust into her, again and again.