Harper could imagine this. He’d been furious last night on the phone.
“What about Allegra?” she asked. “Is she still in denial?”
“I don’t know. It’s hard to tell what’s real with her,” Cara said. “She doesn’t talk about the investigation at all. She acts like everything is normal. It’s so weird. I just want out.”
Her voice cracked, and she fell silent.
Harper gave her a second to recover and then said, “Do you really think one of them could have killed Xavier?”
There was a long pause before the actress spoke. “No. I can’t believe it. They loved him. But who else could it have been?”
Harper turned the newspaper on her desk over, looking at Xavier’s fine-boned face.
“Grief makes people act strangely,” she said. “Everyone reacts differently to a loss like this.”
“I know.” Cara exhaled. “And I know I sound paranoid. But they’re always watching me. Asking where I’m going. It’s not normal—”
Through the phone, Harper heard the sound of knocking.
“Cara? Are you okay?” It was Allegra’s high-pitched voice.
Harper heard Cara whisper, “I’ve got to go.”
The line went dead.
After she’d hung up, Harper thought for a second and then, on an impulse, checked the Library Bar’s website. Allegra was still listed as performing the next night.
She needed to be there. Someone in that house was lying.
She just didn’t know who.
24
Harper was late for her date with Dells.
The bar where they’d agreed to meet was in one of those pricey, anonymous hotels with cold, blue lighting and Sinatra playing through invisible speakers. The kind of place where the staff are discreet, and nobody cares how much you drink as long as you can pay the bill when you’re done.
The man at the reception desk nodded politely when she walked in and then looked back at his computer as she made her way to the bar. It was quiet this late on a Tuesday. Most of the tables were empty. Dells was at a table in a corner, looking at something on a tablet.
As if sensing her arrival, he looked up. Instantly, Harper didn’t know what to do with her face. Smiling felt weird. Not smiling felt wrong.
His navy suit was perfectly tailored, making the most of his narrow build. His white shirt was crisp. He’d taken off his tie and without it, he looked younger.
But he was still Dells.
It was so strange to be on a date with him. For so long he’d been her boss. And she’d been in love with Luke.
Arranging her face into something like a smile, she walked over to join him.
“You did make it,” he said. The hint of relief in his tone told her he hadn’t been sure she would.
“It was close.” She dropped down in the chair next to his without ceremony, hoping to avoid the “do we hug or shake hands” awkwardness. “Triple shooting at eleven thirty.”
“Fatalities?”
“If there were I wouldn’t be here.”
With a smile, he slid a glass of neat Jameson to her and raised his glass of Scotch. “To Savannah’s survivors.”
“I’ll drink to that.” She clinked her glass against his.
The sweet, smooth sip of whiskey was just what the doctor ordered. The warmth of it burned the nerves away.
There was a brief silence as they each considered which way to take the conversation. Harper decided to stick with work. It was the safest bet while she was still deciding what she wanted from this night.
“How’s Channel Five treating you?”
He arched one eyebrow before replying. “I’m knocking it into shape. It’ll be fine.”
Before she could ask more work questions, he leaned back in his chair, shifting a little to see her better.
“You look good,” he said. “Still too tired. But good.”
She didn’t think it was true. She was still in Bonnie’s clothes, although she had at least brushed her hair and dabbed on a little lipstick. She was conscious that she lacked the gloss of his usual type and, whatever he said, she couldn’t really believe that he found her attractive.
“Thanks.” She took another sip of courage. “It’s been a long couple of weeks.”
“You said something like that yesterday.” He tilted his head. “What’s been going on? It can’t just be work. You could cover this Xavier Rayne story with one hand tied behind your back.”
“It’s nothing,” she said, waving her glass. “Just life. You know?”
The thing that had always made Dells a good editor was that he could spot a story a mile away. He had a nose for it. And he always knew when someone was bullshitting him.
He studied her intently then emptied his glass, ice cubes rattling.
“Drink up,” he said. “I’ll get us another.”
He walked to the bar. She watched as he spoke to the bartender and wondered how much to tell him. She trusted his instincts. Editors give better advice than they take. He was someone who might know what she should do.
When he returned he slid a fresh glass in front of her, and took his seat.
“Now,” he said, “tell me what’s going on.”
Still, she hesitated. “It’s a long story. Are you sure you want to hear it?”
Instead of replying, he lifted his glass and motioned for her to talk.
She took a deep breath. “You know what happened to my mother, right?”
His eyes darted up to hers, a crease forming above them. “She was murdered when you were a child.”
Harper nodded. “And all this time I’ve been looking for her killer. Now I think I’ve found him. Which would be great. Except I think he’s coming to kill me.”
Dells had gone still. His intelligent eyes searched hers. “You’re going to need to start at the beginning.”
She told him everything. As she talked, Dells listened seriously, never interrupting. When she’d finished, he sat in silence for a moment, and then emptied his drink, setting the glass down with careful deliberation.
“Okay,” he said, calmly. “You have to get out of that house. You have to get back in the city. And you have to get somewhere safe.”
This was precisely the opposite of what Miles had said earlier that day. Harper couldn’t hide her frustration.
“Miles thinks I should stay where I am. You think I should move. The cops don’t know what I should do.” She set her glass down hard. “Nobody knows anything.”
Dells wasn’t backing down. “I did a piece on the Southern Mafia years ago when I was based in Atlanta. They are ruthless. If what you’re telling me is true—if your father really betrayed Dowell—he will take revenge. And you would do nicely. These guys are psychopaths.”
“I know that.” Her anger flared suddenly. “You think I’m not scared? I don’t sleep. I don’t eat. I bought a gun. You think I should be afraid? Well, congratulations. I’m fucking terrified.” She stopped for a moment, shocked at her own admission, before repeating it more quietly. “I’m terrified. And I don’t know what to do.”
To her surprise, Dells didn’t argue. Instead, he picked up her hand. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t mean to make things worse.”
He had long, artistic fingers. His skin was warm against hers.
Suddenly, Harper was glad she’d come tonight. Glad that she wasn’t alone, trying to deal with this by herself.
“Look,” she said, “I agree with you. I think I should get out of there as soon as I can. I just don’t know where to go.”
“Let me help.” Releasing her fingers, he reached for his phone and made a note to himself. “I know people. Maybe someone has an apartment free right now. I’ll ask around. And you can always stay with me.” He looked up at her. “In fact, why don’t you stay with me tonight? Don’t go back to Tybee.”
Harper held his gaze. Electricity flared between them.
It was tempting. The idea of not having to go all the way back out
to the island. To sleep someplace where no one would ever think to look for her.
On the other hand, she knew what would happen if she spent the night in his apartment, and she wasn’t ready for that yet. She was still trying to figure out what she wanted.
“Actually,” she said, softly, “I think I’ll go home tonight. But … thank you.”
“Well, the offer stays open. I don’t like the idea of you out there alone.”
There was a protective note in his voice.
This wasn’t at all what she’d expected from tonight. Dells wasn’t her type. But then, what was her type? Before Luke, she’d gone out with grad students and artists—mostly guys Bonnie set her up with. None of them had worked out.
Besides, she liked the way Dells listened. The way he trusted her judgment. She felt comfortable with him. Maybe the suit didn’t matter. Maybe it was just clothes.
On impulse, she leaned forward, took him gently by the collar.
“Thank you,” she whispered, and pressed her lips lightly against his.
She felt his quick, surprised breath, and then his hands slid across her shoulders, pulling her to him, as he deepened the kiss, parting her lips with his tongue.
After a second, he pulled back, and looked down into her eyes.
“Where did that come from?” He was breathless, his face flushed.
“Does it matter?” Harper leaned back in her chair, enjoying how flustered she’d made him.
“I’ll tell you one thing, Harper McClain,” he said. “You never stop surprising me.”
* * *
They talked for more than an hour. Harper switched to soft drinks while Dells nursed another Scotch.
By the end, they’d agreed that, one way or another, she had to be out of the house by Friday at the latest.
“If you won’t come stay with me, stay in a hotel.” He’d gestured at the building around them. “This place would do. I’ll bet they have space.”
When she tried to explain that she’d just spent most of her savings on a gun, and this place probably cost two hundred dollars a night, he’d waved that away. “I’ll pay for it. If money’s the problem you haven’t got a problem.”
She’d argued but he was adamant, and by the time they left the bar, she felt better. Things were in motion. As they headed to where she’d left her car, in the lot behind the newspaper building a few blocks away, they walked side by side not touching, but almost.
It was after two in the morning; there were no cars on the street. A cool, damp breeze blew in off the river, but Harper didn’t really notice. She was noticing the way his lips curved up just a little when he caught her eye.
When they reached her car, she pulled him to her without hesitation, sliding her hands inside the warmth of his jacket. Raising her lips to his.
Kissing him wasn’t like kissing Luke. It was less urgent. Less familiar. But she had to put Luke out of her mind. After all, he was kissing someone else now, too.
The heat of him against her, the feel of his body against hers—she needed it. She needed to be wanted. To be desired.
When Dells lifted his lips from hers and gazed down into her eyes, they were both breathless.
“You’re one hundred percent positive there’s no way I can talk you into spending the night at my place?” He pressed his forehead lightly against hers. She could smell the smoky scent of Scotch on his breath. “Because I would give almost anything for you to come home with me right now.”
She smiled, and shook her head.
She liked Dells, but she needed time. Everything was happening so fast.
Whether she liked it or not, Luke was a constant presence in her mind. Somehow, she needed to let him go before she could really be with someone else.
“I’ve got a lot to think about,” she told him.
She could see in his eyes that he knew this wasn’t the whole story. But he didn’t pressure her.
“I can wait. I don’t want to. But I will.”
“Where are you parked?” She pulled out her keys. “I could give you a lift.”
He pointed to the far corner of the lot, where an Audi sports car was tucked away in the shadows. “No need. I figured the least MaryAnne Charlton owed me was a free parking space for the night.”
Laughing, Harper climbed into the Camaro, rolling down the window before starting the engine.
“I’m going to ask around about an apartment for you. I’ll call you tomorrow.” He raised his voice to be heard above the sound. “And probably the day after that.”
“I’d like that.” She put the car in gear.
He stepped back, arms spread. “And my guest room is always waiting.”
She was smiling as she drove away.
All the way across the marshes, she tried to imagine being in a relationship with him. Dells had a way of fixing things. He saw a problem and envisioned a solution almost simultaneously.
There was something wonderful about that.
But she also wondered if she would ever stop thinking of him as the guy who used to sign her paychecks.
She was almost to Tybee when a pair of headlights appeared in her rearview mirror.
Her mouth went dry.
She kept her eyes on the lights as she curved through the last stretch of highway, waiting for it to get closer. But then the bridge appeared ahead, the headlights dropped back, and she was safely through.
A few minutes later, she pulled into the driveway of the little cottage, parking under the tree in her usual spot. Overhead, a waning moon cast a pale blue light as she made her way to the front steps.
Zuzu was sitting on the porch, watching her with judgmental green eyes.
“Did Myra feed you?” Harper asked, pausing to stroke her soft back. “Don’t worry. I’ll never do it again.”
She straightened and raised her key to the first of the three locks. That was when he stepped out of the shadows beside the house.
His military posture, broad shoulders, and gray hair were instantly recognizable.
The keys slipped from Harper’s nerveless fingers, landing on the front porch with a clatter of metal. Zuzu leapt from the porch and melted into the darkness behind the house.
“You,” Harper whispered.
“I thought it was time we met.” His voice was deep and authoritative, with no hint of Southern accent. “There are some things we need to talk about.”
25
For a moment that seemed to last forever, Harper stood frozen. Around them, the island was sound asleep. Nothing stirred. They were completely alone.
There was a gun in the bag on her shoulder, but she knew if she made a move for it, everything would be over.
Blazer had been right about that holster.
The man stepped into the light. “I think you have some questions for me. Can we go inside?” He held up his hands the way you might try to calm a frightened animal. “I promise I’m not here to hurt you.”
His words spurred her to action. Bending swiftly, she swiped the keys from the porch and held them like a weapon. “How do I know that’s true?”
“Frankly, Miss McClain, if I wanted to hurt you, I wouldn’t be standing here talking,” he said, bluntly. “I’d be hurting you.” He took another small step. “All I ask is that you give me a chance to explain. Don’t notify anyone that I’m here. If you do that I’ll have to leave and I will never come back. And you will never have the answers you’re looking for.”
He spoke calmly and with confidence. Like a cop.
Harper wavered. She desperately needed to hear what he had to say. But she knew nothing about him. Nobody knew this was happening.
In the end, though, there was no question what she would do.
She fumbled with the keys, hoping he couldn’t see her hands shaking. “You have to tell me everything this time,” she warned. “Or you can just leave now.”
“That’s what I’m here for,” he said.
He kept his distance until the door was open. Only then d
id he slowly walk up to join her, keeping space between them as Harper turned on the lights and motioned wordlessly for him to sit. Slowly, he lowered himself onto the chair she indicated and sat still, as if trying not to startle her.
He was a tall man—the small living room seemed smaller with him in it. Harper perched stiffly on the sofa across from him. She placed the bag holding the Glock at her feet.
He had a long, angular face with a square, solid jaw. Beneath steel-gray hair, his eyes were steady but gave absolutely nothing away. He didn’t take off his dark jacket as he sat there, his long hands folded on top of his thighs.
“Ask your questions,” he said.
She cleared her throat nervously before asking, “What do I call you? Can I know your name?”
“You can call me Lee.”
“Lee what?” she challenged. “Mr. Lee?”
“Just Lee.” His firm tone told her not to push it.
His resistance to revealing his name after all this time made her angry. And anger gave her strength.
“Fine then. Lee,” she said, coolly, “do you know why the government is protecting Martin Dowell?”
His answer came without hesitation. “As you’ve no doubt suspected, he’s agreed to cooperate with them on their investigation of the group known as the Southern Mafia. He’s given them enough information to convince them he’s got more to share. And they are foolish enough to trust him.” His tone was contemptuous.
“Why would they believe him?” she asked, bewildered. “He just got out of prison for murder.”
“In my experience, everyone underestimates Martin Dowell. They want to believe he’s another redneck drug dealer. They all went to West Point or the University of Georgia, and got shiny criminal-justice degrees. No shitkicker’s going to play them. And then he plays them.” He flexed his hands against his knees. “I’ve seen it over and over again.”
He spoke easily, as if he’d anticipated every question she would ask, but the venom in his voice when he talked about Dowell made her tend to believe him. It’s hard to fake hate.
Revolver Road Page 20
