Wow. She’d been assaulted tonight, and he had the nerve to feel sorry for himself. She couldn’t even muster the anger he deserved.
“Go see your grandfather.”
Derrick stood. “It’s late. I’ll visit this weekend.”
She stared at this man she’d thought she might someday love. “I keep thinking you might surprise me. You might turn into the man I thought you were when I first met you.” She stood. “Don’t make promises you don’t intend to keep.”
“I never meant for you to get hurt. I love you, Harper.” He wiped a few tears from his eyes.
The tears were authentic, but they weren’t for her. He didn’t love her. She wasn’t sure what love was, but it wasn’t this. It wasn’t lies and manipulation and broken promises.
“I know I should have come sooner,” he said. “It’s just… It’s hard to be here with us like”—he indicated the space between them—“like this.”
She closed her eyes. “Just get out.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Somehow, Harper got through the rest of the evening. She’d been careful to keep her collar pulled up high to hide the bandage on her neck as she’d given Red his last round of medication. He drank his Gatorade and already seemed to feel better. After he finished his nighttime routine, she helped him into his room.
“I can put myself to bed, you know,” he said. “I’m not a two-year-old.”
She pulled the covers up to his neck. Normally, she’d lean down to kiss his forehead, but her back wouldn’t like that. And if she leaned too much, he’d have a great view of her neck, and she didn’t have the energy to deflect his questions right now. She patted his shoulder. “I want to tuck you in, you grouchy old coot.”
He gripped her hand. “If your back’s not better tomorrow, we’re going to the doctor.”
She didn’t bother to argue. Sick as he was, he’d probably forget by morning.
After Harper closed his bedroom door, she checked all the doors and windows. Everything was locked.
Those goons had sent their message, and she’d passed it along. She was safe now.
Why was she always trying to convince herself of that?
All the events of the previous few hours came back, and her hands trembled again. She made it to her bedroom and locked the door. She kept the light off and peeked through the blinds out the window. The sedan that was parked in front of the neighbors’ house so often was gone.
Had Derrick been watching her? It didn’t make sense, but then, what did? The only people she knew in Maryland, the only people she knew on the East Coast, were Derrick, Red, Roger, Red’s lawyer, the folks she’d met at the beach, and Red’s many healthcare providers. So who would watch her?
And why?
All this time, she’d thought she was being paranoid, told herself the car was owned by the people who lived in that house. But she’d never seen anyone get in or out. She’d never seen it pull up to the house, either. It was almost always there after dark. From here, she’d never been able to see if anybody was inside the car. There’d just been that one time when she’d been sure she saw the glow of a cell phone.
She sighed and let go of the blinds. After tonight, she wasn’t about to pass off her fear as paranoia. Tonight, her suspicion felt justified.
Red’s illness had exhausted her. The attack… She didn’t want to think about that. She didn’t want to think about anything.
She went into her private bathroom and locked that door, too. She turned on the shower. While it warmed up, she undressed and looked at herself in the mirror. There’d be an ugly bruise on her cheek in the morning. She hoped makeup would cover it so Red wouldn’t notice. They’d have to stay close to home the next few days until it faded. She removed the bandage and studied the cut on her neck again. It was ugly, but it wasn’t deep. She could wear turtlenecks until it healed. Her stomach and ribs ached, but nobody could tell that from looking at her.
A bruise was forming on her wrist. Fortunately, it was cold enough for long sleeves.
She turned to look at her upper back but saw no shoe print there. As usual, the worst blows left no visible marks.
She had enough experience to know invisible scars could twinge for years.
She turned and met her gaze in the mirror. “You’re fine. You’ve lived through worse.”
She stepped into the shower, let the hot water wash away the memories, the feel of that man’s hand over her mouth, the other man’s breath on her neck.
Her tears fell, mingled with the water, left her feeling, if not clean, at least cleansed of the evil men she’d encountered that night. The attackers. And Derrick.
When the tears were spent, she breathed deeply of the humid air, let even her lungs be washed of memories so she could think straight.
If only she hadn’t gone out for Gatorade. If only the Gatorade bottles hadn’t already been opened. That a grocery store had let…
Wait. The case had been wrapped in plastic when she’d bought it. The bottles couldn’t have been opened before that unless the person who’d opened them had had some way to rewrap them in plastic. But what would have been the point? It was just a handful of bottles. Worth, what, ten dollars? Why go to all that trouble?
Nobody would have done that. Which meant that the bottles had been opened after she’d gotten them home.
But who? Not Red. The only other person who had access to the house was Derrick, and he hadn’t been there in months.
Or had he?
She’d kept the Gatorade in the garage. He wouldn’t have even had to come in the house. He could have tampered with them out there, and nobody would have known. He could slip in and out without anybody knowing.
No. What was she saying?
It was insane.
And yet… Derrick was desperate.
She didn’t want it to be true, but by the time the hot water faded to warm, by the time she turned off the spigot and dried off, she knew she needed to call the police. If those bottles had been tampered with, the police needed to know.
And she should report the attack as well. She’d been foolish not to.
Decision made, she dried off and was wrapping her wet hair in a towel when she heard a door slam.
Her heart pounded. It was probably just Red going to the bathroom. Based on the adrenaline rush to her veins, her heart wasn’t convinced.
She slipped on her bathrobe, grabbed her can of mace out of her purse—her keychain with the knife was downstairs by the door—and stepped into the hallway outside her room. Red’s bedroom was on the far end of the hall. His door was open. She peeked. He wasn’t in bed. She looked into his attached bath. Empty.
She swallowed a rise of panic.
Normally, she’d call for him, but the memories of the evening were too close, whispering like ghosts in her ear. She tried to tamp down her fear as she stepped silently down the back staircase.
She made it to the kitchen, but Red wasn’t there.
She transferred the pepper spray to her left hand, finger on the trigger, and grabbed a knife from the block on the counter.
Quietly, she crossed the tile and tiptoed into the living room.
Red was standing beside his recliner, one hand resting on the back of it, staring at the floor on the far side of the sofa. Sick as he was, how in the world had he gotten downstairs? Was he sleepwalking? What was he staring at?
She forced herself to speak calmly and said, “Red? Is everything okay?”
He looked at her, didn’t seem to recognize her, and looked back at the floor.
What was that in his eyes? A look she’d never seen before on his face.
Terror.
She stepped closer and followed his gaze.
Two men were lying on the floor. She focused on one. Saw jeans and black turtleneck and black wool coat. There was a dark stain on the jeans. A bloodstain. Her blood. The ski mask was gone.
The other man… Her breath hitched. It was Kitty’s husband, Keith Williams.
These were the men who’d attacked her.
She didn’t have to take a pulse to know they were dead.
One look at their foreheads confirmed that. Bullet holes.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Harper couldn’t make herself move.
This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening.
Something gripped her arm, and she jumped and twisted. Pain shot up her back. She breathed through it while she stared at Red’s bewildered gaze.
She slid the knife and pepper spray into the pocket of her bathrobe. Red wasn’t holding a gun. Of course he wasn’t. He couldn’t have done this.
She gripped his upper arm. “Come on.” She helped him into the kitchen, where she settled him in a chair. How had he gotten so far without his walker? Adrenaline. Fear could do that to people, give them strength they hadn’t known they had. Eventually, the strength would run out, and they’d be left weaker, more vulnerable, than ever.
His face was pale, his hands trembling. She kneeled in front of him. “What happened?”
He only shook his head.
“Did you see anything? Was someone here?”
His gaze flicked to her. Behind his eyes, she saw nothing but confusion. This time of night, considering how sick he’d been all day, considering what he’d just seen… He’d checked out. He probably wouldn’t remember any of this in the morning. It was one of the reasons Derrick had insisted he needed a private nurse—these sporadic moments of forgetfulness
He’d be no help.
She checked the doors. The one leading to the garage was still dead-bolted, as was the front door. The door that led to the back patio wasn’t fully closed, even though she knew she’d bolted it earlier. She didn’t touch it. Maybe there’d be fingerprints or something.
She should call the police.
She turned, saw the bodies again. Keith. Kitty’s husband. A loan shark’s goon. Also, a detective. A cop. Dead in the house where she’d been living.
She had to force herself to take deep breaths, to think.
She returned to the kitchen, where Red was staring at the wall, half asleep but safe. For now.
Who’d killed those men? And why leave them here?
Was someone trying to frame her? With her record, she’d be the perfect person to frame for murder. But for what purpose? What threat did she pose to anyone? All she did was care for…
The bottles of Gatorade she’d just bought caught her eye.
If her suspicions were right, then somebody was trying to kill Red. Maybe that same someone wanted her out of the way to get to Red’s money. The most obvious person who’d benefit from Red’s death was Derrick. Would he have killed these men?
She couldn’t imagine. The man she’d known would never be capable of such violence, of such evil. On the other hand, the man she’d known had never truly existed.
But to frame her? Why would he do that, when he’d been trying to get her back for weeks? Just today, he’d told her he loved her. Was that all a lie? For what purpose?
And why leave the bodies here?
Was it a threat? Were she and Red in danger?
Obviously they were. A murderer had left two bodies in this house. And Harper didn’t know why.
A murderer. In her house.
Fear skittered down her back, and she looked around. She patted Red on the hand and began to search. She was sure the murderer was gone. But what if he wasn’t?
She made sure the door to the garage was dead-bolted. Then she pulled her mace and the knife she’d grabbed earlier from the pockets of her bathrobe. Her hands trembled as she held her weapons in front of her and crept through the house, a scream trying to claw its way up her throat. The pantry, the half-bath, the front closet, Red’s office—all empty. In the living room, she kept her gaze away from the dead men and looked behind the sofa. She crept upstairs, searched Derrick’s room—his since his parents had died—the guest room, and Red’s room. Then her own room, just in case.
She grabbed her cell phone. An intelligent person would’ve called the police immediately. Or just jumped in the car and run.
She wasn’t making very logical decisions.
She returned to the kitchen, certain the house was empty of bad guys. For now. Red was dozing in the hard-backed kitchen chair.
She sat beside him and returned to the question she’d been mulling before the sudden search. Who else would benefit from Red’s death?
The people Derrick owed money to. If Derrick inherited Red’s estate, he’d be able to pay them back. Was that how this kind of thing worked?
It didn’t make sense.
And until she understood why the men had been murdered and left there, how could she call the police? She’d be in jail before the sun came up. And then where would Red go? To a nursing home? Or would the police hand him over to Derrick? Derrick, who may be trying to kill him.
Could Red’s attorney get involved? Would he believe her if she told him Derrick had been poisoning Red? How could she trust Roger when she barely knew him?
And how could she trust the police to protect Red? She’d trusted the police before, and she’d paid for that decision with two years in a state penitentiary.
With a dead cop thrown into the mix… They’d be ruled by emotions, not logic. They wouldn’t care about some sick old man. They’d only care about finding the killer. And they’d look at her first. With Red’s dementia, they wouldn’t trust his accounting of her whereabouts tonight. Red wouldn’t be able to tell them what time she’d gone to bed. He wouldn’t be able to convince them she’d been home all evening. And she hadn’t been. She’d gone out for Gatorade. Would they use that against her?
The only person who could corroborate her alibi wouldn’t be fit to testify.
Her reason for going out wouldn’t make sense to anyone. Why buy more bottles of what you already had?
But she could explain. She could prove it—show them the bottles of Gatorade. She rushed to the garage to grab one of the bottles, to keep it for evidence.
But the Gatorade that had been there, the Gatorade she’d thought poisoned, was gone.
Derrick must have taken them. Which proved her theory—he’d poisoned his grandfather.
Prison. She’d end up back in prison.
She returned to the kitchen, collapsed into a chair, and squeezed her eyes closed. She’d survived prison before. She could survive again. But Red…
Somebody had planted the bodies there for a reason, and Harper had no idea what that reason was. A threat? An attempt to frame her? Something else?
All she knew was that she didn’t know anything. She certainly didn’t know whom she could trust. Not the police. Not Derrick. Not anybody.
Just herself.
She had to keep Red safe. That was her first priority. And then she had to figure out what was going on. Maybe if the police found the bodies, they’d investigate and discover who the real killers were. Or maybe, if she had enough time, she could do some research, figure it out herself. Then, she could come back.
But right now, she and Red had to go.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Harper left Red in the kitchen and rushed upstairs. She snatched his suitcase from his walk-in closet and filled it with his favorite clothes and a spare pair of shoes. After she tossed in all his toiletries and medications, she rushed into her room. Her suitcase was falling apart, but she’d make it work. She grabbed all the clothes and toiletries she could fit into it. Warm things, comfortable things. The gifts Derrick had given her—clothes, shoes, jewelry—she left.
Careful of her back, she carried the suitcases downstairs and hefted them into the trunk of her beat-up VW Jetta. The Caddy was better in every way except one: its navigation software would make her far too easy to track. The Jetta would blend in and keep them safe.
She had no money. Derrick didn’t have access to Red’s accounts, but Red’s lawyer did. He could help Derrick—or the police—track her.
She’d h
ave to get as much cash as she could as fast as possible. Once they settled somewhere, she wouldn’t be able to access Red’s accounts.
What choice did she have, though? She’d figure something out.
Back inside, she checked on Red. His head lolled forward in the kitchen chair. She grabbed the bottles of Gatorade she’d purchased earlier and set them in the trunk. One less thing she’d have to buy.
She rushed up the stairs and grabbed his walker. She looked around at his room. What was she forgetting? She couldn’t think straight. After another moment of concentration, she shook it off. As long as she had his medications, they should be able to replace everything else.
In the kitchen, she set the walker in front of Red and shook his shoulder gently. “We need to go.”
He was confused, but he didn’t argue as she helped him stand and walked him to her car. He didn’t even complain that they weren’t taking the Cadillac.
She got her purse, took one last look around the house, and then returned to the car and sat behind the wheel. She pressed the button to open the garage door and backed into the driveway.
The dark sedan was parked in front of the neighbors’ house again. That creepy feeling of being watched followed her right now, but was that a surprise?
She had been watched. She’d been followed to the grocery store.
She was being watched right now.
At the street, she turned toward the highway. Red’s house, the house she’d called home for months, faded in the rearview mirror.
Had it been so wrong to wish for a home? For a family? Maybe Red wasn’t her grandfather, but she loved him. Being estranged from her own parents and brothers had left her adrift. Red had given her a safe place, a solid foundation. Now, even that was gone.
Her security was gone.
Her dream of reconciling with her own family was gone.
If she wasn’t careful, her freedom would be gone, too. Evaporate like mist and leave her shackled and alone.
She didn’t know where they would go or what they would do. All she knew is that, one way or another, she’d keep Red safe. As long as he was safe, she could take whatever consequences came her way.
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