Which begged the question, how did they know? She hadn’t told anyone about the journal, and hadn’t known it existed until she found it. All she could think was the security feed caught her taking it from the bank. They’d tailed her to the farmhouse. Because they knew. They found her and they were going to kill them.
Faint with terror, legs wobbly, everyone stared at her, their masks hiding their humanity. Monsters all. She wanted to fight, to run, but even if she were successful, it still left Lucas tied to the chair. Think, Harper, think… It was hard to think past the knife.
“Miss MacLain, you have something we want,” her captor said.
Don’t say anything. She turned her gaze to Lucas, seeking guidance, but he’d shut down. Staring at her as if he also waited, as if he wanted answers too. The knife pressed harder against her neck, pricked her. Her captor’s steely eyes watched, unblinking. Then in a heartbeat, he sheathed his knife.
Before she could exhale with relief, he threw a devastating right cross to Lucas’s jaw, the blow so powerful, it moved Lucas and his chair.
She screamed. A gloved hand covered her mouth, stifling her protests, pressing her to his hard body. This one smelled like warm ketchup. Harper gagged.
Lucas shook the punch off, blinking, widening his eyes as if to clear his vision. He spat blood at his hovering assailant. “Fuck you,” Lucas said. Though garbled, his words were clear enough.
Lucas’s assailant shifted his attention to Harper. “Miss MacLain, give us the journal.”
“Don’t say a word to this asshole.” Lucas’s teeth were coated with blood. The gunman cocked his fist—
“No!” Harper said.
—and swung. Lucas recoiled, took it on the cheek. Blood sprayed as his skin split, spattering his T-shirt. Harper clawed at her captor’s arm and stomped on his foot, loosening his grip. She sprang free and lunged at the man hurting Lucas, clawed his eyes. The brute swatted her, causing Harper to sprawl on the couch. It took a moment to regain her footing, but by then, there was a large revolver aimed at her. The third gunman had stepped into the fray.
“Harper,” Lucas said. Bruised and bloody, he seemed more concerned with her safety than his own. “Please. Just don’t do anything—”
Stupid. Yeah, she understood, but… “I can’t let them do this to you.” She needed to tell them. Helpless to make him understand her dilemma, Harper weigh the odds that giving up the journal was something stupid.
“Someone tell me where the journal is,” the big guy said. “Now.”
“There is no journal,” Lucas said.
The third gunman sighed, left Harper’s side, and pressed his revolver’s muzzle to Lucas’s knee.
“No!” Harper held her hands extended, willing everyone to stop. Lucas scrunched up his face, looking away, anticipating the gun’s discharge. “Please, stop,” Harper said. “I’ll tell you! I’ll tell you everything! Don’t hurt him!”
All guns were now aimed at Harper, and the relief she felt for Lucas’s reprieve shifted to fear for herself. It was one thing to hold a gun, to shoot it at the range, and another thing altogether to have one pointed at her with ill intent. She sucked in a stuttering breath.
Lucas’s gaze revealed nothing. No surprise. No accusation. Nothing. But his gaze was square on her, waiting with the rest. He’d somehow known she had the journal. How? She was too upset to even guess. What a pair, she thought. So many secrets, and look where it landed them.
“It’s behind my wardrobe.” Barely recognizing her voice, hell, barely recognizing herself, Harper relaxed into the couch cushion, feeling the fight leave her. “It will take two of you to move it. It’s taped to the wardrobe’s back.”
“Good girl,” the large gunman said. “Don’t beat yourself up. Sullivan”—he grabbed Lucas’s hair and gave it a shake—“he’s not worth it. Not worth much, really.” Then he laughed. “Sullivan is dirty, sweetheart. And the journal proves it.” Lucas wouldn’t meet her gaze, and Harper shook so hard, even wrapping her arms around herself couldn’t still her tremors.
How many times did she have to be told the truth before she believed it? Silent sobs racked her body. She couldn’t believe he was dirty. She wouldn’t.
The third gunman waved his revolver, indicating the other two should find the journal upstairs. It told Harper he was the true boss, not the big one. Lying about the journal’s location was supposed to buy her time to think of a plan to free Lucas, and now Harper had one.
Still shaking, she turned to Lucas. When he wouldn’t look at her, she forced the issue. “Lucas—” His face was bruised and bleeding, and this beating had caught him after two days of no sleep. He worried her. Tied, unresponsive… Harper feared she was on her own. When the men left, she stood on fear-weakened legs, wiping tears that blurred her vision. She didn’t have much time. She’d have to be quick.
“One thing,” Lucas mumbled. “I asked you to do one thing. But no.”
“I couldn’t stand by and watch them beat you!” She approached him, keeping track of where the third gunman was. “Look at you! Bleeding, tied to a chair! It’s not as if you were going to save us!” Never a good actress, she attempted to keep her hair over the side of her face where the gunman stood, because her expression was probably not matching up with her words. She was scared. She could tell Lucas had figured out she was up to something by the tightening of his posture. He was ready for anything. “Now I know why! Detective Lucas Sullivan, perfect, sanctimonious—” She crept closer to him, praying the gunman wouldn’t intervene. “You’re dirty!” Saying the words hurt, but she received the reaction she was hoping for. Lucas recoiled, and the gunman stepped forward, arm out, aiming at his belly.
Harper lunged, grabbed the gunman’s wrist, and head butted him. Pain blinded her, but the gunman staggered back, fighting for control of the gun. Lucas struggled with his bonds, jerking his body away when the flailing gun inevitably aimed his way. Harper used all her strength to aim it toward the ceiling, but she and the small gunman were a match. An elbow to the jaw had Harper seeing stars, but she didn’t let go. Their lives were at stake. She needed the gun.
Harper slapped her hand on the revolver’s barrel, missed the mark, and covered the hammer. The gunman pulled the trigger, and the hammer clamped down on the meat near her thumb. Pain momentarily paralyzed her, but then Harper recovered enough to knee the gunman in the groin and yanked the gun hard, wrestling it from his grip.
Lucas lunged toward them, somehow having freed himself. With one swing, he felled the gunman with a punch to the head. Harper saw the small knife, surprised.
“Help.” She held out her hand, clamped by the gun’s hammer.
Lucas was breathing hard, and she’d never seen him so enraged. He sheathed his knife, scowling at her wound. “One simple thing, Harper. Just one thing I asked you to do.”
“Oh, stop, what was I supposed to do? I had to tell them.”
He released the hammer’s grip, grimaced as he checked her wound, and then clicked the hammer back in place. “Go.” He nodded to the front door as he popped out the revolver’s cylinder, counting the rounds, and then clicked it back in place. “Hide.”
Clutching her bleeding hand, tears overflowing, she shook her head. “What are you going to do?”
“Find that damn journal.”
“It’s not behind the wardrobe—”
Lucas glared at her. “Run, Harper.” After a quick check that the gunman was still unconscious, he disappeared up the stairs, gun at the ready.
She couldn’t leave him. Her hand was bleeding down her arm, and she felt helpless, but she couldn’t run. Not without Lucas. He might be dirty, but he was also brave, kind, and she had to believe he had a good reason for what he did. She wrapped her hand in a dish towel, found clothesline in a drawer, and then tied the gunman. Then she found Lucas’s iPhone and dialed her brother. The gunman stirred at her feet. His mask was freaking her out, so with the phone pressed to her ear, she wrenched the mask off.
&
nbsp; Charlotte Pleasant? Marnie’s mother. Harper disconnected the line. Was Marnie somehow involved in this? Harper didn’t know what to do.
Glass shattered upstairs. Lucas shouted. Harper raced to the stairs, wanting to help. Before she made it to the first step, Lucas appeared at the top. Furious, gun in hand, looking like an avenging angel. “Do you even know what the word ‘hide’ means?”
“What happened?”
“They’re gone,” he said. “They have the journal.” He took the stairs two at a time, coming at her. “The other guy?”
“Tied,” she said, stepping out of his way.
Lucas holstered his gun when he saw she was right, then he grabbed her and enfolded her in a tight hug, squeezing the breath from her. “Dammit, I thought they’d kill you…in front of me…I died a little.” Then he kissed her. Shocked, responding instinctively, Harper hugged him back, latching on to his strength when she felt so weak.
When he broke the kiss, she touched his chest, his shoulders, studying the cuts and bruises on his face. “I thought we were both dead,” she said. “They kept hitting you. I couldn’t bear another moment of it.”
“We’re alive. We’ll be okay. I promise.” Lucas pressed her against his chest, kissing the top of her head. “You saved our lives,” he said. “I can’t believe you wrestled the gun from him. Never do that again.” He kissed her quickly, and then pulled back so he could see her face. “Now how the hell am I going to keep you out of jail?”
Chapter Fifteen
Lucas saw a flash of gray hair and a familiar profile as the third intruder ran for the front door. “Fuck. Was that Charlotte Pleasant?” Lucas couldn’t have seen correctly.
“Yes!” Harper clutched her injured hand. “I tied her up!”
“I’d say you need practice. What is Marnie’s mother—” Lucas stopped himself. Why did he even bother? There were secrets layered on secrets, and his secrets were making it impossible to call anyone out on theirs. The sound of the van revving and driving off had him biting off an expletive. “You’re safe. That’s all that matters.” She seemed to be taking the latest accusation that he was a dirty cop in her stride. No acrimony. And she’d kissed him back. The blood on her towel had him examining her hand again. The same hand she’d cut earlier on the broken picture frame. “You’re a mess.” His relief dulled the pain of his own injuries, but he suspected his nose was broken. “You could have been killed.”
Part of him wanted to believe she’d fought the gunman because she loved him, but he knew she probably would have done it for a stranger. It was who she was—one of the good guys. Knowing that made it hard to understand her keeping the journal a secret…unless she didn’t trust him. Unless she did believe he was a bad guy. Lucas studied her expression and thought if she hated him, she was keeping it close to the vest.
“What happened with the journal?” she said.
He released her and stepped back, wondering if now she’d tell him what she knew. “They found it in your purse, in the closet.” His last hope of hard evidence against the dirty cops. Gone.
She was trembling. “The gunmen? Two went up.”
“The first guy had the journal and left under his own steam. The second guy…” He gave her a side glance. “Fell.” His eye was swelling shut from the last blow he’d sustained, and a tickle on his neck told him his cheek was bleeding. The bastards had worked him over good.
Harper touched his arm, either seeking or giving comfort. He wasn’t sure. “Marnie’s mom was going to kill us,” she said, dazed.
Lucas had a hard time believing it himself. “If she wanted us dead, we’d be dead.”
“Is Marnie behind this? It would kill Dane.” She wiped his cheek of blood with her towel. “Only Marnie, Dane, me and you know about this farmhouse, and we’re meticulous about not being tailed…but we were. I guess. I don’t know. What do you think?”
Caleb Smith. Charlotte Pleasant. Marnie MacLain. Criminals, all. Lucas didn’t know what to say. Harper was surrounded by shady people. Smith, the shadiest. “Fuck them all.” He’d put too many man-hours into this case, lost too much sleep, and all for what? People lying to him left and right…but at least he’d seen the list. He knew who wasn’t on the take. “Where the hell are my FBI surveillance guys? These goons can find us, but the feds can’t?” He and Harper were stranded at the farmhouse.
“Charlotte has the journal. The people who took Peter have the flash drive. Do you think they’re working together?”
“I’ll find out.” If the DA didn’t have the flash drive or journal, the courts would have to pretend they never existed. “Because all I’ve got now is hearsay. I need evidence.”
Harper was the image of guilty dejection. Rightfully so, but yelling wouldn’t change anything. He feared Harper’s reason for keeping the journal secret might make it impossible to be with her and still be a cop. His choice was never more clear—job or relationship. And unlike a year ago, he knew he couldn’t have it all. If Harper was embroiled as deeply in the Whitman Enterprises case as he feared, guilty of colluding with Folsom, in league with Whitman…loving her would mean running for the rest of their lives or losing her to the justice system forever.
She unraveled the towel from around her hand. “You still bleeding?” he said.
“I’ll be fine,” she said.
“We’ll get you safe.”
“Where is safe?” Harper kept looking around the trashed living room.
“With me,” he said. “Safe is with me.” He pulled her into his arms and held on, not sure what his next move was.
She closed her eyes, rested her head on his chest and sighed. “Things have gotten so confusing.” Secrets made things confusing. And she was right…things had gotten out of hand, and it was time for everyone to put their cards on the table.
“If Marnie is involved, we need to know. Dane needs to know. He’s already lost one wife to this case.”
She nodded, blinking, horrified at the thought. “You’re right.”
A wave of exhaustion hit him as adrenaline faded, no longer hiding the pain in his nose, bruised jaw and cheekbone. The inside of his mouth was cut up, and it all throbbed. “We’re alive. I say that’s a win.”
“I’d say that’s a low bar.”
“We’ve lost all the evidence, but we live to fight another battle.” Could have gone the other way. Harper was trembling, and there was more bad news coming. His secrets. She’d have to be strong to make it through the next few hours.
“Joe ruined everything,” she said. “And he’s taking us down with him, one by one.”
Did that mean she’d read the journal, seen his name on the list? “You trust me, right?” He could explain it all.
“Do you trust me?” She faced him, studying his eyes.
Harper had lied to him from the start. He’d lied to her. Still was. Was trust too much to ask? “I love you.” He didn’t say it as a consolation prize, but he could tell she took it that way.
“It’s not the same, though, is it?” Harper rested her head back on his chest, clutching her injured hand.
She hadn’t returned the sentiment for whatever reason. Maybe she didn’t believe he loved her. Maybe she no longer loved him. He pressed another kiss on her curls, thinking how it sucked that love didn’t care if it was requited or not.
Lucas called Dane MacLain. It was time to tell everyone the truth.
Chapter Sixteen
Dane and Marnie arrived twenty minutes later in separate cars, and Harper knew that meant she’d run out of time.
As soon as Dane stepped into the farmhouse, his gaze took in the destruction, the torn couch cushions, frames knocked from the walls with their pictures sliced, the chair in the center of the living room, bloody ropes on the floor around it. He then settled his gaze on her, and she saw his questions. Where’d you get the journal? It was the elephant in the room. She’d had it, and apparently Lucas was named in it, but only her culpability could be proved minus the evidence. So it was
Harper he looked at with suspicion, not Lucas.
She could have caused trouble, misdirected with accusations against Lucas, but she just couldn’t. She was still in deep denial, still hoping all those people were wrong. Whatever. Harper was done. Carrying her secrets had cost too much. It was time to see if someone saw a way out of this mess, because she’d run out of ideas.
Harper threw her first salvo. “I found a journal under a false bottom in the safe-deposit box. There was so much chaos going on at the bank, I hid it to keep it safe from prying eyes. Then I was afraid if I gave it to Lucas, he’d bring it to the lieutenant, because he does everything by the books and we know better. So I waited to give it to you…but you’d left to get Elizabeth. Then they came and took it.” Did she dare admit the many accusations against Lucas, and his probable incentive to make evidence disappear? Lucas was staring at the floor. Listening and not looking particularly guilty.
“What were you thinking, Harper?” Dane shook his head. Marnie stood at his side, staring at her, as if she too didn’t understand the choices Harper had made. Marnie, in particular, made the moment galling. As if Marnie was innocent.
“I’d already lost the list. I couldn’t take any chances with the journal.”
Marnie flinched when she noticed Lucas’s injuries. “So…tell me again why you didn’t tell Lucas?” As soon as the question left her lips, Harper saw suspicion bloom.
Harper shook her head, unwilling to allow any suspicion to grow without evidence. Maybe not even then. “I was afraid he’d take the decision from me. It’s his case. His evidence.” Harper opened her mouth to confess what she did with Joe, but the words wouldn’t come out. “I’m sorry.” She turned to Lucas expecting…something. He just kept staring at the floor. Swallowing hard, she chickened out and knew she couldn’t confess…it was too hard. So she said what they already knew. “Then a van came and they beat Lucas.”
Tempted by a Touch (Unlikely Hero) Page 18
