One Night More

by Mandy Baxter

  “Such as?”

  “Such as what had Ellis in hot water and who was sitting right there in the pot with him.”

  Galen didn’t like Harper’s triumphant expression. It was that cavalier attitude of hers that sent her running off toward danger instead of away from it like she should. “Okay.” Galen sat up on the bed and faced her. “Don’t you think this is something you should be turning over to Monroe rather than writing a story about? There’s still someone out there looking to put a bullet in you.”

  “Exactly. Which is why turning this stuff over to Curt isn’t the best idea. Yet.”

  Harper continued to type away, the clicky-clack of the keys driving into Galen’s skull like tiny swords. He rubbed his temples and took a deep, calming breath that turned out to be neither deep nor calming. The thought of Harper in danger was too fucking stressful. “Explain to me why that’s not a good idea, Harper, because I’m really trying to understand why you think obstruction of justice is the most logical option.”

  “Silly mortal,” Harper said with a grin. “You have no idea of the scope of my powers.”

  “Hmmm.” Her humor was lost on him. He couldn’t help but think of the additional trouble she was about to cause. “That sounds more like a super villain proclamation than hero.”

  “Heroine,” she corrected without breaking her stride. Clicky-clack, clicky-clack. “Galen, trust me. I know what I’m doing, and turning this information over to the FBI or even Curt isn’t going to make anything easier for us. This is the best way. Wait, strike that. This is the only way.”

  Galen sighed. Her tenacity was one of the things he loved most about Harper. But right now, it was one of the things that drove him bat-shit crazy. “So, what’s your next move?”

  Harper paused to dig into the last of her apple fritter. She washed it down with a gulp from a plastic cup with COMFORT INN printed across the front. “Next, we’re going to the paper and I’m going to sweet-talk Sam into posting this ASAP. Once it’s live, it’ll go viral. Blogs, news outlets, everyone will want to report on it. Boom!” She made an explosive motion with her hands. “No more secrets. News reporter level: Boss.”

  Great. She was so excited she was mixing her comic book and video game analogies. If she didn’t settle down, she’d be reciting Mel Gibson’s monologue from Braveheart soon.

  “If I agree to stop at the newspaper first, will you go with me to the office after that? So we can turn everything you have over to Monroe?” His phone rang beside him and Galen checked the caller ID to see Landon’s cheesy face pop up on the screen.

  “Scout’s honor,” Harper replied, holding up two fingers.

  Galen swiped his finger across the screen as he flashed Harper a stern look. “Hey, Landon. What’s up?”

  “Just an FYI, Special Agent Dickhead is on his way over to arrest your honey,” Landon said. “Better get while the gettin’s good.”

  Shit. “Thanks, man. You headed out?”

  “In the morning. Meeting up with prison officials this afternoon and the lead investigator tomorrow morning. God, I hope someone gets shot.”

  Landon was the biggest adrenaline junkie Galen had ever met. But just because he enjoyed the rush didn’t mean he seriously wanted someone to get shot. “Yeah, well, if anything, someone will shoot you for running off at the mouth. So be sure to wear a vest.”

  “Hater,” Landon said before he disconnected the call.

  “Harper, how far are you on that article?”

  Harper shot him a dirty look. “This is not an article—it’s an exposé.”

  Good Lord. Now was not the time for her to get cheeky. “Whatever. Is it almost done?”

  “Yeah. Just putting on the finishing touches. Why?”

  “Because if we’re gonna go, we need to get out of here now. Davis is on his way over to arrest you.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Harper had the nerve to sound outraged. He smiled. Tenacity. “I can finish up at the paper.” She shut the lid on her laptop and stuffed it into a case along with Senator Ellis’s flash drive. “Let’s go.”

  Galen peeked his head out the door to see if any of the other deputies were patrolling the hallway. Coast was clear. “Okay, take the stairs and the back exit. I don’t want anyone to know we’re gone until we’re in the car and heading out of the parking lot.”

  As he followed Harper out the door into the hallway, Galen couldn’t help but think that she and Landon would get along just fine.

  Harper was antsy as hell for her story to go live and it wasn’t helping that Sam was being all responsible and professional in his consideration of it. It was the kind of anticipation a kid feels on Christmas Eve, or on your birthday when you know you’re going to get something awesome. This story would make her career. She wouldn’t have to daydream about getting a job offer from The Washington Post because after the Ellis scandal broke; she was pretty sure her dreams would come true. Suck it, Washington Post! Cuz I’m staying in Oregon.

  Galen had been quiet for most of the drive and she figured it might be best to give him some space. Again, as a deputy U.S. marshal, it probably didn’t look good for him to be helping someone hide from the FBI, let alone conspiring with that person. And by asking for his help, Harper had definitely made Galen her coconspirator. Truth be told, there was no one she’d rather conspire with. But she hoped this would be the first and last time either one of them would be sneaking around.

  “You’ve gotta help me out here, Sam.” Harper sat in front of her editor’s desk while Galen stood like a sentinel at the closed office door. She tried to ignore how amazing he looked: arms crossed at his chest, legs braced apart, muscles bunching in all the right places. His blue eyes were alert and narrowed, his jaw set. He looked like a freaking god keeping watch over her, and it turned Harper’s insides to Jell-O. Focus on the story, Harp. Not the sexy marshal.

  “You know I want to jump all over this,” Sam said, leaning forward to get his point across. “But it’s irresponsible to throw something up on the Web like that. Once your story’s live, we can’t simply delete it, or edit the content, or filter anything.” He sighed. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but, if you’re going to post this online you might as well chisel it into stone and fill in the words with your own blood, Harp. The Internet is permanent. The original story will never go away. And if any part of it doesn’t hold water, the media will crucify you.”

  “I’ve thought about that, Sam, but I was very careful in the write-up. Until we can dig a little deeper—and trust me, it won’t be hard with what I’ve got—the way the story stands is liability-free.”

  Sam scanned the document on Harper’s laptop. “So basically, this is your story. Not Ellis’s. You start off recounting the night he was shot and go from there.”

  “Yep.”

  “But you do claim to have evidence that proves Ellis was in league with union and state officials to defraud the Social Security Administration as well as the state’s firefighters. That’s not small potatoes, kiddo. The first accusation is borderline treasonous. The second . . .” Sam scrubbed his palm over his balding head. “Ellis might as well be guilty of kicking puppies and old ladies or abusing nuns. I mean, you rip off the unsung heroes of the country and you’re in for it.”

  “Exactly!” Jeez, had Sam been listening to her at all the past half hour? “That’s why he’s dead, Sam! Ellis felt guilty over the fact that he’d become a puppy kicker and was ready to clear his conscience.”

  “Here’s the deal, Harper. Ellis isn’t here to corroborate your story. You’re about to expose the most forthright senator in recent political history. The guy might as well have been a freaking saint. And you’re not only implicating Ellis. If you’re wrong, you can kiss your career good-bye.”

  She’d thought of that. But her career was a small sacrifice for her freedom. What good would all of her hard work be if she was spending the next year or longer living someone else’s life? She could see it now: she’d be Becky Farmer
, grocery store cashier in Nowhereville, Tennessee. Or something like that. And yeah, there were worse things to be than Becky Farmer, cashier. But she wanted to be Harper Allen, political beat reporter for The Oregonian. She deserved the life she’d worked for, the education she’d paid for with her own blood, sweat, tears, and student loans. And nothing—no one—was going to take that from her.

  “You’re right, Sam. Ellis isn’t here to corroborate. And I’m pretty sure the people I accuse will turn around and try to discredit me. But that’s not the point.”

  Sam leaned his elbows on his desk and fixed Harper with a serious stare. “Then what is the point? Because if I publish this story, it’ll be my ass on the line, too.”

  “I want my life back, Sam.” Harper couldn’t help the desperation that leaked into her voice. This was her last and only shot to do something about her situation. This time tomorrow, she’d be in FBI custody and Davis would be off somewhere laughing his evil federal agent laugh. “Here’s the thing. I didn’t exactly name names in the article—”

  “That’s stretching it a bit, Harp,” Sam interrupted.

  True. It’s not like it would be hard to match a name to the description since Harper reported an alleged conspiracy to commit fraud involving someone in the state controller’s office, one of Ellis’s aides, and a state deputy fire marshal. Anyone in the know could connect the dots. “I was careful with my wordage, I didn’t outright accuse anyone. I know the legalese. Here’s the deal, Sam. Whoever killed Ellis and tried to kill me wants the information on Ellis’s flash drive kept a secret. If there isn’t a secret to keep, there’s no need to kill me. Unless the murderer is nothing more than a vindictive ass, and I’d be willing to bet he isn’t. Once the story breaks, everyone involved will forget about me because they’ll be racing to cover their own assess before the FBI comes knocking on their doors.”

  “And if you’re wrong?” Galen piped in from the back of the room, his tone as dark as his expression.

  Harper turned to face him. “If I’m wrong, I’m no worse off than I am now. Davis will still arrest me for obstruction. I’ll still be under witness protection. And my life won’t belong to me until the feds conclude their investigation and make arrests. By which time, Ellis’s coconspirators will have a chance to take the money and run. I’ll be Becky Farmer forever.”

  “Becky Farmer?” Galen asked. “What in the hell are you talking about?”

  “Never mind.” Maybe they’d let her be a Suzette or Pria. Something exotic. Focus, Harp. “Sam, how often do we get a chance like this?”

  Sam’s eyes lit up and a smile tugged at his mouth. “Well, it would be the scoop of the century.”

  “It has to go live today, Sam. Now.” There wasn’t time to run this by the editor-in-chief. Every second wasted was another second closer to a stay in a federal prison. And truth be told, Harper was too short and pale to pull off an orange jumpsuit. “The window of opportunity is only going to get smaller and smaller. Come on. Will you post it?”

  “Is it ready to roll?”

  Harper smiled. She knew she could count on Sam to have her back. “Almost. A few finishing touches and one more read-through and it’ll be ready.”

  “Use the conference room,” Sam suggested. “I don’t want anyone reading over your shoulder. You’ve already got everyone’s tongues wagging with the way you barged in here this morning with that I-just-hit-the-journalistic-jackpot grin on your face.”

  “You have to admit, I totally did.”

  “Yeah,” Sam agreed begrudgingly. “Let’s hope you don’t get us all fired because of it.”

  “Oh, ye of little faith!” Harper tried to sound hurt, but she was too excited. “Go have a cup of coffee and relax. This is going to turn out great.”

  “Coffee,” Sam snorted as Harper grabbed her laptop and headed for the door. “I’m gonna need a fifth of whiskey to get me through working with you.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Galen paced around the conference room, right hand resting on the butt of his gun, his stomach twisted into an anxious knot. His phone had been vibrating in his pocket for the past hour and he had a feeling that he wouldn’t be able to dodge Monroe’s phone calls for much longer. And the text messages coming in from Landon weren’t much better:

  I can’t believe I’m leaving on assignment right as

  you’re about to get your ass in a sling. They’ll

  probably put the flag at half-mast. Ha!

  Is there a US Ambassador to Tasmania? Because I’m

  pretty sure that’s where your next job will be. Did

  you know the spiders there are as big as small

  dogs? And don’t even get me started on the

  snakes.

  Is Harper good in bed? It’s not relevant to

  anything. I’m just curious.

  He thought about pulling out his Glock and putting a bullet hole through his phone, but that probably wouldn’t earn him any points with Monroe. Then, he thought about doing the same to Landon. Nothing too severe, maybe his foot or the fleshy part of his calf. But he figured Landon was getting what he deserved, chasing after a sixty-year-old fugitive and living out of his car while he staked out the daughter’s house. With any luck, the assignment would suck the sarcasm right out of him.

  Galen’s gut was usually spot-on, and something about what Harper was about to pull left him feeling less than confident everything would play out the way she wanted it to. If this were any other case, Galen would have slapped the cuffs on the witness before the FBI even had a chance. Obstruction of justice was a serious charge, and by helping Harper post her story behind Davis’s back, Galen had probably secured a conspiracy charge for himself. It could be that the roiling knot in his stomach had more to do with his own concerns over losing his job. Because one thing was certain: Davis wasn’t going to take this lightly. He’d be after Galen’s badge for this, and if it didn’t get him kicked out of the Marshals Service entirely, it might get him axed from the SOG.

  He looked over at Harper, her forehead creased in concentration, eyes trained on her computer screen. She worried her bottom lip between her teeth, clicked away on the keyboard for a moment before she continued to read. When she paused and looked up from her work to give him a brilliant smile, he knew that he’d do it all over again. Risk his career and his reputation for one of her smiles. His chest ached as he took her in. He loved her so damned much it hurt.

  “Excuse me, Deputy Kelly?” A man peeked his head in the conference room door. “There’s a phone call for you at reception. Would you like me to transfer it here?”

  Well, shit. Apparently Monroe had tracked him down. Maybe he should have turned his phone off. He was willing to bet they’d tracked the GPS. Rookie mistake. Of course, it could be Davis, but did it really matter at this point? As Landon had so helpfully pointed out, Galen’s ass was in a sling and there was no use trying to get out of it now.

  “I’ll take it at your reception desk if that’s all right.” He didn’t exactly want Harper to overhear his conversation. She’d only worry if she knew what kind of trouble they were in. And he needed her focused and her story finished. They had no choice now but to see this through to the end. He’d stall his superior and the FBI for as long as possible. He just hoped it was long enough.

  “Sure. There’s a public phone on the reception counter. Jess can transfer the call to that phone for you.”

  “Thanks.” Now came the hard part. Leaving Harper unprotected. It was going to take a real physical effort to pry himself away from her and walk the hundred or so feet to the reception desk. She was like the sun and he was caught in orbit, circling around her, held in place by her gravitational pull.

  “I can keep an eye on her if you want.” The guy standing there like a squirrel poking its head out of a hole jutted his chin toward Harper. Jesus, was his reluctance to leave that obvious? Awesome. “I’m sure she’ll be fine.” Squirrel Guy laughed. “She’s totally oblivious to anything goi
ng on around her anyway. I doubt she’ll even realize you’re gone.”

  Galen noticed that she hadn’t even broken stride, eyes still scanning her screen, interrupted by the occasional tap of her keyboard. “All right.” After all, how long could it possibly take for Monroe to say, “You’re fired.”

  “No worries. I’ll hang out until you get back.”

  Galen relaxed a little and headed for the door. “Thanks. I shouldn’t be more than a couple of minutes.” As he walked toward the reception desk, Galen smiled to himself over his own overprotectiveness. How much trouble could she possibly get into in the conference room? His step faltered. Then again, this was Harper Allen. He quickened his pace and picked up the phone at the reception desk. Damn it, he shouldn’t have ignored Monroe’s phone calls.

  He showed his badge to the receptionist and said, “I’m Deputy Kelly with the Marshals Service. I was told I have a phone call.”

  “Just hit line three,” the receptionist said with a smile.

  He pressed the corresponding button on the enormous phone base. “This is Deputy Kelly.”

  “I’m going to assume that you’re ignoring my phone calls because The Oregonian is under siege and your phone was taken by assailants. Is that correct?”

  Sarcasm. Probably not a good sign. Monroe didn’t sound happy and Galen couldn’t blame him. No one liked a rogue deputy and sneaking Harper out of the hotel had been about as cowboy as you could get. “Actually, no. I’d consider this a pit stop before I turn custody of Harper over to our office. She’s going to turn herself in.”

  “You don’t say?” Monroe didn’t sound any more at ease with the revelation. Huh. Go figure. “This pit stop wouldn’t have anything to do with the alleged evidence Harper is withholding from the feds, does it?”

  “Curt—”

  “That’s Chief Deputy Monroe. You’re in a shitload of trouble, Galen. If Harper isn’t delivered to our office in thirty minutes, I’m gonna help the FBI arrest your ass. Understand?”