by BETH KERY
“Just . . . just tell me this obsession . . . this compulsion you’re referring to, doesn’t have anything to do with that woman from your past, the one I remind you of,” she said softly.
He blinked and lifted his head, taken off guard. Is this what was bothering her?
“It has to do with you, Harper. Only you. I meant what I said before. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. You’re the first thing I thought of seeing when I got back.”
“I’m the first thing you thought of doing,” she murmured, and he was glad to see the hint of a smile on her lips.
“Is that so bad?”
Her gaze skittered off him.
“I can’t believe I let you do it.”
His finger traced the trail of her blush.
“I’m glad you did. It was amazing.”
She looked up at him warily. His heart went out to her. He knew how bewildered she was. Who better?
“I’m being an idiot, letting you into my life,” she stated bluntly.
He went very still to contain the sharp pain that went through him, hearing her say that.
“You’re being unwise, maybe. So am I. Not everything in life is logical. Have dinner with me tonight. I’ll have someone pick you up at six at your place?”
He sensed her hesitation. She’d told him that she had a history of getting involved with narcissistic jerks, and he’d responded by ordering her into the newsroom’s bathroom, cuffing her hands behind her back, and shoving his cock in her mouth.
No wonder she hesitated.
Fuck it. He couldn’t help who he was. He was always dominant with women. Your need to have her is a bit beyond the ordinary, though, wouldn’t you say?
He ignored the sarcastic voice in his head.
“If I have to cancel any of our meetings in the future, I’ll call myself,” he found himself saying before she could deny him.
Her pretty, reddened lips—the ones he’d just debauched mercilessly—parted.
“Say yes, Harper.”
“I can say ‘yes’ on my own,” she told him with a flash of irritation, but her fixed stare on his mouth was an invitation.
He kissed her gently, coaxing away her impatience with him. Harper’s mouth. It had driven him to distraction when he’d been a boy. Clearly, it had the power to make him crazy as a man.
“Are you, then? Saying yes,” he asked against her mouth.
“Yes,” she whispered. She swallowed thickly. “I . . . can’t seem to help myself.”
“I know the feeling.”
He lowered his head again, drawn by her scent. Her taste. A moment later, he released his hold on her reluctantly.
“I should go,” she repeated.
“You go first. I’ll wait here for a bit, and then leave when the coast is clear.”
She took a moment to splash some water on her face and wash her hands. He noticed her anxious expression in the mirror as she smoothed her tousled hair.
“You look beautiful,” he said sincerely.
Her startled gaze flew to his. Their stare held in the mirror for a few seconds before she ducked her head, turned, and left the bathroom.
Why had he done it? Why had he wanted her to risk something big, like her job, in order to be with him? It was wrong, clearly, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself.
His expression looked grim and cold in the mirror.
It was his childhood longing—it was Jake Tharp—that was controlling him again, Jacob acknowledged as he washed his hands and splashed some water on his face. After that day at the courthouse, Harper had gone with her parents—the perfect, beautiful reunited little family—and left him alone.
Of course he’d known it was the only logical thing a twelve-year-old girl could do. She couldn’t do whatever she wanted. She was subject to the will and whim of her parents.
But had she at least wanted to keep their connection, like she’d claimed she had?
During Regina’s latest crisis in Napa, he’d spent some time with Dr. Fielding, her psychiatrist. Jacob had asked Fielding in a casual manner about hypnosis.
“Could a hypnotist make a patient completely forget their trauma?”
Dr. Fielding’s answer had been that a skilled hypnotist could distance a patient from memories of the trauma, make them feel less distinct and emotionally overwhelming, thereby lessening the symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder.
“Could a hypnotist make someone completely forget a positive relationship? A friend, for instance?”
Dr. Fielding’s answer: “Very unlikely. A hypnotist can’t make a patient do something that the patient isn’t otherwise inclined to do.”
Jacob wiped off his face with a towel and faced the door, mentally donning the cold strength of his public armor.
Something that the patient isn’t otherwise inclined to do.
There stood the crux of the issue. If Harper had forgotten him under the influence of treatment from her father, then she’d done so because part of her wanted to.
Maybe she’d needed to, to free herself from memories of Emmitt Tharp, she had to forget Jake Tharp, as well. It pained him, thinking of all the memories being swept away, the ugly ones along with the sweet.
Chapter Three
Twenty Years Ago
It was pitch black in the cave that night. He couldn’t see or feel her, but all Jake could think about was Harper McFadden’s body lying a few inches from his on the hard earth. He wanted to say something to her, but his mind kept going blank as to what.
“It’s cold,” she whispered.
He sat up slightly. “Are you catching something? Your nose sounds stopped up.”
“Probably from stress. My dad says you’re more likely to get sick if you’re under stress. And it’s freezing in here. Can’t we start the fire up again?”
Jake had insisted they dampen their campfire after they’d eaten their dinner of soup and Pop-Tarts. They’d shared the soup out of the can. He’d only brought one spoon. He’d been glad to learn that Harper didn’t seem to think it was gross to share it with him.
He eased back down onto his back. “We shouldn’t have a fire, unless we really need it for cooking. It’s risky. You can see a match glowing for hundreds of feet on a night as dark as this one.”
“Your uncle would have to be in the entrance of the cave to see the light, wouldn’t he?”
“Yeah. I’m not saying it’s likely anyone would see. Just better to be sure.”
The idea of Emmitt standing silently at the entrance of the cave, listening to their hushed voices, creeped him out. She didn’t reply, but he sensed her shudder. Maybe she’d thought of the same thing. Or maybe she was just freezing. It was chilly out for August. The temperature had fallen into the sixties with nightfall, and would probably go lower. Plus the dirt-covered limestone floor and the air in the cave were naturally cooler than outdoors.
He’d brought a total of four camp blankets, two in each backpack. They’d put down one each for them to lie on, and each of them had one to cover them. He wanted to suggest they could share the same blankets, but he was too nervous to say it out loud.
“How come you live with your uncle?” she whispered.
“My mom’s dead.”
“What from?”
“Cancer. I don’t hardly remember her. She died when I was four. We lived with Grandma Rose ’til then. My mom and Grandma Rose got along, even though Mom wasn’t her real daughter, only her daughter-in-law. Then Mom died, and Grandma Rose got too sick to take care of me. She’s got a bad heart. Damaged valves. She gets real weak. There was nowhere to put me but with child services or with Emmitt.”
He heard her shift in the darkness, and knew she faced him. The cheek nearest to her tingled, like his skin knew she was watching him in the darkness.
“What about your dad?” sh
e whispered.
“Gone. He’s got bad blood.”
“You mean he was sick?”
“No. Just bad. Like Emmitt. Evil,” Jake replied darkly. “Grandma Rose says she doesn’t know where her boys got it from.”
“You shouldn’t worry that you’ll be like them.”
He twisted his head. “I’m not worried about that! I ain’t nothing like them.”
“I know. Glad you know, too,” she shot back, and he sensed her rustling again, trying to get comfortable on the hard ground. “My father says that both your genes and your life experiences go into making you who you are, but there’s always the X factor.”
Jake came up on his elbow, interested. “The X factor?”
“Yeah. An unknown factor. I don’t know why they call it the X factor,” she whispered.
“I do. I mean . . . maybe I do. Because X is the unknown. Like in math. When you solve equations, you solve for X.”
“That’s algebra, isn’t it? We don’t start it until next year. What grade are you going into?”
“Eighth.”
“Oh, I thought you were younger.”
He grimaced. “I’m going into eighth, but they let me take eighth-grade math last year. This year, I’ll take ninth-grade algebra. Advanced class,” he said, trying to bandage his wounded pride. Had she thought he was younger than her?
“I hate math,” she said.
“I love it. I mean . . . I don’t love it,” he amended, embarrassed. “But it’s okay. And I’m good at it. What do you like at school?”
“English,” she replied eagerly. “Do you like to read?”
“Yeah. I just read Dune. Did you read that?” he asked, heartened at how easy it was starting to feel, talking to her.
“Yeah. I love sci-fi. Fantasy, too. Did you read Lord of the Rings?”
“No. I will if you think it’s good. I have a library card. Well, I did,” he added under his breath. He’d had to give an address to get a library card. When Emmitt discovered the card in his bedroom, he’d gone stark-raving mad at the idea of Jake putting down the location of his secret mountain property on a legal document. It hadn’t mattered that Jake had insisted he’d put down Grandma Rose’s address, like he always did for school registration. Jake didn’t even know if Emmitt had a postal address. Emmitt had been too far gone in his rage at that point, however, to listen to reason.
“I have The Lord of the Rings, The Hobbit, and most of the Dune books in my bookcase in my room,” Harper said. “My mom says I’ll have enough books to start my own library soon.”
Jake tried to imagine Harper’s room. He bet it was nice, filled with photos and things she liked. But he really couldn’t imagine the details of a girl’s room, let alone a rich, city girl’s room. He just thought it’d make him feel warm to be in it, just like it made him feel nice to be with her.
“Harper?”
“Yeah?”
“What did your dad mean? About the X factor?”
“Oh . . . I think it’s just that nature is tricky . . . hard to predict. Just when you think that you’d understand how someone was going to turn out, nature turns things upside down. Like when a person is born to these great parents and has a nice upbringing and bam: They turn out to be a total jerk. Or when someone has really rotten parents or a horrible childhood, but turns out smart and nice. Dad says it happens more than psychiatric journals admit.”
“Really? I mean . . . nature does that?”
“Something does. That’s why Dad calls it the X factor.”
He experienced an overwhelming, inexplicable need to hug Harper McFadden. Embarrassed by his rush of feelings, he remained very still and silent.
“Jake?” she asked after a pause.
“Yeah?” he said, rolling his head on his backpack. He sensed her hesitation.
“What do you think your uncle was planning on doing to me?” she asked in a very small voice.
“I don’t know exactly,” he evaded.
“Yes you do.”
“I think he wanted to hurt you.” He swallowed a lump in his throat. “Did he? Already? After he snatched you, and brought you to his place?”
“He hit my head really hard. When I woke up, there was a sack over my head and he was ripping off my clothes.” Her voice had gotten so quiet, he almost couldn’t hear her. “His hands . . . the way he was touching me, it was like he didn’t even think I was a human being. Like I was a piece of meat or—”
“Garbage,” Jake finished dully. “Did he force himself on you?” he asked at last, dreading her answer.
“Rape me, you mean?” she whispered. “No.”
He exhaled in relief.
“But he took all my clothes. He . . . he saw me naked and treated me so rough, bruising me up with his hands.” Something about her voice made him think she was close to tears.
“He’s horrible.”
“He’s going to go to prison, for what he did,” she said, sounding fierce and miserable at once.
“Yeah,” Jake agreed, even though he seriously doubted anything could stop Emmitt from doing exactly what he wanted, let alone a local police presence that Emmitt regularly paid off or ran circles around.
“So . . . do you think that’s why he did it? Because he planned to . . . rape me later? You said he was going to give me to someone else. Were they going to rape me?”
“I don’t want to say, Harper.”
“Tell me. I deserve to know, even if it is horrible. I’m not a little kid. Don’t treat me like one.”
“It happened before.”
“You mean . . . he brought another girl there?”
“Yeah,” he replied, his voice just above a whisper.
“What happened? Did you help her get away, like you did me?”
“Damn it, will you go to sleep, Harper?”
“Jake, I just wondered—”
“Just shut up! Give me a break, okay? I was a little kid. I was eleven years old, and when I did try to talk to that other girl, Emmitt caught me at it, and he—”
He broke off, horrified to realize the truth had almost all come spilling out of him, that he’d almost just revealed something so deeply shameful to her, of all people. One second, they’d been talking calmly, and the next, his weakness had been in the spotlight. He swiped his hands over his cheeks angrily, thankful for the darkness so that Harper wouldn’t see him crying like a baby. Neither of them spoke for a moment as he got a hold of himself, and his breathing evened.
“It must have been awful. I’m sorry for asking you so many questions,” she said finally.
“It’s okay,” he mumbled, deeply ashamed of his outburst.
“Do you really think he’ll kill you if he finds us?” she whispered, and he heard the tremor of fear in her voice.
“Maybe not. Maybe he’ll just beat me. It’ll be okay. I’m used to that.”
“That sucks.”
“I can take it.”
“Not the beating. That you’re used to it.”
Another silence descended, one in which Jake became even more hyperaware of her than he had been before. It was like some kind of invisible cord joined him to her.
“Jake?”
“Yeah?” he replied tentatively.
“Do you want to share the blankets? We could put two of them under us that way, and two on top. We could get close together. Share body heat. That’s a thing, right?”
“Yeah,” he whispered. It was most definitely a thing. “Okay.”
He rose from the hard floor, the prospect of Harper’s body pressed next to his making him weak.
Chapter Four
Present Day
The young, capable-looking young man that had parked Harper’s car on the night of the cocktail party was the one to come and collect her that night from her town house. Ha
rper opened her front door before he had a chance to knock.
“Hello,” Harper said, stepping over the threshold and closing her door behind her. “It’s Jim, isn’t it?”
“That’s right,” the chauffer said, seeming pleased that she’d recalled his name.
He seated her in the backseat of a dark blue Mercedes sedan a moment later.
“Quite a hot spell we’ve been having, isn’t it?” Jim asked her politely from the front seat of the sedan as he pulled out of her complex a moment later.
“Yeah. Tahoe Shores will be packed for Labor Day, I imagine, with weather like this.”
She saw Jim nod as he drove. “Yeah, people will be arriving in droves tomorrow. The barge came today. Always a big deal this time of year.”
“Barge?” Harper asked curiously.
Jim met her gaze briefly in the rearview mirror. “The barge that will set off Mr. Latimer’s fireworks?”
She shook her head, smiling. “I’m new to Tahoe Shores. I’m not sure I know what—”
“Mr. Latimer puts off an awesome fireworks display, both on the Fourth of July and Labor Day. Everybody thinks it’s better than anything any of the local towns put on, even Reno or San Francisco. People flock to the beaches around here to see it.”
“Oh . . . that’s nice of him.”
“Yeah,” Jim chuckled at her understatement. “He’s a really generous guy. Despite it all.”
“Despite it all?” Harper asked, interested in what a young employee would actually think of Latimer. Was he referring to Jacob’s supposed shadowy past, and the potential need for him to do a lot of positive public relations and philanthropy, in order to make up for it?
“Despite all his money and everything, he’s a good guy,” Jim explained. “I didn’t know what to expect when I first drove him—Ms. Shields was the one to hire me, so I hadn’t met him until then. But he’s never been anything but nice to me. He really knows a lot about cars and engines and stuff, too, for someone so . . . you know . . .”
