My heart began to thunder in my chest and panic rose to the surface. “That’s… not necessary,” I stammered.
There was no way I could go to the ER. I hated hospitals. I had spent weeks lying in a hospital bed under police protection while I recovered from the worst beating of my life. Falling into a drug-induced sleep every night, afraid they would find me and finish the job and I’d never wake up. The first few days after surgery, I’d wished that I’d never been found. Dying on the cement floor of a dingy warehouse would’ve been better than what my life had turned into. I had nothing.
One man, my own blood, had destroyed everything.
Mac looked down at me, his features softening, and when his hand came to my face, his thumb gently grazing my skin, I melted. For a moment, I’d forgotten we were in public; and when I looked into his blue eyes, they held me captive, and my body relaxed. I would take this small comfort from him. Something I usually never allowed.
Reid cleared his throat, drawing me back to the present. I tried to step back, but Mac pulled me closer to him, wrapping both his arms around me, trapping mine between our bodies.
“No more, Laura. Playtime’s over. For nine months, we’ve done it your way. I see that was a mistake. I thought I was giving you time to come to trust me. For you to work through whatever nasty shit is swirling around in your head.” My body stiffened at his words. “No more lies.”
My time was officially up. I had planned on leaving first thing tomorrow morning but tonight seemed like a better option.
Yet another reason I hated Frankie Russo. I had to let Mac go.
Someone nearby cleared their throat followed by, “Laura?” The familiar voice shocking me more than Mac’s declaration.
Quinn Alexander.
I turned in Mac’s arms, breaking our connection to face my old friend. If that’s what you could call Quinn. Sadly, the US Marshal was the closest thing I had to an actual comrade. His face was unreadable as he stood in the doorway of the café. Once upon a time, he was supposed to walk me through the lonely steps of entering into the Witness Protection program. When I declined at the last minute, Quinn tried his best to talk me into going. However, I couldn’t bring myself to become Betty Appleton from nowheresville, Iowa. Instead, I became a string of aliases there were so many names over the years I couldn’t remember them all. Funny that the one name I wanted to forget, my birth name, I couldn’t.
It didn’t matter how far I ran or for how long. I would always be Harper Russo of the Russo Crime Family. I would forever be labeled a rat. It didn’t matter that I didn’t believe in the code or hold any value in the Omerta. I was born into a screwed-up family with a broken moral compass.
“A word?” Quinn asked.
Wait. What was Quinn doing in San Francisco? Last I spoke to him he was living down in San Diego.
Mac straightened and started to move me behind him. “And you are?” Mac asked.
I studied Quinn and made a split-second decision. This was my chance to make a clean break. I hated to use him to do it, but I had no other choice. I had to make Mac hate me so much he’d never come looking for me. Quinn was a good-looking man. Tall, lean, tanned skin—made more so by the Southern California sun, muscular enough I could see some definition under the polo shirt he wore.
“My boyfriend,” I blurted out. Quinn’s eyes widened in shock before he quickly recovered, masking his surprise.
I felt Mac’s body recoil, and I wanted to pull the words back in. It was too late, I had started the course, and it really was for the best. Quinn Alexander once again was my saving grace.
“The fuck you say?” Mac’s eyes pinned me in place. “Your boyfriend?” he spat out in disgust. “You’ve been in my bed for the past nine months, and you have a man?” Well, now everyone knew that Mac and I had been together. Actually, it was better they did; they could all hate me for breaking his heart. It would make my departure easier. They could all commiserate over my betrayal. Only it wasn’t infidelity I was guilty of.
Mac’s angry words pierced through the tough layer of scar tissue that had encapsulated my heart. This was for the best, I had to remind myself when the pain threatened to make me blurt out the truth. Perfect timing actually; now I had no choice but to leave. With each day that had passed, Mac was breaking down the barriers I’d built. Walls that were necessary for my survival.
“It’s… um. We have an open relationship. And I never made you any promises. The thing between us was nothing more than fun,” I lied. It was more—way more.
Mac locked eyes with Quinn, nodded, and moved to the double swinging doors that led to the back of the café. “Good to know,” he muttered as the doors slammed open with such a force I was surprised they didn’t break.
“Ready?” I asked Quinn, trying to make a quick exit.
And in my biggest bitch move to date, my biggest regret, I turned to Ava, Reid, and Suzie and waved goodbye. No words of apology, no explanation as to why I had ripped their friend’s heart out. I didn’t thank Ava for taking a chance and hiring me. I didn’t thank her for her friendship and support. But more than all of that, I never told Mac how much I loved him, that in another place and time, I would’ve never left him.
Instead, I smiled and waved like it was no big deal and I would see them all again tomorrow. When I turned to walk to Quinn, I knew damn good and well that I would never step back into Del Mar’s and I would never clap eyes on any of them again.
With one last look, I committed the café to memory. Of all the places I had been, this was my favorite. Quinn let the door close behind us, and it was then I allowed the first tear to fall.
3
no more lies…
Mac
I’d spent all day yesterday at the gym beating the shit out of a heavy bag trying to burn off my anger. It hadn’t worked. How the fuck had Laura conned me? What sign had I missed? I had gone over our relationship trying to remember something, some clue she had given me, some doubt I had. There was nothing. Other than she never wanted to share her past with me. That should’ve been enough, but it wasn’t. How the hell had she had a man all this time, and I didn’t know it?
Now I was sitting at my desk, neck deep in a missing persons case, and something wasn’t adding up. News broke that Nicole Brown, daughter of Police Chief Tom Brown, was missing. How had all the local media outlets caught wind of her supposed kidnapping before the chief himself briefed his department? It had been less than twenty-four hours, and the chief was sketchy on the details, only saying Nicole was at a candlelight vigil for Holly Springs, a little girl that had been killed in a gang turf war, and he hadn’t spoken to her since.
Even though the chief named me the lead detective on the case, he hadn’t disclosed how he knew his daughter was missing. How, after such a short amount of time, he knew she had been kidnapped. He had been adamant about it when he paced his office and threw his coffee cup across the room, shattering it when it collided with the drywall. He also flat out refused to entertain the idea there was a leak in his personal detail. However, someone had given a detailed report to the news channels. The man was distraught and frantic. Almost too much. There was a little too much terror in his voice. Nicole was an adult, she didn’t live with him, and according to the police chief, there had been no call for ransom.
So how was it that Tom Brown knew without a shadow of a doubt his daughter was not only kidnapped but was in grave danger? Those had been his words. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out something wasn’t adding up.
When I had asked chief why he wanted me on the case when I already had stacks of cases on my desk, he spouted off some bullshit reason about me being the best detective he had. I knew that was an excuse; he wanted me to use my connection to Logan Reid. And everybody knew Reid’s reputation as a private investigator. He was the best there was. He also knew that I didn’t have an issue with getting my hands a little dirty when I needed, skirting the line of the law as close as one can without going over.
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Nicole was last seen dropping her dachshund puppy off at Woofle Waffle Play Days. The trendy doggy daycare had just opened not too long ago but had quickly caught on. The manager, Hisoka Tsukuda, had already checked out with a strong alibi. I had yet to question any of her friends or search her apartment. My gut was telling me that something wasn’t right. Nicole was well liked, not apt to party or drink. No string of boyfriends. She was an all-around nice young girl. The exact opposite of her father.
I grabbed my cell and pocketed it before picking up my coffee. I wasn’t going to find the information I needed doing internet searches. Her social media accounts had already turned up nothing. I needed to interview witnesses. I stopped short when the guy from the café, Laura’s boyfriend, was walking toward me.
“You got a minute?” he asked.
His short-cropped brown hair was disheveled like someone had been running their hands through it. Probably Laura. Anger started to rise to the surface, thinking about the two of them in bed together. Him being the man that Laura shared her life with, leaving me to be the man she only fucked. I got no other part of her—he got it all.
“Nope. I’m on a case. And don’t bother coming back because I don’t have a goddamn thing to say to you.”
I started to walk around him. I had shit to do and sitting down to file a mountain of paperwork after I beat the fuck out of him was not on today’s agenda.
“She’s gone,” he announced.
“Who the fuck are you talking about?” I asked.
“Laura. She took off,” he told me.
“And? Man, that’s not my business. Don’t bother me with your domestic issues.”
He had some brass balls coming into my precinct to tell me Laura had left him. As if I’d give a shit.
“Is there someplace we can talk in private?” He stepped in front of me and brought his hand up, blocking my exit.
“I have someplace I have to be,” I semi-repeated. “Now get the hell out of my way.”
“She didn’t tell you, did she?”
I didn’t want to discuss with this man what Laura hadn’t told me. The last thing I needed was to know how much she had told him.
“Who are you?” I finally asked the question I’d been avoiding. I didn’t want to put a name to the man that the woman I loved belonged to. “And how the hell did you get back here without an escort?”
“Deputy Quinn Alexander, US Marshal,” he answered, pulling back his sport coat to flash his shield.
I cocked my head to the side and gave Quinn Alexander a once-over, from his khaki pants, neatly pressed crisp shirt, and stylish sport coat. He was awfully well dressed and not in an expensive name brand sort of way, more in a—he had a personal shopper way. Well, it seemed that Laura certainly had a type—a deputy and a detective.
“Come again?”
“Can you dial your jealousy down a few notches for five damn minutes? We need to talk in private,” Quinn demanded, his tone becoming more urgent. “Now.”
I relented.
Call it morbid curiosity, but now I was more interested than I should’ve been about what the man had to say.
“This way.” I motioned for him to follow me to an empty interrogation room and shut the door.
“What can I do for you, deputy?” I asked, walking to the other side of the table. In my current mood, it was probably best for me to keep a safe distance.
“When was the last time you saw Laura?” he inquired.
“At the cafe,” I spit out. “Right before she left with you.”
Quinn studied me from across the table for a moment before he continued, “What did she tell you about her past?”
“I’m not real fond of being interrogated. Why don’t you cut to the chase? If you’re asking me if I know where your woman is—I don’t. She never was good at answering her phone when I called. Guess I now know why.”
“She loves you,” Quinn started, putting up his hand to stop me when I started to protest. “She lied to you the other day. I am not her boyfriend. Not by a long shot. She’s not my type, so to speak.” Quinn chuckled. “I was in charge of getting her settled in WITSEC.”
“What? WITSEC?” I questioned. There was no way he was talking about Laura.
“Witness Protection—”
“I know what the fucking program is,” I cut him off. “Why would Laura be in WITSEC?”
Quinn was silent for long moments before he lifted his face to the heavens and on a long exhale he started. “I am only telling you this because I know she loves you, even if she won’t admit it. And by the look of devastation on your face when she lied and said she was involved with me, I’d say you love her, too.” I started to tell him to mind his own damn business when he put his hand out to stop me. “Don’t bother denying it, because I really don’t want to hear it. What I need is for you to shut up and listen. Her real name is Harper Russo. Ring any bells?”
My temper was flaring, and anger was bubbling to the surface. Who the hell did this guy think he was? The words fuck you were on the tip of my tongue when the name he said hit me. Harper Russo? Why did that name sound so familiar? Before I could come up with an answer, he continued.
“Her brother is Frankie Russo—of the Long Island, New York, Russos. He took over for his father after the old man was whacked at the family’s pizzeria. Marco Russo was as close to a good-guy boss as you can find in the mob. Frankie? Exact opposite. All the things his father kept off the table, a stable of girls, human trafficking, high-interest loans, Frankie not only put them back on the table but demanded his soldiers deliver.” Quinn stopped for a minute and sat in the metal chair, stretching his legs out in front of him. “Harper saw something she wasn’t supposed to. Frankie was pissed, to put it mildly. They argued, but she wouldn’t change her point of view on the situation, so Frankie did what he does best. He tried to physically convince her to see things his way.”
“The scars on her legs,” I mindlessly said, remembering all the times I had asked what the scars were from. Questions that Laura had refused to answer. Kissing each long line of raised skin up her otherwise flawless flesh. Her legs were beautiful.
“Yeah—nice fucking brother, huh? She held out as long as she could. Frankie left her on the floor of one of his warehouses. He thought he’d killed her and called in a soldier to dump her body somewhere and make it look like a rival did it. In an unusual act of humanity, the soldier dropped her off behind a police station and called 9-1-1 to report where he’d left her.”
I felt like I was listening to the plot of some mafioso drama. Who the fuck did that to their own family? Somewhere in my musings, it hit me we were talking about Laura—not some unknown woman named Harper Russo.
“Where the fuck is she?” I shouted.
“Good, it’s finally sinking in. It’s about time. That’s why I am here, Detective. Harper…Laura… was inadvertently caught on a news broadcast reporting the riots around the city. She was in the background crossing the street. She was on camera long enough for me to immediately recognize her. And if I recognized her, that means there’s a possibility that one of Frankie’s guys did. They have a million reasons to be on the lookout for Harper. Frankie went all out this time—a cool mil to kill his sister. Or he himself could’ve seen her on TV. Who knows? It’s not like he has much else to do sitting on his ass in the pen. However small the chance, it was still too big—I couldn’t risk her life and assume no one else saw her. I needed to warn her, and she needed to leave the city immediately. That’s why I went to Del Mar’s. It was sheer coincidence I’d transferred to the area from San Diego a few months ago—not that I can’t say I’m not thankful for the good luck.”
“How did you know where she was if she had refused WITSEC?”
“Just because she refused doesn’t mean I was going to throw her to the wolves. I trained her how to stay off grid and how to disappear if needed. Unfortunately, I may have taught her too well because I can’t find her. I had an emergency call and had to
leave her to pack up her stuff. I gave her the address to a safe house if she had to split. When I got back to her place about three hours later, it’d hadn’t been ransacked. From the evidence at the scene, she got away, but someone knew where to find her in the first place. And she’s not at the safe house, nor is she answering her phone. I had a contact try to track it, but it’s turned off. With her not in the program, my hands are tied. If I fill out a missing persons report on her, that opens a whole new can of worms that can’t be closed again.” Pulling a business card out of the inside chest pocket of his sport coat, Quinn placed it on the table. “I read your file earlier before making the decision to come here. Commendations, medals, fast-tracked to detective—all and all, you look like a damn good cop. I hope that’s not just on paper. I can’t use my office to track Harper or use federal resources. Officially, your hands are as tied as mine, but I know you have connections in the city that I don’t. Not up here, not yet. If we’re going to find Harper before they do, I’ll need you to call in some markers.”
“There is no we in this. I don’t know you.” I moved to the door and stopped Quinn from speaking. “You said you just transferred up here, yeah?” Quinn nodded. “Don’t you have a desk to unpack?”
I didn’t know why I was still jealous of the man. He’d explained why Laura had lied, and it was very obvious that he had no interest in her other than professionally. I could understand how he’d come to care about Laura, but it was never a good idea to get emotionally involved with a witness or victim. However, there were times where you couldn’t stop it. Much like with Mrs. Sinclair, I genuinely cared for the old woman. I assumed that was how Quinn felt about Laura.
Maybe I was resentful because he knew the real Laura Barnett. The woman, not the name. That’s what was bothering me; he knew more about the woman I loved than I did.
Quinn’s eyes narrowed as he stood from the chair. “I’m feeling rather generous this morning. I’ll give you a pass on your bullshit, this once. I get she hurt you, and she used me to do it. Get the fuck over yourself, and hurry. Harper’s out there alone with a bounty on her pretty, little head. Call me when you’ve figured out you need me more than you think you do.”
Trust Page 2
