One Night More (11 page)

The soft expression on Harper’s face caused Galen’s chest to tighten. She averted her gaze and pushed the plastic container with the spring roll toward him. “Well, if I can’t be sorry for the fact that you have to babysit me, you can take this spring roll as a token of my gratitude.”

Galen smiled as he accepted the proffered roll. “Gratitude for what?”

“For not throwing me in solitary as punishment for ditching you the other day. You have to admit, I’ve been pretty good lately.”

“True,” he conceded. “Though I’ve been warned to beware of sudden donut cravings.”

Harper nodded solemnly. “Oh, dude. When it comes to donuts, all bets are off.”

Keep it professional. This is a job and she’s a witness
. The mantra was becoming harder to enforce with each new day. How could he possibly keep his distance from her when she smiled at him like that?

Chapter Twelve

“They want me to come in for another interview.”

Harper stood in the doorway, eyes wide, brow furrowed. Anxiety permeated the air around her, causing all of Galen’s five flights of self-coached detachment to take a tumble back down to the ground floor. The past week had been smooth sailing. He should have known something—or someone—would topple the balance Galen had strived to achieve. “Okay, before you get too upset, let’s sit down so you can tell me what’s going on.”

Peggy Murphy, the deputy assigned nights with Harper, was already headed out the door, her bleary-eyed zombie shuffle a pretty clear indicator that she was getting tired of sleeping on Harper’s couch. “Harper, try not to worry,” she said at the threshold. “It’s standard operating procedure. I’ll see you tonight, and you can tell me all about it, okay?”

Harper nodded, and Peggy cast Galen a knowing glance before she closed the door behind her. They were trying to keep Harper level, but even Peggy realized a second interview wasn’t a good sign. As if he weren’t even there, Harper turned and paced the confines of her condo, circling through the galley kitchen, into the dinette area, and back through the living room. She paused only long enough to snatch a mug from the counter before she continued on her track, round and round until Galen started to feel a little dizzy.

He intercepted Harper on her fifth lap and planted his hands on her shoulders as he bent down to get to eye level with her. “First things first, sit down. You’re making me motion sick.”

Harper plopped down on the couch. She seemed to be making a meal of her thumbnail, biting away as her face screwed up into something that looked a lot like pent-up anger. If she didn’t hit the release valve soon, Galen was pretty sure she’d explode.

“Since day one, that FBI agent has been up my ass. Why? I told him what happened, regurgitated everything I could remember. Now, he wants me to come in and tell it all to him again. And do you know why?” Her hazel eyes locked on Galen’s. “Because he’s trying to rattle me, that’s why. I’m not stupid. I’m aware that he thinks I’m involved in Ellis’s death. Why else would he call me in for another interview? He thinks I’ve gotten comfortable and let my guard down. And he’s going to use the opportunity to try and shake me up. He’ll lay into me, play the asshole FBI agent and try to push me into faltering, changing my story, admitting to something. Seriously, the guy is a total douche. If he thinks for even a second that I’ll—”

“I think you need to take a couple of breaths, Harper.” One more sentence without air and he was pretty sure her face would turn blue. “Don’t jump to any conclusions. Like Deputy Murphy said, follow-up interviews are standard. Especially in an investigation of this magnitude.” Galen didn’t like lies. Or lying. But softening the edge for Harper seemed like the best thing to do right now. Truth of the matter was, she had Davis spot-on. That son of a bitch was absolutely trying to shake her down. He didn’t have any leads, and so, the next best thing was to pin Ellis’s murder on the person who’d been standing next to him when it happened. “What time are you supposed to go in?”

Harper looked at Galen as though she was having trouble processing his question. Not great. She needed to be sharp as a tack to thwart Davis’s browbeating. She needed to get her head in the game. “What? Oh, he said to come in around ten.”

That gave him two hours to coach her for the interview. Totally doable. “Okay, good. I’ll go in with you and you won’t be alone with him for the interview. But I don’t think either of us will be worth a shit on an empty stomach. Go get ready to go.”

Harper frowned. “Where are we going?”

“Rumor has it you have a thing for donuts. So, I’m going to take you out for the best pastries you’ve ever eaten.”

“You said eating out was against the rules.”

Galen grabbed her hand and pulled her up from the couch. “Today, we’re going to disregard the rules. Now, hurry up. I don’t have all morning.”

 

 

What are you doing, Galen?
When he’d suggested taking Harper out before her interview it had seemed like the most logical thing in the world to do. But now, as he parked in front of A Slice of Heaven, Galen was starting to doubt his own sanity.

“The paper did a write-up on this place a few weeks ago,” Harper remarked as she unbuckled her seat belt. “I’ve been meaning to drop by, but then things got a little crazy.”

“I guarantee you, you won’t find better scones anywhere in the city. Maybe even the entire state.”

Harper laughed. “Do they have apple fritters?”

Galen opened his door and Harper followed suit. “Absolutely. But they’re probably not what you’re used to.”

“A food challenge.” Harper headed for the entrance and ducked under Galen’s arm as he held the door wide for her. “I’m intrigued.”

So was he. And that was the fucking problem.

Michelle waved from behind the counter. “Hey, Galen! Sit anywhere. You guys want some coffee?” Her knowing smile as her gaze lit on Harper was enough to solidify the fact that bringing her here was, in fact, a monumentally bad idea. Why had he told his sister about Harper? Christ, Michelle had a hard time keeping her enthusiasm to a minimum when there was nothing to be excited about. He’d given her more than enough ammo to go all uber-cheerful and nudge-nudge, wink-wink with him. Great.

The bakery was busy, but not so busy that Michelle couldn’t tear herself away from manning the counter for a few minutes to hand-deliver their coffee. Damn it. She plunked two wide, white porcelain mugs in front of Harper and Galen and poured coffee from a French press into each. “So, brother, what prompted you to darken my door this morning?” She turned to Harper and gave her a way too wide and way too cheery smile. “And who’s your friend?”

You damn well know who she is
. Michelle would pay for her treachery. “Harper,” Galen said as he tried to unclench his jaw. “This is my sister, Michelle. Michelle, this is Harper Allen.”

“Harper’s an interesting name,” Michelle said as she reached out to shake Harper’s hand.

Harper settled back into her chair and cast a suspicious glance Galen’s way before responding. “My mom’s a high school English teacher. She reads a lot.”

“Harper Lee,” Michelle said with a snap of her fingers. “Cute.”

“Um, thanks.”

“So . . .” Galen caught Michelle’s eye and gave her a look that he hoped conveyed her need to make a speedy exit. “Harper has a meeting in an hour, so we’re sort of in a hurry.” Translation:
Leave us alone and don’t ask her a bunch of embarrassing personal questions
. “Do you have any apple fritters today?”

Michelle puffed up her chest and Galen couldn’t help but smile at the pride his sister had in her little bakery. “I took a batch out of the oven this morning. Prepare yourself for pastry bliss, Harper. No lie, my apple fritters are orgasmic.”

Harper’s amused laughter caused Galen’s chest to swell for an entirely different reason. Damn it. Detachment was a hell of a lot easier when the other person didn’t draw you to them like a magnet.

“I consider myself an apple fritter connoisseur. Hit me!”

“Oh, I like you,” Michelle said with a wink. “Next time ditch the suit”—she jutted her chin toward Galen—“and we’ll drink some coffee, eat until we pop, and I’ll dish all the dirt you want on my baby brother.”

Harper looked at Galen from the corner of her eye, and a mischievous smile curved her full lips. “I might have to take you up on that offer.”

The apple fritter was better than orgasmic. More like I’ve-died-and-gone-to-heaven good. A slice of heaven? Um, yeah it was. Never in a million years would Harper have thought her undying loyalty to Voodoo Donut would be called into question, but after eating Michelle’s masterpiece, infidelity to her beloved donut shop was more than just a possibility.

Puff pastry surrounded an entire baked apple, the core removed and the negative space filled with brown sugar, honey, cinnamon, pecans, and all sorts of delicious flavors Harper couldn’t identify. The entire culinary masterpiece sat in a shallow pool of warm vanilla bean custard and the plate rimmed with fresh Marion berries. Her eyes rolled back in her head and she groaned as she took yet another bite. Would it look weird if she chewed
reeaally
slowly, just so she could savor the taste for a while longer?

“I told you,” Michelle said with pride. “Is it not the best apple fritter ever?”

“Oh my God,” Harper all but moaned. “So good. I could live on these.”

Michelle was a spitting image of Galen: dark hair, intense blue eyes, a quick smile, and charm in excess. She had an easygoing personality that put you instantly at ease and a fun sense of humor that made Harper think she’d be up for all sorts of shenanigans. This morning’s pit stop was the perfect remedy for Harper’s anxiety over her impending interview with Special Agent Doucheba—uh, Davis. Too bad Galen wasn’t feeling the happy-go-lucky vibe this morning.

Harper had to admit, there were times during their conversation that Michelle treated Harper more like Galen’s girlfriend than simply another case assignment. Although, to be fair, she doubted Galen brought many of his charges to his sister’s bakery for breakfast. At least, she hoped not.

“Galen hasn’t dated in almost a year, you know.”

“Michelle, there’s a customer at your counter. Don’t you think you should go see what she wants?”

“Did you know that Galen is a member of the Marshals’ SOG team? They only take a certain number of deputies for the program.”

“Michelle, I think I heard your phone. You better go check.”

“Did you know he speaks French? French!”

“Shel—”

On and on it went, volley after volley, like a verbal tennis match. With every compliment or fact about Galen’s skills, childhood, or hygiene, his scowl grew darker. After this morning, Harper was willing to bet this would be the first and last time they visited A Slice of Heaven. Together, anyway.

When Michelle finally seemed to run out of steam, Galen pushed his chair away from the table and stood. “Harper’s interview is across town and we don’t want to be late. I’ll call you later.” That last little bit sounded too much like a threat for Harper’s peace of mind and her heart took a nosedive into her gut. No doubt he was none too happy about his sister treating Harper like she was more than a work acquaintance. Was there a better way to start the day? A harsh reminder that the guy you wanted didn’t want you back followed up by a grilling from an FBI agent who’d apparently watched too many FBI movies. Awesome.

“Can I get a fritter for the road?” Harper asked as Galen ushered her toward the door. If anything, she could bury her sorrow in puff pastry and baked apple goodness when she got home.

Galen’s scowl seemed permanently etched into his face as he let out a deep, burdened sigh. That’s what she was, wasn’t it? A burden. An assignment he probably hadn’t wanted in the first place. Galen’s sour mood had managed to rub off on her. She could officially consider today a total wash.

“Here you go, Harper.” Michelle handed her a beautiful pink and white decorated pastry box tied with a black bow that was in itself a work of art. “Come back soon, okay?”

Harper gave her a wan smile. “I’ll try. Thanks.” She motioned for Galen to go ahead of her out the door, no longer interested in any mock shows of gallantry.

Once in the car, Harper turned her attention out the window, watching the traffic pass them by as they traveled down Cascades Parkway toward the FBI building. Past a scattering of hotels, an ITT Tech, and a Target, the friendly retail façade melted away to be replaced by the well-manicured, orderly presentation of federal buildings, jutting straight and tall like giant soldiers. Harper suppressed a shudder. She was more nervous about meeting with Davis than she cared to admit. Maybe they could take a detour at Target. She could stand for a little retail therapy.

Galen hadn’t made a sound since they’d left A Slice of Heaven. His hands planted firmly on the wheel at two and ten, his gaze straight ahead, he was the epitome of U.S. marshal professionalism.

They pulled up to the building and Harper let out a deep sigh. So far, she hadn’t heard anything from Liz on Blue Lake or Jason Meader. Today’s visit with Agent Davis would have been better if she could’ve brought something useful to the table. Now, she had nothing to offer the cocky FBI interrogator. And if he was going to start treating her like a suspect, she wasn’t sure she’d want to offer him anything without an attorney present.

“Should I have gotten a lawyer?” The question was redundant. She didn’t expect Marshal Cranky Pants to actually offer up an opinion. Harper’s dad had suggested it, but of course, she’d brushed off his concern. Now, she wasn’t so sure.

“Honestly, when a person of interest comes to an interview lawyered up, it sends up a red flag.”

Huh. He speaks. In a tone nominally more friendly than a growl. “So, I’m a person of interest now? You said I wasn’t a suspect. That this was standard in a high-profile case.” Too bad Harper couldn’t control the escalation of her own voice.