One Night More (21 page)

Harper stood and led the way into the next gallery. No way was she going to let him take control. This was her meeting. “I hear you’re running for Ellis’s seat.” It wasn’t a question. Most of the major news outlets had hinted that Jason was after Ellis’s Senate seat. “Are you ready to pick up where he left off ?”

Jason smiled, his attention focused on the paintings they walked past. He paused next to a Renoir and studied it for a moment. “This is sounding a lot like an interview.” He gave her a million-watt smile. “I heard you were determined, Harper, but you could have just invited me out for coffee.”

True enough. Harper was itching to dig in and get to the bottom of his story. He had his boy-next-door routine down pat. He’d be a shoo-in with voters. Damn. What she wouldn’t give to be the first to report on his plans, platform, whether or not he planned to carry on Ellis’s legacy of full disclosure. Well, sort-of full disclosure. But Jason was right, she wasn’t there to talk about him or his ambitions. She was here to figure out how in the hell to get Agent Davis off her back and she had a feeling Blue Lake was the key. “Maybe when things settle down, you’ll grant me an interview.” Harper continued to walk and Jason followed. “I wanted to talk to you about something that Senator Ellis said to me before he was killed.”

“From what I understand, you didn’t glean much from Mark’s last words. At least, that’s what the newspapers are saying.”

Harper didn’t miss the sarcastic edge to his voice. Politicians and reporters got along about as well as chickens and foxes. He probably loved that her own kind had tried to cannibalize her. Jerk. “We talked for about five minutes. Maybe less. Enough for me to assume that he had a secret. A big one that would have brought a lot of bad press down on more than only him.”

Jason stopped and pivoted toward Harper. He pinned her with a contemplative stare that made Harper think he was trying to exercise some sort of Jedi mind control over her. His eyes sparked with humor. “You know what happens when you assume, right?”

It makes as ASS out of U and ME. Jason Meader was a class-A funny man. He should take his act on the road. “My assumption has substance.” Harper racked her brain, recalling as much of their conversation as she could. “He mentioned something about a hazard assessment. Mobile hazard assessment, I think. And Blue Lake. Do you know anything about that?”

Jason’s face remained passive, but the barest thinning of his lips let Harper know that she might have touched a nerve. “It doesn’t ring a bell. But, then, Mark was always dreaming about what he’d do when his term was up. I don’t know anything about a hazard assessment, but isn’t there a Blue Lake farm up by Eugene? Maybe he and Elaine were thinking about farming? He read this article about the University of Wisconsin’s aquaponics project. Did you know they can grow a million pounds of food a year? I swear he wanted to go out and buy a fish tank to grow tomatoes over the next day.”

For some reason, Harper doubted Ellis had been guilt ridden over his desire to leave politics and become a fish-slash-vegetable farmer. Jason had done his best to give both the hazard assessment and Blue Lake a casual brush-off, so Harper switched tactics. “He wanted to quit politics, then?”

Jason pursed his lips, put on a truly sad face. She wondered if he practiced his expressions in a mirror. “Mark was an idealist. He was one of the few men I believed when he said he wanted to change the world. But I don’t think Mark realized what an uphill battle change could be. He planned to serve out his term and fade quietly into the background.”

“But not before endorsing you, right?” Harper didn’t buy Meader’s spiel for even a second. Ellis, an idealist? After peeking into his journal entries, Harper knew that Ellis was as much of an idealist as Superman was human. The only thing Ellis had strived for was the perfect distraction to snow the media with.

He gave her a wan smile. “That was the plan.”

“He never confided in you about anything he might have felt guilty about? Aside from his disillusionment with politics, you don’t know of any other reason he might have wanted to call it quits?”

Jason paused again. He gripped his hands behind his back and regarded Harper with a thoughtful expression. “Mark felt guilty about a lot of things. The reason he was so forthright in his campaign was because he was trying to absolve himself of some of that guilt. He wasn’t a perfect man, but he was a good man, Harper. No matter how reporters like you want to spin his story, he was nothing more than a regular guy trying to do the right thing.”

“I’m just trying to understand why this happened,” Harper replied. “Why he had to die, and why I can’t go anywhere without an escort because of it.”

Jason looked around. “I don’t see an escort now. Those marshals must be pretty good at the whole stealth thing.” He leaned in close. “I think you should leave the investigating to the FBI. I’m sorry you got dragged into this, Harper. I really am. But you’re not going to find any dark conspiracies or buried scandals. Mark was the real deal. Open. Honest. He was a gentleman and his death is a tragedy. Please don’t try to sensationalize it.”

Harper usually had a pretty good bead on people. But she couldn’t tell if Jason was being sincere or not. “I just want answers.”

“And I wish I could give them to you.” He checked his watch and pulled his cell from the inside pocket of his fancy two-button suit jacket. “Excuse me, Harper.” Taking a few steps to the side, Jason conducted a quiet conversation with someone about his schedule. Harper imagined his life had gone through the wringer over the past few weeks. With a single gunshot, Jason Meader had gone from managing someone’s schedule, to being managed. He ended the call and stepped back over toward Harper. “I have a meeting that I really can’t be late for. Good luck, Harper. I hope this ordeal ends for you soon.”

Jason turned, his face once again plastered to the screen of his phone, and he walked away leaving her staring after him. For all her hopefulness, Harper hadn’t expected to risk Galen’s anger only to have Jason Meader give the equivalent of an investigative cock block. It had been stupid, and optimistic, and damned risky, but damn it, she’d had to at least give it a try. Right?

Nothing soured her stomach like when a lead dead-ended. Right about now, she wanted to drown her sorrow and disappointment with a dozen donuts. Or better yet, a couple of apple fritters from A Slice of Heaven. Maybe she could get Galen to stop by his sister’s bakery on the way home. They were already out—they might as well make the most of their field trip. There wouldn’t be time for pastries or anything else, though, if she didn’t hightail it back to the car. No doubt her five minutes were up. Hell, he might even be milling around, looking for her right now. Harper took off at a slow jog, toward a security guard in the next gallery. “Excuse me, do you happen to know what time it is?”

The guard glanced down at his watch. “Almost a quarter after four.”

Shit
. With a wave of thanks, Harper headed toward the exit. She was officially way past Galen’s proffered five minutes.

Chapter Twenty-Two

He was
so
slapping a tracking bracelet on her after today. Maybe two. One for each ankle. And another on her wrist for backup. Galen waited impatiently at the bottom of the outside stairs while Harper retrieved her bag from the museum’s security staff. Even though he was mere feet from where she stood, to Galen, it felt like miles. His protective instincts surged as he watched her, though he hadn’t found any signs that might have suggested Meader wasn’t on the up-and-up or that Harper had been trailed. She’d barely been out of his sight, but still he wouldn’t be at ease until she was back in her damned apartment and far from the public eye. They were much too exposed for his peace of mind.

Monroe was going to have his ass for this if he found out Galen let Harper meet with Senator Ellis’s aide. He’d never live it down, either. For a year he’d been the head of security for a U.S. ambassador and his entire family. He’d handled protective duties for witnesses to cartel hits and organized crime rings. Witnesses who begged, complained, and attempted to bribe him for a little bit of freedom. And he’d never given in to a single one until today. None of them had given him half as much trouble as Harper.

When she walked out of the doors and headed down the stairs, a wave of relief washed over Galen and he let out a slow breath. Harper scanned the area as though looking for him and he headed toward her. He couldn’t get her out of there fast enough—

A resounding
pop! pop! pop!
echoed in his ears followed by a cacophony of terrified screams and shouts. Galen’s heart jumped up into his throat and he pulled his Glock from the holster. He sprinted through the mass of terrified people and up the front steps of the museum, where all hell was breaking loose.

 

 

Harper scanned the crowd of people gathered outside of the museum as she looked for Galen. She shouldn’t have rushed him into a decision that made him nervous. She’d asked him to neglect his duties and the guilt of that request settled on her with all of the weight of a boulder.
Stupid, Harp
. Not to mention selfish. Meader had done nothing but waste her time. And he’d offered up nothing in the way of information. She’d put her own safety and Galen’s reputation on the back burner today, and that wasn’t going to happen again. She simply had to hope that Davis and the FBI would find something, anything that would take her off their very short list of suspects.
So much for channeling Nancy Drew
.

A large chunk of concrete flew up from the step at Harper’s feet a split second before a loud pop echoed in her ears. Every ounce of blood in her body seemed to rush into her head and she fought for coherent thought.
Pop! Pop! Pop!
What in the hell was happening? Frantic, Harper looked to each side and then behind her, her heart hammering in her chest as chaos spread like wildfire. Terrified screams rent the air and people pushed each other as they ran for cover. Earthquake? Zombie apocalypse?
Holy shit!
She stumbled backward and tripped on the step above her, landing square on her ass as another chunk of concrete went flying. The sounds assaulting her ears were gunshots. The bullets drilled into the steps near her feet. Someone was trying to shoot her!

The realization cleared Harper’s mind in an instant. A lull in the successive shots meant one thing: the shooter was in the process of reloading. Cover. She needed to find cover right this freaking second. Standing out in the open was tantamount to volunteering to play the part of target and she wasn’t about to get her ass shot today or any other day. She scrambled to her feet and assessed her situation. It was pretty safe to assume the only person in danger right now was her, and Harper wasn’t about to hide in a crowd of people who might get caught in the cross fire. Sirens howled in the distance, but they weren’t close enough to make her feel any modicum of safety. If she didn’t get her butt in gear, she’d be dead before she had the opportunity to see the flashing red and blue lights of the PPB cruisers.

Why had she decided to exit through the main entrance? Stupid. She should have known better, damn it. She was out in the open, the nearest cover too far away for her to make a run for it. Her only option at this point was to go back into the building. Harper turned to retreat up the ten or so steps to the double glass doors when she felt a whisper of wind as another bullet zinged past her ear right before the report of the shot rang out. Her stomach clenched and her muscles all but seized up with fear. The next shot would surely hit her.

Before she could take another step, strong arms encircled her waist. In the next moment, Harper was jerked up in the air and spun to the right as another bullet dug into the concrete where she’d stood. She looked down at the arms clasping her, one hand clutching a gun. Oh. Shit. The contents of Harper’s stomach threatened to revolt and her vision darkened at the periphery, but she refused to succumb to her fear. Or pass out. Apparently her would-be murderers were tired of missing. She kicked and fought against the arms holding her like an unyielding vise. A point-blank shot to the head. That’s how she was going to die.

“Hang on, Harper. I’ve got you.”

Harper let out a strangled sob and her muscles relaxed in a tidal wave of relief. Galen’s voice in her ear was the sweetest sound she’d ever heard, and she gripped the arms wrapped around her waist like a lifeline. He took the steps three at a time, his pace quick despite the fact he was carrying her. As he hauled her back toward the museum, Harper’s heart hammered against her rib cage. His body shielded hers, the expanse of his back a perfect target for the next bullet. The breath stalled in her chest as five steps felt like five thousand. Galen’s path zigged and zagged up the steps, and the glass doors leading to the museum exploded into myriad crystalline pebbles as another shot rang out.

“Hang on!”

Galen dove through the entrance and spun in midair, crashing to the floor on his back while protecting Harper from the brunt of the impact. Her teeth rattled as her head knocked against his shoulder, but her discomfort couldn’t have been half as bad as his. He rolled again, depositing Harper beside him, and she was vaguely aware of the sirens right out front, their wails a whisper in comparison to the sound of blood rushing in her ears.

He leaned over her, examining every inch of her body. Crimson smears stained his hands and she noticed several more near his left shoulder. Harper felt again like she might check out. Oh, God. Had he been shot?

“Harper, are you hit?” His words were clear, his voice, commanding. But for some reason, she had a hard time comprehending. “Are you hurt? Talk to me, Harper.”

Concern etched every deep line in Galen’s forehead, and his eyes were wide as he lifted her arms, then the hem of her shirt, and ran his palms down her legs. Harper continued to stare, her lungs aching, her vision darkening. What the hell?

“Breathe, Harper.” Galen wrapped his arms around her shoulders as he brought her to a sitting position. He continued to search her body, his palm patting its way down her back. He checked her right thigh and arm, both shoulders, even her feet. “Come on, take a breath. It’s okay. You need to calm down.”

Calm? Wasn’t she calm? Then again, maybe her lungs felt like they were on fire because she’d deprived them of oxygen for too long. She took a deep, shuddering breath, and then another. Ah, sweet, sweet air! But rather than calm down, her pulse rate jacked back up to frantic and the deep, even breaths she’d been hoping for turned into quick, desperate gasps.

Sweet Jesus. She’d almost been killed and Galen could have been killed trying to get her slow ass to safety. Angry tears blurred Harper’s vision and she leaned forward, head bowed, as she tried to regain some shred of her composure. The earlier chaos was nothing compared to the onslaught of activity swarming around her now. FBI, Portland police, U.S. Marshals, and EMTs flooded the museum, which was already a mass of bodies as security guards and staff attempted to put the facility into lockdown. She buried her face in Galen’s shoulder, hiccups of breath stuttering in and out of her lungs. If she didn’t settle down, she’d hyperventilate and pass out.

“Harper, I need to know if you’re hurt.” Galen’s voice vibrated against her temple and she wound her fists in his shirt to ground herself. “The paramedics are here and they need to check you out, okay?”

She couldn’t formulate a response. Couldn’t get her lips to move or mouth to form the words. Passing out wouldn’t be so bad after all. At least she might stop shaking like a leaf. Galen shifted and scooped her up into his arms. Harper felt the sway of motion as he walked, but she didn’t bother opening her eyes. In his embrace, she was safe. And when he bent to set her down, she clutched her arms around his neck, fighting the separation.

“I’m putting you down on a gurney,” he explained as he guided her hands from around his neck. “Harper. Open your eyes and look at me.”

Harper peeked through one eye and then opened her eyes to look at Galen. A flurry of activity swirled around her, and beside her, a woman in a white button-up shirt with a stethoscope was pulling on a pair of blue rubber gloves. “Hi, Harper,” she said as she put the ear tips into her ears. “I’m Cynthia. Are you hurt?”

Harper shook her head. “Okay, well, we’re going to check you out just in case.” Two more paramedics joined her and began to wheel the gurney through the exit and down the ramp beside the stairs. Panic surged and Harper looked to Galen. She didn’t want to be out there, in the open, where anyone could take a shot at her from anywhere.

“I’m here, Harper.” Galen walked right behind the gurney, his expression fierce. “I’m not going anywhere.”

 

 

If Galen’s heart were beating any harder, it would explode right out of his fucking chest. Of all of the life-threatening situations he’d found himself in over the years, nothing could compare to the terror he’d felt as he watched Harper, standing there on the steps while bullets rained down around her.

Either the shooter was an amateur or simply interested in scaring Harper because by all rights, she should be dead. A skilled sniper could have taken her out with one shot. Whether intentional or not, Galen was damned thankful for the shooter’s ineptitude. He wouldn’t have made it in time to save her. And the thought of how close he’d come to losing her made him feel like slamming his fist through the nearest windshield.

When Harper had suggested going into the museum without him, he’d wanted to throttle her. But now all he wanted to do was hold her and promise her that he’d never let anyone get close enough to attempt to harm her ever again. Why had he so easily thrown his convictions to the wind, so eager to put his job in jeopardy just because she’d asked him to? When had he crossed the threshold of detachment?

The second he’d snatched that drink out of her hand a year ago.

“How’s she holding up?” Landon stopped beside Galen on his way to the stairs. Monroe and several other deputies were already inside the museum, their badges affixed to black Kevlar vests with U.S. MARSHAL scrolled across the back in bright yellow to separate them from the other law enforcement agencies milling about.

“She’s shaken up. Not super responsive. I think she might be in shock, so the paramedics are checking her out to see if she needs to be admitted.” A hospital stay might be the best thing for her. Galen could keep a close eye on her and the security was tighter than at her condo. “Does the FBI know anything?”

Landon scoffed. “If anything, Davis might take Harper off his short list of suspects. It’s not like she was shooting at herself, right?”

Galen cringed. God, the fear on her face as she’d scrambled up the steps . . . “As if she ever deserved the FBI’s scrutiny.” Fucking Davis. If he’d been doing his job, this might not have happened. He’d wasted precious time trying to build a case against Harper, making her feel like she had no choice but to take matters into her own hands to exonerate herself. Now that she wasn’t a suspect anymore, the FBI would be back at square one, which meant it would be a good goddamned while before Harper was safe. “This investigation is total bullshit. Please tell me the U.S. attorney’s office is stepping in.”

“It’s too soon to know for sure,” Landon said with a shrug. “But I hope so. This should have been a multi-agency investigation to begin with. Monroe said he’d make a couple of calls, see if he could throw any weight around. I think he sort of likes Harper.” Landon smiled. “He’s taking this personally.”

Monroe wasn’t the only one. The threat of losing his job—not to mention possible assault charges—was the only thing keeping him from laying Davis out on the art museum’s marble floor. “Keep me posted, okay?”

Landon clapped him on the shoulder before heading off. “Will do. Take it easy.”

Yeah. Right. Taking it easy was going to be impossible after today. The thing with security detail was, there was always a threat of violence. A possibility that you’d have to take a bullet for the person you were responsible for. Today was one of those rare occasions when the threat became a reality. And he had been more than willing to put his life on the line for Harper.

“Okay.” The paramedic turned to Galen, her kind smile probably well-practiced for keeping trauma victims calm. “She’s a little shaken up, but not in shock. No gunshot wounds, just a few cuts that won’t need stitches and a couple of scrapes. We bandaged her up and I don’t think we need to transport her. You can take her home if you want.”

Galen looked over the paramedic’s shoulder at Harper. She was wrapped up in a gray blanket despite the late-afternoon heat, clutching the ends in her fists below her chin. The once-neat ponytail at the crown of her head had become disheveled, strands of curling hair framing her face. Her hazel eyes glistened in the afternoon sun, though he hadn’t seen her shed a single tear. Harper was strong. A weaker woman would have fallen to pieces by now. But, goddamn, even a little undone, she was beautiful.