One Night More (8 page)

“Something like that.” This detail was going to be the death of him.

“1320 South West Broadway. Second floor,” Monroe said through a bout of laughter.
Ha. Ha. Ha.

“Thanks.”

“Keep an eye on that one, she’s trouble when she gets a donut craving.”

Okay, that was new. Witnesses had tried to give him the slip for various reasons but never for pastries. “Noted.”

Galen ended the call and pulled out into traffic. He could drive the seven blocks to the newspaper’s offices faster than she could walk if the traffic lights changed in his favor. His fists gripped the steering wheel tight, his knuckles turning almost white. Was the tangled knot forming in his stomach one of anger or worry? Nothing pissed him off more than a difficult witness. But was that all there was to it? Or did the underlying sense of dread that caused his death grip on the steering wheel have more to do with his concern for Harper’s safety?

Seven blocks felt more like seventy as he kept his eyes peeled for any sign of her. The morning rush of traffic didn’t do much for his uptight attitude and the commute of pedestrians made it impossible for him to spot her. He reminded himself that Harper wasn’t stupid. She knew the seriousness of her predicament. Her running probably had more to do with asserting control over her situation than a disregard for her safety. That didn’t mean it didn’t rile the shit out of him, though.

Galen turned onto SW Broadway and pulled up in front of
The Oregonian
. As he cut the engine and got out of the car, he caught sight of her, beelining it to the entrance, head down, arms swinging with purpose. A smile threatened and Galen tucked it away. Her comical stride was
not
amusing.

“Harper, hold up!” Galen called after her, but she headed into the building without even a glance back. He hit the key fob and locked the car, sprinting to keep up. Once through the entrance, he got a glimpse of her auburn hair as she ducked into an elevator, the doors sliding behind her and shutting him out. Damn, she was fast. “Goddamn it,” Galen ground from between clenched teeth.

More times than not, the ones who ran always took the stairs. If she was hoping to ride the elevator up and take the stairs down, he’d cut her off. Plus, by taking the long way up, he’d give himself a few minutes to cool off. If he came face-to-face with Harper right now, he’d be tempted to cuff her to him. And that probably wouldn’t go over too well.

The second floor was separated into several large rooms for the various departments. He found a set of double doors marked newsroom and went inside. The wide-open space was pretty much what Galen had expected: lots of cubicles. A maze of desks and partitions designed to aggravate him to the point of spontaneous combustion. Flat-screen TVs hung high on the walls, dialed in to regional and national news outlets. The clicking of computer keys mingled with murmured voices and the ringing of phones. He’d go bat-shit crazy in this anthill environment day in and day out. There was too much hustle and bustle. And that was saying a lot considering what he did for a living.

A woman with her face plastered to the screen of her smartphone approached, and Galen reached out to tap her on the shoulder. She looked up and around as if she had no idea where she was, and gave him a bright smile.

“I’m looking for Harper Allen. Have you seen her this morning?”

“Yeah.” She put a hand on her hip and canted her head to the side. “She’s in Sam’s office. Can I help you with something?”

“No,” Galen said, looking around. “Sam is . . . ?”

“Editorial.” She pointed to the back of the building toward a set of enclosed offices. Her expression grew wary, and Galen had the impression he was being inspected and logged into the woman’s personal memory bank. “Is Harper expecting you?”

Right. Of course everyone here knew what had happened. And likewise, it was nice to know her coworkers were looking out for her. He swept his jacket aside to show her the badge affixed to his belt and she relaxed. “I’m with the U.S. Marshals Service.” He held out his hand. “Galen Kelly.”

“Tiffany.” She shook his hand. “If you head straight back to the far wall, Sam’s office is on the left.”

“Thanks.” Funny how accommodating people became when they found out you had the power to arrest them.

Galen took off toward Sam’s office. Monroe’s mocking laughter echoed in his mind as he realized that keeping track of Harper might be a little tougher than he’d thought. Dignitaries expected you to be close. Welcomed the human shield who was ready to take a bullet for them. He’d thought the high-profile assignment would keep him on his toes. But nothing could have prepared him for what he’d come home to.
Hey, Galen. Welcome back! How ’bout you spend the next few months with the best sex of your life while you try not to think about the fact that she cheated on her boyfriend with you. Sounds like fun, right?
Woo-fucking-hoo.

He knocked twice and entered Sam’s office without being invited. If Harper was prone to wander, as Monroe had indicated, he could fix that particular problem in two little words: tracking anklet. Sam looked up and Harper turned around as Galen closed the door behind him. Her expression fell, and her shoulders slumped. Nice to see her deflate like an old balloon the second she laid eyes on him.

“You know, you’d think since I’m doing you a favor by not setting you up in a safe house, you’d do one for me and stay close like I asked. I don’t know what you thought you were doing, Harper, but taking off like that isn’t going to fly with me. This place is
off-limits
.”

Harper cocked a brow and settled back into her chair. “You call that taking off? It took you, what, ten minutes to catch up to me. I guess I better be careful when we get back to my place. Don’t want you to think I’m
taking off
when I slip into the bathroom for a few seconds.”

Galen gnashed his teeth together until he thought his jaw might break. He fixed a pleasant expression on his face, and reminded himself that witnesses under protection, like errant teens, had a tendency to test the waters with their appointed guardians. Sometimes witness security was a lot like parenting. In some ways, Galen felt like a temporary foster parent for troubled adults.

“Sam?” He looked past Harper to the older man seated at the desk. “I’m Deputy Marshal Galen Kelly. I’m in charge of Harper’s protective detail. I wonder if I might have a moment alone with her.”

Chapter Nine

Great. Now what? He was going to take her to task for ditching him, lecture her on the merits of playing it safe, and remind her once again how he was so freaking magnanimous for not carting her off to a hotel somewhere and tagging her with a new name and Social Security number before setting her loose in the wild? Sam gave her a questioning look and she nodded. Might as well get it over with now. Harper sat in the chair, staring at the wall behind Sam’s desk and the framed IRE, Polk, and Northwest Journalism awards, milestones of a career decades in the making. Would she ever get to hang anything like that on her own wall? For that matter, would she even live long enough to be something more than a hot news story herself?

Yes, yes, and yes.

She could be upfront with him. Galen might not remember anything about her, but she remembered everything about him. No lies. No bullshit. They were mere hours into what could be a weeks’—maybe months’—long relationship. Strike that. Whatever this was, it wasn’t a relationship. It wasn’t even a partnership. She could safely call this a
whatevership
. She was a responsibility. A work assignment. The equivalent of a professional shrug. Whatever. And when it was all said and done, she’d return to her life and he’d return to his. Everything would go back to normal. It was what she wanted. So why did she already feel such a profound sense of loss? She released the sigh that had built up in her chest. Damn, she was tired of this game and it had barely begun.

“I didn’t know it was a gunshot at first,” she said before Galen could lay into her. She sat facing Sam’s desk, Galen behind her. It was easier to talk to him if she didn’t have to see his face. “It sort of sounded like a car backfiring. A loud pop. And then he just . . . fell. He pulled me down on top of him and I noticed he was bleeding.” She hadn’t talked about what had happened since the night the FBI had questioned her. Her chest constricted and Harper found it hard to breathe. “I—I shouted for help, but I knew that he wasn’t going to make it. Not with the way he was bleeding. And then I realized that whoever shot him had to be close and all I could think was how stupid I was for calling out. I should have run, but I crawled under his car like an idiot, waiting to be killed.”

The carpeting in Sam’s office muted Galen’s footsteps, but Harper knew the second he was within touching distance. The charge in the air sparked along her skin, and her pulse quickened.

“I have to know. I
need
to know why my life’s been uprooted, why someone is trying to scare me.” She’d never said the words out loud. It sounded so callous, as though she were more concerned with the whys than the man himself, but that wasn’t the case. “Ellis’s family deserves to know why he died.”

“The best way to get that, Harper, is to keep a low profile and let the FBI do their job.”

His voice tingled through her, sending a shiver down her spine. If she closed her eyes and focused on the warm timbre, she could almost pretend she was standing in her dark apartment again, his breath warm in her ear. “My parents are freaking out over this. They want me to come home. Ever since I got that crazy voice mail, Sam ordered me away from the office and threatened to fire me if I came back before the investigation is complete. My own peers have smeared my face across every news outlet in the country. I suppose it’s poetic justice. A determined political reporter finds herself at the center of a political scandal.” She scoffed. “Hell, I’d report on it.”

Galen came from behind her and settled on the edge of Sam’s desk. Funny, but she sort of liked having him at her back. Despite the fact that she was nothing more than another day at the office for him, she felt safe. He studied her with those intense blue eyes, his dark brows furrowed. If she’d ever wanted to crawl into someone’s thoughts it was right now.

“I know this is new and uncomfortable for you. But it’s not for me,” Galen reassured her. “I’ve done the high-profile thing. I’ve worked details that lasted a week and others that have lasted months or longer. The point is, we’re here to make sure not only that you’re protected, but that you’re not overwhelmed. You don’t have to take on more than you can handle, Harper.”

She’d never been good at asking for help. Asking for help meant you were weak. That you couldn’t hack it. From the time she was a kid, her dad had drilled that philosophy into her brain. His side of the family was huge: brothers, sisters, cousins all coming out of the woodwork to stand in line with their hands out. They were constantly asking for loans, favors, a helping hand. And Tom Allen didn’t want his daughter to be the type of person who couldn’t stand on her own two feet. He wanted her to know the satisfaction of being independent, of not having to owe anyone for anything. Harper had depended on herself for so long, she didn’t know if she could allow herself to depend on anyone else. Once she opened that door even a little, would everything she’d worked for come crashing down?

Galen’s words were so sincere, his gaze so clear and focused. If only she could let go. Allow herself to give up control. If only there weren’t history between them. She averted her eyes and stood, unwilling to see the honesty in his. “I got what I came here for. Let’s go.”

The trek back through the office didn’t do anything for Harper’s dour mood. Pitiful glances and commiserating half smiles followed her out the door and into the hallway. Poor, sad, pathetic Harper. Was ten in the morning too early to start drinking? She hated the pity that wafted off of everyone she passed. She didn’t need Galen’s concern. Didn’t want his softly spoken words to comfort or warm her. It was easier to hold on to her anger when he acted like the hotshot arrogant deputy marshal, and it helped to lessen the sting of his . . . what? Rejection? You had to remember the person you’d slept with in order to reject them.

“Curt always left after eight and another deputy took over the evening shift, along with a second deputy who’s usually posted outside of my building for the night. Is that going to change now that you’ve been assigned to my detail?” God, if Galen had to spend the night in her apartment, she’d crack for sure.

Galen pushed the button to call the elevator and took a step back. “Nothing changes. I’m the deputy in charge of your detail, so everyone else on shift reports to me. We want you to feel comfortable, and let’s face it, no one sleeps well with a stranger camped out on the couch.”

Harper’s lips spread into a reluctant smile. Nothing like waking up to an armed man on your sofa to start off the day. “Curt assigned a female marshal to stay in the apartment over nights.”

“That’s not going to change. Everyone who’s been assigned to your security will remain on your detail.” The elevator doors slid open and Galen stepped inside. Harper followed and tucked herself in the opposite corner of the tiny car. Last year’s elevator ride with Galen had been decidedly steamier, and she needed to put a little distance between them. “If you’re uncomfortable with anyone or have any questions, just say the word. A lot of witnesses get nervous.”

“I’ll be fine.”

Galen’s brow furrowed. He looked like he wanted to say more, but thankfully he kept his thoughts to himself.

“Do you really think whoever shot Ellis is a threat to me?” It was a stupid question. One she’d asked the FBI, the police, and Curt the first night she’d met him. Harper didn’t really need any more confirmation, but for some reason, she wanted to hear him say it. “He didn’t confide anything to me”—
except for a bunch of gibberish I barely remember
—“but Curt says the shooter can’t afford to take any chances.”

“If it was me,” Galen said, thoughtful, “I’d take you out in a heartbeat. No questions asked.”

The mere two-story elevator ride was one of the longest of Harper’s life. Despite the fact that Galen had assured her that her life was in danger, all she could think about were her legs wrapped around his waist and the hard length of his erection as it brushed against her core.

“Are you okay, Harper?” Galen asked as the elevator doors opened. “You look a little flushed.”

Oh, God. Not at all embarrassing that he noticed the blush her memories evoked. Harper Allen, wanton slut right here, folks! “I’m fine.”
Mind out of the gutter, Harp. Keep it clean
. She needed to get that night out of her head once and for all. He certainly didn’t remember it, so why should she?
Um, how about because it was the best sex of your life?
Okay, so maybe it would take longer than a day to quit thinking about that night. At least she had work to occupy her in the meantime.

 

 

Galen made a silent vow to avoid elevators for a while. The second the doors slid closed, all he could think about was his hands on Harper’s body and how damned good it had felt to kiss her. And wasn’t he a king-sized asshole for fantasizing about their passionate elevator ride together while she was obviously upset over the situation she was in.
Nice, dude. You earned your dickhead-of-the-month membership today
.

While he was trying not to picture Harper without her clothes, a thought did cross Galen’s mind. With the high-profile nature of this case and the yet-to-be-determined motive of Senator Ellis’s murder, chances were good that the bastard responsible was holed up somewhere, doing his research on the sole witness. He already knew where she worked. It wouldn’t be long before he knew everything about her. Where had Harper said she’d grown up? Iowa? No.
Shit
. Where the hell was it? He’d have to check in with Monroe, find out if he’d sent anyone to keep an eye on Harper’s family. More times than not, suspects took the backdoor approach, using the witness’s loved ones to get to the witness.

Once free of the torturous elevator, the rest of the morning took a nosedive from there. Harper didn’t speak and her pensive mood was starting to rub off on Galen. He climbed into the car—from one enclosed space to another, it seemed—and he gave himself a mental pep talk as he pulled out into traffic and headed south down SW Broadway.

“You’re going the wrong way.”

Galen kept his eyes on traffic. Had Harper moved? She said he was going the wrong direction, but the Regency Apartments were on Broadway, not far from the newspaper.
Wow, dude, how pathetic is it that you remember where she lived ?
Maybe they weren’t headed to her apartment. The thought that he might have to deal with being stationed at her boyfriend’s place made Galen want to turn the fuck around and head back to the office.

Harper pointed behind them and said, “My condo’s off of Burnside, on Northwest Uptown Terrace.”

“Gotcha. Thanks.” Galen switched lanes and circled the block, backtracking to SW Jefferson. Monroe had sent all of Harper’s pertinent information—work info, home address, apartment number, cell number, etc.—to his phone, but he hadn’t thought to look at it yet. The fact that she might have moved was a sore reminder that a hell of a lot had changed over the course of a year and he had no business living in the past.

The twenty-minute drive to Harper’s condo passed in silence. It was clear she wanted him to give her a little space, and to be honest, he wasn’t interested in trying to make small talk. When they pulled up to her building, a cold lump of dread settled in the pit of Galen’s gut. The last things he wanted to see were pictures of Harper and her boyfriend, his clothes scattered around the house, or worse yet, the guy in the flesh. That would be the cherry on top of a
stellar
day. Yeah, he’d been played. A fucking
year
ago. So why did it feel like it just happened yesterday? Fair didn’t work into the whole life equation. Was it fair that his dad had cheated on his mom more times than he could count?
No
. Was it fair that she’d abandoned him and Michelle because she couldn’t snap out of her depression?
Nope
. So what good would it do him now to be angry over something he had no control of whatsoever?
Nada
.

If he hadn’t killed the engine, Galen doubted Harper would have even noticed they’d stopped. She looked up at her building, and then at him. God, he wanted to comb his fingers through her hair, take her face in his hands, put his mouth to hers, and make the past year disappear. Her face was drawn, her usually sparkling hazel eyes dull. She looked exhausted. Knowing that she wasn’t his to comfort, to touch, sliced through him like a knife to the chest. She belonged to someone else.

There was no use sitting out here in the car like some sort of pussy. Life wasn’t fair. Suck it up. If the boyfriend was there—fine. If he had to endure the sight of them together—fine. He was a professional, damn it. He would not let this get under his skin.

“Ready?”

Harper sighed and got out of the car. “I’m on the sixth floor.” She’d devolved from snarky smart-ass with a comeback for everything into a passive, nonverbal passenger who seemed to be just along for the ride. Galen liked the smart-ass side of her personality much better than the quiet brooder. At least the snark kept him on his toes. Hell, at this point he’d settle for passive aggressive.

Harper looked up at her building, almost as though she were preparing herself for the arduous journey to the sixth floor. Maybe she wasn’t any more excited to have her boyfriend meet the guy she’d had a one-night stand with than Galen was to be meeting the ass hat who’ d managed to snag her. What was his name again? Camden? Carl?

“Curt brought his laptop so he could work,” Harper remarked as she stepped up onto the sidewalk and headed for the building. “You’re probably going to be pretty bored. I don’t have anything but basic cable and a weak DVD collection.”

Galen stepped up beside her and cocked a brow. Whereas Monroe’s administrative duties usually kept him chained to his desk, Galen spent a lot of his time in the field. “I’ll be fine.” He motioned Harper up ahead of him while he scanned the building and surrounding area, gathering a mental cache of information he would later use to develop a risk assessment. Already, he spotted several areas—the parking garage next door, an alley across from her building, not to mention an abandoned storefront fifty yards down the street—that made perfect cover for a shooter with even marginal aim. The fire escape was a huge risk as well. Funny that something put in place as a safety measure could actually put Harper closer to danger.