One Night More (9 page)

Though he wasn’t thrilled about the neighborhood—honestly, her tiny studio on Broadway would have been safer—Galen felt a little better about Harper’s living situation once they made it past the lobby. The condo complex was older, but it did have twenty-four-hour front-desk staff. He made Harper wait for him at the elevators, well within his line of vision, while he checked the interior stairwells. All equipped with emergency exits that led to the fire escapes and sturdy doors that opened up onto each floor.

“Curt and his team did the whole marshal treatment on the building a couple of days ago.” She stepped into the empty elevator car and raised a brow as if daring Galen to step inside. Holy hell, that one look was enough to stir his blood. He took a deep breath and forbade himself from thinking of two things on the ride to the sixth floor: Harper’s naked body, and well, Harper’s naked body on his naked body.

“There are deputies positioned around the block.” Talking about work was sort of like taking a cold shower. Harper’s eyes wandered to his mouth and his gut clenched. Shit, it was going to take a hell of a lot more than office banter to cool him down. “And, um”—he cleared his throat—“of course, the FBI have personnel in the area as well. If I have to evacuate you—”

“Why would you have to do that?” Her voice dropped an octave, the low, seductive quality sending an electric jolt through Galen’s body.

Soccer. His grandma. Gunshot wounds. Damn it, he needed to get his mind off the thick locks of her auburn hair. A tangle of curls he wanted to bury his face in . . . Landon in a bikini. Okay, that would be straight-up hilarious. “We’d do our best to intercept any potential threats before anyone could make their way to your apartment, but I like to hope for the best and plan for the worst.”

“Do you really think he’d be stupid enough to come after me in my own home?” She worried her bottom lip between her teeth, and Galen swallowed a groan. Was she doing this to him on purpose?

“I think a desperate man is capable of anything.”

The elevator deposited them on Harper’s floor. Never had Galen been so thankful to be free of an enclosed space. In fact, he might swear off elevators from here on out. Taking the stairs everywhere they went couldn’t be too bad. He could use a little more cardio in his workout routine.

“I didn’t see anything. And if there is anything incriminating on my voice recorder, it’s not like I have it anymore. Why not just disappear and leave me alone?”

While Harper led the way to her unit, Galen acquainted himself with the layout of her floor, the exits, and closest neighbors. Surely Curt already had names and pertinent information.

“I think he had a plan. And you weren’t part of it. He doesn’t have room for liabilities and you’re a loose end that needs to be tied up.”

Harper stopped in front of the door marked F6. Keys in hand, she put her back to the door and faced him. Galen’s heart hammered in his chest and he stuffed his hands into his pockets to keep them from balling into fists at his side. Just like on that amazing night a year ago, her expression became unsure. As though letting him into her condo would change everything.

“So now I’m a loose end?” she murmured.

What are you doing here? You should
not
be working this assignment
. He reached out and took the keys from her hand. Her hazel eyes shined with emotion, something almost hopeful that damn near choked him.

“A threat. Unfinished business. In this case it’s all the same.” Galen reached around her waist and slid the key in the lock. His arm brushed her torso and she shifted away. Hopeful? More like uncomfortable.
Way to go, dickhead
. Where was a brick wall to bash your head against when you needed one?

Harper turned, the action abrupt. Yeah, definitely uncomfortable. She opened the door and retrieved her key, heading deep into her apartment in a nervous rush. One of the most important aspects of protective detail was to make sure the witness felt safe. So when she acted like she was afraid to be alone with you, it sort of hit high on the epic-fail-o-meter.

Galen gave her some space—God knew he needed a little—and did a mini sweep of the condo. The sixth floor was safer than the ground level at any rate, but that didn’t do much to put Galen at ease. The fire escape provided easy access to Harper’s apartment, and if Ellis’s shooter was as determined as Galen suspected him to be, it would be no great feat to get to Harper. The sliding patio doors that led out to her terrace were cheap and flimsy, the lock easy enough to break given the proper motivation. Likewise, the blinds in every window were pulled up to expose Harper’s movements to anyone who cared to look. And while the thought of Peeping Toms watching her undress made him want to break something, he was more concerned with how easy it would be to take her out with a single shot from a sniper rifle.

Christ, he felt unprepared. Monroe had basically thrown him into this assignment. Off the plane and back to work. He had a lot of catching up to do before he’d be confident in his ability to protect Harper. Galen didn’t like going out half-cocked and he wouldn’t feel completely ready until he had every detail on his assignment down to Harper’s shoe size.

To the left of the living room was a galley kitchen, a much bigger space in comparison to her previous place. Then again, her last apartment had been the size of a saltine cracker. Harper stood in front of the sink, her eyes unfocused, her expression lost. Her beauty sucked the oxygen right out of Galen’s lungs. He’d been so sure when he met her that she was someone he could trust. The hard truth of her betrayal burned like a hot cinder in Galen’s throat.

Honesty was his number-one rule. As he lost sight of everything but her, he reminded himself that a lie by omission was still a goddamned lie.

Chapter Ten

What was it about Galen that made Harper break out into a full-body sweat? Three hours. After an entire year apart, one hundred and eighty measly minutes together had her undone. Two elevator rides in one day had prompted fantasies about him stripped naked with her wrapped around him like a second skin. And when he had her back to the door, caged in by his arm as he unlocked it . . . the memory of what his hands had felt like on her bare skin was enough to send her blood racing through her veins. She pulled away when his hand brushed her side, but only because she was afraid he’d sense the tension in her body. Or worse, the low thrum of desire that pulsed between her thighs. If she hadn’t put a little distance between them, she would have pounced and ridden him right there in her hallway with all the abandon of a cowgirl at the county rodeo.

Sooooo ladylike.

Where was her pride? This was a guy who’d slept with her and disappeared the next morning without even a “Thanks for the good time!” He couldn’t have known what that night meant to her. She wasn’t a one-night-stand sort of girl. But apparently, Galen Kelly was well-practiced at the one-nighter. So practiced, in fact, he couldn’t even remember Harper. She suppressed a disdainful snort. He’d probably picked dozens of women up in bars. And there were probably many more he couldn’t bother himself to remember.

The kitchen seemed like the safest place to hide. At this point, she was vacillating between wanting to kiss him and wanting to kick him. A low countertop separated the kitchen from the living room, and unless Harper wanted to vault it like an Olympic gymnast to get to him, she was marginally safe from making a fool out of herself either way.

“You want a grilled cheese?”

Galen’s brow furrowed at the question and Harper stood there, jaw slack, brain cranking to keep up with her mouth.
Really, Harp? “You want a grilled cheese?” You couldn’t think of anything else to say?
Did she even have cheese? Or bread? Argh!

Galen’s lips quirked in a half smile, and his eyes lit with amusement. “I love grilled cheese.”

You’d think after one brief encounter almost a year ago, he would have diminished in her memory somehow. But he was just as perfect as she remembered. It was totally unfair that in addition to being under house arrest for who knew how long, she was forced to endure the torture of his nearness and suffer the constant sting of his rejection. Oh, not to mention the fact that she had to pretend as though they’d never met before today. Hell might be a nice place to vacation once this ordeal was over. “Is Gruyere okay or are you a traditionalist?”

Galen took a seat on a stool at the bar and leaned his arms on the surface. Harper caught herself wishing he’d take off that ridiculous sport jacket. And while he was at it, his shirt too.
Focus, Harp!

“I’m good with anything. Cheddar, Swiss, provolone and yes, even Gruyere. I don’t discriminate against any cheese.”

His body was permanently etched in her mind, and his wit had remained firmly anchored in her memory. She was glad that aspect of his personality hadn’t changed. But, damn, fate was certainly turning the screws on her. “Lightly toasted or darker?”

He smiled. “A little on the burned side.”

“Really?” Harper grabbed a pan from the rack hanging above the bar and went to the pantry in search of bread. More than two slices would be preferable. Not moldy, even better. She grabbed half a loaf out of the cupboard and checked it for freshness. Score! “Burned grilled cheese is sort of gross, you know.”

“Blasphemy. You just say that because you’ve never tried it. How do you like your grilled cheese, then? Soft and soggy?”

“Golden brown,” she said defensively. “Just crunchy enough.”

“Ah.” His voice became solemn. “So you’re one of
those
.”

Harper tried to remain aloof, but a burst of laughter put the kibosh on that plan. “One of those what?”

“A grilled cheese snob.”

“I am not.”

He stretched his arms out on the counter, and Harper forced her gaze from wandering to his hands, fingers splayed out on the surface. Man, did she want those hands on her.

“I bet if the bread is toasted even a shade darker than gold you won’t eat it.” Harper gave him a look as he continued to tease her. She slapped some cheese on the bread and grabbed a plastic container with butter. “I like mine with a lot of butter,” Galen added.

She slathered the bread with a generous slice of butter. “Me too. Guess I’m not the only grilled cheese snob here.”

“I admit to nothing.”

While they ate their grilled cheese, Harper kept the conversation light. It didn’t do anything for the lump of regret that congealed in her stomach, however. Galen was so easy to talk to once he let down his I’m-in-charge-here attitude. This had to be the real him. The guy she’d met at the bar that night. Not the guy who’d left without saying a word. And not the bossy know-it-all.

“I should probably get some work done.” At this point, her only other option was to offer him a full-body massage and she didn’t think that fell under his marshal duties. If only. Yeah, if Harper didn’t get to work, she’d have no pride left to speak of.

“Me too,” Galen said in a way that made her think work was the last thing on his mind. Of course, she’d misinterpreted him before, so she tried not to read too much into his tone. “I need to call Agent Davis and check in with Chief Deputy Monroe.”

“Right,” Harper said, the easygoing air of their previous conversation devolving into something stilted and awkward.
Damn
. “I’m on deadline, so, yeah . . .”

“I really need to check in with the rest of the team . . .”

And then it floundered and died.

Silence descended like an impenetrable fog that Harper couldn’t seem to find her way out of. The moment had passed, that instant connection, so like the night they’d first met, lost. She gathered their plates and put them in the sink, and searched for something, anything to salvage the moment. That was pathetic, though, right? Her inner voice chimed in to remind her that she’d wanted something more with this man a year ago. And he’d left her apartment before she’d woken up without a word in parting. It sent a pretty clear message. So why try to force something between them that was never meant to be? A good reporter knew when a lead was about to dead-end, and this one was running out of road.

“Harper? I asked if you’d mind if I use the balcony to make a couple of phone calls.”

Harper looked up from the sink. How long had she been standing there, staring into the stainless-steel basin like some kind of freak? She suppressed a groan of embarrassment and turned toward Galen, who was studying her again with that perplexed expression.
Great
.

“Sure. Let me know if you need anything.”

He gave her a wan smile and opened the sliding glass door. A frown creased his forehead and his expression darkened. “Monroe should have mentioned this, Harper, but you need to be sure to keep all of your doors locked at all times. Even this one. Okay?”

“Oh. Okay. Right, Curt did mention that. I must have forgotten. Sorry.”

He gave her a nod and slid the door closed behind him.

Hadn’t she locked that door? She could have sworn she’d checked it twice before heading to Curt’s office with him this morning. Huh. Maybe she was losing it. From now on, she’d triple check. Even though she doubted anyone would climb up to a sixth-floor balcony, Curt said it was a security precaution, so she’d keep it locked. Period.

Galen had his phone to his ear as he paced back and forth, back and forth across her balcony. She could have watched him all day, the way his body rolled with an easy grace, each step precisely placed as though he’d transformed the act of walking into art. She knew from memory the shape of his body, his strong thighs, rippled abs, sculpted shoulders, and if she closed her eyes, she could picture the muscles bunching and releasing as he walked. Harper gave herself a mental shake.
Snap out of it and get your head on straight!
Nothing but heartache would come from dwelling on something that was never going to happen again.

While Galen did his thing out on her balcony, Harper set up camp at her dining room table. Okay, so calling it a “room” was a bit of a reach; the space was a little square of tile to the right of the living room only big enough to accommodate a tiny table. Still, this condo was a palace compared to her former studio apartment. With her notes spread to one side of her laptop, she hunkered down and got to work. Her story on the long-term effects of abolishing collective bargaining in certain unions was an easy piece. Really, all it needed was a quick polish and it would be ready to send to Sam. Harper stared at the cursor as it blinked beside her byline. No way would she be able to focus on reading and revising this story right now.

She opened a Web browser and typed Blue Lake into the search engine. The first result was a farm in southeast Minnesota that grew nothing but the blue lake variety of green beans. She doubted Senator Ellis wanted her to look into organic beans.
Crap
. Wisconsin, Colorado, organic farms, geothermal farms, farms for sale, back country lakes in Washington and Michigan, a school district in Pennsylvania . . . Page after page failed to produce anything related to Oregon, Senator Mark Ellis or his wife, or anything political in nature. Obviously, the senator had intended to tell her more, but unfortunately, the bullet in his chest had put an end to any conversation—or revelation—that would have done Harper any good.

Down but not out. If Harper was anything, it was persistent. On an exhale of breath, she let her eyes drift shut as she thought back to that night, but the images were garbled and confused. One minute she was standing in front of Ellis. The next, a loud pop and he was dragging her to the ground, his voice strained in her ears. He’d mentioned a hazard of some kind. Mobile hazard? Hazard assessment? Could he have been referring to a threat? She might not have much to go on, but Harper was far from throwing in the towel. While Davis and the FBI were conducting their investigation, she was going to conduct one of her own. Being proactive would help her feel a little less out of control and who knows, maybe she’d find something useful she could pass on to Agent Davis. Harper had a friend or two at the state capitol who might be able to help her out. She did a precursory check to make sure Galen was still preoccupied—yep, pacing away—and grabbed her phone. Scrolling through her contacts list, she selected the entry named Liz, and dialed.

A not-so-chipper voice answered. “Did we or did we not agree that calls during business hours are prohibited?”

“I know, and I’m sorry.” She valued her contacts on the “inside,” and
Liz
, as she’d requested Harper refer to her, was very strict about phone calls while she was at the office. “I wouldn’t call you during the day if it wasn’t important.”

“Well, what’s done is done. Besides, you should be taking it easy. You’ve been through the wringer, sweet cheeks. The last thing you need to worry about is work.”

“If I don’t work I’ll go crazy.” Especially with Galen ever present.

“I get that. Sometimes work is a good distraction. Considering what you’ve been through the past week, I suppose I can let you off the hook this once. What do you need, cupcake?”

Liz
was a sixtysomething secretary for the lieutenant governor and had the inside scoop on a lot of the goings-on around the state. Aside from having a penchant for using silly nicknames—cupcake, lamb chop, sweet potato, and Harper’s personal favorite, baby butter bean—she was the person to talk to if you wanted dirt, gossip, the inside scoop, or in this case, a phone number.

“I’m after two things, Liz, and if you can get even one of them for me, I’ll . . .” What? What perk could she possibly offer in exchange for a little info? “I’ll hook you up with a sexy U.S. marshal.” Okay, so she wasn’t positive that Curt was single, but he looked about Liz’s age and didn’t wear a ring. And he was pretty good-looking for an older man. Whether or not he’d be up for a blind date was another matter, but if it came down to it, Harper would work her charm.

“Cute?” Glad to see Liz had her priorities straight.

“Would I offer otherwise?”

“All right, pumpkin. What can I do ya for?”

Harper craned her neck toward the balcony. Thank God Galen was long-winded. “First, I need you to check out anything that contains the words ‘blue lake’ and let me know if you get any hits. I’m looking for whatever you can dig up, really. Local, related to Ellis, his family, his campaign, or any of his staff.”

She responded, “Hmm,” which in Liz speak translated to,
Oh reeeaaally. Is that all?
“And second?”

“Can you snag me Jason Meader’s personal cell phone number?”

“Your marshal better be
really
cute,” Liz warned.

And in classic Liz fashion, she hung up without even saying good-bye.

 

 

Galen pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at the screen. On a good day most of the words out of Davis’s mouth translated to, “Blah, blah, blah.” But today, he’d hit an entirely new level of stupid.

“You’re telling me that after four days of investigation, you’re leaning toward a robbery gone wrong? Ellis was a United States senator, Sean. Not some random guy leaving work for the day.”

Davis took a while to answer, and Galen wondered if the FBI special agent was too busy practicing his golf swing to respond. “I’m sure you think you’re better equipped to handle this situation, Galen, what with coming off an international assignment, but maybe you should leave the heavy lifting to the grown-ups. Your job is to babysit the witness and that’s
all
.”

Dickhead. “See, here’s where we’re going to have a problem.” Galen’s blood was rising, his temper close to the surface. “What you fail to consider in this situation is the fact that you’re gambling with someone’s safety on your hunch. Let’s say this is a robbery gone south—why would a random mugger with no ties to the senator threaten Harper by letting her know that he had her digital recorder in his possession? If the suspect hadn’t reached out, I’d agree that Harper might not have much to worry about.”