Luke studied it with obvious distaste. When he handed it back, his mouth was set in a grim line. “Harper, this is bad news.”
“Tell me about it.”
“No, I mean, the worst damn news.” He angled forward across the table until he was so close she could smell the soap on his skin. “When I worked undercover, I was in Dowell’s operation—or what’s left of it now.” He gave her a weighted look. “You remember the scar on my side?”
Harper thought of her and Luke in bed, her head on his chest, her fingers tracing the angry line of the scar. “I remember.”
“Well, it was Dowell’s guys who gave it to me. The organization’s run by a dirtbag named Rodney Jordan now. A little psychopath. He was Dowell’s hit man for years. After the boss went down, the group disbanded, but Jordan brought it back together, a little at a time.” His tone was bitter. “Every drug dealer in the state is scared to death of him and the gang of shitheads he’s pulled together. They kill ruthlessly, and they leave no evidence.” He held her gaze. “They erase people, Harper.”
Her stomach turned to ice.
“I think they must be the ones who killed my mother,” she told him, quietly. “After Dowell went to prison. I think Dowell had her killed to get back at my father for losing that case. I don’t know how he did it, but it makes sense.”
She could see him working it through in his mind. “You can’t know that for certain,” he said. “It’s speculation.” Seeing her expression, he raised one hand. “I get that it’s reasonable speculation. But you don’t know for certain, and you can’t go down that path all the way to deciding it was definitely him.”
“But it fits,” she argued. “The timing. The fact that the killing looked professional. Dowell’s a professional. That guy you mentioned—his hit man. He could have done the job.”
Luke fell silent. When he spoke again, his tone was dead serious.
“These guys don’t believe in mistakes. They believe in winning and making money. If your dad lost that case, and Dowell blamed him for what happened…” His hand tightened around the bottle. “They wouldn’t hesitate to kill a woman to send a message. Wouldn’t even blink.”
Harper’s mouth had gone dry. She licked her lips before telling him the last piece of information she had. “Luke, I think Dowell … he might be out.”
He stared at her. “Are you certain?”
“No,” she admitted. “There’s nothing about it in any newspaper, and all the offices are closed. But it’s been seventeen years. With good behavior…”
The worry in his face told her everything.
“I’ll need to talk to some people,” he said. “See what I can find out. But seventeen years would be about right.” The shallow lines on his forehead deepened. He seemed bewildered by this tsunami of bad news. “Damn, Harper.”
“I know,” she said. The knot that had formed in the pit of her stomach earlier had only grown more solid. “The guy thinks Dowell’s coming for me. He’s the one I’m supposed to be hiding from.”
Luke didn’t look convinced. “Even if he is out, he’ll be on probation,” he reminded her. “He’ll be monitored. Have to check in every week. Besides, if he wanted to get to you, wouldn’t he have had it done it by now? Your name’s in the paper every day. You’re not impossible to find.”
The same question had been puzzling Harper.
“I don’t know the answer to that,” she admitted. “Maybe Dowell wants to do it himself. Maybe he waited.” She held up her hands. “Or maybe the guy’s making it all up. I don’t know.”
He considered this. “What’s your gut tell you?”
She held his eyes. “My gut says I’m in trouble.”
Suddenly she needed a real drink.
She picked up the bottle of beer, finished it off, and gestured at his. “Want another?”
He started to get up but she motioned for him to stay put and grabbed her wallet, heading to the bar. As she approached, the bartender looked up from putting glasses in the dishwasher. She had unusual blue eyes and a heart-shaped face.
“A Beck’s and a shot of Jameson’s, please.” Harper placed the empties on the bar. “Make the whiskey a double.”
The woman plucked a bottle from the shelf. A voice came from just behind Harper’s shoulder. “You and the detective look awful cozy. That must come in handy.”
Harper spun around.
Jon Graff had shed the light jacket he’d worn earlier that night on Admiral’s Row. He held up his glass. “I told you we should have a drink together.”
“If I wanted to have a drink with you,” she said, icily, “I would have a drink with you.”
His grin widened. “You have got such attitude. I like it.”
“That’s twelve fifty.” The bartender was looking back and forth between the two of them with animated curiosity.
Keeping her eyes on Graff, Harper dug a ten and a five out of her wallet and slid them across.
“Keep the change.” She picked up the drinks, suppressing the urge to throw them in his face.
“Come on, Harper McClain. Tell me how you got in that house tonight.” He followed her across the bar. “Did the handsome young detective let you in?”
“I’m not telling you a thing,” she said.
“Sure you are.” Glancing to where Luke sat, he said, “You’re telling me things you don’t even know you’re telling me.”
Biting back a series of creative suggestions of just what he could do with his questions, Harper tightened her lips and stalked away, holding the drinks in a death grip.
When she reached Luke, his eyes were fixed on Graff. “What was that about?”
“A tabloid reporter from LA looking for trouble.” She lowered her voice. “He recognized you.”
She didn’t have to tell him what this meant. If Graff pushed it, Luke could find himself questioned by Blazer about why he was sitting with her in a bar in the middle of a homicide investigation she was covering.
Luke watched Graff with a murderous expression. “He gave you hassle?”
Harper made a dismissive gesture. “He tried to talk to me out at the house. Followed me to my car talking trash. I didn’t like him then. Don’t like him now.”
She didn’t mention that he’d asked her out. The last thing she needed was Luke getting in a macho fight right now. But he seemed to know there was more to it than she was letting on. He pulled out his phone. “Give me his name again. I’ll run him through the system tomorrow.”
Harper spelled it for him. The whole time, she could feel Graff’s eyes burning into her back.
“I think we should go,” she said.
He didn’t argue. Leaving their full drinks on the table, they headed out. As he held the door for her, Luke fixed the tabloid reporter with an icy stare.
Outside, Harper took a deep breath and let the salt air clear Graff from her lungs.
As they walked back to their cars, she told Luke about Graff’s fixation with Cara. “There’s something personal there,” she said. “He seems obsessed with her.”