By the time Harper left the paper that night, the weather had begun to turn. The wind was picking up. The night sky had a greenish hue that drained the color from the city.
A smattering of rain fell as she walked out to her car. The security guard stood at the edge of the street, keeping watch. A blue-and-white Savannah patrol car sat behind the red Camaro, its engine loud in the quiet street.
Harper jumped into the driver’s seat, starting the engine with a roar.
The patrol car accompanied her as far as the city limits, dropping back right when she turned onto Highway 80. After that, for an unnerving few miles, she was alone. But, just before she hit the marshes, a Chatham County sheriff’s deputy appeared in front of her, rolling slow. As she neared, he sped up and stuck with her the rest of the way. When she pulled into the driveway at Spinnaker Cottage, he backed into the entrance and parked there, facing the street. Effectively blocking anyone from getting in or out.
As she walked from the car into a slow, steady rain, Harper lifted her hand and saw the faint movement as the deputy responded.
She hurried up the steps to the porch, finding Zuzu, high and dry on the chair, waiting. Harper scooped her up and unlocked the door. Inside, she looked around, her gaze lingering on the blue chair where Lee had sat not twenty-four hours ago.
Unexpectedly, the room blurred.
Why had he come here last night? Had he somehow known he wouldn’t make it through this? Was he planning even then to confront Martin Dowell in that hotel room?
Every word he’d said to her seemed weighted with meaning now.
“Maybe I’m as obsessive as Martin Dowell. But I need to finish this case.…”
“Well, your case is over now,” she told the chair, her voice breaking.
Forcing back tears, she stalked around the house, checking each window as she went—all were locked tight.
In the kitchen, she got the gun out of her bag and set it on the counter before grabbing the tall, slim bottle of Jameson whiskey from the cupboard and pouring herself an unhealthy measure. She drank it down fast, and drew in a long breath.
She needed to calm down. With the deputy outside and every cop on the coast keeping an eye on her, she had to be safe.
But maybe she was now underestimating Martin Dowell, too.
Setting the glass down with a bang, she ran back to the front door and pulled the sofa in front of it, using her weight as leverage.
When she’d finished, she stood, hands on her hips, looking for anything else she could do. Crouched in the bedroom doorway, Zuzu watched her doubtfully.
Harper realized she’d forgotten to feed her. Guilt washed over her. None of this was the cat’s fault.
Returning to the kitchen, she took a can of food from the shelf and emptied it into Zuzu’s bowl. She checked that her water dish was full, then picked up the gun and slid down to the floor to watch as the gray tabby ate, her whiskers tucked back delicately.
“I’m sorry about all this,” she whispered, resting her head on her knees. “All you wanted was a safe place. I let you down.”
In her pocket, her phone vibrated. Luke’s name was on the screen. Harper answered without getting up. “Hey.”
“I’m outside your place,” he said. “Can I come in?”
She nearly dropped the phone. “What? Now?”
“Yeah. Sorry I didn’t call first. It’s been crazy.”
She was already scrambling to her feet. “Hang on,” she said. “I just barricaded the door. Give me a second.”
She heard him say, “You did what?” But she was already dragging the sofa back.
When she opened the door, Luke was on the small porch, his hair damp from the rain. His eyes swept her face, as if looking for damage.
Stifling a sob at the back of her throat, Harper stepped toward him. When he folded her in his arms, she let him. His chest was solid and familiar beneath her cheek. His arms held her tightly.
“You shouldn’t have come.” Her words were muffled against his jacket, and she made herself let go. “But I’m glad you did. Do you want a drink?”
He nodded.
“Whiskey okay?” She was already walking to the kitchen.
“Better than okay.”
She poured them each a glass, and they stood in the small, windowless kitchen, leaning against the counters listening to the rain patter against the windows. Luke’s eyes flicked from the bottle to the gun lying next to it.
He drank half of his shot before looking up at her. “It was Dowell,” he said. “He slipped the state police last night. They don’t know what time, exactly. Sometime between midnight and six A.M., he left the hotel where they’ve been keeping him, cut off the ankle bracelet, and threw it in a dumpster. Blazer’s furious. The FBI’s involved, after the murder tonight. But Dowell’s got a head start.” He shook his head in disgust. “Now that the shit’s hit the fan, the state cops are backtracking and making excuses. But it’s too late. Dowell’s on the run.”
Harper felt gut-punched. This was every bit as bad as she’d feared.
It was hard to think through the low roar of panic filling her ears. “When I saw him tonight, he wasn’t alone.” Her voice was thin and tight. “He was with a younger man. Maybe in his forties. Taller, thinner.”
“That’s almost certainly his son, Aaron. The FBI thinks the two of them planned this whole thing together. Aaron helped him escape. He’s a chip off the old block.” Luke looked down at the amber liquid in his glass. “We collected blood at the scene and ran it. Preliminary tests say it’s a DNA match for Dowell.”
“How bad is he hurt?” she asked. “Was there a lot of blood?”
“Enough.” He met her eyes. “Your guy put up a hell of a fight.”
“Dammit.” She covered her face.
Taking the glass from her nerveless fingers, he set it on the counter, and pulled her close. She knew she shouldn’t let him. But he was always the one she went to when she needed to feel safe.
He stroked her hair. “We’re doing everything we can. This place is Fort Knox. County’s on board, too. You’ll be protected.”
“He’ll get to me,” she whispered, her voice muffled. “He’ll find a way.”
“He’s out of his territory,” Luke reminded her. “This isn’t Atlanta. Every cop in town is looking for him. The FBI is tracking him. He can’t hide for long.” Taking her by the shoulders, he waited until she looked up at him. His eyes were deadly serious. “We’ll get him, Harper. I promise.”
She knew he’d come all the way out here in the pouring rain on a night he was unlikely to get any sleep just to tell her that. The thought filled her with so much gratitude she couldn’t speak.
Standing on her toes, she pressed her lips against his cheek, the slight bristle of his whiskers soft against her skin. “Thank you,” she said.
She felt him tense. His hands slid up her arms, holding her close to him.
She leaned back to see his eyes darken as he stared back at her. The moment seemed to slow. And then his lips were on hers. She could taste the salt of her own tears and the soft, familiar sweetness of him.
God, she wanted this. To forget. To be safe. To be with Luke the way they used to be.
She ran her hands up his chest, tracing the hard outline of his muscles, until she found his neck and pulled him down, deepening the kiss.