Bad Seed (Jubilee, Kentucky #5)

Chapter 11

Harley’s room service order for breakfast arrived just after 7:00 a.m. An order of bacon, a trio of croissants, extra butter, honey, and a pot of coffee. When it arrived, she began removing the dishes from the tray. As she picked up the basket of croissants, she saw a note beneath it.

Good morning, Sunshine. Text if you need me. I’ll see you this evening. FYI—for your daily sugar fix—apple pies with cheddar cheese crusts coming out of the oven.

Sunshine. She smiled, and made a mental note. Apple pie definitely happening in her belly today. She ate while everything was still hot, put her tray back out in the hall, and sent him a text in return.

Sweetest wake-up message ever. Apple pie it is!

Brendan heard his phone signal a text, went into the cooler to grab some more eggs, and read it while he was standing in the cold and thought about waking up beside her.

He’d already talked to Cameron last night about Harley’s request to talk to Rusty and given them Harley’s number. The rest was up to them, and he had more Dutch babies to make. He took a half-dozen blocks of unsalted butter from a shelf and went back to his station.

“Anthony, make sure the fruit is ready for the Dutch babies, and when you whip the cream, almond flavoring, not vanilla.”

“Yes, Chef.”

Then Brendan eyed the three other sous-chefs in the baking area and frowned.

“Rick, egg wash only…no herbs or salt sprinkles. George, go lightly with the dusting sugar. You’re not powdering a baby’s butt, okay?”

“Yes, Chef,” they echoed.

“And you…little mermaid…yes, the dough needs punching down, but not like you’re trying to cold-cock someone,” Brendan cautioned.

Ariel Halsey liked the nickname Chef had given her, but she never wanted to disappoint him.

“Sorry, Chef. I know better,” she said.

Brendan winked. “I know you do. So, who made you mad this morning?”

She blushed.

They all laughed, and the morning rolled on.

***

Harley’s background checks on Beaumont’s two new vendors were revealing. The owner of the wholesale house was Joe Ellis, Beaumont’s cousin, and he knew the meat wholesaler, Louis Freid, from previous jobs he’d held.

That was the link she’d been looking for. The vendors were overcharging for their inferior products and getting away with it because the invoices reflected the same costs as from the companies Ray had been using.

Larry set all this up after his arrival and had to be getting kickbacks. But without his permission, which she was never going to get, she wouldn’t be able to find a paper trail without a court order. She needed to let Ray know and see if he wanted to alert the authorities, so she sent him a detailed email regarding her findings and went back to work on his audit.

An hour or so later, Ray returned her message, informing her to say nothing to anyone else, that he would be dealing with the rest of this from his end, and to take her time with the audit. She was relieved she didn’t have to get into the dirty side of this with Beaumont on her own. The last thing she needed was two angry men trying to end her earthly existence.

***

Harley’s email had set a fire under Ray Caldwell. He was already on the phone with his lawyer, asking for advice about the best way to proceed. Hours later, he and his lawyer had a meeting with federal agents who dealt with corporate fraud. He filed charges against Larry Beaumont, gave the agents all of Harley’s information, and left it in their hands. They’re the ones who had the power to get into Larry Beaumont’s bank records to see where his kickbacks were coming from and where he was banking the money.

Larry Beaumont’s days of employment at the Serenity Inn were about to come to a swift and painful end.

***

It was nearing noon when Harley’s cell phone rang. She marked her place on the spreadsheet, then saw caller ID, and froze.

“What the hell?”

She let it ring until it went to voicemail, then listened to the message afterward.

Miss Banks, This is Tip Crossley, Wilhem’s son. I’m just now catching up on everything that’s been happening while I was gone. I got your number from Dad, and I want to offer you private security until this is all straightened out. Let me know your location, and I’ll get you some protection.

The hair was standing up on her arms, and her heart was pounding. This didn’t feel like an offer of protection. It felt like a fishing expedition. The call unsettled her enough that even after she went back to work, she couldn’t focus. The urge to run was huge, but she suspected that would be playing into their hands. Frustration was at an all-time high, and the more she thought about it, the angrier she became.

And just as that thought was born, her phone rang again, and this time when she saw caller ID, she answered.

“Hello, this is Harley.”

“Nice to meet you, Harley. I’m Rusty Pope. You are in something of a mess, aren’t you? Talk to me.”

“You don’t know how much I appreciate this,” Harley said. “I don’t know how much Brendan told you.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Rusty said. “Start from your beginning. I’m just going to listen, and then we’ll go from there.”

Harley was too hyped up to stay still and began pacing the floor as she unloaded, beginning with why Wilhem Crossley had contacted her, to the phone call she’d just received from Tipton Crossley.

“And that’s where I’m at,” Harley said. “I either need to clear Tip Crossley’s involvement or nail his ass to the wall.”

“I’ve been taking notes. I can help,” Rusty said. “I’ve been doing some consulting work with the agency again, so I’m back in the loop, so to speak. Give me a couple of days to see what I can find out, and if something new ensues, call me. The last case I worked before I retired was human trafficking happening right here in Jubilee. They were using the influx of single young women here on holidays as a shopping cart. We finally took down the cell operating out of here, but never found the source. It’s impossible to eradicate this, but at the same time, it’s imperative that we never stop trying.”

“This is new for me,” Harley said. “Most of my work involved white-collar crime within corporations. I’ve never been on a hit list before.”

The slight edge of panic in Harley Banks’s voice resonated personally with Rusty. She’d lived through many hairy incidents during her undercover work.

“I empathize, believe me,” Rusty said. “Just pay attention to everything. If something feels off, then it probably is. Instinct is our self-preservation button. I’ll be in touch.”

Harley’s sense of relief was huge as the call ended. Nothing was resolved yet, but now she had someone on her side who could help. The longer she was here, the more impressed she was by the tight-knit community on Pope Mountain. She’d only seen it from the air, but now she wanted to see it from the ground, to stand in a place where lives and secrets were sacred to the people who lived there.

***

Rusty went looking for Cameron and found him in the living room on the floor with their daughter, Ella, sitting up between his long legs; their son, Mikey, was building a Lego block tower for Ella to knock over; and Cameron’s dog, Ghost, lay nearby, keeping an eye on his people.

“What a perfectly beautiful sight,” she said, as she entered the room.

Cameron looked up at the daring redhead who’d long ago captured his heart and smiled.

“Yes, you are,” he countered. “So can you help?”

She nodded. “You know what’s a little weird about this?”

“What?” he asked.

She eyed Mikey, trying to figure out how to say what she wanted, without her little “big ears” sharing it all over Jubilee.

“That other trafficking thing we worked on, right before I retired… We lost the trail in the same city where Harley uncovered the new one.”

Cameron stilled. “Big coincidence at the least,” he finally said.

She nodded. “So, are you guys okay here for a bit? I need to make some calls.”

“We’re good,” Cameron said, and at the same moment, Mikey threw up his hands and yelled.

“Your turn, Ella!”

Ella leaped to her feet and karate-kicked the tower block Mikey had just built.

Blocks went flying.

Startled, Ghost jumped up with a woof and then nosed the back of Cameron’s neck, making sure all was well.

Cameron threw back his head and laughed.

“That’s your mini-me,” he said.

Rusty frowned. “Who taught her that?”

“I did, Mama,” Mikey said. “I’m teachin’ her self-offense.”

“Obviously…and it’s supposed to be defending, not offending… Lord,” she muttered. “And he’s your mini-me,” she added, pointing to Mikey.

Cameron’s laughter followed her back to their office, and moments later, she was typing out all of her notes from her phone conversation with Harley Banks and saving them in a file. As soon as she finished, she typed a detailed letter, attached the notes, and emailed it to Special Agent Jay Howard, the agent she used to work with, who was now part of a task force investigating human trafficking on the East Coast.

The ball was rolling. It remained to be seen if any of it would come undone.

***

Jay Howard knew Rusty Pope had resumed work with the Company. It was consulting only, but she was so good at research and spotting the holes in written testimonies that they were glad to have her back.

After he received the email and the attachments she’d sent, at first, he missed the point. Some PI named Harley Banks had been warned of a hit man on her trail because of a crime she’d uncovered during a corporate audit. But as he read further, realizing it was connected to the recent raid on the Crossley warehouse in Philadelphia and that Wilhem Crossley himself had been the one to warn her, he began to take notice. He began opening the attachments and reading the notes Harley made on the son, Tipton Crossley, and he was hooked. Tip Crossley was already a person of interest in the case, but they had nothing on him.

He sent a quick message to the rest of the team to meet in his office first thing tomorrow morning. That he had new information to share.

***

Ollie Prine was back in Philadelphia, sleeping in his own bed, doing his own laundry, and catching up on past-due bills. Without a warehouse to go to, and everybody in jail or on the lam, he didn’t have anyone to hang out with. And, he was fairly confident after Paget was killed that nobody would have the guts to rat him out for missing the raid.

In his dreams, he wished Berlin would take a hike. He was tired of this hunt for some woman just for petty revenge. He couldn’t walk out. Berlin would just have him killed. Ollie knew too much about all the wrong things.

Then the very next day, someone knocked on his door. He opened it to find a messenger standing on his doorstep. “Oliver Prine?” the kid asked.

Ollie nodded.

He handed Ollie a packet and held out an iPad. “Sign here, please,” he said.

Ollie signed his name and the kid turned around and left.

Ollie went back inside and opened the packet.

Five thousand dollars in one-hundred-dollar bills labeled Travel Money. An address for a hotel in a town called Jubilee, Kentucky.

And a four-word demand: GET IT OVER WITH.

***

Two days later, Harley was up before daylight, still working on the hotel audit and sick of this room. She was tired of her own company. Tired of hiding. Tired of this feeling of being hunted and not knowing her enemy’s face. She had a pounding headache. Either too much coffee and no food this morning, or eye stress from staring at a computer screen for days, or a little of both.

She hadn’t seen Brendan since the night before last. He’d worked a double shift last night and called to let her know he wouldn’t come by because it would likely be after ten before the kitchen shut down, but that, too, put her in a snit, which made her realize she was getting attached.

Finally, she shut down her workstation, took a couple of painkillers, and lay down on the sofa to rest her eyes. Then her phone rang. One glance at the screen and she answered.

“Hello.”

“Morning, Sunshine. What’s happening in your world today? Need anything? It’s my day off. I’m all yours if you need me.”

If I need you? What about if I want you? But she didn’t say it. “I’m being all pitiful today. I have a headache that’s going to make me sick. It happens when I’ve been staring at a computer screen too long, and I want out of this room.”

There was a moment of silence, and Harley thought he’d hung up.

“Brendan? Are you still there?”

“Yes. Just thinking. Have you ever ridden on a motorcycle?”

“Yes, but not steering. Just a passenger, why?”

“Put on some warm clothes, and boots if you brought some. Gloves if you brought some. I have an older biker jacket from my high school years, and yes, I’m one of those men who doesn’t throw anything away. It should just about fit you. If you’re game, I’ll smuggle you out of the hotel through the staff entrance. Nobody will know who you are with the biker’s helmet on, and with a little speed and some fresh air, we’ll blow the cobwebs out of your pretty head.”

She swung her legs off the side of the sofa. “Are you serious?”

“With you, always.”

She shivered. “I’m game.”

“Good. Get changed. I’ll gas up the Harley and see you in about fifteen minutes.”

Harley was already running down the hall to the bedroom to change clothes as he ended the call. She peeled down to underwear and was patting herself on the back for packing her old cowboy boots. She’d arrived in black leather pants, and she was going to escape in them, too. The warmest shirts she’d brought were sweatshirts she lounged in. She grabbed the one without holes. She wasn’t wearing makeup, but she put some moisturizer on her face against the cold, grabbed her phone, her best leather gloves, the key card to her room, and her wallet, and went to the living room to wait.

Her heart was pounding, and her headache was already receding. This felt like a turning point. She was at a crossroads in her life, and she was choosing the road to him.

Then came the knock.

She checked to see who it was, and then opened the door, and there he stood. Shiny black helmet. Black leather pants and a silver studded jacket. Well-worn biker boots, carrying a leather jacket and another helmet. He flipped up the visor on his helmet and winked, then slipped inside.

The hair was standing up on the back of her neck, and all she could do was stare. The pastry chef had turned into the Terminator, and if she hadn’t known who was beneath that helmet and black leather, she would have been running.

“Are you ready to do this?” he asked.

His voice pulled her off the ledge of panic. It was still the Brendan she knew. The one who’d hugged away the sadness she’d felt the other night.

“Jacket first,” he said, and held it out. She slipped her arms into the sleeves as he pulled it up over her shoulders, then turned her around. “Inner pockets have zippers. Phone, key card, wallet in those and zip, then we’ll fasten the front.”

Harley was focused on instructions and missed the look in his eyes, which was just as well. He wasn’t crossing any line, but he also wasn’t going to hide the growing feelings. As soon as she buckled and zipped all the pockets, he handed her the helmet.

“These have linked communication features. Bluetooth. We can talk to each other over the built-in mics while we ride.”

She slipped it on and then stood while he buckled the chin strap.

He gave her a pat on the shoulder and a thumbs-up. After a quick look out in the hall, they headed toward a staff elevator. She put her gloves on in the elevator and then they took the back way out of the hotel without a hitch.

The motorcycle was parked outside the door. It was huge like him, and decked out in black and silver like him, and she felt like Cinderella about to climb into the gilded carriage and ignored the fact that Cinderella’s carriage had begun its life as a pumpkin. But this bike was no pumpkin. It was the real deal, and so was the man astride it.

All of a sudden, his voice was in her ear. “Behind me, Sunshine, and hang on.”

She felt like giggling. She swung her leg over the bike, settled into the seat, and slid her arms around his waist. When the engine fired up, she felt that rumble all the way to her soul.

He toed up the kickstand and they were gone.

Brendan took all the backstreets to get them out of town, and once he reached the highway that led up the mountain, he gunned it. He heard her gasp and then laugh, and that’s when he knew she was going to like this ride.

***

Barely a mile up the mountain, the last remnants of Harley’s headache were gone. Riding with this man was like nothing she’d ever known. His size alone gave her a sense of safety—like she was flying, but sheltered by the wall of his body. And every time they passed a mailbox on the side of the road, that deep raspy voice of his was in her ear, calling off names of those who lived there and their relationship to him. It was a roll call of Pope Mountain, and for the first time in her life, she became aware of the continuity of a people to a place.

As they passed a mailbox with a red cardinal painted on the side, he said, “My mom, Shirley Pope, lives up that road. It’s our homeplace.”

Harley heard a gentleness in his voice as they flew past, and thought of her parents, living life but living it apart. Always apart. It was no wonder she had no sense of roots. And then the timbre of his voice rose.

“Look, Harley. To your right. A fox slipping through the underbrush.”

“I see it!” she cried.

Brendan heard the delight in her voice.

Another mile up and her voice was in his ear. “How far up does this road go?” she asked.

“All the way to heaven,” he said.

A lump rose in Harley’s throat. And here she thought she’d have to die to get there.

Another fifteen minutes and she realized the slope was leveling off, and they were actually riding on level ground. He began slowing down, then turned north off the blacktop, rolled down a gravel road, and came to a stop.

There was an old wooden sign at the edge of the parking lot. CHURCH IN THE WILDWOOD. The church looked like something out of a children’s fairy tale. A pointed roof with a bell tower, a portico over the front door. Windows ran along the sides of the long, white single-story building, and massive trees stood all around the area, waiting to grow back their leaves as the weather warmed and provide welcome shade in the months to come.

Brendan dismounted, then helped her off and put their helmets in the seats.

She combed her fingers through her hair to shake out the curls, and then did a slow three-sixty-degree turn, taking in the sights.

“How’s your headache?” he asked.

“You’re just what the doctor ordered. It’s gone. It’s beautiful up here, and so peaceful,” she said, then pointed to a little house farther back. “Who lives there?”

“Brother Farley, the preacher. He’s old as the hills now, but that’s his home, and he still manages to preach a Sunday sermon.”

“Will he care if we’re here?” she asked.

“No. The mountain and the church belong to all of us.”

“Do tourists come here?” she asked.

“The mountain is off-limits to sightseers. We don’t bring people up.”

She turned and looked at him. “Then why am I here?”

“You’re not just people.”

Her heart skipped. “What am I then?”

“Maybe more than you should be, but nothing I can deny.”

She saw want in his eyes, but she knew he wouldn’t take what wasn’t given, and she honored that in him.

“We’re sure from two different worlds...”

“Depends where you’re standing,” he said. “Right now, we’re in the same place, trying to figure out your next move. I know what I want, but I don’t know your heart’s desires. I only know you steal ketchup and love sweets. I know you’re smarter than most, and you trigger every protective instinct I have, and I brought food. Are you hungry enough to sit in that little patch of sunshine on the front steps and eat with me? I brought chicken-salad sandwiches and apple hand pies.”

“Lord. Here I was, fast-talking myself into whatever you were going to suggest next, but I did not expect it to be chicken-salad sandwiches and… What are hand pies?”

Brendan smiled as he opened the back compartment of the Harley, pulled out a blanket and a couple of paper bags, then handed her two bottles of water.

“Your table is ready, miss. Follow me.”

It was those two last words that ended her indecision. She’d follow him to the ends of the earth just to see what came next.

He had the blanket folded like a long cushion and placed on the top step of the portico.

“Nothing like cold concrete on your backside to ruin a good meal,” he said, and as soon as she was settled, he plopped down beside her and used the bottom three steps for a footrest to accommodate his long legs.

He handed her a sealed sandwich bag with her sandwich, opened a large bag of chips and put it between them, and then unscrewed the lids on the water.

“Haute cuisine, mountain-style,” he said, and lifted his bottle. “To you, Sunshine.”

She smiled. “Why do you call me Sunshine?”

“Because you brighten my day. Now we eat because I can’t say pretty things to you on an empty stomach.”

Harley nodded, then took a big bite. “Ummm, this is good.”

He winked and followed his bite with a couple of potato chips. When a bird dropped down to the ground from a nearby tree, he tossed it a bit of bread crust. Another bird followed, and then a possum came waddling out from beneath a bush.

Harley ate in total silence, watching her Terminator turn into Dr. Doolittle, and wondered what other facets he had yet to reveal. She finished the sandwich, ate her fill of chips, and then slipped her hands into the jacket pockets to keep them warm. As she did, she felt something beneath her fingertips. Something round, flat, and metallic. She pulled it out.

“Brendan, this was in the pocket of your jacket.”

He glanced at the small gold medal in her hand and nodded. “I guess I forgot it was there.”

“Were you raised Catholic?”

“No.” He picked up the St. Michael medal and rubbed it between his fingers. “Clyde broke my arm when I was ten. I had to have surgery because the bone came through the skin. One evening before Mom got off work, I was alone in the room when a priest who was making the rounds came into my room. He asked me about my injury, and being a kid, I told him.” He paused, thinking back, and then looked at Harley. “The guy looked horrified. I thought I’d said something wrong, and then he pulled this out of his pocket. It was on a chain, and he fastened it around my neck. He told me that St. Michael was an archangel, a kind of warrior for God, and that he was giving it to me for protection, and then he left.

“I wore it hidden beneath my shirts for a long time. Didn’t want Clyde to see it, but then of course, he did. He yanked it off my neck and slapped me. Aaron was almost twenty by then. He took the medal away from Clyde, dragged him out behind the house, and they fought until Clyde couldn’t get up. Aaron came back inside, handed me my medal, then doctored my busted lip. After I got bigger, I kept it in the pocket of this jacket. Then I outgrew the jacket, and I guess I figured out that it wasn’t the medal protecting me so much as the belief it gave me to protect myself.”

Then he put the medal back in Harley’s hand. “For protection, when I’m not there to help.”

“I can’t take your—”

“You didn’t take. I gave. Put it in the jacket pocket, or wear it around your neck. The jacket, the mojo, and St. Michael are yours now, and I’m ready for hand pies.”

Harley swallowed past the lump in her throat as she zipped the medal inside an inner pocket with her phone and watched him unwrap two perfectly browned and glazed pastries.

“Apple, cinnamon, nutmeg, and brown sugar inside. Sweet like you,” he said, and took a big bite.

Harley’s hands were shaking, but not from the cold. She didn’t know how she was going to make this work, but she wasn’t going to lose this man. Whatever it took, wherever he took her, she wanted to be the one who loved him.

“Good?” he asked, as he watched her chew and swallow.

“Beyond good,” she said, and wiped a crumb from the corner of her mouth.

As soon as they finished eating, Brendan stood up. “If you’re ready to go back, I’ll take you down, or you can come meet some of the old ones. They probably already know you matter to me, or you wouldn’t be here, but they like to be introduced.”

She glanced at the cemetery, then slipped her hand in his. “Show me,” she said, so he did, starting at the front where the most recent ones had been laid to rest.

“This is Ella Pope. Up until her passing, she was the oldest living Pope on the mountain. She was everybody’s aunt Ella. She saw the past, the future, and what was about to happen, just like we’d turn on the TV. Up here, they call it ‘having the sight.’”

“Was she really that psychic?”

Brendan nodded. “It’s not that uncommon among our people. Cameron thinks his son, Mikey, has the same tendencies. He’s always speaking in future tense and past tense about things he can’t possibly know.”

“Are you?” Harley asked.

He glanced down at her and smiled, then lifted a flyaway curl from near her eye.

She immediately reached for the curls to push them back. “My hair. It has a mind of its own,” she said.

“I think it’s beautiful. It suits you,” Brendan said. “And no, I’m not psychic, but I know how to pay attention to my instincts. I’d say life taught me that.”

They moved on through the headstones, and as they did, he paused and picked up a piece of tiny black rock. “Look at this,” he said.

“What is it? Onyx?”

“Coal. These mountains have thousands of sealed-off tunnels from mines gone bust. Unusual to see this lying aboveground, though,” he said, and kept it as they moved on. “This marker is for Helen Pope, my grandmother, my mom’s mother. Over there are members of the Cauley family and, over here, members of the Glass family who’ve passed.”

Harley was reading names and dates, and not paying attention to where she was walking. She tripped on some dry vines and, before she could catch herself, was falling face-first.

Just before impact, she went airborne and found herself cradled against Brendan’s chest, so close she could feel the warmth of his breath on her face.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

She took a shaky breath. His mouth was so close to her lips. All she had to do was move her head and they’d touch.

“I am now, thanks to you,” she said.

He set her down on her feet and was reaching into her hair to pull out a piece of dry grass, then stopped, mesmerized by the way the curl wrapped itself around his finger. It took everything he had to let go.

“Grass,” he said, and dropped it at their feet. “The first Brendan and his Meg are at the back,” he said, and this time held her hand as they went.

Harley couldn’t get over the dates on the markers. Centuries had come and gone between these lives. The next time they stopped, it was in front of a large, flat rock with the name Brendan James Pope carved in it. And beside that marker, the place where Meg was buried.

Harley had never seen anything like Meg’s burial site. “Is this meant to be a little house or—”

“Chickasaw tradition,” Brendan said, then laid the tiny piece of coal on the graying wood on the roof before stepping back. “They put this up new at the burial, and then it’s supposed to deteriorate on its own, back to nature.”

As they stood, a gust of wind rose, stirring the dry leaves around them, and then it was gone.

“Maybe Little Grandmother likes you,” Brendan said.

Harley’s heart was pounding. She wasn’t going to admit it, but she was a little spooked.

Brendan glanced up. “It’ll be dark up here in a couple of hours. Gets dark early in the winter. Come on, Sunshine. Let’s get you back before someone misses you and thinks you’ve been kidnapped.”

She put her hand on his chest. “Smuggled out, taken for a ride I’ll never forget, and stole my heart in the process. What’s a girl to do?”

He sighed, and then his fingers were in her hair and his mouth was on her lips, and every sad, empty place in Harley’s heart was full to overflowing.

When he finally lifted his head, she had a heartbeat moment of panic, like someone had just pulled the plug on her life support.

“I, uh…”

“Phase One, Sunshine. If this isn’t on your agenda, now’s the time to—”

She put a finger of his lips to silence him. “Where do I sign up for Phase Two?”

“I got you,” he said, and took her by the hand and led her to the bike. They put on their helmets, got on the Harley, and moments later, he started the engine and toed up the kickstand. “Are you ready?”

She locked her arms around his waist. “For anything you care to hand out.”

“Then hang on, honey. It’s easier going down.”

The big bike roared to life, and as soon as they reached the blacktop again and Brendan gunned it, he heard Harley’s high-pitched shout of glee. He’d met his match with this one. Today was a day he’d been waiting for all his life.

The ride down was in total silence.

They were thinking about that kiss and the promise of what came next. When he finally rolled up at the back lot of the hotel, it was nearing dusk. He grabbed her by the hand, glanced around at the lot full of employee cars, and hurried her inside. They rode the staff elevator back to the eighth floor, and Harley had her key card in her hand by the time they reached her suite. One swipe, and they were inside without meeting a soul.

They pulled off their helmets, looked at each other, and started grinning.

“Smuggled out. Smuggled in. I’d say the operation was a success,” Harley said, and started taking off the jacket.

“You keep the jacket,” he reminded her.

“I’m not going to bed in it,” she said.

“You’re going to bed?” Brendan asked.

Harley paused, hit with doubt.

“Phase Two, remember? You took me up on that mountain, wove some magic spell around me that made me never want to leave, and I want more. I want you, Brendan Pope.”

“I’ll take whatever you have to give, but it will never be enough. I won’t give you up easy.”

“And I never quit what I start,” she said.

Brendan wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. “So, what are we starting here?”

“A fire,” she whispered, as he picked her up.

“Which way?” he asked.

“Down the hall, past the half bath to the last door on the left.”

Long legs made short work of the distance as he carried her into the room. “You first,” he said, pointing at the en suite.

Harley walked into the bathroom as Brendan went back up to the hall to the half bath. When he returned, the bed was turned back, and Harley was gloriously naked and waiting for him at the foot of the bed.

He stopped, staggered by the sight of her. Skin like ivory. Those sea-blue eyes, and the look on her face, as if waiting for judgment.

Harley was afraid to move. Afraid to talk. Was it an illusion, or did he seem even larger without clothes than he did fully dressed? Ah, so this is finally happening, and it feels like I’ve waited all my life for him. He is more than a beautiful face. So much more , she thought, as he came toward her.

Now his hands were on her shoulders, then brushing across the surface of her breasts, and her knees went weak. Making love to him was going to change the path of where she thought she was going, and she was going to die from the want of him if he didn’t hurry.

But she soon learned after he laid her on the bed that he was on a quest of his own, mapping the contours of her body, testing, tasting, learning the secrets that made her gasp, and the ones that elicited a groan, and the ones that had her reaching for him until she was begging and he was a solid ache to be with her.

Without a word, he moved over her, then in her, and the moment he took the first stroke, he was the one who groaned. She was hot and tight and wet. And then she locked her legs around his waist, and he was lost.

One stroke, and then another, and another until they were both caught up in the rhythm, chasing a blood rush that couldn’t come fast enough. Time lost all meaning. There was nothing that mattered but the moment of climax.

Brendan was watching her face when it hit her. The sight of her face in ecstasy was a trigger. One moment he was with her, and then he was caught up in the wave of his own climax.

Harley was marked. Ruined for ever wanting another. Heart-bound.

Brendan was used up. Satiated. Branded for life. In complete and utter love as he raised himself up on both elbows and brushed a kiss across her lips.

“Beautiful in my eyes. Forever in my heart. How am I going to live when you leave me?”

Harley’s hands were on his back, feeling scars, and then she remembered. When he fell into the cellar and the jagged wood ripped his back on the way down. Scars he would take to his grave, all suffered in the name of family. She wrapped her arms around his neck.

“No, love. Don’t borrow sadness. I don’t want to lose you, either. Just keep me alive long enough for us to figure it out.”

“Giving it my best,” he said, then glanced at the time. “You need to eat. It’s been hours, and someone will start to worry if you don’t order food. They’ll think something happened to you.”

“You happened, but you’re right. God, I don’t want to let go of you. I want to forget the mess I’m in and wake up beside you tomorrow.”

He kissed the hollow at the base of her throat, then ran a finger along the curve of her face.

“I can make that happen, too,” he said. “You order food. I’ll go home and get a change of clothes. I have to be at work at 5:00 a.m. It’s a quick hop from the eighth floor to the twelfth floor. No harm, no foul.”

“Really? You would do that for me?”

He grinned. “Driving across town to get a change of clothes just so I can come back and make love to you again isn’t a punishment. It’s a gift.” Then he threw back the covers and went back down the hall to the half bath to get his clothes.

As soon as he was dressed, he went looking for her.

“I ordered food for two,” she said.

“Then what are you having?” he asked.

She grinned. “I’m having more of you.”

He laughed. “I’m leaving now. Come lock up behind me.”

She was in her bathrobe as she followed him to the door, and after another quick kiss, he was gone.