Chapter 13
A knock at the door, and then a familiar call.
“Housekeeping!”
Harley got up, looked through the peephole, then opened the door. It was Sophie, the maid she saw every day.
“Good afternoon, Miss Banks,” Sophie said, and entered as usual with an armful of clean bedsheets and fresh towels for the bath.
“The same to you,” Harley said. “I’ll try to stay out of your way.” She took a seat in a chair facing the open doorway.
After Crossley’s warning about a hit man, this had become the time of day when Harley was most on alert. The door stayed open as the maid went back and forth to her cleaning cart, and Harley’s handgun was in the kangaroo drop pocket of the sweatshirt she was wearing. She wasn’t turning her back on anyone.
Sophie was all business as she began to dust, empty wastebaskets, and then go down the hall to the bedroom to clean the bathroom and change the sheets.
Another uniformed staff member arrived with the snack cart, quickly refilled the mini-fridge and replenished snacks, and was soon gone, but today, the traffic in the hall was heavier than usual.
There were a lot more people coming and going, moving past the cleaning cart, laughing, talking, or looking down at their phones.
Harley guessed it was all due to Josie Fallin’s big event and thought of Brendan, wondering how he fared during times like this. He seemed to stay calm in the midst of chaos. Even when he had confronted her father about how he was treating her, instead of shouting louder, his voice got quieter and somehow more threatening. She suspected Brendan didn’t rage; he just got even. Maybe because he’d grown up in a household war, it was the last thing he chose for himself when it was over.
She glanced up at the time, thinking Sophie must have had her own busy day. It was just after 3:00 p.m. Late for housekeeping.
She would remember later how everything after that moment seemed to happen in slow motion.
Sophie banged a cabinet door.
Harley glanced toward the open doorway.
A man was standing beside the cleaning cart, staring at her. A face she remembered!
She was grabbing for the gun in the kangaroo pouch of her sweatshirt as he was reaching beneath the back of his jacket.
Sophie appeared in the hallway.
“GET DOWN!” Harley screamed, and then was diving toward the floor as she took aim and fired.
The shots went off simultaneously.
Sophie was screaming.
Harley couldn’t see the man in the hall or the bullet hole in his head for the blood running in her eyes. And then suddenly, Sophie was at her side, wiping the blood from her face with one of the towels she’d been carrying, and Harley was frantically trying to push her away. “Is he dead? Is he dead?”
“He is on the floor in the hall. He isn’t moving,” Sophie said.
The room was spinning. Harley knew she was passing out. “Call security. Call Brendan Pope. Tell him I need him,” she said, and then everything went black.
***
Brendan was washing melted butter from his hands when a staff member came running into the kitchen.
“Brendan! Harley’s room now! Dead man in the hall. She’s been shot. Security is on the way.”
He didn’t think past ripping off his chef coat and cap as he bolted for the exit door, taking the stairs down to the eighth floor two and three steps at a time, with only one thought.
Don’t let her die! Don’t let her die!
Security guards were already on scene. Brendan could hear sirens in the distance. A guard stopped him at the doorway.
“Sorry, man, you can’t go—”
Brendan picked the guard up by both shoulders, lifted him off the floor, and set him aside so fast the man was too shocked to argue.
Sophie was kneeling at Harley’s side, holding a towel to the side of her head.
Blood was everywhere. Her blood.
Then he was on his knees beside her, feeling for a pulse. It was there, and rock steady.
“Sophie, let me see,” he said, gently moved her hands away as he peered beneath the blood-drenched towel. The shot had grazed the side of her head just above her left ear. He looked up at the wall behind her head and saw the bullet hole. “Thank you, God,” he muttered, and continued pressure on the wound.
Sophie came running back with a clean towel she’d taken from her cart. Brendan traded it for the blood-soaked one and kept up the pressure while talking to Harley, waiting for that first sight of her sea-blue eyes.
“Hey, Sunshine. Time to wake up. It’s me, Brendan. I’m here. I’m here.”
***
Everything hurt, but Harley couldn’t remember why. She kept trying to open her eyes, but her head was pounding so hard that the mere thought of motion made her sick. Then she heard voices. Lots of voices, and then the one she’d been listening for—Brendan was here. She moaned.
“Easy, baby, easy,” Brendan said. “I’m here. You’re safe.”
She felt his hands on her face before she opened her eyes, and then she saw him, panic fading on his face, worry hovering in his eyes. “Thought I’d never see you again,” she mumbled, and started to cry.
“Thought I’d never hear your voice again. Hang on. Ambulance is on the way.”
She tried to raise up, needing to know what happened to the man who shot her. “The man who was at the door? He had a gun. Did he get away?”
“He missed his kill shot. You didn’t.” Police and EMTs were on the eighth floor now and flooding the scene. “Help is here now, honey. I have to get out of the way, but I’m behind you all the way.”
Then hands were on his arms, pulling him up, pulling him back. He turned around. It was Aaron.
“Little brother, you need to step back.”
It was the hardest thing Brendan had ever been asked to do, but he did it anyway, for Harley. He didn’t have the skills to help her, but he had the good sense to get out of the way of those who did.
***
By nightfall, Harley was in a hospital bed, riding out the misery of a concussion and a head wound, but conscious enough to have fought with a nurse who tried to remove the medal from around her neck.
The necklace was still around her neck, Brendan hadn’t left her side, and there was a police officer on guard outside her door. She kept drifting off to sleep, then crying out and waking up reaching for a gun.
Wiley’s wife, Linette, had been on duty when they brought Harley in and kept checking in on them until her shift was over. She clocked out at 5:00 p.m., but came back for one last check and slipped into the room long enough to whisper a quick goodbye.
“BJ, honey, I’m going home now. Is there anything I can get you before I leave?”
“No, I’m okay, and thank you for everything,” he said.
Linette eyed the readouts on the vital signs monitor, satisfied all was well. “I know this scared you to death, but her vitals are good and her fever is down. She’s due pain meds again in about an hour. Have they had her up yet?”
He nodded. “A couple of times. Trips to the bathroom.”
“Hopefully, they’ll let her go home soon.”
Brendan frowned. “Her home is a long way away. I know Harley. She’ll be set on finishing her work here before she makes any other plans. After that, I’m taking her home with me. She can finish recuperating there in safety. Thanks to Sean, I have security cameras everywhere, and I’m taking off work until she’s one hundred percent and they have all the bad guys behind bars.”
Linette hugged him. “I would expect nothing less of you. Take care. I’ll see you tomorrow morning,” she said, then left the room.
***
Harley was dreaming she was on Brendan’s Harley, but no one was steering it, and it was flying down a highway with no destination. She could hear a robotic voice saying over and over, OUT OF CONTROL. OUT OF CONTROL.
She woke up crying, and Brendan was at her side within seconds.
Her tears shattered him. He could do nothing to stop the drug-induced dreams or ease her pain, but he was the face she saw first every time she opened her eyes, and he knew it eased her fears. “Another bad dream?” he asked.
“Yes. Drugs always do this to me. Either hallucinations or crazy dreams.”
He wiped away the tears with a handful of tissues, then kissed the places where the tears had rolled.
“Harley, darlin’…you fought for your life today, and it breaks my heart that you had to do it alone. You’re not being a baby. This is PTSD. I’m going to have them bring you some food. You’re being shot up with pain meds without a damn thing in your stomach. Do you want soup, or maybe something sweet or savory?”
“If I was home, I’d be squirting cheese in a can on Ritz crackers.”
He grinned. “There are cheese crackers and peanut butter crackers in the waiting-room vending machines. What do you want to drink? Pop, coffee, milk?”
“Anything cola…Coke, Pepsi, Dr Pepper. I don’t care. Just something fizzy.”
“I’ll be right back,” Brendan said. “And don’t worry. Your police guard is still in the hall.”
He left in long, hurried strides and was back in under five minutes with pockets full of cheese crackers and peanut butter crackers and carrying two Dr Peppers and a couple of straws.
He raised the head of her bed up just enough to keep her from choking when she ate and swallowed. When she was finally at the stopping point, he lowered the bed a little and cleaned off the wrappers and empty cans, then tucked her back in.
Harley sighed. “You were right. I feel better with food in me.”
“Good. So, before you drift off again, I have a couple of questions. How far away are you from being done with the audit?”
“Half a day at most.”
“Then I’m coming back to the suite with you, and when you feel ready to work again, I’ll be there until you finish. After that, I’m taking you home with me to finish recuperating. Thanks to Sean, I have a state-of-the-art security system. Had it set up when Justine Beaumont was stalking me. Nobody’s going to sneak up on us there. And nobody needs to know where you go after you leave the hotel. You won’t be safe until whoever is running this cleanup sweep is behind bars. You know that, right?”
“Beaumont was actually stalking you?” she asked.
“Among other things,” he muttered, thinking of the knife she’d pulled on him, too.
“I can’t believe what a mess I’m in, but I’d do it all again just to have you in my life and to have you bringing me into yours,” she said.
He tucked a curl away from the corner of her eye. “Love you, darlin’. Now, try to get some rest so that fever will keep going down.” He lowered the head of her bed, covered her up, and then kissed her. “Sweet dreams this time, okay?”
Harley closed her eyes and soon drifted off to sleep.
She was still asleep when Brendan heard voices outside the door, and then the door opening behind him. He turned to look just as his brothers walked in carrying a to-go bag from Granny Annie’s bakery.
“Aunt Annie sent cinnamon rolls and sausage biscuits. Mom sends her love and prayers and the question, ‘When am I going to get to meet her?’” Wiley said, and set the bag on the windowsill beside Harley’s bed.
“Tell her thank you, and soon,” he said.
“How’s she doing?” Aaron asked.
Brendan sighed. “Concussion. Nasty graze. Bad dreams. Have they identified the shooter?”
“Oliver Prine,” Wiley said.
Brendan frowned. “Do you know who sent him?”
“No, and it’s now in the hands of the feds,” Aaron said.
Sean slipped up beside Brendan. “She’s beautiful, BJ.”
Brendan nodded. “Inside and out.”
“Who are her people?” Wiley asked. “Have they been notified?”
“Jason Banks, NASA scientist. Judith Banks, American playwright and screenwriter, and no they haven’t, because she doesn’t want them here.”
Sean frowned. “Enough said, and anyway, you have family to spare.”
Harley’s eyes were still shut, but she quietly entered the conversation. “I can hear you,” she said.
“Good. I’m Sean, the one who said you were beautiful.”
Harley opened her eyes, squinted from the pain, and thought, The brother I had yet to meet .
“Wow, Brendan. You do all look alike.”
“Sean’s the prettiest,” Wiley said.
Sean poked him. “Speak for yourself, dude.”
“Okay, Miss Harley. I think it’s time we leave you to get some rest,” Aaron said. “Brendan already knows this, but there’s a whole mountain full of people saying prayers for your swift recovery.”
Harley frowned, then winced from the motion. “They don’t even know me.”
“They do now,” Aaron said. “If you matter to Brendan, then you matter to them. That’s how it works here. Hope to see you again when you’re feeling better. Brendan, call us if you need us.”
“I will, and thanks,” Brendan said, but as they were leaving, he noticed the flush on Harley’s cheeks, laid the back of his hand on her forehead, and hit the Call button. A few moments later, a nurse answered on the intercom.
“How can we help you, Harley?”
“This is Brendan. I think Harley’s fever is up.”
“Someone will be right there,” she said.
Harley threaded her fingers through his and gave his hand a little tug. “You are something special.”
“So are you,” he said.
She frowned. “Are you going to be in trouble at the hotel for walking out of your shift?”
“No. There are plenty of sous-chefs who know how to bake everything we make. I’ve trained them well. Before the nurse gets here, I have to ask. Did you recognize the man who shot you? His name was Oliver Prine.”
“I don’t recognize the name, but I did see him a couple of times. The only reason I remember him at all is because he looked like one of my college professors. In fact, the first time I saw him, I thought that’s who it was, until he turned sideways and I realized the profile was all wrong.”
“Where did you see him?” Brendan asked.
“While I was still in investigation stages, I drove by the warehouse once just for location purposes and saw him standing outside it, and then I saw him in the parking lot of the Crossley Building another time. I didn’t think anything of it. But now that I know that name, I also know he is not on Wilhem Crossley’s payroll.”
“Okay. That’s another plus in the old man’s innocent column, and maybe incriminating for Tip Crossley. I’ll pass that along to Rusty. She can send it up the line.”
“I just want this over,” Harley said. “And I want a drink of water, too. Can you help me?”
He reached for the pitcher, poured some cold water in her cup, and then tilted the straw toward her lips so she could drink.
“Little sips, Sunshine, or you’ll choke yourself.”
She drank until she’d had enough. Her eyes were heavy. She’d worn herself out talking, but she didn’t let go of his hand.
“Did I tell you I love you?” she mumbled.
He brushed a kiss across her cheek. “Yes, you did. Almost as many times as I said it to you.”
“Forever and always?”
“Forever and always,” he said, and watched her eyes finally close.
A few minutes later, a nurse came in and began taking Harley’s vitals, then gave Brendan a look. “Good call. Her fever is back up. I’ll check with the doctor about increasing the antibiotics, and I’ll be back shortly with her pain meds.”
Brendan pulled up a recliner by Harley’s bed and sat, but always with a constant eye on her face. He kept looking at the bandage above her ear and thinking, But for her quick reaction and the grace of God, she wouldn’t be here anymore . In this short space of time, she’d stolen his heart. Losing her wasn’t an option.
***
Liz called her father that night about the shooting.
Ray was horrified, apologetic, and threatening to come back tomorrow until she finally talked him down.
“None of what happened to Harley had anything to do with you or the job you hired her to do. From the little we’ve been told, this all had something to do with the case she’d worked for the client before you.”
“How close is she to being finished with the audit?” he asked.
“Close, for sure. The bullet only grazed her head. They hospitalized her because of the concussion it caused. We’ll do everything we can to aid her after her release.”
“Yes, okay. Just let me know. I want to get rid of Beaumont and sell the hotel before something else happens,” Ray said.
“I will, Dad, and please don’t worry. We’re doubling precautions. Only a few guests on the eighth floor even knew something had happened, and there was such a large police presence in the hall that they didn’t see anything specific. Nearly everyone was at an event in the ballroom, and when they carried out the body and took Harley to the hospital, they took them out the back way, down the staff elevator into the back parking lot. Once the site was released, housekeeping quickly cleaned the blood from the wall and carpet in the hall, spackled the bullet holes in the Sheetrock, and cleaned up Harley’s suite. I checked for myself before I came home. You can’t tell that anything ever happened there. The FBI took over the case. Apparently, the shooter was a person of interest who they’d been looking for, and we’ve been cautioned not to talk about it to anyone. The incident won’t be reported to the public. The reputation of the hotel is still intact.”
“More importantly, Harley Banks is still alive,” Ray said.
***
Ollie Prine’s quest was over, but Berlin didn’t know. After the Jubilee police notified the FBI, they were certain Harley Banks had been targeted for the same reason Paget was dead and their special agent had been murdered. Only Harley was still alive.
According to the identification in the dead man’s wallet and the phone in his pocket, his name was Oliver Prine, a current resident of Philadelphia. This was no coincidence. The feds were now digging for information that would tie him to the trafficking gang and maybe the big boss himself.
***
It was a little after 9:00 p.m. The hospital was mostly quiet, lights were down low, and Harley was asleep. Brendan had long ago eaten the food his brothers brought, sharing a couple of bites of cinnamon roll with her before she dozed off again.
He’d already sent a text to Larry Beaumont telling him he was taking off work until Harley was well enough to leave the hospital, and that there was no need for concern because Anthony and his other sous-chefs were perfectly capable of following through.
He didn’t care whether Larry liked it or not, he knew Larry couldn’t fire him and Ray wouldn’t care. But the next text on his list was to Rusty Pope.
Rusty, don’t know if you’ve heard. Harley had it out with the hit man today. She was obviously the better shot. He’s dead. She’s in the hospital, but will be okay. Feds have taken possession of the body. Identified as Oliver Prine. Residence in Philadelphia. Harley said she’d seen his face before. Once outside the warehouse, and another time in the parking lot of the Crossley office building. Nobody knows who sent him, but authorities are keeping a lid on the fact that this even happened. They don’t want to alert anyone that the hit man failed, for fear he’d send someone else. I hope your people can link the dead hit man to a known entity. I want this over with. I have plans to grow old with her, and I’d like for her to be in one piece.
He hit Send, got up to stretch his legs and check on her again.
Her sleep was so restless that they kept the bed rails pulled up to keep her from rolling out of bed. She still had a fever, but it didn’t feel as high. And she was still waking up reaching for a gun. Hopefully, when her head healed, the nightmares would go away.
He was standing at the window looking down at Jubilee, still lit up like a circus, and then up at the mountain, shrouded in darkness. The urge to take her and run was huge. This wasn’t over.
***
Rusty finally had a response from her handwriting expert. In his opinion, Tipton Crossley was likely the person who forged his father’s name, which meant he was actively involved in what was happening at the warehouse. She was getting ready to send the info to Jay Howard when she got Brendan’s text. Her heart sank. Someone got to Harley before they got the answers they were looking for, and Jay probably already knew that, since the feds had taken over the incident.
But she still rewrote her message to Special Agent Howard, hit Send, then went to look for Cameron. The kids were both in bed, so he was likely in front of the fireplace with Ghost, and she was right.
Cameron looked up with a smile, then saw the look on her face, and was on his feet and heading toward her. “What’s wrong?”
“Harley Banks was shot today. She’s in the hospital, likely going to be okay. She took out the hit man. He’s been identified. Feds have taken over the case, but nobody’s talking because they don’t want it known that the hit man failed. This isn’t over for her. It won’t ever be over until the boss is identified and put away.”
Cameron took her in his arms and pulled her close. “None of this is your fault. This is a side effect of Harley’s job, just like getting shot at was part of yours.”
Rusty sighed. “I know that in my head, but it doesn’t make me feel better.”
“We have to trust the process,” he said. “Maybe with the new information Harley provided, it will be the key to breaking the case for them.”
“I hope so,” Rusty said, then glanced down. Ghost was standing at their feet. She leaned over and gave him a hug. “Thank you for your concern, my sweet boy.”
“Go sit by the fire. Can I bring you something?”
“I’ll have whatever you’re having,” she said. “And don’t forget Ghost. He needs a treat, too.”
Cameron grinned. “Ghost is never forgotten, and you are his best treat advocate ever.”
***