17. Harper
HARPER
The house is dark when I finally pull into the driveway, but there’s a light on in the kitchen.
Dad’s still up.
I sit in my squad SUV, the night still playing on a loop in my head despite the fact that I drove around for an hour trying to calm myself. My hands are shaking—I can’t make them stop. My whole body feels like it’s vibrating at the wrong frequency.
I destroyed a crime scene tonight.
I harbored a trafficking victim without reporting it.
Instead of calling dispatch or the FBI, I condoned letting a civilian make off with the apparent victim of a crime.
In short, I crossed every line I swore I’d never cross.
The crazy part? I’d do it again.
That’s the thing that scares me most. Because if I had to choose between what I’m supposed to do and a woman’s life, there’s no question.
They don’t cover shit like that in the police academy.
Exhaling deeply, I force myself out of the SUV. My legs feel unsteady as I walk to the front door, like I’ve been at sea for days and the ground won’t hold still.
Since Dad is in the kitchen, I go to say good night to him before I head upstairs.
He’s at the kitchen table with a mug of coffee and a stack of paperwork. When I walk in, he looks up, his cop face on. I see the relief flash across his face before it hardens into dad-mode.
“You’re home late, Harper.” His voice is stern, like I’m still in high school and missed curfew. “You didn’t call.”
“Yeah, well.” I know better than to point out that he doesn’t either when he’s been out lately. I drop my keys on the counter and move to the fridge. “I stayed out later than I expected.”
“Where were you?”
“The Rusty Spur.” At least I was at first.
He frowns at me. “Alone?”
“No, Dad. With half of Iron Ridge.” I roll my eyes, playing it off. “Are you done with the interrogation? I’d like to go to bed now. I have an early morning.”
“I’m just making sure you’re okay,” he says gruffly.
“Uh-huh.” I kiss his cheek. “’Night, Dad.”
“Good night, Harper.”
I go to my room and close the door, leaning against it as I heave a sigh of relief.
Thank God he didn’t ask me more questions.
I’m a terrible liar, especially when it involves reckless endangerment, destruction of public property, destruction of evidence, murder, and a lawless cowboy who’s becoming impossible to stay away from.
Flopping onto my bed, shoes and all, I stare up at the ceiling and replay Luke carrying that woman out of the ravine, looking like every romance fantasy I’ve ever had.
No—I edit the woman so it’s me he’s carrying.
“Hmm.” Liking the image, I shift my hips to get comfortable.
I pause.
I really shouldn’t do this.
Fuck it. No one’s going to know.
I unbutton my jeans and slide my hand in.