Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Ryker walked along the beach in a daze, trying to make sense out of what he’d heard—Richard asking Harper for Eve’s location and she’d fucking told him.
Ryker rubbed at the soreness in his chest. Here he was trying to save the one woman who had contributed to Eve’s death.
She might not have jabbed the knife, but she was responsible just the same.
Not even the peaceful ocean breeze could cool the heat brimming inside as the phone conversation replayed in his mind.
He should have seen this coming. He should have figured out that Richard hadn’t found Eve on his own.
He’d used a psychic to track down, Eve. Harper had given him the damn city.
She might as well have just drawn him a map.
The picture of Eve and Ryker lying in shattered glass on her floor should have been his first clue how Richard had figured out their connection.
His sister-in-law had called him the same day she’d died.
She’d said she had proof that would expose the organization and their twisted game of using psychics for their own personal gain.
She was going to meet him the next day. They were going to go to the press together.
Ryker hadn’t found the evidence she suggested.
No memory drive had ever been found. That was one of the things that Ryker needed Harper to help him with. Damn Eve, and damn Harper.
Thinking of them both, he realized they were a lot alike. Both headstrong, both psychic, and both connected to him.
Ryker turned from his view of the ocean to head back to his car and, only then, realized he was farther down the beach than he thought. The Thin Blue Line bar was on the shore behind him. Betty was leaning against the railing with her fingers laced, watching from above.
He stood his ground as she jogged down the steps off the deck and headed in his direction. The crazy-ass woman probably already knew what had happened. What was left to say?
“You didn’t tell her the whole truth,” she said, coming to a stop in front of him, her arms crossed over her chest. Her spiked hair was no longer pink but now blue in the sunset.
“Yeah well…what are you, a mind reader?” Unsure what this woman knew, he slipped his hands into his pockets and bit his tongue to keep himself from saying something that might have Betty shooting him on the spot.
“I don’t need to be,” she said, taking his arm and walking up toward the bar. “You know what you need?”
“To find Richard Grant.” His answer came fast and quick.
“Yeah, well…” She lifted her brow and walked up onto the back deck.
She led the way into the bar, and he stopped in his tracks.
There were four pairs of female eyes shooting daggers in his direction. The last thing he needed was Harper’s damn sisters.
“Sit,” Quinn said while gesturing to a chair. Ryker didn’t budge, earning Quinn’s evil gaze.
“I’d sit if you value your balls,” Ian said, walking up behind Ryker. “Quinn doesn’t like to be told no. She put me on my knees in two seconds flat when we first met, and I’m bigger than you.”
Ryker could see the redhead’s temper. It matched her hair. He moved to a table and straddled a chair.
Quinn clasped her hands behind her back and began to pace like a teacher in front of a classroom of children.
“When we work with law enforcement, we do a thorough background.” She glanced at Ryker.
“You’d know that if you looked.” She raised a brow and continued talking.
“We call references; we call the commanding officers; hell, we verify the credentials prior to the first call.” Quinn stopped and crossed her arms over her chest. “Harper found your death certificate, and she wasn’t even trying. ”
He started to rise when hands clamped on both of his shoulders and pushed down. A Highlander on each side. “She’s no’ done yet, lad.”
Cara crossed the room and tossed a file onto the table.
“What Quinn hasn’t told you is that we keep copious records on everyone we talk to.
We not only record their calls for posterity’s sake, but we also keep track of everything from credit cards to phone records.
Grant had people vouching for him. He isn’t the only player in this game. ”
Becca, the quiet one of the bunch, crossed her arms over her chest. “In that file, you’ll find everything we kept, including the audio authorization from the commanding officer. You’ll find a transcript of every call and word spoken up until the last syllable.”
“I didn’t find anything on your server,” Ryker grumbled and flipped the file open to the first page. A picture of Richard Grant in a police uniform and his fake employment details were on the front page.
“We don’t keep it on our mainframe,” Cara said, clasping her hands together. “We’re well aware of our lack of security. It’s why we’re having a new system installed tomorrow.”
He scanned the documents. The call log would help him pinpoint Richard’s last location, and maybe from there, he’d be able to pick up his trail, but that meant one thing. Harper would be vulnerable. That ache in his chest twisted into a knot.
“Everyone has skeletons, Mr. Cage.” Quinn rested her hand on her belly.
True. He had plenty of both.
“Some innocent and some intentional. Did you ever stop to think that Harper is just as much a victim in this mess as was your sister-in-law?”
“Harper genuinely thought she was helping the authorities. She would never put an innocent’s life in danger, and if you can’t see that about her, then you don’t know her at all.” Quinn’s gaze softened.
Harper had spilled her guts to her aunt—what had happened, when it happened, every dirty detail—when Betty had shown up just minutes after Ryker had left.
She’d pulled the file and handed it to her without even knowing what proof they’d kept inside.
She’d created enough damage to last a lifetime.
She wasn’t a fighter like Quinn. She wasn’t a peacekeeper like Becca.
She was something in between. Even if she could find Richard Grant, there was nothing she could do to the man, and nothing she could ever say to make things right with Ryker, but she could try.
She made the last stroke with her pencil before opening her eyes.
The image was similar to the one she’d seen when she’d said the proof was in the trees.
It wasn’t a familiar location. No palm trees, just big pines near a beautiful stream.
Even if she couldn’t bring his sister back, she could at least help him find what everyone was searching for.
Harper stretched her neck from side to side and turned toward the window to find the sun had already started to set.
So much for her big quest to locate and bring down Grant.
She’d been gung-ho that morning when she’d come to her senses and acknowledged she didn’t know how to fight.
Her suitcase was downstairs. Where in the world had she thought this trip down memory lane was taking her? She was such an idiot.
Harper called a cab, flicked the lights off, and headed downstairs to retrieve her bag. She walked outside, pulling her suitcase behind her, and locked the building up nice and tight.
“Harper Thatcher?”
The voice made her jump and spin around, thinking the cab company had been quick. There was no cab on the street, only a man in jeans and a tee shirt staring at her.
“Yes?” she asked, putting her luggage between them, in the event she needed to run.
“I’m Richard Grant.”
Her fingers froze on the luggage handle as she quickly scanned the empty street. There was no one to save her. No one that would hear her scream. Her heart raced frantically as her eyes darted around for an escape.
The man held up his hands and stepped back. “I’m not here to hurt you. I’m here to help you.”
Liar. She met Richard’s gaze, trying to get a read on his energy to confirm her suspicion. Her gut screamed that she should run, yet…she was too stunned to move. He reached into his pocket, and her fingers tightened around the luggage handle.
“It’s just a piece of paper,” he said, slowly pulling it out of his pocket. He held out the document for her to take, yet she knew, just as soon as she did, the whacko would grab it and try to pull her into the alley and kill her dead.
His brows dipped so he unfolded it and held it up for her to see. A picture of Ryker’s face was on the page. “Have you seen this man?”
Her gaze went to the paper and back to the man. She lifted her chin and squared her shoulders. No way was she making the same mistake again.
“No,” she said firmly.
“We have reason to believe that he’s been in contact with you.”
Harper chewed her lip. “I talk to a lot of people and never know what they look like.”
He smiled. “I know. You’ve talked to me.”
Confusion clouded her mind. Why in the hell was he talking to her like a normal person and not some crazy psychopath? Hell, he seemed more normal than most of her family. “Are you here to kill me?”
His lip twisted for only a second. Humor filled his eyes before he masked it as he lowered his hand. “Why would you ask that?”
She shrugged. If she told him why, he’d know she’d been talking to Ryker. “A hunch.”
He handed her the paper and slid his hands back into his pocket. “Your hunches are normally better than that.”
“It’s been a long day,” she said. Relief swarmed through her body as a yellow cab pulled up to the curb. “I have to go.”
He nodded. “If you see Cage, run the other way. He’s dangerous.”
She pulled the door open to the cab as the driver put her bag in the trunk. She paused. “How so?”
“He’s delusional.” He pulled out a card and handed it to her. “Call me, if he shows.”
She started to get in and then stopped. “Mr. Grant,” she said, glancing down at the number on the card and then back up. “What does Cage want with me?”
“We’re not sure why he’s fixated on you. We just believe he is.”
She started to get in and then stopped again. “What makes you think that? I mean there must have been something to make you assume that.”
“He has a weird obsession with psychics. They normally end up dead, just like his sister-in-law. Are you sure he hasn’t made contact yet?”
She shook her head. Not that she’d tell this guy anything. “I wouldn’t know him if I passed him on the street.”
His lips twitched. “If he does, call me, and I’ll help you.”
He gave a slight nod before he turned and walked away.
Relief swished out of her body in the form of a sigh; the relief increasing the farther down the street he got without bothering to look back.
She’d hadn’t been expecting that. She still had all of her body parts intact. What the hell had just happened?
“The meter’s running, lady. Are you coming or what?” the cabbie said, prompting her to get in the cab.
She mumbled her address to the driver and stared down at the card. Harper ran her finger over the embossed number, the card as cryptic as the man. No insignia, no name, just a single phone number. Since when did serial killers have business cards? Who was playing whom?