48. Luke
LUKE
What we have between us is new, but I know her, and I know it’s not like her to ignore anything. Especially after last weekend. She's a cop—she responds. She’d respond even just to tell me to fuck off. Radio silence means something's wrong.
I push back from the kitchen table where I've been pretending to work on the books and grab my keys.
"Where you going?" Jake asks, looking up from his laptop. Mason’s in his house with Lily, but Jake settled in alongside me after dinner.
"Harper's."
He doesn't ask why. Just nods. "You need backup?"
"No." I pause at the door. "But if I'm not back in two hours, assume I killed her father."
His expression doesn't change. "I'll bring a shovel."
I drive into town faster than I should, my mind running through scenarios. Maybe she's working a case. Maybe her dad’s got her tied up with something. Maybe she's just pissed at me for some reason I haven't figured out yet.
But my gut says it's none of those things.
When I pull up to the Garrett house, Harper's SUV is in the driveway. So is the sheriff's cruiser. Oh well. If it’s easy, it’s not worth it, right?
I park couple blocks away and circle around to the back of the house to the tree next to Harper’s window. I'm up the trunk and onto the branch in under a minute. I shake my head in disgust at Sheriff Garrett. What good can the man be at protecting if his house is this easy to break into?
The window's closed, but the latch is child’s play. I look inside and see a human-shaped lump under the comforter. Harper. I ease the sash up and slip inside.
The room's dark. I do a brief survey—gun belt on the dresser, clothes piled on a chair, same romance novel on the bedside table.
Harper's curled on her side facing the door. She has the covers pulled up to her chin. I frown when I see the streaks of mascara under her eyes. Was she crying?
Who the fuck made my girl cry?
Rage unfurls low and slow in my chest. Every violent thing I’ve ever learned in the unit rises to the surface.
I want names.
I want apologies.
I want blood.
But first I want to make sure Harper is okay.
Taking a deep breath, I rake my hair back, trying to figure out what to do. I don’t have much experience comforting people.
My gaze lights on Harper’s gun belt, and I know what to do. I go to the dresser and get what I need. Then I lock her door.
I manage to close the handcuff on her left wrist before she wakes up.
Lifting her head, she frowns. “Wha—"
I loop her handcuffs around one of the brass bars of her bed and secure her other wrist before she’s completely lucid.
She jerks fully awake. “What ar—"
Holding her wrists so they don’t clank and bring her dad running, I cover her mouth with mine.
“Murf.” She stops struggling for a second, falling into it. Just as abruptly, she breaks the kiss, blinking like she’s trying to clear the sleep from her puffy, red-rimmed eyes, and scowls at me. “What the fuck, Luke?”
“Shh.” I tip my head toward her door. “Your dad, remember?”
Sadness so deep her eyes swim in it overtakes her irritation.
So this is about her dad. Lacing my fingers through hers, I cup her face. I have a moment of fear that he convinced her to stop seeing me.
Fuck if I’m going to allow that. I spear my hand into her hair, tilting her head to see directly into her eyes. “Talk to me, Harper. Did he find out about us and get upset?”
She shook her head. “I didn’t tell him about us yet.”
I’m not sure that’s a good thing or not, but I nod. “Tell me what happened.”
“Something Dad said last night made me check the evidence room this morning.” She swallows audibly. “I found some questionable information regarding my father.”
The fucking bastard. Not that it surprises me—we’ve been operating under the assumption that Sheriff Garrett is on Turner’s payroll—but at least he could be smart about it to keep from hurting his own damn daughter.
She looks up at me. "I’ll tell you everything, but I need to talk to him first."
"Harper, you don’t need to tell me anything," I say quietly. Garrett hasn’t been a problem, and as long as he stays that way, we won’t need to deal with him. It’s Turner we want taken care of.
“I want to tell you.” She starts to bring her arms forward, like she wants to hug me, but she gets caught. Frowning, she cranes her neck to look over her head. “You handcuffed me to my bed?”
“You’re just noticing?” That shows how upset she was.
“Are those my handcuffs?” she asks, her voice rising as she tries to shift her body.
“Yeah.” I stop her with a hand on the cuffs. “I hope you know where the key is.”
Gasping, her mouth falls open in horror.
I take the opportunity to kiss her. I’ll tell her I can pick the lock later.
She moves her head, breaking the kiss again. “Why am I handcuffed to my bed?”
“Because you’re here and not in mine. Otherwise, you’d be handcuffed to mine.” I straighten and look at her—wrists bound above her head, hair spread across the pillow, eyes shining with anger and need rather than devastation, thank fuck. I never want to see that look on her face again. Ever.
“Luke.” Her voice is a quiet, scolding hiss. “This isn’t the time. I’m not in the mood.”
“I can help with that.” I stand up and toss the covers off her. She’s wearing little shorts and my T-shirt, and I stifle the growl I feel in my throat. Seeing her in my clothes affects me like it’s my name tattooed on her.
Reaching behind me, I pull my shirt over my head.
Her breath hitches, like it does every time I take my clothes off. I fucking love that.
Sitting on the bed, I kiss the side of her neck, my hand sliding up her rib cage. "I'm going to make you feel better. I'm going to make you come so hard you forget everything except my name.”
She shakes her head. “That seems impossible.”
“Nothing’s impossible,” I promise her. I nip at the skin the wide collar exposes. “Will you let me help you this way, Harper? Please? It kills me to see you sad.”
“Really?” she whispers.
“Really.” Raising my head, I kiss her, slow and deep, trying to erase whatever she found out about her dad, even though I know some betrayals can never be forgotten.