In the Mood for Love (28 page)

Every muscle in Sam’s body tensed as he read a message from the Avenger.

She’ll wreck your life, soldier
.

A picture was attached. A picture of Harper and a young man in uniform. Harper didn’t look much younger, but she did look carefree. The fair-haired man looked like most soldiers Sam knew who’d yet to see battle. Confident.
Naïve
. Sam assumed the soldier she was hugging was Andrew Wilson, her former fiancé. He didn’t feel jealous, just alarmed and pissed as hell that some jerk wad was taking anonymous potshots at Harper. Sam had forty minutes before he had to pick her up for the airfield. He dialed Jayce. “You up? Dressed?” he asked when the man answered. “I’m coming over.”

Approximately three minutes later, Sam pulled up to a house that he knew as well as his own. Until recently, Daisy had lived here. First with Jessup. Then alone. Aside from family Sunday dinners, there’d been hundreds of random parties, barbecues, and sleepovers with his cousins. A multitude of memories welled as Sam approached the three-story Colonial Revival. Rocky and Jayce lived here now and the same warm feeling greeted Sam as soon as the door swung open.

Unfortunately, his mood was dark and foul.

“Rocky here?” Sam asked Jayce as he pushed inside.

“Already on her way to the hospital to look in on Chloe. I’ve got business so—”

Keyed up to his social page, Sam shoved his phone in Jayce’s face. “How the
fuck
does he know I’m involved with Harper? Who the hell is this guy?”

“I’ve got answers,” Jayce said calmly while checking out the photo. “Want some coffee?”

“No.”

“I need coffee.”

Jayce passed Sam his phone then moved toward the kitchen.

Sam followed, deleting the post now that Jayce had seen it. Hoping to God it had escaped Harper’s notice. While pocketing his phone, he heard a weird clicking and turned to see Brewster, a dopey-looking dog with one ear up, one down, following behind, his toenails clacking on the hardwood floor. “Hey, boy,” Sam managed in a civil tone, scratching the mutt’s ears as they moved into the spacious kitchen.

“Sure you don’t want a hit?” Jayce asked as he moved toward the coffee maker.

“Pass, but thanks.” Sam glanced at his watch. “Need to pick Harper up in a half hour.”

“I’ll make it quick,” Jayce said as he poured strong-smelling java and signaled Brewster to lie down.

Brewster curled on a braided rug.

Jayce leaned back against the counter.

Sam stood in the middle of the kitchen, arms crossed, temper spiking. His famous patience two seconds from snapping.

“The Avenger,” Jayce said. “Yesterday, I located his profile page, bypassed his privacy settings and poked around.” He held up a hand, warding off questions. “Explaining my methods would take time. Just know I’m good at what I do. Once I determined his identity, gathering information was relatively easy. Did some digging, read a few reports, made some inquiries.”

“What have you got?”

Jayce sipped coffee then cocked his head. “The Avenger is one Edward Wilson. The father of Harper’s former fiancé. Andrew was an only son. A revered son. Smart as hell—an IT whiz. Edward’s retired military, former officer, a by-the-books hard-ass who took great pride in his genius son’s accomplishments. The boy could do no wrong in the old man’s eyes, although Edward did frown on Andrew and Harper’s whirlwind affair. Edward considered her a distraction for Andrew. A pretty face with no real substance.”

Sam worked his jaw. “Go on.”

“From the information I’ve gathered and accessed, Edward Wilson blames Harper for his son’s death.”

“That’s warped and wrong. Wilson was suffering from post-traumatic stress syndrome. He snapped and—”

“I know. I read several accounts, reached out to a couple of people in Harper’s old loop. Everything supports the version of the story Harper shared with you. Right down to Andrew being the one who broke off their engagement. But remember what I said. Edward’s a hard-ass and he had that boy on a pedestal. He twisted facts every which way until he came up with a scenario that made Andrew the victim and Harper the villain. In Edward’s mind Harper seduced Andrew, clouding his mind with illusions of some fairy-tale marriage, distracting him from his job, his purpose, making it difficult for him to deal with the reality of a hostile environment. He came back traumatized, and instead of sticking with him when the going got tough, Harper deserted Andrew.”

“Andrew broke things off, told her he needed space.”

“According to Edward, if she had really loved his son, she would’ve pushed to help him. Instead, she buried her head in the sand, focusing on her work. If she would have stayed close, she could have headed off his meltdown.”

“Intimating she failed him.” Sam narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean ‘according to Edward’? Did you speak with him?”

“Hacked and read some of Harper’s old e-mails.”

“You can do that?”

“Comes in handy when tracking down cyberbullies.”

Sam blew out a breath. “So, what? Edward’s been bullying her for three years now?”

“On and off from what I could find. Tapered off a year ago then flared up again recently.”

“What the hell?”

“We’re talking about a father’s grief. A father who lost his only son. A guy with a chip on his shoulder and rage in his heart. He needs to blame someone and it’s not going to be the military he thinks so highly of or the son he worshiped.”

“So Harper’s his whipping post.”

“I dug a little, but it seems like Harper shut down emotionally after the incident. Didn’t confide in friends and coworkers about what she was feeling or going through. But I know Edward blasted her in public more than once. She escaped his in-the-face wrath by transferring to the American branch of that PR firm. Since he’s still hassling her, I’m guessing he’s part, if not all, of the reason she doesn’t want to return to Canada.”

Sam dragged both hands down his face. “Three frickin’ years.”

“Some people hold grudges for a lifetime. You’ve got a bitter, vengeful man on your hands, Sam. Wilson can’t move on so he doesn’t want Harper to move on, either.”

“So he keeps reminding her, blaming her. He wants her to wallow in misery. Guilt. I’m sorry for the man’s loss, Jayce, but this is bullshit.” Sam glanced at his watch, anxious to get to Harper. “Can you get me some stats on Edward Wilson? Where he lives? Where he hangs out? His routine?”

Jayce—ever calm—caught Sam’s troubled gaze. “Thinking of paying him a visit?”

“This has to stop.”

“Agreed. You take Harper to Vegas. Do your thing with her and the Cupcake Lovers. I’ll handle Edward.”

“Why you?”

“Given my background in law enforcement, let’s just say I’m experienced at making bad men see the error of their ways.”

Sam raised a brow. “I appreciate the offer, Jayce, but when Edward posted that message to me, he opened the door for confrontation. I can’t manage face-to-face right now, but I can make a call. If that doesn’t do it, we’ll take it from there.”

Jayce nodded, took out his phone. “I’ll forward Edward’s cell number, but before you call, let me give you some pointers that’ll add punch to your cease and desist.”

“By the way,” Sam asked, “how
did
Edward know about Harper and me? I haven’t posted anything about us online. Neither has she.”

“The old fox has been keeping tabs on her. I’m not the only PI in this state.”

That would account for the feeling of “being watched.” Sam envisioned a man staked out somewhere on Harper’s property with a freaking pair of binoculars. Following them into town, maybe sitting two tables away when they’d had lunch at the Shack, chowing on apple pie and freaking
spying
on Harper and Sam then reporting back to Wilson.

Fury singed the last of Sam’s patience.

“Before you blow a gasket, I already
reasoned
with the dick in question. He’s out of the picture.”

Sam dragged a hand through his hair, his blood pressure easing as he saved Edward’s phone number to contacts. “Never knew you could be so scary, Bello.”

Jayce just smiled.

THIRTY-ONE

Seven hours and forty-nine minutes after taking off from Starlight Airfield and making one pit stop in Kansas City, Nash and his copilot, Tripp, landed the charter jet at Henderson Executive, a small corporate airport just minutes from the Las Vegas Strip. The flight had been smooth and the attending Cupcake Lovers a delight.

Conversation, mimosas, and snacks had flowed. A delicious in-flight meal had been served. Their flight attendant, Bella, had been a doll. All in all, a fantastic experience for everyone involved, including Harper. She’d been anxiety-free all day and so far everything was going according to plan. She felt calm and in control with flashes of giddy excitement. She was getting married tonight and tomorrow the Cupcake Lovers would appear on
Brice and Kaylee—Live
! A personal milestone and a professional coup. Her mind kept spinning what ifs, but they were all good. Mostly all good. Which was a whole lot better than mostly bad.

She attributed part of her optimism to steeling her spine. Last night she’d broken her personal policy of not engaging with Edward Wilson. Engaging only fanned the flames of his vengeance. Distance and silence had long been Harper’s defense of choice. It had worked for a while, but now that he was on the warpath again, she knew she had to change tactics. His taunts had to end. Maybe he couldn’t forget or forgive but he had to leave Harper in peace. As much as she’d been fighting it, she’d fallen in love with Sam. A night of bowling with him and the kids had cinched her tender feelings. They’d stripped away the last layer of armor shielding her heart. She was vulnerable, but instead of feeling scared, she felt emboldened. She didn’t want Edward’s hatred tainting her and Sam’s relationship. And she sure as hell didn’t want his misery to touch Ben and Mina in any way.

She knew Edward wouldn’t listen to reason if she called. He’d interrupt and manipulate the conversation.

She’d opted to write him a letter. It had taken two hours to compose a heartfelt but adamant e-mail. Two hours to put her feelings into words. Words that would have the desired impact.

I know how much you loved Andrew. I loved him, too
.

She’d questioned the true depth of her feelings—egged on by Edward and her own guilt—for far too long. She’d fallen into an abyss of doubt, unable to grab hold of substantial memories. Good memories. She’d forgotten how special those first months with Andrew had been. Yes, there had been a whirlwind romance. Yes, she’d been over-the-moon obsessed with planning the perfect fairy-tale wedding for their perfect marriage. And yes, she’d been stunned by the negative transformation of Andrew, unbalanced by his rejection, at a loss for dealing with his somber mood and anger. She hadn’t understood the exact nature of his suffering because he’d kept that suffering to himself. To protect her. Andrew never wanted to hurt her. He set her free because he loved her.

And she’d floundered because she loved him. True, genuine bone-deep love.

Sitting at her desk in her bedroom, glancing out the same window Mary Rothwell had dogged day after day, Harper suddenly felt a sense of closure that had eluded the heartbroken World War II bride. Unlike with Captain Joseph Rothwell, Harper knew for certain Andrew wouldn’t be coming back. Turning back time wasn’t within her power, but cherishing the love they’d shared and honoring that love by embracing the good in life was. In that moment, she swore she felt Andrew hug her. Or maybe it was Mary.

You can’t punish me anymore, Edward, because I’m done punishing myself. Andrew will always hold a special place in my heart, but my heart is big enough to make room for more special. I deserve special. Andrew said so once. It just took me a while to remember and believe.

Her finger had hovered briefly over the send button. Had she made a sound and reasonable case? Did she believe what she’d written with her whole heart and soul?

Yes
.

Teary-eyed and light-headed with serenity, Harper had sent the e-mail and slept through the night, dreaming first of Andrew and then of Sam. Sweet, hopeful dreams.

As of this morning, Edward had yet to reply to Harper’s letter. If she was lucky, she’d never hear from him again. That thought had buoyed her all through the morning.

That, and the presence of Sam.

Harper hadn’t told him about Edward or the letter. She was enormously proud that she’d handled that crisis on her own. She was determined to move on. Excited to move on.

With Sam McCloud
.

The man was a rock, a calming force, and today he’d been especially attentive. He’d touched her endlessly—her hand, her elbow, her shoulder, the small of her back, her thigh, her knee. Not in a sexual way, but in a caring way. Letting her know he was there, that she was safe. Gentle touches and long glances, infusing her with hope and calm. There would be no calamities, no snafus, no atrocities. They were flying to Vegas and they were going to have
fun
.

Daisy must have said so at least a dozen times.

Per Harper’s prearrangements, a limousine was waiting, and soon after landing everyone, sans the crew, climbed into the stretch transport. Sam squeezed in next to Harper, casually draping his arm across the seat behind her, speaking amiably with the only other two men who’d come along—Vincent, Daisy’s beau, and Helen’s husband, Daniel. While they’d discussed the desert landscape and climate, Harper checked in with the production crew for
Brice and Kaylee
.

Minutes later they were sailing up the Las Vegas Strip and the senior Cupcake Lovers—Daisy, Helen, Ethel, and Judy—were gawking and oohing at the dazzling assortment of casinos and entertainment resorts. Some classic, some new. Some classy, some themed. A unique blend of opulence and cheese. So different from Norman Rockwell Sugar Creek.

“Vegas,” Daisy said. “Viva Las Vegas. Gambling capital of the world.
Hellooooo
, Sin City!”

Harper smiled as the animated woman pumped her bony fist in the air. Her exuberance was contagious and her appearance endearing. She’d bleached her tight blue curls white, which would have looked natural for her age if not for the way those curls sparkled. She’d sprayed her hair with some sort of iridescent glitter. Harper wouldn’t be surprised if she soon discovered colorful feather clip-ons or Day-Glo extensions. She was
that
adventurous. And at this moment, she was in her glory.