One Night More (16 page)

“Harper?” Peggy shot up off the couch and crossed the room. “What is that?”

Harper looked at the deputy marshal and balled her hands into fists to try to stop them from shaking. “Peggy, I think we have a problem.”
A problem? Way to make an epic understatement, Harp.
This wasn’t a problem. This only confirmed that someone was trying to keep Harper’s mouth shut. But about what? She couldn’t remember Ellis telling her anything incriminating, and whoever had her digital recorder had all of the evidence of their conversation to prove it. Could Ellis’s murderer know that he’d slipped her his flash drive before he died?

“Stay put, Harper.”
Really, Peggy?
Where did she think she was going to go? “I’m going to call Monroe and get our forensics guys working on this e-mail to track down the IP address.”

“Yeah, okay.” The Marshals Service would bring in their guys, and probably the FBI as well. But Harper was going to take a page from Ellis’s book—or journal—and watch out for herself, too. “I’m going to step into my bedroom for a second.” She ejected the flash drive, which she slipped back into her bag. “I forgot I promised Galen that I’d call my friend about a lawyer today.”

Peggy gave her a concerned glance as Harper left the room. She needed something concrete on Ellis if she was going to find out who’d killed him and get herself out of this mess. Right now, all she had was a bunch of cryptic journal entries and pictures from Ellis’s family vacations and his daughter’s dance recitals. Who knew if this new threat would be enough to keep Davis from throwing her in jail? It was pretty clear to Harper that he thought she was making the whole thing up; another clip from her voice recorder wasn’t going to convince him. And revealing the flash drive now, with no clue what anything on it had to do with the murder, would only give Davis more reason to lock her up. She had to make sure that whatever she dug up on Ellis was indisputable.

 

 

“Well, at least you’re not officially on suspension. Or fired. Or worse. It could be worse, right?”

Galen stared at Michelle for a second, a smart-ass remark on the tip of his tongue. He was still a little annoyed with her after the “isn’t my brother the awesomest guy ever?” routine she’d laid down on Harper several days ago. But rather than follow through, he took a long pull on the straw sticking out of his iced tea.

Monroe had given him the equivalent of a slap on the wrist. A few days off and a strongly worded warning that Galen mind his p’s and q’s until this assignment was over. Not to mention a reminder on their policy regarding dating witnesses. Not that Galen had admitted to anything.
Way to rock the professional vibe, asshole
.

“It could be worse, though right now I’m not sure how.” He’d been ready to cop to everything, including the fact that he’d met Harper and had something of a relationship—albeit a one-night relationship—with her a year ago. But when he’d opened his mouth to spill the beans to Monroe, nothing had come out. “I probably should have accepted the job offer in Paris. It would have kept my ass out of a sling.”

“If you’d taken that job, I would have killed you.” Michelle slid a plate with a huge cinnamon roll toward him. “So your boss doesn’t know about what happened between you and Harper.” She shrugged. “So what? If you asked Harper, she’d say you didn’t know anything about it, either.”

Galen cringed. When Michelle put it that way it sounded so much worse. “I fucked up.”

“Yeah, you did.” She grabbed a fork and dug into the cinnamon roll. “But, what’s done is done, and worrying about it isn’t going to change the way it went down. If you don’t want your relationship with Harper to go beyond professional, I think you did the right thing. Her feelings are probably hurt, sure. I mean, come on, brother, that was a total dick move. But still, in the long run, it’s probably for the best . . .” Michelle let the end of her sentence trail off. And how nice of her to remind him that he was a dick. He hadn’t reminded himself of that fact enough in the past few weeks. “Unless . . .” Oh, great. There was an
unless
. “You want your relationship with Harper to be more than just professional?”

The silly, expectant smile plastered on Michelle’s face made Galen roll his eyes. “I came in here for food and commiseration, not dating advice, Shel.”

“Oh, bullshit. You absolutely came in here for dating advice. You think I’m stupid, Galen, but I know you. You brought her in here the other day to show her off and get my opinion.”

“Not true.” Yes, it was. It was totally true. “She has a thing for donuts, that’s why I brought her here.”

“Uh-huh. Sure. Then you should have taken her to Voodoo, not your sister’s pastry place. You wanted to impress her and you wanted me to scope her out. This is sophomore year all over again.”

In the tenth grade, Galen had lusted over Amy Renfro for months. It probably had something to do with the way her ass looked in her volleyball shorts. He’d flirted shamelessly, and when she’d finally agreed to go out with him, he’d invited her over to make chocolate croissants with him and Michelle. Later, Michelle had offered up the opinion that Amy had another guy on the side—some sort of women’s intuition thing—and Galen’s infatuation died shortly thereafter. Plus, he’d seen her making out with Todd Chamberlain in the gym the next week, which sort of sealed the deal. Michelle’s opinion mattered, though. Galen wanted her to like whoever he dated. And yeah, maybe he’d brought Harper over for an impromptu inspection.

“Well?” he asked, feeling like that stupid tenth-grade kid again. “What’d you think?”

Michelle smiled. “I freaking love her. I swear to God, Galen. If you string her along and let her believe that you don’t remember her, I’ll kick your ass.”

“If I admit it, I might lose my job.”

“You can find another job. You won’t find another Harper.”

Galen took a bite of cinnamon roll and pushed the plate toward his sister. Goddamn it. Why did Michelle always have to be right?

Chapter Seventeen

Galen woke from a fitful sleep, his hips thrusting his hard-on into the mattress. A low groan of frustration worked its way up his throat as he buried his face in the pillow. Scraps of a dream lingered in his mind. One of full lips, voluptuous curves, and slick, wet flesh. His balls ached with the need for release, and his body was so goddamned tense it took a conscious effort to relax his muscles.

The swollen head of his erection brushed the sheets and Galen shuddered. As though he couldn’t control the motion, he rolled his hips into the soft fabric, imagining Harper’s body beneath him, her legs spread wide to receive him, her back arched up to meet him. He rolled onto his back, the motion abrupt as he gripped his cock and stroked himself. A shitty substitute for the real thing, but if he didn’t find some kind of release, he doubted he’d sleep another minute for the rest of the night.

Galen’s body jacked up off the bed as he worked his erection in his fist. Harper’s face, her gorgeous body, and warm voice goaded every erotic thought. His thumb passed over the crown, slick with a bead of moisture, and Galen imagined Harper’s tongue flicking out before she took him in her mouth. He’d wanted her mouth on him that night, but had been too impatient to bury himself inside of her. The way her body accepted him, so tight and warm, was a memory he couldn’t banish no matter how hard he tried. The tight points of her nipples as he rolled them between his fingers and the sweet sensual sounds he coaxed from her had sent him into a frenzy the likes of which no other woman had managed before. He tightened his grip on his cock, almost desperate as he pumped into his hand, his mind full of Harper: her smooth skin, sweet mouth, intense hazel eyes, and her body, soft and curvy in all the right places and tight just where she ought to be. God he wanted her. Right now. So damned bad he couldn’t stand it.

He gnashed his teeth together as he came, a low growl rumbling in his chest as the deep thrum in his body slowed to a warm pulse. The sound of his ragged breathing surrounded him, and his racing heart pulsed in his ears. After a moment, he rolled off the bed, and as he walked to the bathroom to retrieve a towel, he glared down at the still-stiff length bobbing with every step as though taunting him with failure. Galen cursed under his breath. Instead of calming him down, he only wanted more. But not from his own goddamned hand.

After he cleaned up, Galen flopped back down on the bed and checked the time, not even midnight. Fucking great. He had an entire night ahead of him with a raging hard-on, his own torturous fantasies, and not a minute of sleep in sight. Thank God this was the end of his mandatory time off. Another day alone with his thoughts and he wouldn’t give a damn about his job, decorum, or anything else.

Against his better judgment, he grabbed his phone from the nightstand and opened up a text message. Closed the app. Opened it again. Stared at the empty conversation bubble casting a glow in his darkened bedroom.

Fuck it.

Are you up? He typed the words and hit SEND. It was a stupid question. Of course she wasn’t up. And if his past experience with Harper was any indication of how soundly she slept, odds were he wouldn’t be waking her, either.

He was about to chuck his phone somewhere by his closet when a response came in. Yup. Can’t sleep. You?

Galen’s fingers hovered over the touch screen.
Well, I was asleep until I had this a-ma-zing sex dream about you and woke up with a stiffy the size of a redwood. So I had to just take care of business and then
—Same. Insomnia.

He lay in bed, staring blindly at the ceiling. The time spent away from her had been worse than the seemingly endless days of being too near her. He wanted to call her. Hear her voice, low and warm in his ear. But the texts were safer. The soundless messages put a much-needed distance between them. Without it, he’d have no self-control whatsoever.

 

Are you coming over tomorrow?

 

As if she were asking if he was stopping by for a cup of coffee or some shit. Not because it was his job to be there, by her side, close enough to touch. Yeah. I’ll be there. Why? Do you miss me?

Galen’s body tensed with anticipation. Did her response even matter? For all he knew she was playing the game, keeping up with the banter for his benefit. The text came in and Galen smiled. You wish. No way would Harper give him an inch.

Who’s working tonight? His gut had been in knots for days and Landon was on the verge of kicking his ass. He didn’t trust anyone, not even his best friend, to keep Harper safe. Stupid. Because as of yet, no one had tried to gun Harper down in the street. But it was the calm that bothered Galen the most. Always a calm before the storm.

Galen sucked in a breath through his teeth and fought the urge to throw his jeans on and drive straight to Harper’s condo. His rational brain knew that she was pushing his buttons, but the irrational, primitive side of him wanted to pummel any man who gave Harper a second glance, let alone dared to get her into bed. He’d walk in, send Peggy packing, and fuck Harper until neither one of them could form a coherent thought. He’d make damn sure she never thought—or joked—about being with another man ever again.

His erection throbbed between his legs, and Galen scrubbed a hand over his face in frustration. He was obsessed. Consumed by even the simple thought of her. His blood burned, his body ached, his entire being craved her. He was worse than a junkie. Could he check himself into rehab? Detox from the memory of a one-night stand that haunted him?

You know I’m kidding, right? Harper’s text lit up his screen. Don’t get anyone else kicked off their shift.

You’re not funny. He typed the words knowing what her response would be.

 

I’m hilarious.

 

He couldn’t get enough of her dry sense of humor, her fiery disposition, her quick wit. He’d lie in bed all night, exchanging text messages like a fucking goofy teenager if he could. It was all he was going to have of her, wasn’t it? Banter that skirted the edge of appropriate and nights of agony, as he dreamt about touching her, kissing her, tasting her, only to wake and find his arms empty.

A ripple of anger vibrated through Galen. If anything, threats from an attorney would raise Davis’s hackles. He wondered how many “days off” he’d get if he knocked the cocky FBI agent out. Probably more than a few. Tell your attorney to tread on eggshells with Davis. I’m serious, Harper. You want him to lay off, don’t give him any excuse to press harder.

Galen didn’t want Harper to press her luck with Davis, but that didn’t mean Galen couldn’t. Maybe not while he was on the clock, but he’d have an opportunity to get Davis alone. And when he did, it would be his word against Davis’s. He’d make damn sure the agent got his shit together and left Harper alone.

Galen hadn’t given Harper a reason for his absence, simply told her that another deputy would be spending days with her for a while. Yeah, Monroe thought I needed to calm down. Davis has always gotten on my nerves. He just hit one nerve too many the other day.

He could practically hear Harper’s dubious laughter. Kindly?

During SOG training, a deputy trainee had smacked Galen in the windpipe during a hand-to-hand combat session. Just enough to knock the air out of him. Reading Harper’s words had the same effect on him. A handful of responses jumped into his mind. Two or three of them bordered on lewd. But damn it, knowing she wanted him there was enough to make him want to throw all of his bullshit convictions out the window. I’ve got your back.

A long stretch of silence passed before the text message alert went off. Oh. Well, that’s good. See you tomorrow, Galen. ’Night.

I’ve got your back? Seriously?
Jesus fucking Christ. Galen knocked his head against the headboard a couple of times. He’d given her the text equivalent of a pat to the head.

 

Good night, Harper.

 

Maybe if he hit his cranium hard enough against the headboard, it would knock him the fuck out. No woman had ever managed to get in his head like Harper had. They came, they went. No big deal. Each entanglement was fun while it lasted and Galen never lost any sleep when it ended. Now, he was wide awake, his brain buzzing, his cock hard and annoying the shit out of him, and when she’d given him the opportunity to let her know she was more to him than some stupid job, Galen had brushed her off. Treated her once again as though she were nothing more than an accessory for him to lug around.

Wow. He was a real relationship pro.

 

 

I’ve got your back.

 

Harper poured a splash of cream into her coffee and stirred, her eyes locked onto Galen’s text message from last night. Well, if that didn’t clearly spell out how he felt about her, she didn’t know what did. It had taken a lot of courage for her to admit that she was anxious for him to come back and resume his protective duty. And he’d basically given her a canned response.

Peggy was gathering up her things, her expression weary. Of all the crap the U.S. Marshals Service dealt with, she assumed witness protection was the one duty they’d draw straws for. The displacement, the lack of routine—and, in some cases, comfortable bed—must be a huge pain in the ass. Could she really blame Galen for his detachment? He’d been off protecting dignitaries or busting international drug rings, or whatever else it was that the elite SOG team did. And he’d come home to mundane babysitting duty. She probably bored him to death.

“I’m off rotation for a couple of days,” Peggy said as she slipped her arms into her jacket. “So I think Deputy Simpson will be staying with you while I’m off. You’ll like her. She’s super quiet.”

As if Peggy were a laugh-a-minute chatterbox. “Okay. Thanks for letting me know. Anything on my secret admirer?”

“No, sorry, Harper. We checked the originating mail server and it was a known proxy in Morocco. The tech team said the place is a black hole for hacker activity and heavy e-mail spam. The original IP address of the sender could be from anywhere. We’re working on it, though. Deputy Kelly was briefed on the situation this morning and he increased the number of deputies working your security detail for now.”

Peggy sat down on the couch, packed up and ready to go. A knot formed in the pit of Harper’s stomach. An adrenaline-fueled anxiety ball that made her feel like running a mile at full speed and throwing up at the same time. Though the added protection proved that Galen truly did have her back. Despite the sting of those impersonal words, she was glad he was good at his job.

She was taking a sip from her coffee and flipping through the morning paper, more to see who was writing her feature while she was on leave than anything, when a text came in on her phone. She slid her finger across the lock screen and scanned a message from Liz.

BL? The British Library?
Ugh. No, Harp, you idiot
. Blue Lake. Was Blue Lake supposed to be one word or two? Harper wondered. Maybe that would affect her search results. Something to think about, anyway. She stared at the digits below Liz’s message, her fingers itching to call Senator Ellis’s former assistant. But with Peggy sitting in her living room and Galen about to arrive at any second, the best she could manage was yet another damned text message. Her last text conversation had been a disappointment. Hopefully, unlike Galen, Jason Meader would tell her what she wanted to hear.

This is Harper Allen, she typed. I’d like to meet with you regarding something Ellis mentioned to me. Off the record. Are you free?

A response came in a few minutes later. Two o’clock, at the art museum. I’ll be in the impressionists’ gallery. I’d rather keep a low profile. So no armed escort if that’s all right.

Easier said than done. Harper peered over her phone at Peggy, who gave her a warm, commiserating smile. Sure, Peggy probably assumed they’d both rather be doing something else at the moment. But, whereas Peggy was probably thinking of the nap she’d be taking when she got home or what she’d do on her days off, Harper’s brain was cranking at full speed as she tried to devise a way to ditch Galen and get to the art gallery.

Five hours to outsmart one specially trained, elite U.S. Marshal. Piece of cake.

First things first, Harper needed to get her shit together. Galen had been more than clear last night that protecting Harper was his job and nothing more. All of his flirtatious banter, the random texts at midnight, and jokes about coming over to check up on her had left her wound up and wanting more. Apparently, if she wanted to rattle Galen’s chain enough to throw him off his game, she’d have to up the ante. A rattled Galen would be much easier to ditch. “Peggy, I need to shower. You can let Galen in, right?”

“No problem,” Peggy said. “I’m sure he’ll be here any minute.”

Harper took her time in the shower. Usually, she tried to be up, showered, and ready to go—well, ready to go nowhere—by the time Galen showed up every morning. Today, though, she wanted him to see her disheveled. She’d never been much of a seductress, but she had to hope she still had enough sex appeal to at least catch his eye.