The Strongest Steel (22 page)

Trent turned the movie off, pulled Harper onto his lap, and settled into the sofa. “You wanna start, now?”

“What do you want to know?” She asked him guilelessly.

“Everything.”

*   *   *

“I was born and raised in Chicago. Just me, Mom, Dad, and Reid,” Harper started. “I was a ninth grade English teacher there. It was my dream job. I love words. I love the structure of language and I love awe-inspiring writing.” Harper closed her eyes and could see herself back in the classroom teaching teenagers, hoping she could convey all of her passion to spark even the most minimal flicker of interest in every kid who came through her classroom door.

“It’s why I’ve loved helping Joanie with her diploma. And helping Drea’s cousin Milo and his family cope with his dyslexia.”

“I knew it,” Trent said, passing her a beer and clinking the top of her bottle with his. “All that objective noun stuff you spouted at the studio that day. Dead giveaway.” His hand was around her waist, his thumb making small circles over her hip bone.

“It was an adjective-noun combination, but that’s not the point.” Harper cracked a weak smile. “My dad, who worked for a financial services company, had always hoped he’d get a lawyer or a doctor, but teaching children was all I ever wanted to do.” She smiled, remembering her dad’s begrudging praise when she won her first award for being an inspirational teacher.

“My brother, Reid, was everything to me. He was my protector. He terrorized me as all older brothers do, of course, but he was my best friend.”

Thinking about Reid made her heart hurt. She hadn’t talked to him since the morning Nathan’s verdict had been read out in court.

“All he ever wanted to do was fix up cars and bikes. Mom and Dad tried everything they could to get him to go to college, but it wasn’t what he wanted. He was a grease monkey through and through. He was brilliant.” There had been so many fights, but Reid had stood firm on his choice.

“I get how that is,” Trent replied. “That feeling of not living up to your parents’, or anyone else’s, expectations. It must have been tough for both of you.”

The tears were threatening to fall, but Harper bit the side of her tongue, hard, to keep them at bay. Taking a deep breath, she shook her head and composed herself.

“I miss them. A lot. I haven’t seen them in years. We have an e-mail account we share, so I know what’s going on in their lives, but it’s not the same.”

“So why aren’t you with them? Why aren’t they with you?”

“I told you what happened, right? Well, getting arrested didn’t stop him.” She took another deep breath. “This is harder than I thought it was going to be…”

“Take your time. We’ve got all night,” Trent said softly. She studied his face. It was strong, the dimples, cute. But more importantly it was reassuringly calm.

“I testified at the trial. The look on the jurors’ faces when they saw the pictures of what he did, Trent … I was drowning in their pity. Everybody stared. I became that girl.”

Harper took a sip of her beer and thought for a moment. It felt more cathartic than she expected, sharing everything that had happened with him.

“So that’s why you left?” Trent asked, sitting back down next to her.

“Nathan was sentenced to eight years in prison. It’s possible he’ll get out in four. We’ll know soon enough. He threatened to kill me when he got out—said I was his and would never get away from him. I couldn’t deal with the pitying looks, everyone knowing what happened to me. Everyone walking on eggshells around me. It was driving me crazy. I didn’t even have Reid. By the time we got back from the sentencing, Reid was gone. He just packed up and disappeared. No one has heard from him since. I guess his friendship with Nathan was stronger than his relationship with me.”

The look of anguish on Reid’s face when he heard the sentence. The way he’d turned to stare at her so intently.

“After the trial, I started to get crank calls threatening my family and me. I’d find photos in the mailbox of me leaving the gym or going out for a walk—reminders that I wasn’t safe, that someone was following me. Somehow, even from prison, Nathan was getting his friends on the outside to do things for him.”

Trent put his glass down on the table and pulled her into his chest. “Someone should have been there to look after you. Why didn’t you call the police?”

“Just thinking of the police makes me angry. The list of ways in which they let me and my family down is so long it would take all night.” Harper sighed and allowed Trent to lift her chin to face him.

“Tell me, darlin’. I want to know. I need to understand.” He kissed her forehead.

“I was interviewed by the police once I had been treated in the hospital. A nice officer by the name of Patrick Doherty.” The older officer’s soft voice, with its slight Irish lilt and sympathetic tone, had helped her feel safe, protected. The medication the doctors had given her had eased the pain and taken the edge off the panic. Doctors and nurses had attended her as she drifted in and out of sleep. Her parents and Reid had taken turns sitting with her, stroking the back of her hand. Time became nebulous, something she couldn’t hold onto as the painkillers worked their magic.

The clang of metal hitting metal and someone gripping her wrist painfully had woken her. Confused, she saw her father pinning her brother bodily into the corner of the sterile room, anguish pouring from Reid’s face.

The memories overwhelmed her. Harper rubbed her wrists and turned to face Trent. “They arrested me. I was Mirandized and physically attached to a hospital gurney with handcuffs. They arrested me initially for criminal battery but struggled to prove intent so the charge was lowered to simple assault. They tried to blame me for the attack, said I’d initiated it. Said I was the one with the drug problem.”

“Holy shit, Harper. That is so wrong. How did they … why? I don’t get it.”

“Let’s just say that the police’s assistance to me was inversely correlated to the amount of money Nathan’s father was pumping into the police retirement fund. Evidence, like Nathan’s drug test results, went missing or was doctored before the trial. The cop I mentioned, Doherty. He was forcibly retired and told he’d never be able to prove he had seen the original drug results that stated Nathan had crack, meth, and MDMA in his system. He and his family were threatened. They even threatened to take away his pension after thirty years on the force.”

She allowed herself to be pulled against him, softening as he kissed the top of her head.

“The day after I was admitted to the hospital, I had a visitor. Nathan’s father, Winston, came to see me. A police officer was in my room asking me some follow-up questions. Winston offered me one hundred thousand dollars to drop the case, to not testify and just leave. At trial, both Winston and the officer swore the only thing he did was apologize.”

“Christ, I can’t believe you had to go through all that. I mean, I believe you, but you know. It seems like a movie.”

“Yeah, well, it wasn’t very movie-like when I called nine-one-one and they never came.”

“Fuck.” Trent growled and pulled her into his chest. “If I ever see that fucker, I’ll break every bone in his goddamn body.” His eyes were steely. Focused. “We’re in this together. We can keep you safe. I don’t want us to have secrets, darlin’. I want to know more. Everything.”

Secrets. The one thing she couldn’t promise him. Her real name was on the tip of her tongue, but she bit down hard. She was Harper now, and there was no value in him knowing about Taylor.

“I’m trying, Trent, but I promise I’ll tell you what I can.”

Lydia had called earlier to let her know that her work bag had been handed to the Sixth District Police Station on South Halstead. No sign of the car or her wallet, but her laptop was safe. Nathan was being an A+ student, and the messages on her phone were apparently coming from Gresham, Oregon, nearly two thousand miles away from Illinois. Maybe telling Trent about the text messages would be a good thing, but he would likely insist she call the police. She was smart enough to realize that there were some good cops out there. But there was no way she could ever rely on them again, and there was no point in her and Trent arguing about it. Why drag Trent any further into her drama?

He kissed her, his lips soft against hers. While she was hopeful that the worst of the storm had just passed, she had a feeling they were really just sitting inside the eye of it.

Chapter Fifteen

Going to the gym at six in the morning wasn’t usually a chore, but today felt very different. They’d talked some more before Harper had fallen asleep on his lap. Pulling himself away from her soft, naked form this morning had required a herculean effort.

He needed to work off the residual anger and frustration swirling through his veins, and Frankie was just the guy. Franco “Frankie” Reyes had been at the forefront of the early MMA scene. He’d fought some of the early UFC greats like Royce Gracie, Kenneth Shamrock, and Patrick Smith. Together, these guys had forged modern cage fighting.

“I need to hit the cage today.”

Frankie took a long look at his face. “Sure thing, kid.”

After a sweaty hour, Trent hit the locker room and put his head under the cold tap. Once his breathing got back to some semblance of normal and his muscles stopped screaming, he’d be fine. His body might be in agony, but finally his mind had stilled.

“You wanna tell me what’s got up your ass this morning? No one has come that close to laying me out since I quit pro.”

Trent turned off the tap and pushed his dripping hair back over his head, letting it drip onto his already soaked shirt.

“If I could, I would, Frankie. You know that. But I do need a favor.”

“Hit me. You know I got your back.”

“I have a friend, a woman, who needs to learn how to fight her way out if she gets into a tough spot.”

“So get her to sign up for the ladies’ classes. We run ’em twice a week.”

“No can do. She’s already been attacked. Badly. Needs confidence as much as she needs moves. Doubt she’d come here to a room full of people. Doesn’t like being touched either. I’m working on that, but it’ll take time.”

Frankie looked down at his watch and pursed his lips together. “I got nothing that can’t be changed for the next couple of hours. Your girl around?”

It was Harper’s day off and she was swinging by for her next appointment in the afternoon, which he seriously couldn’t wait for. Inking a girl had never been such a turn-on.

“I’ll jump in the shower then give her a call on the way to the shop, see if she can come down.”

“Okay, have her swing by and she and I can have a chat, no fighting today, just understanding what she needs. Figure out what we can do. What’s her name?”

“Harper. Harper Connelly.”

“Harper Connelly, huh? Should I be reading something into the cheesy grin that went with that?”

Trent shrugged. “Probably.” Frankie slapped him on the shoulder, laughing, and left him to his shower.

*   *   *

Harper left Trent’s condo and navigated her way to the address Trent had given her. The single-story industrial unit looked vacant from the outside. A simple black sign with F
RANKIE’S
in gold lettering hung above one of the dirty windows. Trent had warned her not to be put off by the exterior.

His call had caught her off guard, and Harper tried to embrace the adrenaline buzz that vibrated through her. The idea of training to fight back seemed so obvious, yet she hadn’t thought of it herself. Or perhaps the idea had never occurred because the concept of placing herself deliberately in the path of another person wasn’t something she’d been willing to entertain. Until Trent.

She pushed the heavy door open and was immediately hit by the smell of sweat and bleach. The sound of a skipping rope hitting the concrete and the monotonous thud of a speed bag being pounded echoed in rhythm around the gym. She walked farther into the gym, pushed at a suspended punching bag as she passed by. “Hello?” Her voice echoed in the cavernous space.

“Hey, Harper. I’m Frankie, good to meetcha.” Harper jumped as Frankie came up behind her from a hidden office. He was taller than she, wearing warm-up pants and a vest that showed a tight physique. The gold chains he wore matched the gold in his teeth, but he had kind eyes.

“Trent told me very little, except you need some self-defense and it might be tough for you. You can tell me everything or nothing, makes no difference to me. But if I know what it is that troubles you, it might help you for us to focus on it.”

Harper studied him closely for a moment. She trusted Trent and something told her she could trust the man in front of her. She needed all the help she could get.

The words jumbled up in her head, and it took Harper a moment to straighten them out. “I was attacked. By a man. I ended up in the hospital. It’s made me … nervous … around people, I mean.”

Frankie nodded. “Two questions. Is the bastard in prison?”

“For now,” Harper responded. She tried not to think about how much longer that would be the answer.

“Second, d’you want to do this for you, or are you doing this because Trent suggested it?”

Harper pondered the question for a moment. “For me,” she answered confidently. “I want to know if he comes for me again, I’m better prepared. But I’m really not sure I can do it.”

“Good. It won’t work if you aren’t here for yourself. Let’s take a walk around the gym, talk some more, see what kind of plan we can figure out.”

Frankie pointed out various bits of equipment and some of the exercises he thought would help. They discussed what Harper needed, and when the sessions would start.

“So, at our first session we’ll focus on basic tactics to fend off an attacker,” Frankie said after she told him an abbreviated version of her story. He leaned back in his chair. “But so you’re prepared, we’ll try to work on someone coming up behind you in every session. Unacknowledged fear is a weakness, and you’re being brave to address it.”

“I appreciate this, Frankie, I really do.”

A young boy waved at them through the window. Slouching under the weight of a large backpack, he walked toward a series of small tables.