He’s not who he says he is.

But he’s her only hope.

Undercover detective Harley Maxwell has spent years tracking a master criminal. And the key to capturing his archrival lies with single mom Liz James, who might be aiding his target. Making Liz talk—by getting close to her—could also unravel a connected mystery that’s haunted Harley for years. But when Liz’s young daughter is kidnapped, getting the girl back becomes all that matters.

Amazon bestselling author MELINDA DI LORENZO writes in her spare time—at soccer practices, when she should be doing laundry and in place of sleep. She lives on the beautiful west coast of British Columbia, Canada, with her handsome husband and her noisy kids. When she’s not writing, she can be found curled up with (someone else’s) good book.

Also By Melinda Di Lorenzo

Undercover Justice

Captivating Witness

Undercover Protector

Undercover Passion

Worth the Risk

Last Chance Hero

Silent Rescue

Trusting a Stranger

Deceptions and Desires

Pinups and Possibilities

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

Undercover Passion

Melinda Di Lorenzo

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-07953-2

UNDERCOVER PASSION

© 2018 Melinda A. Di Lorenzo

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

® and ™ are trademarks owned and used by the trademark owner and/or its licensee. Trademarks marked with ® are registered with the United Kingdom Patent Office and/or the Office for Harmonisation in the Internal Market and in other countries.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Version: 2020-03-02

MILLS & BOON

Before you start reading, why not sign up?

Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!

SIGN ME UP!

Or simply visit

signup.millsandboon.co.uk

Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.

Her daughter was gone.

“Teegan?” Liz’s voice was low the first time she said it. Not so much the second. “Teegan!”

Harley appeared back in the doorway then, his face far, far too still.

A thousand furious butterflies beat inside Liz’s stomach, and when she spoke, her words came out in a cracked whisper. “Where is she?”

Harley started to shake his head, and Liz saw the answer in his eyes. Her daughter was gone. Taken by whoever had assaulted poor Miss Wilma and left her unconscious.

Liz wanted to scream. To cry out. To pound her fists on the wall. To shake the old woman awake and demand to know what had happened.

Minutes, she thought desperately. We were in the other room for five minutes! Ten, tops.

She didn’t realize she’d said it aloud until Harley answered.

“That’s all it takes,” he said. “But we’ll figure this out, Liz. We’ll get her back.”

“How?” Now her voice was shrill.

Where was her daughter?

* * *

Undercover Justice: Four brothers-in-arms on a mission for justice...

Dear Reader,

I am so excited to introduce you to Harley and Liz. I love them both to bits.

Harley, though, is extraspecial to me. He’s a big bear of man on the outside, but he’s sweet and soft on the inside. You’ll get to see lots of that as he interacts with Liz’s little girl, Teegan! As with the rest of the brothers-in-arms in my Undercover Justice series, Harley became a detective to make sure his father’s killer was put behind bars for good. But unlike the other guys, Harley might’ve chosen a different path if he hadn’t been so focused on justice. So in addition to working with the police, he has a degree in art, he sculpts and is a computer whiz, and he’s delighted to put those talents and interests to use.

I hope you fall in love with him as much as Liz does!

Happy reading,

Melinda Di Lorenzo

To Mr. and Mrs. O., for your invaluable help with my “police” work.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Introduction

Dear Reader

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Epilogue

Extract

About the Publisher

Chapter 1

Liz James flicked the cash register shut with a barely stifled sigh. She handed the customer her wrapped sculpture and a receipt, then mustered up a smile.

“Thanks so much!” she said. “I’m sure it’ll look great on your son’s fireplace mantel.”

The woman—a tourist in from Freemont—nodded her appreciation, tucked the package under her arm and exited the store. And Liz let out the sigh, glad that the clock over the door read three minutes past five. She slid out from behind the counter, quickly flicked the lock shut, then stole a quick glance outside before she began the roll-down of the shutters. Hers was the last building on the block, which meant she had a good view of the rest. They were all already closed and dark. She was, as usual, the slowest at getting things shut down. She fought yet another sigh.

She usually loved her job. She loved the art. She loved the customers. She really loved being her own boss. But today had seemed especially long. Her biggest supplier—the man who also held the lease on her art store and the apartment above where she and her daughter lived—had dropped off a dozen extra paintings first thing in the morning, and Liz had spent most of her hours trying to find a home for them. As always, the stock sent in by Jesse Garibaldi wasn’t particularly high-end. But she knew it would move quickly, anyway. The man seemed to have an endless stream of interested parties who were willing to pay top dollar for the pieces.

She’d asked once where they came from—both the paintings and the buyers—and Garibaldi had explained that an anonymous local artist did the work. The pieces were nice, but not high-end, so Liz just assumed they were a side job for someone who didn’t want his name associated with the work. They sold exclusively through Garibaldi, with 50 percent of their profits going to one of his own local charities. Liz could hardly say no to the sudden influx of new pieces and the guaranteed profit.

She took a step back and studied the most prominently displayed one. It wasn’t anything terribly exciting. Well done but not outstanding. A landscape piece. A mountain in the background, a stream in the forefront and trees dotting the horizon. Except for the water, it could easily have been the view from a dozen different spots on the outskirts of Whispering Woods. The blue trickle told Liz that it was somewhere farther up the mountain.

Though she’d never ventured up the slope herself, she knew from one of her customers—a retired engineer—that a glacier-fed lake existed on a plateau, and that the river sloped down the other side. According to the engineer, the river was somehow the main source of water for all of the town. Liz couldn’t remember the details. Her eyes had glazed over and her ears had shut down when the engineer attempted to explain how it all worked. Liz could talk about art history for hours. She had museum layouts memorized. But pipes and water pressure were a whole other story. The engineer had laughed and waved his hand in front of her face to check for signs of life, then called her a hopeless artist. And Liz had agreed. Engineering wasn’t her forte or her passion. But for some reason now, staring at the painting made her wish she’d paid just a little more attention.

Whoever the painter is, he or she is a heck of a lot more adventurous than I am.

For a second, the thought gave Liz a twinge of longing. Unconsciously, she reached up her hand toward the swirl of blues and greens and grays. As soon as her fingers met the canvas, she realized what she was doing and started to jerk back. Then stopped, frowning. Even though the pad of her index finger had just barely brushed the surface, the texture struck her as odd.

With a guilty look toward the door—pushed on by a ridiculous feeling that someone might actually be peering in and watching what she did—Liz pressed her fingers to the painting again. When no one burst through the door, she pushed a little harder. It felt...off. She dropped her hand and stepped back to study the painting again, this time for non-aesthetic reasons.

It was watercolor, she was sure. But also not.

Definitely strange, she thought.

Liz had never gone to school for art—life had had other plans for her—but if things had turned out differently, it was what she would’ve studied for sure. Not the means of creating it. She didn’t consider herself to be talented in that way. But the mediums and movement, the artists and their expressions...those fascinated her. She’d read hundreds of books. Spent countless sleepless nights combing through them. So, while she might not be a formal expert, she was at the very least an extremely well-read amateur.

Frowning, she moved from the first painting to a second and gave it a quick once-over. The scenery was similar to that of the first, though more of a close-up. Like someone had zoomed in to a small section of the first to showcase the details. The mountain peak wasn’t visible, but a bird could be seen on a tree branch, and rock sharply parted the river. Likely done by the same artist. Was the paint the same? Liz felt compelled to find out.

When she reached out this time, it was with far less hesitation and only a cursory glance around. Sure enough, it had the same texture. Not quite right. Not quite smooth enough.

“So weird,” she muttered, then blew out a breath, wondering why it was stressing her out so much.

The artist probably had some kind of special mixing technique. Or added some secret ingredient to the paint to make it feel a certain way. She’d read about all kinds of unconventional things, and God knew plenty of the stuff she carried in her shop was unique. That was just art.

Which is what you love about it.

“Maybe I’ve finally cracked,” she said aloud to the empty store. “I mean, really? The paint feels funny?”

She definitely had more important things to worry about. With a headshake, she stepped away from both pieces and turned back to the cash register. Cashing it out and storing the money from the day’s sales was one of the last things on her to-do list. Then she could get back to the part of her day that she loved infinitely more than she loved her job. And that was saying something. Because she really did love running Liz’s Lovely Things.

Her eyes sought and found the one non-artsy picture she kept in her little store. It was a framed shot of her eight-year-old daughter with eyes closed, tongue out and a ladybug headband askew on her head. It was Liz’s favorite. It perfectly captured the zany essence of her kid. Teegan would be in the apartment upstairs now, bouncing on her heels as she counted down the seconds until Liz came up, too. Driving the sitter crazy, probably.

With an affectionate smile, Liz turned away from the picture to jab her finger against the computerized register to punch in the closing code. The machine came to life with a tick-tick-ding, then began to automatically reconcile the internal receipt totals. Liz snorted as the little shop filled with the noise of it.

Even though it was the same every night, she always wondered why the people who created such an efficient piece of equipment hadn’t found a way to get rid of the old-fashioned sounds. As she grabbed the broom and started her quick sweep of the hardwood floors, she considered—not for the first time—whether or not the designers had left the noisiness that way on purpose. Some kind of nostalgic throwback. Then, as if to emphasize—or maybe mock—her thoughts, the cash register let out a weird groan. A crack followed the groan, and Liz sensed imminent disaster.

“Oh, you are so not going to break down right now,” she called out from across the room.

But as she set down the broom and moved toward the register, she saw that the strange sounds weren’t coming from the register at all. The machine had finished its cycle already and sat slightly ajar, waiting for her to pull out the tray and lock the money in the safe.

Liz frowned. She stepped nearer again. Then realized her mistake. The door to the storage room—which had its own exterior entry on the other side—hung open, its lock dangling uselessly to the side. Panic hit Liz hard, and she tried to turn and run. But it was too late. A sharp point pressed to her throat, and a gravelly male voice filled her ear.

“Move more than an inch,” he said, “and I’ll put a nice little hole in your jugular.”

Liz let out the smallest, shakiest breath. “Just take whatever you want.”

“Good choice,” replied her assailant. “Where is it?”

“Right there. The register’s open. Take it all. Please.”

There was a pause. “The money? I don’t want the money.”

The statement intensified Liz’s fear. “You don’t?”

“Where’re the damn Heigles?”

“What?”

The knife pushed in a little hard. “The Heigles? Which ones are they?”

“I don’t know!” Liz gasped.

“I know he brings them to you.”

Him.

Did the knife-wielder mean Garibaldi? Did he mean those paintings? After a heartbeat of consideration, she decided she didn’t care.

“There,” she said, lifting her finger just fractionally.

The blade eased. “Where?”

“The one with the river.”

The knife dropped off completely, and Liz found herself fighting a need to sag down and close her eyes. And she knew she couldn’t. She made herself watch as the man abandoned his hold on her, and she tried to commit every detail to memory.

There was the way he shuffled a little, favoring his right foot. How that shuffle masked his height and gave the impression that he was so much shorter than he was.

There was the fact that even though his face was covered by a ski mask, she could see a mottled mark on one eyelid. Maybe a bruise, maybe a birthmark.

She saw his jeans, and how dirt permeated the denim—not just near the bottom, but all over.

But when he stepped up to the painting, those observations kind of slipped away. Because he lifted his hand and touched it, just like she’d done minutes earlier. And he seemed...satisfied.

Fear gave way for a second. Curiosity took its place. Liz genuinely wanted to know what it was that he felt. What it was that made him nod, ever so slightly.

But when he angled his gaze back in her direction, renewed fear sliced through her. And his words turned the fear into terror.

“You have a daughter,” he said.

A whimper threatened. “Please. Take the painting. Take them all. And the money.”

“Believe me. I’d like to.” An unpleasant hunger laced his tone.

“Do it.”

“Not what I came for, unfortunately.” He stepped back again, his eyes running over Liz.

Panic hit her. “Don’t—”

He cut her off with a dark chuckle. “No. Not that, either. But consider this a warning. For you and your kid. You’re going to want to call the cops. You’re going to want to run to someone and tell them I was here. But I guarantee you that doing either will result in bad things happening to the both of you.”

He gave another head-to-toe stare, his expression so cold that Liz had no doubt he was telling the truth.

Bad things.

Just vague enough to be even more terrifying than the man’s presence.

“Do we have an understanding?” he asked.

Liz managed a nod. “Yes.”

“Good.”

He at last turned away and limped out at a jog. Liz started to draw in a semi-relieved breath, but as he disappeared through the storage door, her daughter’s laugh echoed from the same direction. Oxygen forgotten, Liz’s feet hit the floor at a dead run.

Detective Harley Maxwell paused in his chase and scanned the building in search of his target. Except for the buzz of a neon shop sign a few doors up, the air was silent.

Which actually might work in your favor.

Keeping very still, he strained to hear a sound—the crunch of gravel, the creak of a door—that would indicate the correct direction. Then it came. The light brush of feet on pavement from around the side. Harley pushed down his triumph. He’d celebrate once he had his hands on his wily escapee.

He moved to the edge of the building and pressed himself against its side with practiced stealth. He knew he wasn’t the fastest runner on his team of partners, but what he lacked in natural athleticism he made up for in cunning.

Slow and steady, he cautioned himself as he inched along. Surprise is your friend.

He reached the edge of the building then and paused again. He started to ease forward. Before he could make it even a single step, a figure came stumbling around the corner.

Prepared for victory, Harley reached out. “Aha! Now I’ve got—Whoa!”

He froze midgrab, as he realized his hands were clasped to someone other than the person he pursued. Not that he didn’t recognize her. The short curvy woman with her untamed head of brown curls was more than familiar to him. His cover story—that he was an aspiring artist in the small town, trying to find his muse—included subletting the studio beside her apartment. The fact that his short-term apartment rental had gone bust in a flood meant temporarily staying in the studio 24/7. So he’d spent enough time close to her over the last week to have her smattering of freckles and full lips permanently etched into his memory.

Yeah, said a voice in his head. Close to her. But not this close.

He had to agree. He hadn’t been near enough to know for sure that her skin would be warm and soft, and though he’d caught hints of her perfume before, its lightly floral fragrance hadn’t ever filled his nose quite so thoroughly before.

Realizing he still held her arms, he dropped his hands and tried to take a cautious step back, but her hands came up to stop him, almost clutching at his shirt. Concern flooded through him. Automatically, he brought his fingers up to hers to offer comfort.

“Hey,” he said as he gave her a quick soothing squeeze. “What’s the matter? Something happen at the store?”

“No. It’s Teegan.” Her gaze darted around frantically. “Where is she? I heard her, but now I can’t find her.”

Harley relaxed a little. “Kind of the point of the game.”

“What?”

“Hide-and-seek.”

“She’s hiding?” The tension in Liz’s face eased marginally.

“Yeah,” Harley replied. “And in case you didn’t know, the monkey’s pretty darned good at it, too. You’d think in a three-building limit, she’d be easy to spot, but I’ve been looking for her for a solid two minutes and haven’t spotted her yet.”

“I really did hear her a second ago, but—” The pretty brunette’s eyes crinkled with worry again.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I just need her to come in. Quickly. Please.”

“All right.” He cupped his hands around his mouth and called out, “Olly, olly, oxen free! You win, monkey!”

“Yes!” The little girl’s triumphant cry came from above.

Harley tipped his gaze up, and rolled his eyes as he spotted a flash of purple on the side of the building. Like an actual monkey, she’d managed to scamper up the solitary evergreen tree there, then used one of its wide branches to tuck herself in behind the Liz’s Lovely Things sign. Her grinning face popped out, and she offered a wave. Harley shook his head and smiled back. She had a right to be proud. No way would he have found her on his own.

He turned to say as much to her mom, but the words didn’t make it out. Liz’s posture was rigid, her eyes focused across the road rather than on her daughter. Automatically, Harley widened his stance defensively and craned his neck to see what she saw. He spotted the object of her attention right away. A man.

He stood near the end of the block, tucked against the door frame of a closed shop. There was something off about him. Harley had seen enough people who were up to no good to recognize one when they were standing more or less right in front of him. This guy definitely had that look. He held his hoodie-covered head down, but still somehow gave the impression that he wasn’t trying not to be seen.

Hiding. But not.

The contradiction puzzled Harley a bit, and he glanced back toward Liz. Her cheeks were flushed, her chest rising and falling with short breaths. Her reaction clued him in to the man’s intent. The guy wanted to blend in for the general public, but also to make sure one person knew he was there.

And that person is Liz.

Concern drove away Harley’s other feelings and made his gut twist with protective instinct instead. His urge was to reach out to the woman beside him—to defend and soothe—but he stopped himself just short of doing it.

Instead, he tipped his head and—in a low voice—asked, “Someone you know?”

“What?” Liz’s response was at first startled, then too innocent. “Who?”

“The guy over there who’s making you look like you swallowed something sour.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The stiff defensive tone and the blatant lie put an idea into Harley’s head. “Look. I’m not here to judge. If you need help...if he’s an ex, or—”

Liz let out a laugh that sounded genuine. “Oh, God no. Nothing like that.”

“All right.” He knew his reply sounded dubious.

She clearly picked up on it, too. “Look. He was just an unhappy customer.”

“A really unhappy customer?”

“It happens.”

“Okay.” He paused, and he noted the way her eyes flicked back to the hooded figure. “But if you did need help...”

“You’re the knight in clay-stained clothes I’d call first,” she assured him before she turned to call out to her kid. “Teegs! Anytime you come down from there would be good!”

Harley smiled as the little girl started to expertly scamper down. From the corner of his eye, though, he watched Liz, searching for another sign of fear. Even though he’d had the pretty woman and her activities under close surveillance for the last two weeks, this was the first hint that there was even something to watch. He’d actually been questioning whether or not he and his partners were way off base in having him in to keep an eye on her. Was this a sign that they were right after all? Was Liz’s obvious fear of the hooded man related to the case they’d been investigating for the last fifteen years?

Even though she’d already denied knowing the shadowy figure, Harley wished he could ask a more pointed question without giving himself away. Something told him that even if he’d been able to, drawing attention to the situation right that second might backfire anyway. Liz was too on edge, the man close enough to see if she reacted poorly. The last thing he wanted was to put Teegan—who was now using cartwheels to propel herself toward them—or her mother in danger, so he kept his mouth shut and turned back to the other man to assess for any immediate danger. The hooded figure was on the move now, his head still down as he shuffled out of the doorway.

Harley tensed automatically, preparing for a fight. Preparing to tell Liz to grab Teegan and run. He was hyperaware of the fact that he’d left his gun in a coded lockbox high on a shelf in his closet. A safety precaution, which now seemed like an unsafe choice. He wished he had it strapped to his side in easy reach.

But it only took a second to realize it wouldn’t be necessary. The man was headed in the opposite direction.

Still uneasy, and with his hands flexing, Harley took a quick inventory. He noted the fact that the guy was too covered for the late-spring warmth. He saw his limp and tried to mentally calculate whether it was a fresh injury or something older and more permanent. Before he could reach a conclusion, though, the guy disappeared around the corner.

Just in time, too.

Teegan’s fresh giggle filled the air as she flung her arms around Harley’s knees. “You lost! I totally beat you!”

Harley gave the street corner a final glance, tucking what he’d seen into the caches of his memory for future perusal, then smiled and turned his attention to the little girl.

Chapter 2

Liz exhaled, overwhelmingly glad that her shaggy-haired neighbor had shown up. She didn’t know Harley all that well, but just his brick-wall appearance was enough to make her breathe a little easier.

As he bent to speak to her Teegan, she gave the back of his head a surreptitious, grateful look.

In the week and a bit since he’d been staying at the studio adjacent to her apartment, he’d been friendly and helpful. Ready with a smile, but not overbearing. He had a nice-guy vibe that she’d liked since the second she’d met him. His wide shoulders and solid build weren’t exactly off-putting, either. And at the moment, not only was his presence a soothing buffer but he was also a good distraction for her too-intuitive daughter.

“You completely kicked my butt,” he said to Teegan, before shooting a conspiratorial wink Liz’s way. “Don’t tell your mom I said that.”

Teegan gave him an eye roll. “I’m pretty sure she can hear you.”

“Darn it. You might be right.”

Harley grinned, and Liz did her best to smile back. She knew her effort was probably lacking. Her teeth felt wooden, and the rest of her mouth was still dry with fear. Being held at knifepoint and having her daughter’s life threatened wasn’t exactly something she would forget anytime soon. In fact, she was pretty sure her brain hadn’t even started to process it, let alone figure out what to do about it. The adrenaline still coursed through her body. And she knew that the second it stopped, she’d probably collapse, if not physically, then at least emotionally.

Which you don’t need to do here.

“Teegan,” she said, her voice shakier than she would’ve liked, “I think we should go inside and get cleaned up for dinner.”

“Did you even see me, Mom?” her daughter countered, still clinging to Harley.

“I did. You were so high up that I just about had a heart attack.”

“Mom! That is not true, and you always say—”

Teegan’s protest cut off in a giggle as Harley stood up with her still attached to his arm. She dangled from his bicep, her bare feet almost a yard from the ground, utterly pleased by the situation. Harley spun, and Teegan sailed in a circle. The spinning motion gave Liz another few seconds to scan the surrounding area.

Was her assailant still watching from somewhere she couldn’t see? Had he spied Harley’s broad shoulders and goofy display of strength? Did it make him think that she and Teegan weren’t completely unprotected?

God, she hoped so.

She turned her attention back to Teegan and Harley. The well-muscled man spun in a final slow circle, making her daughter’s laughter echo through the otherwise quiet street. As he came to a stop, his sleeve slid up, revealing a circle of scrawling ink around his arm. The tattoo was distracting. Sexy, even. For a moment, it actually held Liz’s attention long enough to keep her from her worried thoughts.

Crashing into Harley the way she’d done just a few minutes earlier had emphasized the quiet strength he possessed under his clay-speckled T-shirt. She couldn’t say why, but it’d been almost unexpected. It seemed silly, really. His body was visibly tanklike. Liz had admired it more than a few times. So why it stuck out now was a mystery. But it was definitely not unpleasant.

Unless the guy with the knife thinks he’s a threat, said a voice in her head. Then it’ll be anything but pleasant.

Liz fought both a shiver and a stab of guilt.

“Come here, baby,” she said to Teegan, her voice not quite as firm as she would’ve liked. “Let Mr. Maxwell go. Contrary to popular belief, he’s not a jungle gym.”

Her daughter finally disentangled herself and moved to stand in front of Liz, her eyes still sparkling. “Were you watching, Mom? I was practically flying.”

“Uh-huh. And between that and the climbing, I think we should probably go inside before one of the neighbors comes out and complains about my parenting and your safety.” She said it lightly, but she couldn’t quite keep from shooting another nervous look up the street.

“You can use me as your scapegoat,” Harley offered. “Bad-news artist influencing your daughter’s precious mind.”

Liz couldn’t help but smile. “You’re the least ‘bad news’ artist I’ve ever met.”

He grinned back. “I feel like I should be insulted by that compliment.”

“Don’t be. It’s refreshing to see someone with more talent than ego.”

Teegan groaned. “Are you guys just gonna stand there all night talking? Because if you are, I’m gonna go climb some more.”

“No!” The word came out of Liz’s mouth a little sharply, and both Teegan and Harley blinked at her.

The big man recovered quickly, his surprised look relaxing into a smile. “Well. Since apparently you really want to get the kiddo home...mind if I walk with you up to the apartment? I think I might’ve dropped my phone in the hall between your place and the studio.”

“Sure.” She wondered if the relief she felt was evident in her reply.

But if he noticed, he didn’t say. Instead, he offered her a grin and gestured toward their shared building. “Women and children first.”

Teegan immediately took off at a happy skip, and Liz’s heart thundered nervously in response to the open space between them. She took a step forward without even realizing she was doing it until Harley spoke.

“You want me to catch her?” he asked.

She didn’t stop walking, but she made herself answer calmly. “She’ll be fine. It’s only a hundred feet between here and the door. And Lord knows she’s done more dangerous things in the last five minutes.”

“True enough. Guess I’ll just have to settle for protecting you instead.”

He said it teasingly, but she noticed that he was quick to step between her and the road, and she couldn’t help but wonder if it was on purpose. Had he picked up on her distress? She suspected she hadn’t hidden it very well. She’d been so worried about watching the man who was watching her that she hadn’t even stopped to think if Harley was paying attention.

He gave her shoulder a nudge. “I sometimes think I might be one, by the way.”

“One what?” Liz replied, puzzled.

“A jungle gym.”

She let out a genuine laugh. “I’m sure Teegan agrees. I’m sorry if she’s bugging you too much.”

“I don’t mind. She’s got enthusiasm.”

“That’s a nice way of saying she’s a pain in the butt, huh?”

“I can hear you!” called Teegan from a few steps in front of them.

“Well, there wouldn’t be much point in saying it if you couldn’t hear me, would there?” Liz called back.

In typical Teegan-style, her daughter turned and stuck out her tongue before flinging open the door that led to the units above the shop.

“Still think she’s just ‘enthusiastic’?”

Harley grinned. “I plead the Fifth.”

“Yeah, I don’t blame you.” Her tone was ruefully amused. “And speaking of self-preservation...any idea where the sitter disappeared to? Did Teegan scare her off?”

“I can still hear you,” her daughter yelled from the top of the stairs. “And I didn’t scare her away. You were late, and Miss Wanda had to go pick up her boyfriend from work.”

“Late by five minutes,” Liz muttered under her breath. “I think I pay her enough to cover that.”

Harley took the handrail and gestured for her to take the first step. “To be more accurate, Wanda’s boyfriend had some kind of emergency—sliced finger or something—so I volunteered to bring Teegan down to you.”

“It doesn’t make me feel any better than my sitter left my kid with a strange man.”

“I’m not all that strange.”

“Ha ha. You know what I mean.”

“I do,” he agreed. “But Teegan assured Wanda that I was—and I quote—the best old man ever. And she was happy to remind Wanda that I was the one watching her the other day when you ran to that store.”

“I forgot about that.” She smiled ruefully. “I think my kid would make one heck of a lawyer.”

“She would. And she also used her powers of persuasion to rope me into the hide-and-seek.”

Liz sighed. “You really don’t have to indulge her like that. Because I promise you, she’ll take full advantage and have you wrapped around her little finger faster than you can blink.”

“I don’t mind. Really. I needed a break from work anyway.”

“Sculpture’s not coming along?”

“Sculpture’s actually shaping up well.”

“So you made some progress?”

“Well. I don’t know what it is yet. But yeah. The clay’s slightly more than a lump now.”

Liz laughed again. “I guess that’s good.”

“It’s awesome, Mom,” Teegan interrupted. “It looks like a mountain. But also a dragon.”

She groaned. “You have got to stay out of Mr. Maxwell’s workspace.”

“Since we rent it to him, isn’t it really our workspace?” countered her daughter.

Liz’s face heated. “Teegan!”

But Harley just chuckled. “Kid’s got a point.”

Liz shook her head as they started up the stairs. “Kid’s got an opinion. About everything.” She paused, then projected her voice toward her daughter. “And if you want to get technical, we sublet to Mr. Maxwell. But we lease the building from Jesse Garibaldi, so it’s his workspace, and his shop and his apartment, not ours. So just stay out of everything!”

She turned back to Harley and was surprised to find that his expression had gone stiff.

The sound of the so-called business owner’s name dug at Harley in an unexpected way. Not unexpected in that he was surprised to hear it. After all, Jesse Garibaldi had his finger in every pie Whispering Woods offered, and Liz’s Lovely Things was no different. Harley had known the man held the deed before he ever set foot in the building. The pretty brunette’s financial ties to the man were one of the main reasons she’d come under the microscope in the first place.

So, if you knew all that...then what’s bothering you?

It only took Harley a moment to answer his own question. It wasn’t hearing Garibaldi’s name. It was hearing it from Liz. He didn’t like the way she dropped the criminal’s name so easily. The way she made him a part of her lighthearted joke.

No one knew better than Harley that there was nothing funny about Garibaldi. A person responsible for so much death and chaos couldn’t provide any amusement. And for some reason, the way it just rolled off Liz’s tongue made it even worse.

You don’t want her to be involved.

The acknowledgment gave Harley serious pause. Obviously, he preferred it when people weren’t involved in illegal activities. Especially where Garibaldi was concerned. This felt different.

It was a part of his job to determine Liz’s guilt or innocence, not to be biased on whether it turned out one way or the other. Impartiality was the name of the game. Developing an emotional opinion would seriously hamper his ability to keep things as they should be.

“Are you all right?” Liz’s voice yanked him back to the moment.

He blinked, realizing the pretty brunette was three steps above him because he’d come to a complete stop in the stairwell.

And you’re probably not covering up your feelings very well, either.

That didn’t mean he could stop himself from staring at her for a second longer, wondering if he’d be able to get back that necessary neutrality. If his short time across the hall from Liz had already swayed him away from that even hand of justice, he had to consider whether or not he could maintain a professional distance. Or regain one, as the case might be.

“Harley? Seriously. Are you okay?”

He forced a rueful headshake and answered in a light tone. “Sorry. Spaced out. Guess the amount of work I did today wore me out more than I thought.”

Her face relaxed into a sympathetic smile. “It probably doesn’t help that you’ve been sleeping in the studio.”

“No. Not much. Mattress on the floor never quite cuts it.”

“Any news on when they’ll have the apartment fixed?”

“Not a word.”

“Well. I’m sure you know, but you’re welcome to stay at the studio as long as you want.” Her smile changed into a teasing one. “I might actually miss you a little when you go. It’s only been a week, but I’m already way too used to having a handyman around.”

“One unplugged toilet doesn’t make me a handyman,” he assured her.

“There was also the picture frame.”

“I caught it before it fell. That wasn’t handy. That was lucky.”

“But then you hung it back up again more securely.”

“I think you just have low standards.”

She laughed. “Even if that’s true, I’ll never admit it.”

They argued good-naturedly about it the rest of the way up, with Liz compiling a list of tasks Harley had completed for her since the flood had forced him from his rental unit in town. In their shared hallway above the shop, Harley finally lifted his hands in mock defeat.

“All right,” he said. “I’ll let you have this one. I’ve been mildly helpful since I’ve been stuck here.”

“Good. I hope you’ll continue to be mildly helpful for the duration of your stay.”

“If you need anything, you just let me know.”

“I will.”

He continued to stand there for a second, looking for a reason to continue the conversation. Thoughts of the hooded figure in the street below nagged at him and kept him from simply turning and walking through his own door. There’d been genuine fear on Liz’s face when she’d seen him. That alone was enough of an excuse to prolong their interaction.

Too bad you can’t just ask outright what it was that scared her.

A direct approach would’ve been smoother. Easier. A glance toward Teegan—who was hanging off the door handle with a bored look on her face—reminded Harley that even if he had been at liberty to ask, he wouldn’t have done it. That didn’t mean he felt right about just letting the little girl and her mother disappear into their apartment alone.

Will asking if they currently have any loose floorboards seem like a put-on?

He shifted from foot to foot, but no subtle segue came to mind. Not one that didn’t sound like a line, anyway.

“Well,” he finally said. “I guess this is good-night?”

He thought Liz looked a little disappointed, too. “I guess it is.”

“So.”

“So.”

“Good night.”

“Good night.”

“Good niiiiiiiight,” Teegan sang, breaking the awkwardness in the air.

Harley grinned, and Liz laughed, then tugged her kid close.

“We’ll probably see you tomorrow?” she said.

“Here’s hoping,” Harley said back.

As he turned to go, though, another worry occurred to him. What if Liz’s fear wasn’t limited to the man outside? What if it carried over into her home? Or worse. What if the hooded figure wasn’t alone, and the danger as well as the fear carried over?

After a nanosecond of consideration, he decided he didn’t care. Even though he’d only known the woman a short time—and in spite of the fact that her alliances in Whispering Woods were under his own scrutiny—he had an obligation to keep her safe.

Not just because it’s her. Because of the general protect-and-serve thing.

He rolled his eyes inwardly at his own need for reassurance, then started to turn back, a lie about hearing a knocking in the pipes springing to mind—and where was that ten seconds ago?—but Liz spoke first.

“Wait.”

“Yes?”

“Your phone.”

He frowned for a second before remembering his claim about dropping it somewhere in the hall. “Oh. Right.”

It wasn’t an invitation in, but at least it bought him another minute or two.

“Maybe that exhaustion is affecting your short-term memory,” Liz teased.

“More than likely.”

She gestured to the kid. “Come on, Teegs. Help Mr. Maxwell look for his phone.”

The little girl executed a perfect eye roll. “Mom. It’s a tiny hallway.”

Harley stifled a laugh. “Yeah, but I’m old, so my eyesight’s bad. You know I wear glasses when I’m sculpting, right?”

“Yeah.”

“So, I need your eagle eyes. Or I’ll probably never find it.”

“Fine.”

Teegan made a big production of dropping to the ground and squinting at the carpet.

“Do you want me to describe it to you?” Harley asked, amused by her antics.

“I know what a phone looks like. Duh.”

Liz sighed. “Sorry. I don’t know where she gets the attitude from.”

Harley swiped his hand over his mouth to cover his smile. “She must be a future artist. We’re all full of bad attitudes, aren’t we?”

“I wish that particular bad attitude had been passed down from me to her,” said the pretty brunette. “But sadly, this one has it in her head that she should do something science-y.”

“That’s not a word, Mom.”

“Of course it’s not.”

“It actually makes you sound really un-science-y when you say it,” Harley added.

“Ugh! You guys are—”

“The grown-ups?” Liz lifted an eyebrow at the kid, then smiled. “Or close enough, anyway.”

“Guess that’ll have to do.” He paused, then prepared to drop the lie about the knocking in the pipes, but once again, she spoke first.

“Beef stew,” she said.

He felt his brow furrow. “Uh?”

Liz laughed. “Sorry. Apparently, I’m terrible at inviting a man for dinner.”

Relief—and true pleasure—rushed in, and he grinned. “Lucky for you, I’m very good at accepting poorly executed dinner invitations.”

“I won’t even make you clean up,” she teased.

He cast a rueful look down. “Whoops.”

He’d forgotten about the fact that he was wearing “work” clothes. In addition to providing him with a good excuse to stick close to Liz, Harley’s cover story had also given him a chance to do something he hadn’t done in far too long. Create a small amount of actual art. And he was enjoying it. As was evidenced by the mess on his T-shirt and jeans.

“I can get changed,” he offered, hoping she’d say no.

Thankfully, she shook her head. “And miss the chance to have evidence of a real artist in my house? No way. Don’t worry about your shoes, either. The only place we don’t wear them is in the bedroom. Old carpet.”

“Gotcha.”

“Now can we go inside?” Teegan pleaded.

“Now we can,” her mom agreed, then turned to Harley. “Unless you want to keep looking for the phone?”

He feigned a groan. “You know what? I just remembered that I stuck it in my back pocket.”

“In your pocket?” said Teegan. “Isn’t that where it usually goes?”

“Not for me, smarty-pants. I keep it in my coat. Which I’m not wearing, because someone insisted we hurry.”

Liz laughed, seemingly unaware that the lost phone had been a ruse. “Okay, you two. I’m going inside. You can stay out here and fight, or you can come in with me.”

“In!” said Teegan right away.

“Same,” Harley agreed with a wink.

He tensed a little as Liz moved to stick her key in the door handle, but the click of the lock reassured him enough that he kept down an urge to push his way through first in the name of safety. The dimness inside was reassuring, too, as was the evident tidiness when Teegan reached up to turn on the light. All were signs that no one had broken in or left in a hurry.

Unless he’s a very practiced stalker.

Harley gritted his teeth at his habitual detective brain. Liz didn’t seem worried about letting her daughter barrel through into the apartment, and she was the one who’d seemed so scared outside. He knew he could take his cues from her. Whatever her affiliation with Garibaldi, he couldn’t imagine—not for a second—that she’d put her daughter in harm’s way.

Okay, Detective Maxwell, he said to himself, time to stow away the mental badge and be a little more Harley-the-artist. At least until the beef stew is done.

Chapter 3

As Liz lifted the last dish in the pile and started to scrub, a knot of worry made her stomach ache. It’d been surprisingly easy to bury the earlier frightening events. Between Harley’s ease with small talk and Teegan’s nonstop chatter, the intruder and his knife had fallen miraculously to the back of her mind. But dinner had gone by quickly, and now the dread of being alone crept up a little more with each passing second. Even dragging the meal out to include pie and ice cream hadn’t slowed things down enough. In a few moments, the last drops of soapy water would be dry. The big dark-haired man—who’d taken a break from drying duty to read Teegan a noisy story in the other room—would probably yawn, thank her for dinner and be on his way. And while he might then be stationed directly across the hall, it wasn’t the same as having him just a holler away.

So tell him what happened, urged a little voice in her head. It might make him stay.

But she shook off the thought. The thug in her shop had said it clear as day. Mentioning his strange and violent query about the painting would endanger her daughter. And until she had time to think it through, she didn’t want to be reckless about a single thing. Liz needed to weigh her options. And she didn’t need to involve an innocent bystander. She couldn’t. Because she was sure that—like any reasonable person—Harley would want to call the police.

The little voice piped up again. Because that’s what makes sense.

And under normal circumstances, that would be true. Crime equaled calling the cops.

But what would you tell them? That a man who didn’t rob you expressed an aggressive interest in a painting while making vague threats?

Liz shook her head to herself. The breaking and entering was enough to warrant a police visit. Logically, she knew that. And if they took it seriously, it might earn her some round-the-clock protection. But the idea that it might backfire was enough to make her hesitate. What if they didn’t take it seriously enough? What if they just took their notes and called it a night?

She thought she was probably better to sit on her hands for a bit. Keep Teegan out of sight. Maybe even ask the two part-time employees she had if they wanted to do some extra work, then head out of town for a couple of days. Pay a visit to some friends down in Freemont City. Whatever it took to convince herself that the shop below was safe.

You could call Garibaldi, instead.

That thought gave her pause. After all, the painting in question was his. And so was the building that housed her shop and her apartment. So, if something funky was up, he might want to know. And he certainly had more than his fair share of influence in the town, so if anyone could guarantee her and Teegan’s safety...

Liz shook her head again. He was probably too entrenched in Whispering Woods politics to move subtly.

Frustration and fear battled in her head. She’d always been critical of the call-the-cops or don’t-call-the-cops moment in movies. Involving the authorities seemed like a given. But now that she was in the thick of that exact moment, she understood. Just that tickle of doubt was enough to make her think twice. A move in either direction could result in disaster. Her stomach roiled at the thought of making the wrong decision.

Liz didn’t realize how vigorously she was scrubbing the plate in her hands until Harley’s teasing voice carried over her shoulder.

“Hey,” he said. “Careful with that thing, or it might not make it to the cupboard in one piece.”

His nearness wasn’t quite enough to ease her tension, and she had to force a laugh. “Just being thorough.”

“Thoroughness like that could clean the shellac right off.” He stepped closer and grabbed the tea towel from the counter. “And besides that. I’m waiting.”

“You’re that excited to dry a dish?”

“To dry the final dish. Unless you want to keep washing it.”

Liz stilled her hands, which had started to scrub again all on their own. “Okay. Maybe I’m going a bit overboard.”

“Just a bit,” he joked. “Now hand it over before I call Teegan for backup.”

“Right. She’s always so eager to help with the cleaning.”

“You’re underestimating my ability to bribe.”

“Ah. Is that the trick, oh, ye of no kids?”

“Hey. I might not have kids, but I know what worked for my mom.”

“Yeah, right. I bet you were a naturally well-behaved little boy.”

“You think?” He tugged at a piece of his shaggy hair. “That’s not the usual rep an artist like me goes for.”

“I don’t think there’s much that’s usual about you.” As soon as she said it, she realized how it sounded, and she quickly added, “After all, you volunteered to both wash and dry.”

He chuckled. “Okay. So I might’ve been a Goody Two-shoes. In the most masculine way possible, of course.”

“Of course.”

“But that doesn’t mean I won’t call that little angel of yours in here and offer her a pile of sugar in exchange for coercing you into giving me the plate.”

With an exaggerated sigh, Liz dipped the dish to rinse it, then held it out. As Harley reached for the plate, though, Liz lost her grip, and it slipped from her hands and plummeted toward the tile. Knowing she wouldn’t be quick enough to grab it before it hit, she braced herself for the shatter. But Harley moved like lightning. He bent low, shot out a hand and snagged the plate just before it hit the ground. And for some inexplicable reason, the slick move made Liz’s throat constrict, and unexpected tears pricked at her eyes.

Maybe it was his easy grace. Or the fact that he was able to sweep in and avert a minor disaster while she decided before it even happened that there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it. It was a stupid analogy for the situation with the man who’d held her at knifepoint. But it fit, nevertheless. And as Harley stood, brandished the plate and grinned triumphantly at her, Liz thought she might actually cry. Something she hadn’t let herself do in years. Something she didn’t want to do now, if she could avoid it.

Harley picked up on it, too. Or some of it, anyway.

“Don’t look so sad,” he said to her. “I saved the plate.”

Liz swallowed. “I know.”

“So I’m gonna guess that something more than the plate is making you make that face.” He gestured to the table. “You wanna sit?”

“I feel like I should be making that offer to you.”

“We can both sit. I hid five bucks in Teegan’s room and told her I’d double it if she found it in no less than ten minutes and no more than twenty.”

In spite of the watery feel in her eyes, Liz laughed. “For real?”

“Yep. Figured you might want some recovery time.” He pulled his phone from his pocket and set it down. “Even set a timer.”

She eyed the countdown clock—it had just rounded the three-minute mark—and sank into the chair. “You’re a magician.”

“Superhero is what I was going for,” he joked.

“Either way, I don’t know what I would’ve done without you tonight.” She blushed as soon as she said it, but it didn’t seem to faze Harley.

“Probably the same thing you always do. Be an extraordinarily competent mom.”

“Or a mom with one less plate, a pile of dishes and no time to rest her feet.”

“Okay. I guess I am indispensable. I’m adding this to my résumé.”

Liz laughed again, and the urge to tell him about her confrontation with the man in the shop reared up once more. He was just so easy to talk to. And it didn’t help when Harley’s hand slid across the table to clasp her own. Shots of warmth—both attraction and comfort—sparked up through her palm and arm, then settled in her chest. She lifted her gaze to meet Harley’s, and she found him staring back, concern playing out through his brown eyes.

Harley gave Liz’s hand a reassuring squeeze. He knew that from a professional perspective, he should probably pull away. Hand-holding with a person of interest wasn’t exactly police protocol. From a human perspective, though, he was sure that the physical contact was what the pretty brunette needed.

And it’s not exactly unenjoyable, either, is it?

He shoved aside the snarky question in favor of studying Liz’s posture. It had become closed off, all of the relaxation that had built up over the course of the meal slipping away. Harley suspected that her earlier apparent fear had wormed its way back in. He also thought she might be fighting an internal battle. If she was on the edge of telling him the truth—or even a small piece of it—he didn’t want to spoil it by breaking contact. In hopes of getting her to talk about whatever it was that had rattled her, Harley had deliberately bought them some one-on-one time by keeping Teegan occupied. What he needed to do now was to use it effectively. To get her to trust him and open up even more. If that meant some literal hand-holding, then so be it. So, instead of pulling away, he ran his thumb over the back of her hand.

“Hey.” His voice came out a little huskier than he’d meant it to, and he had to clear his throat before adding, “My head might look thick, but I can tell something’s bothering you.”

Her eyes, which had been focused on their clasped hands, flicked up to rove over his face. “Your head’s not thick.”

He feigned surprise. “It’s not? Well. That’s going to be a big shock to my brother. He’s been telling people for years just how thick it is.”

Liz laughed, her shoulders loosening visibly. “Let me guess. An older brother?”

Harley nodded, wondering if he should feel less comfortable with telling her a few true details about his life. But who was to say that Harley-the-artist and Harley-the-detective didn’t have things in common?

“Not even two years between us,” he told her. “Thinks he’s pretty smart, though.”

“Well, trust me. If he’s calling you thickheaded, he’s not the smart one.” She blushed. “Sorry.”

“What for? Complimenting me?”

“For insulting your brother.”

He shrugged. “Don’t worry. He can’t hear you.”

“I know,” Liz said ruefully. “And that makes it worse. I’m talking behind his back, and I’ve never even met him.”

“Feel free to send him an apologetic email. He likes that kind of thing.”

She started to laugh, but the sound cut off as quickly as it had come. Her expression sobered, and she bit her lip, hesitation clear on her face.

“Harley?”

“Yes?”

“I—” She stopped, then pulled her hand away and shook her head.

Harley quashed a stab of regret at the loss of contact, flexed his fingers and made himself smile. “You what?”

“It’s nothing.”

“Nothing usually means something.”

“Says who?” Her reply had a forced lightness to it, and Harley responded in kind.

“Every man since the dawn of time,” he teased. “And just FYI, I have it on good authority that I’m an excellent secret-keeper. I mean, have I even once mentioned that secret stash of chocolate-chip cookies in Teegan’s sock drawer?”

“She has a—” Liz groaned. “Ha ha. Very funny.”

“Made you laugh, though, didn’t it?”

“You realize that saying ‘ha ha’ doesn’t count as a laugh, right?”

“No?”

She smiled. “Afraid not.”

“Hmm,” he replied. “I guess it’s an imperfect talent. I’ll keep working on it.”

“On the other side of things...you’re pretty good at the rest of this stuff.”

“That’s great.” He leaned forward and, in a conspiratorial whisper, added, “But you’re going to have to define ‘this stuff.’”

Her smile widened. “Talking. Listening. Making me say ‘ha ha’ and generally distracting me.”

“In that case, I’m happy to help. Even if I don’t know what it is I’m distracting you from.”

She opened her mouth, and Harley expected to hear another denial, but instead she let out a vague affirmation that sounded like a sigh. “Yes.”

It’s a step in the right direction, Harley thought to himself, while out loud he stated, “You know, not too long ago, some woman I know told me I’m a good listener.”

She smiled. “Some woman, huh?”

“Mmm. You may have seen her around. Has a noisy kid. Owns an art shop. Pretty blue eyes.” The last bit slipped out before Harley could stop it, but she blushed in response, and he was glad—just this once—that his mouth was working faster than his brain. “Anyway. This woman. She’d probably tell you it’s okay to use me as a sounding board.”

“This woman might be right, but she might not have the whole story.”

“Try me.”

Liz’s mouth worked for a second, like she was trying to find a way around his words. “You know, Mr. Maxwell, I get the feeling that you could charm your way into anything.”

It was Harley’s turn to laugh. “Well, Ms. James, if my brother could hear that, he’d be even more shocked than if he heard you say I wasn’t thickheaded.”

“He doesn’t think you’re charming?”

“I’m pretty sure he thinks I’m still an awkward kid, doodling in a notebook.”

It was a bit of an exaggeration. Harley knew that Brayden appreciated his talents, and also took advantage of them whenever needed. But he couldn’t very well tell Liz that he’d morphed from doodler into detective, so he just offered a grin and let her doubtfully sweep her gaze over his chest and shoulders.

“You know what?” she said after a second. “I just can’t picture it.”

“What? My doodling?”

“You, being awkward.”

“Perfect. I’ve got you fooled. My work here is done.” He pretended to stand, and Liz’s face abruptly crumpled.

Under other circumstances, her obvious distress at the thought of his leaving would’ve been a huge fan to his ego. Right then, it just deepened his concern. He dropped back into the chair and slid it closer to Liz, then reached out with the intention of putting his hands on her wrists and offering a word of comfort. Instead, she leaned into his chest, and his only choice was to either push her away or wrap his arms around her. He picked the latter without even thinking about it. As she clung to him without any sign of letting go, her body shook a little, and he knew she had to be crying.

Automatically, Harley’s hands started to move in a soothing circle over her back. “It’s all right. I’m not going anywhere.”

When she answered, it was without pulling away, and her words were small and muffled. “I’m scared.”

The statement tugged at him. “I can see that.”

She held tightly for a few more seconds before finally easing back. Harley couldn’t help but note that she didn’t pull away fully—their knees still touched, and the tiniest move would propel her into his arms once more. He could also see the streak of tears down her face, enhanced by the transfer of clay from his shirt, and it took real effort to keep from reaching up to brush them away in a too-intimate gesture. In the end, she beat him to it. She lifted up her thumb to wipe at the damp spot she’d left on his clothes.

“Sorry about that.” There was a mix of regret and frustration in the apology.

“Don’t be sorry,” he said back. “It’s probably cleaner now than it was before. I should be thanking you.”

“Thank the woman you barely know for literally crying onto your shoulder? That’s gotta be a new one.”

“I know you at least a little.” He gave her knee a squeeze.

“Well enough to let me sob on you?”

“I know that you work hard, make a killer beef stew and care more than anything about your kid. I’d say that’s all the prerequisites needed for sobbing.”

“Ah. If that’s the measure, then I guess I’m okay.” Her hand came up to rest on the back of his, and she spread her fingers over his knuckles. “It’s not even that I don’t want to tell you what’s upsetting me. I can’t.”

The feel of her skin moving over his was distracting. “Can’t?”

“Sounds crazy, right? It feels crazy.” Her hand slid up his arm, and he wondered if she was even aware that she was touching him.

He swallowed, trying to focus on their conversation. “It’s only crazy if you believe that the can’t comes as a result of someone casting a magic spell on you, preventing you from spilling your guts.”

“I actually wish it were that straightforward. An evil spell would explain so much.” The tips of her fingers had reached the crook of his elbow, and she looked down as if just noticing their placement, then started to jerk them away.

Harley reflexively brought up his hand to grab hers and stop it from slipping away. For a second, they sat still, both their gazes fixed on their locked palms. Then—also together—they lowered their hands to rest together on the table beside them.

“Can I ask you something, Harley?” Liz asked softly.

“Definitely,” Harley agreed.

“If you thought—even for a second—that me telling you what I’m worried about might backfire and hurt Teegan, would you still want to know?”

He didn’t even have to think about it. “No.”

Liz’s eyes lifted to his. “That was a pretty quick answer.”

“What kind of man would I be if I thought endangering a kid was the way to go?”

“Not the kind I’d want to have over for dinner, I think.”

Unconsciously, Harley inched forward. “It’d be terrible to have missed that beef stew.”

Liz’s free hand came up to the outside of his thigh. “And the dishwashing.”

Their faces were inches apart now, and detective-Harley was urging artist-Harley to put some space between them. But artist-Harley was too interested in studying the little flecks of gray in Liz’s otherwise blue eyes. They were tiny. Unnoticeable, until he’d gotten this close. Just like the floral scent he’d observed earlier. He inhaled and wondered what else he might’ve been missing by keeping a professional distance for the last ten days. The warmth of her lips, maybe?

No. Not maybe. Definitely.

He could definitely feel the heat of her mouth now.

His detective side was fighting a losing battle.

He leaned forward. So did Liz. Harley heard her breath catch and saw her lids drop just a heartbeat before his eyes closed, too. He bent in, anticipating the soft, sweet taste of her kiss.

And for a moment, he had it.

Delicate heat.

A burst of need.

A desire to deepen it.

Then, as quickly as it started, the kiss was ripped away by an explosive bang that rocked the room and sent Liz flying from her chair.

Chapter 4

Liz’s ears rang. Her eyes watered and her leg felt like it was on fire. Her head spun. And the world around her seemed to be moving in slow motion.

Plates spinning and wobbling.

A spice rack in pieces, green and brown particles settling among the shards of glass.

But in spite of it all, the only thing Liz could think about was Teegan. Where was her daughter? Still in her room? Was she hurt?

Oh, God. Please don’t let her be hurt.

Liz tried to stand, but the pain—seemingly everywhere now—made her stumble. She wanted to cry. Not from the way she hurt, but from the sudden certainty that under the circumstances, she might not be able to reach her daughter in time. She wouldn’t be able to protect her from whatever threat had just rocked their little apartment.

Maybe if I crawl...

But she no sooner dragged herself forward an inch than dizziness struck. The room swam, and her arms slipped, and her head started to slide toward the ground. She braced for impact. Thankfully, before it could come, a warm, rough hand landed on her shoulder and pulled her back. It only took her a second to clue in.

Harley.

Relief surged through her as he lifted her from the ground. Something told her he’d know what to do. So she let herself exhale as he pressed her body to his wide chest and carried her from her spot on the ground across the room.

Then panic hit again.

Across the room. No. That was wrong.

“Teegan!” Her gasp sounded far away and waterlogged.

His voice, on the other hand, was low and rumbly, and right in her ear. “On it already, sweetheart.”

Liz breathed out, and the world seemed to speed up again as Harley put her down and grabbed a hold of the small kitchen table, tilting it on its side right in front of her.

“Stay there,” he ordered, sounding far more in charge than Liz would’ve been able to manage. “I’ll grab the kid. If someone comes in, play dead. I won’t be more than a heartbeat away.”

Liz nodded her understanding. Partly because she couldn’t form any words, and partly because Harley darted away so quickly that she wouldn’t have had time anyway.

Play dead.

The only reason the frightening possibility didn’t render her completely useless was that her mind was preoccupied with her daughter. She needed to hold on to some semblance of sanity. But it felt like a lifetime was passing as she waited. Had passed already. Liz knew that in reality it’d only been a minute. Maybe less. The proof was in Harley’s phone. The black device had flown off the table, and it now sat on the floor, propped against the bottom of the stove. She could see that there was still almost a minute left on the countdown, and the pre-bang conversation had to have lasted for at least fifteen minutes.

But knowing just how short a time had actually passed did nothing to ease Liz’s sense of urgency. She itched to get up and make her way toward the hall that led to Teegan’s bedroom, and fixing her gaze on the doorway instead seemed like a shoddy substitute for action.

Please hurry.

She had to trust that Harley would be successful in retrieving her. He was stronger than she was. Obviously not as scared.

But he’s not her mother.

The thought spurred her to try to push up from the ground, but pain shot up her leg once again. And a glance down told her why. An inch-long gash in her jeans glared up at her. Crimson liquid oozing out a slash in the denim. It looked bad. Maybe not deadly, but definitely stitch-worthy.

Wincing at the way it hurt, she reached across the floor and grabbed a wayward tea towel. She balled up the fabric and shoved it into the cut in her jeans to stanch the flow of blood. Thankfully, the bit of counterpressure offered a small amount of pain relief, too. She breathed out and gripped the edge of the table.

“Liz.”

At the sound of her name, she dragged her gaze up, and her whole body sagged with relief. Harley stood at the edge of the room, one hand grasping Teegan’s and the other holding her favorite purple backpack. Liz’s throat constricted. Her daughter looked tiny beside the big man. An odd mix of safe and vulnerable at the same time.

Liz very nearly wanted to weep. And when Teegan disentangled herself from Harley’s grip and launched herself across the room and into her arms, a few unstoppable tears managed to squeeze through. But not many. Harley was quick to remind her that she didn’t have time to give in to the strong emotion.

“We need to move,” he said. “If whatever that bang was started a fire, we only have minutes to get out.”

“Right. Okay.”

She gave her daughter a squeeze, then let her go, and braced herself for the pain of standing up. Sure enough, the fire bit into her thigh. But she refused to give in. She held her leg stiffly and raised her eyes to meet Harley’s gaze.

“What’re we waiting for?”

His stare dropped down. “You’re hurt.”

“I’m fine,” she lied.

“You sure?”

“Yes. It’s just a cut.”

“So prove it.”

“What?”

“Prove you’re fine. Walk from there to here.”

“I—” She bit her lip.

“That’s what I thought,” he said.

He stepped forward, and she prepared for him to offer an arm. She bit her lip and pushed her pride aside. She’d lean on Harley—literally—if that meant getting her daughter to safety. She turned her face toward him to admit she’d need assistance. But she didn’t have to say it. Harley was already at her side, already bending down to scoop her up from the ground like she weighed nothing. It felt embarrassingly good to be cradled against his broad chest.

“You don’t have to carry me,” Liz protested, wiggling a little.

“I don’t have to,” Harley agreed. “But in the interest of expediency...”

“What’s expediency?” Teegan piped up.

“Getting somewhere faster than a snail can,” Harley replied easily.

“I think you should let him carry you, Mom,” Teegan said.

“Two against one,” he added.

“All right,” he said, directing his words down to Teegan in a far more enthusiastic tone than Liz would’ve been able to manage. “Our mission is to get out. It might not be easy, but I have faith we can do it. What about you?”

Teegan nodded. “Me, too.”

“Okay. You have to carry the bag, take the rear flank and protect us from back there. Oh. And hold on to the bottom of my shirt so you don’t get left behind,” Harley instructed.

“Got it!” Liz’s daughter agreed, her small hand coming out to clutch tightly to the dark-haired man’s clay-covered T-shirt.

But they only made it as far as opening the door a crack.

Acrid smoke was creeping up from the bottom of the stairs, blocking the escape route.

Harley stepped back into the apartment quickly, Teegan still clutching his shirt and Liz still held firmly against his chest.

He silently cursed the fact that he’d let his guard down long enough to not predict that something was about to happen. He’d known something was wrong. He was sure it had something to do with both the hooded man and Jesse Garibaldi. It was the whole reason he’d been so eager to stay for dinner. Yet he hadn’t pursued it. Hadn’t pushed Liz to tell him what she knew, when he knew perfectly well that was exactly what he should’ve done.

But you had time to kiss her.

He growled silently at himself for his weakness.

Even now, as he carried Liz up the hall and toward the kitchen, her ample curves fit against him in the most distracting way possible. That hint of floral perfume swirled up and filled his nose, making him want to draw in a deep breath after deep breath. The way he held her meant the soft skin on the inside of her arm stayed pressed firmly to the back of his hand.

It was both a relief and a regret to set her down.

It made him irritated at himself. Not because it took away from his ability to do his job—though maybe that should’ve been more of a factor than it was—but because it hampered him in keeping Teegan and Liz safe. He’d let down his guard, and now they were in danger.

They were just lucky that whoever set off the explosion hadn’t come upstairs first.

Or maybe luck has nothing to do with it. Maybe the culprits just didn’t care what happened after.

After all, he knew from experience that Garibaldi had a thing for using pipe bombs to cover his tracks. It was what had started this whole quest for justice to start out with. What killed his father.

“Harley?”

Liz’s small, worried voice drew him back to the moment and reminded him that he didn’t have time for heavy musings.

“What do we do?” she asked.

“We come up with a plan B,” he said. “Find another way out.”

Five minutes had gone by already. Any second, the fire could make its way up. It was a little surprising that heat and smoke hadn’t already permeated the apartment, really.

He needed to think. Fast.

Teegan tugged on his shirt, and he turned his attention her way, trying his damnedest to stay patient. The kid had a solemn expression on her face, and her finger extended toward the hall.

“What’s up, monkey?” Harley asked.

Her little blond head swiveled toward her mom, then back to Harley. “Promise not to get mad?”

“I won’t get mad,” he assured her.

“Not you,” said Teegan. “Mom.”

Harley flicked a raised-brow look toward Liz, who shook her head.

“I won’t get mad,” she said. “But just be warned that the last time she asked for that promise, she’d cut all of her socks into dresses for her dolls.”

“We’ll take our chances.” Harley smiled at Teegan. “Tell us.”

“You know the big tree outside?” the kid replied, still nervous. “The one I climb all the time?”

“Sure do,” said Harley. “Heritage oak.”

Teegan’s confession came out in a rush. “It has a big branch that goes all the way to my mom’s window. And I climbed up. And there’s a flower-thing under the window. But I stood on the flower-thing, and I could see into the window, so I think you could get out that way, too.” She paused. “Are you mad?”

“Not right now,” Liz said. “But I can’t promise I won’t be grounding you later. Do not climb up that high. Ever again.”

“Ever again after we’ve climbed down today,” Harley amended. “Show us.”

“Okay.”

Helping Liz up and supporting her as they moved, Harley followed the girl down the hall to the bedroom. Once inside, he helped Liz to the edge of the bed, then stepped over to examine the potential escape route. Teegan stood close beside him, pointing at the places she’d described just a few moments earlier.

Harley nodded his appreciation. He could see the potential. It might not be the easiest thing for Liz with her injury, but it beat the alternative of fighting through smoke and flames.

He reached out, unlatched the lock on the window, carefully removed the screen and surveyed what he could see of the outside. The thick branches blocked a large portion of the view, but a glance down and to the side made him frown. He could just see the back end of what appeared to be a white panel van. If he had to guess, he’d say it was just about lined up perfectly with the rear door of Liz’s Lovely Things.

And there’s no smoke.

He leaned out to get a better look, pretending to examine the stability of the tree’s branches. He still saw nothing.

What did it mean? And what was the vehicle doing there? Harley knew for a fact that Liz didn’t accept after-hours deliveries. He felt sure that if she’d made an exception for this particular evening, it would’ve come up in conversation.

Hell. She let me know last week when she ordered a pizza because she worried about the door startling me.

He stared out the window, frowning even harder. Even if someone was at the store for a legitimate reason, why would they be going in instead of out?

The bottom line was that he couldn’t reason through all of it. And that was saying something. His powers of deduction weren’t exactly subpar.

Unless there is no fire.

The thought made no sense. Except it also made perfect sense.

“Is everything okay?” Liz asked.

He pulled himself back into the room and decided to go with the most obvious observation. “We can’t climb down.”

“We can’t?” she replied, pushing to her feet a little unsteadily. “Why?”

He looked from her to Teegan, then opted for the truth. “There’s someone—maybe more than one someone—down there.”

“A bad guy?” Teegan asked.

“Well, hopefully not. But I’m not sure we can chance it.”

Teegan sucked in her lower lip in a thoughtful way that made her look an awful lot like her mother, then shrugged a little. “We could go up instead.”

“Up?” Harley repeated.

“To the roof,” she told him, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Have you climbed to the roof before?” Liz’s voice was full of worry.

Blond curls bounced a negative. “No. Well. Not on the tree. But a bit up the ladder on the other side. Not all the way, though. But there’s some awesome branches there. I don’t think any bad guys could see us ’cause of the leaves. And the tree’s really strong.”

“Could that work?” Liz asked.

Harley took another look outside. He could see that a few bigger branches curved together overhead, forming a U-shaped bowl that stopped just a few feet from the roof.

“I think it could,” he confirmed.

“Think?” Liz repeated.

He started to amend “think” to a much firmer “know,” but before he could get the words out, a thump and a rattle from out in the apartment told him time had run out, and not in the form of fire.

Someone was breaking in.

Liz’s heart thumped so hard that it hurt. Her gaze flicked around, rapid fire. Teegan. The bedroom door. Harley. Teegan again. But in spite of the rapid movement of both eyes and her pulse, her feet seemed glued to the spot.

She urged herself to move, wondering when she’d become so good at being a damsel in distress.

Maybe since something exploded in your store a few minutes ago?

She shook the sarcasm and the inaction off, stepping toward her daughter. Harley was moving, too, with surprising stealth for a man of his size. He strode smoothly to the door, closed it with no more than a whisper of a sound, then turned to Liz. He put his index finger to his lips, shook his head once and gestured to the window. Liz nodded her understanding. She took a breath and started to lift Teegan. But she’d forgotten about her leg. The tiny bit of pressure made her bite down so hard to keep from crying out that she tasted blood.

Harley was there in an instant. He scooped Teegan up, carried her to the window and placed her on the sill.

Liz’s throat closed a little as she watched her daughter step out. But another noise out in the main area of her apartment, followed by what sounded like a muffled voice, made her sure it was better than the alternative. Harley was already back by her side, anyway. He slid his hand—warm, big and reassuringly solid—to her waist and helped her limp over to the window, then through it.

As she stepped into the cool air, she took a shaky breath, her eyes fixed on the spot where she stepped. A small modicum of relief hit her. The platform below—the “flower-thing,” as Teegan had called it—was actually a two-foot wide ledge. Maybe it was designed to hold window boxes, but it was definitely not some flimsy little jut. She lifted her gaze and sought her daughter. Teegan stood to the side, her pose relaxed. Like standing on the side of a two-story building was the most normal thing in the world. She even smiled enthusiastically and offered a little wave as she caught sight of Liz. The height clearly didn’t bother her tree-climbing daughter.

Liz breathed out, closed the gap between her and Teegan, then swiveled her attention back to the window. Harley was making his way out now, too. He paused to get his footing and set Teegan’s backpack down on the ledge, then reached into the house. For a second, Liz was puzzled. Then she saw the screen in his hands. Carefully, he lifted it up and positioned it in the frame. There was a slight click as it found its place, and not a breath later, the sound of the bedroom door opening.

Harley spun. He stepped closer, then pushed himself flush against the brick exterior of the building. Liz followed suit, grasping her daughter’s hand to encourage her to do the same. She no sooner had Teegan’s palm pressed into her own than she felt Harley reach for her on the other side. His fingers threaded between hers and squeezed.

A near-hysterical laugh bubbled just under the surface as Liz imagined what the neighbors would think if they spotted them up there. But the laugh died before it ever made its way out. Two men’s voices came from inside the bedroom, close enough that it was easy to distinguish between the two. And the conversation made Liz shiver.

“Looks like the whole place is clear,” said the first man. Then he paused and added, “Where the hell did they go, though? Awfully late to be out running around on a school night.”

The second man was dismissive. “Who knows? Maybe they ran out of milk. Maybe the lady had a hot date and dropped the daughter with a sitter. I can’t pretend to know a damn thing about what it means to have a kid. Nor do I want to.”

The first man chuckled. “Amen to that.”

There was another pause, followed by the sound of feet crossing the floor, and the first man spoke again.

“Window’s open,” he said.

His words were so loud that they might as well have been spoken in Liz’s ear. She had a sudden feeling that if she turned her head and leaned forward to see around Harley, she’d be able to see the speaker. Which meant that if he turned, he’d be able to see them, too. Her hand tightened on Harley’s, and his thumb stroked soothingly over her knuckles. She willed herself to stay calm. Prayed for Teegan’s continued silence. And was utterly thankful for Harley’s presence.

“It’s a nice night,” said the second man after a moment, his voice just as clear but less suspicious. “Probably wanted the fresh air.”

“Wanted the fresh air, but went out?” There was more than a hint of doubt in the question.

“C’mon, man. She probably just forgot to close it.”

“I dunno. What if she smelled the smoke and was trying to get away?”

“You think a woman smelled smoke, took her kid out a second-story window, put the screen on, then didn’t call the cops about the smoke?”

The first man let out a rough guffaw. “Okay. When you put it like that, I just sound—Hey. What the hell is that?”

“What?” said the second man.

Liz tensed.

“There’s a car down there.” The first man sounded worried.

“A car?” repeated the second. “Where?”

“Right through the tree. A white—Dammit. That’s not a car. It’s a van. Someone’s in the store.”

The second man dropped a responding string of curses that made Liz cringe on behalf of her daughter. But her concern only lasted for a few moments before relief took over. Because judging by the quick, heavy footfalls, the two men were leaving at a run. When she couldn’t hear them anymore, she pulled Teegan in for a sideways hug and sagged against the wall, tears threatening.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.