***
Of course she wasn’t answering his texts. Frustrated, Luke tossed his cellphone on the passenger seat. His debt to Val’s Groceries paid, he volunteered to haul Harper’s groceries with him so he could personally deliver them.
He’d swing by the house first to get her damn coat.
He couldn’t get her reaction to the mystery phone call out of his head. Harper wasn’t one to be afraid of anything. Luke worried what would have caused a reaction like that.
Leaving the groceries in his truck, he went inside and dug through the boxes until he found a belted black wool coat. He held it to his face and breathed in her scent.
Feeling pathetic, he folded the coat and put it on the dining room table. He would pack a few sweaters for her, too, so she didn’t freeze her ass off. She should have some kind of ski jacket, too, he thought. Maryland winters weren’t exactly balmy. Maybe he could find a decent one at the outlet —
Christ, what had this woman done to him? They weren’t even together anymore and here he was planning a fucking shopping trip. He was losing his damn mind. Any progress he’d made toward shutting thoughts of her out was lost after today. One look at her and he was back to the beginning.
He threw two sweaters on top of the coat on the table. Enough was enough. After he found out what was going on with her, he’d take her stuff to the office to store until she left.
He remembered the growing stack of mail that he’d ignored in the kitchen all week. He’d check it for anything for her and then head over to Joni’s. One last time to see her, make sure she was okay, and then leave her alone forever.
Luke flipped through the pile, tossing junk mail in the recycling can as he went. There were two envelopes addressed to Harper.
A red stamp on the first caught his eye. Victim Services. He felt his heart start to pound. The second envelope was hand addressed to Harper and had a small ink stamp in the corner.
Mailed from a state correctional institution.
There was something familiar about that second envelope, something that he couldn’t quite pull to the surface. There was no name in the return address. Luke pulled out his phone and looked up the address online. Sussex Correctional Institution.
He dialed Harper. When her voicemail answered he swore and hung up.
Drumming his fingers on the counter, he weighed his options. There was no way she was going to tell him what was going on. But if she was in danger, he needed to know.
“Fuck it.” Luke shredded the envelope and yanked out the piece of notebook paper inside. A cold fury washed over him and made his hands shake. There was no name. Just “Daddy.”
He slammed the letter onto the counter and started to pace. This couldn’t be the first letter. There must be others ...
Her boxes. Back in the dining room, Luke tore the lid off of the innocuous “Paperwork” box. In the very front was a folder labeled SCI Letters. Dozens of letters opened, filed chronologically starting when Harper was 18. Luke resisted the urge to heave the entire box through the window.
That fucker. Every letter was signed “Daddy.” He had caught up with her every move since she had aged out of the foster system. Blaming her for his sentence. It had to be the cigarette burns. This man had physically hurt Harper until he was caught and then spent years trying to torture her psychologically.
There were five other letters in the box sent to his address. Three while he was deployed. But the other most recent one was just days before Thanksgiving. She had never said a word.
Except ... she had tried.
“Luke, can I talk to you about something? It’s kind of important.”
He had been sitting on the couch, pissed off at himself, pretending it was her, and had shrugged at her. Just shrugged because he was angry and scared.
She had faltered, but tried to press on. “Something happened and I’m a little worried—”
He had cut her off and cold-bloodedly proceeded to cut her out of his life. In the exact moment when she was reaching out to him for help, he pushed her away.
She had trusted him and he had betrayed that trust on so many levels. And now she was alone.
He swiped a hand over face and cursed himself. What had he done?
He needed a name and thought of the Victim Services letter. Well, he had already opened one of her letters. Why stop now?
It was a form letter stating that as a victim of Clive Perry, Harper was entitled to be aware that he was due to be released from prison on December 18 after having served his full prison sentence.
Luke pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialed.
