“She’s important to me. I’ll do whatever I need to keep her safe.” But Kayden was right—to protect her, he needed to keep his ass out of prison, no matter how much he wanted to search every inch of this town and kick her father’s ass.
There was a small pause. “You haven’t known her very long, Cody.”
“Doesn’t matter. I care about her. A lot.”
Hell, he’d go so far as to say he was falling in love with the woman. Not that he’d be admitting that to Kayden before he said the words to Harper.
His brother blew out a breath. “Okay. Just…be careful.”
“You know I always am.”
He hung up and took out the bread to make French toast, his mind never far from Harper. Even though he knew from Eastern that her father had just been released from prison, he wanted Harper to tell him. He wanted her to trust him with her past, even the darkest parts of it.
But if she didn’t, he needed to admit to her that he knew. Because otherwise he’d be deceiving her.
He was just cracking the eggs into a bowl when he heard the rustling of sheets from the bedroom.
And he’d just poured some milk into the dish when another noise sounded.
A whimper, followed by a small cry.
What the hell?
He rushed to the bedroom, stepping inside to see Harper still in bed, eyes closed but a deep frown creasing her brows. She was tossing her head from side to side, and the look on her face…
Torment.
Harper’s heartpumped violently in her chest, the small wisps of air barely making their way into her lungs as she drove to her mother’s house.
Gone. Her money was gone. She’d been so sure the text to say her rent check had bounced was a mistake. How could it not be? She had money in her account. A lot of money. All her savings, from years of working and barely spending a dime.Hell, she lived on noodles and rice most of the time because saving to buy a home far away from her family was more important to her than eating. She had a dream of a small Cape Cod with a white picket fence. A cat to call her own and a little vegetable patch.
The bank teller’s words repeated in her head again and again.
“A Mrs. Margaret Rain withdrew the funds earlier today. She’s the joint account holder.”
Harper’s fingers whitened on the wheel.
How had she not realized?
She’d started working her first job back when she was fifteen, and she’d needed a legal guardian as a joint account holder in order to open an account at the bank. She’d never thought to change that or open a new checking account when she turned eighteen. She’d just…forgotten. Besides, that was years ago, and her mother had never touched her money before. What had changed?
It didn’t matter though, did it? Because unless she convinced her mother to give it back, the money was gone. Every dollar she’d worked so hard to save. And with it, her dream.
She’d headed for her hometown the minute she got out of work, the heavy rain slowing what was usually about a thirty-minute drive to the house where she’d grown up. Now, it was almost six when she pulled up outside her mother’s rundown home. The wood was rotting on the familiar front porch, and the yard was so overgrown, she could barely see the windows.
Ignoring the rain that pounded against her shoulders, she slammed her door closed and ran to the front door. Her fist hit the wood hard. She had a key somewhere, but it had been so long since she’d come here, she had no idea where it was.
It took long minutes before the door finally opened, Ross on the other side, a smirk on his face. “Hey, sis.”
“Where is she?” She didn’t wait for an answer, just pushed past him into the house. God, it stunk in here. Like alcohol mixed with stale food and vomit. There was stuff everywhere. Old takeout boxes. Clothes. Dirty dishes.
After a brief pause at the empty living room, she moved into the kitchen, finding that empty too.
“Something got you angry, Harp?”
The way her brother sneered her name as he followed made her want to turn around and slug him. She didn’t. She kept moving through the house. The bathroom was empty, but there, in the center of the unmade bed in the master bedroom, was her mother, passed out on her stomach. The image was so familiar that she was thrust back years into her childhood.
She ran straight over to her mother, grabbed her shoulder, and rolled her to her back. “Where is it, Mom?”
