Chapter Twenty-Six
Though Chase seemed unusually quiet Sunday morning—probably because of her father’s hostile reaction to their relationship—Harper managed to coax him into spending the day with her.
After the ham-and-cheese omelets and toast she made for their breakfast, they drove her Beemer over to Chase’s condo so he could change out of his now-wrinkled tux. Deciding to spend a lazy afternoon prowling the museums and exhibits in the Arts District, they spotted a local artists’ sidewalk show, picked up a few small pieces, then stopped in at the Tex-Mex for nachos and beer.
It was fun just being together—without worrying about someone shooting at them, or even just thinking about work. Harper couldn’t remember a day she had felt so relaxed.
Inwardly, she grinned. Maybe it was the amazing sex she’d had last night and again this morning. Maybe it was the multiple orgasms she had once been sure didn’t actually exist.
She was a little worried about her relationship with her father. She knew he was angry, but they had been living separate lives since the day she’d left for college. In time, he would get over it.
They spent Sunday night at Chase’s, ordered Chinese food and ate while they watched an old John Wayne movie—or at least watched part of it—before they wound up in bed.
Chase was everything she had ever wanted in a man. Now that she knew he returned her feelings, she could let down her guard and be completely open with him.
Monday morning she drove back to her town house, showered and went to work. All day she was like a teenager, waiting for Chase to phone, ridiculously excited to see him again.
She must have begun to look anxious because by afternoon, Shana was casting her worried glances. Little by little, her stomach balled into a knot.
By nine o’clock that night, Harper realized Chase wasn’t going to call.
After Harper left early Monday morning, Chase drove to his office. Their weekend together had been incredible, better than he could have imagined.
He was worried about Knox Winston and the case the DEA was pursuing, but there was a good chance, even if the bug worked and the DEA got the evidence they needed, the way the information had been collected might never come to light.
Harper would never know the role he had played, and though his conscience nagged him, he wouldn’t have to give her up. He didn’t like the idea of a lie standing between them, but in time, he’d find a way to tell her the truth.
Setting the problem aside, Chase shoved open the glass front door of Maximum Security, his gaze going to Mindy, who sat at the receptionist desk going over office ledgers, her background in bookkeeping part of the reason he had hired her.
“Morning, boss.” The cheerful way she said it always made him smile.
“Morning, Mindy.”
She shoved her round tortoiseshell glasses up on her nose. “You’ve had a couple of calls. I put them through to your voice mail. Oh, and Mr. Dickerson called to confirm your appointment. He should be here any minute.”
“Thanks, Mindy.” He wandered into his office, played the messages on his voice mail, returned a couple of phone calls and thought about calling Harper, which was ridiculous since he had just left her.
His intercom buzzed. “Mr. Dickerson is here,” Mindy announced.
“Send him in.”
The door opened, and a thin, gray-haired man with a narrow, lined face and slightly stooped posture walked into the office.
“Errol Dickerson,” the man said. “Thank you for seeing me.”
“Chase Garrett.” He shook Dickerson’s age-spotted hand. “Why don’t you have a seat and tell me what I can do for you?”
Dickerson sat down and immediately began spinning a tale of greed that ended with what he believed was the murder of his son.
“My wife and I were on a cruise when it happened. By the time we got home, James was dead. His body had already been cremated, which we would have opposed.”
“You told me the cause of death was a heart attack,” Chase said.
“That’s what the doctor said. Since he was in attendance when James died, there was no autopsy. James was only forty years old and extremely healthy. I believe he was murdered. I’m not sure how his wife accomplished it, but I’m convinced she did.”
The appointment took longer than Chase expected, but after hearing what Dickerson had to say, it sounded as if there were plenty of unanswered questions that deserved to be pursued.
The bottom line was Errol Dickerson’s very successful son, James, was dead under somewhat suspicious circumstances, leaving his wife a wealthy widow.
