He held my gaze now, worry flickering in his eyes for a split-second before he locked it down. “Be careful.”
I gave him a cocky grin. “Somebody’s gotta take care of you.”
“Up until now, I’ve done pretty well on my own.”
I wasn’t sure how true that was. I knew he’d had a right-hand man and best friend, Jed, three or four years ago. He still had Carter Hale, his attorney and maybe the closest thing he had to a best friend now.
He wasn’t totally alone, but I still felt responsible for him. If he hadn’t been helping me find the truth about my mother’s death, he wouldn’t be caught in the middle of it. Even if he’d wanted to be there.
Or maybe it was deeper than that.
And I wasn’t ready to name it.
Chapter 2
The safe house was about twenty miles outside of Hot Springs, Arkansas. One of the burners was a smartphone, but I left it and took the flip phone, hoping it would be harder to track me without a data plan. Still, in case I ran into trouble, I had a shoulder-holstered handgun under my jacket.
On the way to town, I checked the voicemails on my real number, since it had been a couple of days. I wasn’t surprised to find two messages from my father. But the three from my friend Louise caught me off guard. Louise wasn’t supposed to be worried.
My father was desperate to talk to me and begged me to call, just like he had in the other five messages he’d left over the past week. I was supposed to meet him the night we were run off the road by the Knoxes’s men, but obviously I’d never showed. The next day, I’d called and told him I’d changed my mind and would be heading out of town for a while.
I had no idea if he knew I was in Gerald and Nicole’s sights, but I had no problem letting him stew.
Louise’s messages were shorter and more direct.
“Harper, I’m checking in. Call me.”
“Harper, stop screening my calls. Call me.”
“Harper, we need to talk. ASAP. Call me.”
Before James and I had gone on the run, I’d told Louise I was planning to spend some time with my grandparents in Jonesboro and wasn’t sure when I’d be back. She knew I’d been estranged from them for years, and that I’d gone to see them the day after my mother’s funeral. But I hadn’t filled her in on the details.
Not that I could share all of them.
Louise had no idea my mother had been murdered. She believed it was an accident. And she definitely had no idea I’d partnered with James Malcom to find out who’d killed her. She’d seemed satisfied with my explanation of visiting my grandparents—which I’d asked her to keep to herself—but after a week, she was probably starting to wonder when I’d be back.
I drove to a Walmart, which was a lot harder without GPS, but I’d been to Hot Springs a few times and remembered the general location. After I bought sheets, bath towels, cleaning supplies, and food that wasn’t the processed crap Carter had delivered, I headed for the checkout, passing the wine and beer section.
I stopped the cart, my gaze snagging on the aisle. It took everything in me not to turn down it.
It had been a week since my last drink, and every day was still a struggle. If anything, the struggle was getting worse. The first few days, willpower had kept me on track. Now, the stress of running was chewing my nerves to the bone, and everything in me screamed for something to soften the edges.
I tightened my grip on the cart handle, fighting my internal war. Other than whatever I had going on with James, my life sucked right now, and for the past six months, drinking was how I had coped.
One bottle of wine wouldn’t hurt, right?
Or a six-pack of beer?
If I bought beer, I could drink it slowly—one at a time—instead of trying to pace myself with an open bottle of wine.
No.
I closed my eyes, fighting the pull to that aisle.
It was hard to accept I’d never have a drink again. No glass of wine with dinner. Or a margarita by a pool. No cold beer on a hot summer’s day.
No alcohol. Ever.
