“Harper genuinely thought she was helping the authorities. She would never put an innocent’s life in danger, and if you can’t see that about her, then you don’t know her at all.” Quinn’s gaze softened.
Harper had spilledher guts to her aunt—what had happened, when it happened, every dirty detail—when Betty had shown up just minutes after Ryker had left. She’d pulled the file and handed it to her without even knowing what proof they’d kept inside. She’d created enough damage to last a lifetime. She wasn’t a fighter like Quinn. She wasn’t a peacekeeper like Becca. She was something in between. Even if she could find Richard Grant, there was nothing she could do to the man, and nothing she could ever say to make things right with Ryker, but she could try.
She made the last stroke with her pencil before opening her eyes. The image was similar to the one she’d seen when she’d said the proof was in the trees. It wasn’t a familiar location. No palm trees, just big pines near a beautiful stream. Even if she couldn’t bring his sister back, she could at least help him find what everyone was searching for.
Harper stretched her neck from side to side and turned toward the window to find the sun had already started to set. So much for her big quest to locate and bring down Grant. She’d been gung-ho that morning when she’d come to her senses and acknowledged she didn’t know how to fight. Her suitcase was downstairs. Where in the world had she thought this tripdown memory lane was taking her? She was such an idiot.
Harper called a cab, flicked the lights off, and headed downstairs to retrieve her bag. She walked outside, pulling her suitcase behind her, and locked the building up nice and tight.
“Harper Thatcher?”
The voice made her jump and spin around, thinking the cab company had been quick. There was no cab on the street, only a man in jeans and a tee shirt staring at her.
“Yes?” she asked, putting her luggage between them, in the event she needed to run.
“I’m Richard Grant.”
Her fingers froze on the luggage handle as she quickly scanned the empty street. There was no one to save her. No one that would hear her scream. Her heart raced frantically as her eyes darted around for an escape.
The man held up his hands and stepped back. “I’m not here to hurt you. I’m here to help you.”
Liar. She met Richard’s gaze, trying to get a read on his energy to confirm her suspicion. Her gut screamed that she should run, yet…she was too stunned to move. He reached into his pocket, and her fingers tightened around the luggage handle.
“It’s just a piece of paper,” he said, slowly pulling it out of his pocket. He held out the document for her to take, yet she knew, just as soon as she did, the whacko would grab it and try to pull her into the alley and kill her dead.
His brows dipped so he unfolded it and held it up for her to see. A picture of Ryker’s face was on the page. “Have you seen this man?”
Her gaze went to the paper and back to the man. She lifted her chin and squared her shoulders. No way was she making the same mistake again.
“No,” she said firmly.
“We have reason to believe that he’s been in contact with you.”
Harper chewed her lip. “I talk to a lot of people and never know what they look like.”
He smiled. “I know. You’ve talked to me.”
Confusion clouded her mind. Why in the hell was he talking to her like a normal person and not some crazy psychopath? Hell, he seemed more normal than most of her family. “Are you here to kill me?”
His lip twisted for only a second. Humor filled his eyes before he masked it as he lowered his hand. “Why would you ask that?”
She shrugged. If she told him why,he’d know she’d been talking to Ryker. “A hunch.”
He handed her the paper and slid his hands back into his pocket. “Your hunches are normally better than that.”
“It’s been a long day,” she said. Relief swarmed through her body as a yellow cab pulled up to the curb. “I have to go.”
He nodded. “If you see Cage, run the other way. He’s dangerous.”
She pulled the door open to the cab as the driver put her bag in the trunk. She paused. “How so?”
“He’s delusional.” He pulled out a card and handed it to her. “Call me, if he shows.”
She started to get in and then stopped. “Mr. Grant,” she said, glancing down at the number on the card and then back up. “What does Cage want with me?”
“We’re not sure why he’s fixated on you. We just believe he is.”
She started to get in and then stopped again. “What makes you think that? I mean there must have been something to make you assume that.”
