guided visitation rights—probably to stay on Harper’s good side—and that meant she didn’t have to let Brianna stay overnight with him. He’d given her everything she’d asked for in their divorce, requesting only that they remain in touch. That she at least let him be her friend. He hadn’t wanted the divorce and had repeatedly begged her for another chance. He’d said he understood when she’d been unable to do so. Deep down, Bruce was a good man. One who lived a deceitful professional life that sometimes bled into his personal morality.
Miriam Thomas was at the Stand. Brianna attended day care there. She played out on the grounds during set times. The two of them could feasibly visit each other. Brianna would want to see her great-grandmother. Miriam would no doubt insist on seeing Brianna, too. And maybe there was no reason she shouldn’t. Maybe Miriam had agreed to stay because of Brianna. Maybe they’d be able to help Miriam help herself.
She wondered whether Miriam would let Harper do anything for her. But she knew she’d find a way. It was her job.
All the Stand’s residents were like family to her for as long as they were with them. She didn’t have to like them. She didn’t even have to know them. She’d vowed to protect them with her life—every last one of them. And she would.
Just as soon as she sorted out this new reality.
THE LAST THING Mason Thomas had ever expected, or wanted, was to need anything from Harper Davidson. Needing her—wanting his brother’s woman—was something he’d been living with since the first night Bruce had brought her home. He took full accountability for his inappropriate reaction, had dealt with and paid for it. All of which was a hell of a lot easier when he didn’t have to see her.
Fully aware that the last thing in the world she probably needed was to have him knocking on the door of her office, he hesitated in the hallway.
“She knows you’re doing this?” He gave Lila Mantle his most commanding stare. “That you’re bringing me to see her.”
“I spoke to her twenty minutes ago.”
“And she agreed to meet with me.”
Lila frowned as she studied him. Up to that point, he’d felt her to be nothing but supportive. A colleague helping him out in a despicable situation.
“Is there a reason she shouldn’t have?” Dressed in a dark blue suit with her hair up in a bun, Lila didn’t seem the least bit intimidated by his six-foot-two-inch stature.
He shrugged. The reason wasn’t as important as protecting Miriam. He’d taken a huge gamble that Harper would agree with him, but now that he was about to see her, he wasn’t as confident. He’d dressed for a normal day’s work out in the field, examining scenes. Khakis, button-down shirt rolled up to his elbows, black slip-ons. Seeing Harper hadn’t figured into it. “I haven’t seen her in five years,” he said.
Which didn’t answer the question. Lila’s glance let him know she wasn’t completely satisfied with his answer, but she didn’t push. At least not yet. He was left with the impression that she might. He needed her on his side; without The Lemonade Stand, he didn’t have much hope of saving his grandmother, let alone freeing her to enjoy some happy days in the years she had left. God knew, she’d earned them.
Lila knocked, ushered him ahead of her, said a few words and stepped out, closing the door behind her.
“Mason.” Harper got to her feet, but kept her desk between them, a pencil in her hands. Her hair was shorter than he remembered, her eyes as blue, with the tinge of violet around the edges that he’d never forgotten. She didn’t seem any happier to see him now than the last time he’d looked at her. The morning after...
“Harper.” Hands at his sides, he stood there in a moment of uncharacteristic hesitation. Not sure what to do, how to take control of his interview. Hugging her was definitely out.
Mentioning the past...ditto.
“You look good.” She wasn’t quite smiling, but there was no chill in her gaze, either.
“So do you.” He hoped to God the wealth of feeling in that statement didn’t convey itself to her.
They’d known each other since Bruce had brought her home from work more than six years before, a new recruit who’d also been his new romantic interest, to have dinner with the family, but Mason had never taken much time to actually talk to her that night.
After his initial reaction to her—feeling like he’d been hit by a semi and liking it—he’d deliberately shied away from conversation. She was his brother’s girlfriend.
The time for talk would’ve been when he found her on the beach in tears, sobbing hysterically, a week before her wedding. Unfortunately, he’d just come from one hell of an argument with his brother—cursing Bruce for having been unfaithful to her—and hadn’t given any real thought to conversation. He’d wanted beer. As much as he could get, as quickly as he could pour it down his throat.
He hadn’t left her sitting there crying, though. He’d made the biggest mistake of his life. He’d invited her along.
“I like your hair shorter,” he said, mostly to remind himself that the night in question was long ago. To get his head out of the past and into his current situation.
Some women might have raised a hand to their hair. Made a comment. Smiled even. Harper just nodded.
Although he was having more difficulty than he’d expected holding her eyes, he’d refused to look lower than that pencil in her hands. But when she continued to assess him, his damned gaze dropped.
And noticed the gun strapped to her hip. The beige uniform hadn’t surprised him. Both of the guards, her employees, whom he’d met the night before, had been wearing them. They’d been armed, too, but...
“I’m fully trained to use it,” she said, seeing where his gaze had landed.
He nodded. “Graduated at the top of your academy class,” he said, letting her know he remembered. From what he’d been told, she quit the Albina police force when she divorced his younger brother. According to his father, for the two years she’d served, she’d been a good cop. Good instincts. No hesitation.
It wasn’t like she was hesitating now, either. She was...waiting.
He’d asked for the meeting. This was his call.
“My grandmother...” He stopped, met Harper’s stare. In his line of work as an independent crime scene investigator, he saw a lot of gruesome things, studied horrific photos and picked apart heinous crime scenes down to the smallest detail. He’d learned how to compartmentalize a long time ago. He opened his mind, not his heart. And yet, he had to take a minute to stop the quiver inside him as he thought of the scene he’d come upon the evening before.
“I’ve been working in Alabama for most of the past month,” he began. “Was on a serial killer job in Boston before that. With all the new DNA technologies, cold cases are coming out of the woodwork, and departments don’t always have the manpower or the time necessary to study the evidence and pictures...”
She seemed fully focused on him.
