4
Norah woke up in a dark room. Her immediate thoughts raced back to the banquet and she remembered hearing the gunshots. Her head hurt, so she at least knew she wasn’t dead, and she remembered that someone had tackled her to the ground.
She remembered feeling Clayton grab her and try to pull her in front of him, and the thought brought tears to her eyes. She knew that they had problems and that he wasn’t always happy with her, but she had at least believed he loved her on some level. But you didn’t use people you loved as body shields. She pushed those thoughts away and tried to figure out what was going on.
Where the hell was she? She couldn’t see much of anything except a thin line of light from under a door. She walked towards it and fumbled around until she found a light switch. She looked down in shock to see that her gown had been replaced with a man’s sweatshirt that hung to mid thigh.
She could feel that she was still wearing her undergarments, so at least she hadn’t been stripped completely naked. She knew that the Seattle Seahawks sweatshirt did not belong to Clayton. So whose was it? She obviously wasn’t in a hospital, and she couldn’t remember anything past being thrown to the ground.
A twin bed was up against one corner of the room and an empty bookshelf sat across from it. The walls, ceiling, and floor all appeared to be made of concrete, and there was no carpet or windows. She bit back her anxiety. She hated small spaces, and this one reminded her of a jail cell.
Focus, Norah thought to herself. She knew she needed to find her dress and look for Clayton. He would know what was going on. Maybe that’s where she was already? She knew he had homes all across the city, so this could be one? Maybe he hadn’t used her as a shield after all! Maybe he had been to one who dragged her to the ground to safety!
Armed with new hope, she inched the door open and paused in fear when she heard a strange man’s angry voice.
“WHAT DO YOU mean, you lost them?” Harley was royally pissed. His agents had apparently been trying to follow the SUV and had ended up losing them. He himself had risked his entire operation in order to save the fiancée of their only lead. Now that lead was dead and they weren’t any closer to taking down Matthews’s organization. Harley wasn’t ignorant enough to believe that things were going to stop just because he was dead. Organizations like Matthews’s tended to take on a life of their own. “Well, what am I supposed to do with her? I can’t just keep her here forever, so you better find that damn vehicle and find it now!” He slammed the phone down onto the small round table that stood in the center of the kitchen.
What was he going to do with her? Her life was also in danger now, based on what his informant had told him. Apparently those who were looking to take over the operation had believed she knew more than they had previously believed, and that made her a liability. She was now one hell of a loose end. Now that same informant was also looking to disappear; apparently things were hot for him as well.
He ran a hand through his already messy hair and shook his head. He desperately needed a Scotch and a good night’s sleep. He couldn’t believe after everything they had gone through, all the years of searching, and they had lost Matthews.
It wasn’t the death that bothered him. Lord knew the man had taken plenty of lives. It was the fact that they were back at the start. He slammed his fist on the table and nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard the door slam shut.
“Miss McNamara?” He hesitated and took a step towards the door. “You can come out, you’re safe.” He knew the words were stupid before they came out of his mouth. How could you believe you were safe when you were in a new place with a complete stranger and no recollection of how you got there?
He was surprised when the door opened again, and had to suck in a breath when she stepped out. Her hair had fallen from its prison of pins and was now curled around her face, falling nearly to her waist. Her makeup was smudged, but she was still the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
His sweatshirt dwarfed her, and he felt a little twinge in his gut when his eyes shamefully lowered to her long, tan legs. Damn, she was magnificent. Why the hell was he attracted to her? Harley tried to summon up any ounce of disgust for her by reminding himself whom she had been sleeping with for the last two years, but he couldn’t find any. He shot out a hand and was relieved when she took it.
“Miss McNamara, I am Agent Harley Andrews. There is no need to be afraid; I'm not going to cause you any harm.”
“If you were going to, then I suppose you probably would have done it already.” She was surprised and proud of herself at how strong her voice sounded. Harley Andrews was a lot to take in, and she had to stop herself from staring at him. His dark hair was short, but long enough that it had a lightly wavy appearance. He hadn’t shaved in a while, so you could see the stubble along his jaw, and his eyes were gray with flecks of gold near the iris.
He stood at least six and a half feet tall, and she could see his was a body that was physically tuned to being pushed to its limits. He would be intimidating anyways, but the black T-shirt and dark blue jeans that clung to his already pronounced muscles seemed to make him appear more so.
She forced herself to straighten. “Mr. Andrews, where am I, and where is my fiancé?” She didn’t necessarily care about the last question, but felt it was her duty to ask. Besides, she was going to have words with Clayton regardless of what he would do to her afterwards. It was time she started sticking up for herself.
“Please just call me Harley.” He circled around to the opposite side of the table and gestured to a chair. “As for where you are, I cannot tell you anything other than you are safe and the only people in the entire world who know our location are currently standing in this room.” He watched as she slowly lowered herself into the chair. “And as for your fiancé, I’m afraid I have some bad news.” Good for some, though, he thought silently. He watched the color drain from her face and she took a deep breath.
“Mr. Matthews is dead. He was killed in the drive-by this evening.” If he hadn’t thought she could get any paler, he had been dead wrong. She was now white as a sheet and clearly about to pass out. He crossed the kitchen to her.
“Dead?” She said it out loud mostly for her own sanity. She couldn’t believe he was dead. What was she going to do now? Had Clayton been the one who grabbed her to use her as a shield? She lifted a hand to her forehead to the spot that was now bandaged. “Were you the one who pulled me out of the way?”
“Yeah, I was.” He walked towards her, watching as the tears started to well. He knew what she must have been feeling. Confusion, for one, not knowing why someone would want to shoot up a charity banquet, and probably feeling worthless considering the bastard had tried to use her to protect his own ass. “I didn’t want you to get hurt.”
“I know. I just—why pull me out of the way? Clayton was the one who donated all the money to the charities. Logically he was the one who should have been saved.” Clayton had tried to use her as a shield. She tried to let that thought sink in, but everything felt so surreal.
“That’s not how I see it. Your life is much more valuable to me.”
“How is that? You don’t even know me.” She looked back down, covered her face with her hands, and started to cry.
The truth was that he didn’t even understand the reaction he was having to her. She was quite possibly in on the entire crooked organization, but after talking to her and seeing her reaction to Matthews’s death, he was having a harder time believing that. Either way, he needed her to focus so he could get whatever information she knew out of her. He felt awkward and placed a hand on her shoulder, only to have her turn into his body.
“It’ll be all right, Miss McNamara,” he said softly, and ran a hand down her hair. That’s good, he thought to himself. Keep it formal, Andrews.
She didn’t know what to do. How was she supposed to handle or process anything? Clayton, dead? It was incomprehensible. She knew that he hadn’t always treated her well—she could hate him for that—but he had always done good for others, hadn’t he? He gave his money to those in need. Hadn’t she ever seen those glimpses of a good man aimed towards her before?
Now he was dead and the only thing she could say about him was that he had been nice to others. He had beaten her, ripped her personality and strength away with every bruise he had given her. How many times had he told her that she was worthless? How many times had he told her that she should just crawl into a hole?
Her emotions were all over the damn place, and she couldn’t seem to grasp a single one of them. One minute she was sad, the next relieved that he was gone. What would she do from here? He wouldn’t allow her to work, and he paid for her apartment and everything she had needed to survive. How could she afford anything? She didn’t even begin to know where to start. And what about funeral arrangements? He had no other family, so it would be up to her, wouldn’t it?
SHE CRIED HERSELF to sleep, and Harley carried her gently over to the couch so he could make sure he was there when she woke up. He covered her with a blanket and brushed the hair that had fallen into her face. That’s when he saw the bruise. It was yellowing now, and sat on her perfect cheekbone just below her eye.
The son of a bitch had hit her. He didn’t know why he was surprised—the man didn’t believe in the sanctity of human life. She must have covered it with makeup, and he wondered how many others Matthews had given her. He wanted to revive the bastard so that he could take full responsibility for killing him with his own two hands.
His mother had once become the victim of an abusive man. He had put her in the hospital and Harley had beaten the asshole to a pulp. It was what led to him being removed from the police force. He had been angry at first, but it had been worth it, and looking back, he would do it all over again. The son of a bitch certainly hadn’t hit her again, had he?
He stood and continued looking down at her. She looked so vulnerable as she slept. The lines of concern had softened and left behind a youthful-looking face. Fan-fucking-tastic. He was in trouble. He had a weakness for women in general, specifically those who had been abused. Just what was he supposed to do now?
Focus, Andrews. Stay the course and get the information you need from her. Once that was done, he could turn her loose and never see her again.
If he hadn’t needed it before, he definitely needed that Scotch now. He took one last look at Norah, and turned to get one.