I want apologies.
I want blood.
But first I want to make sure Harper is okay.
Taking a deep breath, I rake my hair back, trying to figure out what to do. I don’t have much experience comforting people.
My gaze lights on Harper’s gun belt, and I know what to do. I go to the dresser and get what I need. Then I lock her door.
I manage to close the handcuff on her left wrist before she wakes up.
Lifting her head, she frowns. “Wha?—"
I loop her handcuffs around one of the brass bars of her bed and secure her other wrist before she’s completely lucid.
She jerks fully awake. “What ar?—"
Holding her wrists so they don’t clank and bring her dad running, I cover her mouth with mine.
“Murf.” She stops struggling for a second, falling into it. Just as abruptly, she breaks the kiss, blinking like she’s trying to clear the sleep from her puffy, red-rimmed eyes, and scowls at me. “What the fuck, Luke?”
“Shh.” I tip my head toward her door. “Your dad, remember?”
Sadness so deep her eyes swim in it overtakes her irritation.
So this is about her dad. Lacing my fingers through hers, I cup her face. I have a moment of fear that he convinced her to stop seeing me.
Fuck if I’m going to allow that. I spear my hand into her hair, tilting her head to see directly into her eyes. “Talk to me, Harper. Did he find out about us and get upset?”
She shook her head. “I didn’t tell him about us yet.”
I’m not sure that’s a good thing or not, but I nod. “Tell me what happened.”
“Something Dad said last night made me check the evidence room this morning.” She swallows audibly. “I found some questionable information regarding my father.”
The fucking bastard. Not that it surprises me—we’ve been operating under the assumption that Sheriff Garrett is on Turner’s payroll—but at least he could be smart about it to keep from hurting his own damn daughter.
She looks up at me. "I’ll tell you everything, but I need to talk to him first."
"Harper, you don’t need to tell me anything," I say quietly. Garrett hasn’t been a problem, and as long as he stays that way,we won’t need to deal with him. It’s Turner we want taken care of.
“I want to tell you.” She starts to bring her arms forward, like she wants to hug me, but she gets caught. Frowning, she cranes her neck to look over her head. “Youhandcuffedme to my bed?”
“You’re just noticing?” That shows how upset she was.
“Are thosemyhandcuffs?” she asks, her voice rising as she tries to shift her body.
“Yeah.” I stop her with a hand on the cuffs. “I hope you know where the key is.”
Gasping, her mouth falls open in horror.
I take the opportunity to kiss her. I’ll tell her I can pick the lock later.
She moves her head, breaking the kiss again. “Why am I handcuffed to my bed?”
“Because you’re here and not in mine. Otherwise, you’d be handcuffed to mine.” I straighten and look at her—wrists bound above her head, hair spread across the pillow, eyes shining with anger and need rather than devastation, thank fuck. I never want to see that look on her face again. Ever.
“Luke.” Her voice is a quiet, scolding hiss. “This isn’t the time. I’m not in the mood.”