Page 52 of Luck of the Devil (Harper Adams Mystery #3)

I started to respond but I realized he’d hung up.

My heart fluttered in my chest like I was a teenage girl with a crush. What the hell was wrong with me?

I’d dated more than handful of men and never had a reaction to them like I had with James. Was it because my grief made me vulnerable?

Or had my heart found someone worthy of my attention?

I shook my head, trying to clear out the ridiculous thoughts. I needed to get a grip and get to work. And then once we’d wrapped this case up, I needed to put distance between me and James Malcolm before I lost my mind and did something impulsive.

Something we’d both regret.

The rest of the day, I searched all the names on the documents. Some had criminal records. The rest appeared to be clean, but I knew better. Just like my father, they’d just evaded investigations or arrests.

Maybe we could change that.

Misti brought me a plate of food around lunch time, but I was so deep in my work, I barely touched the roast beef, mashed potatoes, and cooked carrots. About a half hour later, James came to check on me.

“Makin’ progress?”

“Some. Not enough.” I tilted my head to get a better look at him as he stood next to the table, heat blooming in my lower belly before I could shut it down. “You figured out a place yet?”

“I’m thinkin’ the factory where we met Drew Sylvester.”

It was an abandoned site, so there were plenty of places to hide. “I’m not sure he’ll meet me there. It’s creepy as fuck.”

“He will if you give him the right incentive.”

I shook my head. “I still haven’t uncovered anything that outright incriminates him.”

His brow lifted. “ He doesn’t know that.”

He had a point. “Okay, when should we ask him to meet us?”

“Let’s wait until dusk. Then I can hide in the shadows.”

I still had my doubts that my father would agree, but all I could do was try. “Okay. How about we wait until after the dinner rush so you’re not leaving your staff in a bind?”

He gave a stiff nod. “Sounds like a plan.” Then he gestured to my mostly untouched food. “Eat, especially the roast beef. Your body needs protein to fight this.” He lowered his voice. “Did you take your pills yet?”

“Not yet.”

He gave me a pointed look, and I grabbed the bottle out of my bag, shook out the pill, then washed it down with water. I took a bite of the beef, exaggerated and theatrical. His grin told me he was on to me before he turned and walked away.

My eyes were drawn to him—the spread of his shoulders and his waist tapering in a way that made my pulse quicken.

I was an idiot to think someone like him would be attracted to someone like me.

Not after the mess I made of my life. Not after everything he knew about me.

Sure, we were getting along, but he saw me as a partner in our investigations, and he was smart enough to know you didn’t mix business with pleasure.

A message I should have heeded before I’d gone to bed with Keith.

I was smarter now.

Even if my hormones weren’t.

I continued working the rest of the day.

My booth was tucked away so very few people noticed what I was doing, and those who did didn’t seem to care.

I gathered pages and pages of information, making new connections.

Several times, irritation washed over me.

My mother hadn’t even left me a note explaining what all of this was about.

She’d just dumped a pile of documents in my lap, and I could practically hear her saying, “You think you’re so smart. You figure it out.”

Just as the dinner rush started, my phone rang. I saw Louise’s name on the screen, but I let it go to voicemail. I didn’t feel like telling her about my trip to Jonesboro, and I didn’t want to lie. I’d talk to her tomorrow—after I confronted my father.

But as I watched the call go to voicemail, it struck me that my father hadn’t tried to contact me all day.

If he knew about what had happened at the bank, wouldn’t he have attempted some kind of damage control?

And if he was clueless, he should have called to check on me.

Then again, he’d gone years without checking on me.

Which begged a new question: what had motivated him to come to Little Rock and insist I move back home?

I shook my head, feeling the dull pounding of a headache at the back of my skull. I needed to focus on the facts and keep my personal shit out of this.

Another employee brought me a plate of baked chicken and roasted potatoes for dinner. I took several bites, hoping it would help my headache. So far, the Lorazepam was helping with my detox symptoms, and I wasn’t feeling drugged up.

A while later, my phone rang again, and I was startled to see my father’s name on the screen. It was a little after eight, and I realized I’d lost track of time. I should have already called him to set up a meeting.

Steeling my back, I accepted the call but didn’t respond. I didn’t know what to say.

“Harper?” he asked tentatively.

“Yeah,” I said past the lump in my throat. “Hi, Dad. Sorry. Almost dropped the phone,” I lied.

“It’s okay. How’re you doing today?” The kindness in his voice nearly killed me.

I shook my head, tears stinging my eyes, but I couldn’t think of how to answer.

“Did you talk to your grandparents?” he asked softly.

His behavior was confusing me. He wasn’t acting like a guy who knew he was guilty, but then again, he’d been this way my entire childhood. Maybe he was an amazing actor.

“I know about your mistress,” I said flatly. While I didn’t have absolute proof, there was plenty of evidence stacked against him.

I should have given more thought into how I was going to handle this call, but I was in it now. I needed to keep my shit together.

He was quiet for several seconds, before he said in a nonconfrontational tone, “Is that what your grandparents told you?”

Not a confirmation but not a denial either.

“They had a lot of things to say.”

“I bet.” The bitterness in his voice was unmistakable. “They hated me after Andi died.”

“Funny,” I said, sounding anything but amused. “They said they never blamed you for any of it.”

“But your mother—” he said in protest, then stopped. “Why would your mother say they did?”

“Cut the shit, Dad.” My tone was harsh, but I was holding back the worst of my anger.

“You don’t believe me?” he asked as though it was incomprehensible.

“How long have you been having an affair?”

He released a short laugh. “Who told you that I was?”

“I saw her, Dad. She was at the bank this morning.” I was screwing this up, yet I couldn’t seem to stop myself.

“What are you talking about? What bank?”

“The bank with mom’s safe deposit box. I know about it, and I know you tried to access it. While I was there this morning, your mistress tried to access it too.”

He sucked in an audible breath, then said in a rush, “Harper. You need to stay far away from that woman.”

“She was near me , not the other way around,” I said. “And you’re evading the question.”

“That I’m having an affair with her? I’m not.”

“Please,” I sniped. “I know you had one when I was younger.”

He hesitated. “Yes, I admit to an indiscretion, but that was a moment of weakness.”

“ Indiscretion ,” I scoffed.

“I’m human, Harper,” he said, sounding exhausted. “And you know how your mother was.”

“Then you should have divorced her, not cheated.”

“I didn’t want to divorce her.” His voice broke. “I loved you girls too much to lose you.”

I started to confront him on what I’d found in the box, but this wasn’t the time or place. I needed to set up our meeting and do this in person.

As though reading my mind, he asked, “What did your mother have in the box?” He sounded fearful.

I had him on the defensive. I could still gain control of this conversation. “Some very interesting things.”

He paused. “Some of it might be damaging to people who highly guard their privacy.”

“You don’t say,” I said flippantly. Then I realized I had my hook. “You want the papers.” It wasn’t a question. It was so obvious.

“You’d just give them to me?” he asked in disbelief.

“I think we should discuss it.”

His relief was palpable through the connection. “Why don’t you come to my house?” he said in a rush as though he was trying to placate me. “Or I can come to your apartment. Whatever you like, but Harper”—his voice tightened—“you need to stay away from that woman.”

Was this like a Fatal Attraction situation? Or was the woman not his mistress at all? The latter was starting to seem more likely. “I’ll wait until after we talk before I make a decision.”

“Okay,” he said, “That’s okay. Do you want me to come to you?”

There was no way I could suggest the factory. After the tone of our conversation, it would make him suspicious enough to cut and run. I needed him to think I was behaving as his daughter, not as—what? An ex-officer of the law?

A vigilante?

I shoved the last thought down, knowing I needed to trust my gut, but the question was where we could meet and still have James hiding in the shadows.

“Neither of those places,” I said as it came to me. “Meet me at Mulberry Park in thirty minutes.” Then I added, “At the playground.”

He paused. “Why there?”

“Because if you’re so worried about your non-mistress, then we should meet somewhere more discreet.”

“And because…” His voice broke off. He recognized the real reason.

“Just meet me there,” I said. “I won’t wait long.”

I hung up and slid out of the booth, rushing over to the bar. James was pulling a draft beer, and his eyes jerked up in surprise when he saw me.

“We need to go,” I said. “I just talked to my dad and told him to meet me in thirty minutes.”

He nodded slightly. “Okay.”

“There’s something else.” A wary look crossed his face, and I braced myself for the fight I knew was coming. “We’re meeting at Mulberry Park.”

His entire body stiffened, and he leaned in, lowering his voice to a growl. “The fuck we are. Call him back and tell him there’s been a change of plans.”

“No,” I said firmly. “You can either go with me to Mulberry Park, or you can stay here.”

His eyes burned, his fury barely contained. “I can keep you from goin’.”

The promise held an edge of danger, and I had no doubt he could do just that. But I wasn’t going down without a fight.

I steeled my back. “I’d like to see you try.”

His jaw tensed and a vein in his temple began to pulse. James Malcolm wasn’t used to people defying his orders, and when they did, I was sure they often paid dearly for it.

But as I studied his chiseled face, I wasn’t the least bit afraid of him. Pissed, sure. Frustrated? Definitely. But not afraid.

“Look,” I said evenly, “we can fight about this, or we can move forward with the new plan and work it out as we go.” When he didn’t respond, I took a different tactic.

“James,” I said softly. “I need you to trust me on this.”

A war waged in his eyes, but his face softened a little, even though it was obvious he was still pissed. "Then I guess we should get goin’.”