Page 61 of Luck of the Devil (Harper Adams Mystery #3)

At Malcolm’s instance, I drove him to the tavern, calling Carter on the way.

He sounded like a mother hen, fretting over Malcolm’s injuries.

He promised he’d have a car waiting at the tavern for us, along with a couple of guards to make sure we made it to James’s house without any further incidents.

He also promised to send someone to look over James’s injuries.

“He needs someone good,” I insisted, casting a sidelong glance at James in the passenger seat. He was struggling to stay conscious. “Not some quack. A qualified medical professional who won’t screw this up.”

“You’re worse than Skeeter,” Carter said with an impatient sigh.

I grinned. “That’s quite the compliment.”

“It wasn’t meant to be,” he grumbled.

Malcolm shook himself awake and grilled him about what had been done to contain the situation on the county road as well as the factory. Carter assured him he had it handled and told James to focus on getting better.

“And preparing for war,” James growled.

“Not if we can help it,” Carter said, hesitation thick in his voice.

Malcolm leaned his head back against the seat. “You know we’ve been gearing up for it.”

“Maybe so,” Carter said, “but it sounds like you’re in no shape to go to war with anyone. Not in your state. Get well, then we’ll come up with a plan.”

Malcolm flicked his gaze to me, and I knew he was thinking about Nicole Knox’s threat to send her son after me.

“We’ll figure it out,” I said, my tone leaving no room for argument. “But Carter’s right. In your current shape, you’re no help to anyone. You’re a liability.”

He looked at me, startled, and Carter turned so silent I thought we’d lost our connection. Then James started laughing.

“What the hell is so funny?” I demanded.

“No one’s talked to him like that for a long time,” Carter finally said. “Anyone who tried would have been cut down before they finished the sentence.”

“Who called him on his bullshit before me?”

Both men went silent, James turning sullen. Had it been Jed? But no, that didn’t fit. Something told me it had been a woman.

Jealousy reared its head, sharp and ugly. But I reminded myself that we both had pasts. And declarations a man made when his brain was still scrambled couldn’t be held against him.

Even if his kisses still burned on my lips.

Next, I called my father.

“I met Nicole Knox,” I said, catching the flash of anger in Malcolm’s eyes.

“Oh, Harper! No.” My father sounded gutted.

“She came to me ,” I said. “But you know she killed Mom, right?” The words caught in my throat.

He was quiet for a long moment. “I suspected.”

“She sought Mom out. She befriended her, then pretended she wanted to help protect her, all so she could get those documents.”

“Harper…” his voice broke. “I had no idea about any of that.”

“Maybe not,” I said, “but you had to suspect something. You told her you left Mom to coerce her to hand over the documents.”

He was silent again, before meekly asking, “Did you give them to her?”

“No,” I said, my back stiffening. “She’ll have to kill me first. Just like she killed Mom.”

He sucked in a sharp breath. “Harper?—”

“Don’t worry,” I said, my voice icy. “I don’t plan on giving them to the authorities. But you might want to watch your back. Nicole Knox already promised me a slow, painful death, I’m sure she has something creative planned for you.”

“You’re not going to the sheriff?” he asked, his voice small and hollow.

Had he always been like this? Why had my mother stayed with him?

“No,” I said. “Not the police. Not the sheriff. Not even the attorney general’s office. Your secrets are safe from the law.”

I paused.

“But God help you from the criminals who come knocking.”

Then I hung up.

A flicker of guilt prickled the edges of my resolve. He’d sleep easier if he had those documents in his possession, but he also had no guarantee there weren’t copies out there somewhere. And I had no doubt Gerald Knox would make him pay for being a thorn in his side.

If Nicole Knox didn’t get to him first.

When we got to the tavern, I parked around back. Two black SUVs were waiting, both engines running. As soon as I stopped, the front doors of one SUV opened, and two men climbed out.

My heart stuttered. I was prepared to throw the vehicle in reverse, but James’s hand lightly covered mine.

“They’re ours,” he murmured reassuringly.

I turned to look at him, my heart now racing.

“It’s okay,” he said. “They’re gonna take us home.”

The men approached, one on each side of the car. They opened our doors, helping us out and guiding us toward the back of the SUV. James moved under his own power, slightly steadier than before, but I could tell he was still struggling.

Once we were inside, they shut the doors and then one of the men got behind the wheel and took off, leaving the other guy behind. I turned around to see him get in our stolen vehicle while our second SUV followed behind us.

James cast me a glance. “They’re gonna dump Knox’s vehicle somewhere.”

I nodded. That made sense, but I was too tired to ask where somewhere might be.

When we pulled up in front of Malcolm’s house, the house was lit up like it had been the night before. The second SUV pulled up behind us.

James opened his door and was out before the driver could reach him.

When the man moved to help him walk, James let out a low growl while he gave him a death stare.

The man wisely backed off. He and the other men stayed at the bottom of the steps.

I could hear them discussing setting up security around the property.

It took James multiple attempts to enter the code on his door, but once it pushed open, I hustled him inside. He refused to go to his bedroom, insisting I help him to the leather sofa instead. I turned on a couple of lamps and turned off all the overhead lights, hoping to dim the light.

“Get me a handful of Advil,” he grunted, his eyes clenched shut. “Please.”

“Not until you’ve been examined.” Not that I expected a real diagnosis without a CT scan. Somehow, I doubted Malcolm’s backwoods doctor carted one around in his trunk.

A surprisingly short time later, a middle-aged man with a soft paunch and thinning hair knocked on the front door. He wore green-and-white striped pajamas and glanced nervously around the porch before peering over my shoulder at James on the sofa.

“I’m here to examine the patient,” he said.

He didn’t introduce himself, and neither did we.

After doing a few coordination tests, a brief physical exam, and a check of his pupils, the doctor stitched up James’s head near his temple, then handed me a plain white business card with only a phone number printed on it.

He said James had a concussion and likely didn’t have internal bleeding, but if he started talking nonsense, got confused, or if his pupils became uneven, I should call him immediately.

Then he hurried out the door and into his car as though he feared for his life. I stood in front of the window, watching his taillights disappear around the curve in the road, while two men with semi-automatic weapons stood in front of the house.

“He was already talking nonsense,” I mumbled, still uneasy.

“I wasn’t talkin’ nonsense,” James said softly behind me.

I spun around to face him, my stomach fluttering. “You need to go to bed.”

The corners of his mouth tipped up. “Only if you come with me.”

My heart skipped a beat. “Of course I’ll help you to bed. I plan on checking on you throughout the night.”

“You’ll be able to assess me better if you’re sleepin’ next to me.”

I drew in a breath. My pulse pounded so loud it drowned out everything else. I leaned back against the window for support. “Tomorrow, you’re going to regret everything you’re saying.”

He slowly shook his head. “No. I won’t.”

“I can sleep in a chair in your room. Just like you’ve done for me.”

“No,” he said firmly. “In my bed. I need you next to me. I need to know you’re safe.”

I tried for a teasing smile. “I think that’s my line.”

He huffed out a laugh, then winced. “All the more reason for you to sleep with me tonight.”

I stood there, teetering on the edge of something dangerous. A relationship with this man would torch what was left of my reputation, yet I couldn’t seem to care. Before Malcolm, I’d been sleepwalking through life. Now I felt wide awake. I didn’t want to miss a second of it.

I had no illusions. We were two broken people, clinging to the only other person who understood our pain. But I was okay with that. I’d take this for as long as it lasted.

Or however little time we had before Nicole Knox—or her son—tried to finish us off.