One Night More (5 page)

“Oh. My. God,” Sophie said without even waiting for Harper to say hello. “Tell me
everything
.”

Chapter Five

 

“Are you sure I can’t convince you to stay? The food’s great, the pay’s better than all right, and if you’d go out every once in a while you’d know that working personal security makes the girls go weak in the knees. That’s got to count for something.”

A corner of Galen’s mouth hitched into a half smile, but Corrine had a point. The personal secretary to Ambassador Wallace had been trying for months to get him out and socializing, her argument being that if he made friends—or found a girlfriend—in Paris, he’d be more inclined to stick around.

“Who needs a complicated relationship when I’ve got you? You’re all the woman I need.”

“Oh, stop.” Corrine swatted her hand in his direction as she gazed at Galen over the rim of her glasses. “I’m old enough to be your mother. I just hope they don’t send us some cocky little upstart with something to prove, because that will seriously ruin my year.”

Galen looked up from his computer screen. “It doesn’t matter who they send. You’ll have him whipped into shape before the first week is over.”

“You’re probably right.” Corrine let out an exaggerated sigh. “My hard-ass nature is why they keep me around. Sign here and here,” she said, pointing to the appropriate lines of the release papers she’d placed on his desk. “I’m going to miss you, kiddo, but I bet you’re excited to see your sister.”

“She’s the only thing that could tear me away from you, Corrine.” Twelve months wasn’t all that long, but with the time difference and Michelle’s busy schedule, Galen hadn’t talked to his sister much over the past year save an exchange of e-mails and a few short phone calls. Her bakery was up and running, and pulling in some great reviews from the local food critics. “I’m excited to be going back to Portland. I’ve missed it.”

Corrine snatched up the stack of papers from Galen’s desk and returned them to the file folder she held in her hand. “You be sure to stay out of trouble,” she teased as she headed for the door. “And please, promise me you’ll go out every once in a while. You’re too good a man not to have a sweet girl to come home to.”

“I’ll see what I can do, Corrine.”

She gave him a wink in response. “
Fais bon voyage et prends soin de toi
.”

He smiled at her formal departing words—“Have a safe trip and take care of yourself”—because they were spoken with motherly affection.

“
Tu me manqueras aussi,
” he replied as she closed the door behind her. And he really would miss her, too.

It had been one hell of a year. Not disappointing by any means. In fact, the ambassador had been so pleased with Galen’s job performance, he’d put in a special request to his supervisors that he stay on another year. When Galen respectfully declined the offer, the ambassador had offered him a private gig working personal security for his family, along with a hefty pay raise. Though he’d been tempted to take the offer, there was so much more he wanted to do with his life. In his career. And he wasn’t going to get any of it accomplished staying here.

The e-mail alert went off on his laptop and Galen glanced over at the preview window to see a message from Michelle. He opened the e-mail and skimmed over the text:

Galen had a feeling that if he agreed to stay on for another year, Michelle would have flown over here and dragged him home herself. All they had was each other, and it saddened Galen that he hadn’t been there for her when A Slice of Heaven opened. She never let him forget, though, flooding his inbox with copies of the menu, pictures of the dining area, and the many reviews that had started to come in. He clicked the link and a page from the “Life and Leisure” section of
The Oregonian
popped up in his browser window.

He skimmed over the article, smiling. It looked like the business was taking off and he knew it wouldn’t be long before Michelle’s little bakery was the talk of Portland. Two days and then he could tell her in person how proud he was of her. Galen was about to close the window and get back to work when a link to the next article caught his eye. From life and leisure to politics, the next feature focused on an up-and-coming super PAC that had thrown their substantial money behind an emerging GOP senate candidate. But what caught Galen’s eye wasn’t the story. No, what made his heart rate kick into high gear was the photo and byline of the reporter.

Harper Allen.

How many times over the past year had he dreamt about her? How many days had he spent imagining her soft lips, warm body, and sweet voice? How often had his mood turned sour when he thought of how she’d played him, deceived him, used him?

As if getting her out of his head wasn’t hard enough, now he had a name to go with the face that haunted him.
Great
. Maybe reassignment wasn’t such a great idea. No chance of running into her on the streets of Paris, but once he got home . . .
Fuck
. Would he approach her if he saw her? Would he say anything if they passed on the sidewalk? Like it mattered. As far as he knew, she still had a boyfriend. What was the jackass’s name? Cameron? Carson?

Not that he cared. She was his past. A meaningless one-night stand to remind him that relationships brought nothing but heartache. Galen didn’t have room in his life for that kind of bullshit. Corrine wanted him to find a nice girl to settle down with? He let out a derisive snort. Nice girls were as rare and elusive as the Loch Ness Monster. The nice girl he thought he’d met a year ago . . . nothing more than a reminder that besides Michelle, there wasn’t a woman on this planet Galen could trust.

Still, he couldn’t help but stare at her picture for a second longer before closing the link and exiting from his e-mail. “Harper Allen.” He liked the way it sounded, the ease of how her name rolled off his tongue. A couple of days and he’d be home, and then what?
Then you go back to your job, and your old life, and your family. Nothing changes
. Instead of making him feel better, the thought left him feeling just a little too goddamned hollow.

 

 

“Harper, do you have that story on the IRS scandal ready to roll?” her editor, Sam Yates, asked as he approached her desk.

“E-mailed it yesterday.” She shot him a disappointed look. “Seriously, Sam, you should check your inbox more often.”

Sam’s gray eyes sparkled with humor as he rapped his knuckles on Harper’s laminate desktop. “You know, just for that smartass remark, I don’t think I’m going to tell you that I heard Senator Mark Ellis is in town this week before he heads back to DC. Rumor has it that he’s finally meeting with the Oregon League of Conservation Voters this evening.”

Harper shot out of her chair, pulling a drawer open to retrieve her purse. She threw a new notebook and a couple of pens in the large hobo bag even though she was pretty sure she already had a few notebooks and several pens somewhere in the bottom along with her digital voice recorder.

“You’ve been holding out on me, Sam,” she admonished. “Just for that, I’m telling Maggie you’ve been dumping out the herbal tea you’re supposed to be drinking.” Sam’s wife was trying to wean him off of caffeine, but Sam wasn’t having it. He liked to say that no self-respecting newspaper man drank Earl Grey.

“I’m fifty-two; I work in an industry that’s slowly being choked out by bloggers, iPads, and the Internet. I don’t smoke, or drink, though God knows I deserve to. I love my wife, but I’m keeping my coffee, damn it. I just told you about Ellis so I’m not, in fact, holding out on you. And before you run out of here hell bent for leather, I said
this evening
. Not this second. So cool your jets.”

“All right, fine.” Harper returned her purse to the deep desk drawer and tossed her cell back on her desk. “Since you gave me the heads-up about Ellis, your secret is safe with me. I’m gonna go stake out his office and see if I can snag a few minutes with him this evening, though. I’ve been trying to get my hands on him for months.”

As far as politicians went, Mark Ellis was an anomaly. He’d run a campaign based on shameless full disclosure. It had thrown the GOP for a loop because they had no idea how to retaliate against the Democrat’s tactics. Dirty pool and smear campaigns didn’t work when the candidate in question beat you to the punch. He’d laid his life bare to the public, owning up to everything and professing that his constituents deserved a forthright representative in Washington. He’d won by a landslide, despite his indiscretions.

Sam leaned a hip on her desk. “You know, Harper, Ellis might be the real deal.”

“Senators don’t own
all
of their misdeeds. It goes against nature. Deception is in their DNA. If he’s the real deal, then I’m Super Girl.”

“You manage to find something that Ellis hasn’t already admitted to, you will be. Not to mention the fact that if you break a story like that, I won’t be able to afford to keep you here. On second thought, forget what I said about Ellis. I’m pretty sure he’s already left town.”

Harper opened a Word document on her computer and started jotting down a list of notes and questions, in case she lucked out and managed to corner Ellis. “You have nothing to worry about, Sam,” Harper said as she typed. “When I’m famous and being courted by the
Washington Post
, I’ll remember who gave me my start.”

“Cheeky,” Sam quipped. “While I’ve got you here, my nephew’s coming to town this weekend. Maggie wants you to come over for dinner on Saturday.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“You know, Harper, there’s this little thing called life. It’s what the rest of the world does when they’re not working. You might want to look into it.”

“Ha ha, Sam.” Harper shot him a stern glare before turning her attention back to her screen. “Like I said, I’ll think about it.”

“All right, all right.” He pushed himself away from Harper’s desk and started to walk away. “Good luck with Ellis. Let me know if it pans out.”

“Will do.”

Harper was in the zone, typing out notes as fast as her fingers could move. Sam was the reason she had a job at all, and he’d suffered some backlash from a few of the more seasoned reporters when he’d given her a weekly feature a couple of months ago. She’d proven herself, put in the time, the hours, and the hard work over the past year. Sam might have given her the feature, but he hadn’t done her any favors. She’d earned it.

As she jotted down a question about Ellis’s past as a county clerk, she had a vague recollection of Sam inviting her somewhere. Oh, right. Dinner. He’d been trying to fix her up with his nephew for a few months now, but Harper wasn’t interested. Honestly, dating didn’t hold any allure for her. Why bother? Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, her concentration shot, mind blank. Well, not entirely blank. There was a reason Harper wasn’t interested in dating anyone, and it had nothing to do with her ambition or work ethic. She was such a hopeless romantic. Strike that. She was such a hopeless
idiot
.

Seriously. Who in their right mind spent an entire year daydreaming about a one-night stand? Granted, it had been one hell of a night, but still. Despite the fact that he’d ditched her without so much as a good-bye, Harper couldn’t get him out of her head. The slow, methodical way he kissed her, his strong hands caressing her skin, the way his tongue slid across her flesh . . . Harper sat up a little straighter in her chair, looked around to see if anyone was watching her. Just thinking about that night caused her skin to flush with warmth. Whenever her mind wandered back to that night, Harper racked her brain, wondering what she could have done, said differently to change the outcome. She couldn’t help but feel as though she’d done something to scare him off. Why else would he have snuck out before she woke up? Was she that bad in bed?

He’d ruined any other man for her and she didn’t even know his name.

Of course, Sophie had argued for months that Harper hadn’t given any other guys the chance to prove they could give her nights of intense passion and mind-blowing orgasms. “You’re young and your body’s still tight in all the right places, Harp. Don’t let those boobs go to waste!” Eventually, she’d dip a toe back in the dating pool. Just not now. It was silly and foolish to hold every guy up to a standard that might as well be a figment of her imagination, but Harper didn’t care. She wasn’t ready to let go of the memory of that night. Not yet.

Harper gave her head a shake, as if to dislodge the thoughts that settled there. In a few short hours, she might be face-to-face with the most candid—and therefore the most suspicious—U.S. senator on record. Distractions weren’t an option if she wanted to get under his skin. By the end of the night, Senator Mark Ellis would be cursing her tenacity. If there was one thing Harper wasn’t, it was a quitter. And she was getting that interview.

Chapter Six

What was it about parking garages that made them so damned creepy? Then again, who was Harper to judge what was creepy? She was the one lurking in the shadows, waiting to jump Senator Ellis after his meeting. Yeah, this
might
get her arrested. If she got Ellis to go on the record and answer any of her questions, it would be one hundred percent worth the criminal record.

Good Lord, how much longer was she going to have to wait? These garages had closed-circuit surveillance, didn’t they? Someone was bound to notice her camped out by the senator’s Audi. And if they didn’t, they really needed to think about putting a few cameras in here. You never knew what kind of weirdo might be hiding out behind your car. Harper checked the time on her cell and groaned. Why hadn’t she thought to pack a snack? Voodoo Donut was just down the street. She’d give her left arm for an apple fritter right about now. The sound of voices echoing in the garage distracted her from her growling stomach and Harper peeked over the trunk of Senator Ellis’s Audi. If she weren’t trying to be stealthy, she would have jumped up and down with excitement.

Senator Mark Ellis, in the flesh, strode toward his car, his aide, Jason Meader trailing behind him. Harper scowled at Meader, hoping his skin burned from the heat of her glare. Meader was a damned good employee, especially at running interference for the senator. He’d thwarted her attempts at nailing him down for an interview time and again, which made him a thorn in Harper’s side, not to mention a raging pain in the butt.
You’re too late, Meader!
The thought took root in Harper’s best impersonation of a super villain.
You can’t protect the senator now. Bwahahaha!

Afraid she might scare him off, Harper stayed tucked down low behind the senator’s car, waiting for the right moment to approach him. She paused, legs bent, shoulders hunched.
Oh God
. She was
so
the parking garage creeper! Now she felt just a little skeevy. Not to mention dirty. As she dug through her bag for her notes and voice recorder, Harper made a mental note to take a nice hot shower when she got home. Parking garage stalker or not, she wasn’t leaving here without getting a quote from Ellis.

Their approaching footsteps quieted, and Harper peeked around the rear bumper to see what the holdup was. Senator Ellis patted his suit jacket pockets and checked inside. “Damn it. I left my phone back at the office.”

Crap! Thanks to the holdup, “forgetful” was going on the top of Harper’s list of the senator’s faults. How long would it take for him to backtrack for his damned phone? She was starting to lose feeling in her legs!

“Jason, run over and grab it for me.” Senator Ellis instructed rather than asked, but Harper wondered at the way his voice quavered, almost nervous. “And since you’re going, can you bring the file on Prop Fifteen while you’re at it? I, uh, I should probably review it before tomorrow’s meeting.”

Yeah, Jason. Go! Get out of here!
With the possibility of getting the senator’s bulldog out of the way, Harper amended her list and made “forgetful” one of the senator’s attributes.

“Sure. Is there anything else you need while I’m over there?” Meader’s tone was polite, but Harper couldn’t ignore the edge of annoyance.

“No, that’s all. Thanks, Jason.”

Meader’s footsteps retreated, while Ellis’s came closer. Adrenaline spiked in Harper’s limbs, the fact that she was about to land a potential story filling her with a euphoric excitement. As soon as Meader was out of sight, Harper emerged from behind the car, her voice recorder held at the ready. Senator Ellis caught sight of her, and he started, looking behind him and to either side before swiping his palm across his brow.

Wow. Nervous, much? Harper’s journalist impulse took over; she was like a shark scenting blood in the water. He was hiding something. She
knew
it. “Senator Ellis,” she greeted him as she walked around the front of the car. “I’m Harper Allen, with
The Oregonian
. I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions.”

“All press inquiries are handled by my office,” Ellis said, his eyes darting from one end of the parking garage to the next. What was up with this guy? Nervous over being hijacked was one thing. He was as twitchy as an informant in a crack house.

“I’ve tried, several times I might add, to schedule an appointment through your office. I have to say, Senator, the fact that Mr. Meader has kept the press at bay makes me wonder what the most above-board politician in recent U.S. history might have to hide.”

Ellis loosened his tie, looked everywhere but straight at her. “Young lady—”

“Senator,” Harper interrupted. “This is the sixth time in two months you’ve met with someone from the state fire marshal’s office. Yet, there’s nothing on the books, no upcoming votes that pertain to fire code mitigation. Meanwhile, the Oregon League of Conservation Voters has been trying to get your attention since last year. What’s so important to warrant a meeting almost every week with the fire marshals and yet you continue to turn your back on OLCV? You claim to ignore the lobbyists, but from the looks of it, someone within the union or maybe even the state is courting you. Care to comment on why that might be?”

Ellis’s head snapped around and he fixed Harper with an appraising stare. “Who did you say you are?”

“Harper Allen. From
The Oregonian
.”

A horn honked as someone in the garage disengaged their car alarm, and Senator Ellis damned near jumped out of his shoes. A bead of sweat trickled down his forehead and he released a shuddering breath before taking a handkerchief from his suit pocket and dabbing at his face. Either he was on the verge of a heart attack or something had him genuinely spooked. Though Harper’s journalistic Spidey sense was tingling all over the place, she couldn’t help but be a little concerned.

“Are you all right, Senator? You look like you should sit down.”

As though he expected someone else to jump out from behind a car at any second, Ellis grabbed Harper by the arm and dragged her behind his car, his back to the concrete wall. He let her go and jammed his fists into his pockets before leaning in, way too close to Harper’s face. The scent of alcohol lingered on his breath and Harper quirked a brow.
Drinking on the job, eh, Senator?

“When I ran for office, I meant everything I said in my campaign.” His words were rushed, urgent. “I don’t like secrets, never have. They’re too much work. Sure, I made mistakes. So does everyone. It’s called being human. But rather than go through the trouble and backlash of covering up my imperfections, I embraced them. Voters appreciated that.” He ducked his head closer to hers, and Harper got another nasty whiff of alcohol. A few more minutes and she’d have a contact buzz. “But the truth is, no one wants to fix the system. They like things the way they are. The more broken the better. The more secrets someone keeps, the easier they are to control. I did the best I could with what I had to work with, but . . .” His voice broke, “I’m not as strong as I thought I was.”

Harper clutched the voice recorder in her palm, and tried to keep from getting too excited. She’d come here tonight, prepared to browbeat the senator into some kind of shocking confession, but here he was, confiding in her without so much as a nudge.
Awesome
. Sam was going to shit a solid-gold brick when she told him. “Senator Ellis, maybe we could go somewhere. Sit down and talk.”

“You look young enough to still hold onto some of your convictions,” Ellis said absently. “Wide-eyed, determined, out to make a name for yourself and change the world. Am I right?” Well, yeah. Of course she was, but this wasn’t about her. Harper opened her mouth to speak, and Ellis cut her off before she could redirect the conversation. “Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe there are too many selfish, outdated, underhanded assholes like me trying to run this country. You’re still young enough to have convictions. Mine died long before I swore my oath of office. So, you want to change the world? You want to make a point? Show everyone just how broken the machine is? I’ll give you a story that’ll make your career, Miss Allen.”

“Does this have anything to do with the OLCV?”

“Not even close,” Ellis said with a snort. “Listen to me—”

A resounding crack echoed through the parking garage like a clap of thunder. Harper jumped, but the echoing of sound was nothing compared to her shock when Ellis gripped onto the strap of her bag and pulled her down on top of him as he crumpled to the ground. The voice recorder flew from her grip, skidding to a stop several feet away, but Harper didn’t have time to worry about the damage it might have sustained. “Mobile hazard assessment. Bl—L-Lake. Swa—Lake,” he murmured in a thick, strangled voice. Mobile what? And was he trying to say Blake? Or maybe Blue Lake? What was he talking about? He sounded like he was talking through a mouthful of sludge. She looked down to find a deep red stain blossoming over his white dress shirt slowly spreading across his chest. Harper scrambled away, his fist catching on her bag, and Ellis’s arms went limp at his sides, his eyes staring blankly ahead. A last shuddering breath gurgled in his chest and a panic so intense washed over Harper that she couldn’t form a coherent thought.

“H-he-lp.” It took a physical effort to push her voice from between her lips and even then it was barely louder than a whisper. “H-help.” Louder this time, the sound clearing some of the confusion from Harper’s mind. “Someone help!” she shouted at the top of her lungs, her throat aching from the effort. “Senator Ellis has been shot! Can anyone hear me? We need an ambulance!”

Footsteps tapped on the concrete, growing louder the closer they approached. A knot of dread congealed in Harper’s stomach. From across the garage, a dark figure emerged, tall, features shrouded by the shadows. Anyone coming to help would have been running at full speed. The measured cadence of whoever walked toward them now made her realize that she was alone, in a dark parking garage, with a murderer. Harper was a witness and the killer wouldn’t be too happy about any potential witnesses. As she hurried to slide her body underneath Ellis’s car, she couldn’t help but wonder who Sam would assign to write the story of her death.

Harper tried to control her breathing, but her heart was beating so fast, she couldn’t slow the intake of air. A pair of black combat boots stopped beside Ellis’s Audi. A gloved hand swept down to retrieve her voice recorder before continuing a slow stroll around the car. Harper swallowed down the sob that worked its way up her throat. She was too young to die, damn it. She hadn’t accomplished anything in her career. And how sick was it that her last thought as death stared her in the eye was of a man whose name she’d never know. Pathetic.

“Did someone call for help?” A shout in the distance filled Harper with relief. The booted feet in front of her paused.

“Hey!” Another voice joined the first, closer this time. Tears of relief flooded Harper’s eyes as the sound of a siren joined the mingled voices. “What are you doing over there?”

The senator’s murderer turned around, his boots pounding on the concrete as he fled. The sound of the siren grew louder, scurrying footsteps turned to loud claps, and two pairs of shiny, patent leather shoes stopped near the front tires of the car. Harper looked to her left, at Senator Mark Ellis’s lifeless body, and the helpless sobs she’d held in her chest finally broke loose, the tears spilling over her cheeks. At the sound, two security guards bent down and grabbed Harper’s hands, pulling her out from underneath the car.

“What’s your name?”

“Have you been hurt?”

“Are you the one calling for help?”

Past the wracking sobs, Harper forced the words from her mouth, “Behind the car. Senator Ellis. He’s dead. Someone shot him. Oh my God.”

One of the guards spoke into a radio attached to his shoulder while the other guided Harper away from the car. “It’s okay, you’re going to be okay. Try to calm down. The police are on the way and we’re calling an ambulance.”

Harper’s knees buckled and the security guard wrapped his arm around her waist to support her. No need for an ambulance. Ellis was dead.

 

 

“There’s nothing else? No other details you remember about the shooter?”

Harper stared at FBI Special Agent—something-or-other. . . Davis, maybe—the questions slow to process. He studied her, his nearly black eyes glinting with suspicion. She wondered if they brought in guys like him—tall, imposing, deep voice and rough exterior—when they wanted to shake a witness up. For the record, it was sort of working. Strike that. It was totally working. Even seated, he towered over her, and his dark brows accented his mocha skin and impenetrable eyes in a way that made him look like he could see right through her.

“I don’t think so.” She stared into the paper cup she held in her hand as though the answer might be floating in the coffee. “I don’t really remember. It happened so fast.”

Portland police had already questioned her, and she’d given them the same answers. But this homicide was high profile, a United States freaking senator, and once the local news outlets had gotten a hold of the story, the FBI swooped in and moved Harper to a more secure facility, away from the press. Bitter laughter threatened as she realized that if she weren’t sitting here as a witness to the actual crime, she’d be covering it for the paper. Doing everything in her power to get just one word with the woman who’d witnessed the senator’s death.

“Did the senator say anything to you that would have indicated who might have killed him?” Harper looked at Davis and she was pretty sure her eyes were bugging out of her head. “Maybe a name? A person or an organization that had a grudge against him.”

Like,
Oh, hey, Miss Allen, just want to give you a heads-up that the League of Women Voters hired a hit out on me, so you should probably keep your distance
? “No,” she replied. “Tonight was the first time I’ve ever spoken with him and our conversation was very short.”