She’d seen Seth Harper in a diverse array of garments, from his signature jeans and Jerry Springer wear to slick upscale slacks and shirt suitable for a five-star hotel in downtown Chicago, the last residence she’d seen him. But in his red prison jumpsuit, he looked washed-out and sad. Warm puppy eyes had grown distant and lifeless. Jess didn’t think she had a maternal bone in her body, but seeing Harper like this made her think twice about that prospect. She wanted to hug him and tell him it would be all right, but she wouldn’t lie to a friend.
“You gonna tell me what happened?” When he didn’t answer, she pressed, “Look, Harper, I’m not seeing a long line of acquaintances outside, clamoring to help. And unless you’ve got one of those Get Out of Jail game cards they sell on the streets of Hollywood, I suggest you think long and hard about answering me. Your options are limited.”
When he resisted her considerable powers of persuasion, she made her point a different way.
“At the risk of stating the obvious, you’re not like the guys you’ll meet in prison, Harper.” Thank God, she thought. “Not all of them are innocent, you know. And with your luck, you’ll get bunked with a guy named Bruno who’s just waiting for you to drop the soap.”
“Thanks for the visual.” He sat up and leaned forward. “You’re not exactly helping.”
“Then give me something. I thought we trusted each other.”
“Trust isn’t your strong suit, Jess. Who are you kidding? But I respect your privacy. Why can’t you do the same for me?” he pleaded.
“Because being arrested for murder ranks a little higher than sneaking a peek in your diary, my friend.”
Jess knew she’d be treading on thin ice if they continued to talk about trust and privacy. Harper had her pegged. A change in subject was in order.
“So where are you staying now? You noticed I used the word ‘staying.’ You like to keep your toiletries bag packed, ready so you can jump.”
“I’m not giving you that.”
“You’ve given me your addresses before, why not now?” When he stalled, she made a leap in logic. “Who are you protecting, genius?”
“I won’t drag innocent people into this mess. So please drop it.” He raised his voice for the first time. “I got myself into this. Me, alone. And I’m not protecting anyone ’cause no one else knows what happened. Hell, not even me.”
He wasn’t making much sense, and by the look on his face, he knew it, too. She needed another way under his defense mechanism.
“Look, let’s start from the beginning. Tell me what you do remember,” she said, then smirked. “And if it helps, picture me looking like a wart or some insidious skin rash. I’m not going away until you do something about it. Do us both a favor and throw me a bone, Harper.”
Not even the skin-rash analogy worked. Her best material. He tightened the arms across his chest, his body language not telling her anything she didn’t already know. But eventually he loosened up, ran a hand through his dark hair, and started to talk.
“I recall making a note of Dirty Monty’s, a bar on the South Side. But I can’t remember if I actually made it there.”
She knew the joint. A sleazy bar that wasn’t Seth’s style. She had a feeling someone else would have made the suggestion. Jess tried picturing who could have gotten Harper to do it, and the extent of her wild machinations only reminded her how little she knew of the guy sitting across from her. Harper’s life was clouded in mystery, and he liked it that way. As much as she wanted to believe she’d broken into his inner circle, she hadn’t even scratched the surface in understanding what made him tick.
But having the name of the bar was more than the cops had. And that gave her a place to start poking around.
“You gave me the blue monster for safekeeping, and I appreciate the loan. That old van has grown on me.” She smiled. “But what are you driving these days?”
“A ’65 Mustang. I’m restoring it, but I’ve got a long way to go.” He stopped, probably considering the odds of him finishing his restoration project.
Murder had a way of mucking things up.
“What does my car have to do with this?” he added.
“Tracking it down might help establish where you went that night. Just another piece to the puzzle, that’s all.”
“Damn it! I hate this.” He drew a hand through his hair. “I’ve racked my brain trying to remember anything, but it’s all a blank. I can’t tell the cops or you what I don’t know, not even to help myself.”
His frustration was showing, and he looked exhausted.
“What…you had some kind of blackout? From what?” She pushed him for more. When he didn’t reply right away, she leaned forward and rested her elbows on the table. “If you don’t have a plausible story, the cops won’t buy this convenient flare-up of amnesia. Memory loss doesn’t just come and go like a bad case of zits, Harper.”
“I don’t know, Jessie.” He shook his head, looking dazed as he tried to recollect what had happened. “I remember leaving for the bar, but the only other thing I recall is opening my eyes and staring at…” His voice trailed off.
Jess had heard from Sam how they found Harper. No doubt the kid would have nightmares, and she knew all about those.
“There was all this blood…and that dead woman. Her eyes. The cops haven’t told me who she is…was, I mean. I’d never seen her before, but I couldn’t swear by it. She was so messed up, I didn’t…” He shut his eyes for an instant, clenching his jaw. “I have no idea how I ended up there. Honest, Jessie. I have nothing to say in my defense because I don’t know anything.”
She’d hit a wall with this line of questioning, but now that she’d gotten him talking, she needed to find a way to keep him going. One thing she knew. To distract his mind from the horror of what he’d seen, it would take more than a clever segue.
She knew from personal experience that some images scarred the retinas with permanent damage, like the scars on her body from the horror of her childhood. Nightmares would surface on the rare occasion that her life got on track, a persistent reminder that she was anything but normal. Now, sitting here with Harper, she had a sense he’d always been a kindred spirit in that regard. And although he’d never shared that part of his life, maybe one day he would.
“Hard to picture you hangin’ at Dirty Monty’s.” She softened her voice. “Had you been there before?”
It took him too long to answer. Jess cocked her head, letting him know that she noticed. After another roll of his eyes, he gave her the bare minimum.
“Yeah, once.”
She stared at him in silence until he glanced up.
“What’s her name?” she asked.
Harper flinched. It had been subtle, but it had been there all the same. And his cheeks blushed, spreading red streaks across his skin. She’d gotten a reaction that told her she’d hit pay dirt.
“Gotcha.” She grinned and pointed a finger. “Now spill.”
CHAPTER 4
New York City
Fifth Avenue at 56th Street
The city and its welcoming familiar sounds stirred with a newfound vitality as Alexa Marlowe stepped out of the exclusive jewelry salon of Harry Winston’s on Fifth Avenue, unable to hide her smile. Amidst a throng of pedestrians, she glanced back over her shoulder at the magnificent stone archway with its black-gated entrance adorned in gold.
She had window-shopped but hadn’t been inside until today.
“You’ve got style, Garrett,” she muttered under her breath. “I’ll give you that.”