Haunted

“Ever talked to the owner of the gallery, asked questions? Ever talked to anyone who was there the night you’re speaking of and might know?”

“No, but—”

“I have,” the redhead said.

He arched a brow at her, a silent demand for her to continue.

Harper waved a hand between them. “Levi, meet Lana. Lana, meet Levi.”

“You are so pleased to meet me, I know. Now, no one knew or saw anything,” Lana said, the accent vanishing with an obvious, concentrated effort. Her hand had fluttered to her neck, where her fingers tapped against her pulse, seeming to mimic the cadence of her voice.

“I need the names of the people you talked to, and anyone else you remember being there.”

As she rattled off the names, he read the hours of operation listed on the gallery’s window. It was eight in the morning, and the place wouldn’t open for another hour. He checked the door. Locked. He knocked, just in case someone was in back doing inventory or something. No one answered.

“Shouldn’t you be writing down these names and numbers?” Lana asked.

“No,” he said without looking at her.

“Apparently, he remembers things,” Harper said drily.

He rattled off every name, every number, and both women gaped at him. With two fingers, he helped Harper close her mouth. “Anything else either of you want to share before I start looking into this?”

Harper gave a little gasp, as though surprised by his agreement to help—or by his touch—and shook her head, but Lana shifted nervously from one foot to the other. Suddenly suspicious, he homed his gaze in on her. She licked her lips, narrowed her eyes, shifted from one foot to the other. He remained silent, waiting for her to crack. They always cracked.

Determination filled those green eyes. “Nope, nothing,” she said.

Oh, she knew something, and he would find out what it was. But not here, and not now. He’d dig up some details about her, Harper, the art gallery, the owner, the people who had attended Harper’s gala, and go from there. The more armed he was with information, the better chance he’d have of intimidating Lana and forcing her to talk.

He only hoped Harper was safe with her.

Has been so far, he told himself. “I’ll swing by this evening,” he told Harper, crowding her backward and forcing her to stop against the building. Their gazes were locked, the air charged between them. For a moment, her breath hitched in her throat.

He leaned down, careful not to touch her a second time—would she gasp if he did?—and whispered straight into her ear, “Consider this your first and only warning. Next time your knee goes near my balls, I’ll retaliate. But don’t worry … I think you’ll like it.”

WHEN THE ELEVATOR DINGED and opened up to the OKCPD bull pen, Levi tensed and he wasn’t sure why. He recognized the sights: guys in button-ups and slacks, guys in uniforms, cubbies and desks, computers, criminals cuffed to chairs, papers all over the walls. He recognized the sounds: heavy footfalls, the clack of high heels and the stomp of boots, inane chatter, angry shouting, fingers tapping keyboards, phones ringing. And the smells: coffee, aftershave, soap, unwashed bodies, perfume, sugar.

He just wasn’t sure he belonged here anymore. He felt disconnected, separated, and wasn’t sure it had anything to do with his suspension. So … why?

Your neighbors’ crazy is rubbing off on you, that’s all.

Small comfort. He maneuvered around the cubbies, throngs of people headed in every direction, each too busy to pay him any attention. He reached his partner’s office and rasped his knuckles against the already open door. Vince sat behind his desk, head bent over a file. His gaze flicked up, landed on him, but quickly returned to whatever he was reading. His features were pale, drawn, and lines of tension branched from his eyes. Though he was only thirty-four, he appeared fifty and unable to care for himself, his cheeks hollowed, his sandy hair disheveled and his white shirt coffee-stained.

“Ignoring me still?” Levi asked. Vince had yet to forgive him for attacking the suspect and placing himself in the line of fire.

A reel of memory suddenly played, startling him. He and Vince had stormed into a small basement room. The perp had raised his arms, seemingly accepting of his arrest, and smiled. Smiled, smug and proud of all he’d done to his victims—and silently promising to do it all over again if ever he was released.

Levi had worked too many gruesome crime scenes because of the man, the last one enough to turn even his iron stomach. A young female had been staged, her lifeless, bruised and battered body pinned to a billboard for all of Oklahoma’s downtown commuters to see as they hurried to work.

That smile had razed the jagged edges of his already shaky composure, a desire to protect the rest of Oklahoma’s females rising up inside him. A desire he hadn’t been able to fight. He’d rushed forward, busted the guy around—and gotten busted around himself.

In the present, he experienced a pang in his side. His kidney must have taken a couple shots.

“Come on, Vince,” he said, and was once again ignored.

Detective Charles Bright stalked down the hall, spotted him and did a double take. “Levi?” His gaze roved the area just over Levi’s shoulder before returning. “What are you doing here?”

He watched as Vince finally glanced up. Jaw clenched tight, he gritted, “What do you think I’m doing here, Bright? Working. Maybe you should do the same.”

Talking through him. “Real mature,” Levi said, flipping him off.

Bright waved Vince off, then led Levi to the office at the end of the hall. He closed and locked the door, and motioned for Levi to sit as he claimed the chair behind a desk scattered with papers.

Levi had always liked Bright. Guy had dark skin and eyes and kept his head shaved to a glossy sheen. He was a laugher, truly cared about the victims he fought to protect and would work himself to death to solve a case.

“I can’t believe Vince is so mad he refuses to speak to me.”

A soft, sad smile greeted his words. “Had you put him in danger, he’d be over it and you’d be forgiven. But you put yourself in danger, and that’s harder to forget. He loved—loves—you like a brother.”

“He better still love me.” Vince was all the family he had.

“He does. Give him time. He’ll come around.”

Levi understood the need for time, he did, but his balls were sore and he wasn’t exactly in the best of moods, so he decided to forget Vince for now. “Listen, I’m not actually here to beg my partner’s forgiveness. My neighbor thinks she witnessed a murder and I promised to help her find out the truth. I can’t access any databases, so I need your help.”

Bright frowned, instantly intrigued. “Your neighbor?”

“Yeah. I don’t know if I told you but I moved into an apartment building downtown, close to Brick Town. She just moved in, too.”

“Her name?”

“Harper.”

“And the rest?”

“Just a minute.” Levi shifted to dig in his back pocket. He withdrew the driver’s license he’d slipped from her purse when he’d backed her into the building. After reading the text, a laugh bubbled from him. “Aurora Harper.” How freaking adorable. Aurora fit her in a way Harper did not.

Fingers clicking on the keyboard, Bright was silent for a long while. He would stop and read, then type again, then stop and read again, then type again. With every pause, his frown deepened. The wait for answers nearly drove Levi to pace, punch a wall, something.

“Okay, here’s what I know,” Bright finally said, propping his elbows on his desk. “Your Aurora—”

“Harper. She prefers Harper, and she isn’t mine.” He paid no attention to the fact that having her referred to as “his” affected his body just as strongly as her nearness had. Heat and tingling and want … so much want.

The denial earned him a swift grin. “All right. Well, Ms. Harper is twenty-seven. Five foot two. One hundred and ten pounds. She’s gotten three tickets for speeding, one for parking illegally, and was in a car accident two years ago, but it wasn’t her fault and she walked away with only a few bruises.”

Silence.

“That’s it?” Levi demanded. “That’s what had you frowning?”