Page 99 of Marked

All normal for a suburban home.

The coffee table is pushed back and there’s a workout video paused on the TV screen. Pilates.

Typical.

“Have a seat.” She gestures to the couch.

“I’d rather stand, if that’s okay?” Harley says, and I take a seat in an armchair in the corner. I’m not needed yet, so I’ll just stay out of the way.

“Yeah. That’s fine.” She sinks into the couch herself. “I did some looking and there wasn’t anything about an Arthur in the files. If you want, I can schedule some time to talk with your mom this week, see if she remembers something.” She frowns. “Today’s the day, right? I don’t want to push her about this until after, unless you think I should?” She glances at me in the corner before facing Harley again.

“Today is the day,” Harley says firmly. “Quinn was shot on this day, eleven years ago.” She plays with her purse strap that hangs diagonally across her torso, sliding her hand down to the bag at her hip.

“Yes.” Laurens leans forward, gripping her hands together. “I’m sorry, Harley, I know today is such a bad day for you and your mom. If you’d rather we talk about this some other time, I understand.”

“No.” Harley shakes her head. “Today’s fine.” She swallows, rolls her shoulders back.

“Okay. What is it you wanted to tell me?”

Harley sets her jaw.

“I know what you did.”

“What I did?” Laurens tilts her head, still playing the oblivious fool. “Did what?”

“I know you work for the Blackwood family, hiding theircrimes, diverting any investigations that might come up. You’re on their payroll,” she says firmly. It’s a beautiful scene, watching her take back power from those that stole it from her.

I’m a lucky man, getting to watch my little bird find her wings.

“Harley,” Laurens laughs her name. “I don’t know who’s been telling you this, but they’re wrong.” She shoots me a glare. “Is it you? Have you been lying to her?”

I smile.

“I don’t tolerate lying, Special Agent Laurens. I would never do such a thing.” I put my bag down at my feet on the soft beige carpeting.

Her gaze slides to the bag.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Harley. I haven’t done anything other than try to find the men responsible for your sister’s death.” Her denial is flat, rehearsed. And maybe someone with a less trained ear for such bullshit would believe her. But she’s not good at her job. Any of them.

As she makes her denial, her gaze flicks to a case sitting on the bookshelves next to the television. Her gun is probably inside. One of them, anyway.

“You never did a real investigation into our case. You pretended, took statements from me, questioned me every now and then, hoping I hadn’t remembered what really happened.” Harley takes a small step forward. “And it wasn’t that hard to let it go unsolved. We were dumped at a hospital. Quinn’s body, too. Nothing linked us to that mechanic’s shop.”

Laurens’ face contorts with that little fact.

I get up from my seat, moving behind Harley while she continues to lead the scene. Such a powerful woman, my girl.

“No physical evidence, only my fucked-up memory, and Mom didn’t know anything.” She pauses. “That should have been a flag to me. How could Mom not have known anything about who kept us prisoner?” she huffs.

“Harley.” Laurens rubs her hands against her knees. “I knowthis is all confusing. Your memories are starting to come back, obviously, and it’s all messed up. I think you should see a doctor. A therapist who can help you sort it all out.” She reaches for her cell phone on the coffee table, but Harley’s quick.

She snatches it up first and tosses it to me.

“What are you doing?” Laurens barks at me. I pocket her phone, then flip open the wooden box she keeps eyeing. Sure enough, there it is.

“I don’t think a therapist is going to help much.” Harley twists toward me, smiling when she sees the gun. “I think that would work best,” she says to me with her hand out. The Glock in her purse, the one I took off the security guard at Jimmy’s place, can stay tucked away.

She’s right, Laurens’ own gun is best.

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