Page 1 of Long Gone

Chapter 1

“Harper, what’s taking so long with that file?”

I clamped my teeth together to keep myself from telling Becky, one of the paralegals at Morgan, Hightower, and Adams, that she could take the file in my hand and shove it up her ass.

I’d been working at my father’s law firm for three weeks, and they’d been some of the worst weeks of my life. Which was saying something.

Five months ago, I’d been a Little Rock police detective with a high closure rate, well respected and with an exemplary record.

Oh, how the mighty had fallen.

“It’s right here, Becky,” I said in the best syrupy sweet voice I could manufacture as I handed it to her.

I couldn’t embarrass my father and his partners or make them regret hiring me, which meant I had to do my best to remain polite and keep my temper in check. It wasn’t lost on me that the some of the employees like Becky resented the hell out of me. If our positions had been reversed, I probably would have resented me too. Still, it wasn’t like their jobs were being threatened. I was doing everything they didn’t want to do. At the same time, it was possible they knew what I did: the partners were paying me more than they should have for such a lowly position.

I needed the money, so I wasn’t about to complain or offer to take less. Before leaving Little Rock, I’d lost my career, my savings, and the equity of my home. It had been sold to pay for my legal bills after I was investigated for shooting a teenager while on the job. With nothing left, I’d moved back to Jackson Creek and into the garage apartment in my parents’ backyard six weeks ago. Then, a little over two weeks after I came back, my father had left my mother and moved into a small rental house.

My father was the one who’d encouraged me to come back to Jackson Creek and live in the garage apartment. My mother had been completely against it and hadn’t tried to hide her feelings. I embarrassed her, and my presence was a constant reminder of my disgrace—and also that I had the nerve to be alive, while my younger sister was forever fourteen. My mother had only tolerated my residency because my father had insisted, something he rarely did.

My father and I had both expected her to evict me when he’d left, so he’d invited me to move in with him. But she’d surprised both of us by begging me to stay. There was still a part of me, buried deep down in my soul, that craved her approval and love, so I’d agreed.

I’d regretted the decision even as I made it. I was still regretting it.

My father kept trying to convince me to leave, but to my surprise, a Pollyanna dwelled deep inside me. I wanted to believe she could really change.

I already knew I was a fool. The hell she’d put me through the last three weeks was merely further proof. Becky kept piling on, and it was probably a matter of time before I went up like a powder keg. But I could keep it together for now. So I tried hard to give Becky a genuine smile, pretty sure I was failing. She snatched the file from my hand and gave me a cold look of dismissal.

Sighing, I turned back toward the file room. Debbie, the office manager, had been taken by surprise when I’d shown up for my first day. Turned out it had never crossed the minds of any of the three partners to tell her she had a new employee, and she’d scrambled to come up with jobs for me to do. After a rough first week or so, she’d finally settled on having me run the file room. A few days later, I’d presented a plan for reorganizing the room. She’d listened and agreed.

I was good at organizing, but it was tedious and so boring I’d actually nodded off more than once. The only thing that helped get me through the anxiety of my boredom was the water bottle I kept in my purse that was filled with half water and half vodka. As I entered the room and spotted my purse on the table, I felt a strong pull to it now.

I curled my fingers, my nails digging into my palms. I didn’t need a drink. Sure, I was stressed and wanted something to help ease the tension, but I didn’t need it.

But maybe a small one wouldn’t hurt, because I was dangerously close to telling Becky exactly what I thought of her.

I took a step toward the table.

“Harper?” a man called out from behind me, and it took everything in me not to jump and make myself look suspicious.

I turned to face Mitch Morgan, one of my father’s partners. He was in his mid-fifties and had a trim figure that was highlighted by his expensive suit. It was easy to see his salt-and-pepper hair was styled by someone who knew what they were doing, not Patricia at the salon on Main Street, or even any salon in Wolford, the nearest bigger town, ten miles to the north. His wife had died from cancer a little over a decade ago, and he’d never remarried. Instead, he chose to keep his options open and varied. But from what little I’d seen since coming back to town, the women he dated seemed to grow younger and younger.

He flashed me a warm smile. “Hey, I was wondering if you had time for a quick chat.”

It was an unnecessary question. For one thing, he was my boss. For another, my job was mostly filing, which meant 99% of my day was available time for just about anything. There were very few filing emergencies. “Sure thing.”

I followed him to his office, my stomach tightening with dread. Had they found out I’d been drinking on the job? I’d never gotten drunk at the office, and I was always careful to have mints or gum to mask any faint scent from the vodka I refilled my water bottle with every night.

Mitch’s office was full of dark wood bookshelves and furniture. The seats were upholstered in tufted leather, and expensive artwork lined the walls.

I knew my father was worried Mitch, a defense attorney who’d recently won a couple of high-profile cases, might leave the partnership and open a practice up in Little Rock. Jackson Creek was a couple of hours away, and Mitch had needed to commute on his last case, staying in a short-term rental during the trial. It had gone well enough that he was getting more calls for cases up at the capital city.

“Have a seat, Harper,” he said amicably as he gestured to the sofa underneath a landscape portrait.

I moved over to the sofa and took a seat as he shut the door, my stomach twisting into knots. I took his friendly tone as a good sign, but for the life of me, I couldn’t think of a good reason he’d invite me for a private chat in his office. Maybe he wanted to ask about my father. My dad was acting like everything was normal, but he’d been married for thirty-nine years. Leaving his wife and filing for divorce was a huge life change.

Mitch took a seat in a leather chair across from me and rested his hands on the arms. “I thought I’d check in and see how things are going.”

“With my father?”

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