Page 138 of Luck of the Devil
“Harper…” his voice broke. “I had no idea about any of that.”
“Maybe not,” I said, “but you had to suspect something. You told her you left Mom to coerce her to hand over the documents.”
He was silent again, before meekly asking, “Did you give them to her?”
“No,” I said, my back stiffening. “She’ll have to kill me first. Just like she killed Mom.”
He sucked in a sharp breath. “Harper?—”
“Don’t worry,” I said, my voice icy. “I don’t plan on giving them to the authorities. But you might want to watch your back. Nicole Knox already promised me a slow, painful death, I’m sure she has something creative planned for you.”
“You’re not going to the sheriff?” he asked, his voice small and hollow.
Had he always been like this? Why had my mother stayed with him?
“No,” I said. “Not the police. Not the sheriff. Not even the attorney general’s office. Your secrets are safe from the law.”
I paused.
“But God help you from the criminals who come knocking.”
Then I hung up.
A flicker of guilt prickled the edges of my resolve. He’d sleep easier if he had those documents in his possession, but he also had no guarantee there weren’t copies out there somewhere. And I had no doubt Gerald Knox would make him pay for being a thorn in his side.
If Nicole Knox didn’t get to him first.
When we got to the tavern, I parked around back. Two black SUVs were waiting, both engines running. As soon as I stopped, the front doors of one SUV opened, and two men climbed out.
My heart stuttered. I was prepared to throw the vehicle in reverse, but James’s hand lightly covered mine.
“They’re ours,” he murmured reassuringly.
I turned to look at him, my heart now racing.
“It’s okay,” he said. “They’re gonna take us home.”
The men approached, one on each side of the car. They opened our doors, helping us out and guiding us toward the back of the SUV. James moved under his own power, slightly steadier than before, but I could tell he was still struggling.
Once we were inside, they shut the doors and then one of the men got behind the wheel and took off, leaving the other guy behind. I turned around to see him get in our stolen vehicle while our second SUV followed behind us.
James cast me a glance. “They’re gonna dump Knox’s vehicle somewhere.”
I nodded. That made sense, but I was too tired to ask where somewhere might be.
When we pulled up in front of Malcolm’s house, the house was lit up like it had been the night before. The second SUV pulled up behind us.
James opened his door and was out before the driver could reach him. When the man moved to help him walk, James let out a low growl while he gave him a death stare. The man wisely backed off. He and the other men stayed at the bottom of the steps. I could hear them discussing setting up security around the property.
It took James multiple attempts to enter the code on his door, but once it pushed open, I hustled him inside. He refused to go to his bedroom, insisting I help him to the leather sofa instead. I turned on a couple of lamps and turned off all the overhead lights, hoping to dim the light.
“Get me a handful of Advil,” he grunted, his eyes clenched shut. “Please.”
“Not until you’ve been examined.” Not that I expected a real diagnosis without a CT scan. Somehow, I doubted Malcolm’s backwoods doctor carted one around in his trunk.
A surprisingly short time later, a middle-aged man with a soft paunch and thinning hair knocked on the front door. He wore green-and-white striped pajamas and glanced nervously around the porch before peering over my shoulder at James on the sofa.
“I’m here to examine the patient,” he said.
