When I still don’t answer, frustration rolls from Sam, his shoulders stiff with tension. I don’t believe he’ll ever leave Harper out of this. I’ll never take him for his word. But if I can rile him up enough, if I can force him from frustration and into rage, maybe I can coax him closer …
“Since you’re determined to make this difficult, Mr. Rhodes, we’re going to talk about what you know about Harper Starling. And then we’ll talk about what I know about her.” He flips a page in his notebook. “Harper was driving the car that crashed into you and your younger brother, Billy, four years ago. After the incident occurred, she drove away and left you to die. Isn’t that—”
A sudden sound echoes from the far side of the distillery. We both startle, Sam letting out a long breath as he shakes his head. “Fucking finally.” He checks his watch before pressing a button on his camera to pause the recording. “Vinny, I’m on the landing,” he calls out.
But there’s no answer.
Sam carefully withdraws his gun from where he’s shoved it between his belt and his back. Silence descends around us. It’s shattered by another metallic whack, like something striking one of the copper stills.
“Goddamnit,” Sam whispers. He checks my wrists and ankles, then moves toward the stairs that lead to the floor below, casting me a wary glare before he disappears. I hear his footsteps descend the rest of the stairs, and then he starts crossing the room, heading in the direction of the sound.
I resume my struggle against my bonds. But I stop the instant I see her.
“What are you doing here?” I hiss as Harper comes out of the shadows and into the bright studio lights. She crouches low, rushing toward me. There’s a slight tremor in her hand when she wraps it around my arm as she examines my predicament.
“Saving your ass, obviously,” she replies, letting go of my wrist. She drops to my feet, starting to slice at the duct tape where it’s stuck against the chair leg. “At least, I thought I was. How did you let yourself get handcuffed?”
“Let myself? Who lets themselves get handcuffed?”
“You do, apparently. Like a fucking rookie. And if I recall correctly, this is the second time you’ve been played today.”
“Now is not the time, Harper.” I feel the give in the tape as it splits and she moves to my other leg. “You have to get out of here,” I whisper. “He’s unhinged. He’s got a gun.”
“I noticed.”
“If he sees you here—” My words are cut short as we hear Sam’s boots scuff against the lower stairs. Harper manages to free my other ankle. “Hide.”
Our eyes meet for only an instant, but in that moment, I see fear in them. I’ve seen it in her before. I’ll never forget the terror and hopelessness that stared back at me from the abyss of the sea. But I also know that this time it’s different. She’s not afraid for herself. She’s afraid for me.
“Go,” I mouth, not letting any sound escape my lips.
Harper sneaks back to the corridor, her footfalls silent. She disappears into the shadows beyond the bright lights just a moment before Sam appears on the landing, the gun still clutched in his hand. He looks a little shaken, a little cautious. But his determination seems to take over as he returns to his camera and presses a button. A tiny red light flicks on.
“Now,” he says, then clears his throat, “where were we?”
“I believe we were at the part where I tell you that you’re fucking unhinged. You abducted me and you’re holding me against my will, and you can go fuck yourself.”
Though Sam keeps the gun lowered at his side, he flicks the safety on and off as a reminder of his power over me. Knowing Harper is somewhere in the shadows is the only thing about his quiet threat that gives me true fear. But if I can just draw him a little closer …
“You know the thing about guys like you?” I ask, settling into my chair as though I have all night to play this game. “You’re not that much different than the people you claim to hunt down. You’ve just taken your true crime ‘infotainment’ ten steps too far. But you don’t have the actual skill to back it up.”
Sam might not move from behind the camera, but I can almost feel the heat of his rage.
“You don’t know shit about how to interview a witness. Or how to legally do … well … anything. Do you really think flying drones over Lancaster Manor or trespassing on private property or, I dunno, fucking kidnapping will stand up in court?”
“I don’t care about what you think.” Sam surges closer. He trains the muzzle of the gun on my smirking face. “I care about the truth.”
His thumb shifts. The safety clicks off.
“Tell me the fucking truth,” he snarls.
“You want to know the truth?” My heart pounds so hard against my bones that they could break. “The truth is, I’m not the one you should be worried about.”
“I am.”
The instant Sam turns at the sound of Harper’s voice behind him, I stand and spin. The metal chair smashes against the backs of his legs. He loses his balance, pitching forward. The gun falls from his hand. A deafening bang crashes through the distillery when it smacks the floor and slides into the shadows.
I go down hard on my knees, my shoulder and face hitting the floor. But my eyes never stray from Harper. She rushes at Sam, keeping her body low as she seizes her opportunity. She slams into him while he’s still unbalanced and wraps her arms around his legs. Her cry of fury echoes across concrete and metal as she uses every ounce of her strength to push him toward me.
Harper releases Sam with a final shove. He tumbles backward onto me.
And then I lift with my knees to catapult him over the railing.
His arms and legs wheel through the air. I think we’re in the clear until one of his feet catches between the metal rungs and then twists. His boot locks at a sideways angle against one of the cross rails. The audible pop of dislocating bones and torn tendons fills the air, followed by his agonizing screams as he dangles from the landing.
“Fucksakes,” Harper says between panting breaths, her hands braced on her knees. “That must really hurt.”
Sam begs for help.
“Are you okay?” she asks me, ignoring Sam’s pleas for assistance as she helps me to my feet instead. Worry is vibrant in her eyes. She holds my face between her palms, skimming a thumb over the blood that drips onto my cheek from a cut above my eye. “The gun—”
“I’m fine. Just lost my balance. Are you?”
“Yeah. I’m good.” Harper’s gaze softens, dropping to my lips and lingering there. “I thought you left.”
My brows furrow. Harper’s eyes meet mine only briefly, her cheeks flushing crimson. “Left?” I ask, and she lifts a shoulder. “No. Of course not. Why would I leave?”
She doesn’t look at me, her attention caught on the shadowed corridor. “Why wouldn’t you?”
I know that whatever is happening between us might feel different to me than it does to her. The only reason she’s had to trust me was because she didn’t have a choice, so it makes sense that she thinks I would cut and run if I had the chance. But she doesn’t understand that she’s all I’ve thought about for the last four years. Every single day, her presence in my mind has given me something to fight for. It’s given me purpose. Maybe that obsession looked very different when it started. But it hasn’t stopped. It’s just transformed.
“Harper …” I sigh when she looks away with a shake of her head, trying to hide the shine at her lashes. “First, how about you get me a key?”
“Right. Key.” She snaps out of her momentary crisis of confidence to head for Sam, where he flails from the railing, his panicked cries and furious expletives bouncing through the room. She lies on her belly and reaches down to his pockets, letting out a triumphant squeak when she finds what she’s looking for. When she returns with the key, she unlocks the handcuffs, and the moment they’re free, I let the chair drop from my arms and wrap her in an embrace.
