met.” His voice was deep and authoritative, with no hint of Southern accent. “There are some things we need to talk about.”
25
For a moment that seemed to last forever, Harper stood frozen. Around them, the island was sound asleep. Nothing stirred. They were completely alone.
There was a gun in the bag on her shoulder, but she knew if she made a move for it, everything would be over.
Blazer had been right about that holster.
The man stepped into the light. “I think you have some questions for me. Can we go inside?” He held up his hands the way you might try to calm a frightened animal. “I promise I’m not here to hurt you.”
His words spurred her to action. Bending swiftly, she swiped the keys from the porch and held them like a weapon. “How do I know that’s true?”
“Frankly, Miss McClain, if I wanted to hurt you, I wouldn’t be standing here talking,” he said, bluntly. “I’d be hurting you.” He took another small step. “All I ask is that you give me a chance to explain. Don’t notify anyone that I’m here. If you do that I’ll have to leave and I will never come back. And you will never have the answers you’re looking for.”
He spoke calmly and with confidence. Like a cop.
Harper wavered. She desperately needed to hear what he had to say. But she knew nothing about him. Nobody knew this was happening.
In the end, though, there was no question what she would do.
She fumbled with the keys, hoping he couldn’t see her hands shaking. “You have to tell me everything this time,” she warned. “Or you can just leave now.”
“That’s what I’m here for,” he said.
He kept his distance until the door was open. Only then did he slowly walk up to join her, keeping space between them as Harper turned on the lights and motioned wordlessly for him to sit. Slowly, he lowered himself onto the chair she indicated and sat still, as if trying not to startle her.
He was a tall man—the small living room seemed smaller with him in it. Harper perched stiffly on the sofa across from him. She placed the bag holding the Glock at her feet.
He had a long, angular face with a square, solid jaw. Beneath steel-gray hair, his eyes were steady but gave absolutely nothing away. He didn’t take off his dark jacket as he sat there, his long hands folded on top of his thighs.
“Ask your questions,” he said.
She cleared her throat nervously before asking, “What do I call you? Can I know your name?”
“You can call me Lee.”
“Lee what?” she challenged. “Mr. Lee?”
“Just Lee.” His firm tone told her not to push it.
His resistance to revealing his name after all this time made her angry. And anger gave her strength.
“Fine then. Lee,” she said, coolly, “do you know why the government is protecting Martin Dowell?”
His answer came without hesitation. “As you’ve no doubt suspected, he’s agreed to cooperate with them on their investigation of the group known as the Southern Mafia. He’s given them enough information to convince them he’s got more to share. And they are foolish enough to trust him.” His tone was contemptuous.
“Why would they believe him?” she asked, bewildered. “He just got out of prison for murder.”
“In my experience, everyone underestimates Martin Dowell. They want to believe he’s another redneck drug dealer. They all went to West Point or the University of Georgia, and got shiny criminal-justice degrees. No shitkicker’s going to play them. And then he plays them.” He flexed his hands against his knees. “I’ve seen it over and over again.”
He spoke easily, as if he’d anticipated every question she would ask, but the venom in his voice when he talked about Dowell made her tend to believe him. It’s hard to fake hate.
“You know where he is, don’t you?”
“I do,” he said. “And no, I will not tell you.” He looked at her, eyes steady. “My goal is to keep you alive.”
She searched his face. “How do you know all of this? Are you a cop?”
For the first time he hesitated, as if deciding how much to tell her. “My interest in Martin Dowell’s case goes back as far as yours.”
This was the opening she’d been waiting for. She leaned forward. “How did you know my parents? Will you tell me that much, at least?”
He paused. “I’ll tell you what I can. But could I trouble you first for a cup of coffee? It’s been a hell