Lucas glanced out the window where large snowflakes were drifting past the glass, the sun already low in the sky. He paused for a second and then said simply, “Thank you.” He looked back at Harper again, and she switched from one foot to the other.
For a moment there she had wondered if they’d ask her to drive Lucas home too since he lived near Driscoll. Maybe the men were being cautious with her safety, or maybe they had another reason pertaining to protocol that called for Paul to transport him. Whatever the reason, she felt slightly relieved and slightly . . . disappointed. “Harper Ward,” she said, thrusting her hand in front of her.
“Harper Ward,” Lucas repeated, his gaze held steady on her face. He dropped his eyes, staring at her outreached palm for a moment before raising his own hand and wrapping it around hers. His hand was large and warm and calloused, and the feel of it made her breath catch, part thrill, part fear. He was all man, every bit of him, and never in her life had she felt another person’s presence so keenly. Never had she been stared at with so much intensity. It unsettled her. It intrigued her.
Mostly it unsettled her.
Maybe.
Deputy Brighton appeared from the front of the office, glancing at Lucas. “All ready?” he asked. But he looked like the one who was unsure. Lucas nodded and they all left the station together, a blast of icy snow hitting them in the face, causing Agent Gallagher to draw back and raise his hood. “Damn that’s cold.”
“Welcome to winter in Montana.”
Agent Gallagher gave Harper a rueful smile, squinting against the flurry. “Is this a welcome or a warning?”
Despite the heightened awareness of Lucas trudging next to her, she managed a laugh. “Maybe a little bit of both.”
Harper glanced at Lucas and saw that he was looking around, his gaze moving from the lawn and garden shop across the street—closed for the season—to the distance where a few homes could be seen among the bare trees, smoke spiraling lazily from the chimneys. He looked her way, and, for a fleeting moment, she swore she saw grief on his face. But why? She shook it off, focusing on her boots stepping through the snow in the parking lot. She had to stop trying to read that man. He sent her mind spinning.
And he might be dangerous.
Even Deputy Brighton was glancing at him suspiciously like he’d been assigned to transport a wild animal. But what? Was Lucas supposed to walk twenty miles home in a snowstorm just because he’d had the bad luck to walk in front of a sheriff’s vehicle and knew the murder victim? Okay, there was the bow and arrow too—but they were different, and didn’t it stand to reason that if one person hunted that way, others did as well?
She had no idea why she was trying to justify anything on his behalf.
They got to her truck next to Deputy Brighton’s SUV, the words Helena Springs Sheriff Department plastered across the side, and Harper turned at the same time Lucas did.
Like a few minutes before in the station, Lucas’s eyes locked on Harper’s. “Goodbye.” Lucas’s coat had opened slightly in the wind, and Harper noticed a dark shirt beneath it that looked to be regular cotton. A T-shirt? Something Driscoll had given him for some fish, or berries, or who the hell knew what else? What had he had to trade in order to stay on Driscoll’s property? A shiver went down her spine.
“Goodbye,” she murmured.
As he shifted to turn away, something around Lucas’s neck fell forward onto the dark material of his shirt, pulling Harper’s gaze to it. A round silver locket on a leather string. Strange jewelry for a man. Something about it . . . something about it . . . Harper realized she was holding her breath as she leaned forward, her hand beginning to extend unconsciously to pick that locket up in her fingers, get a better look at it—
Lucas turned and opened the back door of the deputy’s vehicle, closing it between them. Their eyes caught one last time through the glass, and then the SUV pulled away, disappearing into the falling snow.
CHAPTER EIGHT
A burst of light. Jak flinched, reaching back for the darkness. He floated for a minute, two, but cold was pricking at his skin. Hurt. Yes, he was achy, cold . . . but not as