The Specialist (Norcross #3) - Anna Hackett Page 0,6
and she grabbed the edge of the table for support. “What?”
“I told you, he’s…not a good man.”
She swallowed. “He’s a criminal.”
Her father’s blue-green eyes met hers. They roiled with emotion. “He’s never been charged with anything.”
“Dad,” she breathed. “How could you get involved with someone like that?”
“I was desperate.” His face turned miserable. “I messed up, Princess.”
He was perspiring. Anger swelled inside her. She couldn’t believe he’d done this. Risked everything.
But this was her father. The man who’d hugged her when she’d needed it, taught her to drive, and while he wasn’t perfect, she knew he loved her.
She grabbed his hand again. “What can we do?”
He squeezed her fingers. “Harlow…” He swallowed. “I need some money.”
“I have some savings. We can pay this man off.”
Her dad ran a hand through his hair. “I owe him more than you’d have.”
Harlow wasn’t drinking anything, but she still choked. “What? How much?”
“I’m not saying. But a down payment will buy me some time.”
Visions of her own place to renovate evaporated. “I have fifty thousand saved.” Saved from years of hard work.
Her dad squeezed her hand. “Thanks, baby girl, I can always count on you. Can you transfer it today?”
She nodded dully. A mix of anger and sadness welled inside her. “Does mom know?”
“No,” he said quickly. “And I want to keep it that way. This would kill her. You know how she is.”
Yes, Eleanor Carlson was…delicate. She coped with stress by avoiding it, ignoring it, and heading to bed with a headache.
He patted Harlow’s hand again. “This money will help me get some time to make things right. And get things in order before Scarlett’s next college payment is due.”
Harlow pulled in a breath. Scarlett was finally loving her studies and doing well.
“Thanks, Princess.” Her dad hugged her again, his arms tight, and a little desperate.
“Dad?”
He rose, his chair squeaking on the floor. “It’s all going to be okay.” He patted her back.
“The man who tried to grab me—”
“I’ll talk to Armand right away, and give him the money. He’ll leave you alone.”
Her nerves were dancing. She hated this.
“I’m so sorry, Harlow.”
She nodded and stood. “I need to get to work.”
“Right. Um, you’ll transfer the money right now?”
She nodded. “I’ll text you when it’s done.”
“Thanks. Bye, Princess.”
She watched him hurry out of the cafe and then pinched the bridge of her nose. Her phone pinged and she pulled it out. She had a bunch of messages.
What the—? They were all from the Tyrant.
Why will you be late?
Where are you?
Harlow, what’s going on?
Call me.
“Crap.” She tapped the app for an Uber. She’d be at the office soon, and she needed to transfer all her savings to her dad. The tyrant would have to wait.
Chapter Three
Easton rapped his knuckles on his desk.
Where the hell was she?
First, she’d said she was fine, then that she’d be late. He scowled. He wanted to see for himself that Harlow was all right.
He saw a flash of movement outside his office and heard someone at Harlow’s desk.
He strode across his office, and when he saw her, something in his chest eased.
“Ms. Carlson, you’re late.”
She looked up. She was perfectly put together as always, but her eyes looked sad. He shoved his hands in his pockets.
“My office. Now.” He turned around and strode back to his desk.
“I haven’t even sat down and it’s orders, orders, orders.” Harlow slammed his door and the walls rattled. “Yes, Master? You want to fire some grumpy, abrupt things at me?”
Easton swiveled, then closed in on her.
She stiffened.
He cupped her cheek. He saw the bruising she tried to hide with makeup around her left eye. He gently stroked it.
The scent of her wound around him. He swore her perfume was designed specifically to drive him crazy. “You smell good.” Fuck. “Forget I said that.”
“You smell good, too,” she said. “Forget I said that.”
Their gazes meshed, and a pulse of something moved between them.
She stepped back and his hand dropped.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
She cleared her throat. “I told you I was.”
“I can tell something’s wrong.”
Her eyelids dropped, like she was hiding from him. “Everything’s fine.”
“Harlow.” He reached for her.
She pushed his hand away. “It is.”
“You know I was in the Army Rangers, right?”
“I…knew you were in the Army. The Rangers are special forces, right?”
He nodded. “I was a specialist in certain areas.”
She shifted. “Okay.”
“In interrogation.” Old memories pushed up, and as he was used to doing, Easton shoved them back down. “I’m trained to read minute facial cues and other physical body language. I