Unspeakable Read online

He looked back at the information she’d gathered, listing the clubs McClane had frequented in the last few weeks. “You’ve seen your fair share of shady characters. You think he’s one of them? That he’s some kind of predator?”

  Harper thought back to McClane’s dark eyes and his chiseled good looks. She knew first impressions could be deceiving. She also knew evil came in many different packages and that she wasn’t always the best at recognizing it at first glance. Noah Pierce was a perfect example of that. “I’m not sure what he is. But I’m fairly certain there’s more to him than meets the eye.”

  “In this case, I’m inclined to agree with you.” He set her papers down and pinned her with a hard look. “I did some of my own digging. Strauss isn’t the first dancer to go missing from a Portland club in the last year. Word on the street is that a handful of girls—all on the young side—have vanished recently. In most cases they’re not reported because they’re too young to be working in the clubs to begin with. Owners don’t want to draw any unwanted police attention. But there’s definitely something going on.”

  Harper’s eyes narrowed. “How many girls are you talking about?”

  “At least eight.”

  Shit. Eight was not a coincidence. “Are the police investigating this?”

  “Not that I’m aware of. But it’s interesting, especially considering this case. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  Yeah, it was more than interesting. She suddenly had a burning need to know where those girls had gone and if McClane had visited the clubs where they’d worked. “You think it’s possible McClane is involved in these other disappearances?”

  Andy shrugged. “I’m not speculating one way or the other. I can tell you I’ve known the McClane family for years. It’s amazing what they’ve done with those kids. Rusty, though . . . well, he’s always been a loner and a bit of an unpredictable character. Hannah and Michael did their best with him, but considering his background . . .” He sighed and shook his head.

  Harper’s instincts went on alert all over again. She knew from her research that Hannah and Michael McClane, both doctors, had adopted all five of their children—four boys and one girl. Three of the boys, including Russell McClane, had been adopted when they were in their early teens. They’d adopted the daughter when she was about ten, and the last sibling, also a boy, had been adopted only recently and was about to graduate from high school. All had come from questionable backgrounds, and all seemed to have straightened out their lives after joining the McClane family. All except Russell, it seemed.

  “You think this missing girl is somehow linked to his past?” she asked.

  “I’m not sure. It’s our job to defend him, though, should this missing person case turn into something else. And to do that, we need to know Rusty’s motivations.”

  Which meant he wanted her to dig into McClane’s background and find out why the man seemed to have a thing for underage strippers.

  Harper gathered her papers and pushed back from the table, her mind spinning with options and scenarios. “I’ll see what I can find out.”

  Just before she reached the door, Andy called, “Oh, one more thing.”

  She paused and glanced back. “Yeah?”

  “Be careful with this one. The people who run these clubs aren’t exactly on the up-and-up. Most are involved in some pretty shady stuff.”

  “You don’t have to worry about me. I used to work homicide, remember?”

  “Yeah, but you always had a partner back then. Now you’re going it alone. That concerns me. If you need help—”

  “Andy.” His concern touched her. “I’m a big girl who can take care of herself. I also know what I’m doing.”

  “I know you do. Just promise me you’ll be careful.”

  A small smile curled her lips. “I will.”

  He held her gaze a long beat, then waved his hand and looked back down at his papers. “Okay, then. Go get on with it.”

  She pushed the door open and headed toward her office, a long-forgotten tingle of excitement stirring inside her. One she told herself had nothing to do with her attraction to the dark and brooding bad boy, McClane, and everything to do with the fact this case made her feel like a real detective again.

  One whose life wasn’t a total waste of time.

  As soon as Harper was gone, Andy leaned back in his chair and rubbed his throbbing forehead.

  He didn’t like lying to Harper. He liked sending her into harm’s way even less. But he needed answers, and she was the only way he was going to get them.

  Stomach rolling at what he had to do next, he reached for the burner phone in his back pocket and dialed. He didn’t want to make the call, but he knew if he didn’t share what he already had, his life could be in even worse shit than it already was.

  “Yeah?” A voice answered on the second ring. A familiar voice. A voice that sent the hair on Andy’s neck standing straight up.

  “I think I might have a lead on Robin Hood.”

  “Really? That’s the best news I’ve heard all day. Tell.”

  “My investigator is looking into it. I picked up a client who’s a person of interest in the missing stripper case at Leather and Lace.”

  “Name?”

  Bile rose inside Andy’s chest. “I-I can’t divulge that yet.”

  “I want Robin Hood. If he escapes because you wouldn’t give up a name, I won’t be happy. And you know what happens when I’m not happy.”

  Fear spiked Andy’s blood pressure. “As soon as I know for sure if it’s him, I’ll let you know. I promise. I’m looking into it. If it’s him, I won’t get in your way. But . . .” He knew he was walking a dangerous line here, but he didn’t want to see anyone dead. Especially because of him. “But if it is him, it might make sense to let the cops deal with him. If this case goes where I think it might, he could be looking at spending the rest of his life in jail.”

  “I don’t want Robin Hood in jail. I want him dead. And if you get in the way of that, he won’t be the only person on my list.”

  Andy swallowed hard. “You know I won’t.”

  “Good. Call me when you have more.”

  The line clicked dead in Andy’s ear. Hand sweating, he dropped the burner phone on the table, rested his elbows on the shiny surface, and braced his palms against his eyes.

  He’d gotten wrapped up with the wrong people long ago, all for a quick buck and a better life. And even though he’d turned things around and worked his ass off to stay on the straight and narrow ever since, he was still paying for that one fateful mistake.

  His only hope now was that Harper would find the connections he’d laid out in front of her. And that it would be enough to get him off the hook once and for all.

  Rusty wasn’t in the mood to work. Or talk. But since it was almost noon on a Monday, he knew there was no way he was getting out of either. If he’d been smart, he’d have waited an hour to come in. By one o’clock Abby, his part-time office manager, would have been gone. But he’d already wasted half a day on that stupid meeting, and he knew he was likely going to waste at least another hour on his computer researching Harper Blake and whatever burr was stuck up the woman’s skirt.

  Bypassing the construction crew hammering away on the old barn he was converting into a new tasting room, processing facility, and office for his winery, he jogged up the three steps of the portable trailer he was currently using as an office and pulled the door open. Just as he expected, Abby was busy at work, hunched over some papers, her dark hair streaked with silver falling into her eyes.

  “Hey.” She looked up when he entered and adjusted her too-big glasses on her small nose as she shook back her wayward locks. “Was wondering when you’d show. I didn’t see your truck at the house when I came in this morning. Dare I guess you had an exciting weekend?”

  “Exciting” was not how Rusty would describe his weekend. And he wasn’t about to get into any of it with his motherly assistant who took an unnatural interest in his personal life. If
she had any clue what he’d been up to . . .

  He moved past her desk, pulled open the small fridge in the corner of the room, and grabbed a soda. Not going there. He was already trying to figure out how he’d explain things to his real mother. He didn’t need to explain things to Abby as well. “Nothing eventful. Just family stuff. Anything important going on here?”

  “Nothing I can’t handle.” She handed him a trio of phone messages. “You need to deal with these this afternoon. Oh, and the guys up at the barn need you to walk through and mark where you want the electrical outlets.”

  Easy enough. “What about in the vineyard?”

  “Pruning was finished this morning. Will and Ian are cleaning up, then taking off for the afternoon.”

  Rusty nodded. Will and Ian were college kids he employed part-time to help him manage the twenty acres that made up his vineyard. His operation was a small one. For the last five years, he’d focused on perfecting his biodynamic farming techniques by growing mostly pinot noir grapes and selling them to other wineries for processing. Now that he’d made a name for himself with a vineyard that had eliminated the need for chemicals but consistently produced high-yield fruit of exceptional quality, it was time to expand. Things would pick up once the winery and tasting room were complete, but for now it was just him, Abby, Will and Ian, and a handful of seasonal workers during the busy months.

  “I’ll take care of these.” He moved past Abby, carrying the phone messages. “You heading out soon?”

  “Yes. Just finishing paying some of these bills.” She turned as he pushed the door to his office open. “Oh, and the bank wants you to call with an update on the construction progress sometime this week.”

  He knew that. It was already on his calendar. The bank that had given him the loan for the expansion was pressuring him to keep the construction on schedule. “I’ll get to it. Have a good afternoon, Abs.”

  “You sure everything’s o—”

  He didn’t hear the rest of what she said. The door clicked closed before she could finish her sentence. Which was completely fine with him. He liked Abby. She was efficient and gave him the space he needed. But she was friendly with his mom. At this point he didn’t need to say or do anything that would make things worse for him with Hannah McClane.

  The hammering from the construction crew echoed through the thin walls of the portable, making his nerves vibrate as he moved around his desk, dropped into his chair, and flipped open his laptop. He had half a mind to tell them to stop, that he wasn’t in the mood for the incessant noise today, but he couldn’t. Everything was riding on keeping to the construction timeline. If he didn’t, the bank was going to come down on him hard, and he did not want to have to dip into the trust fund he’d gotten from his biological mother again. As soon as he could, he was paying back what he’d already borrowed. He didn’t want the stench of that money on his hands any longer.

  An image of the old arched double doors that led to the caves lit up his laptop screen, instantly relaxing him. Aside from the portable and the old barn, there was a small farmhouse on the corner of the property where he lived. But it was the caves he really considered home. They were what had sold him on this property almost fourteen years before. They were the reason his life had taken a major detour.

  The caves had barely been anything back then—just cutouts, really, where the previous owner had stored farm machinery—but he’d known the moment he saw them that they could be more. So he’d dropped out of school, taken a big part of his inheritance to buy the land, and started a vineyard. Hannah and Michael had told him he was nuts, that he didn’t know the first thing about owning property or being a farmer, and when he was twenty-one, they’d been right. But he hadn’t cared. He’d had a vision, and he was determined to see it through. He’d struggled. He’d nearly worn his fingers to the bone—multiple times. He’d worked odd jobs to keep the place afloat. And now, almost a decade and a half later, he was months away from seeing his long-ago vision turn into a reality; from transforming a barren piece of ground into a real-life working winery.

  If, that is, his extracurricular activities didn’t catch up with him and land his ass in jail first.

  Frowning, he tapped the keypad and pulled up a search engine. After typing in “Harper Blake,” he waited while the sites populated and then scanned what came up.

  He definitely wasn’t feeling comfortable after that meeting with Renwick and his investigator. Renwick he was okay with—though the man wouldn’t have been Rusty’s first choice in attorneys for this particular situation, he knew his parents had set up the meeting because Renwick had handled Rusty’s legal affairs since the time he’d joined the McClane family back when he was just a teen. He didn’t particularly like Renwick knowing any of the shit he was into today, but he hadn’t given the lawyer anything that could incriminate him. And the cops were operating on leads, nothing more. He knew they were never going to find that girl. None of that was what bothered Rusty. No, what bothered him was the man-hater vibes he’d picked up from the shark in heels who’d eyed him across that conference table as if he were a predator she couldn’t wait to stab with her fancy pumps.

  Portland Detective Resigns Amid Affair Scandal.

  Rusty clicked the first link that popped up and started reading. And before he’d even gotten through half the article, he knew his assessment of the slim brunette with the hazel eyes had been right. She definitely didn’t like men.

  According to the article, she’d risen to the rank of detective after only a few short years on the force, not an easy feat for a woman. Part of that had been due to her name—her father had been the deputy chief of police until his death roughly two years before, and he’d been well respected throughout the city. But a bigger part had been due to the name she’d made for herself by being tough and unemotional at crime scenes, for getting the job done, and, more importantly, for solving her cases. Some in the department had even thought she was on the fast track to one day becoming chief of police. But her career had taken a serious nosedive when she’d been caught making a move on her very married partner one night after hours. She’d claimed it was a mutual attraction. He’d cried reverse sexual harassment and that she’d used her legacy with the department to try to intimidate him.

  For a while, it had looked like a “he-said, she-said” case that would result in no more than a slap on the wrist for both of them. Until, that is, her previous patrol partner had stepped forward to inform the powers-that-be that she’d done the same thing to him. That she’d manipulated him into an affair he hadn’t wanted by claiming she’d report him for sexual harassment if he didn’t sleep with her and that no one would believe him if he told anyone since her daddy was the deputy chief of police.

  Rusty sat back and frowned. Oh yeah, she was a definite man-hater. Not just because she’d lost her job, thanks to a man, but because two had called her out for being a black widow.

  He definitely did not need a woman like that digging into his past and the fucked-up things he was doing after hours now. Especially not with the way she’d looked at him earlier today. She hadn’t believed a word of his story. She’d branded him guilty of that girl’s disappearance without a shred of evidence. And that meant he needed to stay as far away from Harper Blake as was humanly possible.

  Shoving his laptop closed, he pushed to his feet and headed for the door. He was feeling too claustrophobic to sit in this dingy office and return calls. He’d check in with the construction guys, walk through the vines and inspect the pruning job, then visit the caves. That would settle him down. And when he was feeling more in control, then he’d figure out how the fuck he was going to keep his ass out of jail.

  After, of course, he’d started researching which girl would be his next target.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Harper could count on one hand the number of friends she still had within the Portland Police Department. And she could count on one finger the number of friends in the PPD she trusted.
r />   As she sat in the back corner of the coffee shop in downtown Portland, nursing the sorry excuse for a cappuccino in front of her, she hoped like hell she could still trust that one friend. And that she wasn’t screwing herself over by talking to him now.

  The front door to the trendy shop opened with a jangle of bells, and Brett Callahan stepped into the café. He spotted her in the back with one look, but no reaction showed on his weathered face—no smile, no frown, no nothing. Not that his nonreaction surprised her. Brett had always been hard to read.

  Since he’d been promoted to detective only a few weeks ago, he was dressed in a gray suit that hung off his shoulders instead of the blue uniform she was used to seeing on him. Her stomach tightened as he pushed the hair off his forehead and wove around afternoon shoppers on a caffeine break and headed her way.

  Sitting up straighter, she slid the mocha she’d ordered for him across the table, then looked up with a half smile as he drew close and pulled out the chair across from her. “Hey, Callahan.”

  “Blake.” He sat and reached for the paper cup she’d left for him. “Thanks.” He took a long sip of the chocolaty drink, then closed his eyes and sighed. “Needed this. Coffee downtown is shit . . . as I’m sure you remember.”

  She did. But, damn, she missed that shit.

  “Thanks for meeting me,” she said. “I hope it wasn’t too much of an inconvenience.”

  “You’re never an inconvenience. I’m just glad I had the time. Robinson’s got me on three different cases that are keeping me pretty busy.”

  Daryl Robinson was the captain in charge of the detectives division at PPD and ran an extremely tight ship. He’d been promoted only about three months before Harper had been asked, not so eloquently, to resign, and she had very few fond memories of the man. In fact, he was one of the people on her list she couldn’t wait to see go down because he hadn’t had the balls to stand up for her.

  She lifted her coffee and sipped, knowing better than to bring up any of the past today. “I’m sure you’ll make the best of it. How’s your new partner?”