What was she going to do now? With Clayton gone, she had no idea what she was supposed to do next. Her entire life over the last two years had been orchestrated around him. Who was she without him? He had insisted she quit the two jobs she was working to survive, had pushed her to spend more time with him and not with her best friend. She hadn’t even talked to Reagan in almost a month. Every time she had found time to be at the shelter, her friend hadn’t been volunteering.
He had insisted on paying for everything. She still had her emergency stash of cash she had stocked up before she had even met him. Her apartment had been paid for through the end of the year, so at least she had some time to come up with a plan. What hit her the hardest, though, was that she was going to have to put her future on hold again in order to work to survive and still manage to volunteer. There was no way she could afford school right away by herself, so she was going to have to work to save the money, and she refused to take on so many hours that she couldn’t help at the shelter.
School. She sighed. She had just gotten the courage and put together a backup argument to get Clayton to agree to let her attend school. It had been one of those things they had talked about when they first got together, but it continued to get pushed back until he finally told her he didn’t think it was appropriate for her to want to work. She had of course argued that she didn’t consider it work, but he hadn’t budged.
She had spent days putting together an argument that would prove to him it was beneficial for her to become a social worker. Now that was a moot point. He was dead and she could go if she wanted to. Student loans were an option, she supposed. She would survive without him. She had survived by herself ever since she had been a teenager; she certainly could do it now. Couldn’t she?
Norah looked up when she heard Harley clear his throat.
* * *
“Morning, Miss McNamara, how did you sleep?” He stood and walked into the kitchen.
“Okay.”
Harley nodded. He stood and watched as the coffee poured into the pot. The scent of the brew made his aching head weep with relief.
“How do you take it?” he asked as he poured the steaming liquid into two mugs.
“Black is fine, thanks.”
Harley handed her a mug and then stood to study her for a moment. She didn’t strike him as a liar, or a criminal. Then again, Clayton Matthews hadn’t looked like one, either. It was the clean-cut criminals that seemed to stay above the radar the longest.
“So tell me about your fiancé.” He took his seat back in the chair across from the couch and watched her face.
“What about him?”
“There must have been a reason someone wanted him dead bad enough that they shot up a charity banquet.”
“What makes you think they were after him?” She was defensive, he noted. Still not an admission of guilt, but it was something.
“He was the only one killed. They continued shooting until they knew he was dead and then took off. Stands to reason he was the target.”
“Not necessarily. Dozens of other donors were there. It could have been any one of them.” She set her cup down and crossed her arms.
“Humor me for a moment and let’s just pretend it was him. Who would want him dead?”
“I have no idea. Clayton stayed pretty under the radar with the public. The only time he made large appearances was at banquets. Other than that he worked from home and held his meetings in his office.”
“Did anyone ever leave angry? Seem to be unsatisfied with the meeting agenda?”
She shook her head. “No, not that I saw, anyways. I wasn’t usually around when he had his meetings. “
“Where were you?”
She studied him and her cheeks flushed. “Do you honestly think I killed him? That I thought it would be a good idea to hire someone to shoot up a banquet where I might be killed as well?”
“Thought had crossed my mind.” He lied, he needed to get a rise out of her.
“Then you’re an idiot. I wouldn’t have killed Clayton.”
“Because he was your meal ticket.” Her jaw dropped and her eyes narrowed on Harley. If looks could kill, he would have been joining Clayton in the six-foot-under group.
“No. I wouldn’t have killed him because I am not a murderer.”
“But he hit you.” He gestured to the bruise on her cheek and she immediately covered it.
“That was an accident.”
“I’m sure it was. Listen, there are some things that I need to understand before you can be released.”
“What’s that?”
“Were you aware of any organization that your fiancé was a part of?”
“Yes. He ran over a dozen charity organizations in the city.” The fire In her eyes was attractive, and he was having a damn fun time pissing her off.
“He ran groups that assisted those who were financially unstable. If they were going to lose their homes, he helped; if they couldn’t pay medical bills, he helped. He even ran a scholarship to help kids from low-income homes go to college. There were other various organizations that helped the homeless shelters, the women’s and children’s shelters, and even a few animal shelters. Good enough?” she asked angrily, and leaned back on the couch.
Harley tried to not look at the skin that was bare up to her thigh. He had no business being attracted to this woman.
“For now.” He took another drink of his coffee. Either she was a brilliant actress, or she truly had no idea the type of person she had been about to marry. “Once you’re done with your coffee, I’ll drive you home.”
“You’re going to let me go?”
Harley laughed. “Of course. I’m not going to hold you captive. I just had a few questions, that’s all.”
Turn her loose and see where she runs. He wasn’t going to get anything out of her this way, so maybe if he followed her, she might run back to whomever was running things. He pushed his conscience aside. He would be following her, so she wouldn’t be in any actual danger. Everything would be fine, he assured himself. His mission came first, and he had to know who was in charge.
* * *
“You’ll drive me home?” she questioned again as she climbed into his car. She had insisted on putting her stained and torn gown back on, and Harley had obliged. Who was he to tell her she couldn’t walk around Seattle looking as though she had walked through a car wash. At least it was finally dry.
“Yes. I’m not going to leave you in some back alley if that’s what you’re worried about. What’s the address?”
“I’m in the apartments on 128th street.”
“All right, I know where you’re talking about. Let’s get you home.”
The first ten minutes passed in silence before she finally broke it.
“How long have you been at the FBI?” she asked, her curiosity pushing back her anger for now. How dare he accuse her of killing Clayton and hurting those people at the dinner? She was not some criminal who got their jollies off on hurting people. I mean, goodness, I spend every hour I can at the shelters!
“FBI?” Even from the backseat, she could see the confusion spread across his face, and fear consumed her. Who was this man? He had said he was an agent, hadn’t he?