Hope's Peak (Harper and Lane #1)(35)

“I appreciate that, Captain.”

“What you said about Albie, he already got into the phone. Came up with the same name. Did it about an hour ago. He’s getting into all the messages and call logs as we speak.”

“Excellent.”

“Oh, a heads-up—I’m going to hold a conference at the front of the station in the next hour. It might be best to avoid coming in until after then. Luckily, the files in your possession are the only copies left of the originals. The real records. The press will only be able to dig so far,” Morelli says.

“Yes.” Harper looks as the door to the coffee shop opens. Stu emerges, phone in the crook of his shoulder, carrying two coffees. She takes hers, freeing him up to hold his phone properly. She doesn’t know who’s on the other end of Stu’s phone, but whoever it is has him riled up. His face is red, body language definitely aggressive.

“Uh, sir, about our conversation at the morgue—”

“Listen, Detective. You do what you’ve gotta do. I’ll worry about my own ass. Check in with me later.”

“I will, sir. I appreciate it.”

The captain ends the call and Harper barely notices, her attention is so fixed on what Stu is doing. He paces back and forth, voice rising to near-hysterical levels as he gets angrier. Harper puts her phone away and walks toward him. Now she can hear his voice—an angry growl he doesn’t make often. Only when he’s really pissed.

“. . . no, listen to me, Karen. No! You listen to me!”

Stu sees Harper coming and turns his back.

“Well I don’t know where you got that from, but you’re wrong. So fucking wrong . . . Who? He did? That’s alright . . .”

He snaps his phone shut.

“Hey,” Harper says.

“My ex-wife. She tells me I’m such a loser for cheating on her, for throwing my marriage away.”

“Calm down. You look like you’re about to have a stroke,” Harper tells him in her most level, reasoning voice, despite the thumping of her own blood in her ears. “Let’s go to the car.”

“Wait. That’s not it. Guess who bumped into her a while back in the supermarket, of all places?”

Harper draws a blank.

“Dudley. Karen said it was Dudley who told her about you and me, said we started hooking up as soon as we became partners. Told her we were having a fucking affair.”

“What? she asks incredulously. “That little bastard . . . but why? That’s so random.”

“I don’t know, but I’m gonna find out.” Stu charges toward the car, his blood pressure up.

Harper catches up with him. “Stu, hold on a second. Don’t go rushing off. Wait.” She grabs him by the arm and forces him to stop. “Wait! Look, we don’t know all the facts yet. But we will. It’ll do us both no good to have you flying at Dudley right now. And anyway, we can’t go to the station just yet.”

“Why?”

“There’s a ton of press there. Morelli told me to steer clear for now,” Harper says.

Stu falls silent. He puts his coffee on the top of his car and leans against the side of the vehicle.

Harper uses a softer tone than usual. “Stu.”

He looks at her.

“Why don’t you come with me to see Ida? We can sort all this out later. I’ll tell Morelli.”

Stu considers it for a minute. Eventually he says, “Fine” and gets in the car.



Some of the time, they fuck all day.

Ceeli is fifty years old with a deep-brown, perfect complexion, has streaks of gray in her kinky black hair, but has kept a good figure. Her tits sag when they’re free of her bra, but it doesn’t bother Lester all that much—they’re still big enough to bury his tortured face in when she’s on top of him, and that’s all that matters. He loves that she’s skilled with those thick lips that are so quick to smile.

“You don’t ever worry Mack if gonna find out?” Lester asks her, lying in the double bed she shares with her husband, watching Ceeli get back into her dress.

“No. He don’t pay me no attention, Lester, you know that.”

“Yeah.”

“Besides,” she says, grinning at him. “I like that big ole cock of yours. I swear, I never rode one like it. Makes me feel like a girl again.”

He doesn’t know what to say; he never does. The only time Lester is confident is when he’s with his girls, when he makes them sleep, watching their faces change and knowing that they see him; they really see him for who he is inside. The angel in devil’s clothing.

To Ceeli he is a toy to be played with. The role is reversed.

“What waf it you wanted fixin’ anyway?” Lester asks, following Ceeli downstairs, adjusting the suspenders on his jeans.

“It was me needed the fixing, Lester honey. And God knows if you ain’t done a good job this time,” Ceeli says, followed by a hoarse chuckle. They walk into the kitchen. Ceeli holds a glass under the faucet at the sink.

Lester’s hands fall to her hips, to the big round cheeks of her ass beneath the dress.

“Stop it, Lester. God, ain’t you satisfied after screwin’ me all day long? Damn, I can feel you’re hard already.”

She can’t see the face he is making as he lifts the back of her skirt. “I’m never fatiffied.”