If Harley hadn’t wanted to kill the bastard before, he certainly did now. You never treated a woman the way he just treated the dark-haired beauty who had just walked in. He knew from Matthews’s file that she was Norah McNamara, Matthews’ twenty-six-year-old fiancée.
She had grown up in shelters and met the seemingly charitable man at a banquet two years prior. They had been inseparable ever since. There was no evidence that she had anything to do with Matthews’s organization, but he would still bring her in for questioning, just to be sure. Even if she wasn’t involved, perhaps she knew something without even realizing it. There wasn’t any way you could spend every waking moment of two years without someone and not know anything.
She bothered Harley just as much as these other donors. A real-life Cinderella story, they had called her. Went from living in shelters to snagging the wealthiest man in Seattle. How much of her soul had she sold in order to get where she was now?
In the few pictures they had managed to gather of her, you could see that she was pretty, but now he knew that they did her no justice. She was, in fact, devastatingly gorgeous. The kind of woman any man would do nearly anything to get her to give them the time of day. Perhaps that was how she had snagged Matthews.
She was slim, but not without curves, and looked as if she stood very close to six feet with heels. Her dark, almost black hair was scooped up into a neat bun and her dark eyes were lined with makeup. Her lips were full and coated in a shade of red that made his blood heat.
Harley had squirmed in his chair when he had seen the way Matthews had gripped her slender arm. He wanted his hands on the man’s throat, wanted to watch as the last breath of life slipped from his lungs. Later, he told himself, the fucker would rot in prison. Regardless of the fact that she was quite possibly in on his organization, she still hadn’t deserved to be manhandled that way. He was going to just love questioning Matthews.
* * *
HARLEY BARELY LISTENED as the speaker stood to speak about how they were doing something wonderful here and how there would be less homeless on the street after tonight. He tried not to scoff at the last statement. There would be less dead after they took Matthews out. Harley signaled to the two agents that were stationed by the door as Matthews and Norah stood and made their way towards the exit.
As he followed, he tried his best to keep his eyes up and off her perfect body and the way it swayed as she walked. He followed closer than he would have normally, that way he could get her out of the way once his agents moved in. He wanted to make sure she didn’t take off once they went for her fiancé.
He was just pushing his way out through the door when it happened. He heard the gunshots first and looked over to find a stunned Norah. Matthews did the same, except he reached for her and then pulled her in front of his own body in an attempt to shield himself from the spray of bullets.
“Fuck!” Harley yelled, and lunged for her. He tackled her to the ground and covered her body with his while the shots continued to ring out. The screams broke through his concentration and he watched in horror as dozens of people continued to scatter, some running back into the building for cover.
He pulled an unconscious Norah behind a parked car for shelter and reached for his weapon as he moved into a crouch position. Where in the hell was backup? Harley searched for Matthews. He found him running back towards the building. He was just about to go for him when the first round buried itself in Matthews’s back. Harley watched as Matthews’s body jerked with more rounds and then hit the ground.
His face was turned to Harley and his eyes were frozen open. Son of a bitch! Harley nearly yelled it. The man was dead and they were now back at square one.
Tires squealed and the gunshots stopped. Harley turned back to Norah and quickly checked her for injuries. He breathed a sigh of relief when all he found were scrapes and a shallow cut on her forehead from hitting the pavement. It could have been much worse. Much worse, he thought again as he looked to where Matthews lay. Shit, Matthews was dead and it was his fault. He could have pulled him out of the way instead of the woman. But the bastard had tried to use her as a fucking shield. He’d had to save her. He removed his jacket and tore a sleeve from his dress shirt to press to her forehead.
He heard the sirens and stood to assess the situation. His company didn’t exactly work with the law, and they would ask questions he did not have the authority to answer, so he lifted Norah and headed for his vehicle around the corner. He paid no attention to the people who glanced his way, and was glad when no one tried to stop him.
Son of a bitch, he thought again. His boss was definitely not going to be pleased with this outcome. This meant there was so much more going on behind the scenes than they had originally believed. If Matthews had been a target, then who was at the head?
He loaded Norah in the car and then climbed in on the driver’s side. He looked over at the woman passed out in the seat next to him. Fuck, he thought to himself. What in the hell was he supposed to do now? He felt a sting in his arm and looked over to see blood had soaked through his only remaining sleeve. He hadn’t even felt the bullet, he realized. When Harley saw the sirens, he pulled into the street—he could check himself out later.
Harley drove until he pulled up to a small house in the middle of a quaint neighborhood on the outskirts of Seattle. It was a rougher part of town, so people tended to mind their own business. It was why he had chosen it as a safe house.
Once the car was safely tucked into the garage, Harley tore the remaining sleeve of his dress shirt down and exposed the wound on his arm. Luckily, the bullet had only grazed him.
He looked over as Norah started to stir. He wanted to get the wound on her forehead cleaned and closed before she woke, so he went around the car and lifted her in his arms.
Once inside, he laid her down in the only bedroom. Her gown was torn and wet from the puddle they had fallen in when he had tackled her to the ground. She started to shiver, and Harley went to the car to retrieve the bag of clothes he had packed for himself.
He pulled out his sweatshirt and placed it on the bed next to her. Careful to not see anything he wasn’t supposed to, he unhooked the halter of the dress and partially unzipped the back, then placed his sweatshirt over her head and pulled the wet gown off from under it.