14

He had no idea why he'd done it.

Actually he had no real idea exactly how he managed to find her.

Mark had every intention of just going home. Resting. Laying low and trying to come to terms with what had happened. It should have been easy. Instead he'd found himself driving west along the highway, into a city he'd never been before. And something had pushed him right to Harper's door.

The worst part was for a very short period of time he had not really been in control of himself. What had he been trying to prove? Something inside him wanted her – whether it was because of what had happened, or because she had been a target and could have died, hell maybe because she was a target because of helping him – Mark did not know. He'd felt like a passenger in his own body until reality had hit him. Harper hadn't mentioned it but he knew she could smell the gasoline that had splashed on him at some point. He hadn't noticed until he'd basically dropped back into himself.

He showered and scrubbed until he could smell nothing but the soap that the hotel provided. By the time he got back to the bed Harper was already mostly asleep. He gave in to the temptation of crawling into bed with her. She had almost immediately dropped into a deeper sleep. Mark wished he had been able to follow her lead. He was tired but not sleepy, and confused in a way that he hadn't been in a long time. He didn't understand what had brought him here. And he was at an even bigger loss trying to figure out why he had used Harper the way he had.

Eventually he couldn't stand not sleeping. He slipped from the bed, got dressed, and took her room key. It only took a few minutes to go to the parking garage and get her gun from his truck. He hesitated though, fingering the piece of paper and her note. If he were smart he'd leave it with the gun and try to forget everything. It was how he usually got on with his excuse for a life.

He couldn't do it though. He tucked the paper into his pocket and took the gun case back up to Harper's room. She slept on, unaware that he had moved. He looked at her, feeling a pang of regret, before leaving her key where he'd found it and stepping out of the room. He had to. If he stayed he'd be tempted to get back into the bed. And then in the morning she would expect an explanation for what had happened. And what would he tell her? He'd gotten blood on his hands, in the literal sense, and so he'd screwed her to force himself back to reality?

He didn't even understand it himself.

Mark drove aimlessly for hours, stopping finally when it registered that he was nearly out of gas. He had no idea where he was – not headed in the direction that would take him home, for that he would have to head south and east. No. He was still driving west. The snow had stopped at some point during the night after leaving behind ten inches. The roads were mostly clear, at least the main highway. He took the nearest exit and refueled, wondering what the hell he was doing.

Something was driving him. Obviously. He paused for a minute after paying for his gas and stood next to his truck, one hand on the door, the other holding his keys. He closed his eyes and tried to clear his head. And again he felt it. That tug west. It made no sense. But he knew better than to try to fight it. It would get worse if he tried to fight it.

So he continued on. It wasn't as if Mark had more pressing plans. He only stopped once, for coffee. Soon enough he found himself in a city he had never been, driving streets he'd never heard of. Basically just getting a feel for things. There was a definite vibe here; he just couldn't figure out what the vibe was. He almost felt like he was holding his breath, waiting for something to happen.

Eventually Mark checked in to a motel. He had to. Whatever need was driving him took a lot out of him. He dropped into a heavy sleep as soon as his head hit the pillow and did not move until almost ten the next morning. The pull was still there but he was more clear-headed. He showered and got dressed, only noticing after he had packed his bags that he was wearing nearly solid black from head to toe. He couldn't even remember buying the black pants at the store – of course he had been tracking Harper's movements so he had basically just thrown things that were his size into his basket. He checked out of the motel and climbed into his truck, hardly aware that there was light traffic on the road or that he was pulling into a pair of gates that marked the edge of a large cemetery.

He absolutely had no business being there. He didn't know anyone who would be buried there, so he had no interest in any of the grave markers. But there was a crowd gathering on a slight rise near the back of the place. He moved in that direction, mixing in with other mourners, none of them seeming to be too heartbroken. He glanced around, curious, noting that most of the attendees were older men with a few women interspersed among them. Some were wives, but they all held an obvious disinterest in the service. It was as if they were all there more out of duty than to pay respects.

His eye fell on the one really bright spot of color in the group. A woman was seated in the front row near the grave, her white-blonde hair in perfect contrast to her black outfit. She was striking in a severe way, unapproachable, stoic. She held a white tissue in her hand but even from the back of the crowd Mark knew it was just stage dressing. The woman was no more crying than he was.

He finally looked away from her and scanned the crowd once more, almost not recognizing Harper. He didn't know why he had expected her to look exactly as she had the day before. It was a funeral after all. She was wearing a skirt and a dressy sweater top. Her dark hair was pinned back on the sides and fell in waves past her shoulders. The completely bored expression on her face nearly made him smile. That was until she looked around and her eyes fell on him.

~!~

Harper got into town with a few hours to spare.

It was a lot closer than she had planned but she wasn't going to complain about her diversions. She checked into a hotel and spent an hour showering and dressing for the day ahead. Only when she was ready did she call Colleen.

She certainly didn't sound bereaved. Instead she was extremely pissed off that Harper dared to stay in a hotel instead of at the house. Harper refused to let herself get riled. She figured that was Colleen's goal – to make her angry then claim it was Harper being unreasonable.

"I'm not staying at the house." Harper said when Colleen paused for a breath. "I hate the house. You stay at the house, I'll stay here. This isn't a social visit and I want to have as little contact with you as humanly possible."

Her sister could only sputter at that. Harper got the joy of hanging up on her once again. Before Colleen could get the bright idea to call her room, she headed out. She would get to the funeral home early, but that was all right.

The next four hours were basically Harper's idea of hell. People she did not know kept offering condolences or hugging her. For her part she tried to keep straight face. Colleen appeared, fashionably late, and pretended to be the doting big sister. If anyone noticed that Harper did not reciprocate it was not mentioned. The funeral was packed – it was mostly Daniel's business contacts, which said all that needed to be said about the man. Harper found herself staring at the open casket with a sneer on her face and tried to cover it up. Whoever had said it was impossible to hate a dead man had not been through her life. She found herself hoping that he had suffered. A lot.

Eventually it was over. Harper just wanted to go back to her hotel and sleep for a few hours. She was still a bit sore from the previous night. Colleen had other ideas. As soon as the place cleared out she attacked.

"Nice stunt, waiting until the last minute. You know how important this is to us."

"Us?" Harper echoed.

"Yes, you ungrateful brat. Us." Colleen sniffed and tossed her hair. She still sported her straight hair in a shoulder-length bob, but Harper knew the hair color was no longer real. That platinum blonde was too brassy to be anything but a dye job. Colleen had aged and not well. It took Harper a moment to realize that her sister was technically pushing 50. The thought made her smile inwardly.

"I actually don't give one single fuck about how important this is to anybody." Harper said. She looked over her shoulder at the casket where Daniel lay. The funeral director had closed it up and the pall bearers were waiting in the next room to move the body to the cemetery. They were giving Colleen and Harper time to say their goodbyes, in theory. "You're lucky I don't spit on the pair of you. I'm still debating it, actually." Parker eyed Colleen's pristine black pantsuit. It was probably something with an expensive label.

Colleen's eyes narrowed. "The problem with you, Harper, is you always were too much like Mother for your own good. Always with your superior attitude and sarcastic mouth. You don't know how good you had it here."

Harper snorted at that. "Right. Other than having to barricade my door at night to keep that perverted piece of shit out of my room it was a real cakewalk."

Colleen cocked an eyebrow. "Oh please, Harper. Still making up stories about my father because he wasn't yours?"

Harper rolled her eyes. "Not my fault your sperm donor couldn't get it up with someone his own age." And Harper had been damned glad that Daniel's issues with getting erections apparently knew no boundaries. How old had she been when he'd first tried to touch her? Twelve. Maybe thirteen. The only time the old pervert had been halfway cordial to her was when he tried to have sex with her as an underage kid. Luckily he hadn't been able to go through with it. Of course by the third time he'd shown up in her room in the middle of the night Harper had wised up considerably. She hadn't threatened to scream – that would have been a waste of breath since Colleen was the only other person in the house and her room was far enough away that she wouldn't have heard anyway. She had stolen a knife from the kitchen. Not one of the big butcher knives, which had been pretty tempting. Just a regular old steak knife, but wickedly sharp. Daniel had backed her into a corner and tried to touch her chest; at that age was hadn't developed much of course. Harper had pulled the knife out and held it to his throat. It was the proverbial impasse. She hadn't even spoken a word.

What she did do was steal some money from him. She felt justified doing it. She went to a hardware store and invested in a deadbolt, which she installed on her door herself. It was keyless – it could only be locked or unlocked on the inside. Daniel stopped bothering her after that. His progression of barely legal "girlfriends" began.

Colleen sputtered at Harper's comment, trying to maintain her composure. It was something she'd had half a century to practice. She smiled coldly. "All of this spite. Poor little Harper. However will you go on without my father being your motivator?"

"Pretty sure I'll get by." Harper pushed her hair back over her shoulders and brushed absently at her sweater. Unlike Colleen's severe black suit, she was wearing a dark blue skirt and sweater combo. It was as close to mourning clothes as Harper was going to get. "Shouldn't you be moving on to phase two of this carnival? The burial?"

"Of course. You will ride with me in…" But Harper was shaking her head way before Colleen could complete her command.

"I think not. Have I not made myself clear that I want to stay as far away from you as possible?" Harper asked rhetorically. She checked she had her bag and left the funeral home on Colleen's huff of annoyed air.

Harper didn't even try to be a part of the burial. She stayed in the very back of the crowd – although the obituary had said the burial was to be private, there were just as many people there as had been at the funeral home. It was typical of Colleen. Her sister called on all of her acting ability to pull off the mourning daughter farce.

She let her eyes drift over the crowd. She didn't recognize any of these people, which wasn't surprising. She hadn't cared to know them when she was forced to live here, why would she care now? Her eye fell on one person and she had looked past him before she realized that he looked familiar.

Familiar? He stood out in this crowd. It was Mark. In the back of the pack, on the other side of the grave. He was looking at Harper intently. How the hell had he found her again? She tried to remember if she'd said where she was going but couldn't recall. It wasn't a bad thing, seeing him. A friendly face amid strangers. But this was the second time he'd just popped up. How weird.

Eventually it was over. There was going to be a reception at the house – once again advertised as private, but Harper already figured it would be nothing short of a networking party for Colleen. She chose to hang back, watching all the other mourners leave. Except for Mark. He waited until the others had cleared out before he approached her.

Harper managed to smile at him. "Hi, stranger."

Mark nodded in distraction. "I had a feeling."

Harper waited for him to complete the thought. Instead he shrugged helplessly.

The grounds crew had hesitated to complete the burial but she waved them on impatiently and watched as Daniel's casket was lowered into the ground. She even watched as they brought out the heavy equipment to move the dirt to fill in the hole. It was quite the educational experience for Harper. Plus she felt like a weight had lifted off her shoulders with every scoop of dirt that went into the hole. Mark stood silently beside her, hands in his pockets, lost in his own thoughts.

One of the crew members offered his sympathy. Harper nodded and asked if she could have one of his cigarettes. He gave her one and lit it. She hadn't smoked in years – it was one of those habits that she'd never fully gotten comfortable with. It made her feel a little dizzy but she smoked anyway, watching as the grounds crew finished smoothing out the dirt. They would lay down sod in a few days after the ground had time to settle. In the meantime this rectangle of dirt was all that was left.

Harper was well aware that the grounds crew and Mark were watching her with curiosity. She moved toward the grave and tossed the cigarette down. She stomped it with her foot and ground it into the dirt, hopefully right where the bastard's face was in his coffin. That had been worth the lightheadedness. She smiled brightly at the grounds keepers and turned to head back to her Jeep. Dancing on the grave would have to wait she supposed.

Mark followed her. Harper was starting to wonder if she was mistaking distraction for him being uncomfortable around her. After the night they'd had, maybe he felt like he should be embarrassed about popping up again. He opened her Jeep door for her which surprised Harper. She slid behind the wheel and watched as he stood there indecisively with her door open.

"What is it? And what do you mean, you had a feeling?" Harper finally asked when he couldn't seem to make a move.

"I can't explain it." He sighed heavily. "I just kept thinking there was trouble. It got stuck in my head…" He tapped his temple. "And here I am."

"Other than being bored to tears and having to deal with the bitch who shares half of my genetics, everything is fine. As far as I know."

"I still feel it though." He glanced around and seemed to realize where they were. "Last night…" He trailed off and looked annoyed with himself. "This shit is impossible for me to talk about." Harper merely studied him, saying nothing. "I took care of what I had to take care of. But there's still something going on. I can feel it."

"Nothing going on here but a bunch of rich jackasses celebrating the death of one of their own." Harper said with a shake of her head. "For some reason they want me at the reading of the will. Actually the lawyer said that the bitch and I both have to be present. It's bullshit but whatever. That's tomorrow morning. After that I'm going home. I hate it here. That hasn't changed a bit."

It was Mark's turn to study Harper. He slowly nodded. "I hope you aren't mad at me. Because of what happened between us yesterday…"

"Well. Not mad really. More confused than anything."

"I don't know what came over me." He frowned. "I just needed…" He was at a loss to explain it. Harper nodded in understanding.

"It's all right. I mean…I'm not complaining, it wasn't like I didn't enjoy myself." She smiled although it barely touched her eyes. "So are you going to tell me what happened? Before you showed up at my room. Maybe it'll help us figure out why you're here now." She hesitated again before finally turning to meet his eyes. "The plan was to go back to my hotel room and get ridiculously drunk."

"I'm not sure that's such a good idea." Mark said, speaking slowly. He half-smiled. "Me, going to your hotel room that is. I don't know if I trust myself." He clarified.

"Well it's a good thing I can make my own decisions about stuff like that." She shot him a sarcastic look and nodded toward the passenger seat. "You riding with me or following me in your truck?"

"I'd better get my truck. Give me two minutes." With that he walked away, disappearing over a slight rise. Harper shook her head and started her Jeep. She couldn't believe that Mark had once again popped up, but considering other things that had gone on it was not even the strangest thing that had happened since she'd left the house. Obviously he was here for a reason. She waited until he drove up behind her before leaving the cemetery and pointing her Jeep in the direction of the hotel.