I remembered what the server said, that Harper was putting leftovers in the freezer. That was why she’d been in there. I stepped down onto the concrete floor. I wanted to pull my gun, but thought better of it. I didn’t need to draw attention to whatever the fuck was going on with the guests in the other part of the house.
Still, I squatted down, looked beneath the BMW for anyone hiding down the line. Nothing. I stood, listened to the soft murmurs of the party guests through the door, the hum of the fridge. I walked toward it and the freezer next to it, saw the strewn containers of leftovers on the floor where Harper must have dropped them.
I glanced back at the door, saw a sliver of Harper through the opening. She was right where I’d left her, although I could see the stiff backbone she seemed to have all the time was definitely gone.
Not wanting to leave her alone for long, I lifted the lid on the freezer, stared down. Fuck. They called these things dead body freezers for a reason.
Lying stiff on top of frozen pizza boxes, Tupperware containers, a tub of ice cream, and bags of frozen vegetables was a dead guy. Based on the bullet hole in his forehead, he’d been offed. As recently as today, because his skin hadn’t turned a papery white yet from days of sitting in sub-room temperatures. Put on ice, literally, until whoever did this could enjoy the party then do something with him.
I didn’t recognize him. Forties. Salt and pepper hair. Receding hairline that accentuated the hole into his brain. Black suit. Well dressed.
He was in there for a reason. To keep him hidden. If dead guy here was shot today, it must have been fucking inconvenient to get rid of him in broad daylight. Could be that this spot was just a temporary measure.
I dropped the lid, glanced back at Harper. She’d seen him. Knew he was there. Knew he—whoever the fuck he was—was dead. And those little bowls of Harper’s finger food leftovers were evidence she’d been there. Evidence that she’d seen what she shouldn’t have. No fucking way could they go in the freezer. Squatting down, I stacked all the containers she’d brought to the garage and carried them back into the hall, making sure I left nothing behind.
She looked at me with wide eyes as she wrung her hands. Shit, she was in trouble. She was witness to a crime in the O'Sullivan house. This was a big fucking deal. Really big. Really fucked.
She might not have seen who’d pulled the trigger, but it was definitely murder. Bullets didn’t accidentally end up dead center between the eyes. What Harper saw could put Shamus O'Sullivan away. For a long, long time. If they found out she knew about the dead guy, she’d have a matching bullet hole of her own. And so would I if they had any idea I’d been in the garage and saw what I just had, too.
I leaned down so we were eye level, looked at her until she focused on me. “Here’s what we’re going to do, sugar. Give these to the server. Tell her to load them into your van because the freezer was full.”
She laughed then, an almost delirious burst of sound.
“Tell her to take the van and leave.”
Nodding, she went into the kitchen, did as I said. I stood in the doorway and watched, scanning the space again, making sure no one got near her.
While the server looked at her oddly, she did what she was told and took the containers, grabbed the keys from the counter beside a purse I assumed was Harper’s, and left. The other servers weren’t there, so I had to assume they were already gone. They were irrelevant.
Harper was all that mattered.
She looked around the kitchen, but I could tell she was in shock. She couldn’t see anything in her state. Barely moved. I went to her, took her icy hand. “The kitchen looks good. Anything left to do before you’re done for the night?”
Her eyes focused briefly, then she shook her head.
“Good girl. Let’s get out of here.”
She came to then. “Out of here? Where will I go? Leo, I just saw—” She bit her lip, glanced around.
I stroked her hair back from her face, felt the silky strands. I’d wanted to fuck her before, but now I felt something more. Protectiveness, too.
“You’re coming with us, sugar.”
“But—”
“You’re in way over your head here. You have no idea who Shamus O'Sullivan is, do you?”
Just as I’d thought, the shaking of her head told me she’d not known.
“Don’t worry. I’ll keep you safe.”
Dane came into the kitchen then. Harper jumped, and I pulled her behind me, reaching my hand under my jacket for my gun.
“Jesus, Leo. What the fuck?” He studied me closely, then Harper. “What’s happened?”
“I’ll tell you later. We’ve got to get out of here. Our girl’s in trouble.”
Dane didn’t question me, only came up beside Harper, wrapped his arm around her stiff shoulders as I led them through the discreet safe exit. One I’d never thought we’d really need. Sure, I’d planned on using that exit, but never thought it would be because I needed to get her away from a murder scene.