Chapter 8

"Ashley, let me call you back."

The Audi was still running and he'd found nothing leaking from it. Harper wished he could say the same for himself. At least the head wound was starting to clot now.

He could call the cops. Give them Bailey name and have her track her down for a hit and run...

Nah. Bailey's parents were good people and at their wit's end with their notoriously wild daughter. This would land her in jail and completely break them.

Harper sighed. Henry Clark was an old man worn by care and the pressure his daughter's behavior put on him while his much younger wife Signe was an angel. He didn't want to see them suffer, but he did need to get this sorted out with his insurance.

The Clark household, as one of the few Tudor style homes in the neighborhood, stood out in looks as well as in size. Harper saw that Bailey's mangled Mercedes sat in the driveway. He could already hear raised voices from inside the house as he approached the front door and rang the doorbell.

"Mr. McLain? What are you doing here?" asked Signe Clark's sweetly uncertain voice. Dazed as he was, he couldn't help but notice how much of a knockout Signe was. At forty two, her gray eyes were still bright, her cheekbones high and noble, and her figure more like that of a woman half her age. And tall. She was practically of a height with Harper without shoes. Henry had won the lottery with this Nordic style beauty.

"Hi, Signe. Um your daughter kind of t-boned me earlier on the road."

A pale trembling pale hand rose to Signe's mouth and suddenly Harper found himself ushered through a lavishly furnished foyer and pulled into a kitchen that would make any chef green with envy. "Let me get you some ice for your head," she sputtered as she chivvied him to a chair. "Henry! Henry, come here!"

Ice pressed to head, Harper worked through the insurance muddle with Bailey's father. The older gentleman was endlessly apologetic for the wreck and Signe saw to Harper's every need while the two were hashing things out.

It was as Harper was beginning to make his goodbyes that Bailey finally waltzed into the room. She was Signe at 26. Long legs, tight waist, and a full pair of breasts that couldn't be any smaller than DD's. While Signe's blonde hair was natural with all the changes of tone that entails, Bailey had opted for a glaringly fake shade of platinum that trailed down to the middle of her back when loose. She generally had Signe's looks: high cheekbones in a heart shaped face and snow pale skin, but she had her father's eyes. A dark blue like a storm tossed ocean that drew in your gaze and didn't want to let it go. It was a shame they lacked the brightness her mother's eyes had to them.

Finally wresting his gaze from those eyes, Harper didn't think her form-hugging white shorts could get any shorter nor the teal halter top she wore bare more skin. It completely exposed her slim shoulders as well as most of her back. Long dangling earrings, a clanging array of bangles on her wrists, and simple white sandals rounded out her outfit.

"I'm going out with Chloe." Bailey's voice brought everything to a standstill in the kitchen. Her tone brooked now argument and offered no sympathy. She had hardly given Harper more than a cursory glance.

"I think you need to apolo..." Signe trailed off and Henry's face waxed red with anger as Bailey turned and to leave mid-sentence.

"Obviously he's fine if he didn't call an ambulance. Insurance can take care of his car," she announced dismissively as she exited the kitchen. Just above her white shorts, Harper caught sight of something pink just above her ass. It looked like a tattoo. "Bye."

Signe didn't miss a beat and immediately started apologizing to Harper again for everything all over again. He eventually left with an invitation for him and his wife to join them for a nice dinner at some nebulous point in the future.

The next day, Harper awoke with his head ringing like a bell. The wound had swollen quite a bit during the night. An ice pack on took care of that issue as he went about his normal business getting ready for work.

Ashley had wanted to come home right away, but Harper had urged her not to last night when he'd told her about that day's events.

"Your flight is the day after tomorrow. Just finish up over in San Diego and come home. I'm fine now and I'll keep till then," he had counseled her over the phone. She was reluctant, but eventually agreed.

Harper was just about to get into his rental car to drive to work the next morning when the nausea hit him. His breakfast splattered itself on the concrete of his driveway in a wet smear of indeterminate color and Harper had to brace himself against the car to keep from losing his balance.

"Oh fuck," he muttered to himself as he got out his phone to call a taxi to take him to the emergency room.

"Well," said the doctor as he flashed a light from one eye to the other. "Looks like you've got a concussion, Mr. McLain. It's not exceedingly serious, but you need to take it easy for a couple weeks. Taking off work to focus on resting would be a perfect idea."

Harper didn't feel like he could focus on anything right now let alone work, but he still needed to bring his numbers up. Stevens couldn't fire him for getting injured, but after he recovered all bets were off.