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“You told me to never be surprised?” I feign innocence and offer a shrug.
“There’s hope for you yet, son.” He laughs, patting me on the back before setting the photo back down, but part of me can’t help but continue to steal glances at it.
“Excuse me, detective?”
We both glance over as a young patrol officer enters the room, holding out a piece of paper.
“Yes?” I take the paper from their hand, studying it as they speak.
“The manager at the bar mentioned Mr Harper has a daughter. He and his wife are divorced, but she was confident he and his daughter would keep in touch.”
“Good work, thanks.” I pick up the photo and show it to the officer. “Is this her?”
“Yes, the manager confirmed that was her.”
I offer the officer a small smile as I read the small amount of information on Michael’s daughter. Summer Harper, twenty-four years old. An address based in L.A and a cell phone number. Pulling out my phone, I type in the number and save it.
“I think someone has already contacted the ex-wife,” Strode interjects.
“I know, but we’ll need to speak with everyone in Michael’s life.”
I find myself catching sight of the framed photo once again, cocking my head to one side, still enthralled by Summer’s beauty.
Michael didn’t talk much about his personal life, so I guess it’s no surprise he once had a family.
Shaking my head one final time, I head back to the precinct before my shift officially starts.
Chapter Three
Summer?
Once the sun rises over the mountains in the distance, I watch below while the street sweepers clear the last night's chaos from the sidewalk. The once lively strip now just appears like any other street. People are going about their day, heading to work, grabbing coffee or returning to their hotels after a heavy night, getting ready to do it all again tonight. Luckily for me, I won’t be here to see it.
After Eric left, Harry decided to go back out, but I haven’t heard from him since. I used the time to pack my suitcase and check on flights to New York. Fortunately, there was one available at eleven am today. A taxi to the airport won’t be hard to come by with rows and rows of taxis parked outside the many hotels on the strip. Teaming my yoga pants with an oversized hoodie, I slide on some trainers for the flight. I feel my stomach drop as I hear the door to the suite open.
Oh fuck.
Sitting in the chair in the dining area, I try to steady the anxiety that’s coursing through my entire being. I almost feel cold, frozen, even when Harry comes staggering into view, clutching onto a bottle of Jack.
“I didn’t think I needed to repeat myself, Summer.” He takes a couple of steps forward, reaching for his belt. His tone is cold. When that sinister smirk I despise creeps across his face, he slowly shakes his head.
He slowly pulls the belt away from the loops of his suit trousers, sliding the leather against the fabric. The noise is like nails on a chalkboard, almost causing me to recoil because I know what’s coming next, and I need to get the fuck away from here.
Standing only a few feet away, he launches the bottle at my head. I manage to duck out of the way, narrowly missing being hit as the glass shatters onto the floor. Falling to my knees, I scramble to my feet before being lashed with the belt, and I cry out as the leather whips my skin once. Throwing my right arm up to protect myself, I feel the burning heat bloom over my skin. Staggering away, clutching my arm, I find myself standing with the table between us. He begins circling me like prey.
“Please don’t do this, Harry.” I plead.
He manages to launch himself over the table, pushing me into the wall hard and grabbing my throat. I clutch onto his wrist, digging in my nails as he applies too much pressure, restricting my airway immediately.
“I said no. Why won’t you ever learn?” He snarls.
Pushing me to the floor, I land hard while he straddles me. As his belt comes flying down on me, releasing his hand, I throw my own up in defense again. I manage to stop a strike to the face, but the second strike to my arm causes me to cry out. Managing to kick out of his grasp and turning away. I begin to crawl, my nails clawing into the carpet, pulling myself away. My foot connects with his face as he flies onto his back. A satisfying crunch is heard. When his hands fly to his face and he drops the belt onto the floor.
“You fucking cunt!” He screams at me.
Droplets of blood dripping from his nose, as he shakes with uncontrollable anger.
Pulling myself up to the breakfast bar, lifting the vase idly placed onto the side, I weakly throw it, hoping he’ll stop the attack. He laughs maniacally when it goes over his shoulder, shattering into pieces. Harry’s face goes almost blank and void of any expression. Watching me try to keep myself upright and reach for the breakfast bar again, I manage to pull myself to my feet. As I turn around, his hand reaches my throat again, and his body presses firmly into mine. Tears prick my eyes as I struggle to breathe. My vision becomes blurred as he applies more pressure, and he forces me to lean back.
