Chapter Twenty-Two

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

C AL GOT OUT of the car before Charlotte had fully brought it to a stop because every second counted. They'd used her car to come to Port in a Storm since it would have eaten up precious time to hurry along the few blocks to his truck.

On the short drive, Cal hadn't been able to stop the worst-case scenarios from flying through his head. Paul was able-bodied; Harper wasn't. Neither was Alden, so unless one of the workers intervened, Cal knew it was possible that Paul had already taken Harper. But he might not have even had to do that with physical force since his bullying always worked just fine on her.

Cal cursed when he didn't see any workers' vehicles around. Cursed even more when he saw Izzie's car, since this definitely wasn't a good time for a visit. But at least Paul's truck was still parked out front, which meant he hadn't managed to leave with his daughter.

Charlotte was right on his heels when Cal bolted up the porch steps, ran through the open door and made a beeline toward Harper's room. He then had to come to a quick stop because of the crowd that had assembled.

No workers, but Becker was there, and he had positioned his wheelchair so that no one was getting in or out of this end of the hall. Maybell was at the other end, her rolling pin ready, and both she and Izzie were blocking that end. Harper was in the center of the barricades with Alden by her side and Paul right in her face. Literally. He had leaned down and was snarling at her. Cal couldn't hear exactly what the words were, but he was betting this wasn't some sort of praise.

"What's going on?" Cal asked.

Everyone except Paul and Harper had already looked in his and Charlotte's direction, and he was seeing a mixed bag of emotions. Becker and Maybell were pissed off and in a ready-to-rumble mode. Even Izzie had joined in and was staring Paul down. She was also holding up her phone, recording the incident. Alden was calm, but there was worry on every inch of his face.

"What's going on," Paul snarled, "is that I'm getting my daughter the hell out of here. She's being brainwashed, being turned against me, and I won't have it." He continued staring at Harper. "You know you've screwed up by coming here, don't you? You know I've always done what's best for you. Not these asswipes. Me." He jammed his thumb against his chest. "Me," he repeated.

Cal glanced around. "Has anyone called the cops?" he asked.

"No," Alden said on a sigh. "Harper told us not to."

"Every now and then, my daughter does something smart," Paul concluded. "No need to involve the law in this. It's a personal matter between me and Harper."

Beside him, Charlotte groaned, took out her phone and made a call to the sheriff's office. "You're on private property," she snarled. "So that personal matter doesn't just involve Harper and you but me and everyone else in this hall."

Everyone else grew by one because Jodi came down the stairs. She didn't have a weapon, but she looked more than ready to do whatever it took to bring this situation under control. Cal figured the control needed to start with Harper.

Cal threaded his way around Becker's wheelchair so he could get closer to Paul. "Harper?" Cal said. "Are you all right?"

He wanted to see her expression, wanted to see what was in her eyes. And it took a while for her to lift her head and meet his gaze.

Hell. She looked ready to cave. It was hard to undo thirty-six years of conditioning, and pretty much anything he said or did right now was a risk. Doing nothing, though, could be even worse. So he went with something and hoped for the best.

"Remember that competition in Germany last year?" Cal threw out there. "The one where you were leading the whole time, and I swooped in at the last minute to get to the simulated target just a breath ahead of you?"

Harper stared at him. And frowned. Cal considered that was a better expression than the kowtowing she'd been doing.

"The same thing happened in California two years ago," Cal went on. "Down to the wire. It could have gone either way."

"It didn't," Harper said, rasping out the words. "You won." She stopped. "Are you trying to piss me off?"

"Maybe," he admitted, "but I'm also trying to make you remember that we were the best of the best. Me and you. Yeah, I won, but so did you. You beat everyone else in the competition, and you did that over and over again."

"She lost every single competition," Paul interrupted, and he kept his attention fixed on Harper. "You're a loser, and if you don't want to stay one, then you need to come with me. I won't sugarcoat things. I won't tell you that being number two is something to brag about. I'll get your ass back in shape so you can be a winner."

"She is a winner," Alden insisted. "Harper's recovered far beyond even her own expectations."

Paul whipped around to face Alden. "And how the hell would you know that, when you've got loser written all over you? You're not some hero because you were stupid enough to step on some explosives that messed up your—"

He stopped when Harper latched on to his hand. It probably wasn't a hard grip, but it obviously managed to get Paul's attention.

"Don't," Harper warned him, and Cal was glad to see a tiny spark of fire in her eyes. He hadn't been able to light that fire with reminders of her being a damn good pilot. But Paul had lit it with his criticism of Alden.

"Don't?" Paul repeated. "What the hell do you mean by that?"

"I mean, hush and listen." Harper drilled her gaze into his. "You can say whatever you want about me, but you leave everybody else here out of it."

She paused a heartbeat, and her jaw tightened. It was obvious that speaking was painful, but she continued anyway.

"On second thought," she said, "I don't want you to say anything else about me. I'll say it. I lost all those competitions. Cal has bested me my entire life. He did his best. But so did I."

Cal wanted to cheer. Apparently, so did Charlotte because she actually let out a loud whoop that earned her a scowl from Paul before he turned back to his daughter.

"Your best," Paul said, and he repeated it until he'd maxed out his mocking tone.

"Yes, my best," Harper asserted equally. It didn't cause Paul to back down any, though. Just the opposite: his face reddened with anger.

"I suppose you're gonna say it was my fault you're a loser," he snarled.

"No. It was mine for allowing you to push me the way you did," Harper said, and she looked at Cal. "I'm sorry for the tree-limb thing at the creek. And I'm sorry for blaming you in that note."

Cal had known that note was still weighing him down, but he hadn't known exactly how much until he felt some of that heaviness lift from his shoulders. He looked at Harper, and even though he didn't say a thank-you aloud, he was pretty sure she got the message because she nodded. Then she turned back to her father.

"This is the best I can do," Harper said, and even though her voice was hardly more than a whisper, it still packed an emotional punch. Well, it did for everyone except Paul, but Alden was certainly smiling.

The smile didn't last, though. Because Paul started up again. Apparently, the man wasn't giving up.

"Listen to you," Paul taunted, aiming that lethal glare at Harper. "This is your best? In a wheelchair, barely able to talk and with your head practically bald. If you wanted proof you're being brainwashed, then there it is. This isn't your best. I'm the only one who'll say it to your face. The only one, and there's nothing you can do about it, loser ."

"No, but there's something I can do about it," Becker insisted, and his grouchy snarl matched Paul's. "I can ram this chair into your sorry ass."

Smirking, Paul turned toward Becker as if ready to take him on.

"And I can whack you on your numbskull head," Maybell piped in, testing out her rolling pin against her palm.

"I'm thinking a kick to the balls will do it," Izzie contributed. "If he actually has balls, that is. I doubt he does."

Of all the threats, Izzie's was the one that drew Paul's ire, and this time, he wasn't able to contain it. Especially because Izzie continued to bait him.

"No balls," she spewed. It seemed she had been storing up this particular tirade for a while. "I'm so tired of chickenshit men with a warped sense of self-importance. I was married to one of those, so I have no trouble recognizing one when I see him. No wonder your wife left."

Hell.

Paul started to move toward her. Cursing, Cal moved toward Paul, but he knew he wouldn't get there in time if Paul punched or rammed into Izzie, and since he was much larger than she was, he could hurt her.

Cal was still a couple of feet away when Paul lunged at Izzie. Even in heels, Izzie was fast, and she'd either had some kind of self-defense classes or she got lucky, because she landed a knee in Paul's crotch. The sound Paul made was like a deflating balloon, and he dropped to his knees, clutching his balls. Paul tried to curse her, but it came out as a wheeze.

Outside, there was the sound of approaching sirens, and Cal knew it wouldn't be long before Paul was arrested. And he would be. Even if Harper didn't file charges against him, Charlotte certainly would. Paul might try filing charges, too, but at least there were a lot of witnesses to say that Paul had gone after Izzie first and that she had merely defended herself.

Of course, that didn't tie up everything in a nice little bow.

This had to be eating away at Harper. Added to that, there were no guarantees that Paul wouldn't keep trying to bully her into doing his will.

"Anyone here got a permanent marker or a pen?" Harper asked.

The question surprised, well, everyone since Harper could use her tablet if she wanted to speak. Still, Izzie reached into her crossbody purse and came out with a pen. It was a promotional one with her campaign slogan on it. The Best Choice for Emerald Creek. Vote for Izzie Wilson.

When Izzie handed the pen to Harper, Cal moved closer. He didn't want Harper trying to stab her dad. With Paul temporarily incapacitated, Harper could almost certainly be charged with assault.

"See this?" Harper said, holding up the pen in front of Paul's glazed eyes. He was still trying to speak but was basically just making guttural sounds. "I want you to use it to block me out in the photos. Scribble me out the way you did my mother."

Cal thought of all the pictures he'd seen when he had visited Paul. And he smiled. Because this was indeed a good step for Harper.

It got even better.

Leaning forward, she slipped the pen into Paul's shirt pocket. "Use it to erase me from your sight. And your life." Harper leaned in even closer. "And when you're done erasing me, then I want you to shove this pen right up your ass."