“Fine.” Hannah wiped orange handprints off her face.
“You should ice that egg on your head.” Grant got up and went to the freezer.
She pulled a foot up onto the chair and hugged her knee. Her pant leg rode up. A ring of bruises surrounded her slender ankle. Like fingerprints. Fury rode hot up the back of Brody’s neck. Accident his ass. He’d find out who hurt her and . . .
He stopped himself. He sounded like Grant. There could be a perfectly reasonable explanation for her bruises.
Catching her gaze, Brody whispered, “What happened?”
Hannah stared back. “I fell.”
“I thought you were in an accident,” he shot back under his breath.
“Well, I can assure you what happened wasn’t intentional.” Her voice sharpened, which made him feel better. The clop on the head clearly hadn’t affected her keen brain or quick tongue.
She smiled as her brother handed her an ice pack. Letting the subject go for now, Brody sat back and enjoyed the company. But he wasn’t leaving until Hannah told him everything.
The rest of the party went smoothly. Ellie’s grandmother was a hell of a cook, and Brody was happy to dive into a plateful of roast chicken and macaroni and cheese. Cake, candles, and the birthday song followed. When was the last time Brody had celebrated a traditional milestone? He took Chet out for a burger on his last birthday. Maybe that’s why he and Chet were so close. Neither of them had a personal life.
When Faith tired of smearing icing and cake over her face and head, she screamed for her freedom in a pitch that could scatter dogs.
“Shh.” Hannah lifted her from the high chair.
The baby snagged a handful of her aunt’s sweatshirt with an icing-laden fist. Hannah gently pried the stubby fist from her clothes. “I think a bath is in order, birthday girl.”
“I’ll hose her down, Hannah.” Ellie took the baby and left the room.
“Thanks for dinner.” Brody caught Grant’s eye. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”
“Sure.” Grant stood. “Let’s go into my office.”
He speared Hannah with a gaze. “I’d like to talk to you, too.”
She paused. Their eyes locked for one long breath before she blinked away. Brody could have studied her all day. She wasn’t the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, but she was by far the most compelling.
“I’ll be right there.” She went to the sink, wet a paper towel, and wiped at the icing stain on her shirt.
Grant led him to a small room in the front of the house. Not yet renovated, the office was covered with wood paneling and blue carpet that called to the 1980s. He closed the door behind them and sat on the edge of the desk, the same chipped old desk and chairs that used to sit in his dead brother’s study. “What’s up?”
“It’s about the trial, but we might as well wait for Hannah. She didn’t fall, did she?” Brody asked.
Grant crossed his arms over his thick chest. “No, she didn’t, but she didn’t want to upset Carson.”
“Understandable, but she looks like she’s in rough shape. What happened?” Brody asked.
“Why don’t you ask her?”
“Because she scares the crap out of me.” To be specific, it was the powerful interest for her stirring in his chest that intimidated him.
Grant laughed. “Hannah’s not scary unless she’s armed.”
Brody gave him a pointed look.
“OK. Maybe she’s a little fierce, but not scary,” Grant admitted as he studied Brody. Did Grant suspect he had a thing for his sister? “Try softening her up with Dunkin’ Donuts. Boston Kreme is her kryptonite. Mushroom pizza is also a favorite.”
Brody made a mental note. “You’re going to be away next week. She’ll be alone out here.”
“I wouldn’t be going if I wasn’t sure she was all right,” Grant said. “And Mac is scheduled to be home on Thursday.”
In Brody’s opinion, the youngest Barrett, a wildlife biologist, was highly unreliable. “Where is Mac?”
“Brazil.”
“So about Hannah . . .”
“She was assaulted in a parking lot in Las Vegas Thursday night,” Grant continued.
“What?” Brody snapped to attention. He’d become immune to many things in his twelve-year career in law enforcement, but violence aimed at women and children hit a perpetually raw nerve.
Grant nodded, grim faced. “She walked into some guy beating on a girl.”
“Let me guess. She intervened.” From past experience, Brody knew Hannah would never be able to turn her back on some girl in trouble. She seemed to foster the same hero complex as Grant, except she wasn’t a former army officer.
“Yeah. He popped her in the head.” Grant tapped his temple. Fury flared in his eyes. Clearly, he was working hard to keep his temper in check.
Knowing some criminal had put his hands on her sent Brody’s blood into a silent boil. Call him old-fashioned, but there was no excuse for a man to ever raise his hand to a woman.
Grant agreed with a grim nod. “Hannah rallied, but after she got the girl into her car, he rammed them with his SUV.”
Footsteps in the hall silenced them. The door opened, and Hannah walked in. Grant gave her his chair. She eased into it as if her entire body hurt. But when she turned to face Brody, her gaze was as sharp as usual. “Grant said you have some news.”
Brody hesitated. Why couldn’t he ever bring her good news? “The defense attorney for Lee and Kate’s killer has filed for another postponement.”
She leaned back and crossed her legs. “What’s their claim this time?”
The trial had already seen delays due to a mental health evaluation for the defendant, assault charges filed against Grant by the defendant, and a psychological examination of Carson, who the defense attorney insisted testify though the prosecutor said it shouldn’t be necessary.
“They want to move the trial, claiming that publicity has tainted the potential jury pool.”
“I’m not surprised. I should have predicted it.” Hannah’s expression turned stormy.
“The prosecutor will be in touch later this week. I just wanted to give you a heads-up.”
She lifted her eyes. “I know notifying families isn’t your job, so thank you.”
“I didn’t want to see you blindsided.” Brody wished he could make it all go away. She and her family deserved peace.
“I appreciate it. Grant will be away, but I’ll meet with the prosecutor this week.” Hannah hugged her waist. Despite her confident tone and words, she looked vulnerable, and when Brody imagined a man hurting her, he wanted to break something. Like a head.
Through the door, Ellie called Grant’s name.
“Excuse me for a minute.” Grant went into the hall, leaving the door open.
“Now you want to tell me what really happened in Vegas?” Brody asked. “Unless you fell into a fist, you’ve been bullshitting me with that accident story.”
Hannah got up and closed the door. Turning, she gave him her opposing-counsel scrutiny. “Grant told you, didn’t he?”
Brody leaned forward, hands clasped, forearms resting on his thighs. “He said you intervened between a man and his girlfriend.”
“That’s not exactly what happened.” She shivered. “I didn’t tell Grant everything. The man got away—with the girl.”
“Oh.” Brody sat back. Shock and alarm filled him as she told him her story.
“And yesterday I got an e-mail that appears to have come from that girl.”
“And you’re just telling me now?”
Hannah glanced away. “I reported it to the Las Vegas police. I was waiting to hear back from them. I didn’t think I was in any immediate danger.”
“He took your purse?”
“My phone, too.” Hannah nodded. “He has my e-mail an
d cell number as well, though I had my provider disconnect service and remotely wipe the contents of that phone.”
“Does he have this address?”
“Yes. He has my driver’s license, et cetera. But he’s thousands of miles away. The Vegas cop was more concerned with identity theft.”
Thousands of miles didn’t feel like enough distance to Brody. “What did the e-mail say?”
“ ‘Help. The end comes Tuesday.’ ” Hannah’s voice broke. “That’s it. The subject line was the girl’s name. The detective in Vegas said it was untraceable. It was sent from an anonymous e-mail account called Hide My Identity, and the IP address of the computer was shielded with a virtual private network. He suggested I let my local police know about the incident.” She smiled weakly. “So I called you.”
Because he was the only cop she knew? Part of Brody wanted the reason to be more, but Hannah Barrett was a complicated woman. She stirred up too many unknowns in his gut. It was easier to date women who didn’t keep him up at night, not that he dated much. The shooting in Boston and his subsequent divorce had driven him to Scarlet Falls in search of a fresh start. The events had also left him wary of intense experiences, and Hannah Barrett’s intensity meter was stuck on high.
“I don’t want to unnecessarily alarm Grant,” she said. “He knows the man took my purse and has this address.”
“Your brother installed a very high-end security system. Your assailant is probably thousands of miles away, but you should keep the alarm on at all times. If you forward me the e-mail, I’ll have a look at it.” Brody rubbed his jaw. “I don’t know what this means, but I don’t like it. Please call me if anything seems odd. Anything.”
“All right,” she said. “I don’t know what ‘the end’ is, but it doesn’t sound good, and Tuesday is only a few days away.”
“Try not to think about it. You notified the Las Vegas police. There’s nothing else you can do.” But Brody wasn’t going to be able to put it out of his mind. “And do not respond. This could be a trick to get more information from you, like your current whereabouts. Anyone who is good enough to conceal his own current location has enough skill to trace yours.”
Tormenting a woman could also be some sick bastard’s idea of fun—or revenge.
Mick pulled up to the pump. Colored light from a gas station sign gleamed off the hood of the car. The V-8 engine was powerful, and the tank emptied like there was a siphon attached. But they were in Scarlet Falls on Saturday night, just as he’d planned. With pit stops, the trip had taken a little longer than he’d anticipated. He stretched his back. Considering how many hours they’d spent in the car, he didn’t feel too bad. Alternating sleeping and driving had helped, so had the coke.
“I’ll go pay.” He got out of the car and zipped his jacket. The upstate New York cold was a smack after living in the desert. He went inside to pay for their gas in cash, and the attendant turned on the pump. Enjoying the heat in the store, Mick watched through the window as Sam slid the nozzle into the tank. An old Camry pulled up behind the Charger. A young woman got out and swiped her credit card at the pump. Her long brown ponytail swayed as she inserted the nozzle in her tank. While the gas pumped, she came into the small store and asked for a pack of cigarettes. She handed the clerk some cash, then pocketed the receipt and her change.
Mick walked back to the car. His brother’s eyes were bright in the reflection of the sign. Too bright. Damn it. He shouldn’t have let him snort that coke. The pump shut off, and Sam removed the nozzle. Taking his sweet time, he hung it up and screwed on the gas cap.
He got into the driver’s seat, his eyes straying to the rearview mirror.
“Don’t even think about it,” Mick said. Looking back, he watched the woman return the nozzle to its place, close her gas cap, and get into her car.
Sam grinned. “Why not? No rules, remember?”
“We have to keep a low profile.”
His brother started the car. He waited until the little sedan pulled out ahead of them. “We can do that and have some fun.”
“Better to scope out the town first and find somewhere to crash, and I want to see the blond tonight.”
But Sam was on the highway behind the woman. “Tomorrow’s soon enough, isn’t it? Like you said, we need to find a place to stay.”
Mick knew, before they even approached the stop sign, what Sam was going to do. “Don’t do it. Not in my car—”
The sedan stopped. Sam tapped her bumper. “Relax. The car is fine. It was just a kiss.”
Both vehicles pulled to the shoulder. Sam was out of the car. Mick hunched in the front seat, fuming. His car better not have a fucking scratch in the paint. But he didn’t intervene. There was no stopping his brother once he was in motion.
Sam approached the front of the Charger, his posture apologetic. The woman got out of the Camry, and they both bent to examine her bumper. Sam pointed to the car. In the same movement, he punched her in the face. She hit the ground like a cinder block. Sam went to the open driver’s door. The trunk popped up. He ran back to the woman, scooped her up, and heaved her into the trunk. Slamming the lid, he jumped into the car and drove off. Mick followed. Where were they going?
He followed the Camry four miles until it turned off the country road into a dark lane. They parked in front of a mobile home with some sort of big building in the background. Mick got out of the car. A couple of dogs barked in the dark.
Sam got out of the Camry.
“Where are we?” Mick asked.
“Her place.” His brother had a purse in one hand. “I checked the phone listing. No man listed on the house or business. Let’s see if she lives alone.”
They went up to the front door. Sam used the key to open the door. He flipped the light switch. It was a mobile home, but a large one. They’d certainly lived in worse.
“Not bad.” Sam walked through the rooms. In the kitchen, he picked up an electric bill from the table. Only one name on the label: Joleen Walken.
Mick went into the bedroom. He checked the closet and drawers. “No men’s clothes.”
“Second bedroom is an office.” Sam closed another door. “Just girl stuff in the bathroom.”
Maybe this would work out. “Nice job, Sam.”
Sam grinned. “Gotta have faith. I know what I’m doing.”
He’d certainly had enough practice.
He went back to the car to get the girl. Mick held the door. Her body looked limp when he picked her up, but by the time his brother got her to the front step, she was awake and kicking.
Mick shut and locked the door. Sam dropped the girl on the floor. Her body hit the thin carpet with a breath-expelling thud. She crabbed backward. Her chest heaved, and her eyes searched for an escape route.
There wasn’t one.
Not with Sam.
“You want to go first, Mick?” Sam’s voice was tight with restraint. Edgy from being cooped up in the car, he needed to vent.
“No, that’s OK. I’ll pass on this one.”
“You sure? She looks like your type.”
“I appreciate the offer, but I’m tired. I’m going to take a nap.”
“OK.” Sam moved in.
Mick went into the bedroom and closed the door. It was best to let Sam work out his rage. Mick could wait. Soon he’d have the blond all to himself.
Chapter Seven
“I’m fine. Really.” Hannah studied her brother’s profile across the center console of his pickup. Physically, Grant hadn’t changed much over the months since he’d left the army to raise their murdered brother’s children. His frame was naturally large, and physical labor kept him heavily muscled. It was his eyes that were different. For the first time ever, he seemed content.
“Are you sure?” he asked. “I can cancel our trip.” Grant and the family were scheduled to leave the next morning.
He gave her a doubtful look. “Yesterday you told Brody you’d talk to the prosecutor.”
“That’ll take an hour, at best. Look, I’m still tired, but the aches and stiffness are better every day.” She wasn’t a hundred percent, but two days of rest had helped.
“You’ll keep the alarm set?”
Hannah raised her right hand. “I promise, and I know where the gun safe is.”
“All right.” Grant nodded. “Brody said he’ll be around all week.”
There was something about Brody McNamara. Something she couldn’t quite define, but when they were in the same room, she was acutely aware of him in an irritating and consistent way that made her simultaneously want to avoid—and seek—his company. So what? She was attracted to him. She could fight that off. She’d been battling her feelings her whole life, though lately, her hold on them seemed tenuous.
Her gaze drifted to the rural highway stretching out in front of the truck.
She wasn’t staying in Scarlet Falls. She’d get that clearance from the neurologist. Next week she was off to London. Royce wouldn’t need to handle the Tate deal. She’d worked for it, and she was going to make sure it was hers.
The sound of Grant shifting into park startled her. She looked through the windshield at the familiar one-story brick building of the nursing home where their father lived. Sunday afternoons were prime visiting hours, and the parking lot was full.
They went through the lobby and signed in at the reception desk. Hannah’s heart slid into overdrive. Under her silk sweater, sweat broke out at the base of her spine. The hospital smell made her queasy.
At the nurses’ station, a woman in lavender scrubs greeted them with a smile. “Good morning, Mr. Barrett.”
“Morning, Maria.” Grant introduced Hannah. “How is he today?”
Minutes to Kill (Scarlet Falls) Page 6