Minutes to Kill (Scarlet Falls)

by Melinda Leigh

  “How about sleeping? More or less than usual.”

  “Maybe a little more,” Hannah admitted. But she had been working long hours for the last month. Being tired wasn’t unusual after she’d finished a major deal.

  “Dizziness?”

  “None.”

  Dr. Martin lifted a skeptical brow. “What about reading?”

  “No problems,” Hannah said. “When can I get back to work?”

  “Every individual is different. Some people heal quickly. Others might take a few months.”

  “Months? I don’t have months.” Hannah’s head had felt fine before, but now pain spiked through her temple.

  “Relax.” The doctor’s tone sharpened. “Getting upset will only make it worse. This is going to take some time, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

  And watch my career go down the drain. “But I feel fine, and I can’t take months off from work. I’m supposed to be in London next week. Isn’t there a medication that would speed things up?”

  The doctor sighed. “No. If you don’t take care of yourself now, you will pay in the long run.”

  “I really need to get back to work.”

  “That isn’t going to happen,” Dr. Martin said. “I want you to come back in four weeks for a reevaluation.”

  Four weeks . . . How would she cope with four weeks of inactivity? Royce said her job wasn’t in jeopardy, but other associates were there to jump in and handle cases while Hannah was sidelined.

  Hannah turned on her voice memo app and recorded the doctor’s instructions. Then she zoned out while the doctor expounded on the long-term consequences from repeated blows to the head. Hannah was focused on the here and now.

  Four weeks was a long time. Hannah needed to be busy. The more time she had to rest, the more time she could contemplate Jewel’s fate and relive the terrors of last spring. The absolute last thing she wanted was more time on her hands.

  Sitting in the neurologist’s waiting room, Brody checked his e-mail for the fourth time, then leafed through a six-month-old issue of Time magazine. What was taking so long? Hannah had been called into the exam room over an hour before.

  The door opened. Her face was pinched and strained, her eyes clouded with pain—and disappointment.

  She pulled her mouth into a tight smile. “I’m sorry that took so long.”

  “Are you done?” He glanced back at the sliding glass window that separated the reception station from the waiting room.

  Nodding, Hannah crossed to the coat tree.

  Brody reached over her shoulder and lifted her jacket off the hook. He held it open so she could slide her arms into the sleeves. After a slight hesitation, she did.

  “Everything all right?” he asked.

  “Yes.” She adjusted her collar and headed for the door. “Can I tell you about it later? I have a splitting headache.”

  “Sure. I thought doctors were supposed to make you feel better.” Brody opened the door.

  “That makes two of us.”

  They took the elevator to the ground floor. “Do you want to wait here while I get the car?”

  They’d left his sedan in a garage two blocks over.

  “No. I’d love some fresh air.”

  “We’re in Manhattan. Good luck finding any of that.”

  Hannah’s short laugh eased the heaviness in Brody’s chest. Outside, the sidewalks were crowded. They maneuvered around the line for a hot dog cart, Hannah threading through pedestrian traffic with the confidence of a person who spent a lot of time in cities. Her long legs had no trouble keeping up with his. A guy stepped out of a doorway directly in front of Hannah. Without breaking stride, Brody angled his body and shouldered the jerk out of the way. The man stumbled, then righted himself with a self-righteous shout of “Asshole!”

  Hannah glanced over at him. Over the pain in her eyes, humor glinted.

  Brody lifted a casual shoulder. “He should have been watching where he was going. He could have knocked you over.”

  “I can handle myself, but thank you,” she said.

  “I know you can handle yourself, but you shouldn’t have to.”

  “I’m not disagreeing. The guy was rude. Grant would have accidentally put an elbow into his face.”

  “Your brother’s temper is legendary in the department.”

  The cool air, exhaust-scented as it was, seemed to perk her up. They took the elevator to the fifth floor of the parking deck and crossed the stained concrete to Brody’s SUV. He opened the passenger door. Hannah flashed him an inquisitive half smile as she took her seat. He rounded the car and slid behind the wheel.

  “Something wrong?”

  “No. I’m just not accustomed to having my coat held and doors opened,” she said. “Not that I don’t like it. It’s charming.”

  “What can I say? I was raised by my grandparents.” Brody steered the car down the spiraling ramp.

  “Where did you grow up?”

  He lowered his window and punched out with his credit card. “Boston. My parents died in a small-plane crash when I was little.”

  “I’m sorry.” Hannah reclined her seat a few inches.

  “I was only three. I don’t remember them.”

  “Do your grandparents still live in Boston?”

  “No. Gran had a stroke nine years ago. Granddad didn’t last six months without her.”

  “That’s sad and sweet at the same time.”

  Brody drove out of town. Listening to the traffic report, he exited the city via the Lincoln Tunnel, threaded his way through North Jersey to I-87. Once they were on the interstate, the highway opened up. “I don’t miss city traffic.”

  Hannah didn’t respond. Brody glanced over. Her eyes were closed, but even sleeping, she looked stressed. He bet the news from the doctor wasn’t what she had wanted to hear.

  He turned on the radio but kept the volume low as he tuned his satellite radio to a classic rock station. Three hours later, at six o’clock, darkness had fallen, and Hannah was still asleep, her head lolling against the seat rest. The trip into New York had taken its toll. He couldn’t imagine the toll a six-hour round-trip train commute would have had on her.

  He passed the green sign for Scarlet Falls and eased onto the exit. The car bounced over seams in the blacktop. Hannah jerked awake.

  “We’re almost home,” Brody said.

  She blinked and swept a hand through her short blond locks. It settled back into place as if it knew to obey orders. “God, I’m sorry. I slept through the whole drive.”

  “You were tired. I’m glad you slept. That was the whole point of me driving you.”

  But Hannah frowned. Obviously, she wasn’t used to letting anyone take care of her.

  “Are you going to tell me what the doctor actually said?”

  Hannah stretched. “I need coffee.”

  “You need food. We skipped lunch.”

  She pressed the pads of her fingers to her closed eyelids. “I’m not hungry.”

  “Headache?”

  “No. The nap cleared that up.”

  “What then?”

  “I need coffee.”

  “Seriously. How are you? You looked a little rough coming out of the doctor’s office.”

  “You are persistent.”

  He smiled.

  Hannah sighed. “I failed the cognitive test, and my balance is off, but considering it’s only been a few days since I was knocked down, the doctor says I’m recovering as she’d expect.”

  “But?”

  “Regardless of what her tests said, I feel fine, and she still won’t clear me for work.”

  “Oh.”

  “She won’t even retest me for another month. I was supposed to be in London next week working with one of the firm’s largest clients,” she said.<
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  “Were you looking forward to that?” Brody wasn’t sure how he felt about her, but the thought of her leaving Scarlet Falls depressed him. Hannah was the first woman to interest him in a long, long time. Every time he thought he had her figured out, she threw him a curveball. The first time he’d met her, he’d thought her arrogant, aloof, and cold. But he couldn’t have been more wrong. She’d grieved her brother and stood by her family, proving to be smart and loyal, stubborn to a fault. In a heartbeat, she could shift from sharp corporate attorney to affectionate aunt. When a man had attempted to snatch her little nephew, Hannah had chased the scumbag. Barefoot. With snow on the ground. Her foot had been bleeding, and she hadn’t even noticed.

  Complex was the only word for Hannah. She was a puzzle he wanted to solve but not in any rush. He wanted to take his time and get to know all her layers. The strength of that desire surprised him. His ex-wife only had two layers. At the first challenge, her pretty veneer had peeled back faster than steamed wallpaper.

  For a long minute, Hannah simply stared out the window. “I thought so, but now I’m not so sure. I couldn’t wait to get out of Vegas.”

  Brody brightened. “You won’t lose your job?”

  “No.” She shook her head. “Royce won’t fire me. I’m not worried about that.”

  “Then what’s the problem? Take some time off. Make sure you’re completely recovered. You don’t want to go back at less than one hundred percent, right? Poor performance wouldn’t help your career, and it’s not worth risking your health.”

  “It doesn’t look like I have an option.” She glanced at him. Her brow lowered. “I don’t back away from anything easily. The Colonel raised me to identify my objectives and devote my efforts to achieving them, to work around, over, or through obstacles. All my life I’ve had to scratch and fight for what I wanted. Now I’m not sure what I want, but the instinct to do battle is still there. Without a goal, I feel lost.” She flushed and blinked away, as if embarrassed by her revelation.

  “How about if I give you a task?” He eased the car around a curve. “Decide what you want for dinner.”

  “Coffee.” She arched a challenging brow.

  “I’ll stop for coffee if you tell me what you want to eat.”

  She shot him a dirty look. “You suck.”

  He laughed at the childish retort. He liked this less-formal, more-familiar Hannah. “If you’re tired, let’s pick up food, and I’ll cook something.”

  “Can you manage steak?”

  That wasn’t what he’d expected her to choose. “Yes, but most women ask for salad.”

  “Salad isn’t a meal.” Hannah’s face scrunched. “I could really go for a steak, rare, and potatoes any way you can make them. You’ll have to cook at Grant’s house, though. The dog has been alone all day.”

  “I can do that.”

  They stopped at a grocery store a few miles outside town.

  “Coffee,” Hannah whimpered, making a beeline for the beverage counter.

  Brody selected two hefty sirloins and a bag of potatoes. Hannah appeared at his elbow, bliss on her face as she took a long sip. She licked her lips. Distracting.

  “How about a vegetable?” he asked.

  Hannah gave him a sour-lemon face. “Not for me.”

  He grabbed a bag of string beans. “They won’t kill you.”

  “I have no proof of that.”

  He paid for the groceries, and they went back to the car. Brody’s step was lighter at the prospect of an evening with a smart woman, a quiet dinner, and some entertaining conversation. A man couldn’t ask for much more.

  His phone buzzed halfway home. Unfortunately, he recognized the number. The Pub. Chet. So much for balancing on the edge of the wagon.

  Brody glanced over at Hannah. “I’m sorry. I have to answer this.”

  “Work?”

  “Not entirely.” It felt very personal, but there was no protecting anyone’s privacy tonight. If Brody didn’t answer the call, the Pub’s bartender would have to call police dispatch. Pushing a button on his steering wheel, he answered the call.

  “Detective McNamara?”

  “Yeah.”

  “This is Todd down at The Pub. We have a situation,” Todd said.

  “What is it?” Brody’s appetite dissipated. If Todd was calling Brody directly, Chet was involved.

  “Chet. He’s getting into it with another customer. They’re both acting like assholes. So far it’s just posturing and insults, but Chet’s in a foul mood tonight, and I’m too damned old to break up a fight.”

  “I’m on my way.”

  The sound of indecipherable shouting came over the line.

  “If shit gets physical, I’m calling the police,” Todd warned.

  “Be there in five.” Brody made a U-turn and headed into town. He pressed the pedal to the floor. The SUV shot forward. The Pub was a quiet neighborhood bar. Most of the clientele would be regulars stopping for a few beers after work or popping in to catch the hockey game.

  Hannah grabbed for the armrest. “Is something wrong?”

  “Sorry.” Brody straightened the wheel. “Yes. Do you mind if we make a stop? I should have asked you before I agreed.”

  “It’s fine. I’m not in a rush to get anywhere.”

  “But you’re exhausted, and I promised to feed you.”

  “I just slept for three hours and finished a large coffee. I feel better than I have all day. Can you tell me what happened?”

  “It’s complicated.” Brody stopped at a red light. “I’ll tell you the long story later. For now, my friend Chet is in trouble. He’s an alcoholic and waiting on some bad news. He’s been in AA and mostly sober for a couple of years, but this week was more than he could take. According to The Pub’s bartender, Chet is looking for trouble and so are the guys he found.”

  The Pub sat on the outskirts of Scarlet Falls. The bar had a long history. Like every other old building in New England, The Pub professed that George Washington had slept, eaten pot roast, or changed his socks under its roof. After all, no one could prove he hadn’t. Brody parked in the gravel lot and went inside. Hannah followed him. The halls were lined with historical photos and pictures of the owner with local celebrities. A row of beer mugs etched with the names of regulars hung over the bar.

  Behind the polished wooden bar, Todd rubbed a beer glass with a dish towel. His ruddy Scottish complexion had gone red, and anger lent vigor to his strokes. He inclined his head toward a doorway. In the next room, Chet paced back and forth in front of the pool table, his movements too quick, jerky, and uneven.

  Holding a tumbler of Johnnie Walker, he was gesturing at a big guy dressed like a biker in torn jeans, boots, and a dirty bandana over an equally dirty gray ponytail. Two more biker types occupied the table with Mr. Big.

  “What’s the fight about?” Brody asked. Hannah stepped up next to him. She pressed her arms against his.

  Todd shelved the glass and flipped the towel over his broad shoulder. “The big dude recognized him and started in on him with the usual cop-themed insults. And Brody . . .” Todd waved him closer.

  When Brody leaned over the bar, Todd said in a low voice, “Chet was in here the other day. He was on duty. He only had a couple of drinks, but I thought you should know.”

  “Thanks.” Brody turned to Hannah. “Please go back to the car.”

  She eased backward toward the door.

  Brody crossed the scarred pine floor and assessed the scene in the billiard room, a long, narrow, and dark space. Three pool tables were strung out end-to-end. Brody scanned the room. Shadows darkened the corners, but the room appeared to be empty except for Chet and the three bikers.

  Should he call for backup? He didn’t want the incident to get back to the chief. If he could defuse the situation, he wouldn’t need assistance.

 
Mandatory retirement loomed in Chet’s near future, but he was all cop, from his ugly shoes to his calculating brown eyes. Sober, he could ignore insults to the badge. But alcohol sharpened his temper and thinned his tolerance.

  Standing in front of the three bikers, Chet raised the tumbler of amber liquid and used it to gesture at the bikers. “You think you’re so tough?”

  “Tougher than any cop.” Mr. Big stood. He looked familiar in a been-arrested kind of way.

  Chet tossed back his drink. “I don’t think so.”

  Brody entered the room. “Hey, Chet.”

  Chet’s chin jerked around. Bleary eyes blinked at Brody. “What are you doing here?”

  “Picking up your sorry butt.” Brody nodded at Mr. Big. “Excuse me, gentlemen.”

  “We’re in the middle of something,” Mr. Big said.

  “Tell you what, guys. My friend had a few too many. I’m going to take him home. Why don’t you guys sit back, relax, and have a drink on me?” Brody waved at the bartender through the doorway. “Hey, Todd, bring these boys a round of whatever they’re drinking.”

  Brody was carrying his off-duty gun, but he’d prefer a quiet resolution. Besides, pulling his weapon would generate an excruciating amount of paperwork.

  But Mr. Big wasn’t sober or smart enough to take the bone Brody was waving under his nose. “I ain’t done with him yet. I’ll bet you’re a cop, too.”

  “Then you would be right.” Brody slowly reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. He flipped it open, showed his badge, and stowed it back in his jacket. He had no doubt the big dude saw his off-duty weapon on his hip. “But there’s no need for this to go any further. I’m taking my friend out of here. You can enjoy the rest of your evening.”

  “But Brody, he said cops were pussies.” Chet pressed forward.

  Brody stopped him with a hand on his chest. “Everyone is entitled to his opinion.”

  “See? Cops are pussies.” Mr. Big reached out. He shoved Chet’s shoulder. “Pussy.”

  Chet threw the first punch. Stepping between them, Brody blocked it with his shoulder. He put his back to Chet and faced the biker. This was getting out of hand fast. He sent a silent prayer of thanks that he’d sent Hannah outside.