Hannah took her keys from her purse as Brody pulled into the driveway. He followed her to the front porch. On the other side of the door, the dog barked.
“So along with survival skills, the Colonel taught you to fight?”
“Yes. We did all sorts of drills.” She opened the front door. AnnaBelle was all wags and snuffles. Hannah rubbed her silky ears. “I have to visit him this week. I promised Grant.”
“Will that be hard for you?”
“It will.” Straightening, she hung her jacket on the newel post. “He doesn’t remember us, and he gets agitated, but mostly, it’s hard to see such a strong man so helpless and weak.”
“I could go with you.”
“You have enough on your plate.” And Hannah could get too accustomed to leaning on him. “You don’t need any more of my family drama.”
“I don’t mind. I don’t have a family.”
“You have Chet, and it seems he’s a handful.”
Brody sighed. “Thank you for saving my ass tonight.”
She sure as hell wasn’t going to sit outside in the car while Brody faced three bikers alone.
The dog whined.
“Poor thing. I’m sure she’s hungry, and she needs to go out. We’ve been gone a long time.” Hannah started toward the back of the house.
Brody was right behind her. “After the porcupine incident last night, she probably slept all day.”
Halfway down the hallway, her foot went out from under her body. Brody grabbed her elbow.
“Guess she couldn’t hold it that long.” Hannah laughed. Stepping around the puddle, she took off her boots. “I’ll just go wipe these down and grab the floor cleaner.”
“Let me walk her before I go.” Brody went back to the kitchen and snapped AnnaBelle’s leash onto her collar. “I don’t like you wandering around the woods in the dark.”
Hannah paused in the laundry room doorway. “Thank you, but I can do it if you want to get back to Chet.”
“It’ll just take a minute.” Warmth lit his eyes. Something was different about his expression. “I’ll feel better if you’re all secure here before I leave.”
“I usually carry my gun if I’m outside alone at night,” she said.
While he took the dog into the yard, she cleaned her boots, wiped up the hall floor, and filled the dog’s dish. Hannah couldn’t shake the feeling that a key element had changed in her relationship with Brody. The connection between them buzzed stronger.
She’d been glad to have his support this afternoon, and she was even more glad she was there when that biker pulled a knife on him. Her bones chilled. What if he’d been alone? He’d put himself between those three bikers and Chet. He’d displayed a courage she understood too well. In her life, she’d said good-bye to dozens of soldiers, friends of her father, men who served with Grant. She’d known the risk her father and brother had taken on every deployment. Brody could just as easily die in the line of duty.
The door opened. Cold air blasted into the room as Brody and the dog entered the kitchen. He unsnapped the leash and hung it on its peg. Shivering, Hannah filled the teakettle and lit the burner.
Brody crossed the room. “I’d better get back to Chet.”
“Thanks for taking me today.” She rubbed her arms.
“What’s wrong?”
Needing contact with his warm, breathing body, she reached out and touched his face. “You could have been killed tonight.”
“Thanks to you, I wasn’t.” He smiled down at her, but his eyes were serious.
Brody cupped her cheek in one broad hand, his thumb caressing the line of her jaw. His head dipped, and his mouth settled on her lips. The taste of him filled her with warmth. Heat settled into the parts of her that had gone cold.
Her hands splayed on his chest. He tilted his head and deepened the kiss. His tongue slid between her lips. Opening her mouth, she met his tongue with hers head-on. The awfulness of the day faded. Her disappointment with the doctor and the incident in the bar became less vivid. All she could feel was Brody’s mouth on hers, the soft glide of his tongue over her lips. The taste of him wiped her slate clean and recharged her.
Her fingers curled in the lapel of his jacket, pulling him closer, as if she sensed he was about to leave. She didn’t want to say good-bye to Brody. Not for the night. Not at all. The realization disconcerted her.
He eased back and lifted his head. He leaned a few inches away from her, and his hands dropped to his sides. Bewilderment flooded Hannah, while Brody’s eyes were full of resignation. What the hell?
“Was that not good for you?” she asked, indignation creeping into her voice.
Brody closed in again. His hands went to her hips and pulled their bodies together. Their torsos aligned from thigh to chest, the planes and angles in a perfect fit. He closed his mouth over hers again. This time there was no asking. If their first kiss kindled her desire, the second lit a raging bonfire. His fingers gripped tighter in the soft flesh of her hips, pulling her tightly against his need.
The teakettle whistled. Brody’s body tensed. When he lifted his head this time, his pupils were wide open with desire. “On the contrary. It was far too good.”
“Oh.” Fluency in three foreign languages, and oh was the best response she could manage?
He broke contact quickly, cleanly, as if it took every ounce of his extraordinary self-control to walk away from her. “Good night, Hannah. Don’t forget to lock up and set the alarm.”
She turned off the burner. No need to warm up with tea now. Every inch of her was hot. She locked up and set the alarm. Taking a glass from the cabinet, she filled it with ice water from the dispenser on the refrigerator.
The dog butted Hannah’s hand with her head. She stroked the retriever’s soft fur. “This visit isn’t going the way I’d planned.”
AnnaBelle padded to the back door, the fur on her neck lifting. Hannah turned to face the glass, but her own reflection faced her. She moved to the wall and flipped two switches. The interior light went out, and floodlights illuminated the yard.
“I don’t see anything.” Her fingertips touched the dog’s head. AnnaBelle growled softly. “But I’ll take your word for it.”
She ran upstairs to get her gun out of the safe. Her New York State concealed carry permit wasn’t valid in New York City, so she’d left the weapon at home. The Glock on her hip soothed her nerves better than a cup of tea. Perhaps it was a herd of deer or a porcupine ambling through the woods, but a girl couldn’t be too careful.
Something was out there in the dark, and it was watching.
Chapter Twenty
Mick watched the man’s car drive away from Hannah Barrett’s house. Where had she been all day? He’d been waiting for her for hours. Tree bark was digging into his ass. He stood and rolled his neck to work out the kinks. Now the man had walked the dog. The blond would be locked up and secure all damned night.
He raised his binoculars and watched her move around the kitchen. She stopped at the back door and stared out into the woods. The kitchen light went out, and lights blazed in the yard. Did she sense his presence?
Uncertainty slid over him, and he drew farther into the woods. Dead leaves rustled around his boots. She couldn’t know he was out here. He was too far away, and his dark jeans and black hoodie blended with the shadow of the trees. It was almost as if they were connected.
As if he were meant to have her.
But it wasn’t going to happen tonight. He needed to catch her outside and unaware. She wasn’t going to be an easy score. He considered his options. Using drugs or a Taser would make the process simple. But he didn’t want simple. He wanted her awake and kicking. She had to be aware of every moment, to look in his eyes and know he was the one who defeated her. That incident in the Vegas parking lot had been a fluke.
No point in sitting out he
re any longer. Restless, he tucked his binoculars into his hoodie pocket and headed for the car. The coke was low. A bottle of vodka waited back at the house with Sam, but Mick was tired of sitting around that crappy little place. The country was too quiet, and the cable sucked.
At the edge of the trees, he checked for traffic. Nothing but empty road in either direction. Very few cars passed down this road. He shook a clingy red leaf from his pant leg. Jogging across the road, he ducked behind the evergreens and got into the car.
The engine started with a low rumble. Mick curbed the urge to stomp on the gas and roar down the quiet street. He scratched his shoulder. He was jonesing for something, and it wasn’t booze or drugs.
He wanted the blond bitch. Instead of heading back to the house, he cruised down the two-lane rural highway toward town. What was open late at night? The lights glowed on a building on the roadside. Mick slowed. A sign above the door read “The Scarlet Lounge” in neon blue script. He pulled into the lot. Pickups and tractor trailers dominated the parking area.
A small sign warned of surveillance cameras. Mick circled the building once, contemplating spots and finding two cameras attached to light poles. The bar’s attempt at security was pathetic. Half the lot had no coverage. He parked in a blank spot between a couple of pickup trucks and an eighteen-wheeler. He was just going in for a drink, but there was no reason for his car to appear on anyone’s recording.
Dark and seedy and smelling of stale beer, The Scarlet Lounge was exactly the sort of crappy little bar he and Sam had been searching for the other night. People shouted over classic rock blasting through the dim space. Mick went up to the bar and ordered a double shot of decent vodka. He tossed it back, hoping the fiery liquid would eat away at his frustration. But it didn’t. He eased away from the bar into a dark corner to sip at a second round, letting the noise of the crowd wash over him. But the nighttime activity did little to subdue the itch in his blood.
A young woman stumbled away from a man in his twenties, saying, “Asshole. Find your own ride home.”
The man tossed his hands in the air. “Whatever, bitch.”
The woman turned and ran for the door. Mick slid out into the cool night air behind her. She dug in her purse. Keys jingled as she tottered across the asphalt.
She dropped her keys. “Damn it.”
Sobbing, she bent down to pick them up. Tight jeans and high heels showcased a bitching body. Long blond hair swung in a shiny curtain around her pretty face.
“Can I help you?” Mick smiled, the expression feeling alien to his facial muscles. But it wasn’t as if he hadn’t done this before.
She sniffed. “I’m OK. Just going home.”
“You look like you’ve had a lot to drink.”
Straightening, she sniffed and wiped at the mascara running down her cheeks. But she was young enough to still be pretty with puffy eyes. “I’m fine. He cheated on me. I just want to go home.”
“Do you live far from here?” Mick asked.
She shook her head. “No.”
“Why don’t I take you home,” he offered.
“No.” Suspicion dawned in her eyes, as if she’d just realized she was in a dark parking lot alone with a total stranger. Her gaze darted toward the bar, but Mick blocked her return path.
He scanned the area. Lot was empty of people. No cameras pointing in his direction. Sweet. He knocked her out with a single punch to the jaw, then caught her as she collapsed. He tossed her and her purse into the back of the Charger. He drove a half mile and turned onto a dark side road. After securing her with zip ties and duct tape, he transferred her to the trunk. He could barely contain his excitement as he drove toward the house.
Sam got up from his spot on the couch as Mick carried her inside.
“Another one? We’re going to run out of places to put them all.” But Sam’s protest was mocking. His eyes lit with pleasure as his gaze swept over her.
Mick took her into the bedroom he’d claimed. “You can have her when I’m done, but first we’ll have to go get her car. I don’t want it found in the parking lot of the bar.” He took her keys from her purse. The beep of the unlock button on the keychain should lead him to her vehicle.
Sam nodded. “She’s out cold anyway. Not my idea of a party unless they’re awake.”
Mick tied her spread-eagle to the bedposts. No chance of her getting away while they took care of business. Thirty minutes later they returned. Sam hid the girl’s car in the barn out back. She was awake when Mick walked into the bedroom. Her terrified eyes and muffled screams sent all his blood to his groin.
As he approached her, he held up a pair of scissors he’d taken from the kitchen. “I’d hold still if I were you.”
She froze. Mick knelt next to her head and snipped her long blond strands. He was no hairstylist, but when he was finished, her hair was cropped short to frame her face. He collected the hair from the bed and flushed it down the toilet. Tonight, he wanted no reminders that this woman wasn’t Hannah Barrett.
Chapter Twenty-One
At seven a.m., the police station was mostly empty when Brody knocked on the chief’s office door. He’d purposefully come in early to get his task over with before the administrative staff started at eight. Patrol shift had just changed, and Stella, who’d been on duty overnight, sat at a computer typing a report before clocking out.
Brody had woken Chet and ordered him into the shower. Nursing the mother of all hangovers, Chet had been a cranky old bear. There had been no further conversation. Feeling like a traitor and a coward, Brody had sneaked out of the house before Chet emerged.
“Come in.”
Brody took a breath and turned the knob. He took three steps and eased into a chair facing the chief’s desk. As usual, Chief Dave Horner was perfectly presented without a wrinkle on his starched navy-blue uniform or a spot of stubble on his chin to mar his clean-cut image.
The chief’s focus sharpened as he studied Brody’s face. “I heard Chet was involved in an altercation at The Pub last night. Tell me what happened.”
Of course he’d heard. Horner was more politician than cop. Police chief was an appointed position, and his job security depended on the continued reelection of the mayor who had hired him. Information was the key to Horner’s political game.
“Chet was drinking . . .” Brody relayed the basics but kept the details to a minimum.
The chief scratched his cleanly shaved jaw. “I should have expected him to snap. The news about his daughter must be too much for him to handle.”
“We have no evidence that those remains are Teresa. Chances are they are not. I’m still investigating.”
“Of course. You’re right.” Irritation creased his mouth as Horner corrected himself. He smoothed it over. “But not knowing her fate must be a huge strain on him. “We’ll need a statement from the woman who was with you last night.” Curiosity lit Horner’s eyes.
Brody had planned to ask Hannah for a formal, signed statement last night. The kiss had distracted him.
“Brody?”
Just as the memory of their lip-lock was distracting him now.
“Of course, sir,” he said. “I’ll have it by the end of the day.”
Brody sent a silent thank-you to Hannah. The paperwork required by last night’s incident would have increased tenfold if Brody’s gun had been fired.
“I appreciate what it took for you to come in here this morning.” Horner leaned back and spread his palms on the surface of his desk. “I’ll take care of it from here. Thank you.”
Dismissed.
But Brody didn’t move.
The chief sighed. “I’ll be gentle.”
Feeling low, Brody exited the office. A receptionist, an admin, and two patrol officers had come in while he’d been talking to Horner. All eyes were on Brody as he crossed the thin carpet. Stella leaned on the desk
, her hands gripping the laminate edge. “Brody, wait.”
He stopped, preparing to be ostracized. Cops stuck by cops. They didn’t volunteer information that led to disciplinary action.
“We all know what happened last night.”
Small towns.
“What you just did must have killed you inside, and as much as we love Chet, you did what had to be done. No one blames you,” she said.
Brody lifted his head and scanned the room. No one avoided eye contact. This was a tight-knit group, and he felt like a traitor for reporting Chet’s drinking.
“You have our support, and Chet does, too.” Stella pushed off the desk. “Chet has been a mentor to everyone on this force. We all owe him. But he has no business with a badge or a weapon in his current state of mind.” But they all knew how much the job meant to Chet. It was all he had left.
Brody’s throat constricted. He couldn’t say anything but “Thanks.”
With the support of the other cops, Brody only felt twenty shades of shitty instead of fifty as he headed for his unmarked sedan. He had reams of paperwork to process from last night, but fifteen minutes later, he found himself staring up at the Barrett house. It was barely eight o’clock. Hannah could still be sleeping. He shouldn’t bother her. He reached for the gearshift to put the car in reverse. The front door opened, and Hannah stepped out onto the porch. She nudged the dog back into the house and closed the door behind her. She was dressed in blue plaid pajama pants and an oversize jersey that hung to mid-thigh. Her eyes were sleepy and her short hair tousled in a way that made Brody yearn to climb into bed beside her. Considering they’d only kissed once—as smoking as that one time had been—it was too early to take her to bed. He was not interested in anything meaningless, especially not with Hannah.
But the sight of her pulled Brody from his vehicle. He climbed the steps. “Did I wake you?”
“No one sneaks up to the house with AnnaBelle on duty.”
“It’s cold. You should be inside.” He tried to steer her toward the entry.
Minutes to Kill (Scarlet Falls) Page 17