Minutes to Kill (Scarlet Falls)

by Melinda Leigh

  Grasping the foil pouch, she moved back to the bed. “But I only have one.”

  “Then we’d better make the most of it.” He reached for her.

  Condom in hand, she crawled across the bed and straddled him. His hands encircled her waist, caressing the sensitive skin from her hips to her ribs. She opened the condom and sheathed him. Lowering her torso, she pressed their bodies together. Their lips met. His tongue was slick and hot as it slid between her lips. She could imagine it stroking other sensitive parts of her body.

  The mad condom search had defused her. The heat built again, slower and steadier this time, marathon versus sprint. His hands were gentle, sure and clever, sliding, caressing.

  A fingertip slipped inside her and sent her desire into a free fall. She lifted her head. “Brody . . .”

  “Mm.” The finger withdrew and circled.

  “Any time now.” She tried to sit up to grind against him, but a hand on her lower back held her in place.

  “No way. I’m just getting started. We only have the one, remember?”

  “I’ll buy more.” She pressed against his hand.

  “Patience.” His teeth grazed her throat.

  “Oh.” The exclamations slipped from her lips as control slipped from her grasp. Her hips rocked, the movements guided by pure physical sensation, by instinct. A primal groan vibrated in Hannah’s chest. The sound that poured from her throat felt alien. He took her to the edge and held her there. Sweat broke out over her body. Pleasure built to an almost unbearable level, heat flowing from her core, through her thighs and radiating outward.

  Hannah’s breaths quickened. Her spine arched. Her head lifted. A helpless sound escaped. “Brody. Please.”

  He rolled her to her back. His gaze locked with hers as he slid inside her. He paused. There was more than sexual pleasure in the warm, brown depths of his eyes. He lowered his head and kissed her. Some unnamed emotions, raw and powerful, poured from him. He filled all the empty spaces inside her.

  “More.” She tilted her hips to take all of him. Her legs wrapped around his rib cage. He synced his rhythm to the movements of her body, driving her higher, until the air locked in Hannah’s lungs and the arches of her feet cramped.

  “Please.” She didn’t recognize the breathless plea as her own voice.

  Brody surged, his thrusts shifting from controlled and deliberate to instinctive. Harder. Faster.

  Watching him lose control pushed her higher. Hannah bowed back, her hips fusing to his as the tension inside her broke. She pulsed around him, still hard and thick inside her, drawing out her orgasm.

  His body went rigid. He seated himself deep inside her and shuddered. He lowered his chest and buried his face in the side of her neck.

  Hannah concentrated on breathing. Her lungs craved oxygen. The wave of emotions building in her chest tightened her breaths, a potent and heady mixture of fear and elation.

  This was happening too fast, and yet there didn’t seem to be any way to stop it. She needed time to process the day. The week. The year.

  She poked him in the ribs. “I can’t breathe.”

  “Sorry.” He rolled to his side, his chest still heaving.

  Sweat coated Hannah’s skin. “I need another shower.”

  He grinned down at her. “We only had the one. I wanted to make it count.”

  Her heart swelled.

  Brody threw his head back and laughed. “I’ll buy a case tomorrow.”

  “Good idea.” Happiness bloomed inside Hannah. The emotions felt strange, as if it had been a very long time since she’d experienced it. So long she barely recognized it. She held it close. In her life, joy was rare and elusive. Not that she was an inherently unhappy person, but Fate had a way of snatching happiness just before she had it in her grasp. She was more familiar with suffering, determination, and fortitude than joy. Barretts barreled over obstacles, and they didn’t stop to appreciate their triumphs. Another impediment always lingered on the horizon, waiting to be overcome.

  “How can you be so calm after all that happened today?”

  “Maybe today made me realize I need to appreciate every moment of happiness. Life is uncertain. Bad things will happen, and that makes the good times all the more precious.” And with that he kissed her, as if she were the most precious thing of all.

  “I’ll be right back.” Brody got up and strode into the bathroom. Watching him, she drank in the sight of his naked body.

  Hannah settled back on the pillows, determined to savor every second with Brody. It was only a matter of time before she would be back at work. The thought of leaving Scarlet Falls disturbed her instead of filling her with relief. The feelings that Brody elicited from her were simultaneously terrifying and beautiful. Most of the time, she didn’t think about her personal life. Professional ambition directed her decisions. Like all things rare and precious, personal happiness was fleeting.

  He sat down on the bed, and she curled against him. “I don’t have much time.”

  He’d barely gotten the words out when his phone vibrated.

  He picked up his phone. “Excuse me.” He got up and walked toward the window. “Yes, sir. I was just getting cleaned up. I’ll be right there.”

  “I’m sorry.” He went back to the bathroom and picked up his toothbrush. “That was the chief. I have to go back to work.”

  “Right now?”

  “Ten minutes ago.” Brody sighed.

  “It’s all right.” Hannah stood. “I have to meet with the prosecutor about Lee’s case early in the morning. I should go home.”

  “I wish I could stay.”

  “Me, too.” She glanced at the pile of wet clothes in the hallway. “Do you mind if I wear your clothes home?”

  “Not at all.” He went to the closet and started dressing while Hannah went downstairs and found the dog’s leash on the kitchen table. AnnaBelle and Danno were curled up together on Brody’s overstuffed sofa.

  “Time to go, girl.”

  AnnaBelle looked disappointed. Hannah knew how the dog felt. For once, she was the one who was being left. She didn’t like it. Not one bit.

  Brody hunched against the cold. The door of the mobile home outside the kennel opened, and a crime scene tech entered, his hands full with a box of small envelopes and a roll of evidence labels. Outside, rain beat against the windows, and the temperature had dropped since Brody had been at the crime scene earlier. The front yard was filled with emergency vehicles and news vans. What he wouldn’t give to be in a warm bed with Hannah right now.

  “Our suspect is a cocaine addict.” Officer Carl Ripton pointed at a laminate table littered with small packets of white powder. A crime scene photographer snapped a close-up of the drugs next to a yellow evidence marker.

  With a gloved hand, Ripton lifted a driver’s license. A pretty young brunette smiled at the camera. “The homeowner’s name is Joleen Walken. Joleen leases the property. The kennel business was hers.”

  Brody followed Ripton out of the kitchen into a living room. A rectangular patch one shade lighter than the wall-to-wall indicated where an area rug once lay. A dark red stain marred the middle of the lighter area. Ripton pointed to the wall and ceiling. Lines of rusty red streaked the white paint. Brody envisioned the bat hitting her face, blood splattering the room on the killer’s backswing. “He didn’t even bother to clean up.”

  Brody’s gut twisted. This guy had been living in a dead woman’s house, presumably since Saturday night, surrounded by blood spatter. “Who is he?”

  “We don’t know. No sign of a boyfriend in the house.” Ripton’s lips compressed. “Her father showed up a half hour ago. He saw the house on the news. The mother died a few years ago.”

  Brody closed his eyes for a second, not allowing himself to imagine the father’s reaction. “Where’s the father?”

  “At the
station. The chief said he’d do their interview personally.” Ripton’s face remained impassive, but irritation flashed briefly in his eyes. “Before he was escorted to the station, the father said he’d been on a business trip for the past week. Just got home yesterday. He hadn’t talked to Joleen, which wasn’t unusual. They were both busy. He was supposed to see her on Monday for their standing weekly dinner. From their last dinner, he didn’t think there was a current boyfriend. She was focused on building her business. I got the impression the father was helping her financially.”

  Framed snapshots lined a shelving unit in the living room. Brody stooped to look at a framed photo of two bikini-clad young women, a blond and a Joleen, standing on a beach. He focused on the brunette. Long hair. Early twenties. Slight frame. The tiny heart tattoo on her hip matched the one on Jane Doe’s body. Brody’s gaze flickered to her face. Her wide, happy smile sent a rift of anger through his chest. Her killer had obliterated her identity. The violence of her murder was staggering. He pointed to the tattoo. “That confirms it. Jane Doe is Joleen Walken.”

  Ripton nodded. “She worked in a bank two years ago. We’ll contact her former employer and get her fingerprints sent over to the medical examiner for official corroboration.” He led Brody down a short hallway. A closet door stood open. Inside, a baseball bat leaned in the corner, right below a floor mop. “We believe this is the bat he used to beat her face in.” A valid conclusion, since he hadn’t bothered to wipe off the wood. A yellow evidence marker stood on the floor of the closet next to the bat.

  “Are you going to call Chet?” Ripton asked.

  “I am.” Brody stepped outside and dialed Chet’s number. His friend picked up on the first ring. “It’s not her. The body isn’t Teresa.”

  “I know,” Chet slurred. He was drinking. Damn it.

  “How did you know?” Brody asked.

  “I found an old e-mail. One of my contacts said she was seen in Vegas last month with a known pimp.”

  “I’m sorry, Chet.” Brody could feel his friend’s pain through the connection.

  “Don’t be sorry. At least she’s still alive.” Glass clinked in the background. Chet wasn’t hopping back on the wagon tonight.

  “Are you all right?” Brody asked. “I can come there when I’m done at the scene.”

  “I promise I’m not going anywhere.” Chet hiccupped. “I hid my keys from myself.”

  “She’s alive, Chet.”

  “She’s being trafficked, Brody.”

  Shit! Brody curled his fingers and punched his thigh. “I’ll come over when I’ve finished here.”

  “I know you’re worried, but if you go anywhere tonight, go see Hannah. You need her. She needs you. Don’t fuck that up.” His voice slurred. The sound of liquid pouring into a glass came over the line. “I’ll be out cold as soon as I finish this last drink.”

  Damn it. He should have known Chet had a stash of booze. Brody wanted to go to Chet’s house and, once again, pour every ounce of liquor down the drain. As sad as it was, passing out for the night was likely Chet’s safest option. Besides, Brody wasn’t likely to have any time until morning. Maybe not even then. “Tomorrow we’re calling your sponsor. Together.”

  Chet answered with a long sigh filled with resignation. “Fine.”

  “Detective McNamara?” Ripton prompted.

  Brody nodded and held up one finger. “I have to go, Chet.”

  He ended the call. Officer Ripton pointed toward the back door to the trailer. “I want to show you something in the shed.”

  They walked across the yard. The rain had stopped, but the cold air blowing across the field was frosty. Brody buttoned his overcoat. It seemed unbelievable that a couple of hours ago, he’d been in a warm bed with a woman. They walked into a sagging shed. Two portable lamps brightened the space. A cheap oriental-style rug lay on the barn floor. The center was stained dark red. Hair and other matter clumped on the pile.

  Brody shoved his hands into his coat pockets. “The missing rug.”

  Ripton’s mouth went flat. “We found teeth, Brody. Six teeth.”

  The sound of a trunk popping echoed in the open space.

  “Ripton, over here,” another cop called.

  Brody and Ripton walked to the rear of another car, a battered old Corolla. The trunk stood open. Inside, the nude body of a young woman lay on its side. Brody gasped, and his pulse stuttered a beat. For a second he’d thought it was Hannah. But a second glance told him that other than the short blond hair, there was little resemblance. This girl was younger. Her eyes were brown instead of blue. She was a head shorter and curvier. Plus, he’d just left Hannah alive and well.

  The hair must be a coincidence, but the similarity left him with an uneasy feeling in the pit of his belly. He would not breathe easily until they caught Joleen’s killer.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Brody spent the early morning hours on Thursday walking through the rest of the scene with the lead crime scene tech. The shooting of a police officer and the sheer brutality of Joleen’s killing eliminated the normal gallows humor of a death scene.

  The second woman had been identified as Chrissi Tyler. A few phone calls determined that she’d had a fight with her boyfriend Tuesday night at The Scarlet Lounge. The security tapes showed a man following her out the door, a man who knew how to keep his face away from the surveillance cameras. Both Chrissi and the man had disappeared from the range of the parking lot cameras. Chrissi’s hair had been long in the tape, and a few snipped strands had been found in the mobile home bedroom. The killer had given her a haircut that looked just like Hannah’s. How the hell could that be a coincidence?

  Brody drove toward the station but somehow ended up sitting in front of the Barrett farmhouse. Through the windshield, dawn brightened the tops of the trees. For a minute, he leaned on the headrest and closed his eyes. The things human beings did to one another never ceased to appall him. That was probably a good thing. The day he could shrug off a man beating a woman to death with a baseball bat was the day he should hand in his badge.

  He checked the time on his phone. Six thirty. Would Hannah be awake? Probably. She had an early morning meeting with the prosecutor. His morning, maybe his whole day, would be consumed with Joleen’s murder case and assisting the task force formed to find her killer. Good luck to him in trying to make sense of a total cluster of a night. What he needed was twelve hours of solid sleep. But how would he get the image of that girl out of his head? Sure, there were plenty of women with short blond hair, and the other victim had been a brunette, but Brody was still uncomfortable.

  He dialed Hannah’s number.

  “Brody.” The sound of her voice smoothed his rough edges. It also highlighted the horrors he’d witnessed in the last few hours. “I assume you had an awful night.”

  “Good assumption. I didn’t wake you, did I?”

  “No. Where are you?” she asked.

  “Outside.”

  She paused. “Well, come in.”

  The front door opened as he climbed the steps. She was in full lawyer mode. Tailored gray slacks and a charcoal blouse draped her slim body. A single strand of pearls encircled her neck. Her hair was polished rather than tousled. When was the last time he’d seen her wearing makeup? She was stunning, but seemed less touchable, less approachable, in her corporate attorney persona. He suppressed the urge to ruffle her hair.

  “Do you want some coffee?” She led the way back to the kitchen. A mug of coffee cooled on the counter. Next to it, a plate held a slice of toast.

  Brody followed her. “Sure.”

  “Are you hungry?” She pushed the plate of toast toward him then poured a mug from the thermal carafe.

  “Not really.” He wandered to the window and watched the treetops sway in the morning breeze. A squirrel raced across the grass and ran up the trunk of the big oak in the backya
rd.

  Hannah’s arms slid around his waist, and her body pressed against his. “Are you all right?”

  “Yeah.”

  She rested her head on the back of his shoulder. In her heels she was only a couple of inches shorter than him.

  “He’d been living in her house, sitting on her sofa, watching her TV, without even cleaning her bloodstains off the walls.” Brody turned around. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have told you all that. You don’t need those images in your head.”

  Her eyes sharpened. “Don’t ever think you can’t be honest with me.”

  “Thankfully, I rarely see cases this bad.”

  “Still, if you need to unload, unload.” She reached up and cupped his jaw. “I’m tough.”

  “You are.” He leaned into her hand. “But I prefer to leave the violence at work.”

  “I understand that, too,” she said.

  “Be careful today.” He told her about the second victim’s haircut. “It’s probably a coincidence, but . . .”

  “I should be safe enough at the courthouse.” She registered the information with a tight nod. “How is Chet? Relieved?”

  “I think so, but his reaction wasn’t as joyous as I expected.” How would Chet have fared if his wife hadn’t died? If he’d had someone to support him in his time of need? Brody had seen marriages torn apart by tragedy, and other couples brought closer. “He was drinking last night.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Thanks.” Brody squeezed her hand.

  She moved to the counter, picked up both mugs of coffee, and handed him one. When he perched on the edge of a stool, she nudged the toast toward him. “Want me to check on him on my way home?”

  “I’ll do it later. He might be in a state.”

  Hannah put two more slices of bread into the toaster. “I grew up with a disabled father, and I nursed my mother through hospice. Trust me. I’ve seen worse than a man with a hangover.”