by Gail Barrett
But as she blended back into the night, questions whirled through her mind. Who had attacked her agent? Not Parker McCall; he didn’t fit Joan’s description of that snake tattoo. And she couldn’t see him harming a woman, no matter how angry he became. She’d repeatedly provoked him in the alley, and he’d refrained from hurting her.
So someone else was on her trail, someone connected to her past. Someone ruthless enough to harm an innocent woman to get to her.
The gang leader she’d witnessed executing his prisoner? Her stepfather? She shuddered hard at the thought. Both men were equally vicious. Both men wanted her dead.
And now that her photo had appeared in the newspaper, they would hunt her down, endangering anyone connected to her. And who would be next? Haley? The pregnant teenagers in her homeless shelter? Some unsuspecting passerby on the street?
But what could she do to stop them? If she spoke out, if she broke her vow of silence and revealed the truth, she would jeopardize Haley and Nadine.
They were in danger either way.
She lurched to a stop at a lamppost, leaning against it as she caught her breath. What about Parker McCall? Was there any chance she could trust him?
Her nerves coiled tight at the thought. She’d be crazy to trust him. The police always banded together. He’d take her stepfather’s word over hers.
Wouldn’t he?
She started jogging again, slower this time, thinking back to Parker’s face—his hot black eyes, the harsh angles of his square-cut jaw, that unbridled masculinity that seeped from every pore. The man was dangerous, all right, disrupting her equilibrium in ways she absolutely couldn’t afford. And he clearly wouldn’t give up. She hadn’t missed the resolve in those lethal eyes.
But behind that determination she’d caught a glimpse of something deeper, darker. Pain. He’d cared about his brother. Really cared. And that gave her a glimmer of hope. If she could control the information he gleaned, if she could keep him from unearthing too much too fast, maybe, just maybe, she could use him to her own end.
And maybe she was insane. Trying to control Parker McCall would be like riding one of those sixty-foot waves she’d seen in Hawaii one year. If she made a mistake, if she had one second of inattention, he’d crush her alive.
But did she have a choice?
Spotting a convenience store with a pay phone, she stopped. For several long moments, she debated what to do, combing through her options again. But one thing was crystal clear. She could no longer run. Joan’s attack had guaranteed that. She had to protect the people around her.
And Parker was her only hope.
Her belly tensing, she checked her watch. Less than two hours had passed since he’d left her house. She doubted he’d be asleep.
She was right. Two short rings later, his deep voice rasped into her ear. “Parker McCall.”
She inhaled to steady her nerves. “It’s me. Brynn Elliot. If you still want information about your brother, I’m willing to make a deal.”
Silence crackled across the line. “What kind of deal?” he finally asked.
“I’ll tell you in person.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow at noon.” She named a coffee shop on Wisconsin Avenue in Georgetown. “And Parker...”
“Yeah?”
“Come alone or the deal’s off.” Not waiting for an answer, she hung up. Then she leaned back against the glass and hugged her arms, feeling as if she’d just stepped onto a high wire over Niagara Falls. She’d taken the plunge—but she had to watch her step. She had to keep her head, stay in control and somehow manage Parker McCall.
Before the killers destroyed them all.
* * *
Parker drummed his fingers on the round metal table inside the coffee shop the following afternoon, convinced that he’d lost his mind. He’d spent years obeying the rules, trying to live down his father’s legacy and prove he wasn’t corrupt. And now he was risking everything to meet with a possible suspect in his brother’s death—his reputation, his integrity, his job.
And for what? He already knew that he couldn’t trust her. She’d lied about knowing his brother. She’d fled the scene of his murder, evading the authorities for years. Even now she was trying to conceal her identity, eschewing money and fame to escape scrutiny, a sure sign she had something to hide.
And those bizarrely cryptic comments she’d made...What “trouble” was he stirring up? Which “people” was he going to hurt? Nothing but vague innuendos designed to paint her as the victim and throw his investigation off course.
He gulped down the last swallow of his espresso and checked his watch, then let out a huff of disgust. Insane is right. He’d risked everything he believed in to meet her here, and she would probably stand him up. If he had any sense he’d walk out now, turn the case over to his supervisor like he was supposed to and let him investigate Tommy’s death.
But then the door swung open and she strolled inside—her pale cheeks flushed, a black watch cap pulled low over her head, exposing the flame-colored ends of her hair. She still wore the same black peacoat and jeans and had that pack slung over her back. Her gaze collided with his, and she paused.
And damned if another shock of awareness didn’t sizzle through him, like a lightning strike to the gut. His heart began to thud, a predatory kind of alertness pinning him in place. And judging by her startled expression, she felt it, too—this crazy, magnetic pull.
Disgusted at his reaction, he scowled back. Appealing or not, B. K. Elliot was a suspect—one he wouldn’t underestimate again.
Her flush climbing higher, she gave him a cautious nod, then wove through the half-empty restaurant, heading his way. But as she neared, he picked up on subtle details—the slight crease puckering her brow, the grooves bracketing her lush mouth, the nervous way she kept scanning the restaurant like a criminal on the lookout for cops.
Even more on guard now, he watched as she took her seat. “You want something to drink?” he asked.
“No, thanks. I’m good.” She pulled off her cap and shook out her tousled hair, the deep hues catching the light. Then she glanced around the room again.
“Something wrong?”
“What? No.” Her gaze danced back to his.
She’s lying. The woman looked spooked as hell. “Something’s bothering you.”
“I just thought... You came alone like I told you, right?”
“I said I would.”
“And you didn’t tell anyone you were coming here?”
He cocked his head. “You accusing me of something?”
“No, I...I just needed to be sure.”
He worked his jaw, a spurt of annoyance hardening his voice. “I don’t lie, and I don’t go back on my word. I said I’d come alone, and I did. Now if you’ve got a problem with that, I need to know because I didn’t come here to play games.”
Hesitating again, she searched his eyes. “I thought someone followed me here. I guess I was wrong.”
Not quite willing to believe her, he crossed his arms. “So what’s this about a deal?”
She lifted her backpack onto her lap, pulled out a five-by-seven black-and-white photo and placed it on the table, facing him. “This girl. Do you know who she is?”
He dropped his gaze to the photograph. The girl was young, barely pubescent, with long blond braids and troubled eyes. He frowned, trying to place her, certain he’d seen her before. And then the memory broke loose. “You had a photo of her on your wall.” She’d been part of the homeless group.
“But you don’t know who she is?”
“Should I?”
Her eyes studied his again. She gave him a nod, as if he’d confirmed something she already suspected, and put the photo away. “Her name was Erin Walker. She was a runaway. I met her on the streets a while back.”
“Pretty young for a runaway.”
“Some kids grow up fast.”
He couldn’t argue that. “Go on.”
“The police picked her up and took
her home. Her parents have money, so they sent her to High Rock Camp. It’s a place in western Maryland for at-risk youth, one of those wilderness therapy camps where they do survival things.”
“I know it.” In fact, his boss, Colonel Hugh Hoffman—the head of Baltimore’s Criminal Investigation Division—had founded the camp. And it was a great success, generating so much positive publicity it had spawned imitations in other states. It had even impressed Senator Alfred Riggs, who’d taken the Colonel under his wing, fast-tracking his political career.
“Erin died there,” Brynn continued. “Supposedly she committed suicide.”
Parker nodded, not sure where she was going with this. “Sad, but it happens.”
“Not usually with a girl that young.”
He studied her blue-gold eyes. “You don’t believe she committed suicide?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I don’t have enough information to decide. Her family refuses to talk. She was a minor, so the papers didn’t release any details. And the camp doesn’t want bad publicity, so they’ve kept everything hushed up.”
Realization dawned. “You want me to look into her death.”
“I’d like to see the autopsy report and photos so I know for sure.”
“Why?”
Her gaze slid away. “She was a friend. I feel I owe her that much.”
Another lie. Or at least not quite the truth. “Forget it.”
Her gaze shot back to his. “What?”
“I said no deal.”
“You’re turning me down? But why?”
“Because you’re lying.”
“I’m not—”
“The hell you aren’t. You’ve been lying to me from the start. You said you didn’t know my brother. You claimed you didn’t know about his death. You even lied about answering that phone. I doubt anything you’ve told me is true.”
Her eyes went dark. A flush returned to her cheeks. “You can’t expect me to tell you everything. I don’t even know you.”
“Baloney. If you didn’t think you could trust me, you wouldn’t have proposed this deal. Now you’re sitting here telling half-truths while I’ve played straight with you from the start.”
“I’m not lying about this girl.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“Believe what you want. But I’m telling you the truth, as much as I can right now.”
Neither of them moved. Her angry gaze stayed locked on his. Tension crackled between them, like the atmosphere before a lightning storm.
And despite all evidence to the contrary, despite knowing that she’d lied, he realized she’d played him to perfection, piquing his interest about the case. Because if there was any chance she was right...
He shook his head, hoping the motion would dispel this lunacy and knock some sense back into his muddled brain. “It doesn’t matter. There’s still no deal.”
“But—”
“It’s not my case. It’s not even in my jurisdiction.” Questioning a potential suspect was one thing. But meddling in someone else’s investigation... “I’d be putting my job on the line—and for what? To satisfy your curiosity? To pass some sort of litmus test you’ve devised?”
“You want me to take a risk and tell you about Tommy’s death.”
“It’s not the same.”
“You’re right. It’s not the same thing at all. You might lose your job. Big deal. I’ve got more to lose than that.”
“Like what?”
“Nothing.” She shrugged into her coat and stood. “Forget it. I should have known I was wasting my time talking to a cop.” She swung her backpack onto her shoulder and stalked across the room, then shoved open the door to the street.
Parker scrambled to his feet, his temper mounting as he strode after her outside. What right did she have to test him? She was the suspect. He was the one who couldn’t trust her.
He caught up with her on the sidewalk and grabbed her arm. She wheeled around and glared back. “Get your hands off me.”
“Or what? You’ll elbow me in the head again?”
“I should.”
“Try it, and I’ll haul you in right now.”
“Fine. Go ahead and arrest me,” she countered, shaking her slender arm loose. “But you’ll never find out the truth that way.”
“You don’t think I can find out what happened to Tommy without your help?”
“I know you can’t.”
Parker opened his mouth to argue, but damned if she wasn’t right. She knew what had happened to Tommy. She’d been the last one to see him alive. For all he knew, she’d pulled the trigger and run away.
But what if she hadn’t? What if she’d witnessed his death instead—and knew who the killer was? What if innocent lives really were at risk? Could he give up the chance to find out?
And what if—God forbid—that kid at the camp had been murdered as Brynn thought? He’d sworn to obtain justice for victims, no matter how inconvenient the case. He was duty-bound to pursue the truth.
But he couldn’t do what she’d asked. Hoffman would fire him in a heartbeat—unless his supervisor canned him first. Delgado would leap at the chance.
“Look.” He tried to sound reasonable. “It’s not that I don’t want to help you—”
“Then do it.” Her eyes challenged his. “You’ve heard my conditions. I’ve told you what I want.”
He glowered back, his anger rising again. She didn’t understand what she was asking. Bad enough that he’d gone behind Delgado’s back, contacted the possible suspect in his brother’s death and then failed to bring her in. That alone could get him suspended. He could try to spin his involvement and claim he was verifying Brynn’s identity before handing the case to his boss. No one with half a brain would buy the excuse, and for all his faults, Delgado wasn’t a fool. But it might be enough to let Parker escape with a reprimand instead of losing his badge.
But he had no business snooping in Erin Walker’s file. It wasn’t his case. It wasn’t in his jurisdiction. This wasn’t even remotely connected to him.
Even worse, the kid had committed suicide at Colonel Hoffman’s camp. If the C.I.D. chief learned Parker was meddling in his affairs—and sharing sensitive information with an unauthorized civilian—there wasn’t an excuse on earth that could save his ass.
But he’d already failed his brother once. He couldn’t renege on his promise to find his killer, too.
And he’d searched for this woman for fifteen years. He’d be damned if he’d turn her over to Delgado, then be forced to beg his supervisor for details about his brother’s case.
Or worse, have him refuse to reopen the investigation and forfeit forever his chance to learn the truth.
Quelling his protesting conscience, he sighed. “All right. Give me your phone number. I’ll look into it and get back to you.”
She shook her head. “We’re doing this together.”
“Forget it. You’ll just have to trust me.”
“I’m not that big a fool.”
“And yet, you expect me to trust you.”
Her mouth turned flat. She folded her arms, her eyes still trained on his. And his grudging respect for her rose. She certainly wasn’t a pushover.
“You can’t come with me,” he said. “Her records won’t be stored here. They’ll be in Washington County—the district where she died. I’ll have to make some calls, see if they’ll fax a copy to me.” Assuming he could fabricate a plausible excuse—without his boss finding out. “But I’ll meet with you as soon as I’m done. That’s my final offer.”
Still looking reluctant, she managed a nod. “Fine. Then we have a deal?”
She offered him her hand. Against his better judgment, he enfolded it in his, the soft, feminine feel of her skin sending a spasm of heat through his blood. Grimacing at his reaction, he dropped her hand and stepped back.
He’d definitely lost his mind. This woman was a danger on too many levels to count. And he’d better keep h
is wits about him if he hoped to survive.
Chapter 4
Parker wasn’t naive. He understood the need to bend the rules at times if it contributed to the greater good. The problem was, once a man crossed into that gray zone, once he’d blurred the distinction between right and wrong, it became harder to redraw the line.
His father had proven that.
But now here he was, following in his doomed father’s footsteps. Because he couldn’t sugarcoat his actions. He was breaking the rules, pure and simple—the one thing he’d sworn he would never do.
For Tommy’s sake, he reminded himself fiercely. He was fulfilling his promise to his brother and trying to find his killer the only way he could.
But that still didn’t make his actions right.
Cursing the predicament Brynn had put him in, he neared the homicide office—with its fax machine—and glanced around. So far so good. No one had paid any attention to him. Now he just had to slip inside, grab the faxed file off the machine and leave before anyone noticed him here.
Then he’d be done with this subterfuge for good.
He shot another glance back, then stepped inside the room, the din of ringing phones and voices quieting a notch. Getting the file faxed over hadn’t been easy. The overworked people out in western Maryland hadn’t wanted to fill his request. He’d had to use the Colonel’s name, claiming that Hoffman wanted to check the file because of the potential scandal involving the camp. Three uncooperative people later, Parker finally found someone willing to take the time to send him the file without verifying it with Hoffman first.
Picking up his pace now, he walked past the massive copier, dodged the boxes of paper stacked beside a work table and headed to the fax machine. But a rail-thin, silver-haired woman blocked his path, and his hopes instantly tanked. Terry “The Terror” Lewis. The woman who’d investigated his father. She stood beside the machine, holding a sheath of papers—the file he’d requested, no doubt.
His luck had just run out.
She turned at his approach. “Detective McCall,” she rasped in her smoker’s voice. She held up the papers, disapproval on her narrow face. “What are you doing with this?”