by Gail Barrett
“You’re sure?”
“Yeah.”
Still watching for sudden moves, Parker kicked aside her purse. Her mild-mannered appearance didn’t fool him. He’d seen far meeker junkies than this kid suddenly snap. “Keep your hands in your lap,” he warned.
Brynn pushed past him into the room. Ignoring the potential danger, she went to the girl’s side, clutching a grease-soaked fast-food bag. His nerves still edgy, Parker reluctantly lowered his gun.
But as hesitant as he was to pursue this case, he couldn’t help but admire Brynn. She’d charged down the street, ignoring the thugs hanging out in the shadows as she scoured the boarded-up row houses for the teenage girl. And she had the uncanny ability to blend in. In the newspaper she’d looked like a wealthy shopper strolling through the upscale shops. Now she looked younger, scruffier, almost like a street kid herself in her sneakers and faded jeans.
“Hey, Jamie. Remember me?” Brynn asked.
The teenager blinked at Brynn. “Yeah. You’re that photographer.”
“That’s right.” Brynn handed her the bag of food.
Her eyes bloodshot, the teenager propped herself against the wall. She tore open the bag, then pulled out a fistful of French fries and crammed them into her mouth.
Parker turned his head to hide his distaste. Not that her hunger shocked him. During the months he’d searched for Tommy, he’d spent time questioning the prostitutes who worked the streets. He understood the desperation and addictions that drove them, the terror that chained them to their vicious pimps—even when it cost them their lives.
But that didn’t make their suffering any easier to take, especially in a girl this young.
And he wondered how Brynn could stand it, documenting this horror every day. But that was the point, he realized, his respect for her rising even more. She knew that most people went about their lives ignoring anything that disturbed their peace. They didn’t want to see the misery lurking in the shadows, the ugly reality these runaways faced. But her photos ripped them out of that complacency, refusing to let them turn their backs on these abandoned kids.
“I need to ask you something,” Brynn said to Jamie. “It’s about that necklace you had. The one with the hearts.”
Not bothering to look up, the girl continued to scarf down the fries.
“Do you still have it?” Brynn asked.
Jamie touched her neck, then shrugged. “Nope.” She tore the wrapper from the hamburger and took a bite.
“Do you remember where you got it?”
Her gaze flew to Brynn’s. “I didn’t steal it.”
“I know that,” Brynn said, her tone soothing. “It’s just...I wanted to get one like it, but it looked handmade. I thought maybe you’d remember where you got it.”
The teenager continued eating, but the wariness didn’t leave her eyes. “A friend gave it to me.”
“What friend?”
Jamie took another bite. “A girl I know.”
“Any chance she went to a place called High Rock Camp?”
“I don’t know.”
“Can you find out?”
“Maybe,” she said around another mouthful of food.
Parker hesitated. He hated giving money to junkies, knowing they’d only spend it on drugs. But he needed to ensure her help. And maybe it would keep her from turning a trick. He pulled a fifty-dollar bill from his wallet and held it out. “We’d really like to find out where you got it.”
Jamie shot him a startled glance, as if she’d forgotten he was there. Then she quickly sized him up, her gaze far too worldly for her tender years. Parker curled his lip, revolted at the thought of the depravity this girl endured.
She reached up and snatched the bill. It disappeared into her blouse. “All right.”
“We’ll come back tomorrow afternoon,” Brynn said. “Does that give you enough time to find her and ask?”
Polishing off her burger, Jamie let out a muffled grunt. Then she turned her attention to her milkshake, sucking furiously on the straw.
Catching his eye, Brynn motioned for him to wait. She opened a side pocket on her backpack and pulled out a business card. “Listen, Jamie. A friend of mine runs this shelter for girls in D.C. Always Home. We’d like to take you there.”
“I don’t need help.”
“It’s a safe place. She has beds, food...” When the girl didn’t answer, she sighed. “Keep the card anyway, in case you change your mind. She’ll even send someone to pick you up. And if you don’t need it, you might know someone who does.”
Jamie took the card with a shrug. She slipped it into her pocket, then continued drinking her shake.
Turning, Brynn signaled for them to leave. Realizing the girl would only come back if he tried to evict her, Parker decided to forget it and led the way down the stairs. “Any chance she was telling the truth?” he asked when they’d reached the alley again.
Brynn swung her knapsack onto her shoulder and made a face. “I don’t know. Maybe. You never know with an addict.”
He slanted her a glance as they started walking toward the corner, their feet crunching over broken glass. The sun dipping behind the buildings added shimmers to her fiery hair, enveloping her in a glow. “You seem to know a lot about drug addicts.”
“I wasn’t a user, if that’s what you’re asking. I’ve just dealt with them on the streets.”
Which once again brought up the question—why had she fled her home? Before their partnership ended, he was going to learn what made this woman tick.
“Is that how you met my brother?” he asked instead. “On the streets?”
She nodded. “A guy was hassling us. Tommy intervened.”
“Us?”
She squinted into the waning sunshine. A car rumbled past on the nearby street, the deep drum of its subwoofers vibrating his chest.
“Two girls I knew,” she finally said. “We hung out together near the Inner Harbor. Tommy became our protector. He watched out for us when he could.”
“You’re saying he helped you?”
She came to a stop. Tilting back her head, she met his eyes. “Why are you so surprised? He was a good guy, Parker. He had problems, and he made plenty of mistakes, but he was still a good man at heart. You should be proud.”
Proud? Parker shook his head, trying to reconcile this version of his brother with the defiant teenager who’d run away from home. “I don’t know. He’d changed so much toward the end. I hardly knew him anymore.”
“That was the drugs. Addicts become obsessed. If you threaten their addiction, they lash out. But he admired you, Parker. He mentioned you sometimes.”
His heart wobbled hard. He struggled to draw a breath, his chest suddenly too tight. The year after his father died had been pure hell—coping with his father’s treachery, dealing with Tommy’s addiction. All they’d done was fight. He’d figured that Tommy despised him, that he’d lumped him in with his father, considering the accusations he’d hurled his way.
“Helping a runaway isn’t easy.” Her voice was gentler now. “You can only do so much. After that, it’s up to them.”
Still grappling with his emotions, he met her eyes. And despite his vow to keep his distance, her understanding reeled him in. Tempting. Soothing. Making him ache to pull her closer and bask in her healing warmth.
Making him realize exactly how many years he’d felt alone.
His cell phone chimed. Returning to reality, he struggled to clear his head. What was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he stay objective around Brynn? He was falling under her spell, breaking the most basic rule of law enforcement and letting her get to him.
And he never got involved with a suspect. He never even dated a woman connected to the force. He kept his private life completely separate, what little there’d been of it these past few years.
His phone rang again. Grateful for the distraction, he pulled it from his jacket pocket and checked the screen. Delgado had sent him a text message. His pulse quicke
ned as he pulled it up.
Donut break’s over. Get back here ASAP. The Colonel’s pissed.
He muttered a curse. Lieutenant Lewis must have contacted Colonel Hoffman and revealed that he’d requested a copy of the Walker girl’s file.
“Is something wrong?” Brynn asked.
Wrong? He’d just been caught in a lie. His job could be on the line. “I need to get back to the office.”
“I’ve got things I need to do, too,” she said quickly. “Why don’t we meet again tomorrow afternoon?”
Instantly suspicious, he snapped his gaze to hers. “Why not sooner?”
“I’ve got errands to run. I need a new cell phone, for one thing. And Jamie won’t be awake in the morning. I thought I’d visit that camp in the meantime and try to get an impression of the place.”
Not without him. He was already in this case too deep. And if there was any chance that kid had been murdered, he needed to know. “I’ll go with you. I’ll drive.”
Hesitating, she searched his eyes. “All right, we’ll go together. Ten o’clock?”
He nodded. “At your house?”
“No. I’m not going back there tonight.” She named a place downtown.
“Good.” Knowing that he owed her, he plunged his hand through his hair. “Listen, Brynn. About my brother—”
“Let’s talk about it tomorrow, okay? When we’ve got more time?”
“Tomorrow, then.”
She spun on her heels and walked away. He watched her merge into the shadows, her slender hips swaying, her russet-colored hair a beacon in the encroaching night. And suddenly, he realized he was reluctant to let her go.
And it had nothing to do with his brother’s death.
Chapter 5
“I don’t know what you did,” Delgado warned as Parker tossed his jacket over the back of his desk chair half an hour later. “But you’ve really pissed the Colonel off.”
No kidding. The hush that had followed in his wake as he’d walked the gauntlet through his office had already clued him in.
“Your timing sucks, too.” Delgado leaned back against the cubicle’s upholstered wall, a smirk on his dusky face. “What with that gang leader’s release from prison and all.”
Parker shot him a scowl, annoyed at his gleeful tone. Bad enough that Delgado had charmed his way up the career ladder, getting promoted over far more deserving men. But listening to the smug man crow... “Old news, Delgado.”
“And it just got worse. The media’s on a witch hunt, claiming we’re incompetent since we haven’t brought him in.”
Parker bit down hard on a curse. Bad timing didn’t begin to describe it. Last week a prisoner named Markus Jenkins, the leader of the notorious Ridgewood gang, had mistakenly been released from the Roxbury Correctional Institution in western Maryland—then disappeared. The pressure to recapture him had been extreme. If the media had started bad-mouthing the police, the Colonel would go berserk. He’d crucify anyone who caused another problem and put his reputation at risk.
Realizing it was futile to postpone the inevitable, Parker left Delgado gloating beside his cubicle, crossed the hallway into the new building, then rode the elevator to the Colonel’s floor. The receptionist waved him through, her eyes wild as she tried to deal with the ringing phones.
“Come in,” Hugh Hoffman’s deep voice boomed out when Parker knocked on his office door.
Parker squared his shoulders and went inside. The C.I.D. chief stood at his corner window, peering through the open slats on the miniblinds. A shade under six feet tall, Hoffman was built like the lineman he used to be with a thick, stocky neck, massive shoulders and thighs, and a barrel chest padded with fat. He’d worked his way up the ranks of the police force, his unflagging work ethic and passion for fighting crime earning him widespread respect. Even Senator Riggs had recognized his potential and had begun grooming him for a future congressional run.
He turned at Parker’s approach. “Detective.” His eyes were devoid of warmth.
Stopping beside a chair, Parker braced himself for the coming storm. He didn’t have long to wait.
“Just what the hell do you think you’re doing?” Hoffman demanded.
Parker stiffened his spine. This didn’t bode well. He’d seen Hoffman in a lot of moods but never this livid before. “Sir?”
“Don’t act dumb. Lieutenant Lewis called me. She says you’ve been looking at the Walker girl’s file.”
“I was exploring a lead that didn’t pan out.”
Hoffman’s face turned a mottled red. A vein bulged in his florid cheek. He gripped the back of his desk chair, as if it cost him to stay in check. “Do you have any idea who that kid was? Erin Walker. Daughter of Dean Walker, head of Walker Avionics.”
Which sold weapon systems to the military, both home and abroad. Parker’s heart took a nosedive. “Big money,” he guessed.
“Big?” Incredulity rang in the Colonel’s voice. “We’re talking billions of dollars a year. And he’s a bundler for Senator Riggs, the single biggest donor to his campaign. And in case you haven’t been paying attention, the senator’s up for reelection next year.”
Parker closed his eyes. Hell. No wonder the Colonel was ticked.
“Now you listen to me,” Hoffman continued, his voice a dangerous growl. “Because I’ll only say this once. That case is closed. That girl took drugs and died—whether by accident or suicide, we’ll never know. Now leave it alone. That family doesn’t need you stirring things up after the grief that they’ve been through. And neither do I! If Walker gets a whiff of this, all hell is going to break loose. And I’ve got enough trouble right now with the media breathing down my neck.”
“I understand.”
“You’d better. I’m giving you an order, Detective. Leave that case alone. And I don’t think I need to remind you what will happen if you don’t.”
Parker’s face burned. “No, sir.” The message couldn’t be clearer. Hoffman would fire him if he disobeyed.
Hoffman held his gaze, letting his warning sink in. Then he pulled out his desk chair and sat. Parker fixed his gaze on the window, his pride still smarting as he waited to be dismissed.
But Hoffman seemed determined to make him squirm. He unwrapped a roll of antacids and popped several into his mouth. An eternity later, he sighed. “Sit down, Detective.”
Expecting another lashing, Parker lowered himself into a chair. The Colonel continued to watch him, as if debating what to say. Then he reached down and pulled a folded newspaper from his desk drawer.
“Since you seem to have time on your hands, I’ve got a project for you. A favor, if you will.” Shifting his big body forward, he held the paper out.
Curious, and relieved that the Colonel’s temper had run its course, Parker took the paper and opened it to the front page.
On it was the photo of Brynn. Parker forced himself to breathe.
“The woman in that picture,” the Colonel continued. “She goes by a pseudonym, B. K. Elliot. But her real name is Hoffman.”
Parker jerked his gaze to his. “You’re related?”
“She’s my stepdaughter.”
Parker’s jaw dropped. He stared at the C.I.D. chief, too stunned to speak.
Hoffman folded his hands, his eyes turning pensive now. “You’ve probably heard the stories. She ran away from home when she was twelve. She was a troubled kid, to say the least. We tried everything—tough love, counseling...but nothing we did seemed to help. God knows we tried. She snuck out at night and lied, accused us of all sorts of terrible things. The situation got ugly, I’m afraid.”
He let out a heartfelt sigh, as if the memories still caused him pain. “She directed most of her anger at me. That was normal enough, I suppose. I was her stepfather—I’d taken her father’s place when he died.
“She’s the reason I started that camp. I was determined to help these kids, even though I’d failed with her.”
Feeling completely staggered, Parker tried to process thi
s news. Everyone knew the C.I.D. chief’s story. Hoffman’s walls were covered with the awards he’d won for his work with troubled teens. But to think Brynn was that runaway stepdaughter...
“She’s a photographer now,” the Colonel said, nodding toward the newspaper in Parker’s hand. “Quite a good one from what I’ve read. But she’s still unstable. A mental illness like that doesn’t go away on its own. And that’s where you come in.”
“Me?”
“I’m worried about her, Parker. She’s a very troubled young woman. And she needs help—counseling, medication... Now that she’s finally surfaced, I want you to bring her in. Quietly, of course. I don’t want to scare her off. And none of us needs the publicity right now. But it would mean the world to her mother and me.”
Parker grappled with what to say. The Colonel wanted him to find Brynn. He obviously didn’t realize that Parker had already contacted her. But if Brynn was his missing stepdaughter...
Still unable to believe it, he gave his head a shake. “She’s the girl in my brother’s photo. The one we found in his shoe a few years after his death. You saw it. You reopened the case and searched for her. You never mentioned the relationship then.”
Hoffman winced. “I figured you’d make the connection.” He heaved himself from his desk chair and went to the window again. Twisting the wand on the miniblinds, he adjusted the slats to maximize the dwindling light.
“You’re right, of course. I knew who she was at once. But you have to understand how desperate I was. She was sick and needed help. And I didn’t believe for a minute that she’d killed your brother. At least I hoped not. She manipulated people and lied, but stooping as low as murder...”
He turned around with a sigh. “I didn’t want to think she’d sunk that far. It would have killed her mother if she had. I figured I’d bring her in, then turn the case over to someone else on the off chance that her testimony could help. I doubted it would do any good, though. She never told the truth, even when she wasn’t high on drugs.
“But when we couldn’t find her...well, it didn’t seem important to mention it then.”
He retook his seat, his expression pained. “In hindsight, it was a mistake, one of my many regrets. I should have revealed who she was. It wasn’t fair to you to keep a secret like that. If I could do things over...” He spread his beefy hands.