by Gail Barrett
“Brynn Elliot.” Parker watched the exchange, noting the sharp curiosity in the woman’s eyes as they shook hands.
“This is Detective McCall,” Brynn said. “From the Baltimore Police Department.”
The chief of staff’s smile didn’t falter, nothing in her expression indicating any surprise. This woman wasn’t a novice, Parker realized, his respect for her rising a degree. He’d have a tough time shaking her composure enough to glean anything of note.
She ushered them into her office and offered drinks, which they refused. As they took their seats by the bookcase, Parker ran his gaze around the room, taking in the huge window overlooking the atrium, the plush carpet and leather chairs. No trace of her hardscrabble roots in here.
“I’m quite a fan of your work,” Shaffer told Brynn, taking a seat in an armchair across from them. The chitchat dwindled a moment later, and Shaffer sat back, an expectant look in her eyes.
Parker cleared his throat, drawing her attention to him. “I’m afraid we came here under false pretenses.” For the first time Shaffer blinked. “I need information about an event the senator hosted in July. I didn’t want to go through the usual channels because the investigation is sensitive. I don’t want word getting out just yet.”
“I see.” A cautious note crept into her voice. “How can I help you?”
He shifted in his chair. “The senator hosted a reception for the ambassador of Jaziirastan at the Willard InterContinental Hotel on July 16. I’m interested in one of the attendees, Hugh Hoffman, the chief of the Baltimore Police Department’s Criminal Investigation Division.”
Shaffer pursed her lips, her expression giving nothing away. “So this is official police business? You’re investigating Colonel Hoffman?”
Smart question, one he’d expect a lawyer to ask. “No, it’s not official yet. I’m only gathering information right now.”
“Exactly what do you need to know?”
“Whether he attended the reception and what time he left. I’d also like a copy of the guest list, if that’s possible.”
Shaffer steepled her hands. He could almost see her mind spinning, weighing the repercussions for the senator, her boss. Then she rose and went to her desk.
He traded a glance with Brynn, caught the worry in her eyes over how Shaffer would react. But Shaffer picked up the telephone receiver and punched a key. “Nancy, I need you to bring me the guest list from the Jaziirastan reception on July 16 and the schedule of events. Right away. Thanks.”
She replaced the receiver in its cradle, then turned to face them again. “Colonel Hoffman was at the reception, but I don’t know what time he left. He was there for the senator’s speech, which I believe was around nine-thirty. I didn’t see him again after that.”
Parker frowned. “You’re sure he was there?”
“He stood beside me during the speech.”
“And the event took place at the Willard?”
“That’s right.”
So if Hoffman had left by ten, he’d had enough time to get to the camp in western Maryland, which was just over an hour away. And while that information didn’t necessarily convict him, neither did it rule him out.
A soft knock came from the door. “Come in,” Shaffer called.
The secretary entered the room and handed several papers to the chief of staff. “Just as I thought,” Shaffer said when the secretary left. “The senator gave his remarks at nine-thirty. He usually speaks for fifteen or twenty minutes. There was nothing scheduled after that. As I said, I don’t remember seeing Colonel Hoffman later, so I really don’t know when he left.”
She walked over and handed the other sheet to him. “This is the list of guests.”
“I appreciate it.”
Her gaze was cool. “I’m happy to cooperate. If you have further questions, don’t hesitate to call and ask.”
In other words, go through the proper channels. Parker rose, recognizing a dismissal when he heard it, no matter how polite her tone of voice. “Thanks for your time.”
“Of course.” She cast a quick glance back at the phone. And suddenly Parker knew with absolute certainty that she was going to contact Hoffman the instant they left the room.
Which meant he had to get Brynn to safety at once.
Shaffer walked them to the door and turned to Brynn. “If you’d still like to speak with the senator, I’m sure we can set something up.”
Parker waited, his impatience mounting, as Brynn took her card and murmured a polite reply. Then he hurried her away from the office and back down the corridor, an urgent feeling quickening his steps.
“Walk faster.” He steered her to the nearest stairwell.
Brynn shot him a glance. “You think she’s going to report us to Hoffman?”
“She’s probably on the phone right now. We need to get out of here before he tells her to alert the guards.”
They reached the stairwell a moment later and raced to the bottom floor. Then they walked as fast as they dared through the lobby toward the tall glass doors.
A guard stepped into their path. Several more guards appeared out of nowhere, fanning across the room. His heart thundering, Parker grabbed Brynn’s arm and steered her into a crowd of businessmen converging on the door. Then he shuffled with her through the exit, hoping the guards wouldn’t notice them amid the men.
What a disaster. He hadn’t proven Hoffman’s guilt. He hadn’t unearthed a single detail that would help them save their skins. Instead, he’d tipped off the chief of staff—who was now putting the D.C. cops on their trail—endangering Brynn even more.
They reached the sidewalk a second later, and the businessmen began to disperse. A sudden shout came from behind them. “Go!” he urged.
They broke into a run.
* * *
Brynn’s pulse still hadn’t returned to normal as they exited the Metro several blocks from Haley’s shelter and headed up the street. Thankfully, it appeared they’d escaped the police. The last thing she wanted was to bring more danger to Haley or her pregnant teens. But their luck couldn’t last, not with both the Baltimore and D.C. cops now on their trail—not to mention that deadly gang.
Still skittish, she shot another glance behind her, then surveyed the quiet street. Haley’s shelter was in a transitional section of D.C. Newly refurbished row houses were interspersed with derelict buildings still bearing the call signs of local gangs.
“So tell me about your friend,” Parker said.
She lifted her gaze to his. “What do you want to know?”
“Where you met, where she’s from, what her father’s like.”
Brynn hesitated, the instinct to protect Haley’s identity ingrained after years on the run. But it was ridiculous to doubt Parker given their current plight.
“We met on the streets in Baltimore,” she said. “That’s where she’s from. Her family comes from money. Old money. They live in Guilford, have a summer home at Saint Michaels—the whole nine yards.”
“High society.”
“The highest. They’re even listed in the Blue Book.” The Baltimore Society Visiting List, better known as the Blue Book, was an elite social registry that dated back nearly a century, listing Baltimore’s upper crust.
“Interesting profile for a runaway,” Parker said.
“Not really. You’d be surprised at what goes on behind closed doors, even in respectable families.” She couldn’t keep the bitterness from her voice.
“I’m a cop, Brynn. I’ve seen some pretty bad stuff.”
Not the horror she’d endured.
She frowned at the cracked sidewalk, wondering how he’d react if he knew her past. Would he recoil in disgust? Blame her for the abuse? Most men would race for the exits if she even hinted at the revolting truth.
She slipped him a sideways glance, surprised that she even cared. But his opinion mattered to her. Somehow in the past few days Parker had penetrated the decades-old buffer she’d built around her heart. And once again, she was so incredibl
y tempted to tell him the details, to reveal her nightmarish past.
But this wasn’t the time. They had too much else on their minds. And what if he didn’t believe her? Could she survive that humiliation again?
Pushing aside that disturbing thought, she skirted a pile of construction debris, then glanced at a carpenter working in a weed-filled yard, sawing a pile of boards. She raised her voice above the noise. “Anyhow, Haley got pregnant and ran away.”
“And now she runs a shelter for runaway pregnant girls.”
Brynn’s mouth ticked up, pride welling for her best friend. “She’s always been a rescuer—stray cats, stray dogs, stray people.” A woman with a nurturing heart. “In any case, I can’t imagine her father belonging to a gang. He’s more the country-club type.”
“Like you said, you never know. He might use drugs or have some other connection to them.”
True enough. She just hoped they found out something on this visit that would incriminate her stepfather and end the danger before more innocent people got hurt.
Several houses later, they reached the shelter, a tidy, Federal-style row house with freshly painted black shutters and yellow bricks. Brynn climbed the steps and pushed the bell. A small bronze plaque bearing the inscription “Always Home” decorated the wooden door.
A pregnant girl let them inside a minute later. Brynn crossed the threshold, then paused, experiencing her usual shiver of pride. Sunlight streamed over the hardwood floor. Flowers brimmed from vases, adding bursts of color to the cheerful room. Oversize, sagging armchairs formed an arc around the fireplace, inviting a weary runaway to put up her feet and relax. The mouthwatering scent of baking cookies filled the air.
Haley’s shelter was a sanctuary, the kind of place they’d both yearned for as runaway teens—a safe, comfortable home where they could escape the danger, where there was a nonjudgmental shoulder to cry on, where they could curl up beside the fireplace and figure out how to mend their shattered lives.
Haley emerged from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel. Concern filled her eyes when she saw her old friend.
“Brynn! I’ve been so worried! Are you all right?” Her cheeks were flushed from baking, her thick, chestnut hair slipping from a haphazard knot atop her head. But she still managed to look poised, despite her flour-dusted T-shirt and jeans—a legacy from her former life as a debutante.
“I’m fine. I brought someone to see you. This is Parker McCall.”
Haley’s gaze whipped to Parker, sudden caution stealing into her eyes. Brynn knew she’d pegged him as a cop. Despite her gentle appearance, Haley was as street savvy as Brynn. She’d had to be to survive. And Parker was the epitome of danger with his dark, gunslinger eyes, his tall, muscular build, the lethal masculinity oozing from every pore.
“He’s Tommy’s brother,” she added.
Surprise replaced the wariness in Haley’s eyes. She tilted her head, studying him anew. “You look like him.”
Parker gave her a nod. Brynn realized it had to be odd for him to meet people who’d known his brother back then. And she could tell by the tension rippling his rough-hewn jaw that it affected him more than he cared to let on.
“Can we talk?” she asked Haley. She glanced at the teenager watching from the kitchen doorway. “Somewhere private?”
“Let’s go in my office.” She turned to the pregnant teen. “Jessica, can you take out the cookies when the timer rings? Then turn the oven off. It’s the last batch.”
“Okay.” Smiling shyly, the teen disappeared into the kitchen.
“She looks young,” Brynn said, trailing Haley into her office down the hall.
“Sixteen. About the same age I was when I ran away. It seems incredible now.”
It was a lifetime ago. They’d both changed and become much stronger—strength they needed now if they hoped to defeat their ghosts for good.
Haley ushered them inside and shut the door. Brynn plopped down beside Parker on the faded couch and sighed. Haley’s office was the opposite of Gwendolyn Shaffer’s with its threadbare sofa and mismatched chairs, ironic given Haley’s privileged childhood. But it was the type of place a kid could unburden her heart—which was exactly Haley’s intent.
“So what’s going on?”
“We’re trying to identify the man who shot Tommy,” Brynn said. She summarized the recent events, including the possible link to the Ridgewood gang. “It’s complicated, but we were wondering about your father and how he knows Senator Riggs.”
Haley pursed her lips. “They go way back. They were classmates at Georgetown Law. He came to a lot of parties at our house when I lived at home. He’s friends with my mother, too.”
Parker leaned forward. “Your father’s a criminal defense attorney, right?”
“That’s right. He’s the senior partner at the firm, so he mostly takes the high profile cases. And he hardly ever loses. He’s a real SOB in court.”
And at home, according to the stories she’d told Brynn.
“Any chance he defended Markus Jenkins?” Parker asked. “He’s the leader of the Ridgewood gang.”
“I don’t know. I don’t follow his cases now.”
But if Haley’s father had defended Markus Jenkins, it made for an interesting twist. Haley’s father golfed with the senator, his former classmate. Now Hoffman was the senator’s protégé—linking the three men. And Markus Jenkins led the gang that was trying to kill her, possibly at Hoffman’s behest.
“I wish I could help,” Haley added. “But I haven’t had contact with him in years.”
Parker seemed to process that. He asked a few more questions about her father’s practice, but while it was possible he defended gang members, Haley couldn’t confirm it. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I know that’s not much help.”
“It was worth a try.”
“No one’s bothered you, have they?” Brynn asked. “You haven’t seen anyone hanging around?”
“No. Everything’s peaceful here—or as much as it can be with pregnant girls.”
“Good.” She prayed it stayed that way.
“You mind if I use your computer for a minute?” Parker asked Haley. “I’d like to check my email.”
“Go ahead. I need to see about those cookies. Jessica tends to get distracted and forget.” She rose and caught Brynn’s eye. “Come on. I’ll bag up some cookies for you to take with you.”
Resigned to the inevitable grilling, Brynn followed her into the kitchen. Haley had begun renovating her shelter years ago, and only had the kitchen left. It desperately needed updating with its gold linoleum floor, cheap particle board cupboards and the ugliest avocado-green countertop Brynn had ever seen. But French doors opened onto a pretty patio. A farmhouse table lined one wall, more flowers sprawling over the top. Chocolate chip cookies cooled in racks on the counters, the sugary scent making her stomach growl.
“So what gives?” Haley demanded as soon as they were inside.
“I told you. We’re investigating—”
“I mean with Tommy’s brother.”
“Nothing.”
Haley snorted. “Nothing? The way he looks at you?”
Brynn’s face warmed, a kaleidoscope of erotic images flashing through her mind. And she knew she’d never fool Haley. Her friend knew her too well. “Okay, fine. I’ll admit it. We’re having a...a thing. But it’s not serious.”
Haley raised a brow.
“It’s not. It’s just...I don’t know, a fling.”
“You’re not the type for a fling.”
“Well, I’m not the type for fairy-tale endings, either, so don’t you dare start in with that.”
Haley’s eyes instantly softened. “Of course you are. You just haven’t met the right guy yet.”
“Right. Well, maybe in my next life.” Shaking her head, Brynn snatched a cookie from the rack and took a bite. The argument wasn’t new. They’d been debating this for years. Brynn was a die-hard realist. She knew her limitations and never indulged i
n dreams. Whereas Haley was an eternal optimist who clung to the misguided belief that true love awaited her someday no matter how much evidence proved her wrong.
“Great cookie,” she mumbled, hoping her friend would take the hint.
But Haley wasn’t easily deterred. “Tommy was a good guy, you know.”
“So?”
“So maybe his brother’s like him.”
Brynn released a sigh. “Maybe he is. In fact, I know he is. But that still doesn’t make him right for me.”
“You’re sure about that?”
Brynn rolled her eyes. “I’m sure. Now can we please let this go?”
Haley raised her hands as if to ward her off. “Fine. If you want to reject a man like that, it’s up to you.” She took a paper bag from a drawer and piled some cookies inside, then handed it to Brynn. “But guys like that don’t come around twice. Don’t mess this up because you’re scared.”
Scared? Stung, Brynn gaped at her closest friend. “How can you say that? I’m not scared.”
“Not of the big stuff, no. But sometimes I think...”
“What?”
Haley leaned back against the counter, then sighed. “Don’t get me wrong. I really admire your work. It’s brilliant. You’re brilliant. And you know I love you. You’re the best friend I have. I wouldn’t even be here without your help. But sometimes I wonder if maybe you aren’t hiding behind your work, using it as a way to keep people out.”
Brynn’s jaw dropped. She stared at her friend in shock. She didn’t hide behind her work. She used her photos to expose the evil in the world, to show the unvarnished reality of homeless life—not as a crutch.
“Maybe I’m wrong,” Haley added quickly. “I hope I am. All I’m saying is...you had a terrible past. You had every right to retreat. What you suffered...no one should have to go through that. But don’t let the evil you’ve suffered rob you of a happy life.”
“I won’t. I’m not.”
“Good.” Haley gave her another hug. “Now go give that man those cookies while I clean up.”
Still reeling from the accusation, Brynn left Haley to her cookies and went back down the hall. Sure, she was cautious around people. Why shouldn’t she be? She had killers tracking her down, her stepfather trying to do her in. She’d be foolish not to fear for her life.