by Gail Barrett
“This doesn’t define you,” he said, his voice suddenly fierce. “This isn’t who you are.”
He was wrong. It did define her. “I can’t escape my past, Parker, no matter how terrible it was. It shaped my life, my career. It made me who I am.”
“It made you stronger.” His gaze held hers. “You’re the strongest person I know.” The frank words hung between them. His blatant admiration nearly did her in. Her throat closed up. Moisture sprang to her eyes again. Her emotions on overload, she looked away. His acceptance and belief in her innocence meant more than she could say.
Parker stepped back and released her, as if sensing she needed space. “Is that why he’s trying to kill you? To keep you from testifying against him?”
Grateful for his understanding, she shook her head. “I don’t think so. He’s convinced everyone I’m unstable. No one would believe me, even now. And you know how powerful he is.”
“Then why come after you? You think he’s the one who killed Tommy?”
“Maybe. But I know something else about him, something that could bring him down. He likes porn, really despicable stuff. He used to make me watch. And I...I’m pretty sure he took videos. I think that’s what he’s afraid of, that I might find them. If it’s just my word against his, he’s in the clear. But if I can find those videos...”
Parker’s eyes turned hard. His steel jaw bunched, a sudden blast of fury vibrating right out of his muscled frame. “We’ll find them. And we’ll find that girl.” He raised his hands and cupped her face, his gaze locked on hers. “I promise you, Brynn, we’ll bring him down, no matter what it takes.”
Her heart tumbled hard. She bit her lips, battling the reckless words that nearly spilled out. Because Parker had just given her the most precious gift of her life, something far more valuable than trust. He’d given her hope.
And despite what she’d said to Haley, she feared she was fast falling in love with this amazing man.
* * *
For the first time in his life, Parker didn’t care about breaking the rules. Nothing mattered more than stopping Hoffman from harming that missing girl.
He grabbed Brynn’s cell phone from the dashboard of their borrowed car and punched in Guerrero’s number again. The call instantly cut to voice mail, and he swore. Where the hell was his coworker? Why didn’t he answer his phone?
They didn’t have time to waste. They needed to issue an Amber alert. They needed to interview the missing kid’s parents and examine her computer for clues. They needed to mobilize their forces, using every available resource to capture Hoffman.
But Parker couldn’t make those calls, not with every police force in the area trying to bring him in. No one would believe him. He’d end up tipping off Hoffman, giving him a chance to destroy the evidence they needed to put him away for good.
He couldn’t do this alone. He needed help.
Hissing his frustration, he tossed the phone into the cup holder beneath the console and glanced at Brynn. She stared out the windshield, her knuckles white on the steering wheel. His thoughts veered back to what she’d told him about the abuse, and his heart made a sudden lurch. He couldn’t think about that right now. He couldn’t dwell on the pain she’d endured. It made him too crazed, made him want to hit something, smash something, pound Hoffman to a bloody stump. And he had to hold it together until they rescued that missing kid.
Brynn exited Interstate 270 at Frederick, the town where she’d grown up. Parker turned his gaze to the windshield, his tension rising as they headed toward her childhood home.
“You’re sure he still lives here?” Brynn asked.
“He lists this address on the roster.” He’d checked before they’d left. But whether Hoffman would be here was another question—or if he’d have the girl with him if he was. The camp was a better bet. But since this was on their way, better to rule it out before they spent the night tramping uselessly through the woods.
A minute later Brynn turned down a quiet side street, a residential neighborhood filled with 1960s era ranch-style homes. She slowed partway down the block, then stopped at a one-story brick rancher with its porch light on. Huge trees towered over the house. A garbage can sat at the curb. Overgrown hydrangea bushes swallowed the front windows, making it impossible to see inside. A dog yapped in the house next door.
“Is that his car?” she asked, motioning toward a small sedan in the carport.
“No. He drives an SUV. Your mother must be home alone.” He paused. “How do you suggest we get inside? I want to check his office for clues.”
“We don’t need to go inside. He uses the woodshed in the backyard as his office. He ran wires out there and even had plumbing installed.”
Her voice sounded strained, and suddenly Parker understood what she hadn’t said. Hoffman had taken her to that shed. And there was no way he could make her revisit the place she’d been abused. “Wait here. I’ll go check it out.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“Forget it. I’m going in alone.”
She reached out and touched his hand. “I have to do this, Parker. I can’t keep avoiding the past.”
His heart rolled, a maelstrom of emotions tumbling through him as he gazed at her in the dark. She was the most courageous woman he’d ever met.
And he realized something else. This wasn’t just about the runaway girl anymore. Naturally, he wanted to save her, but he also wanted justice for Brynn. No one had ever believed her. No one ever helped her. She’d been abandoned by every adult who should have cared.
For once in her life, she deserved a man who wouldn’t betray her, a man who’d face down her enemies, a man who’d fight to keep her safe.
And God help him, but he wanted to be that man.
No matter how many rules he had to break to get it done.
* * *
Brynn had lied. She didn’t want to go anywhere near that dreadful shed.
She stood rooted in the shadows behind Parker, her gaze on the wooden structure as he jimmied the lock on the door. Her pulse was going berserk. A cold sweat moistened her skin in spite of the chilly air. The last thing she wanted to do was enter the place where she’d experienced such terror and pain.
But Hoffman wasn’t here. No one could hurt her now. And they needed clues. They had to find evidence that would lead them to that missing girl.
The neighbor’s dog continued to bark. The wind gusted again, sending shivers down her neck and spine. Brynn hugged herself, the pain of her injured shoulder hardly registering as Parker opened the creaking door. Then he stepped inside the shed, his footsteps heavy on the wooden floor. “Where’s the light?”
“The switch is on the right. But we’d better close the door first.” Judging by the glow in the family room window, her mother was immersed in her TV game shows, but there was no point taking a chance.
Trembling even more now, she stepped over the threshold into the shed. The door thudded shut behind her with the finality of a coffin lid. “All right.”
Parker flipped on the overhead light. Brynn blinked in the brightness. The shed was empty. Completely empty. Every trace of Hoffman’s presence was gone.
“Looks like he moved his stuff,” Parker said, echoing her thoughts.
Still unable to believe it, Brynn turned on her heels, taking in the filthy, scuffed-up floorboards, the sound-absorbent panels covering the walls, the now-empty cupboard, its door hanging ajar. Only that same, off-balance ceiling fan wobbled overhead, its fluted globes black with dust.
“He must have taken his stuff to the camp,” she said. “There used to be a desk over here with his computer, a bed on the other side.” With a locker underneath containing his “toys.”
Bile rose in her throat. She pressed her hands to her mouth, not wanting to relive the past. But the walls began to weave. That paddle fan twirled overhead, making the same relentless tick. Screams echoed in her ears, the frantic, high-pitched cries of a helpless child.
“Come on,�
� Parker said. “Let’s get out of here. The way that dog is barking, someone has probably called the cops.”
Fighting off her panic, she wheezed in a strangled breath. “Good idea.” She couldn’t wait to leave this awful place.
He flipped off the light. Her back drenched with sweat now, Brynn shoved the door open and stumbled into the yard. Even empty, the shed gave her the creeps, as if the pain she’d suffered during all those years had forever permeated the walls.
Instead of just destroying her soul.
Chapter 14
Taking the wheel this time, Parker sped toward the mountains of western Maryland, every passing minute like the countdown on a ticking bomb. They never should have stopped at Hoffman’s house. Not only had they squandered valuable minutes, making it harder to find that girl, but it had forced Brynn to confront her past, witnessing that shed where she’d been abused.
He thinned his lips, wanting to get his hands on Hoffman so badly he’d started to shake. But the cold truth was that he needed help. Even if he hunted down Hoffman, he couldn’t bring him in alone. He was out of his jurisdiction. He had no authority here—assuming he still had his badge. And with a hostage involved, Parker couldn’t afford to make a mistake. He needed to call in the FBI, get a hostage rescue team on scene to liberate that girl.
But Guerrero still hadn’t answered his calls.
Hissing in frustration, Parker stomped on the gas pedal and flew past a semi crawling up the hill. By rights he should contact his supervisor and follow the chain of command. But since he couldn’t trust Delgado, he’d have to bypass the chain completely and go straight to the one person he knew he could trust.
Terry “The Terror” Lewis. The woman who’d brought down his father. The woman who was out to get him.
Wishing he had another option, he exited the interstate, then barreled down the two-lane highway toward the mountains at breakneck speed. But as much as he disliked the older woman, he knew he had no choice. Lieutenant Lewis was a straight shooter. She didn’t play office politics, didn’t care who she offended in her pursuit of the truth. He could depend on her to do her duty, regardless of Hoffman’s rank. It galled him to have to ask her—he’d be confirming every bad suspicion about him she’d had—but she was their only hope.
“I need you to look up a number for me,” he told Brynn, handing her the phone. “Terry Lewis. She lives in Baltimore. But you’ll have to hurry. We’re going to lose our signal in a few more miles.”
She shot him a worried glance. “Who is she?”
“A cop. We go way back.” And not in a happy way. “I think we can trust her to help.”
He hoped. Because if he’d guessed wrongly, the mistake could cost them their lives.
* * *
Half an hour later, they bumped down the dirt road leading to the farmhouse at the edge of High Rock Camp. The dense woods crowded around them. Low-hanging branches grabbed at the car, blotting out the star-filled sky. Reduced to a crawl, they jolted through ruts and potholes, the ominous scrapes as the car hit bottom adding to Parker’s nerves.
Lieutenant Lewis had agreed to help them. But she’d needed time to contact the local and federal authorities and get teams into place at the camp. She’d instructed Parker to head to the farmhouse, then wait for help to arrive. Under no circumstances was he to act alone.
The car crunched over branches and pinecones. Parker jerked the wheel to avoid a pothole, wincing when the tailpipe dragged. “You see any tire tracks?”
Brynn braced her hands on the dashboard and leaned closer to the windshield to see. “No, not yet. There’s too much brush.”
“I know.” It didn’t look as if a car had come this way in years. But Hoffman had to be here. He wouldn’t have used the main office. There wasn’t enough privacy there. And the cabins were too close together, not offering enough seclusion when the camp was filled with kids. He needed an isolated place where he could come and go without being observed. But he also needed electricity to run his computer. And since Erin Walker had died at the lookout tower, the farmhouse was the likely choice.
They bounced crazily through another pothole, barely clearing a jagged rock. Then suddenly, the headlights stalled on a fallen tree blocking the road. He hit the brakes and swore. The pine tree was enormous, at least several feet in diameter, far too big to budge. And brush grew over the trunk, indicating it had lain undisturbed for years.
There was no way Hoffman could have driven down this road. They were heading on a senseless wild-goose chase, wasting precious time. But Hoffman had to be here. Erin Walker had died at the lookout tower with that necklace on. Where else could he have gone?
“We’ll have to go the rest of the way on foot,” he decided, cutting the engine. “Any chance there’s a flashlight in the glove compartment?”
Brynn opened it, then shook her head. “Check the trunk. Haley doesn’t go anywhere without emergency supplies.”
He popped the trunk and climbed out, then waded through the knee-high weeds around the car. As Brynn had predicted, there was a cardboard box inside containing survival supplies—a first-aid kit and blanket, a flashlight and boxes of food. An innate sense of caution or a legacy from life on the run?
Regardless, he appreciated her foresight. He grabbed the flashlight and flicked it on, then propped it against the box. He pulled out his sidearm and checked the rounds, then slid it back into his holster, making sure nothing would impede his draw.
Brynn joined him at the trunk, shivering hard in the frigid air. But it was the worry in her eyes that made his heart contract. This wasn’t a game. Hoffman was armed and dangerous. If he felt threatened, he’d kill them both.
“We’re not going near him,” he warned her. “We’re just going to find out where he is, then wait. When the hostage team gets here, they’ll rescue the girl and bring him down.”
“I know.”
“I mean it, Brynn. We can’t risk doing anything to harm that girl. You have to stay out of the way.”
“I said I would.”
Right. Like when she’d thrown that bottle at the gang member. Determined to convince her, he strode to her side. He gently gripped her shoulders, intending to read her the riot act. But the soft feel of her rocked his senses. Her alluring scent went straight to his head. And instead of arguing his point, a jumble of emotions muddled his thoughts—panic over her safety, guilt over his deception, fury over the torture she’d endured.
Unable to resist, he pulled her into his arms. Suddenly needing to kiss her, he slid his lips over hers, relishing her warmth, her taste, giving vent to a deluge of emotions he couldn’t express—fear, tenderness, love.
He loved her. He ended the kiss and pulled back, poleaxed at the thought. But it was true. He didn’t know when it had happened, but he had fallen head over heels in love with this amazing woman.
And his timing couldn’t be any worse.
“We’d better go,” she said.
“Yeah.” Swearing at his predicament, he picked up the flashlight and closed the trunk. He helped her over the fallen tree trunk, then led the way down the overgrown trail, trying to stifle his unruly thoughts. Right now he had to concentrate on Hoffman. He’d worry about his future with Brynn later, once they’d rescued that runaway girl.
The flashlight bobbed over the ground. Dried leaves crackled under their feet as they hiked along. The road turned even wilder, more downed trees and branches sprawling across their path, more proof that a car hadn’t driven this way in years.
A few minutes later, the farmhouse loomed into view, and his hopes tanked even more. The house was completely dark. The roof had partially caved in. Even the chimney had collapsed, littering stones across the ground. A huge tree grew through the sagging porch.
Still, he circled the perimeter, crawling through the bushes and weeds. Finally he shone the flashlight through a broken window, but there was no sign anyone had used it in decades, aside from squirrels and mice.
“He can’t be he
re,” Brynn murmured.
“I know.” So where had he gone? “Give me a minute. I’ll go inside and make sure.”
He climbed the rickety porch steps, the boards protesting under his weight, and worked his way to the door. He checked the rooms on the bottom floor, then climbed the narrow staircase and flashed his light around. But every room had the same peeling wallpaper, moldy, water-stained ceilings and piles of trash.
A minute later, he rejoined Brynn outside. “You’re sure he wouldn’t have used the cabins near the office?” Puffs of frost accompanied his words.
“I’m sure. He needs somewhere private where no one will hear the noise.”
His belly tensed, that unhinged feeling threatening to overwhelm him at the thought of the torture she’d endured. But he couldn’t go there yet. He had to stay in control until he had Hoffman in his sights.
And then he’d make sure that bastard paid.
“Let’s try the lookout tower.” He knew he was grasping at straws. The detectives who’d investigated Erin Walker’s death would have searched the area, taking note of anything odd. Still, Erin had gone there for a reason. And what other option did they have?
Aware that time was dwindling quickly, he took the lead, trying to envision the camp’s layout in his mind. Hoffman couldn’t have gone to the lake. That campsite was too far away, without an easy way in. They’d already discounted the office, cabins and farmhouse. So where had he taken that girl?
Dodging a decaying tree stump, he tried to reason this out. The night Erin Walker had died, Hoffman had attended a reception in D.C. He’d been present for the senator’s speech, which had ended by ten o’clock. The camp was an hour and a quarter from the hotel, maybe more, so Hoffman couldn’t have arrived before eleven. And since the autopsy put Erin’s death around midnight, that gave Hoffman less than an hour to do his work.
So Erin couldn’t have run very far. Hoffman must have a private place, not far from the lookout tower. But where?