by C. J. Miller
Susan glanced at his gun again. “Is that why you haven’t put your gun down?”
“That’s correct. Connor’s tough, but I won’t take chances.”
How was Brady holding it together? He had shot and killed someone. She would be near catatonic if she was in his position.
“How are you feeling?”
His brows furrowed. “I’m fine. Why?”
“You killed someone.”
“Wasn’t the first time.”
He spoke the words so carelessly she tripped over the implication. He had been in the military. He had been involved in active combat. Of course he had killed before, but she had never thought about him shooting someone. “Doesn’t it affect you?”
“I was raised to protect myself and the people around me. If that means I have to use lethal force to do so, I don’t feel guilty about that. I warned him. He went after you and you were unarmed. I didn’t have a choice.”
Susan’s heart tightened and her guilt intensified. “I did this. I’m responsible.” Justin was dead and she hadn’t been useful in providing information about the night he had died. Reilly had helped her and had been a friend. In exchange, he had been benched at his job pending an investigation. Brady had killed someone to protect her, someone who had broken into his cabin to get to her. Every man who was close to her landed in trouble.
Brady took her hand in his. “Look at me.”
She met his gaze and blinked back the tears that threatened to spill. Her pulse beat erratically.
“You did not do this. The man I killed is responsible for his death. He broke into an armed man’s home and threatened his girlfriend.” Brady cleared his throat. “His ex-girlfriend. When he made those decisions, he risked his life. For that matter, coming onto Connor’s property unannounced is a terrible idea.”
Brady was offering some explanations, but none of them made sense to her. She didn’t know these men or why they’d wanted to kill her. She didn’t know why Justin had died. She and Brady waited in silence. As she heard the police sirens blast through the stillness of the night, anxiety cascaded through her. This wasn’t over and it wouldn’t be until they knew what had happened to Justin.
* * *
Brady’s irritation with the police had reached new heights. The detectives at the scene hadn’t arrested them, though the police and emergency response personnel had whispered about Susan and made their suspicions about her clear. They wanted Justin’s murder pinned on her shoulders.
Brady had repeated to the detectives that he had fired the gun and killed the intruder. Connor had done the same. Their hands were swabbed for GSR. Still, gossip ran wild. The events of the past week were not painting Susan in a good light. More irritatingly, the police didn’t appear to take the threat against Susan seriously. Brady told the cops about the fire at her home and how she had needed a place to stay, hence her being at his house.
One of the detectives on the scene seemed annoyed that Brady was pressing the issue of Susan’s safety. “Look, Mr. Truman, we don’t have the resources to monitor someone around the clock. I’ll put in a request to have some uniforms in a marked police car drive by the house every few hours to keep an eye on the area. It’s the best I can offer.”
Irritation spun through Brady. “Whoever wants to kill Susan is determined. Only driving by every few hours gives the criminals another chance at her life.”
The detective sighed heavily. “Maybe you killed the men looking for Ms. Prescott and she has nothing further to worry about. Unless you’re keeping information from me, it doesn’t sound like she has enemies to be concerned about.”
“The fact that men were looking for her warrants an investigation. These were trained professionals, not common criminals. Susan was targeted. I want to be sure that she is safe, and the police should, too,” Brady said. Brady didn’t believe the two men he and Connor had killed were the entirety of the danger. Susan didn’t recognize the men, leading Brady to consider they were murderers for hire or part of a larger conspiracy. Justin’s death had released an avalanche of problems. At present, it was Susan who was in the path of destruction.
The detective screwed up her lips and lifted her brow. “One thing both incidents have in common is you. Maybe she would be better off away from you.”
Brady didn’t dignify the detective’s comments with a response. Until the police department got its act together and realized Susan was a victim in this, Brady would protect her.
Brady’s cell phone rang and he didn’t recognize the number. The detective he’d been speaking with had already stepped away to talk to her partner. Brady wrote her off as useless in this matter. Brady answered the phone. “Brady Truman.”
“Truman, it’s Tim Ambrose.”
Justin’s father. The three-star lieutenant general. Brady respected the rank, if not the man himself. Though Ambrose couldn’t see him, Brady straightened. “Hello, sir.”
“I’ve heard from some of my contacts you’re having a rough time.”
Brady couldn’t be sure exactly what Ambrose was referring to, but based on the timing, he guessed it wasn’t his knee and physical rehabilitation that concerned the older man. More likely, Ambrose had caught wind of his involvement in protecting Susan. News traveled fast in the small circle of the air force, and bad news spread even faster. “It’s been unpleasant. How can I help you?”
“I’m glad you asked. I want my son’s killer brought to justice and I don’t think your involvement with her helps that effort.”
Brady hesitated. Ambrose was referring to Susan as Justin’s killer.
“I want that, too.” Finding the killer would stop the suspicion surrounding Susan and Reilly.
“Why are you helping her evade justice?” Ambrose asked, the anger in his voice thinly veiled.
The hackles rose on Brady’s neck. “I’m not helping anyone evade justice. I’m helping an old friend to stay safe.” How much did the lieutenant general know about the case? Did he know about the fire at Susan’s home? The recent attack at Brady’s?
“I’m not a man to tiptoe around a problem. Let me say it to you plain. If you help Susan Prescott worm out of responsibility for my son’s murder, you won’t like the consequences. I’ll open your military record. I will have someone investigate inconsistencies and put a different slant on your work. Under a microscope, I’ll bet we’ll find offenses that will lead to a court martial. If that fails, when Susan is charged with Justin’s murder, you’ll be named as an accomplice to the crime.”
A threat. An outright threat. Tim Ambrose had the power and the connections to carry through every warning he’d given. Brady’s military record would be tarnished, his family name disgraced and he’d be brought to trial for a crime he had nothing to do with. Why was Ambrose convinced Susan was responsible?
Brady mustered the last threads of respect he had for the position to cover the anger in his voice. “Sir, I want justice for your son.” He strove for neutrality.
“Then put some distance between you and Susan. Get out of the way.”
“I can only do what I think is right.” Not making a verbal commitment one way or another to the lieutenant general. Brady had no intention of walking away from Susan. He hadn’t learned what he needed to in order to clear Reilly or Susan, and the people who had tried to kill her wouldn’t give up until they were successful.
The men who had entered his home to kill Susan weren’t run-of-the-mill criminals. Brady recognized the signs of a trained and vicious tactical killer. Multiple weapons. Knife. Gun. Wire. A trained killer didn’t give up, not when they wanted to hit their payday.
“I don’t care for acts of disobedience,” Tim Ambrose said.
Anger riled him. Brady wasn’t in the military anymore and this wasn’t an overseas military appointment. Brady wasn’t being disobedient. “I’ll get to
the bottom of this. You’ll be the first to know when I find evidence against Justin’s killer.”
“I don’t need evidence. I know Susan Prescott is responsible,” Ambrose said.
“We’ll let the police do their job,” Brady said. As he spoke the words, he pictured Ambrose making his next call to the mayor. Would Brady’s refusal to walk away from Susan add to the pressure the mayor would apply to the police to arrest her?
“Yes, we will. You know I play golf with the mayor. He’s interested in seeing this case resolved and I’d like to keep the collateral damage to a minimum. Your brother is a police detective, am I right?”
Hot rage exploded across Brady’s chest. To threaten him was one thing. To go after his family was another, far more serious offense. “You know he is.”
“It’s my understanding he’s currently under disciplinary action for his involvement in the case and it would be terrible if his career was damaged because of his relationship with my son’s murderer,” Ambrose said, again refusing to call Susan by her name.
Brady’s teeth were grating so hard, he couldn’t speak.
“You might want to keep that in mind when you’re making decisions. Do you understand? Truman? Truman—”
Brady disconnected the call. He wasn’t interested in listening to more threats. He had the feeling he’d thrown down the gauntlet with Justin’s father with his response and non-response. Brady would need to be very careful where he stepped. Tim Ambrose would make good on his promises and had reminded Brady that he had more to lose.
Susan was sitting on the porch of the cabin, her knees curled into her chest, watching the scene around her, police collecting evidence and the coroner bagging the bodies. The sun had begun to rise, rays of light breaking through the trees surrounding the cabin.
Brady sat next to her. “How are you managing?”
She shrugged. “I’m sorry I pulled you into this.”
She hadn’t pulled him in. He’d wanted to help her. He’d insisted. “It’s good I was here. Connor, too. You and Justin must have pissed off the wrong people.”
Susan faced him, her eyes glimmering with unshed tears. “It must be impossible to believe, but I don’t think I’ve angered anyone. I can’t think of anything Justin or I have done to cause this backlash.” She pressed her lips together. “You had to kill someone because of me.”
Brady inwardly cringed. He had shot the man in his home, but his reaction hadn’t been quick and decisive. Would she feel safe if he admitted he’d hesitated? What was happening to him? Lives were at stake. Disgust at his behavior roiled through him.
He’d been trained to respond to threats without emotion. When emotion entered the equation, mistakes followed. After his failure with the Special Forces, he’d thought he’d learned that lesson. He’d known the objective of his mission and he’d known the enemy. He’d faltered, questioned his reaction and doubted his judgment. Because of it, good men had been put in danger. Could he continue to keep Susan safe knowing he was dragging around the psychological scars of his mistakes?
“I’m glad you weren’t hurt,” Brady said. Not an answer to her statement, but the truth. “When the police clear out, I’ll ask Connor to keep an eye on you. I have a few errands to run.”
Susan rubbed her forehead. “What can I do to help?”
“You can rest. Try to get some sleep. You won’t remember anything about Justin’s murder if you’re exhausted and stressed.”
Susan leaned her head on his shoulder. “I’ll try. I want to help. I want to remember.”
Brady banded his arms around her. His every muscle was attuned to her, his thoughts focused solely on her and protecting her. Could he keep her safe? They had a lot on the line and Justin’s father had raised the stakes. The faster she remembered, the better it would be for her and his family.
* * *
Susan tried to sleep, but couldn’t slow her thoughts enough to relax. Staying in Brady’s cabin made it difficult to think about anything except the men who had broken in and her jumbled history with Brady. She had a million reasons to want him out of her life and one big reason to be grateful he was in it: he’d saved her. He’d come to her aid when no one else had. He was standing by her side as her world crumbled and helping her pick up the pieces. That counted for something. It did. But did it count enough for her to let him into her life in a real, permanent way?
No. The answer came swift and sure. She’d made the choice once before to allow him in and he’d hurt her. In her foolishness, she had visited him in the hospital seeking friendship. He’d tossed her out. She’d keep clear and firm boundaries with Brady. It was better for both of them.
Giving up on sleep, Susan threw back the covers and grabbed the sketch pad and pencils Brady had left on his dresser for her to use.
She began sketching without anything particular in mind. Maybe it would help her to clear her thoughts and open her memory. If Justin’s killer believed she knew something important enough that she needed to die, she had the slim, fleeting hope she could bring him to justice.
Her hand paused over the paper. She’d been drawing Justin’s boat on her pad.
Justin had loved his boat. If she returned to the scene, would anything from that night come back to her? Would being at the marina jog her memory? The idea of returning to the boat made her stomach queasy. But she had to do something aside from sit and wait for something else bad to happen. No one could remember for her.
Justin deserved justice and Reilly deserved to be found innocent of the ridiculous accusations that he had covered up the murder.
Susan touched her owl necklace, glad it had been saved from the fire. Since Haley had given it to her, she’d worn it constantly. On the USB drive inside the necklace were the only pictures she had left. An odd sensation skittered over Susan’s nerves. Pictures. She had pictures of Justin’s yacht. Could looking at them jog her memory?
Brady had left to run errands and his landlord was sitting on the porch. Eerily, he wasn’t moving or pacing. He sat still, watching the road.
Susan looked for Brady’s laptop and found it on the kitchen table. She powered it on, unplugged the USB from the necklace and inserted it into the computer.
A few moments later, she was paging through her pictures. A picnic she and Justin had attended earlier that year. A shot of Justin and his father, one of the few where they looked relaxed and happy. A picture of Justin on his boat. Susan held her finger over Justin’s image and focused on the boat. Could she recall anything about that night?
No nagging sensation spurred a memory and no sudden recollection flooded to mind. It looked like the yacht before it had been covered in Justin’s blood. Susan shivered and flipped to the next picture. Justin was sitting at the small table in the galley. Behind him were the cabinets and one of the yacht’s hidden safes was open.
She and Justin had stored their passports and money inside it when they took the boat out on the water. She squinted at the picture, noticing something else inside the safe. Books? When did Justin put books inside the safe? Opening the picture in the computer’s photo-editing software, she blew up the image and zoomed in on the safe.
Something was inside other than their wallets and passports. What was it? Had the police emptied the safe when they were searching the boat? Could she get a list of the boat’s confiscated contents? Was she being silly, grabbing on to an irrelevant detail to have something to think about and feel as if she was helping solve his murder?
It was probably nothing, but she couldn’t stop thinking about it. Could she contact the detective in charge of the case? Would he share any information with her?
Susan paced around the cabin considering her options. She needed to talk to someone who understood what she was going through, and only one person came to mind. She dialed her mother’s number and regretted making the call the moment
her mother answered.
“Hey, Mom,” Susan said, bracing herself for the worst.
Her mother sounded tired and surprised to hear from her. “Susie, I’ve been worried about you.”
Worried, but not concerned enough to stop by to see her. Or call. In the years since her father had died, her mother had become paralyzed by the inability to make decisions or take any action. She feared the world would scrutinize and attack her every move. “I guess you’ve heard I’ve landed in some trouble,” Susan said.
Her mother made a sound of acknowledgment. “Do you think it’s a good idea to talk to me? The police will twist this conversation like I helped you.”
Worried about herself or worried about her daughter? “Mom, stop. The police are not dragging you into this. The charges against you for dad’s murder were dropped. It was self-defense. The prosecutor even said so and apologized. It was years ago and it’s over. The people who worked the case have moved on.” How many times had she spoken those words to her mother over the years?
“It took them long enough to realize I was protecting myself,” her mother said, bitterness heavy in her voice, which too many cigarettes had left roughened.
Her mother had spent three months in jail while the police conducted their investigation into Susan’s father’s death. It had forever changed her mother’s life—and Susan’s. “I’m not calling to involve you in my problems. I just want to talk to someone who might understand.”
Her mother let out a sharp bark of rancorous laughter. “I understand all right. I understand you’re being railroaded and the cops and the media won’t give you a moment’s peace until they have someone’s head on a platter. They won’t care if you’re the guilty party or just someone who can take the blame. You’d be smart to disappear and put this behind you.”
Suspicions and accusations based on her own experiences. Susan’s heart beat faster. In the years since her mother was cleared of her father’s death, Susan had fought not to let her mother’s paranoia alter her thinking. “I can’t run away and hide because I’ll look guilty. But I can’t stand how people have decided I’m guilty without evidence and before a trial. Justin’s father believes I’m guilty. My neighbors think I’m guilty. Friends think I’m guilty.”