Brody approached Hallie’s work cubicle late in the afternoon. Her day must have been tough, judging by the way she sat slumped over some doodles on a note pad. “Looks like you could use a listening ear.”
She straightened, and warmth flashed in those brown eyes then dimmed. “You volunteering to get dumped on?”
“Try me.”
She shrugged and looked down at her doodles. “I had a call from Detective Millette this morning.”
A fist squeezed Brody’s insides as she shared what the detective had to say. “I told you that you need a bodyguard. Maybe the station will spring for one.”
“Not on your wireless microphone. I’ve got no desire to be followed around by a bodyguard. That would really set my interview subjects at ease. I’ll be careful wherever I go. I promise.”
“And I promise to be more ornery than an ox if you don’t.”
A smile played with the corners of her mouth. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.” The amusement dimmed and she sighed. “I met with Alicia’s parents today, but got a whole lot of frustration. The only newsworthy bit was James Drayton’s rabid dislike of Alicia’s career and her boyfriend.”
“Doesn’t sound like a complete bust.”
She curled her upper lip. “Yeah, well, I got nothing but lies about my mother’s bracelet. I keep hitting a brick wall on that one.”
“Sorry to hear it. Let’s go grab a snack at the food court and chow down in the park. A little fresh air would do us both good.”
“Sounds lovely.” She let out a weary sigh. “I was ready to ditch this joint for today anyway.”
A short time later they settled with cookies and bottles of water onto a bench in the block-wide park across the street from the station.
Hallie turned toward him. “I hear you pledged bodily harm to Vince on my account.”
“Blabbermouth,” he muttered. “Feel free to dump the details on me about today’s adventures with the Draytons.”
She laughed and little tingles spiraled down Brody’s spine. He stiffened. He had to stop reacting that way to this woman. The description of her fruitless encounter with James and Cheryl Drayton halted his eating half way through his peanut butter cookie. “Are you saying the guy threatened you?”
She wrinkled her nose. “More like he intimidated me. Well, not even quite that. I got the impression I was supposed to be cowed by his anger and manipulated by his grief.”
“An abuser?”
“The signs were all over Cheryl in the way she interacted with him. It wouldn’t surprise me to find out the woman has a drinking problem. I smelled alcohol on her breath. I suppose Alicia got her Dr. Jeckyl/Mr. Hyde personality from James’s treatment as well.”
“Did you see bruises on his wife?”
“No. James may be the psychological and emotional type of abuser. In some ways, those are the worst kind. The wounds they leave are invisible and only God Himself can bring true healing.”
“Amen to that!” Brody chomped another bite.
Hallie studied him, head tilted to the side. “You’re a unique sort of guy in this day and age—a gentleman and a believer. Have you always had it together, or were you arrogant and heedless in your glamorous youth?”
Brody polished off his cookie and wiped his hands on a paper napkin. “I assume you refer to my brief flirtation in college with the possibility that I might be drafted into the NFL. In that case, then ignorant and heedless would be an apt description. My parents would never tolerate me being stuck on myself, but I had no clue life might not turn out exactly as I’d envisioned.” He placed his hand over his right knee. “A blown kneecap and a bad divorce sobered me up in a hurry. Er—rather, it sent me down a rocky path of alcoholism, so I’m familiar with Mrs. Drayton’s particular bondage. I even had a DUI once. Near tragedy made me bosom-buddies with God real quick, and He sobered me up.”
“Hmm.” She dipped her chin. “I think there’s a lot of story in between those lines.”
“Maybe I’ll tell you sometime. What brought on the question anyway?”
She huffed through her nose. “I’ve had to ask Daria not to put calls through to me from Steve Ellis, the man at the morgue. I did nothing to remotely hint that I was interested in him. But since I returned to the station, he’s called twice suggesting dating plans. Like I should be overawed by the size of his biceps or something. Where do these guys get this attitude?”
“From a deep well of insecurity.” Brody sipped at his water. “Physical prowess of any kind—whether it be beauty or brawn—is fleeting at best. If that’s all a person has going for them, they scramble to capitalize on every moment and deceive themselves that everyone else thinks the same way.”
“Are you sure you didn’t major in psychology in college?”
“Just communications. I swear.” He lifted a hand in pledge.
Hallie crumpled her wrapper and napkin in a pair of fists. “Jessica, one of the models I met yesterday—she’s living in that illusion. As much as I disliked her, I can almost feel sorry for her when I look at her life with your insight.”
Brody took her crumpled paper and strolled over to the garbage can. “Ready for me to walk you home before I head back to the station to get ready for the evening news?”
“Walk me home? Are you serious?” She stood and hitched her purse up on her shoulder. “You can see my apartment building front door from here.”
“Humor the stubborn ox, would you?”
She grimaced then led the way toward the intersection.
Brody fell into step with her. “If you try to talk to the Draytons again, would you mind taking me with you?”
“How did you know I planned to make another run at them?”
“C’mon! We’re both reporters.”
She grinned. “I’d like to get Cheryl alone for a little while. I had the feeling she wanted to say more, but her husband’s presence held her back. Maybe you can help by distracting James.”
“Oh, goody. Feed me to the lion.” He chuckled.
“You can handle it, big ox like yourself.”
They both laughed as they crossed the street. Near the metal sculpture outside her apartment, Hallie turned and gazed into his eyes. “So where have you got Damon stashed? I know good and well you wouldn’t let him go back to his mother’s, and his place and yours will be under surveillance by a flock of media hawks.”
“Off the record?” Giving this particular woman that information could pay off big-time in establishing mutual trust, or it could backfire into major problems for him and Damon.
Hallie twitched as if startled. “You know, when I asked the question I wasn’t thinking as a reporter at all. But I can see how you might have the idea I’d run to Vince with the answer, since we’ve been tossing favors back and forth. No one will hear the location from me. I just want an idea where he’s at for my own peace of mind.”
Brody searched her face for the least hint of calculation. Her gaze remained open and clear. Of course, Deborah had been pretty good with the innocent stare when she wanted something, too. Get off it, Jordan. Hallie wasn’t Deborah, though it had taken him this long to start figuring that out.
“All right. I called in a favor. Damon’s house-sitting for a friend in a quiet little neighborhood in Anoka. The guy got a temporary job transfer that might turn permanent so the house is sitting unoccupied. Damon’s got no vehicle of his own, so he’s pretty much stuck there.”
“Anoka.” She sighed. “Well, thirty minutes by car is better than walking distance. And your answer was just right. Enough information to soothe my soul, but not so much that I have specifics.”
Brody spread his hands. “Do you want the address?”
“You’d give it to me?” She leaned toward him.
“In a heartbeat.” Wasn’t that his heart trying to knock a hole in his chest at her closeness?
“You’d really trust this ‘cheerleader type’?” Her gaze went earnest, and she drew away.
He sucke
d in oxygen he hadn’t even realized he’d stopped inhaling. “A what type?”
“You heard me. You called me that straight to our boss Wayne Billings’s face the day I started at WDJN.”
“I said you were a cheerleader type?”
“Loud and clear.”
He tugged his left earlobe. “Well, if I did, I don’t remember it, but I do know one thing. I meant the term as a compliment.”
A chuckle spurted between her lips. “From your perspective I guess you did. For me, the term is synonymous with giggly jock groupies. What does it mean to you?”
“I suppose your interpretation is the negative side of that coin. There are some who behave that way. I see cheerleading as a sport in itself. They’ve got competitions every bit as grueling as any other athletic contest. But if I applied the description to you, I suspect I was thinking in terms of grace, tenacity and teamwork.”
“You meant it that way? I thought—” She stopped and bit her lip.
“You thought what?”
“I figured you were telling Wayne I’d be no good for anything but fluff assignments. I’ve been trying to prove you wrong ever since.”
Brody slapped his forehead. “So some of the crazy risks you’ve taken for a story, like sneaking into that illegal union/management meeting, were all about what I said?”
She scowled. “Don’t take too much credit, Jordan. Giving you the raspberry was only a secondary motivation. I probably would have leaped in with both feet anyway. Those jerks didn’t need to get away with cheating people.”
Brody sighed. “I agree. It was a great story, but I wish you had let someone know what you were up to in case you ran into trouble.”
“Someone like you?”
“Exactly.”
She grinned at him. “Teamwork, eh? The quarterback and the cheerleader?”
He cleared his throat. “I was a running back.”
Chuckling, she dug her key card out of her purse. “I think I might just learn to like you, Jordan.” Her voice ran warm and smooth. She slipped into the building and the door closed behind her while he stood and stared. Turning, she waggled her fingers at him then walked through the inner vestibule door into her lobby.
What do you know? She’d decided he wasn’t on a level with pond scum after all. Shouldn’t this former running back be racing away pell-mell? Probably, but he couldn’t, not with so much at stake for Damon. He’d just have to endure the thrill and the risk of hanging around Hallie Berglund.
By 6:30 p.m., Hallie had worked out in the apartment complex gym, taken a refreshing dip in the pool, showered and dressed in a soft blouse and denim shorts. Now, she finished buckling her wedge-heeled sandals and headed out the door toward the elevator. If Brody could see her leaving the building alone, he’d pitch a fit, but she wasn’t about to start living like a rabbit in a hole because of some oddball fixated on her connection to Alicia’s murder. Not even her own fears were going to do that to her.
She took the elevator to the private underground parking garage. Stepping off, she paused and scanned the area. The place looked deserted, but the ticking of an engine signaled someone had recently returned home and parked. The sound seemed loud in the silence. Gripping her purse strap, Hallie headed for her car, gaze darting around. Why had she never noticed how footfalls echoed in this enclosed space or how many shadows there were? Her skin prickled. She swallowed and increased her pace. At her car, she scanned the front and back seats. Empty. Then she unlocked the vehicle quickly and hopped in, slamming and locking the door in near simultaneous motions.
Her breath sawed in and out of her lungs. Quit being an infant! There was no threat here but her own heebie-jeebies. She pressed her hands together between her knees and commanded them to steady.
A few deep breaths later, she stuffed her key into the Honda’s ignition. The engine purred smooth as a kitten, a soothing sound, as she left the garage. Setting her chin, she headed toward the bridal shop for a final fitting on one of those gorgeous emerald green bridesmaid’s gowns Sam had picked out. Her gaze kept flitting to her rearview mirror in case she could pick up on anyone tailing her, but saw nothing suspicious. Still, her stomach stayed wrapped in knots. Okay, so maybe it would be comforting to have that big ox riding shotgun.
He’d done a number on her whole perspective on life at WDJN with that revelation about “grace, tenacity and teamwork.” Who would’ve thought Brody respected her as a reporter when he had always avoided her presence like a case of chicken pox?
A few minutes after seven, Hallie parked her car in the lot between the arms of a U-shaped strip mall populated by boutiques and specialty shops. She walked through the door of the bridal shop to find her friends already there, and Jenna in the throes of gown-modeling in front of a three-way mirror. The frown and puckered brow said that Jenna was having her usual body-image struggles. Some women would kill for such a generous figure. So what if a little extra fluffiness went with the package? She might as well enjoy who she was.
“You look fabulous!” Hallie said as Jenna and Sam spotted her and waved her over.
Jenna sighed. “I was hoping to lose ten pounds by now instead of only five. There’s no way I can shave off the rest by tomorrow night.”
“Tomorrow?” Hallie shot a mystified look at Sam. “The wedding is over a month away.”
Sam smirked. “Jen’s got a hot Friday night date with you-know-who.”
“No, I don’t know who.” Hallie shook her head.
“Really? He hasn’t mentioned their plans?” Sam chuckled. “Maybe he doesn’t want you razzing him since you work with him every day.”
Hallie searched her memory banks and came up with a picture of her cameraman and Jenna with their heads together, yakking a mile a minute at her surprise party. “Stan Fisher? You’re kidding!”
Jenna’s pale complexion turned fire-red from the scoop neck up to her hairline. In the green gown, she now resembled a shimmery Christmas ornament.
“That’s terrific!” Hallie wrapped Jenna in a bear hug. “That guy had better count himself the most fortunate man on the planet to have scored a night on the town with my beautiful BFF. And,” she drew back and touched the tip of her friend’s pert nose, “he’d better treat you like royalty, or he’ll answer to me.”
“That’s probably what he’s afraid of.” Jenna’s face finally found its smile. “We’re going to one of those places where we get to try our hand at new recipes and eat our own concoctions.”
“But you cook at work all the time.”
Jenna shrugged. “I don’t experiment on the restaurant customers. This will be a chance to try out some wild and crazy cuisine. Maybe I’ll find something new to put on the menu. Besides, it’s common ground. I like to cook, he likes to cook, and we both like to eat, only he doesn’t show it like I do.” She looked down at herself and one side of her mouth drifted south.
“Honey, let me tell you some model-mania horror stories.”
“Later,” Sam inserted. “Here comes the seamstress with your gown, Hallie.”
In the next moment, she was whisked away into a changing room, then turned this way and that, and prodded and pinned. Finally, she was released from her duties and got to watch Sam try on her elegantly simple wedding gown. In between oohs and aahs, Hallie filled her friends in on Jessica and her skinny little world of desperate competition.
“Okay, so I get the picture,” Jenna said when Sam left to remove her gown. “Don’t get caught up in svelte syndrome. It’s a false standard anyway.”
“See? I knew you were a wise woman.” Hallie offered her palm to receive a high five.
When the bride-to-be returned in street clothes, Hallie strolled with her friends toward the exit.
Sam sent her a sober look. “You’re carrying on with the Minnesota model story in typical Hallie-the-trooper fashion. But how are you really holding up since the murder?”
“Yeah,” Jenna said, “even for you that was gutsy to go through your entire surprise
birthday party without saying a word to anyone about a dead body.”
“You’re not mad at me for keeping mum, are you? I couldn’t talk about it right then without falling apart, and everybody was having such a good time. I didn’t want to ruin the party.”
“Angry? Are you kidding?” Sam laughed.
“You’re the one that went through a nightmare,” Jenna added.
Hallie threw an arm around the shoulder of each friend. “What did I ever do to deserve such great buds?”
Laughing, they all stepped out into waning sunlight and balmy evening air. A breeze wafted the scent of cooling tarmac their way.
Hallie pointed toward the coffee shop next door. “Let’s grab a snack. I have a bunch to tell you about the bracelet on Alicia’s wrist. If anybody’s going to understand how I feel, you two will.”
Half an hour passed with soothing Chai tea and conversation that meandered back and forth between the upcoming marriage and the recent murder.
“I’m afraid the more roadblocks I run into, the more I’m obsessed with finding out about that armband.” Hallie drained the last of her tea.
“I don’t think it’s unreasonable at all for you to want to know how your mother’s craftsmanship ended up with Alicia.” Sam polished off her scone and dabbed at her mouth with a napkin. “So what’s the next step?”
“A couple of things. I’m working on Brody to let me talk to Damon Lange. As much as I dread the prospect, he may be my best source of information if the Draytons won’t talk. Of course, I plan to try again with them—with Cheryl anyway. Brody’s going to help me, and—”
“You keep mentioning Brody,” Jenna interrupted. “Are you talking about Brody Jordan, that hot sportscaster? I thought you couldn’t stand him.”
Hallie dipped her head. “We’re learning to get along.”
“Ahhhh!”
“Mmm!”
Jenna and Sam’s knowing noises overlapped.
Hallie glared from one to other. “It’s strictly a professional arrangement. We’re also doing a little investigating into the murder, but from opposite convictions about Damon Lange’s guilt. It’s a pretty interesting relationship—competitive cooperation.” She laughed.
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