Touch of Red

by Laura Griffin

  “Hi. You don’t know me but . . . I need to talk to you about your son.”

  Her brow furrowed. “What about him?”

  The front door opened, and Fenway shot outside. Cameron stepped out behind him and stood at the top of the porch steps, looking at Brooke as Fenway jumped in hysterical circles at her feet, probably hoping for another chicken nugget.

  “Fenway, no.” Kaitlyn walked over and tried to grab the dog’s collar as she glanced up at Brooke. “Who did you say you are?”

  “My name is Brooke Porter. And I work with . . . some people who need to talk to you about something.”

  “Fenway, here!” Cameron shouted, coming down the steps. But the dog was too busy barking to obey.

  Kaitlyn gave Fenway’s collar a sharp tug as she looked up at Brooke. “I’m sorry, you’re . . . who? And how do you know my son?”

  From the corner of her eye, Brooke spotted a dark shape moving down the street. And then everything happened in slow motion.

  Cameron reached for the dog’s collar.

  Kaitlyn stood and looked at Brooke with confusion.

  The black pickup moved closer, and Brooke’s stomach plummeted as she spied the long black gun barrel poking from the window.

  CHAPTER 13

  A gunshot rang out.

  “Get down!” Brooke screamed.

  She took a running leap at Cameron and they crashed to the ground in a heap. The air flew from Brooke’s lungs, and Fenway was on her instantly, barking and nipping with his sharp teeth.

  Brooke flattened herself over Cameron as he yelped and kicked. Kaitlyn’s shrieks surrounded them.

  “Stay down!” Brooke yelled.

  More barks. A squeal of brakes. Teeth clamped around Brooke’s elbow, and she tried to shake off the dog.

  “Cameron! Cameron!”

  His mother’s voice was shrill with panic as she grabbed Brooke’s arm and pulled her off her son. Brooke cast a frantic glance at the street, but the pickup was long gone.

  “Cameron!”

  Brooke turned to the boy. Blood trickled from the side of his mouth and he looked dazed.

  Kaitlyn crouched beside him, yelling and crying and running her hands over his head. Blood streamed down Kaitlyn’s arm, and Brooke couldn’t see where it was coming from.

  “Oh, my God! Are you okay? Are you hurt?” Kaitlyn touched her hands to her son’s face, smearing his cheeks with red.

  “What was that? Mom, what happened?” He grabbed Fenway and pulled him against his chest.

  Brooke pushed to her feet, but her knees buckled and she sank to the ground. Her heart pounded as she fumbled to pull her phone from her pocket.

  “Call 911!” Kaitlyn shouted. “Cameron, answer me, baby! Are you hurt?”

  “I’m okay.” He blinked up at her. “But . . . Mom, you’re bleeding.”

  • • •

  Brooke cast an anxious glance around as she leaned against her car.

  “Could you describe the vehicle, ma’am?”

  She looked up at Jasper. “A black pickup truck,” she said for the umpteenth time. “It was old. I didn’t get the make or the model.”

  “When you say ‘old’—”

  “Nineties or earlier. I don’t know, really. I only saw it for a second.”

  Jasper jotted something in his notepad.

  Brooke looked around impatiently. She’d been through this already with the responding officer. She shifted her gaze to the middle of the street where that officer was now using a police department camera to snap a picture of the skid marks at the end of the block. Brooke had already taken the same shots with her cell phone so she could trace the tire marks without having to wait for the police to get around to it.

  “Ma’am?”

  She sighed. “Would you stop with that, please?”

  “Sorry. Brooke.” Jasper shifted on his feet. “Do you remember the window color? Was it tinted? Clear?”

  “The window was rolled down. I don’t remember.”

  “Did you get a look when it sped away, maybe?”

  “No. I didn’t see him leave. I just heard him. I was on the ground with Cameron.”

  Brooke looked at the house now. Even from the street she could hear Cameron’s little dog inside barking up a frenzy as police swarmed the property. Both ends of the street had been barricaded, and uniforms were combing the asphalt for shell casings.

  “Brooke?”

  “Sorry. What?” She snapped out of her daze and looked at Jasper. He was being incredibly patient with her as her attention hopped around like a rabbit on speed.

  “I said, don’t you want to get that checked out?” He nodded at her arm. Brooke had wrapped it in a T-shirt from her car.

  “I’m good.”

  He gave her a disapproving look as he flipped shut his notepad. “Suit yourself. If you do go to the hospital, maybe swing by the station house after. You could look at our vehicle photos and something might jump out.”

  A gray pickup halted beside the barricade. Brooke’s heart skittered as Sean got out and homed in on her instantly. His look of relief turned to determination as he strode over.

  “Why aren’t you at the hospital?” He looked her up and down. She’d mentioned the dog bite when she talked to him on the phone earlier.

  “Because I’m fine.” Especially now that Sean was here. Even with all the police milling around, she felt better with him near her.

  He took her good arm and shifted her behind the door of her car, as though to shield her from stray bullets. “That dog could have rabies, Brooke.”

  “He doesn’t. Cameron’s mom said he’s had all his shots.”

  Sean didn’t look placated.

  “How are they?” Brooke asked.

  “Ric’s with them. Kaitlyn is getting stitches where the bullet grazed her. She’s lucky she wasn’t killed.” Sean’s eyes held Brooke’s, and she knew what he was thinking.

  Brooke was lucky, too. And Cameron. Just thinking how close they’d all come to something catastrophic made Brooke break out in a cold sweat. She looked away, hoping Sean wouldn’t pick up on her distress. It had been almost an hour, and her pulse was still pounding as though she’d just run a sprint.

  “Hey.” He took her hand. “Look at me.”

  She did. His hand felt warm and infinitely reassuring, and she couldn’t bring herself to tug hers away this time. It was all she could do not to wrap her arms around him and bury her face against his chest.

  “Let me get you out of here,” he said in a low voice. “I’ll take you to get your arm treated and then have an officer take you home.”

  She wanted him to take her home. But of course he couldn’t do that because he had way too much going on now. This was his case. She got it. But that didn’t make the reality any easier to swallow. It was going to be a long, anxious, solitary night.

  Brooke pulled her hand from his.

  “I don’t need to get it treated. It’s a scratch, I told you.”

  “Mind if I look?”

  She shrugged. He carefully lifted her arm and unwrapped the T-shirt. The pink fabric was dark with blood where he peeled it away from the wound.

  He gave her a grim look.

  “It’s no big deal. I cleaned it up inside the house. I’ll put some ointment on it when I get home.” She replaced the makeshift bandage. “Tell me more about Kaitlyn. Has Ric interviewed her?”

  Sean watched her a moment. “Yes.”

  “And Cameron?”

  “Callie talked to Cameron. She’s good with kids.”

  “And?”

  “And Cameron says he went by Samantha’s house that night. He said he rang the doorbell, but she wasn’t there. Then he headed home and crashed his bike on the way.”

  Brooke’s heart sank. “He really said that?”

  “Yes.”

  “He’s lying.”

  “He’s terrified. We need to get a child psychologist in to talk to him, see if we can get the real story out of him.”<
br />
  “Well, what was he doing there?”

  “His mother said he goes to Samantha’s house sometimes to hang out while she’s at work, sort of an informal thing. Samantha gave him a key, which makes me doubt his whole story that he rang the doorbell that night.”

  Brooke shook her head, frustrated. “What about protection for them?”

  “I’m working on it.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means I’m working on it.”

  Brooke looked at the weedy lawn that was now a crime scene. The sight of the bloodstained grass made her stomach tighten. “Sean . . . I feel like I led him here.”

  “Who?”

  “Whoever it is that’s after Cameron.”

  “You didn’t.”

  She searched Sean’s face, looking for clues that he believed that. “How do you know?”

  “Because you didn’t. We’re not even sure this drive-by is related to Samantha’s murder.”

  “But . . . why not? What else would it be related to? The killer had to have seen him flee the scene. He knows he has a witness, and he’s coming after him.”

  “Take a step back, Brooke. It’s a drive-by shooting. Maybe there’s a drug connection here. Or some kind of gang violence. We have to look at everything, and right now we don’t know nearly enough about Samantha Bonner or Kaitlyn Spence, or who would have wanted to target either of them.”

  “What about Cameron? He’s the target here. He’s an eyewitness, and someone’s trying to silence him.”

  “Maybe. We have to look at all possibilities.” Sean paused. “Which is why I need to ask you something you’re not going to like.”

  She drew back. “What?”

  “Any chance you might have been the target?”

  Brooke went cold.

  “You told police the vehicle was a black pickup. Matt Jorgensen drives a black pickup.”

  Her mouth dropped open.

  “You ex could be involved here. You have to at least consider the possibility.”

  “No. Never in a million years.”

  Sean stared at her, his face unreadable.

  “It isn’t possible.”

  “Anything’s possible.”

  Brooke shook her head, frustrated beyond words. She slid behind the wheel of her car.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To the police station. To comb through vehicle photos. To identify the truck from this shooting so that we can develop real leads and stop wasting time on wild theories.”

  “I can take you,” Sean said. “It’s on my way to the hospital.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Brooke—”

  “Stop worrying about me!” She started up her car. “The person you should be worried about is Cameron Spence!”

  CHAPTER 14

  When Brooke finally made it home, she was bleary-eyed from looking at endless photos on a computer screen. She parked in her driveway and jogged through the drizzle to her neighbor’s door on the other side of the duplex. Their landlord had agreed to meet the locksmith for Brooke and leave the new key with Leila, but he was adding the charges to next month’s rent.

  Leila answered the door with a smile on her face and a glass of wine in her hand. Her smile dropped as she took in Brooke’s bedraggled appearance.

  “What happened to you?”

  “Long day.”

  “Well, I just opened a bottle of Chianti if you want to come in.”

  “Thanks, but what I really need is a hot shower.”

  “Okay, one sec. Your key’s in the kitchen.”

  Brooke waited, shivering, on the porch, and Leila returned with a shiny set of keys.

  “Here you go.”

  “Thanks. And thanks for dealing with Kopcek. How was he?”

  Leila rolled her eyes. “An ass pain, as usual. He noticed the cat food on my porch and pitched a fit.”

  “Damn. Sorry to call him over here.”

  “No biggie. That locksmith guy was hot, so I didn’t mind.” Leila winked. “I might have to lock myself out of my car next week.”

  “Sounds fun.”

  “If you change your mind about the wine, you know where to find me.”

  “Thanks.”

  Brooke let herself in using her new key. She closed the door and locked it behind her with a smooth snick. Then she looked around, noticing bits of sawdust on the floor. She glanced at the coffee table. No beer bottle this time.

  Brooke pulled off her damp sweater, stripping down to a black tank top. She tossed the sweater on top of an overflowing laundry basket. She didn’t have the energy to think about chores tonight. Tugging her ponytail loose, she headed through the kitchen and into the utility room. She tested the new key and peered through the window, surveying the shadowy yard for a moment before closing the blinds.

  Standing in the cool darkness, Brooke was reminded of the crime scene from a few days ago. Five days. So much had happened since then. It seemed like ages since she’d been on her knees in that utility room, surrounded by the stench of blood and fighting off nausea as she fingerprinted the doorknob only inches away from a woman’s butchered body.

  Some guys are allergic to rejection.

  A chill went through her as she remembered Sean’s words.

  Over the years Brooke had worked hundreds of crime scenes. Some mundane. Some gut-wrenching. Samantha’s stood out because of the sheer emotion Brooke had felt just being there. Even on her second visit twenty-four hours later, she’d felt it. That crime was about rage, pure and simple. The motive might still be fuzzy, but the emotion behind it was crystal clear, at least to Brooke.

  She stepped to the sink to wash her hands and glimpsed her reflection in the kitchen window. She looked shell-shocked, which shouldn’t have surprised her because she’d been shot at tonight.

  Shot at.

  Recounting the details to the first responder and then to Jasper, Brooke had felt detached, as though she were reporting something that happened to someone else. But now that she was in her own home, surrounded by familiar sights and smells, she didn’t feel detached at all. She felt an overwhelming sadness for her family over what had almost happened. Brooke knew better than most how guns could rip apart lives in only an instant. She’d seen the gurneys and heard the wailing mothers, and she was acutely aware of the stark finality of death.

  Don’t go there. It didn’t happen.

  Brooke grabbed a dish towel to dry her face and saw that her hands still had a tremor.

  The doorbell chimed, and she turned around. She hesitated a moment, then crossed the house to check the peephole. Relief flooded her at the sight of Sean’s broad-shouldered silhouette on her porch. She flipped on the outdoor light and opened the door.

  “Hi.” His gaze went to her bandaged elbow. “Can I come in?”

  She stepped back to let him inside. His hair and his jacket were wet with rain, and he dripped water on her floor, just as he had the other night.

  He closed the door behind him and gave her a long look before taking her hand and lifting it to brush a kiss over her knuckles. The unexpected gesture sparked a firestorm of nerves inside her.

  “Come here.” He pulled her against his chest and wrapped his arms around her. His leather jacket felt damp and cold, and she rested her cheek against the warm flannel of his shirt.

  He kissed the top of her head.

  “What’s this for?” Her voice was muffled, but she couldn’t bring herself to pull away from him. He smelled way too good.

  “This is what I should have done earlier instead of standing there arguing with you.”

  She took a deep breath, absorbing his scent, his strength. She loved the way his arms felt around her.

  “Tell me the truth. Are you all right?”

  “Better.” She didn’t say fine this time because that would have been a lie. That shooting had shaken her to the core.

  She pulled back and looked up at him. “How are you?”

  “Tired.
How’s the dog bite?”

  “All bandaged and disinfected. It’s no big deal.”

  Sean didn’t look as if he believed her.

  “Where are Cameron and his mom?”

  “Somewhere safe.”

  “ ‘Somewhere’?”

  He looked at her for a moment before answering. “My sister’s an ER nurse in Austin. She helped me get them settled at a shelter up there. They’ll be fine for a night or two until we sort this out.”

  Brooke felt relieved, but not completely. Who knew how long it might take to “sort this out,” as he put it? They couldn’t stay at a shelter forever.

  “We need to talk, Brooke.”

  She tensed. “About what?”

  “Matt Jorgensen.”

  She sighed and looked away. “I don’t want to talk about him tonight.”

  “This can’t wait.”

  “What happened to Sean Byrne, King of Patience?”

  He rested his hand on her shoulder. “As the guy who wants to date you? I can give you all the time you want. As the cop investigating a shooting in which you could have been killed—”

  “I wasn’t the target.”

  “We don’t know that. And until we do, I need every scrap of relevant info. So, I’m sorry, time’s up. We’re going to talk about this.”

  His voice was all-business, and she knew it would be pointless to argue.

  She pulled back from him. “Fine.”

  “Fine.” He gazed down at her. “You eaten yet?”

  “No.”

  “Me neither.”

  After a halfhearted debate, they decided on a diner near the university. The ride there was silent and strained, and Brooke spent most of it staring out the window of Sean’s truck at the rain-soaked streets. When they arrived, he asked for a corner booth where they’d be able to talk with some measure of privacy.

  Brooke scooted in first, and Sean slid around until he was right beside her. Before she’d left the house, she’d pulled a thick sweatshirt over her tank top, both to ward off the chill and to keep Sean from staring at her bandaged elbow.

  A young waitress stopped by and asked for their order.

  “I’ll have a milk shake,” Brooke said. “Double chocolate.”

  Sean looked at her, then glanced at the server. “Make it two.”