“Bronte. Just the woman I was looking for,” he said, flashing one of his famous smiles.
It took a moment for Bronte’s brain to switch tracks. To try to shake herself free of the fear clinging to her and summon up a smile. “Well, I’d chance a guess and say you’ve just found me.” She and Bernard had always gotten along well. He was the one who had taken her off rotation and secured a permanent position for her with the Transnational/Major Crimes section.
Still, she wished this long overdue conversation could have come at a different time and a lot sooner. “What can I do for you, Bernie? I take it you’re responding to my messages?”
He made a point of glancing at Greg, who, of course, appeared extremely busy with other things and completely oblivious to them, which Bronte knew couldn’t be further from the truth. “You got a minute? There’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.”
She motioned for him to precede her into her office. “Sure. I think I can even manage to give you two.” She placed the videos on Greg’s desk, giving him a loaded glance. “Hold my calls for me, Greg.”
“Sure thing.”
Bernard chuckled as Bronte followed him inside, then closed the door after herself. She rounded her desk, but waited for him to sit before she did. Only he didn’t. For the first time since running into him, she knew a moment of concern. “Uh-oh. You’re not sitting. This must be serious.”
She’d meant the comment as a joke of sorts, something to break the ice, but Leighton remained serious.
She cleared her throat. “What is it, Bernie?”
“It’s the Robbins case, Bronte.”
Her gaze went immediately to where she could see the corner of Greg’s desk through the narrow window to the right of her door. The videotapes were effectively hidden by other files, but it was enough for her to know they were there. “What about it?” she asked, looking back at Bernie.
“Word has it you’ve been looking in on the case on the sly.”
She smiled. “I’m not sure I know what you mean by ‘on the sly.’ Yes, I have been following the case since Burns took it over. That I’ll admit.” She straightened a couple files on her desk that didn’t need straightening. “Come on, Bernie, I worked on the Pryka case for four solid months—a case you assigned to me. You can’t blame me for wanting to keep up on it and the Robbins case.”
“Unfortunately, I can. And I do.” He frowned. “Look, Bronte, you’re one of my best junior attorneys. And you know I trust you implicitly. This is the first time I’ve heard of you doing something of this nature. And I certainly hope it’s the last.”
Bronte gazed at him in barely disguised shock. Then she snapped out of it, a window of opportunity opening that she was loathe to ignore. “Actually, Bernie, I’m glad you stopped by, because I’ve been meaning to discuss this very matter with you.”
His brows raised as she rounded her desk and came to stand directly in front of him. She had a good two inches on him at least. There was a time when her being taller than a man would have made her feel ill at ease, but no longer. “If you don’t mind my asking, why did you reassign the Pryka case to Dennis?”
He crossed his arms, as if indignant at being questioned, and likely a little put off by her height, something she played to her advantage by standing a little straighter. “I understand that with the death of Robbins, there’s a conflict of interest.”
“Conflict of interest? How so?” She knew exactly how so, but she wasn’t about to help him out.
“You’re best friends with the suspect’s brother-in-law, are you not?”
She smiled. “Actually, sister-in-law. And I prefer to view it as she just happens to have married a man whose brother is a suspect in the case. In fact, she’s on her honeymoon now.” She twisted her lips, resisting the urge to wave Greg away from where he was peering through the window. “Do you mind if I ask how you came by this possible conflict of interest?”
Bernie looked down and cleared his throat. “You know it pays to keep your ear to the ground.”
“I see. So am I correct in assuming that Dennis Burns was the one vibrating the tracks on that particular point?”
A shadow of a smile appeared in his eyes as he met her gaze. “Interesting imagery.”
“But accurate, I presume.”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
Bronte rubbed the back of her neck. “That little backstabber has been after my job since day one. And I have to admit, I’m getting a little tired of him sniffing around my skirt hem, if you’ll pardon the expression.” She sighed. “I really wish you would have come to me before reassigning the case, Bernie. I think you at least owed me that.”
He narrowed his eyes, but appeared to be motivated by curiosity rather than wariness. “Granted. But I find it interesting that you’re not asking for the case back. Shall I take that to mean that the conflict does, indeed, exist?”
She smiled. “Given the circumstances, that’s really neither here nor there, now, is it?”
His chuckle reverberated throughout the room, earning her a thumbs up from Greg.
“No, I guess it isn’t.” He started to turn and Greg’s head disappeared from the window.
Bronte began to follow him out, just then remembering to glance at her watch. Her heart skipped a beat. She supposed she owed it to him to reveal what was supposed to happen at noon. He was, after all, the reason she was even a junior U.S. attorney. “Um, Bernie?”
“Yes?” he turned his head to glance at her as he opened the door.
“I just thought you might like to know that Connor McCoy is turning himself in to me at the courthouse at noon today.”
She didn’t think it was possible for his brows to shoot any higher on his forehead. She was proved wrong. “Yes. That is information I am happy to know.”
Bronte gripped the edge of the door. “I also thought you might like to know that he’s innocent, Bernie. And I intend to do everything in my power to help prove that point.”
His brows disappeared completely. “Well, then it’s a good thing you aren’t in charge of the case anymore, isn’t it?”
She smiled, although somewhat sadly.
“Does that mean you’re not coming to the pre-season barbecue Chelsea and I are hosting this Sunday?”
“Can I get back to you on that?”
He nodded. “No problem. Though I do have to warn you that Chelsea was planning to invite a special single someone. You know how she hates having odd chairs.”
“Matchmaking again. Tell her thanks, but no thanks. Right now I’ve got about as much as I can handle.”
By now they were standing outside her office. “So…do you want me to do the honors of telling our Mr. Burns of today’s news? Or shall you?”
Bronte fought to hide her frown. She would just as soon not have anything to do with the little pipsqueak. “Oh, please, allow me.”
Bernie shook his head and continued walking down the hall.
Greg put the phone down from where she suspected he was only pretending to talk. “What was that all about?”
She picked up the incriminating material from the desk. “I’ll fill you in later. Right now I have to pay a visit to our favorite attorney.”
“Uh, Bronte,” Greg called when she was halfway across the hall. “He left, like, two minutes ago. If you run, you can probably still catch him before he gets to the parking garage.”
Figured. “Well, I guess I’d better run then, hadn’t I?”
“Yep.”
Bronte reasoned that if she didn’t catch him, it would be no skin off her nose. After all, she had tried to tell him, hadn’t she? And that’s all that counted.
Except that she didn’t want to disappoint Bernard. It didn’t sit well with her that she had dented the trust that had always existed between them by filching information right out from Dennis Burns’s nose.
She picked up her pace. Besides, she did want to see Dennis’s face when he found out that she had arranged to have h
is prime suspect delivered to the proper authorities, practically signed, sealed and delivered. She didn’t deem it pertinent for him to know that she also planned to spring him just as neatly.
She reached the elevator and pressed the button for the lobby. “Come on, come on,” she murmured, smiling at the sole other occupant.
The doors finally slid open and she hurried to the banister overlooking the high ceiling of the tiled lobby. There he was, heading for the revolving doors.
She called out to him, but he appeared not to hear her. She stepped closer to the stairs and opened her mouth to call out again, but the words caught in her throat. She cocked her head to one side and stared at Burns’s back curiously. He was dressed casually today. Actually, he was dressed casually half the time. Several of the attorneys in the office did so when they didn’t have any court appearances scheduled. But Dennis tended to take things to the max. Today, he had on jeans and a leather jacket—jeans and a leather jacket very similar to the ones the man alleged to be Connor was wearing in the security video taken outside Robbins’s safe house the day of her murder….
Dennis was just about to push through the revolving doors when another male attorney dressed in a navy blue suit tapped him on the shoulder and pointed to where Bronte still stood. Dennis looked up, his eyes narrowing when he spotted her. He moved toward the stairs even as she forced her feet to continue down them. They met up at the bottom of the steps, where he glanced at his watch impatiently. “I’ve got an appointment in ten minutes, Bronte. Can’t this wait?”
Bronte’s mind reeled as she silently compared Dennis’s physical characteristics to those of the figure in the video. She cleared her throat, wondering how he would respond to her news. “Sure. If you want to miss one Connor McCoy turning himself over to the proper authorities.”
His eyes never widened from their wary little slits. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope. At noon today. On the district courthouse steps.” She curiously noted his deep frown and the way he rubbed the back of his neck, drawing her attention there. “You don’t look pleased, Burns.”
“I wish you’d have told me this earlier. This appointment is important.”
Bronte drew her brows slowly together. “Considering the way you stole the Pryka case out from under my nose, I would have guessed you thought this was important.”
“Yeah.” He glanced toward the doors. “I’ve got to go. Thanks—you know, for telling me.”
Bronte crossed her arms speculatively, watching as he turned around and hurried toward the door. Then the two and two floating around her brain for the past few minutes finally added up. The resulting figure was exactly the reason why she’d experienced that instant of déjà vu while watching him from upstairs. The fine hair at the back of her neck stood straight up.
Her heart beating like a thousand mallets against the wall of her chest, she pivoted and took the stairs leading back to the elevators two at a time. She had to get to a phone. She had to find a way to warn Connor away from that courthouse at noon today….
11
CONNOR LOOKED AROUND THE front room of his grandparents’ old place one last time. There were no visible traces that he and Bronte had been there. No telltale clothes littering the floor. No ashes in the fireplace. He’d even packed the lantern and the radio away in the pantry off the kitchen. Still, everywhere Connor looked, a fresh memory emerged and he felt the importance of what had happened there last night, making the house even more important to him than ever.
He turned toward the door, not liking that he didn’t know when he would return. It was possible that time might be never. While he trusted Bronte, he knew that circumstances had a way of twisting out of one’s control. Hell, if anyone should know that, he should. Look what had happened to him.
He opened the door and froze. He’d had the same reaction when he’d found Bronte last night. Only this wasn’t Bronte.
He closed the door behind him as not one, not two, but four McCoys climbed the front steps to the porch. His brothers. His throat tightened as they spotted him at the same time he saw them. He stuffed his hands deep into the pockets of his leather jacket and squinted against the sunlight at each of them in turn.
Jake caught his attention first. As the tallest, that wasn’t difficult to understand. As the second oldest, Jake had always been the one to challenge his authority, questioning when it would have been easier all around for him to just accept. Connor had a feeling he was in for some major questioning now.
Next came Marc. His military-straight posture made Connor think he was about to salute, though he was certain saluting wasn’t exactly on Marc’s mind. A sucker punch to the jaw was probably more his style. And boy, could the kid punch. Part of the reason was you never saw it coming.
Connor cleared his throat then glanced at Mitch. Ah, Mitch the philosopher. The shadow in his eyes told him he was hurt the most by his not coming to the family before they came to him. Still, it wouldn’t stop him from trying to mediate between the two sides. Always the peacemaker, he had an uncanny ability to see a situation from all points of view, and to relate them, so that even if you didn’t like where another viewpoint was coming from, you could at least understand and accept it.
Connor shifted uncomfortably as his gaze settled on David, the youngest of the McCoys.
Marc had once joked that their mother must have messed around with the mailman. Not only was David the shortest of them all, he was the only light-haired one. And he was the handsomest. But Connor knew that he was a McCoy through and through. Neither looks nor size had anything to do with the bond they all shared.
Connor’s heart beat an uneven rhythm as he gave them all another once-over. His brothers. His family. God, how he’d missed them. And though he hadn’t wanted to involve them in his situation, he also needed them more than he had ever needed them before.
And that was a definite turnaround. It had always been they that had needed him. They’d always had the broken bones, the scrapes, the problems with homework, the issues with others. They’d always been the ones to stumble into trouble. And he’d unfalteringly been the one to treat their ills, help them through the rough spots, fix their problems.
With their roles reversed, he wasn’t quite sure what to do, what to say, how to react.
Then it occurred to him that one of them shouldn’t be there at all.
He stared at David. “What are you doing here, runt? Aren’t you supposed to be in the Poconos somewhere on your honeymoon?”
Emotion flashed across his face. Connor realized it was anger. “My life is a honeymoon no matter where Kelli and I are. What I want to know is why you didn’t tell any of us about the nightmare you’re in the middle of?”
Connor took his hands out of his pockets then crossed his arms over his chest. “Because it’s my nightmare and there’s no room for any of you in it.”
“Uh-huh. That’s what we thought you’d say,” Marc muttered under his breath. He glanced at Jake. “So, do you wrestle him to the ground while I tie him up, or the other way around?”
“Touch me and you’ll be sorrier than you’ve ever been in your life.” Connor solidified his stance by widening his legs and planting his feet firmly on the cement porch.
“Well, gee, Con, looks like you’re at a bit of a disadvantage here,” Mitch said, the makings of a grin creasing the sides of his mouth. “From where I’m standing, it looks like there’re the four of us to the one of you.” He shook his head. “Not very good odds even if you’re a gambling man. And all of us already know that you aren’t.”
“Not that that makes any difference,” Marc added. “They don’t come any more stubborn than Connor.”
Connor grimaced. Since when had his brothers become such experts on him? “Look who’s talking.”
Marc’s grin caught him off guard. “Yeah, well, I learned from the master, didn’t I?”
Connor glanced past them. Mitch’s truck and David’s Mustang were parked on either side of his S
UV, with Jake’s four-door sedan parked directly behind it, blocking him in. Where was Pops? “Speaking of the master, where is he?”
Jake looked puzzled. “He was talking about you, Connor.”
He hiked a brow. Him? Marc had been talking about him?
“Yeah, you, dunderhead,” David said, shaking his own head. “Boy, you really are shooting off target, aren’t you?”
Connor’s neck felt suddenly hot and he found himself fighting a grin of his own. “Watch it, kid. I’m still taller than you are.”
David winked. “Yeah, but I have three others on my side.”
“But you can’t live with them twenty-four-seven now, can you?”
“Ooo, is that a threat?” Marc asked. “That sounded like a threat to me.”
“It’s not a threat, it’s a promise,” Connor clarified.
Mitch lifted a hand. “Okay, guys, enough of the verbal sparring. If I remember correctly, the reason we’re here is that one of our own is in trouble. I think it’s time for us to put our heads together and devise a plan to get him out of it.”
Connor’s back snapped upright. “I can handle this myself, Mitch.”
“I think a thank-you is more in line right now,” Jake said quietly.
“Okay. Thank you all for offering, but I can handle this myself. Is that better?” Connor asked, not used to being on this side of the discussion.
“Nope.”
Marc stepped forward and rubbed his hands together. “I repeat. Who wants to pin him down while I tie?”
Connor took a step back.
Mitch cleared his throat, obviously fighting a grin. “He’s serious, Con. If I were you, I’d just get in the truck with me and come to the main house where we can all sit down and work this out. With or without you, we’re involved.”
David’s expression was solemn. “But we’d all prefer it if you worked with us.”
“It would work better if you did,” Jake pointed out.
Connor stared at them all. As Mitch said, Marc was serious. If he didn’t go with them willingly, he had the sick feeling that they would hog-tie him and throw him in the bed of the truck. And while his adrenaline level prodded him to challenge them, he knew his brothers too damn well to even attempt it. He might be able to take them one-on-one, but together they were impossible to best.
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