Minutes to Kill (16 page)

“Guess she couldn’t hold it that long.” Hannah laughed. Stepping around the puddle, she took off her boots. “I’ll just go wipe these down and grab the floor cleaner.”

“Let me walk her before I go.” Brody went back to the kitchen and snapped AnnaBelle’s leash onto her collar. “I don’t like you wandering around the woods in the dark.”

Hannah paused in the laundry room doorway. “Thank you, but I can do it if you want to get back to Chet.”

“It’ll just take a minute.” Warmth lit his eyes. Something was different about his expression. “I’ll feel better if you’re all secure here before I leave.”

“I usually carry my gun if I’m outside alone at night,” she said.

While he took the dog into the yard, she cleaned her boots, wiped up the hall floor, and filled the dog’s dish. Hannah couldn’t shake the feeling that a key element had changed in her relationship with Brody. The connection between them buzzed stronger.

She’d been glad to have his support this afternoon, and she was even more glad she was there when that biker pulled a knife on him. Her bones chilled. What if he’d been alone? He’d put himself between those three bikers and Chet. He’d displayed a courage she understood too well. In her life, she’d said good-bye to dozens of soldiers, friends of her father, men who served with Grant. She’d known the risk her father and brother had taken on every deployment. Brody could just as easily die in the line of duty.

The door opened. Cold air blasted into the room as Brody and the dog entered the kitchen. He unsnapped the leash and hung it on its peg. Shivering, Hannah filled the teakettle and lit the burner.

Brody crossed the room. “I’d better get back to Chet.”

“Thanks for taking me today.” She rubbed her arms.

“What’s wrong?”

Needing contact with his warm, breathing body, she reached out and touched his face. “You could have been killed tonight.”

“Thanks to you, I wasn’t.” He smiled down at her, but his eyes were serious.

Brody cupped her cheek in one broad hand, his thumb caressing the line of her jaw. His head dipped, and his mouth settled on her lips. The taste of him filled her with warmth. Heat settled into the parts of her that had gone cold.

Her hands splayed on his chest. He tilted his head and deepened the kiss. His tongue slid between her lips. Opening her mouth, she met his tongue with hers head-on. The awfulness of the day faded. Her disappointment with the doctor and the incident in the bar became less vivid. All she could feel was Brody’s mouth on hers, the soft glide of his tongue over her lips. The taste of him wiped her slate clean and recharged her.

Her fingers curled in the lapel of his jacket, pulling him closer, as if she sensed he was about to leave. She didn’t want to say good-bye to Brody. Not for the night. Not at all. The realization disconcerted her.

He eased back and lifted his head. He leaned a few inches away from her, and his hands dropped to his sides. Bewilderment flooded Hannah, while Brody’s eyes were full of resignation.
What the hell?

“Was that not good for you?” she asked, indignation creeping into her voice.

Brody closed in again. His hands went to her hips and pulled their bodies together. Their torsos aligned from thigh to chest, the planes and angles in a perfect fit. He closed his mouth over hers again. This time there was no asking. If their first kiss kindled her desire, the second lit a raging bonfire. His fingers gripped tighter in the soft flesh of her hips, pulling her tightly against his need.

The teakettle whistled. Brody’s body tensed. When he lifted his head this time, his pupils were wide open with desire. “On the contrary. It was far too good.”

“Oh.” Fluency in three foreign languages, and
oh
was the best response she could manage?

He broke contact quickly, cleanly, as if it took every ounce of his extraordinary self-control to walk away from her. “Good night, Hannah. Don’t forget to lock up and set the alarm.”

She turned off the burner. No need to warm up with tea now. Every inch of her was hot. She locked up and set the alarm. Taking a glass from the cabinet, she filled it with ice water from the dispenser on the refrigerator.

The dog butted Hannah’s hand with her head. She stroked the retriever’s soft fur. “This visit isn’t going the way I’d planned.”

AnnaBelle padded to the back door, the fur on her neck lifting. Hannah turned to face the glass, but her own reflection faced her. She moved to the wall and flipped two switches. The interior light went out, and floodlights illuminated the yard.

“I don’t see anything.” Her fingertips touched the dog’s head. AnnaBelle growled softly. “But I’ll take your word for it.”

She ran upstairs to get her gun out of the safe. Her New York State concealed carry permit wasn’t valid in New York City, so she’d left the weapon at home. The Glock on her hip soothed her nerves better than a cup of tea. Perhaps it was a herd of deer or a porcupine ambling through the woods, but a girl couldn’t be too careful.

Something was out there in the dark, and it was watching.

Chapter Twenty

Mick watched the man’s car drive away from Hannah Barrett’s house. Where had she been all day? He’d been waiting for her for hours. Tree bark was digging into his ass. He stood and rolled his neck to work out the kinks. Now the man had walked the dog. The blond would be locked up and secure all damned night.

He raised his binoculars and watched her move around the kitchen. She stopped at the back door and stared out into the woods. The kitchen light went out, and lights blazed in the yard. Did she sense his presence?

Uncertainty slid over him, and he drew farther into the woods. Dead leaves rustled around his boots. She couldn’t know he was out here. He was too far away, and his dark jeans and black hoodie blended with the shadow of the trees. It was almost as if they were connected.

As if he were meant to have her.

But it wasn’t going to happen tonight. He needed to catch her outside and unaware. She wasn’t going to be an easy score. He considered his options. Using drugs or a Taser would make the process simple. But he didn’t want simple. He wanted her awake and kicking. She had to be aware of every moment, to look in his eyes and know he was the one who defeated her. That incident in the Vegas parking lot had been a fluke.

No point in sitting out here any longer. Restless, he tucked his binoculars into his hoodie pocket and headed for the car. The coke was low. A bottle of vodka waited back at the house with Sam, but Mick was tired of sitting around that crappy little place. The country was too quiet, and the cable sucked.

At the edge of the trees, he checked for traffic. Nothing but empty road in either direction. Very few cars passed down this road. He shook a clingy red leaf from his pant leg. Jogging across the road, he ducked behind the evergreens and got into the car.

The engine started with a low rumble. Mick curbed the urge to stomp on the gas and roar down the quiet street. He scratched his shoulder. He was jonesing for something, and it wasn’t booze or drugs.

He wanted the blond bitch. Instead of heading back to the house, he cruised down the two-lane rural highway toward town. What was open late at night? The lights glowed on a building on the roadside. Mick slowed. A sign above the door read “The Scarlet Lounge” in neon blue script. He pulled into the lot. Pickups and tractor trailers dominated the parking area.

A small sign warned of surveillance cameras. Mick circled the building once, contemplating spots and finding two cameras attached to light poles. The bar’s attempt at security was pathetic. Half the lot had no coverage. He parked in a blank spot between a couple of pickup trucks and an eighteen-wheeler. He was just going in for a drink, but there was no reason for his car to appear on anyone’s recording.

Dark and seedy and smelling of stale beer, The Scarlet Lounge was exactly the sort of crappy little bar he and Sam had been searching for the other night. People shouted over classic rock blasting through the dim space. Mick went up to the bar and ordered a double shot of decent vodka. He tossed it back, hoping the fiery liquid would eat away at his frustration. But it didn’t. He eased away from the bar into a dark corner to sip at a second round, letting the noise of the crowd wash over him. But the nighttime activity did little to subdue the itch in his blood.

A young woman stumbled away from a man in his twenties, saying, “Asshole. Find your own ride home.”

The man tossed his hands in the air. “Whatever, bitch.”

The woman turned and ran for the door. Mick slid out into the cool night air behind her. She dug in her purse. Keys jingled as she tottered across the asphalt.

She dropped her keys. “Damn it.”

Sobbing, she bent down to pick them up. Tight jeans and high heels showcased a bitching body. Long blond hair swung in a shiny curtain around her pretty face.

“Can I help you?” Mick smiled, the expression feeling alien to his facial muscles. But it wasn’t as if he hadn’t done this before.

She sniffed. “I’m OK. Just going home.”

“You look like you’ve had a lot to drink.”

Straightening, she sniffed and wiped at the mascara running down her cheeks. But she was young enough to still be pretty with puffy eyes. “I’m fine. He cheated on me. I just want to go home.”

“Do you live far from here?” Mick asked.

She shook her head. “No.”

“Why don’t I take you home,” he offered.

“No.” Suspicion dawned in her eyes, as if she’d just realized she was in a dark parking lot alone with a total stranger. Her gaze darted toward the bar, but Mick blocked her return path.

He scanned the area. Lot was empty of people. No cameras pointing in his direction. Sweet. He knocked her out with a single punch to the jaw, then caught her as she collapsed. He tossed her and her purse into the back of the Charger. He drove a half mile and turned onto a dark side road. After securing her with zip ties and duct tape, he transferred her to the trunk. He could barely contain his excitement as he drove toward the house.

Sam got up from his spot on the couch as Mick carried her inside.

“Another one? We’re going to run out of places to put them all.” But Sam’s protest was mocking. His eyes lit with pleasure as his gaze swept over her.

Mick took her into the bedroom he’d claimed. “You can have her when I’m done, but first we’ll have to go get her car. I don’t want it found in the parking lot of the bar.” He took her keys from her purse. The beep of the unlock button on the keychain should lead him to her vehicle.

Sam nodded. “She’s out cold anyway. Not my idea of a party unless they’re awake.”

Mick tied her spread-eagle to the bedposts. No chance of her getting away while they took care of business. Thirty minutes later they returned. Sam hid the girl’s car in the barn out back. She was awake when Mick walked into the bedroom. Her terrified eyes and muffled screams sent all his blood to his groin.

As he approached her, he held up a pair of scissors he’d taken from the kitchen. “I’d hold still if I were you.”

She froze. Mick knelt next to her head and snipped her long blond strands. He was no hairstylist, but when he was finished, her hair was cropped short to frame her face. He collected the hair from the bed and flushed it down the toilet. Tonight, he wanted no reminders that this woman wasn’t Hannah Barrett.

Chapter Twenty-One

At seven a.m., the police station was mostly empty when Brody knocked on the chief’s office door. He’d purposefully come in early to get his task over with before the administrative staff started at eight. Patrol shift had just changed, and Stella, who’d been on duty overnight, sat at a computer typing a report before clocking out.

Brody had woken Chet and ordered him into the shower. Nursing the mother of all hangovers, Chet had been a cranky old bear. There had been no further conversation. Feeling like a traitor and a coward, Brody had sneaked out of the house before Chet emerged.

“Come in.”

Brody took a breath and turned the knob. He took three steps and eased into a chair facing the chief’s desk. As usual, Chief Dave Horner was perfectly presented without a wrinkle on his starched navy-blue uniform or a spot of stubble on his chin to mar his clean-cut image.

The chief’s focus sharpened as he studied Brody’s face. “I heard Chet was involved in an altercation at The Pub last night. Tell me what happened.”

Of course he’d heard. Horner was more politician than cop. Police chief was an appointed position, and his job security depended on the continued reelection of the mayor who had hired him. Information was the key to Horner’s political game.

“Chet was drinking . . .” Brody relayed the basics but kept the details to a minimum.

The chief scratched his cleanly shaved jaw. “I should have expected him to snap. The news about his daughter must be too much for him to handle.”

“We have no evidence that those remains are Teresa. Chances are they are not. I’m still investigating.”

“Of course. You’re right.” Irritation creased his mouth as Horner corrected himself. He smoothed it over. “But not knowing her fate must be a huge strain on him. “We’ll need a statement from the woman who was with you last night.” Curiosity lit Horner’s eyes.

Brody had planned to ask Hannah for a formal, signed statement last night. The kiss had distracted him.

“Brody?”

Just as the memory of their lip-lock was distracting him now.

“Of course, sir,” he said. “I’ll have it by the end of the day.”

Brody sent a silent thank-you to Hannah. The paperwork required by last night’s incident would have increased tenfold if Brody’s gun had been fired.

“I appreciate what it took for you to come in here this morning.” Horner leaned back and spread his palms on the surface of his desk. “I’ll take care of it from here. Thank you.”

Dismissed.

But Brody didn’t move.

The chief sighed. “I’ll be gentle.”

Feeling low, Brody exited the office. A receptionist, an admin, and two patrol officers had come in while he’d been talking to Horner. All eyes were on Brody as he crossed the thin carpet. Stella leaned on the desk, her hands gripping the laminate edge. “Brody, wait.”

He stopped, preparing to be ostracized. Cops stuck by cops. They didn’t volunteer information that led to disciplinary action.

“We all know what happened last night.”

Small towns.

“What you just did must have killed you inside, and as much as we love Chet, you did what had to be done. No one blames you,” she said.

Brody lifted his head and scanned the room. No one avoided eye contact. This was a tight-knit group, and he felt like a traitor for reporting Chet’s drinking.

“You have our support, and Chet does, too.” Stella pushed off the desk. “Chet has been a mentor to everyone on this force. We all owe him. But he has no business with a badge or a weapon in his current state of mind.” But they all knew how much the job meant to Chet. It was all he had left.

Brody’s throat constricted. He couldn’t say anything but “Thanks.”

With the support of the other cops, Brody only felt twenty shades of shitty instead of fifty as he headed for his unmarked sedan. He had reams of paperwork to process from last night, but fifteen minutes later, he found himself staring up at the Barrett house. It was barely eight o’clock. Hannah could still be sleeping. He shouldn’t bother her. He reached for the gearshift to put the car in reverse. The front door opened, and Hannah stepped out onto the porch. She nudged the dog back into the house and closed the door behind her. She was dressed in blue plaid pajama pants and an oversize jersey that hung to mid-thigh. Her eyes were sleepy and her short hair tousled in a way that made Brody yearn to climb into bed beside her. Considering they’d only kissed once—as smoking as that one time had been—it was too early to take her to bed. He was not interested in anything meaningless, especially not with Hannah.

But the sight of her pulled Brody from his vehicle. He climbed the steps. “Did I wake you?”

“No one sneaks up to the house with AnnaBelle on duty.”

“It’s cold. You should be inside.” He tried to steer her toward the entry.

But she couldn’t be budged. She studied his face. Alarm pinched her features. “Something’s wrong. Did something happen to Chet?”

“I’ll tell you inside.”

She went with him, but her brows lowered with irritation. In the kitchen, he hung his jacket on the back of a counter stool and sat down. Standing next to his stool, Hannah wound her arms around his shoulders and hugged him close. Though surprised by the immediate show of affection, he rested his temple on her shoulder. His taut muscles loosened. Her hand splayed on the back of his head, her fingers sliding through his hair. He took a minute to soak up her strength. She had it to spare. After all she’d been through this week,
she
was comforting
him
.

He lifted his head. “What was that for?”

“I won’t know until you tell me, but you looked like you needed it.” She leaned back and scanned his face. “Ready to talk?”

The thought exhausted him. “Could I have some coffee?”

“Rough morning?”

“Very.” Brody rubbed the back of his neck. “Chet’s couch needs to be a foot longer.” Though it hadn’t been the sofa that kept him awake. He’d been dreading the arrival of morning.

“How about some breakfast?” she asked.

“I was supposed to cook for you.”

She opened the fridge and took out a carton of eggs. “We’ll get to that.”

A new revelation occurred to Brody: No matter how bad a day could be, having someone to share it with helped. He’d never minded being alone before. But now . . .

He squashed the warm and fuzzy feeling that swamped him. Hannah was only here because she was hurt. She didn’t
want
to be in Scarlet Falls. As soon as she was fully recovered, she’d be back to the jet-set life she loved. Thanks to the doctor yesterday, though, Brody would have her for the next month. Maybe he shouldn’t get too attached—as if there were anything he could do to stop himself. Just watching her make him breakfast made him want to spend many more mornings with her.

“I had to report Chet’s behavior from last night.” He glanced at his watch. “He’s probably in the chief’s office right now.”

Taking an egg from the carton, she paused. “I’m sorry. Will he lose his job?”

“I imagine he’ll be
encouraged
to retire. His drinking has been a problem in the past. He was hanging from his last fingertip with the chief.”

Hannah whipped eggs and milk and dumped the mixture into a frying pan. She inserted four slices of bread into the toaster. “What will he do now?”

Brody shook his head. “I don’t know. He doesn’t like to have a lot of leisure time.”

“I can empathize.” She divided eggs and toast onto two plates and slid one in front of him. She brought orange juice and butter to the island and took the seat next to him. “He needs a distraction.”

Brody glanced sideways at her. She was toying with her eggs.

“How do you feel this morning?”

“Fine.”

He gave her a skeptical head tilt.

“I really do feel fine.” She buttered a slice of toast and ate it. “Just bored.”

“You seem a lot more accepting about being out of work for a month this morning.”

“Watching Chet gave me some perspective last night. You’d think Lee’s death would have been enough to knock some sense into me. Work can’t be everything.” She drank coffee. “Maybe I need a hobby.”

“Like knitting?”

She snorted. Wiping her mouth with a napkin, she said, “I don’t think that would work.”

“Macramé? Bead art? Pottery?” He’d had this same conversation with Chet, and it was just as humorous to envision Hannah in some sort of sedentary task. Neither of them was suited to leisure activities.

“There’s nothing wrong with any of those hobbies,” she said with a laugh.

“No, but I can’t picture you doing any of them.” He considered her. “What skills do you have?”

“Lately? Sleeping.”

“You could be a mattress tester.”

“Very funny.” She rolled her eyes.

“What about catching up on TV?”

“I’m not much of a TV person. It’s been so long since I’ve had any real free time. Ellie left me DVDs of
Downton Abbey
. I watched three episodes last night after you brought me home. I felt . . . guilty.”

“Why guilty?”

“It seems frivolous to lie in bed and watch television.”

“Maybe a month off will teach you how to relax.” Brody looked down to realize he’d finished his breakfast.

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

He laughed. “I doubt I can interest Chet in watching
Downton Abbey
.”

“Probably not.”

“What do you do on vacation?” He wanted to know more about her than he’d learned during her brother’s murder investigation.

“I come here.” She poured a second cup. “How about you?”

“Skiing in winter. Kayaking in summer. Nice thing about living in the country is the proximity to outdoor sports.”

“I haven’t used my skis in years. Maybe I’ll drag them down from the attic this year.”

So they had something in common.

“Are you still trying to find that girl?” he asked.

She nodded. “I’m waiting to hear about the fingerprints from the Vegas cop. He said it could take a while.”

Brody nodded. “Different regions and states use different AFIS software. The FBI maintains a national database, but every print doesn’t make it into the national system.”

“Seems inefficient.”

“Sometimes it is, but persistence can pay off,” Brody said. “Maybe Chet can help you.”

“Why would he want to help me?”

“He needs a distraction, and after spending the last three years searching for Teresa, he knows all about looking for lost teenagers.”

“I guess he does.” Hannah collected their dishes and moved them to the sink. “Are you sure this wouldn’t be the worst thing for him? Seems too close to home, if you know what I mean.”

“I know Chet. Not being involved with the case is killing him. He’s a take-action sort of person.” Not unlike Hannah, thought Brody.

“In that case, I’d appreciate his help.”

Brody separated his car key from the rest. “Besides, I doubt he’ll want to see me today. I just ratted on him and ended the career he loves more than life.”

“It wasn’t your fault.” She pointed at him. Anger flared in her blue eyes. “You can’t take the blame for his dangerous behavior. You’re doing everything you can to help him.”

“How long will it take you to get ready?”

“Give me ten minutes.” She headed for the hallway. “Does he like dogs? I don’t want to leave AnnaBelle alone all day again.”

“Yeah. Chet likes animals. Bring her along. I’ll need a statement from you about last night, too.”

“All right.” True to her word, she was ready in minutes.

Brody walked her to the truck. “Are you sure you don’t mind?”

“You have to work, right?” Hannah opened the passenger door of her brother’s pickup. The dog jumped up into the cab.

“I have to testify in court this afternoon.” He had a robbery case to work, and the chief would likely assign him Chet’s open cases as well.

“And you’d like me to keep an eye on Chet?”

“I would greatly appreciate it. But he’ll get defensive if he suspects I asked you to babysit him.” Brody walked to the door of his sedan, parked behind the truck. “You’ll really need to act genuinely serious about finding Jewel.”

“I
am
genuinely serious about finding her.” Hannah’s eyes softened. “According to those e-mails, whatever was going to happen to her is done, but I’d still like to keep trying.”

He glanced at her profile, and the determined set of her brow. “Then we have no worries. Chet can sense sincerity, or the lack of it, as fast as a narc dog sniffs out dope.”

As he climbed into the sedan, nerves raised the hairs on the back of his neck. Brody paused, one foot inside the vehicle, and scanned the surroundings. His gaze swept over trees, roadside grass, and meadow, but he saw nothing unusual.

So why did he feel like they were in imminent danger?

Mick drove past the house. Big and white, the house looked like something from a movie set, the picture of domestic bliss. A big pickup truck and sedan occupied the driveway.

The sedan was an unmarked cop car.

Fuck
. He sped up and drove down the road. When he was sure he was out of sight, he turned around and doubled back, easing behind the patch of evergreens from the other side.