Minutes to Kill (20 page)

Chapter Twenty-Five

The truck rumbled to a stop. The engine shut off, protesting with a series of metallic knocks. Jewel straightened, fresh fear bracing her spine. Though they’d spent the night in the truck, she doubted they’d traveled far. They’d picked up two more girls, but much of the time, the vehicle hadn’t been moving.

Other girls stirred around her. There was no chatter, no hushed conversations, just apprehension simmering in the stale air. Jewel pressed a hand to the center of her stomach, where an anxious ache replaced hunger.

The rear door rolled up. A man climbed into the truck and started unlocking handcuffs. One by one, they clattered to the metal floor. A male voice outside shouted, “Everybody up and out.”

Jewel stood, rubbing her wrists. She led the way, shuffling to the edge. A man standing behind the truck took her hand and helped her down with a rough hold on her bicep. Cold concrete chilled her bare feet. He waved her forward and reached for the next girl. The truck had pulled into a warehouse. Two other men hung back, their gazes assessing the girls as they lined up. A fifth man stood with his back against the closed overhead door. He held some sort of rifle across his chest. Or was that a machine gun? Jewel’s head swiveled. Her eyes stretched wide as she took in her surroundings. Another armed man stood on the other side of the receiving bay.

I’m never getting out of here.

The column of girls filed out. They went through a set of doors into a makeshift locker room. Shower heads lined the far wall. Water swirled into drains.

One of the men stepped to the front. “Drop your clothes into the garbage can. After you shower, you will be issued new clothing.”

The air was hot, but the girls were shaking.

“Where are we?” Jewel asked.

The man stepped up to Jewel and slapped her across the face. She fell backward a step, then willed her skeleton to straighten. She lifted her chin and stared back at him. With a smile, he moved to the pregnant girl and, without taking his eyes off Jewel, slapped the girl hard across the face. She fell to her hands and knees, clutching her swollen belly.

Jewel got the message. She stripped off her tank, strode to the trash can, and dropped it in. Her shorts followed. Naked, she moved into the shower. Cool water sluiced over hot skin. The other girls followed Jewel.

How the hell did she end up being their leader?

Gallon-size containers of shampoo, conditioner, and antibacterial shower gel sat on the floor. Jewel made use of them. Sure, she’d been whored out to hundreds of men, but showering in front of these men still seemed like an invasion of her privacy. As much as she hated their intrusion on such an intimate act, she had to admit that being clean felt good. She shampooed her hair with angry energy. They were instructed to use conditioner. Safety razors were handed out. No hairy legs or armpits allowed.

Jewel emerged from the spray and grabbed a towel from a rack. She dried off and wrapped the damp towel around her body. They filed into the next room. Clean shorts and T-shirts were stacked on shelves and sorted by size. She found extra-smalls and dressed, then wrapped the towel around her dripping hair and waited for the rest of the girls to finish. Twenty minutes later, the girls were herded through another door. Shock stopped her feet, but a hand on her back propelled her forward.

The door opened into a long corridor. Doors lined both sides. They were marched down the hall. At the end, five rooms stood open.

“Two girls to a room,” a man ordered. He pushed the pregnant girl through the first doorway and pointed at Jewel. “You, in there.”

Shit.

Pressing a hand to the small of her back, the pregnant girl shuffled in. That was the one person Jewel did not want to get to know better.

As Jewel passed by, the man blocked her path and whispered in her ear, “I heard about you. You’re the troublemaker. Just remember, every time you act up, I punish you both.” He stepped away and closed the door, leaving Jewel alone with the pregnant girl.

“What’s your name?” Supporting her belly, the girl lowered her butt onto one of the cots. “I’m—”

“Don’t say it. I don’t want to know.” Jewel crossed to the opposite cot, sat on it, and closed her eyes. She’d counted six armed men and twenty doors. With two girls to a room, that meant forty women could be held in this warehouse. This was no pimp and a few hos. This was big business.

“Penny. My name is Penny. And that’s my real name, not the ridiculous one they gave me.”

Jewel opened her eyes. Across the tiny room, Penny folded her arms over her belly and shot Jewel a
Screw you
look.

“What’s that?” Jewel regretted the question, but it was too late to pull it back into her mouth.

“Fantasy.”

Jewel snorted. “That is ridiculous.”

“What’s your real name?” Penny asked.

“We’re not doing this.” Jewel remembered Lola’s betrayal. She couldn’t trust anyone. People did what was best for themselves, and she’d better learn to put her own needs first.

“Doing what?”

“Getting chummy. This is temporary. Some kind of processing center. We’ll all be redistributed. Who knows where we’ll end up? You worry about you, and I’ll worry about me. Got it?”

“Yeah, I got it,” Penny snapped back. She curled up on her side, one hand cradling her belly. Jewel turned toward the wall. That baby wasn’t her problem, but she couldn’t help wonder what would happen to it after it was born.

Brody grabbed towels from the closet. He handed one to Hannah and rubbed the other over the dog’s fur.

Hannah’s teeth chattered as she unsnapped AnnaBelle’s leash. “Your house is beautiful.”

“Thanks. It’s big and requires a lot of work, but it’s home.”

The dog trotted down the hall. She found the cat’s water bowl and drank it dry. Brody refilled it. “She won’t chase the cat, will she?”

“I have no idea,” Hannah said. “Let me grab her.”

But the old cat sauntered in, fearless, and rubbed on the dog’s side. AnnaBelle gave him a sniff and a wag.

“What’s his name?” Hannah stooped to scratch behind a scraggly ear.

“Danno.”

She laughed. “Good name for a cop’s cat.”

Brody went to the thermostat and turned up the temperature. “The retrofitted air-conditioning system isn’t the most efficient, but these old radiators can put out some heat.”

“What year was this built?” She trailed a hand over the wainscoting that lined the foyer and hallway.

“1885.” He led her down the wide-planked corridor to the kitchen. “Why don’t I give you something dry to put on? I have to shower and change.”

“Would you mind if I took a quick shower?” she asked. “I’m cold straight through.”

“Not at all.” The thought of her naked in his house sent a bolt of hunger straight through his blood.

The narrow staircase forced them into single file. He flipped on the light in the guest bath. When renovating, he’d followed the house’s original decor as closely as possible. The bath was fitted with retro fixtures: a pedestal sink and a cast-iron claw-footed tub he’d bought at auction and had re-enameled. The floor was cream-and-black octagonal mosaic tile.

“This is lovely.”

“There’s soap in the shower and towels in the linen closet behind the door.”

“Thanks.” She went into the room, pausing with the door half closed. She blinked back at him, a shocking amount of emotion swirling in her pretty blue eyes. With the crisis over, she looked lost.

He wanted to kiss her, but she was shivering hard, and he was filthy. “Need anything else?”

“No. I think that’s everything.”

“I’ll put some dry clothes outside the door.”

With a nod, she disappeared. A minute later, he heard plumbing squeal, and water rushed through pipes somewhere else in the house. He rooted through his drawer for a pair of sweatpants, a tee, and a flannel shirt. He piled them outside the hall bath. In the master, Brody stripped, dropping his bloody clothes in a trash bag. He stepped into the glassed-in shower. While he’d maintained the house’s antique integrity in the rest of the rooms, he’d fully modernized the master bath. It was ten minutes before he was satisfied that no more blood remained on his body. He dried off and wrapped a towel around his hips.

“Brody?” Hannah called from the hall. “Can I put my wet stuff in your dryer?”

He opened the door. She was standing just outside his bedroom, the lapels of his flannel shirt clutched in one hand, a pile of wet clothes in the other. Her hair was damp but combed, the short locks framing a heart-shaped face flushed pink from the hot shower. Though she was only a head shorter than him, her frame was narrow. She’d rolled the waistband of his sweatpants over twice, but they rode low on her hips as if they could fall at any second, something he could easily picture happening. Right now. A tiny sliver of skin showed between the hem of the shirt and the waistband of the sagging pants. His eyes lingered on that half inch of bare skin. If those pants dropped an inch . . .

Yes, he’d seen her in a silk blouse and tailored power suit, but
this
 . . . This was sexy. And made him want to tug her into a bed beside him.

After the horror of today, he needed . . . He paused. What
did
he need? Hannah.

Her eyes strayed from his face down his chest and paused on the towel.

She was checking him out.
Nice.

“I’m sorry.” Blushing, she turned away. “I’ll wait downstairs.”

“No need.” Brody moved closer and took the wet clothes from her. He leaned closer and inhaled. She smelled of mint and soap, and he wanted a taste. His gaze drifted from her mouth to her eyes.

Her hand in the middle of his bare chest stopped him. She was studying him with suspicion, almost wariness. “What are we doing here, Brody?”

“I don’t know. I’m making this up as I go along.” But he
was
thinking ahead. Maybe ten minutes ahead. No more. He refused to think about the reports he’d file tomorrow or about today’s shooting. Or where Hannah would be in a month. There was only here and now.

He saw her hand inching lower, sliding down his abs . . .

“Do we have to have a plan?” he asked, his voice rough.

“I like plans.”

“How does this fit into your plan?” Brody caught the back of her neck with his free hand, gently pulled her in, and covered her mouth with his. Her elbow bent, trapping her hand between their bodies. He turned his head, slanting his lips to taste more of her, easing his tongue inside her mouth. He dropped the clothes to place his other hand on her hip and touched the exposed strip of smooth skin at her waist. His thumb stroked her hip bone. He felt the shiver course through her body.

“Cold?” He lifted his head. Her eyes were closed. They blinked open, the blue clouded with confusion—and desire.

“Um. No.” She slid her trapped hand to settle it on his shoulder.

Brody’s gaze caught the fading bruise at her hairline. “Maybe this isn’t a good idea. You’re still recovering.”

“Chicken.”

Had he heard her correctly? “What?”

“You heard me.” Her expression went from wary to wicked. How did she know that humor was exactly what he needed? “You started this, and now you’re chickening out.” Her hand dropped to the towel. She tugged the end free and let it drop. “Mm. I don’t see any second thoughts.”

“I want you, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to take advantage of you.” The tension inside him eased with her teasing.

“You are the one who had a hellacious day. Am I taking advantage of you?” Hannah took a step back and unbuttoned the flannel shirt. Walking past him into the master bedroom, she tossed it over her shoulder. She slid her pants down her legs and stepped out of them.
Oh
. She’d been commando under his pants, something he should have known since her clothes had been wet through. Why did that thought zing straight to his balls?

The T-shirt hit the wall next to his head, and the sight of her naked body stunned him.

Challenge filled the glance she cast back at him. He’d always thought of blue as a cool color, but tonight her eyes blazed pure heat.

“Come on, Brody. What are you afraid of?”

You.

Somewhere inside Brody’s head, under the raging
want
of her, an alarm went off. If he gave in to his desire tonight, nothing would ever be the same. One night with her would never be enough. He’d be giving her the power to hurt him. But tonight, he didn’t care. He needed human contact.

He needed her.

She walked five paces and stopped next to the bed. She turned, giving him her body in profile. Long, long legs. Lean body. Small breasts in perfect proportion to the sleek length of her.

Deep in his chest, something gave, opened, unfurled. There was no choice to make. He had to have her.

Brody moved toward her. No risk. No reward.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Was he going to reject her?

Hannah paused in the doorway. The air in the room chilled her skin. Brody’s bedroom was masculine, decorated in earth tones from pale gray to deep brown. An island-size sleigh bed dominated the space. Goose bumps rippled up her arms. Fear or cold?

Ten feet away from her, Brody wrestled with a decision. A thought bloomed in Hannah’s mind. She needed to get to know this man better. There was more to him than he’d revealed. He’d kissed her, and his physical hunger for her was obvious. So why was he hesitating?

Brody kept his emotions bottled with a tight seal. From the desire in his kiss, she’d thought he needed comfort and distraction after today’s turmoil. But she shouldn’t have pressured him. Behind the want in his eyes, there was another emotion buried: pain. He’d downplayed his ex-wife’s cheating, but clearly, her betrayal had left a scar. The sudden surge of anger shocked her. She couldn’t bulldoze her way through Brody’s walls. A kiss was not always an invitation to share one’s bed. Sometimes a kiss was just a kiss.

Her gaze fell to the clothes she’d tossed on the floor. She stooped to gather them, shame bursting through her. “I’m sorry. The timing is all wrong. I didn’t mean to—”

He crossed the gap between them in two long strides. His shadow fell over her. His hand grasped her shoulders, pulled her to her feet.

“Are you sure?” she asked.

He crushed his mouth to hers. His hands grasped her hips and pulled her body to his, every inch of him hard and lean. There was no bulkiness to his frame. He had the body of an endurance athlete. If the previous kiss had been warm, this one needed to be measured in degrees Kelvin.

One hand circled to her back, stroking up and down her bare skin. “I need you.”

Desire crowded out Hannah’s doubts. She pressed her body against his, skin sliding over skin, heat meeting heat.

He backed her toward the bed. Her legs hit the edge of the mattress. She fell backward, pulling Brody on top of her. They tumbled onto the duvet.

Brody’s mouth cruised over her, his hands covering the skin his lips weren’t touching, as if he couldn’t get enough of her. He kissed her breasts. Heat blasted through her. Her hand closed around him then moved around to cup his balls. A masculine groan rumbled through his chest.

He lifted his head. One arm reached for the nightstand. He opened the drawer and pulled out a small package of condoms. Shock and horror crossed his face.

“What’s wrong?”

“They’re expired.” He sighed. “It’s been a while.”

“Let me check my bag. We might get lucky.” Hannah pushed off the bed. She went into the bathroom, where she’d left her purse. She unzipped the small compartments. Damn. Not there.

“Might?” He called from the bedroom.

“It’s not like I use them by the dozen.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear that.”

Purse in hand, she went back into the bedroom and rooted in her handbag for her tiny cosmetic bag. She could feel his eyes on her. She looked back at him. He’d rolled onto his back, one arm over his head on the pillow, his body stretched out like a buffet. A sexy grin full of male appreciation spread across his face.

She paused. “What are you thinking?”

“That you should do everything naked.”

The laugh eased her nerves. Kneeling, she pulled the nylon case out and opened the clasp. Her hand went to the small zippered compartments in the lining. She swept her fingers inside. “Bingo.” Thankfully, her cosmetic case hadn’t fit in the small evening bag that was stolen in Vegas.

Grasping the foil pouch, she moved back to the bed. “But I only have one.”

“Then we’d better make the most of it.” He reached for her.

Condom in hand, she crawled across the bed and straddled him. His hands encircled her waist, caressing the sensitive skin from her hips to her ribs. She opened the condom and sheathed him. Lowering her torso, she pressed their bodies together. Their lips met. His tongue was slick and hot as it slid between her lips. She could imagine it stroking other sensitive parts of her body.

The mad condom search had defused her. The heat built again, slower and steadier this time, marathon versus sprint. His hands were gentle, sure and clever, sliding, caressing.

A fingertip slipped inside her and sent her desire into a free fall. She lifted her head. “Brody . . .”

“Mm.” The finger withdrew and circled.

“Any time now.” She tried to sit up to grind against him, but a hand on her lower back held her in place.

“No way. I’m just getting started. We only have the one, remember?”

“I’ll buy more.” She pressed against his hand.

“Patience.” His teeth grazed her throat.

“Oh.” The exclamations slipped from her lips as control slipped from her grasp. Her hips rocked, the movements guided by pure physical sensation, by instinct. A primal groan vibrated in Hannah’s chest. The sound that poured from her throat felt alien. He took her to the edge and held her there. Sweat broke out over her body. Pleasure built to an almost unbearable level, heat flowing from her core, through her thighs and radiating outward.

Hannah’s breaths quickened. Her spine arched. Her head lifted. A helpless sound escaped. “Brody. Please.”

He rolled her to her back. His gaze locked with hers as he slid inside her. He paused. There was more than sexual pleasure in the warm, brown depths of his eyes. He lowered his head and kissed her. Some unnamed emotions, raw and powerful, poured from him. He filled all the empty spaces inside her.

“More.” She tilted her hips to take all of him. Her legs wrapped around his rib cage. He synced his rhythm to the movements of her body, driving her higher, until the air locked in Hannah’s lungs and the arches of her feet cramped.

“Please.” She didn’t recognize the breathless plea as her own voice.

Brody surged, his thrusts shifting from controlled and deliberate to instinctive. Harder. Faster.

Watching him lose control pushed her higher. Hannah bowed back, her hips fusing to his as the tension inside her broke. She pulsed around him, still hard and thick inside her, drawing out her orgasm.

His body went rigid. He seated himself deep inside her and shuddered. He lowered his chest and buried his face in the side of her neck.

Hannah concentrated on breathing. Her lungs craved oxygen. The wave of emotions building in her chest tightened her breaths, a potent and heady mixture of fear and elation.

This was happening too fast, and yet there didn’t seem to be any way to stop it. She needed time to process the day. The week. The year.

She poked him in the ribs. “I can’t breathe.”

“Sorry.” He rolled to his side, his chest still heaving.

Sweat coated Hannah’s skin. “I need another shower.”

He grinned down at her. “We only had the one. I wanted to make it count.”

Her heart swelled.

Brody threw his head back and laughed. “I’ll buy a case tomorrow.”

“Good idea.” Happiness bloomed inside Hannah. The emotions felt strange, as if it had been a very long time since she’d experienced it. So long she barely recognized it. She held it close. In her life, joy was rare and elusive. Not that she was an inherently unhappy person, but Fate had a way of snatching happiness just before she had it in her grasp. She was more familiar with suffering, determination, and fortitude than joy. Barretts barreled over obstacles, and they didn’t stop to appreciate their triumphs. Another impediment always lingered on the horizon, waiting to be overcome.

“How can you be so calm after all that happened today?”

“Maybe today made me realize I need to appreciate every moment of happiness. Life is uncertain. Bad things will happen, and that makes the good times all the more precious.” And with that he kissed her, as if she were the most precious thing of all.

“I’ll be right back.” Brody got up and strode into the bathroom. Watching him, she drank in the sight of his naked body.

Hannah settled back on the pillows, determined to savor every second with Brody. It was only a matter of time before she would be back at work. The thought of leaving Scarlet Falls disturbed her instead of filling her with relief. The feelings that Brody elicited from her were simultaneously terrifying and beautiful. Most of the time, she didn’t think about her personal life. Professional ambition directed her decisions. Like all things rare and precious, personal happiness was fleeting.

He sat down on the bed, and she curled against him. “I don’t have much time.”

He’d barely gotten the words out when his phone vibrated.

He picked up his phone. “Excuse me.” He got up and walked toward the window. “Yes, sir. I was just getting cleaned up. I’ll be right there.”

“I’m sorry.” He went back to the bathroom and picked up his toothbrush. “That was the chief. I have to go back to work.”

“Right now?”

“Ten minutes ago.” Brody sighed.

“It’s all right.” Hannah stood. “I have to meet with the prosecutor about Lee’s case early in the morning. I should go home.”

“I wish I could stay.”

“Me, too.” She glanced at the pile of wet clothes in the hallway. “Do you mind if I wear your clothes home?”

“Not at all.” He went to the closet and started dressing while Hannah went downstairs and found the dog’s leash on the kitchen table. AnnaBelle and Danno were curled up together on Brody’s overstuffed sofa.

“Time to go, girl.”

AnnaBelle looked disappointed. Hannah knew how the dog felt. For once, she was the one who was being left. She didn’t like it. Not one bit.

Brody hunched against the cold. The door of the mobile home outside the kennel opened, and a crime scene tech entered, his hands full with a box of small envelopes and a roll of evidence labels. Outside, rain beat against the windows, and the temperature had dropped since Brody had been at the crime scene earlier. The front yard was filled with emergency vehicles and news vans. What he wouldn’t give to be in a warm bed with Hannah right now.

“Our suspect is a cocaine addict.” Officer Carl Ripton pointed at a laminate table littered with small packets of white powder. A crime scene photographer snapped a close-up of the drugs next to a yellow evidence marker.

With a gloved hand, Ripton lifted a driver’s license. A pretty young brunette smiled at the camera. “The homeowner’s name is Joleen Walken. Joleen leases the property. The kennel business was hers.”

Brody followed
Ripton
out of the kitchen into a living room. A rectangular patch one shade lighter than the wall-to-wall indicated where an area rug once lay. A dark red stain marred the middle of the lighter area.
Ripton
pointed to the wall and ceiling. Lines of rusty red streaked the white paint. Brody envisioned the bat hitting her face, blood splattering the room on the killer’s backswing. “He didn’t even bother to clean up.”

Brody’s gut twisted. This guy had been living in a dead woman’s house, presumably since Saturday night, surrounded by blood spatter. “Who is he?”

“We don’t know. No sign of a boyfriend in the house.”
Ripton
’s lips compressed. “Her father showed up a half hour ago. He saw the house on the news. The mother died a few years ago.”

Brody closed his eyes for a second, not allowing himself to imagine the father’s reaction. “Where’s the father?”

“At the station. The chief said he’d do their interview personally.”
Ripton
’s face remained impassive, but irritation flashed briefly in his eyes. “Before he was escorted to the station, the father said he’d been on a business trip for the past week. Just got home yesterday. He hadn’t talked to Joleen, which wasn’t unusual. They were both busy. He was supposed to see her on Monday for their standing weekly dinner. From their last dinner, he didn’t think there was a current boyfriend. She was focused on building her business. I got the impression the father was helping her financially.”

Framed snapshots lined a shelving unit in the living room. Brody stooped to look at a framed photo of two bikini-clad young women, a blond and a Joleen, standing on a beach. He focused on the brunette. Long hair. Early twenties. Slight frame. The tiny heart tattoo on her hip matched the one on Jane Doe’s body. Brody’s gaze flickered to her face. Her wide, happy smile sent a rift of anger through his chest. Her killer had obliterated her identity. The violence of her murder was staggering. He pointed to the tattoo. “That confirms it. Jane Doe is Joleen Walken.”

Ripton
nodded. “She worked in a bank two years ago. We’ll contact her former employer and get her fingerprints sent over to the medical examiner for official corroboration.” He led Brody down a short hallway. A closet door stood open. Inside, a baseball bat leaned in the corner, right below a floor mop. “We believe this is the bat he used to beat her face in.” A valid conclusion, since he hadn’t bothered to wipe off the wood. A yellow evidence marker stood on the floor of the closet next to the bat.

“Are you going to call Chet?”
Ripton
asked.

“I am.” Brody stepped outside and dialed Chet’s number. His friend picked up on the first ring. “It’s not her. The body isn’t Teresa.”