Faith kicked her feet and twisted.
“Can I let her down?” Hannah scanned the room. Everything appeared to be barricaded except the kitchen and hall.
“Sure. The kitchen is babyproof.” Grant picked up the dog’s bowl and set it on the counter. “Are you hungry?”
“No, just tired.” Hannah mopped at her drenched sweater with a dish towel.
“Let’s get you settled, then.” Upstairs, he led her into a guest room that smelled faintly of fresh paint. A white iron bed faced the window. White curtains framed a view of the dark woods behind the house. The soft green walls and white linens looked serene. “I’ll bring your luggage up. Ellie took your clothes from the trunks in Lee’s attic and put them in the closet and drawers.” Grant headed for the door.
She ran a finger across the glossy white window trim. “What?”
After she and her brothers had moved their father to a nursing home, Lee had convinced her to keep her few belongings, mostly off-season clothes, at his house.
The cost of living in New York City is outrageous.
Save your money, and you’ll be able to purchase a unit with less debt later
, he’d said. At the time, she hadn’t known his anti-debt spiel was coming from personal experience, but he’d been right. She had a nice down payment in her brokerage account. After Lee’s death, Grant offered her his new place as her official address. But she’d never asked for a room of her own.
Her protest had to wait for him to return with her luggage. A few minutes later he lined her bags up in front of the closet.
“Ellie didn’t have to go to all that trouble,” Hannah said. Having her personal belongings in the dresser and closet felt . . . permanent. Her brother was playing hardball. He knew how much she feared attachment, and he was forcing her hand.
“You don’t have that much stuff. This is your room. You might not be here very often, but it’s yours whenever you want to be here.” Grant dug into his front pocket and pulled out a key. “I had a house key made for you, too.” He put it on the dresser. Pointing to a doorway, he said, “You have your own bathroom, too.”
“Really? How did you get all this done since I was here last?”
“Two months is a long time, and we want you to feel at home.”
The address on her license was a formality. She’d never intended to actually live in Scarlet Falls again. She floated from city to city, with no permanent ties to any particular place. In the beginning, she’d liked the feeling of freedom. But Lee’s death had changed everything. Hannah’s world was tilted. Instead of free, she now felt lost. As soon as her promotion came through, she’d start looking for an apartment. It would be in the city, not her hometown, but she couldn’t hurt Grant’s feelings. “Thank you.”
“I’m going to help Ellie get the kids back to bed. You should try to sleep, too.” Grant left the room.
Had it really been two months since she’d visited? How could she let that happen? She stared up at the freshly painted ceiling for a minute, then got up and went into the new bathroom. Grant and Ellie had kept the vintage feel of the house with a modern pedestal sink and a mosaic tile floor in the same pale green and white they’d used in the bedroom. A deep, modern freestanding tub invited her for a soak, and the shower had more jets than an airport. Had this been a bedroom or a closet before her brother had reallocated the space for her? Guilt lay in a thick layer on her skin. She needed to visit more, no matter how painful it was to leave.
As much as she resisted, Grant’s house felt like home. It felt too good. Almost good enough to blot out the image of a frightened teenager Hannah had left behind in Vegas. Almost.
Suddenly, she needed to wash the trip from her skin. She took a hot shower. The clothes in her suitcase were dirty, but she found her battered Syracuse University sweatshirt in one of the dresser drawers. She tugged it on with a pair of yoga pants and thick socks. After the warmth of the desert, the damp of autumn in New York State chilled her to the marrow.
Tired but restless, she fluffed up the pillows and settled in bed with her laptop. Her e-mail account was full, as usual. There were several messages from concerned coworkers and clients who’d heard about the attack in Vegas. She sent quick thank-you notes back.
Her mouse hovered over an e-mail from [email protected]. The subject line read
Jewel
. Hannah’s hands froze. A wave of cold swept over her skin. Only the police and Royce had been present when Hannah had given her statement. No one else would know the girl’s name—except the girl and the men who took her.
Hannah clicked on the e-mail. The message was short:
Help. The end comes Tuesday
.
Chapter Five
“
You sure this is the right address?” Brody shifted his unmarked police car into park at the curb in front of a narrow two-story home. A dozen blocks from the town center, the houses crowded together on small lots. White with black shutters, the place was plain but neat. No trash littered the tiny chain-linked yard. A maple tree had turned to crimson in the center of the small front yard, and its fallen leaves had been raked recently.
In the passenger seat, Chet Thatcher, the only other detective on the small Scarlet Falls PD, checked his paperwork against the brass numbers affixed next to the front door. “This is Jordan Brown’s last known address. Maybe he moved.”
Brody pointed to the small script letters that spelled
Brown
on the side of the black metal mailbox.
Chet tapped a forefinger on his report. “His parents’ house.”
“What do we know about him?” Brody asked. Chet had been working this case for the last month, but he’d asked for Brody to ride backup today.
“Jordan is twenty. He’s been arrested for burglary and once for narcotics possession. He got out of rehab six months ago.” Chet flipped a page on his clipboard. “A house was burglarized two blocks from here last night. The resident came home to find her window smashed, jewelry and two hundred dollars in cash missing. In her words,
Must be that no-good piece-of-shit Brown kid who lives on Tyler Street
.”
“Anybody actually see Jordan in the act?” Brody asked.
“No. I don’t have enough probable cause for a warrant, but the theft follows his established pattern of behavior. We arrested him two years ago for breaking into neighbors’ cars to fund his habit.” Chet showed him the kid’s mug shot. “There have been three similar break-ins in this neighborhood over the past six weeks.”
“Let’s go see if he’s home.” Chet got out of the car.
Brody stepped out into the street. “No car in the driveway.”
“Maybe Mom and Dad are at work.” Fifty-six years old and balding, Chet had a skinny frame and moved with a jerky, bowlegged stride as if he’d spent his life on horseback. The closest he’d been to a horse was the stands at Saratoga on race day.
Brody knocked on the front door, but the house remained quiet. Chet stepped into the flower bed, cupped his hands over his eyes, and peered in the living room window.
“See anything?” Brody asked.
Chet shook his head. “Maybe no one’s home.”
Behind the door, something slammed. The house rattled. Brody and Chet ran around the side of the house. A thin man in jeans and a black T-shirt raced across the small back lawn and vaulted over the three-foot fence, landing next to three grade-schoolers playing in a sandbox. He paused on the other side and glanced over his shoulder. Brody recognized Jordan Brown from his photo.
“Stop! Police!” Brody yelled.
The kid bolted, and Brody followed, tossing the car keys at Chet. Brody chased the kid through a neighbor’s side yard into the next street. Jordan ducked around a group of kids playing baseball and sprinted into another yard. He passed a shed and turned into a grass alley that ran between two fenced lots. Brody skidded through the sharp left, his dress shoes sliding on the muddy ground. He almost collided with Jordan. The kid had stopped short. A Dumpster blocked the exit. On both sides, six-foot-high wooden fencing blocked Jordan’s escape. He’d never get over an obstacle that high before Brody could get his hands on him.
Gotcha.
Jordan bulldozed Brody. The kid’s shoulder rammed Brody’s solar plexus. They went down to the ground. The kid rolled off Brody and bounded to his feet. He took one running step before Brody grabbed his ankle and sent him sprawling. But Jordan recovered with the speed of youth, getting his feet back under his body.
Where was Chet?
Brody kept his ears tuned for the sound of the unmarked police car as he lurched to his feet and grabbed Jordan by the collar. The kid spun around. His hand went into his pocket. Sunlight gleamed on a knife. Jordan lunged. Brody turned his body to dodge the blade. He grabbed the knife hand and twisted the kid’s wrist until the weapon dropped to the ground. Converting the wristlock into an arm bar, he forced Jordan facedown on the ground and pinned him to the weeds with one knee in his lower back. “You are under arrest.”
“Get the fuck off me.” Jordan squirmed.
“Hold still.” Brody leaned harder. Anger sent another shot of adrenaline into his bloodstream. Scarlet Falls used to be a nice, safe town. He didn’t appreciate scumbags like this one ruining it. Decent people were trying to live here.
His heart rammed against his breastbone, and a drop of sweat ran into his eyes. He wiped a forearm over his brow and pushed aside a vivid memory: another drug addict, another criminal—another near miss. A car door slammed, and Brody shut the mental door on his unwelcome vision with equal force.
Chet ran up the alley, gun drawn. Pale faced and wheezing, he pointed his weapon at Jordan. His gaze fell to the knife. “Shit. Guess I’m a little late.”
“It’s OK. I got him.” Brody reached for the cuffs on his belt.
Frowning, Chet returned his unneeded weapon to its holster. “You all right? He didn’t cut you, did he?”
“I’m fine.” Brody handcuffed Jordan’s hands behind his back and patted down his pockets. “Why did you run, Jordan?”
“I’m not talking to anyone except a lawyer,” Jordan said to the grass.
Brody pulled a small baggie of white powder from Jordan’s jeans pocket. He scanned the kid’s arms. Jordan sported more tracks than Penn Station.
“Is that heroin, Jordan?” Chet asked. “You just got out of rehab.”
Jordan didn’t respond.
“Did you call for backup?” Brody asked Chet.
Chet nodded. “Patrol car should be here any minute.”
Brody hauled Jordan to his feet. Chet holstered his gun. They walked Jordan to the end of the alley. A Scarlet Falls PD cruiser pulled up, and Brody put the kid in the back. Then he took a minute to catch his breath. He inhaled a lungful of crisp November air, cooling his blood.
“Book him on assaulting an officer with a weapon, to start,” Chet said to the officer. The patrol car pulled away to transport Jordan to the police station.
Chet’s phone rang. He stepped aside to answer it and returned a minute later. “I’m working on a search warrant. Your suit is destroyed,” Chet said as they walked back to the unmarked car. “I’m sorry I couldn’t keep up on foot.”
Brody brushed at the mud on his trousers. Spotting a tear in the fabric, he gave up. Good thing he didn’t buy expensive suits.
“I guess it’s not a bad thing that I have to retire soon. These knees don’t have any more foot chases in them.” Chet had six more months before the mandatory retirement age kicked him off the force.
But they both knew it wasn’t Chet’s knees or age that had ruined his health.
“I’m fine.” Brody’s finger lingered on a slice in the fabric of his jacket. That had been a close call. If he’d been an inch or two closer to Jordan, Brody would have been gutted.
“You almost got stabbed because I wasn’t there.”
“I almost got stabbed because that kid pulled a knife on me. I’m fine, Chet. Let it go.”
Chet didn’t look convinced.
None of this was Chet’s fault, any more than Brody’s old partner in Boston was to blame for that disaster. Brody changed the subject. “If you’re going to retire, you need a hobby.”
Chet snorted. “Can you see me playing fucking golf?”
“Retired bankers play golf. Retired cops get boats,” Brody clarified with a grin.
“I hate fishing, too.”
“Woodworking?”
Chet snorted. Brody slid behind the wheel and drove back to the Brown house. Brody’s phone played the
Hawaii Five-O
theme. He glanced at the display but didn’t recognize the number. “Detective McNamara.”
The caller said, “This is Hannah Barrett.”
“Hannah.” He wouldn’t have been more surprised if the president was on the line. “I thought you were out West.”
“I was. I’m in town for Faith’s birthday party tonight.”
And she’d called him?
Don’t get excited.
She probably needs to discuss her brother’s case.
Brody tried not to get personally involved with the people in his cases, but every once in a while, a case came along that he couldn’t shake. The murders of Lee and Kate Barrett had been the most intense of Brody’s career, and he’d kept in touch with the family.
He’d seen Hannah a few times since he’d arrested her brother’s killer. She’d arrive in town wearing a conservative, high-style suit, and change into jeans as if she changed her identity upon her return to Scarlet Falls, like Superman ducking into a phone booth. But when he imagined her, which was more often than he liked, her polished corporate attorney mode wasn’t what he pictured. No, he saw her barefoot and mud-streaked, having just chased a potential kidnapper away from her nephew. Hero tendencies seemed to be hardwired into the Barretts. Hannah was fierce and fearless like a primitive protective female, and no fancy clothes or law degree could fully hide her don’t-mess-with-mine attitude. It was hard to resist a woman like that. Damned hard.
Thinking about her warmed him again in a way no deep breathing was going to cool.
She hesitated. “I need your help.”
Brody straightened, his interest piqued. “What can I do for you?”
She didn’t answer right away, and he pictured her face turning serious. He pictured other things about her, too. Her long, lean body was constantly in motion. Short blond hair framed an angular no-nonsense face. Those bright blue eyes snapped to attention when she focused on a problem. And most of all, Brody pictured the few brief moments of vulnerability that seeped through her competence when she was with her niece and nephew.
“It’s a long story,” she said. “Do you have time to meet?”
“Are you at Grant’s house?”
“I am.”
“Why don’t I drop by later? I have some news for you and Grant anyway. Not good news, I’m afraid.”
Chet tapped Brody’s sleeve.
“I’m sorry, Hannah,” Brody said. “I have to go. I’ll see you in a few hours.” He ended the call and turned to his partner.
Chet stuffed his phone in his chest pocket. “Judge Marks is meeting us at the courthouse to sign the warrant.”
Brody pulled away from the curb. Ideally, they’d have a patrol car babysit the Brown house while they picked up the warrant, but Scarlet Falls didn’t have the manpower for such luxuries. There were times they operated on a cross-their-fingers budget.
“Who was that Hannah woman who called you?” Chet asked.
“Hannah Barrett. Her brother was murdered last spring.”
“That’s the case you caught while I was on vacation?”
“Yes.”
“So why is she calling you?”
“I don’t know.”
“What’s she look like?” Chet waggled an eyebrow.
Scorching hot
. Instead, Brody said, “I’m sure this is a professional matter.”
“You’re going to see her later?”
“When we’re done.”
“I can get someone else to help me,” Chet offered.
“Because everybody is dying to spend their Saturday afternoon searching a junkie’s room for stolen goods?”
“Because I don’t remember the last time I saw you distracted by a woman.” Chet lowered his sunglasses. “Besides, I’ve been a cop on this force for more than three decades. Plenty of people owe me favors.”
“Good to be the Godfather.”
“I wish I was seeing a pretty woman later,” Chet said wistfully. His wife had suffered a heart attack and died years before. On the rare occasion he talked about his family, he said his wife’s heart had broken the day their teenage daughter, Teresa, had run away and gone missing.
“I expect she’s calling me about her brother’s case.” Brody would have to give her the bad news he’d learned from the prosecutor this week.
Chet shook his head. “The prosecutor would be able to handle questions about the trial.”
“We’ll see.”
The first time Brody had met Hannah, he’d thought her cold and aloof, but he’d soon realized she was the exact opposite. Her cool demeanor concealed a vivid intensity. Whenever he was in the same room with her, everything looked brighter, as if she cranked up the saturation of his color palette.
“Do you like her?” Chet asked.
“I do.”
“Then go for it.”
“She isn’t in town very often. I doubt she’d be interested in starting something.”
“What do you have to lose? For a bachelor, your life is pretty lame.”
“Good point.” Brody laughed. What did he have to lose? He’d dated on and off over the years, had a few relationships that hadn’t gone anywhere. When they were over, he’d shrugged them off. But his instincts told him that a relationship with Hannah wouldn’t be as easy to forget.