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 attentio
n 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.
Chapter Six
Brody parked his car in front of the Barrett farmhouse. Paint gleamed fresh white in the setting sun. A gust of wind stirred dead leaves in the flower bed. He brushed at the grass stains on his trouser knees. He should have gone home and changed, but the search had taken longer than he’d expected. And he was stupidly anxious to see Hannah. He had taken the time to stop at Walmart and pick up a toy for the baby. Priorities.
Shifting the pink-wrapped package in his hand, Brody rang the bell.
Grant opened the door. Surprise lifted his eyebrows. “Brody?”
“Hey, Grant. How are you?”
Grant’s gaze dropped to the brightly wrapped package.
“It’s for Faith.”
“How did you know it was her birthday?” Grant moved back.
“Hannah mentioned it when I talked to her earlier.” Brody stepped into the warm house.
“You talked to Hannah?”
“I did.” Brody took off his jacket and hung it on a coat tree by the door. “I have some news for you.”
Grant scanned his face. “Something I’m not going to like?”
“Yes. Sorry.”
“Brody, I didn’t know you were coming,” Ellie said from the end of the hall.
Grant lowered his voice. “Will the news keep ’til after the party?”
“It’s not pressing.” Brody nodded, following Grant toward Ellie.
“The house is really coming along,” Brody said. The exterior of the home might be finished, but inside, the place was clearly a work in progress.
“Thanks.” Grant moved back to let him into the foyer. “Got those windows replaced just in time. Looks like a cold snap’s coming next week.”
Quiet conversation buzzed from the back of the house. They walked past the formal living room, currently housing construction supplies, and a dining room begging to be renovated, into the newly remodeled kitchen. Wood floors, honey-colored cabinets, and bronze granite made a warm space. A picture window looked out on an expanse of grass. A shallow stream separated the rear yard from the woods that backed the property. A tire hung from a massive old oak tree. The Barretts were making a home here. They deserved it. They’d been through hell.
He set his gift down on the center island.
“You didn’t have to bring a present, Brody.” Ellie smiled. She looked to Grant. “How did you know it was Faith’s birthday?”
“He talked to Hannah earlier,” Grant said.
Ellie blinked. She put a hand on Grant’s arm, no doubt assuming the call was about the case.
The thought of Lee and Kate’s murders brought Brody’s molars together hard enough to send a spike of pain through his temple. He loosened his jaw. The Barretts were moving forward. He needed to do the same, but the Barrett case had tainted Scarlet Falls with extreme selfishness and violence.
“Where’s the birthday girl?” Brody asked.
“You might want to keep your distance. Faith is heavily into textures these days.” Ellie nodded toward a high chair pulled up to the long farmhouse table. An orange substance coated the baby’s face and hands. Carrots, he decided. With a happy squeal, she fished in the bowl suction-cupped to her tray, grabbed a chubby fistful, and squeezed. Mushed carrots oozed through her fingers. The dog circled the chair, licking bits of food from the wooden floor.
He laughed, the sight of the happy, goo-covered baby easing some of his tension. “Did she get any of it into her mouth?”
“Not much,” Ellie said. “Sit down. Let me get you something to eat.”
Faith squealed again and banged her fists on her plastic tray. A scattering of Cheerios danced like Mexican jumping beans. Grant dropped into the chair next to her and gently hushed her. Odd. Usually, he let her squeal to her heart’s content.
Brody greeted the rest of the family. Grant’s six-year-old nephew, Carson, responded with a subdued “Hey.” Ellie’s grandmother, Nan, stood to give him a quick hug, and her teenage daughter, Julia, waved hello from across the table. The whole family was strangely quiet. Eight months after facing a terrible tragedy, Brody had thought the family was slowly healing, but today everyone seemed subdued and wary. Faith flung a handful of mushed carrot. It hit the floor with a splat. The baby was the only one acting normal.
Brody took the chair next to Grant and leaned toward him. “Is something wrong?”
Grant frowned. He opened his mouth then abruptly closed it, his gaze shif
ting to the doorway. Brody tracked his line of sight to see Hannah gingerly walking into the room. Yoga pants and a fitted, long-sleeve top hugged her lithe frame. Brody blinked in shock as she walked closer. The one word he’d never thought he’d use to describe her was frail. But that’s what came to mind. Normally, Hannah was tall and long-limbed in a kick-ass, athletic way. Her blue eyes, usually barbed-wire sharp, were clouded with pain and something else. Anxiety.
What the hell?
She met his questioning gaze and gave him a quick shake of her head. Whatever she wanted to say to him would wait until they were alone.
“Aunt Hannah.” Carson bolted from his seat. “You took a longer nap than Faith.”
Grant caught him around the middle. “Easy, sport. Aunt Hannah had an accident, remember?”
Carson slid to a stop, but Hannah smiled at him. “I’m fine, Grant, just a little stiff, and I could really use a hug.”
She eased into the only vacant seat, next to Brody.
“Yeah, that’s better.” She wrapped her arms around her nephew. Her muscles appeared to loosen as she rested her head against the child’s. “Hugs always make me feel better.”
“You should come see us more.” In three seconds, Carson squirmed out of her embrace.
“You’re right.” She brushed his sun-whitened bangs off his face.
“Uncle Grant,” the boy said. “Can we have cake now?”
“Soon,” Grant said with a smile.
Hannah turned to the baby. “Girlfriend, we need to talk about personal hygiene.”
Faith shrieked and reached both sticky hands for her aunt.
“Let me clean her up,” Grant said. “Ellie, could you toss me a dish towel?”
“I don’t mind sticky.” Hannah half stood and gave the baby a smacking kiss on her orange-smeared nose. Faith clapped her aunt’s cheeks with both hands. Hannah winced, but covered it with a smile. Brody looked closer. At the edge of her hairline, a bruise extended from her ear to her temple. The puffy, darkening patch was the size of a fist. Brody’s jaw muscles went taut again.
“You all right?” Grant asked. Ellie brought her a wet towel.
Minutes to Kill (Scarlet Falls) Page 5
