by Gail Barrett
Parker swung his head around. “Does your arm still hurt?”
“It’s fine.” Actually it ached like hell, but that was the least of her concerns right now.
“Did you take the ibuprofen?”
She nodded. “I tripled the dose.”
“You need more ice.” He rose and strode to the bathroom, returning a second later with the ice pack he’d fashioned from a plastic bag. He sat on the mattress beside her, then arranged the pack on her wounded shoulder, holding it in place with his hand.
Deciding it was futile to argue, she tried to relax. But with his hard thigh resting against hers and his wide shoulders cradling her back, she found it difficult to concentrate. “So what’s next?” she asked, determined to focus on what mattered—staying alive.
He blew out a heavy breath. “Right now we have a bunch of loose ends that don’t seem to match up. We need to look at this thing logically and figure out how they connect.”
That sounded reasonable. “So where do we start?”
“With that photo. It’s the only concrete evidence we have right now. We know the guy with the killer in the warehouse was Dustin Alexander, a City of the Dead gang member. He died a couple years after you took that shot. We can’t see the executioner, so we don’t know anything about him. But about ten years ago the City of the Dead survivors merged with the Ridgewood gang.
“The Ridgewood gang killed Jamie,” he continued. “We don’t know who made the hit—one of their hard-core members or someone lower on the chain. But the decision to kill her probably came from the top.”
She processed that. “So you think the executioner survived and is a member of the Ridgewood gang?”
“It’s possible. And he’d be high enough in the organization by now to order a hit like that.”
That made sense—so far. “So when my picture appeared in the newspaper, the killer recognized me. He traced me to my agent to find out where I was. Somehow he found me and followed me to Jamie. Then he killed her, maybe to keep her from tipping us off.”
“Or he had someone do it for him. That could be why Markus Jenkins got released from jail.”
“It still doesn’t make sense. How exactly did he find me? And what about that necklace? What does it have to do with this?”
“Let’s not worry about the missing pieces yet. Let’s just start by laying out the facts.”
“All right.” But there were an awful lot of holes to plug. “So we need to find out who was behind that pillar. And since those photos disappeared, there’s a chance that he’s a cop.”
“It explains why they’re after us now.” Parker’s gaze connected with hers, the desolate look in his eyes making her chest contract.
She understood how he felt. A cop might have killed his brother. A fellow officer had deceived him, violating their sacred bond of trust. And she knew better than most exactly how devastating that was, how deep a betrayal like that would cut. “It’s not easy when someone you trust betrays you,” she whispered.
Parker didn’t answer, but the flash of anguish in his eyes gutted her heart. And suddenly, she needed to reach him, to show him he wasn’t alone. Words bubbled up, crowding her throat, reckless words she’d never spoken before—about her relationship with her stepfather, how the despicable man had abused her, how even her mother had failed to protect her, refusing to believe the sordid truth.
But the words stayed trapped in her throat, the startling intimacy she felt toward Parker shocking her into silence again. She couldn’t afford to reveal the truth. Not yet. No matter how much she wanted to trust him, Parker was still a cop, a man wedded to his badge. And for all she knew, he’d side with her stepfather, no matter how disillusioned he felt right now.
Needing space to regain her perspective, she grabbed the ice pack and rose, then took the seat he’d vacated at the desk. “So what’s next?”
“We need to find out who worked in Homicide when Tommy died. The only ones I remember are Hoffman and Vern Collins. Collins was the lead investigator in Tommy’s case.” He hesitated. “Do you have a cell phone I can use? The hotel’s too easy to trace.”
“A disposable one.”
“Even better.”
“Sure, go ahead.” She handed him her phone, then watched as he placed the call. “Who are you calling?”
“The admin secretary in Homicide. She might not know they’re after me, depending on who’s involved. Hey, Alice,” he said into the phone. “Parker McCall here. I need you to do me a favor.” He rose and walked to the window, then nudged the curtain aside and peered out. “I need to find out who worked in Homicide fifteen years ago. Could you email me the roster?” He paused, his brow wrinkled as he listened to what she said. “I’m not coming in today. You’d better use my private address. Do you have a pen?”
While he chatted with the secretary, Brynn decided to do her part by searching her stepfather’s background online on the off chance that he had a connection to that gang, an angle she’d never had reason to consider before. She pulled up several bios, then skimmed through information she already knew—about his suburban childhood, the glory of his football years, how he’d worked his way up the ranks of the Baltimore Police Department, earning accolades and respect. He’d constructed an impressive public persona, she had to admit.
Too bad it was based on a lie.
Parker ended his call and returned her phone. “I looked up Hoffman’s bio,” she told him. “There’s nothing in it about belonging to a gang, but he probably wouldn’t publicize it if he did.”
“You never know. Senator Riggs belonged to a gang when he was young. He’s turned it into an asset. It’s one of the reasons he’s big on community outreach. He’s trying to keep kids from dying on the streets.”
She couldn’t argue that. But as badly as she wanted to crucify her stepfather, she couldn’t see him belonging to a gang. Preying on defenseless children was more his style.
“If you don’t need your computer,” he continued, “I’ll access my work account and check out Hoffman’s schedule, see what he was doing the night Erin Walker died. I left my computer in my truck at the café. They’ve probably towed it by now.”
“Go ahead. I’ll look through those photos from the camp again in case we missed anything.” Scooting past Parker, she headed into the bathroom and deposited the ice pack in the sink. Then she took her camera from her backpack and settled on the bed again.
But while she tried to focus on checking the date stamps, her mind kept returning to the disillusionment she’d seen in Parker’s eyes. And like it or not, she realized last night had changed something fundamental between them. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t think of him as just a cop anymore. She cared about Parker McCall. He mattered to her now. And despite the potential danger, she couldn’t stay detached from this complex man.
Even more disturbed by that thought, she frowned at the photographs. Several minutes later, she released a sigh. “I can’t find anything new. Hoffman was at the camp on July 14, two days before Erin died. That doesn’t mean he wasn’t there on the sixteenth, just that no one caught him on film.”
Parker nodded, his gaze still on the computer. “According to his schedule, he attended a gang conference at the Baltimore Convention Center on the sixteenth. Later that night he went to a reception in D.C. hosted by Senator Riggs.”
“What time was the reception?”
“It started at eight.”
Her hopes plummeted. “So that rules him out in Erin’s death.” And she’d been so sure...
“Not necessarily. He still could have made it to the camp, depending on when he left the reception.”
“How can we find that out?”
“Pay the senator a visit and ask.”
She blinked. “Don’t tell me you know him?”
“No, but if I tell him I’m investigating Hoffman...”
She stared at him in disbelief, stunned by the risk he was willing to take. Parker wasn’t the type to de
fy the rules. He had absolute faith in the law. For him to gamble his career, going against everything he believed in...
“He’ll never buy it,” she argued. “He’ll call Hoffman and check.”
“You have a better idea?”
Her heart made a sudden zigzag. She rose and went to the window, wondering if she had enough nerve. But she’d sucked Parker into this mess, and she owed him at least that much.
Inhaling sharply, she turned around. “I do, actually. I’ll call the senator. I’ll tell him I’m B. K. Elliot, and that I want to meet with him this afternoon about a partnership helping runaway teens. He won’t turn me down. The publicity will boost his career.”
A frown etched Parker’s brow. “How will that help us? We need information about Hoffman’s schedule.”
“It’ll get us through the door. Once we’re inside, you can ask him whatever you want. Even if he’s suspicious, he won’t be able to call Hoffman until we leave. That’ll give us time to get away.”
Parker got to his feet. He paced to the door and back, one hand gripping his neck. She knew he was weighing the pros and cons, probing the flaws in her plan. But it would work. It had to. It was the only real option they had.
“I won’t tell the senator you’re with me,” she added. “Not until we get there. He doesn’t know the police are after me, so I doubt he’ll lay a trap.”
Parker stopped beside her again. “But he’ll learn who you are. Your identity will come out. You’re sure you want to take that risk?”
Of course she didn’t want to risk it. But she knew what she had to do. “It’s going to come out regardless. Now that the newspaper has run my picture...”
“It still might take them a while to find you. You should wait until we’ve arrested the killer at least.”
“We don’t have time. That gang’s already attacked us once. Now the police are after us, too. Our luck won’t hold for long.”
Parker hesitated, then shook his head. “There must be another way.”
“I don’t see one. Besides, I want to do this.” She was the one they were after. Only she could stop the slaughter—no matter how terrifying the thought.
“What about your friends?” he asked. “I thought you had to protect them.”
“I’ll call Haley and warn her. Nadine’s in South America, so she’s safe enough for now.”
“I still don’t like it. Too much can go wrong.”
Knowing she had to convince him, she feigned courage she didn’t feel. “It’s going to work. I’m sure I can get us in.”
But would they get back out?
She met his worried eyes, his concern for her touching her heart. And all of a sudden, she was certain of something else. They might not survive this ordeal. They might never see each other again if they did. But she knew with dead-on certainty that she wanted to make love to Parker one more time.
She dropped her gaze to his mouth. Memories tumbled through her mind—of how he’d tasted and looked and smelled. And she desperately needed to feel him, to experience that delirium again.
Because the truth was, she didn’t care if he was a cop. She didn’t care if she’d get hurt when they parted ways. Even if it was just an illusion, she longed to relive the feelings he’d evoked—of being sheltered, cherished, loved.
She swallowed hard. Parker didn’t know it, but he’d given her a precious gift last night. For the first time in her life, she’d had a taste of how real love might feel, the security of being safe in a strong man’s arms. And God help her, even if this all ended badly, she wanted to experience that one last time.
She reached up and stroked his jaw. Surprise flared in his hypnotic eyes. “Kiss me, Parker,” she whispered, stepping so close she was cradled between his thighs.
His eyes went hot. The muscles worked in his whiskered throat. He curled one hand around her neck, the sensual touch scrambling her thoughts. “Are you sure? Your arm—”
“Forget my arm,” she whispered. “Just put your hands on me before I go insane.”
He growled then, a deep, feral sound that sent thrills shuddering down her spine. Then he pulled her hard against him and lowered his mouth to hers. And she didn’t think again for a long, long time.
Chapter 12
“You’re sure you want to do this?” Parker asked Brynn again as they exited the staircase just off the atrium in the Hart Senate Office Building and turned down a light-filled hall.
“I’m sure.”
“We can wait for the senator to come back.” As it turned out, Senator Riggs was out of town. But several phone calls and various staffers later, they’d managed to get an appointment with Gwendolyn Shaffer, the senator’s chief of staff.
“I’ll be all right, Parker.”
It didn’t feel all right. It felt like a huge mistake—another potential screwup he was going to regret. He’d already messed up by making love to Brynn again. He’d had no business touching her, no matter how blinding the sex. But instead of whisking her to safety, instead of doing his sworn duty and shielding a vulnerable civilian from harm, he was exposing her to a situation he feared could go lethally wrong.
But they had to take the initiative. They couldn’t stay on the defensive, waiting for an attack—especially with the police involved. Still, he wished they were meeting somewhere neutral, somewhere public, somewhere he could plan for a quick escape. But Shaffer had flat-out refused.
“Anyhow, it’s better this way,” Brynn scooted over to let several people wearing suits and carrying briefcases hurry by. “The senator won’t know the details, like who attended what event. Junior people handle stuff like that. And they’re usually more willing to talk.”
“Maybe.” But Gwendolyn Shaffer was hardly a flunky, according to the online bios he’d read. Despite an impoverished childhood, she’d worked her way through law school, then embarked on a meteoric career—clerking for a federal judge, serving as a city commissioner and sitting on various boards. Her current duties included everything from advising the senator on domestic and foreign policy to managing his reelection campaign.
Still, Brynn was right. The senator’s chief of staff was their only hope right now—and Brynn was their ticket in. He just hoped they’d escape unscathed.
Still battling his reservations, Parker accompanied her down the gleaming corridor to the office and followed her inside. After giving their names to the secretary, he prowled around the reception area while they waited for the chief of staff. He glanced at the usual political photos decorating the walls—the senator with the president, the senator hosting a conference with leaders from the Muslim community, the senator with the ambassador of Jaziirastan in front of the embassy.
Brynn came up beside him, and he shifted his gaze to her. And once again her beauty bulldozed through him—her soft, downy skin, her glorious, auburn hair, the perfect contours of her creamy lips. And a fierce feeling of possessiveness stole through him, the need to claim and protect this woman in the most fundamental of ways.
He shook his head, appalled at how thoroughly she’d captivated him, obliterating any impartiality he’d once had. But this wasn’t the time to examine his feelings. He had to focus on keeping her safe.
“That must be Erin Walker’s father,” Brynn said, peering at a photo.
Still struggling to subdue his emotions, Parker shifted his gaze to the shot. According to the caption, Senator Riggs had brokered a weapons deal between Walker Avionics and the government of Jaziirastan, a small country bordering Afghanistan. The deal had brought his state hundreds of jobs.
“That figures. The senator gets Walker business in exchange for campaign contributions and touts it as creating jobs.” No wonder Hoffman had warned him off. There were billions of dollars involved.
And speaking of power... Parker scowled at his watch. The chief of staff was taking her time. Five more minutes and they were out of here. He wasn’t risking Brynn’s safety longer than that.
His uneasiness mounting, he traile
d Brynn past another row of publicity shots—the senator touring a housing project, the senator christening a shelter for victims of domestic violence, the senator playing golf at a fund-raiser for disadvantaged kids.
Brynn abruptly came to a stop. “I know that man.”
Parker looked at the shot. The senator and another man stood laughing beside a golf cart, waiting to tee off. “Who is it?”
She shot a quick glance back at the receptionist, then lowered her voice. “Oliver Burroughs—he’s Haley’s father. He’s a criminal defense attorney in Baltimore. A real big shot. I’ve never met him, but Haley showed me his picture once. And I don’t usually forget a face.”
“Criminal defense, huh?” Parker studied the photo with interest now. So Senator Riggs golfed with a prominent Baltimore defense attorney. That didn’t mean much; politicians networked all the time. But if there was a chance that attorney defended gang members...
He switched his gaze to Brynn. “Can we visit your friend?”
“Haley?”
“I’d like to ask her some questions about her father, whether he had a connection to Markus Jenkins, that gang leader who was released from jail.”
“You think her father got him released?”
“I don’t know. It doesn’t seem like it. From what I’ve heard, it was some sort of paperwork glitch. I’d still like to talk to your friend, though, and find out what she knows.”
Her eyes thoughtful, Brynn gave him a nod. “Sure. We can go there as soon as we leave here.”
A woman strode into the reception area just then, and they both turned around. The senator’s chief of staff was in her early forties, average height, and slightly plump. She wore a gray plaid suit, low-heeled shoes and an old-fashioned strand of pearls. She had chin-length, mouse-brown hair peppered with streaks of gray. Yet despite her unremarkable appearance, her steps were brisk and her gaze steady as she crossed the room. She radiated poise and power.
“Good afternoon. I’m Gwendolyn Shaffer,” she said to Brynn. “Senator Riggs’s chief of staff.”
