by Cynthia Eden
He whirled on his brother. “Shayne’s trying to take her away.”
“In light of what happened, you don’t think that might be a good thing? Until Brushard is caught—”
“How would you feel if someone took Scarlett from you?” Scarlett was the woman that Grant had loved for most of his life. Loved—and nearly lost far too recently. Now Grant guarded the woman like a hawk.
Grant’s jaw hardened. “You know what that would be like for me.”
“Then don’t tell me this is a good thing. I need to be close to her.” He glared up at the police station. Shayne wasn’t going to shut him out. Not when Jennifer’s safety was on the line.
“What can I do?” Grant asked him.
And that was the way things were with them. Always had been. “Sullivan needs you now.” Their brother was in the hospital, and he needed family close to him. “Davis and I...we can handle this.” Davis had connections that he could use. Connections he would use.
“How close are you about to get to breaking the law?”
He tilted back his head as he stared at the PD once more. “It’s about to get bent.”
* * *
“I DON’T UNDERSTAND... Why are you doing this?” Jennifer turned to face Detective Shayne Townsend. They’d just entered the “safe house,” but Jennifer was sure not feeling safe as she stood there with him.
The little apartment was on a back street in Austin, positioned up on the third floor of a run-down building. The elevator had been broken, so they’d climbed the three flights of stairs that took them up to the apartment.
The carpet was threadbare beneath her feet. The only furniture in the small den was a sagging sofa and a small wooden coffee table.
“I’m trying to keep you alive, Ms. Wesley.” He double-checked the locks. Another cop was outside. Shayne had given him orders to check the perimeter.
“I was alive with Brodie.”
“You jeopardized his family. In case you didn’t notice, nothing comes before family. Not for the McGuires.”
She rubbed her chilled arms. “You said that Sullivan was all right.”
“He is...but if there are too many more run-ins with your stalker, I might not be able to say that for long.” He motioned toward the door on the right. “There’s a bedroom in there for you to use. We’ve only got one bathroom in this joint, so we’ll be sharing.”
Right. She glanced down at the floor.
“We got the results back on that knife that Brodie found at the Montgomery ranch.”
Her gaze whipped back up to him.
“No prints. The only DNA was yours. Your blood.”
Stephen had been very careful. “So we’re back to nothing.”
He shook his head. “We’re back to looking for a ghost.” He opened his briefcase and pulled out a file. She inched closer to him so that she could see the name on that file. “Stephen Brushard.”
She stared at the name, and, suddenly, she wasn’t in a run-down apartment. She was back in Russia. In a ballroom, in a castle. A place right out of a dream. And Stephen had been there. Bowing to her. Asking her to dance.
For a moment, she’d forgotten that she was just living a lie. She’d thought she was living a dream.
Prince Charming.
Then she’d found out that he was the real villain of the tale.
“He’s dead.” Shayne pulled out a typewritten report. One written in Russian. “He was attacked in his cell.”
She grabbed the report. Scanned it. Stephen had been found with a knife in his side. He’d been alive when he went to the infirmary, but he hadn’t survived long after that. His body had been cremated within hours of his death. That recorded death had happened a year ago.
“Not him,” Jennifer said flatly. “He didn’t die—he just escaped.” But at least they had a timeline now. So Stephen couldn’t have killed Brodie’s parents. But...maybe someone he’d hired had? The same person who’d taken that picture of her at the ranch.
“You can read Russian?”
She almost rolled her eyes. “I was a spy. Do you think they would have sent me out to all of those countries if I only spoke English?” She’d had a gift for language and an ability to drop and acquire an accent at will.
His eyes narrowed.
She tapped the file. “Nate got a death certificate, too. It was as fake as Stephen’s.”
But the cop didn’t look convinced. “Maybe he did die in that prison and we’re looking for someone in Stephen’s family...someone who wants to get some payback against you.”
She scanned the file he had. She had to give the cop credit; he’d definitely been digging in the right places. There were multiple reports of injuries, of attacks, on Stephen. He’d been in and out of the prison infirmary almost every week.
I’m going to torture you...
There was a photo in the file. A grainy image of Stephen Brushard, one that must have been taken shortly after his incarceration. His thick black hair was smoothed back from his forehead. His square jaw was clenched, and, even in the picture, she could see the fury in his eyes.
Stephen had been a handsome man, debonair, charming. But beneath that facade, he’d been rotten to the core.
“Just look at the McGuires,” Shayne said quietly. “Sometimes, families want blood for blood.”
She pushed the file back at him. “The McGuires aren’t planning to kill anyone.” She spun away from him. Paced toward the lone window in the room.
He laughed, and the sound held no humor. “Aren’t they? I guess you don’t know Brodie nearly as well as you think.”
The window was covered with a layer of brown grime so thick she could barely see outside.
“They’re going to destroy every person involved in their parents’ deaths. It’s just a matter of time.”
There was something in his voice...almost resignation. Bitterness.
She glanced back at him.
His eyes—flint hard—were on her. “Brodie was helping you only because you were a way to get to Stephen Brushard. You were expendable to him.”
He was wrong. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” There was so much more between her and Brodie. When he held her...she was safe. She could trust him with all her secrets.
With him, there was no longer a need for lies.
“I got you away from Brodie. I did it for your protection. You can’t count on him. But you can count on me.”
Could she? Jennifer wasn’t about to give her trust to him. I trust Brodie.
“I can help you.”
Her instincts were screaming at her again. Something was just...off with him. “How long have you been friends with Brodie?”
“We went to school together. Grew up together. I’ve always known the McGuires.” He didn’t move from his position. A stance that put him right between Jennifer and the apartment’s door. Its only exit. “That’s why I never gave up on his parents’ case. I figured I owed them.”
He shifted his stance a bit, and her gaze dipped to the gun holstered just beneath his left arm.
“Brodie and the others didn’t give up, either. They kept searching. Kept pushing until they found the murder weapons used for the crime.”
Jennifer tried to keep her body relaxed, her hands loose at her sides. And she refused to let any expression show on her face.
“They found the guns...and then they found you.”
Something is wrong. The whole scene felt off for her. He’d separated her from Brodie, taken her away from the police station. Stashed her in this apartment...
“You gave his parents fifty thousand dollars.”
“Did Brodie tell you that?” She deliberately let her words tremble a bit, wanting to look weak right then. If she looked weak, then maybe he wouldn’t see the threat coming from her, not until it was too late.
He inclined his head. “Why did you give them the money?”
The answer was simple enough. “Because Brodie saved my life.”
He stalked across the room. She tensed, and, once more, her gaze fell to his gun.
Why didn’t he keep me at the station?
And where was the other cop? The one who’d ridden over with them? Just how long did it take to do a perimeter search?
“Why did they want the money?”
“I don’t know!”
He grabbed her arms. Shook her. “Liar!”
What? They had just stepped right over into bad cop land.
“You expect me to believe you gave two strangers fifty thousand dollars?”
“They weren’t strangers. They were Brodie’s parents.”
He shoved her back. Her shoulders hit the window. “Stop it!” Jennifer yelled at him.
But lines of fury were stamped onto his face. “I won’t let you ruin everything for me.”
What in the hell? And suddenly Jennifer was very afraid that she’d found the cop who had tipped off Stephen before.
“You can’t ruin it, not when I worked so hard to get my life back on track. I just... I can’t let you destroy it all.”
His hands were hard around her shoulders.
“Maybe it would be better if you just disappeared,” he fired. “Easier for everyone.”
Was he threatening her? Because the chill that had just went down her spine sure said he was.
And if this guy was the one who’d sold her out to Stephen before... Then he’s done it again now.
* * *
THE YOUNG COP was ridiculously obvious.
Just because he’d put on some old torn jeans and a T-shirt, did the kid really think that made him look like he fit in with the neighborhood?
The guy looked as if he was barely twenty-one, and his nervous gaze kept sweeping the scene as he glanced to the left, then the right.
Too easy.
He sauntered toward the run-down building. He’d watched Jennifer go in there less than fifteen minutes before. Time for him to go claim his prize.
“Hey, kid,” he muttered to the boy.
The cop whirled toward him.
He drove his knife right into the boy’s stomach, held the blade there as the cop’s eyes widened in horror.
“Which floor?”
The cop grunted.
“Want me to twist the knife?”
“Th-third...”
Smiling, he twisted the knife anyway. Because he could.
Because he’d never really liked cops anyway.
Chapter Ten
“Brodie, are you sure this is a good idea?” Davis asked as their car pulled to a stop. “She’s in protective custody. The cops have her. The woman is safe.”
If she was safe, then why were his guts in knots?
“How did you even find this damn place?” Davis wanted to know.
“I bribed the right people at the police station.” It wasn’t like Shayne was his only friend there.
Davis swore. “Then let’s just hope that Stephen Brushard doesn’t know those same people or your lady is going to be in serious trouble.” Davis had been brought up to speed—fast—on Brushard. And when he’d met Brodie, the guy had come bearing a gift—a report on Stephen Brushard that Mac had been able to dig up using his contacts.
Thanks to that report, they now had a face to go with the SOB’s name. Stephen Brushard had grown up the only child of a wealthy New York family. He’d gone to all the right schools, knew all the right people...
On the surface, he’d seemed like a legitimate businessman.
But Jennifer had found out the truth about him.
Brodie took one more look down at Brushard’s picture. Black hair, blue eyes, cleft in his chin. He had the stats on the guy, too. Six foot three, two hundred pounds. Or at least, that had been his weight before he’d spent those years in prison.
Prison could change a man, on the inside and outside.
Brodie shut off his penlight and stared up at the apartment building. “What’s the plan now?” Davis wanted to know. “You run in, guns blazing?”
“No.” More finesse would be needed until he could figure out just what game Shayne thought he was playing. Why did you take her? Why keep me from her? “You watch the front, and I’ll go up the fire escape.” That fire escape would take him all the way up to the third floor. Shayne had tried to keep the location secret, but the guy obviously didn’t realize that half of his department owed favors to the McGuires. Brodie had called in some of those favors.
“Right. So you want me to just stay here...”
He pulled his gun from the glove box. “And if you see Stephen Brushard, you stop him. With any force necessary.” He shoved open his door, but Davis caught his shoulder.
“And if you see him,” Davis told him. “Don’t you hesitate—got it? Protect yourself. Protect Jennifer.”
He would.
Brodie slipped from the vehicle. Not his car because he hadn’t wanted anyone to follow him back to Jennifer. He’d made sure that no one was behind him and Davis when they headed to this street.
Music and laughter drifted from a nearby bar. Since it was closing in on 4:00 a.m., the late-night crowd was packing it in, and voices floated to him. He swept around the side of the building, his gaze drifting up to the third floor. Lights were on up there, and those lights were like a beacon to him.
I’m coming, Jennifer.
He grabbed for the fire-escape ladder, but then...
Then he spotted a dark liquid on the ground to the right. It gleamed under the old street light. A pool of water? What the hell?
He bent, frowning, as he looked at that pool.
Brodie realized he wasn’t staring at water...just as he heard a faint groan.
Not water. Blood.
The groan came again, the sound so close, seeming to originate from right behind a pile of garbage. He hurried toward that garbage, his gun out. “I’m armed,” he said. “So you’d better—”
There was more blood. Far too much.
He shoved away the garbage and saw the crumpled form—a man, young, clean-shaven—who’d been tossed away.
Left to die.
Brodie jerked out his phone. Called 9-1-1 and—
“What is the nature of your emergency?”
The man groaned once more, a low, weak sound. With that much blood loss, how was he even alive? “Help...” the guy whispered, “her...”
Brodie spun back around and stared up at the third floor. Only the lights had just flashed off. The whole building was in total darkness.
* * *
“WHAT THE HELL?” Shayne demanded as he pulled his hands away from her.
They were surrounded by darkness. Her heart slammed into her chest because Jennifer knew. This isn’t good.
The only light in the place came from the window—faint streetlight that managed to peek through the layer of brown grime.
“He found me,” Jennifer whispered.
“The building’s old,” Shayne said. “A fuse could have blown. Anything could have happened.”
She heard the floor creak beneath his feet. “The door’s locked,” he said a few moments later. “This place is secure. I’ll call Randy and get him to tell us what’s happening.”
“Randy?”
“The cop on patrol outside.”
When he pulled out his phone, the illumination lit up the hard lines of his face.
She caught her breath while she waited for him to make a connection with Randy. She wanted that other cop to pick up, to tell them everything was fine and—
“Randy?” Shayne demanded. “What’s going on out there? We just went dark.”
She exhaled slowly. Randy was okay. He was still patrolling.
“What? I can hardly hear you.”
Jennifer turned and curled her fingers around the window. She shoved, trying to lift it up, but it was stuck. So she shoved even harder.
Nothing.
“Where are you? Yeah, yeah, I’ll let you in.” He ended the call, but he must have still been using his flashlight app because
he shone that light right on her as he pointed his phone in her direction. “Randy’s on the stairs. He said the whole building went dark.”
“Stephen is here. You know he is.”
The light swung away from her and hit the front door. She grabbed for the window and yanked harder. It lifted—about one inch.
“It could be coincidence—”
Her laughter cut him off. “Come on. You’re a cop! You know better. It’s him. He followed you or he made someone at the PD tell him where we were.” Did you tell him, Detective Townsend? Her breath came out in heaving pants. “And I can’t help but wonder, did you want him to find me? Are you the one who tipped him off?”
Silence.
“Because I don’t understand what’s been happening since you had me in that interrogation room! Something is going on and I just—”
“The money was for me.”
That little reveal had her tensing...and her hands shoved harder against the window. It slid up a few more inches. Not enough for her to slip out, not yet.
Is the fire escape on the other side of the window? It had better be. Or else her escape plan wasn’t going to work at all.
“I was in trouble. In deep...and if I didn’t pay up, then my life would have been over.”
“What are you talking about?” she whispered.
“They weren’t supposed to get hurt. No one was.”
Her shoulders hunched back.
“But maybe...hell, maybe they were watching me the whole time. Maybe they thought the McGuires had more money, and that’s why they went back to them.”
A hard pounding shook the front door.
“I’ll lose it all if the truth comes out,” Shayne said, his voice thick.
“I don’t understand what’s happening!”
“I shot a man. I was young then, inexperienced... It was a mistake. But they knew. They saw me. Saw the cover-up.”
And, just like that, she did understand. “Blackmail.”
“Hurry, Townsend,” a voice called out from the other side of the front door. “Let me in!”
“I paid, and that should have been the end.” His voice was still low, but she heard him clearly. His light was on the door, but he wasn’t opening it. “But it’s never the end. Once they’ve got you on the hook, you are theirs for life.”
