Grant’s sister, Hannah, was in Jakarta on business, but the youngest of the four Barrett siblings, Mac, was local. Given Mac’s troubled past, the lack of response to Grant’s messages was concerning.
Grant accepted the bottle. His eyes burned. He squeezed them shut and rubbed his forehead. “Can I get you some coffee, Major?” the cop asked.
“No, thanks.” Grant twisted off the cap and drank, forcing icy water down his tight throat. He’d spent the last seventy-two hours in transport from Afghanistan to New York State. Layovers in Kabul, Kuwait City, and Germany had dragged out his return trip. His life had been normal, at least as normal as life on a forward operating base in Afghanistan could be. Now everything was different. His priorities—his entire life—had exploded like a roadside bomb. “I just want to find my niece and nephew.”
“I understand, but I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do until morning.” The cop brushed a hand over his buzzed head. “Look, I know you want to see them, but the kids are probably asleep by now. You don’t want to drag them out of bed in the dark. They’d be frightened.”
Which is exactly what had happened on Friday night when their parents had been murdered. The cop was right. Replaying that scenario wasn’t in their best interest, but Grant didn’t want to think of Carson or Faith spending another night in a strange house, with strange people, after losing their entire world. Of course, since he’d been deployed before Faith was born, Grant was a stranger to her too, and he hadn’t seen Carson in ten months. Would the boy even recognize him? “Are you sure?”
“I’m sorry.” The cop laid a pair of reading glasses on the desk. “There are a lot of rules and red tape involved. Middle-of-the-night calls are for crises only. Where can I reach you?”
The last thing he wanted to do was be alone in his brother’s house, surrounded by happy memories that would be no more, the house where he’d spent two weeks with Lee, a pregnant Kate, and Carson the previous May. He wanted to get a hotel room, with impersonal surroundings that wouldn’t remind him his brother was dead, but the children would no doubt feel more comfortable in their own home. Grant had better make sure the house was ready for them.
“I’ll be staying at my brother’s house.” Grant gave the cop the phone number for the house. “You have my cell number.”
The cop picked up a pen and wrote the information down.
“My father doesn’t know?” Grant asked.
“No.” McNamara shook his head. “As you requested, I’ll leave that to you.”
Grant’s breath hitched, the thought of telling the Colonel about Lee’s death driving the finality of the situation home. “Thank you. My father’s health is shaky. I’ll go out to the nursing home tomorrow.”
Lee had been just two years younger than Grant. Growing up, they’d been as close as two kids with polar opposite personalities could be. Grant saw everything in black and white, while his brother noticed every shade of gray. Had their dad known how different the brothers would be when he’d named them after opposing Civil War generals? The plastic water bottle crunched under his too-tight grip. Grant loosened his fingers.
“I’ll contact child services first thing tomorrow,” McNamara said. “I’ll call you as soon as I hear from them.”
Grant didn’t like the situation, but after thirteen years in the army, he knew all about rules and procedures and when to pick his battles. The next question hurt to ask. “Do the bodies need to be identified?”
“No. That won’t be necessary. The medical examiner used dental records.” The cop shook his head, his eyes going flat. “I know you want to see them, but ask yourself if you want that image in your head forever or if you want to remember your brother and sister-in-law as you saw them last.”
The statement was a solid kick to the chest. Were Lee and Kate even identifiable? Grant pictured the insurgent he’d shot in the ambush, layering the traitor’s ruined face over his brother’s. His fingertips trembled. He’d had no time to decompress after the ambush before being slammed with Lee’s death. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw his M-4 fire and that insurgent’s face blow apart. He knew he hadn’t had a choice. Either he pulled that trigger or the lieutenant died. This wasn’t his first combat kill. Taking a life, even in war, left an imprint, but he could hardly compare this situation to anything he’d ever experienced before. Everything was backward. If one of the Barretts were to die, it was supposed to be Grant.
Anger flared in his belly, and he welcomed its steadying heat. Better pissed off than pissed on, as his first sergeant used to say. “What can you tell me about their murders?”
McNamara leaned back in his chair and studied Grant’s face for a minute. “Are you sure you want to do this now?”
“Yes. I only have thirty days.” Time was ticking away. His leave had started the moment he’d stepped off the military transport in Texas that morning. Besides, he was never going to want to do it anyway. “When we spoke on the phone, you said they’d been robbed.”
“Robbery is one of our working theories.” McNamara shifted forward and planted his forearms on the edge of his desk. “A resident called the police to report a woman screaming. A patrol unit was dispatched. Lee and Kate were found on a side street around the corner from an Italian restaurant in town. The restaurant staff said your brother and his wife had finished dinner roughly ten minutes before the call came in. It appears they were walking from the restaurant to their car when someone intercepted them. The cause of death for both was a single shot to the head. Your brother’s wallet and keys were missing, and so was Kate’s purse. Their car was stolen.” The cop hesitated.
“But that’s not all?” Grant asked. McNamara’s body language projected dissatisfaction. “What else?”
McNamara tossed the pen onto the blotter. His mouth thinned. “Your sister-in-law was still wearing her engagement ring.”
Grant followed the cop’s logic. “An experienced robber would have looked for obvious jewelry.”
“Maybe. Kate was wearing gloves, so I’m not going to make any assumptions at this time. We’re still investigating.” The cop rubbed his chin. “Who benefits from their deaths? I didn’t see a will in the house. Do you know if they had one?”
“I would imagine he did. He was a lawyer. Dotting i’s and crossing t’s was his profession.” Grant should have expected the police to search the house for clues. His brother had been murdered. Dead people didn’t have expectations of privacy, but the thought of McNamara or anyone else rifling through Lee and Kate’s personal belongings, discovering intimate secrets about the couple, sparked Grant’s fury. This should not have happened.
“The house is big and old. We could have missed something. If you find a safe deposit box key or a will, we’d like to know.” McNamara interlaced his fingers. “Both of their phones were stolen, but we recovered their call, contact, and calendar data from the cell phone company. We’re still reviewing the information, but we might have some questions regarding abbreviations and notations. Your brother’s firm has been less than cooperative about giving us access to his work computer and office. I’ve asked for a warrant, but they’re fighting it, citing client confidentiality.”
“Of course.” Grant drank more water, the cold liquid settling in his belly and chilling him from the inside out. “I’ll call you if I find anything.”
“Can you think of another motive for the attack?” McNamara asked. “Did your brother have any enemies?”
Grant shook his head. “My brother was a suburban lawyer and a family man. I can’t think of anyone who would want to hurt him.”
“But you’ve been overseas for ten months.” McNamara met his gaze.
“Right.” Grant shoved his guilt away. Combat had taught him to compartmentalize, to put grief in the backseat until the mission was complete, but that was easier said than done when it was his brother who was dead. “I can’t believe someone killed
Lee and Kate for their car or wallet. It doesn’t make sense. Why kill them? Why risk a murder charge?”
McNamara sighed. “I have no idea. Maybe he resisted.” But the cop’s eyes weren’t satisfied with his own argument. Grant could feel discontent rolling off the detective in waves.
“That doesn’t sound like Lee. He wouldn’t have taken any chances with Kate’s life.” Grant screwed the bottle cap on too tightly, cracking it.
“Criminals are scumbags. Some of them get their rocks off killing people. Drugs make people do crazy things, and addicts will do anything to get money to buy more drugs.”
Grant leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs and holding the water bottle between his hands. He met McNamara’s level brown gaze head-on. “Drug addicts are sloppy. Lee’s murder sounds . . . efficient.”
“Maybe.”
“Do you have any evidence at all?” Grant asked. It had been three days since Lee and Kate were killed. “Murder weapon? Fingerprints? Surveillance video? Anything? Did anyone hear the shots?”
“Unfortunately, there aren’t any surveillance cameras in that area. It’s a quiet side street.” McNamara shook his head. “Their credit cards haven’t been used, and we can’t pick up a signal on their cell phones, which means the batteries were removed or destroyed. The car’s GPS isn’t transmitting, so it was likely disabled. I’ll try to keep you as informed as possible.” The cop stood, signaling their conversation was at an end. “When you decide on a funeral home, you can call the medical examiner’s office. They’ll call you when your brother and sister-in-law are ready to be released.”
Which meant the medical examiner wasn’t finished with the autopsies, something else Grant didn’t want to think about right now. He was going to have to plan his brother’s funeral, and that was bad enough without constantly visualizing the insult to Lee’s and Kate’s bodies. But how many mental pictures could he suppress? His brain was under a barrage of violent images. He pressed his sweating palms against his jeans. His lungs felt inelastic, each breath painful to draw.
McNamara squinted at him, obviously concerned. “Is there anyone else to help you with all this, Major?”
“My sister should be in town in the next day or so.” But until then, Grant was on his own. Kate never spoke about her family, and Lee had mentioned more than once that she and her parents were estranged. How could Grant contact them? Should he even try?
“You should also be aware that the perpetrators likely have a key to your brother’s house and the address.”
“Right. Changing the locks goes on the top of my list.” Grant shook the cop’s hand. He needed to get out of there. His body’s thermostat was off, and feverish heat was building under his jacket.
McNamara ushered him out to the parking lot. The damp night air coated his skin with moisture.
Grant slid into the driver’s seat of the rental car. He started the engine and checked his phone. No return calls from Hannah or Mac. Grant had been playing phone tag with his sister, who was en route to New York from Jakarta. But where the hell was Mac?
He drove down the main street and headed toward Lee’s house. His hometown of Scarlet Falls was a small suburban community in upstate New York, about an hour north of the state capitol in Albany. With the Appalachian Mountains to the west and Hudson Valley to the east, the town was picturesque, but the economy had been limping along since Grant was a kid. The region wasn’t thriving but it wasn’t going bankrupt either.
It was, in a word: average.
But in this ordinary slice of American suburbia, Lee and Kate had been brutally murdered. Had it been robbery? Or something even more sinister?
Ten minutes outside of town, Grant entered Lee’s neighborhood. For the most part, the residences were large, old homes on oversize lots. No cookie-cutter tract house for Lee. No, a year and a half before, he’d sold the small starter home and moved up to a more prestigious address. Lee must have been doing well at the firm. He’d leased a BMW at about the same time.
Grant turned onto the right street. In the sparse light of the occasional streetlamp, the neighborhood looked barren. When he’d been here last May, the valley had been gleaming green. Shrubs had been trimmed and fronted with flowers. Kids rode bikes and played hockey in the street. Moms pushed strollers to the playground on the corner. Now, warming temps had muddied the landscape, thawing in the daytime and refreezing at night. Moonlight gleamed on the layer of frozen muck. Grant hadn’t spent much time here since high school. The dreary vista was more depressing than the images in his memory. As a teen, he couldn’t wait to get out of town, as if staying here would make him stagnate.
Lee and Kate’s old Victorian sat behind a long, narrow front lawn. The Cape Cod–style house on the right was dark, but lights still burned in the two-story Colonial on the left. Streetlights were few and far between out here. Grant turned at the mailbox and parked at the head of the driveway. The big house was dark, almost forbidding. Trees loomed over the roof and cut off any light from the moon. Grant’s headlights cut a swath of clarity through the gloom and illuminated the front porch.
He got out of the car and stared up at the house, suddenly realizing he didn’t have a key. How was he going to get in? With a sigh, Grant trudged around the property, checking first-floor doors and windows in case one was left unlocked. No luck. He might need to go to a hotel after all, which meant a drive back out to the interstate, but at this point, sleeping in the car was looking good, despite the damp cold. The front seat of a sedan certainly wouldn’t be the worst place he’d spent the night. At least Scarlet Falls didn’t have enemy forces trying to kill him. He went back to the rental car. His truck, parked in a base storage facility in Texas, had a toolbox and flashlight in the back. Not this vehicle.
He opened the trunk and pulled the tire iron from the spare tire well. He could break a window, but then he’d have to fix the window. Probably not his best option. His gaze strayed to the house next door, and he remembered Lee’s pretty brunette neighbor. They’d met a couple of times during his last visit. Even after ten months overseas, a man didn’t forget a woman like Ellie Ross.
“Can I help you?”
Reaching for his sidearm, Grant whirled at the feminine voice. His hand hit empty jacket.
A small, older woman stood in the driveway. Darkness obscured her features, but he had no trouble seeing the shotgun in her arms. He froze, the sight of the gun sending his adrenals back into overdrive. He flashed back to the ambush and a figure in digital desert camo pointing a weapon in his direction.
How did she sneak up behind him? Was he that distracted?
“Drop the tire iron,” she said. “And don’t move.”
“Don’t worry.” He let the tool fall into the trunk and raised his hands as she pointed the twelve-gauge at the dead center of his chest.
Chapter Four
“Nan!” Ellie squinted into the darkness. Beyond her shotgun-wielding grandmother, the man standing in her neighbor’s driveway looked familiar. But her eyes hadn’t adjusted to the lack of light, and he was standing in the shadow of his open trunk. “You cannot point a gun at someone.”
“Well, he was skulking around the house in the dark. He looked like he was going to break in.” Nan tapped a white athletic shoe on the pavement. Frenzied barking emanated from their house. “A girl can’t be too careful. Lots of crime around here lately.”
“He parked in the driveway, Nan. That’s hardly criminal behavior.” Ellie gently liberated the gun from her grandmother and let the muzzle tip toward the ground. “That barking is going to wake Julia. Would you please go inside and make the dog stop?” Then Ellie would try to convince the man not to call the police—or a psychiatric ward—on her grandmother.
Nan gave her a pointed look, but she complied, walking toward their house.
The stranger closed the trunk and faced her, and she recognized Lee’s brother.
“Grant?”
At six foot four, his broad shoulders and wide chest filled out his brown leather jacket.
“Hello, Ellie.”
Sadness crept up the back of her throat. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you.” He cleared his throat.
“I apologize for my grandmother,” she said. “She’s tired of reporters and photographers. Plus, there have been other people who actually were skulking around the place in the dark looking for a way to break in. We called the police a few times. They said once the media releases the victims’ names, it isn’t uncommon for criminals to target the house. Is there anything I can do for you?”
“I don’t have a key. I was hoping there was an unlocked window or door. No such luck.”
“I have one. Let’s go inside, and I’ll get it for you.”
“I was just thinking about knocking on your door.” He sounded grateful. “Don’t know why I didn’t do it right away.”
“I imagine you have a lot on your mind.” Now that the crisis had passed, she shivered hard. She hadn’t taken time to put on a jacket when she saw her grandmother—with her gun—stalking the man out front. But now Ellie’s Spackle-smeared T-shirt and jeans were no match for the night air.
They crossed the wide, snow-crusted front yards and stomped up her steps. The porch light shone across his face. He had the same blond hair and blue eyes as Lee, but the resemblance stopped there. Tall and thin, Lee had had a Gregory-Peck-as-Atticus-Finch way about him. He’d been unassuming and scholarly. Larger and more muscular, Grant was a dominant physical presence, one that she felt along every square inch of her exposed skin. Even if she hadn’t known he was a soldier, she would have guessed it from the hardness of his body, readiness in his stance, and wariness in his eye. Despite the grief etched on his face, she was transfixed for a moment. Ten months in the desert had sharpened his Scandinavian features and given him a harder look. Handsome before, his masculinity had amplified tenfold. His posture and body were leaner, edgier, poised to react.
Hour of Need (Scarlet Falls) Page 3
