Fatal Exposure (3 page)

“All cops aren’t bad,” he said, his voice flat.

“No?” She jerked her chin toward the photos on her walls. “Ask those kids about that. They can tell you about
justice
and the police.”

“They’d be wrong.”

“The hell they would.” Her voice turned hard. Her gold-flecked eyes darkened to steel. “They know a lot more about reality and
justice
than you do. They’ve been raped, robbed and abused—and the police don’t give a damn. The only thing they care about is power.”

He wanted to argue the point, to defend the life he led. But he didn’t have to justify his choices to a suspect. He hadn’t done anything wrong. And he wasn’t about to let her distract him from his brother’s murder—the reason he was here.

“You’re entitled to your opinion,” he said.

“That’s generous of you,” she snapped back. “But it’s not an
opinion.
It’s a
fact.
”

“Regardless, I still want answers about my brother, and you were the last person to see him alive.”

Her head came up. “What makes you think that?”

“Witnesses saw a girl matching your description running from the scene.”

Her jaw went slack. “You think I
killed
him?”

“Didn’t you?”

She stared at him, her eyes sparking with a kaleidoscope of emotions—shock, outrage and something else. Something that looked a lot like guilt. “Get out.”

“The hell I will.”

“I said to
get out
of my house.”

“Not without answers.”

“I don’t have anything to say to you.”

“I think you do.”

“You’re wrong.”

Not this time.
This woman knew what had happened to Tommy. And after fifteen years trying to find her, he wasn’t going to back off now.

“Tommy was your friend,” he fired back. “He carried that photo around in his shoe. Doesn’t that mean anything to you? Don’t you care what happened to him?”

“Care?” A flush climbed up her cheeks. Fury vibrated her voice. “You’re the one stirring up trouble. You’re going to get people hurt—innocent people who don’t deserve this grief. So don’t accuse me of not caring!”

“What people?”

Her lips pressed tight.

“What people?” he demanded again, stepping forward.

She bumped against the counter and stopped. “Leave me alone.”

“I can’t.”

“Everyone has a choice.”

And he’d made his. He’d vowed to bring his brother’s killer to justice, and he refused to stop until he did.

A shrill ring split the air. Their eyes waged a silent battle, tension crackling between them as the telephone rang again.

“I need to get that,” she said.

Parker braced his hands on his hips and scowled, refusing to let this drop. If Brynn hadn’t killed his brother, she knew who did. He’d bet his badge on that. He
had
to convince her to talk.

The telephone trilled again. When he still didn’t move aside, she arched a brow. “Do you mind? I really need to answer the phone.”

Cursing the interruption, he expelled his breath. “All right, but we aren’t done yet.” He inched aside, just far enough to let her pass.

Her eyes blazed into his for another heartbeat, her anger clear. Then she turned and stalked past the microwave to the phone. He lowered his gaze to her hands, tensing in case she tried to incapacitate him somehow. But in a move so quick he could hardly believe it, she lunged sideways, scooped up her coat and backpack then upended the table into his path.

He sprang into instant action, stumbling over the chair as he raced after her into the hall. But the split-second delay had given her a head start. She flung open the basement door and dove inside, slamming the dead bolt home just as he grasped the knob. Her steps thundered down the basement stairs.

Swearing, he rattled the knob. He rammed the door with his shoulder, but the thick wood didn’t budge. Unable to believe his stupidity, he ran through the mudroom and out the back, searching the shadows for a cellar door. But there was no other exit in sight.

The toolshed.
He sprinted to the corner of the patio. The side gate hung ajar. He raced through it to the sidewalk, then stopped and turned in circles, scanning the empty street. The cold air brushed his face. A siren wailed in the quiet night.

But B. K. Elliot was gone.

Chapter 3

B
rynn pressed deeper into her neighbor’s doorway, her entire body trembling as Parker McCall stalked into view. His sharp steps bludgeoned the brick sidewalk. Fury radiated off his powerful frame. He veered to a black pickup truck beneath a streetlight and leaped inside, then gunned the engine and roared away. Brynn held her breath, plastering herself flatter against the building as the truck’s high beams swept past. The engine’s growl faded into the night.

Thoroughly rattled, she sank to the cold cement door stoop and pulled her knees to her chest, her frenzied pulse refusing to slow. What a disaster. Her picture had appeared in the newspaper. Her identity had been revealed. Now Tommy’s brother had found her.

And he was a
cop.

Still quivering wildly, she dragged in a breath, knowing she’d had a lucky escape. Everything about Parker McCall reeked of danger—from the jut of his steel-hard jaw to those penetrating black eyes that scrutinized every move. He was too smart. Too determined. And there wasn’t a chance he’d leave her alone.

Especially since he’d found that photo in Tommy’s shoe.

She hugged her knees even tighter, unable to stop the rush of guilt. Seeing that photo had demolished her composure, bringing back a swarm of regrets. Of all the mistakes she’d made in her life, of all the hell that she’d been through, the day Tommy had died had been the worst.

And it was all her fault. That sweet boy was dead because of her.

Struggling against a tide of emotions, she forced the memory aside. She couldn’t wallow in the past. God knew, she’d berated herself for it enough. She had to keep moving forward, keep the truth from coming to light and survive.

But how? Parker would never give up. And if he’d already found her, the others couldn’t be far behind.

Her head jerked up at that thought, and she frantically scanned the street—but nothing moved, no one emerged from the row houses, not even a car drove past. Easing out a tremulous breath, she willed herself to calm down. Nadine was safe in Peru for now. But she had to warn Haley fast. And she’d better prepare her agent, Joan Kellogg, for the upcoming media storm.

Wishing she still had her cell phone, she grabbed her backpack and rose. Since her agent lived only a few streets over in the heart of Old Town, she would head to her house first. She could notify Haley from there.

Aiming another quick glance at the shadows, she scurried down the empty street. The cold wind blew, sending goose bumps down her neck, and she buttoned her coat to block the chill. Returning to the area had been a gamble, she’d known that. And it was one she’d been reluctant to take. After Tommy’s horrific murder the three runaways had made a pact—they’d hidden the evidence, changed their identities and vowed never to reveal what had happened, no matter what the cost. Then they’d gone on the run, moving from city to city for years. Eventually Nadira—Nadine now—had moved to New York to get her medical degree. Haley had come to D.C. to start her shelter for pregnant teens.

And although she’d hated to admit it, Brynn had been lonely. Haley and Nadine were the only family she had. She’d finally decided to chance it, figuring enough time had passed. As long as she steered clear of her stepfather, as long as she avoided the Baltimore neighborhood where Tommy had died, no one would notice her here.

Her agent had helped. Although Joan didn’t know the details of Brynn’s past, she’d guarded her identity religiously from the start of her career—arranging her exhibits, appearing for her in public, hiring publicists to manage her website and promote her work. And no matter how intense the pressure—even after those awards—she hadn’t cracked.

That safety had been an illusion, of course. Parker McCall had just proven that. Now she had to keep him from discovering the truth about Tommy’s death before more innocent people got killed.

She darted across the road, the buzz of traffic on the distant beltway mirroring the hum of dread in her nerves. A few blocks later, she reached her agent’s house. Still hurrying, she unlatched the iron gate, crossed the small brick patio and rang the bell. Then she shot another furtive glance behind her, relieved that no one had followed her here.

So far.

Seconds crawled by. Her agent didn’t answer the door. Frowning, she stepped back and surveyed the windows, for the first time noticing that the house was completely dark. But Joan had to be in town. She always notified her clients before she took a trip. Brynn reached for the bell again, then froze.

The door was hanging ajar.

Inhaling swiftly, she spun around. The bare trees creaked overhead. The withered mums along the walkway bobbed in the frigid wind. Dried leaves tumbled across the bricks, skittering into the corners like frightened mice.

Longing for her missing handgun, Brynn nudged the door open wider and peered inside, but she couldn’t make out much in the dark. Her heart stuttering wildly, she crept through the open door.

She waited a beat, letting her eyes adjust to the shadows, the destruction making her reel. Tables had been overturned. Glass covered the floor, remnants of the once-majestic chandelier. Ruined paintings lay amid the shards, their canvases slashed, their gilded frames snapped apart like twigs.

Appalled, she glanced from the ruined foyer into the equally demolished parlor and tried to breathe. Joan’s row house had been trashed. But why? By whom? And where had her agent gone?

Her nerves coiling, she crept inside, inching past the staircase into the kitchen while trying not to make any noise. But broken plates crunched under her feet. Smashed groceries littered the floor, adding to the senseless mess. Behind the kitchen, Joan’s office looked as if a tornado had touched down with desk drawers ripped out, papers flung everywhere, her computer gone....

Along with any client information she’d stored on the machine.

Beating back a rush of panic, Brynn prowled back through the foyer and up the staircase, the creaking steps erupting like gunshots in the tomblike house. She checked out the vandalized guest rooms, then continued down the hall to the master bedroom and peeked inside.

Her heart skidded to a halt. Joan lay sprawled across the rug in a sliver of moonlight, her eyes closed, her skin sheet-white, her body completely still. Blood glistened on her forehead and matted her silver hair.

Horrified, Brynn raced to her side and knelt. “Joan.”
Oh, God.
The sixty-year-old woman was far too pale.

She seized her agent’s wrist, feeling frantically for a pulse. Each tortured second seemed an eternity before she detected a feeble throb. She was alive. But barely. Her skin felt much too chilled.

Desperate to save her, Brynn leaped to her feet, lunged for the telephone on the bedside table and punched in 9-1-1. “I need an ambulance. Fast,” she added, reciting the address. “Joan Kellogg. She’s been attacked in her bedroom upstairs. Hurry.” Ignoring the dispatcher’s questions, she hung up.

Then she dropped to Joan’s side again. “Hold on,” she pleaded. “Help’s coming soon. I promise.”

Her agent’s eyes fluttered open. “Brynn?”

“Don’t talk. Save your strength. An ambulance is on the way.”

Joan fumbled to grasp her hand. “Man...black hair. Snake tattoo. Looking for you...”

“Shh. It doesn’t matter now. Just rest.” Her throat thick, Brynn gently squeezed Joan’s hand, her clammy skin icing her heart. Where was the blasted ambulance? Why was it taking so long? She shot a desperate glance at the window, despising the feeling of helplessness—and guilt. Joan had nearly died because of her.

But who had sent the attacker? How had he connected Joan to her? Had he seen Brynn’s photo in the newspaper—or found her some other way?

“Go. Hide,” Joan croaked out.

“Forget it. I’m not leaving you alone.” She’d already caused enough problems. The least she could do was stay and protect her from further harm.

A siren finally cut through the night, and Brynn expelled her breath.
Thank God.
The ambulance was nearly here. But then a new worry thrummed through her nerves. In seconds help would arrive—along with the police. They’d ask questions she couldn’t answer, scrutinize her in ways she couldn’t afford.

“Go,” Joan whispered again, echoing her thoughts.

Red lights flashed outside the window. The siren abruptly cut off. Torn by conflicting emotions, Brynn dithered over what to do. She couldn’t abandon Joan, not after her agent had worked tirelessly to safeguard
her.
But neither could she stay and let the authorities find her here.

“Hurry...”

“All right,” she agreed. “I’m going. But I’ll call you later at the hospital. And I’m hiring you a bodyguard. I’m going to make sure you stay safe.”

Voices filled the house. Footsteps hammered on the stairs. Her pulse accelerating, Brynn grabbed hold of her backpack and rose, then glanced around the room. The house had to have a servant’s staircase. All these historic places did. Spotting a likely cupboard beneath the eaves, she rushed around the bed, flung the small door open and stepped inside. Then she felt her way down the unlit staircase, a steep, narrow passage with shallow treads. Seconds later, she emerged in the office behind the kitchen and exited the house through the alley door.

But as she blended back into the night, questions whirled through her mind. Who had attacked her agent? Not Parker McCall; he didn’t fit Joan’s description of that snake tattoo. And she couldn’t see him harming a woman, no matter how angry he became. She’d repeatedly provoked him in the alley, and he’d refrained from hurting her.

So someone else was on her trail, someone connected to her past. Someone ruthless enough to harm an innocent woman to get to her.

The gang leader she’d witnessed executing his prisoner? Her stepfather? She shuddered hard at the thought. Both men were equally vicious. Both men wanted her dead.

And now that her photo had appeared in the newspaper, they would hunt her down, endangering anyone connected to her. And who would be next? Haley? The pregnant teenagers in her homeless shelter? Some unsuspecting passerby on the street?

But what could she do to stop them? If she spoke out, if she broke her vow of silence and revealed the truth, she would jeopardize Haley and Nadine.

They were in danger either way.

She lurched to a stop at a lamppost, leaning against it as she caught her breath. What about Parker McCall? Was there any chance she could trust him?

Her nerves coiled tight at the thought. She’d be crazy to trust him. The police always banded together. He’d take her stepfather’s word over hers.

Wouldn’t he?

She started jogging again, slower this time, thinking back to Parker’s face—his hot black eyes, the harsh angles of his square-cut jaw, that unbridled masculinity that seeped from every pore. The man was dangerous, all right, disrupting her equilibrium in ways she absolutely couldn’t afford. And he clearly wouldn’t give up. She hadn’t missed the resolve in those lethal eyes.

But behind that determination she’d caught a glimpse of something deeper, darker.
Pain.
He’d cared about his brother. Really cared. And that gave her a glimmer of hope. If she could control the information he gleaned, if she could keep him from unearthing too much too fast, maybe, just maybe, she could use him to her own end.

And maybe she was insane. Trying to control Parker McCall would be like riding one of those sixty-foot waves she’d seen in Hawaii one year. If she made a mistake, if she had one second of inattention, he’d crush her alive.

But did she have a choice?

Spotting a convenience store with a pay phone, she stopped. For several long moments, she debated what to do, combing through her options again. But one thing was crystal clear. She could no longer run. Joan’s attack had guaranteed that. She had to protect the people around her.

And Parker was her only hope.

Her belly tensing, she checked her watch. Less than two hours had passed since he’d left her house. She doubted he’d be asleep.

She was right. Two short rings later, his deep voice rasped into her ear. “Parker McCall.”

She inhaled to steady her nerves. “It’s me. Brynn Elliot. If you still want information about your brother, I’m willing to make a deal.”

Silence crackled across the line. “What kind of deal?” he finally asked.

“I’ll tell you in person.”

“When?”

“Tomorrow at noon.” She named a coffee shop on Wisconsin Avenue in Georgetown. “And Parker...”

“Yeah?”

“Come alone or the deal’s off.” Not waiting for an answer, she hung up. Then she leaned back against the glass and hugged her arms, feeling as if she’d just stepped onto a high wire over Niagara Falls. She’d taken the plunge—but she had to watch her step. She had to keep her head, stay in control and somehow manage Parker McCall.

Before the killers destroyed them all.

* * *

Parker drummed his fingers on the round metal table inside the coffee shop the following afternoon, convinced that he’d lost his mind. He’d spent years obeying the rules, trying to live down his father’s legacy and prove he wasn’t corrupt. And now he was risking everything to meet with a possible suspect in his brother’s death—his reputation, his integrity, his job.

And for what? He already knew that he couldn’t trust her. She’d lied about knowing his brother. She’d fled the scene of his murder, evading the authorities for years. Even now she was trying to conceal her identity, eschewing money and fame to escape scrutiny, a sure sign she had something to hide.

And those bizarrely cryptic comments she’d made...What “trouble” was he stirring up? Which “people” was he going to hurt? Nothing but vague innuendos designed to paint her as the victim and throw his investigation off course.

He gulped down the last swallow of his espresso and checked his watch, then let out a huff of disgust.
Insane is right.
He’d risked everything he believed in to meet her here, and she would probably stand him up. If he had any sense he’d walk out now, turn the case over to his supervisor like he was supposed to and let him investigate Tommy’s death.