Fatal Exposure (8 page)

“Certainly. We can provide you with a list of families who’ve given us permission to release their names. I’ll have the receptionist print that out. You’ll also find testimonials on our website and in the brochure.”

“I’d like to hear more about your activities,” Brynn cut in, determined to get to the point so they could leave. “Our niece is very artistic. Do you offer painting or jewelry design?”

“We do.” The director swiveled around, pulled a three-ring binder off a low shelf beneath the window and paged through. Then she handed the open binder to Brynn.

Parker leaned closer to see. Brynn struggled to ignore his nearness, the way his solid shoulder bumped against hers. Trying not to look affected, she thumbed through pictures of teens using a potter’s wheel, developing photographs in a darkroom and painting beside a stream.

When Mrs. Gibson launched into a discussion of outcome studies, Brynn passed Parker the notebook and sat back. So the camp offered art classes. That didn’t prove the necklace came from here. But neither did it rule it out.

Regardless, she needed more concrete information if she hoped to learn how Erin had died. She had to find out how often her stepfather came here, get a look at those cabin assignments—uncover
something
that could lead to a clue.

Her opportunity came a moment later when the receptionist knocked on the office door. “I’m so sorry to interrupt,” she said, directing her words to her boss. “May I speak to you for a moment?”

“Of course.” Her smile apologetic, Mrs. Gibson rose. “Excuse me. I’ll be right back. Feel free to look through the photos while I’m gone. I’ll get that list of names for you, too.” She left and closed the door.

“You have your cell phone?” Brynn asked Parker.

“Yeah.”

“Can you get a picture of that map and whiteboard?” She gestured toward the back wall. “I’m going to check the desk.”

Not waiting for an answer, she beelined to the corner file cabinet. She snuck a quick glance back, relieved to see Parker heading across the room. Then she flipped the photo over and shoved it behind the plant. Breathing easier now, she tested the drawers of the file cabinet, but they were locked.

She had no better luck at the desk. The computer was password-protected. The desktop was absurdly neat with no appointment book in sight. Growing desperate, she opened the top desk drawer and rifled through the papers, then started on the next.

In the bottom drawer she hit pay dirt—a digital camera, the same brand she used, lying atop a stack of brochures. Working quickly, she removed the memory card and slipped it into her pocket, then stuffed the camera back into the drawer.

Knowing the director could return any moment, she hurried back to her chair. “Did you get the pictures?” she asked, slightly breathless, as Parker retook his seat.

“Yeah.”

“Good.” They could examine those after they left.

“How about you?” he asked.

“I found a camera and took out the memory card.”

“What good will that do?”

She gestured to the three-ring binder on the desk. “These photos are for show. I want to see what goes on behind the scenes, the shots they didn’t print.”

He took that in. “So what do you think of the camp?”

“Typical sales pitch. She reels you in, trying to hook you on the camp before she springs the price.”

“I doubt most parents care about that.”

“Unless they’re rich, they do.”

He shook his head. “They’re too desperate.” He picked up the three-ring binder and flipped through the pages, stopping on a photo taken at the course’s end. A girl was crying and hugging her parents, and the love and joy on their faces wrenched even Brynn’s jaded heart.

“These parents have been through hell,” Parker continued. “They’ve tried everything to save their child. By the time they get here, they’ll pay anything. They’ll mortgage the house, take out a loan, do whatever it takes.”

The sudden pain in his eyes drew her attention, and she realized he was talking about himself. He’d been that desperate. He’d tried everything he could think of to save his brother’s life. And he thought he’d failed.

But Tommy had died because of her.

Unable to bear Parker’s scrutiny, she looked away. But she couldn’t deny the truth. She’d killed Tommy McCall as surely as if she’d fired that gun.

“Wouldn’t you pay anything?” he prodded.

“Of course.” A dull ache lodged in her throat. A terrible weight pressed on her chest, making it hard to breathe. But as much as she wanted to ignore it, she couldn’t deny the evidence staring her straight in the face. Parker had loved his brother. He blamed himself for Tommy’s death. And she had no right to make him continue to suffer for something he didn’t do. She had to confess her role in that awful affair.

Because Parker was a decent man. He was loyal, protective. The kind of man a person could depend on. The kind of man who’d spent fifteen years trying to track down his brother’s killer, refusing to give up. The kind of man she’d once fantasized about.

The fact was, there
were
good men in the world, honorable, trustworthy men who sheltered their children and loved their wives. Tommy had been like that. Parker appeared to be the same. Just because she’d had a lousy childhood, just because she’d witnessed the worst depravity on the streets didn’t mean those good men didn’t exist.

They just didn’t exist for
her.

The door swung open, interrupting her thoughts. Brynn struggled to compose herself, to ignore the pain roiling deep in her soul. Her past didn’t matter now. She’d made peace with her life long ago. And she no longer yearned for things she could never have—like love.

“Sorry about that,” Mrs. Gibson said, retaking her seat behind the desk. “Did you have any other questions?”

Still feeling raw, Brynn met the director’s gaze. But the woman’s carefully modulated voice, that annoyingly pleasant smile pushed her over the edge. She was so damned tired of the unfairness, so damned tired of the hypocrisy of people like this director who pretended to lead such respectable lives—while ignoring the evil in their midst.

“Just one,” Brynn said, an edge to her voice. “What’s your safety record here?”

“Excellent. We have a nurse practitioner on-site full-time. The injury rate is what you’d expect at an active camp, the occasional sprains and cuts. But serious injuries are rare.”

“That’s not what I meant. I heard you recently had a suicide.”

The director went still, her professional smile freezing in place. “I can’t discuss an individual case,” she said, her eyes like ice. “But we do a complete evaluation of the children before we accept them in our program. We consult with everyone involved—social workers, counselors, school psychologists. And unless they’re cleared clinically and medically, we don’t allow them to come.”

She folded her hands on the desk, her knuckles turning white. “I’m not going to lie. These children are troubled, and we can’t always predict how they’ll react. If they have medical issues that could complicate their progress, say, bipolar disorder or depression, they need to address that with their pediatrician before they attend the camp.”

And what if the child wasn’t the sick one? What if the problem was at the camp?

Brynn opened her mouth to argue, but Parker caught hold of her arm and pulled her to her feet. “Thank you, Mrs. Gibson. You’ve been an enormous help. You’ve given us a lot to think about.”

The director rose as well, her smile back in place—but it didn’t reach her eyes. “It’s not an easy decision. Not every child belongs in a residential program like this. Read the brochures, visit our website. It explains the program in depth. If you’re still interested, we’ll be happy to make an appointment and introduce you to the staff.”

His hand hovering at the small of her back, Parker guided Brynn out the door. Then he frog-marched her to the parking lot. “What was that about?” he demanded when they reached his truck.

Still struggling to control her temper, Brynn clutched her stack of brochures. “I got tired of listening to her sales pitch. She sounded like some kind of infomercial, making everything sound so ideal.”

“She’s the director. It’s her job to promote the place. And why shouldn’t she brag? The camp’s reputation is great.”

“That’s just it. It’s
too
good.” She gestured toward the office. “Look at this place. There’s no peeling paint, no weeds growing around the bushes. Nothing’s out of place.” It even smelled like the perfect camp—a faint trace of wood smoke mingling with the scent of the pines. “It’s like some fairy-tale version of rehab. I wanted to shake her up.”

“Yeah, you did that. I doubt she’ll forget us anytime soon.”

Oh, God.
He was right. She’d made them memorable, and not in a positive way.

And for what? Exactly what had she accomplished here? Sure, she’d found a map and a camera’s memory card, but they might not yield any clues. And at what cost? The director would remember her now. The minute she went to her file cabinet, she’d make the connection—and tip her stepfather off.

Suddenly feeling deflated, Brynn sagged back against the truck. Maybe she’d been wrong to come here. Maybe she was mistaken about Erin’s death. Maybe she was simply too biased against her stepfather to accept the truth—that Erin Walker had taken drugs, then suffered an accident or killed herself, just as the autopsy report said.

She rubbed the dull ache forming between her eyes. Because even though she hated to admit it, the program did sound great. The staff seemed committed to helping those troubled kids.

“I’m sorry. I know it was dumb to provoke her. It’s just...I keep thinking that something’s off. That Erin’s death wasn’t what it seemed.”

Parker leaned back against the truck beside her and crossed his arms. For a long moment he didn’t answer. The cool breeze ruffled his hair. Dried leaves rustled over the ground. A chipmunk watched them from a nearby tree stump, then picked up a nut and scurried away.

Parker turned his head to meet her gaze. “You really think that girl was murdered?”

“I don’t know.”

“But that’s what you think.”

She nodded. “Yes, that’s what I think.”

He lapsed into silence again. A long moment later, he dragged his hand down his face. “There’s no evidence.”

“I know. But something else is going on here. I’m sure of it, Parker. I just can’t prove it yet.”

His gaze swung back to hers. Several seconds ticked by. His scrutiny made her uneasy, the intensity in his eyes making it impossible to breathe.

And, suddenly, she suspected he knew more than he’d let on—about her relationship to her stepfather, about her troubled childhood, about the horrific abuse that drove her from home. That he was simply biding his time—like the trained interrogator he was—waiting for her to confess the truth.

She couldn’t believe how tempted she was to do just that—to forget that he was a cop, to ignore the danger hounding her footsteps and tell him the unvarnished truth.

But then, his expression changed. His eyes were just as intense, but hotter, more hypnotic, like whirlpools dragging her under—in a decidedly sensual way.

Her pulse battered her throat. He pushed away from the truck and moved even closer, trapping her against the cab. And that insane attraction rippled between them, that unruly maelstrom of need.

Her breath backed up in her lungs. Her belly tightened, acute tremors of excitement tripping along her nerves. She tore her gaze from his jet-black eyes to the black stubble shadowing his granite jaw, and stalled on his gripping mouth. Then he reached out and stroked his finger down her cheek, sending a torrent of pleasure streaming through her veins.

Was he going to
kiss
her?

His gaze dropped to her mouth. Her heart nearly leaped from her chest. And for a wild moment she wondered if she should push him away—or pull him close.

But then a gunshot erupted in the distance, jarring her back to earth.
Hunters.
A reminder that predators prowled in the forest—like the enemies pursuing her.

Parker stepped away. “We’d better go.”

“Right.” Somehow, she managed to breathe. But as she climbed into the truck, her pulse still wildly out of rhythm, she had the feeling that something had changed inside her. A decade of survival instincts were now at war with her heart.

And for the first time, she didn’t know which would win.

Chapter 7

H
e’d nearly kissed a potential suspect.

Parker leaned against his kitchen counter in his condo on the outskirts of Baltimore a short time later, unable to believe what he’d just done. He knew he had to stay detached. He knew he had to keep a level head. And yet he’d ignored his protesting conscience, let his hormones override his judgment and nearly blown his impartiality to shreds. If that gunshot hadn’t stopped him, he would have violated every principle he believed in—his oath of honor, the police officer’s code of ethics, the high moral standards that had kept him from becoming his father’s clone.

Thoroughly disgusted at his behavior, he speared his hand through his hair. He’d nearly screwed up, all right. But now he had an even bigger problem on his hands. He’d seen that photo of Brynn on the file cabinet, the one she’d taken pains to hide. And Ruth Gibson was nobody’s fool. The next time she looked at her file cabinet, she’d link that photo to Brynn. Then she’d notify Hoffman that his long-lost stepdaughter had been nosing around the camp with a man fitting Parker’s description, asking questions about the dead girl’s case—the case Hoffman had warned him to leave alone.

And Parker could kiss his job goodbye.

Searching for a way to contain the damage, he put the tuna fish sandwiches he’d made on the table, then added napkins and plates. Maybe he could spin his involvement with Brynn, pretend he was following Hoffman’s orders and trying to earn her trust. That might mollify the Colonel, buying him enough time to investigate this case.

Assuming Brynn didn’t catch on first.

He glanced at the door to the downstairs bathroom, the sound of running water signaling that she was still busy freshening up. Deciding he had to chance it, he took out his cell phone and punched in Hoffman’s number. The administrative assistant answered on the second ring.

“Hi, Debbie. This is Detective McCall,” he said, keeping his voice low. “Is the Colonel in? He’s expecting my call.”

The assistant put him on hold just as the bathroom tap cut off. Not wanting Brynn to hear him, he strode down the hall to the guest bedroom and shut the door.

“Hoffman here,” the C.I.D. chief said a second later.

“I found your daughter.”

A pause pulsed over the line. “Already? Good work.” Pleasure suffused his voice. “I knew I could count on you.”

“But I can’t bring her in yet,” Parker added quickly.

“Why not?”

“She doesn’t trust me yet. I need more time.”

“How much time?” Hoffman sounded annoyed now, and Parker winced. His boss wasn’t a patient man.

“Not much. A few days at most. She’s still nervous. If I make a move now, she’ll bolt.”

Hoffman didn’t answer at first. “Two days,” he finally said. “I want her in custody by then. If she won’t come in freely, we’ll haul her in for questioning for your brother’s death. But I’m hoping it won’t come to that.”

“I’ll call you as soon as I can.”

“You’d better. And Parker...” Hoffman paused. “Watch out. She’s clever. She’ll play on your sympathies and twist the truth until you don’t know what to think. Make sure you don’t fall for her act.” He disconnected the line.

Parker slipped his phone back into his pocket, suddenly besieged by doubts. Was Brynn manipulating him? Was she doing exactly what Hoffman had warned him about and playing him for her own ends? Or was the Colonel lying to him?

Even more unsettled, he strode back into the kitchen. Brynn stood at the counter, holding her camera, and she raised her gaze to his. And that quick lurch of attraction tripped through him, that inevitable surge of adrenaline that knocked his pulse off course. His belly went taut, his breath quickening.

And damned if he didn’t feel guilty, as if he’d betrayed her somehow.

But that was ridiculous. He didn’t owe her a blasted thing. So what if her talent intrigued him? So what if her uncommon beauty provoked instincts hard to resist? He was a cop, a professional. He knew better than to let his hormones rule his head. And his duty was clear—rule out foul play in that young girl’s death, get Brynn to fulfill her part of their agreement and then hand her over to her stepfather and be done with her for good.

No matter how much she tempted him.

He motioned toward the kitchen table. “I made some sandwiches. Help yourself if you’re hungry.”

“Thanks.” Her gaze skidded away. A blush tinged her cheeks, more proof that she felt this reckless pull. But she seemed determined to resist it, which was good. Because when she found out he worked for her stepfather...

She sank into her seat and set down her camera, then took her laptop from her bag. “I’ll transfer those photos to my computer while we eat. We lucked out with their camera. It uses the same kind of memory card mine does.” She inserted the memory card into her camera and got to work, still not quite meeting his gaze.

Needing a distraction, he took the seat across the table and devoured half of his sandwich in a few quick bites. Then he uploaded the photos he’d taken to his own tablet computer and turned his focus to finding clues.

He examined the camp’s map first. The grounds were bigger than he’d expected, sprawling for several hundred acres over South Mountain where it merged with the Catoctin range. The main cabins were near the office. They consisted of half a dozen buildings clustered around a central dining hall. Trails fanned out from the compound, meandering through the hills like crooked spokes. One path led to a river, where kayaks and canoes were stored. Another went to a rock climbing area and zip line course. The bulk of the trails ended at a lake, where there was a fishing dock, beach, several rustic campsites and a shower house.

The old Forest Service lookout tower where Erin Walker had died was in the opposite direction, near the southern perimeter of the camp. Next to it was an abandoned farmhouse. A faint line connected the farmhouse to the nearest road.

Parker frowned. “Look at this.” He angled the tablet so Brynn could see. “There used to be a road to this farmhouse. If it’s still there, you can enter the camp near the lookout tower.”

“Is that important?”

“Possibly. A couple things have been bugging me about this case. One is why Erin went to the tower. It’s not near her cabin. And it was dark. Why would she hike that distance through the woods at night alone?”

“We don’t know that she
was
alone.”

“True.” Although the absence of other footprints would suggest as much. “Either way, it’s quite a trek. The other question is where she got the drugs. The autopsy said she had meth in her system. So she either brought it in herself—”

“No.” Brynn sounded sure. “The staff would have searched their bags. They’d want to make sure the kids weren’t smuggling in alcohol or drugs.”

“Then someone else brought it in.” But who? “We know she ended up at the tower. So maybe she met her drug supplier near there. That gives her a reason to make that hike.”

Brynn studied the map, her eyes reflecting her doubt. “You’re right about the distance, though. That’s a long hike in the dark. And she had to cross that creek. I wonder if there’s a bridge somewhere.”

“It isn’t on the map.” Curious now, he rose and retrieved Erin’s file, then took his seat again. He skimmed the autopsy report, pausing on the description of her clothes. “Her shoes and socks were wet. So she probably waded through the creek.”

Brynn looked even more skeptical now. “She was twelve years old. Those woods would be scary at night. And then to wade across a creek with the water all black and cold?” She shook her head. “I don’t see it.”

“She was on meth. She probably felt invincible. That could explain why she climbed that tower.”

“Maybe.” Brynn didn’t sound convinced. “But I still can’t see her going all that way alone.”

“You think another kid went with her?”

She hesitated, her gold-flecked eyes reflecting her doubt. “Or someone chased her there.”

That made even less sense. “If she was in danger, why would she run away from help? Why not go to the counselors’ cabin and find an adult?”

“Maybe one of the adults was chasing her.”

Parker arched a brow. “That’s quite a leap.” And they didn’t have a shred of proof. Still, something compelling had convinced Erin Walker to make that trek. “Let’s gather the evidence first, then start drawing conclusions.”

Determined to follow his own advice, he returned his attention to his computer, bringing up the cabin assignments this time. He listed the campers’ names in a separate document, highlighting the kids in Erin’s cabin. Not that it did much good. He couldn’t interrogate those kids without their parents’ consent—and alerting his boss.

He blew out a frustrated breath. “Any luck with the photos?”

“Not yet. There are thousands of pictures on this card. I’ve skipped ahead to the ones taken around the day she died.”

Taking sips of water, she continued studying the screen. He watched her drink, the erotic lilt of her lush lips like a cattle prod on his nerves. He took in the high, sweet curves of her breasts, the graceful line of her throat. And the urge to plunge his hands through her fiery hair, to plunder the heaven of her moist lips, nearly did him in.

Dangerous thoughts,
he warned himself. He had to resist Brynn Elliot, not fantasize about how good she’d make him feel. Now if he could just convince his body of that...

“Here, take a look.” She turned her computer toward him, and he forced his attention to the screen. The photos were what he’d expected—kids clowning around and doing the usual camp activities, such as swimming and pitching tents. His interest lagged until she brought up several shots that included adults—the director, counselors.
His boss.
There were several shots of Hoffman playing football with the kids, which made sense. He’d been a high school football star.

Brynn paused on a picture of the campers roasting marshmallows over a campfire. Hoffman was there, sitting beside a skinny, preteen girl with a long black ponytail. The scene looked ordinary enough...except his knee rested against her thigh. He sat so close that their shoulders touched. And she was clearly trying to lean away, her legs curled up in a fetal position, her face averted from his.

A funny feeling took hold in Parker’s gut, and he glanced at Brynn. She stared at the screen, her face suddenly pale, her fingertips pressed to her mouth, as if she was trying not to get sick.

She dragged her gaze to his, the horror in her eyes catching him off guard. Her reaction seemed way out of proportion to seeing a photo of her estranged stepfather sitting beside a child. Unless...

“You’re not saying...” He could hardly voice the thought, it disgusted him so much. “You don’t think Hoffman and that child...”

Brynn didn’t answer. She didn’t have to. The revulsion in her eyes said it all.

She believed Hoffman was a pedophile, that he’d sexually molested this kid.

Stunned, Parker jerked his gaze away.
A pedophile?
Was she nuts? The Colonel was everyone’s role model, the most upstanding man he knew. And he’d warned Parker not to believe her. Brynn had a history of making false accusations against him. But the horror in her eyes looked real.

And sometimes even the wildest allegations proved true.

His emotions in total upheaval, he stared at the screen as Brynn scrolled through several more shots—Erin paddling a canoe, erecting a tent with the black-haired girl. She was smiling at the camera and looked content.

Then another shot filled the screen, this one of Erin Walker standing beside the lake, the Colonel at her side. He had his arm slung over her shoulders, an easy smile on his face. Erin was dressed in a one-piece swimsuit, clutching a towel to her scrawny frame. She looked ready to cry.

Parker’s heart sank.
Oh, hell.
This did not look good.

“The date is July 14, two days before she died,” Brynn said. She zoomed in on the doomed child’s face. Sunglasses hid her eyes, but her mouth wobbled down at the corners. She had the necklace on.

Parker stared at the screen. Disgust warred with dread in his gut. “You think Hoffman is abusing these kids. You think he caused Erin Walker’s death.”

“I think there’s a good chance, yeah.”

Parker pushed away from the table, then paced around his kitchen, too agitated to stay in his seat. A murder at the camp would be scandalous enough. But sexual abuse... This was huge, explosive—and not just because Hoffman was a cop. Not even because he was the head of C.I.D., a man with formidable power. Hoffman was the protégé of an influential senator. Various politicians had stakes in his success. The repercussions would ripple up through the highest circles, destroying families and careers.

He met Brynn’s eyes, knowing she was wondering how he’d react. But what should he think? He’d read her file. She had a history of inventing tales.

But what if her stories are true?
What if no one had believed her back then? Could the system have screwed up that much?

He wanted to believe her. She came across as sincere. But he had a weak spot when it came to Brynn. And the Colonel was a model citizen with a stellar reputation, a paragon in the community.

Just like Parker’s father.

And look how corrupt he’d been.

“If she was abused, then how come she didn’t report it?” he asked. “It’s not as if there’s no one there to talk to. There are counselors all over that camp.”

“Fear. Shame. Maybe he told her no one would believe her, or worse, that they’d say it was all her fault.”

Still not convinced, he shook his head. “Why didn’t the counselors notice something was wrong? They’re sensitive to that these days, especially if they work with kids. They’re trained to spot the signs.”

“They see what they want to see, especially if the guy has power.”

Was that true? Parker leaned back against the sink, trying to keep an open mind. Would the staff overlook a pedophile if he was important enough? He had to admit Hoffman fit the profile. Pedophiles often coached and ran camps to have access to their target kids.

But to prey on children that young... His belly churned. He couldn’t stand to think it. A predator like that was a total slime bag, the lowest of the low. And if Hoffman had taken advantage of that poor child’s addictions to molest her...how much worse could he get?