Fatal Exposure. Gail Barrett
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.
But then the door swung open and she strolled inside—her pale cheeks flushed, a black watch cap pulled low over her head, exposing the flame-colored ends of her hair. She still wore the same black peacoat and jeans and had that pack slung over her back. Her gaze collided with his, and she paused.
And damned if another shock of awareness