The Closer He Gets. Janice Kay Johnson
can go on back,” he told her, indicating a door at the end of the counter.
Just as she reached it, she heard a lock disengage.
She wasn’t impressed by the detective bullpen, if that’s what this was, she thought as she stepped through the door.
There was something like ten desks, each with a computer. A bank of file cabinets suggested not all records were computerized. Besides Delancy, the only other two people present were a middle-aged man and a younger one half a head taller. Both turned to look at her when she entered, but her eyes never left Detective Delancy’s as he rose from behind one of the desks.
“Ms. Granath.”
Gee, he’d gotten it right.
“This—” she thrust the paper at him “—was waiting for me when I arrived at work this morning.”
He grabbed her wrist and turned it so he could read the threat. “It would have been better if you hadn’t touched it.”
“I was very careful to touch it only on the one corner. But, really, what idiot doesn’t know how not to leave fingerprints? Especially since this was very likely left by a police officer.” Her voice had been rising. She let the paper flutter onto his desktop.
“That’s a serious allegation...”
“Yes, it is. Murder is a serious crime, Detective. It does not seem unreasonable of me to assume Deputy Hayes or one of his friends is responsible for this.”
Out of the corner of her eye she was aware that the other two men had taken a few steps closer. What did they think—she was going to pull out a gun and start blasting?
Delancy gestured. “Please have a seat, Ms. Granath.”
“I don’t have time. I need to get to work. All I have to tell you is that this was taped to the back door of my business when I arrived this morning.”
He frowned. “That’s within the city limits.”
“Yes, it is. But we both know this has to do with Antonio Alvarez’s death and my insistence on being honest about what I saw.”
“There’s nothing that specific here.” His eyebrows rose. “You might even have an unhappy customer.”
“I am not currently involved in collecting on a debt. Otherwise, unhappy customers want faster service. They are annoyed because an installer failed to show or was late. The absolute last thing they want is for me to back off.”
“Now, Ms. Granath, you’re getting pretty riled over something that may be entirely unrelated to the events you witnessed.”
She stared hard at him then shook her head. “Maybe what I should be asking is how close you are to Deputy Hayes.”
He stiffened. “Your implication is offensive.”
“This is offensive. And I’m here to tell you I won’t be backing off. Feel free to spread the word. And, oh, by the way? I’ll be going to the press if this investigation isn’t taken over really soon by another agency that has some semblance of impartiality.”
She spun on her heel and walked out, both exhilarated by the electric crackle of her anger and a little bit afraid because she might as well have waved a red cape.
Come and get me.
ZACH WAS DRAGGING by the time he parked his patrol car and walked into headquarters to log out. Given that this was the first day of his workweek—Tuesday through Saturday—he had no excuse for being so beat.
He’d issued half a dozen speeding tickets today, one failure to yield right of way, a couple of warnings, had responded to two reports of stolen items, one of which he suspected was an insurance scam, and had administered first aid to a child choking on a gumball at a convenience store. An average day, except that he’d been aware of some hostile stares in the Hispanic neighborhoods. He hoped it had occurred to his boss that whitewashing the beating would be, politically speaking, a really bad move.
Like it or not, this was going to play out as a big, bad, white cop killing a defenseless, younger, physically less imposing immigrant. That they were quarreling over a woman and skin color might have been irrelevant? Not nearly as sensational.
Mood grim, Zach was striding toward the exit when he glanced down a short hall that connected to the county offices and saw a man approaching. An automatic assessment took in the badge and holstered handgun at the man’s belt. A detective he hadn’t yet met?
The guy froze between one step and the next, just as Zach did the same. He felt as if he’d walked into a sliding-glass door.
Breathing hard, all he could do was stare. This could not be... But the eyes were his. The height, the build. Not the face. This man’s was craggier, rougher. His hair was a dark russet.
He’d been a redhead as a boy.
“Bran.”
“Zach?” His brother shook his head. “It can’t be you.”
“Why not?”
“Someone mentioned the name of the new guy.”
“You mean me. I was adopted along the way. I’m Zach Carter now.”
“Jesus.” Bran dragged his hand through his hair. “What are you doing here?”
“What are you doing here?”
Zach’s brother grimaced. “Dad and I never moved. I left for college, worked for Seattle PD for a few years...but this feels like home.”
“Dad stayed?” Zach gaped at Bran, trying to take that in. “Didn’t he know what everyone thought?”
“Not everyone,” Bran said sharply. Then he let out a long breath. “Sure he knew. But you can’t have forgotten how stubborn he was. People could think whatever the hell they wanted.”
“Man, this is unreal.”
“You can say that again.”
Neither of them had moved or did anything to initiate what was bound to be an awkward hug. And yet, part of what Zach felt was something so unrecognizable it took a minute for him to label it as joy. His brother, here in front of him. A cop, too.
He hadn’t forgotten the vast wash of hurt, though. This was the big brother who had abandoned him.
“You didn’t answer my question,” Bran said suddenly. “Why come back to Clear Creek?”
“Sheila. Why else?”
This was so bizarre Zach had trouble taking it in. He felt too much. He was thrilled but angry, too, even if he knew that was childish. And still...stunned.
As, in a completely different way, he’d been in that odd moment when his eyes had first met Tess Granath’s.
“Wow.” Bran gave something like a laugh. “Your shift over?”
“Yes. You?”
“Yeah, I took a recent vacation. Payroll got confused.” He indicated the door behind him with a gesture. “I had to clear it up. Uh...any chance you’re free? We could go get a drink. Have dinner.”
“I am.” He thought quickly. “You know The Creek?”
“Sure. Decent burgers and not a cop hangout.”
They walked out together, which Zach found to be surreal. He hadn’t seen this brother in twenty-four years. Never thought he would again, even though he’d worshipped Bran. He smiled sardonically at the thought because they’d fought, too. Zach had resented knowing his brother was in charge when Mom and Dad weren’t home. He wasn’t that much older. Sometimes