Fatal Exposure (4 page)

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 didn’t sizzle through him, like a lightning strike to the gut. His heart began to thud, a predatory kind of alertness pinning him in place. And judging by her startled expression, she felt it, too—this crazy, magnetic pull.

Disgusted at his reaction, he scowled back. Appealing or not, B. K. Elliot was a suspect—one he wouldn’t underestimate again.

Her flush climbing higher, she gave him a cautious nod, then wove through the half-empty restaurant, heading his way. But as she neared, he picked up on subtle details—the slight crease puckering her brow, the grooves bracketing her lush mouth, the nervous way she kept scanning the restaurant like a criminal on the lookout for cops.

Even more on guard now, he watched as she took her seat. “You want something to drink?” he asked.

“No, thanks. I’m good.” She pulled off her cap and shook out her tousled hair, the deep hues catching the light. Then she glanced around the room again.

“Something wrong?”

“What? No.” Her gaze danced back to his.

She’s lying.
The woman looked spooked as hell. “Something’s bothering you.”

“I just thought... You came alone like I told you, right?”

“I said I would.”

“And you didn’t tell anyone you were coming here?”

He cocked his head. “You accusing me of something?”

“No, I...I just needed to be sure.”

He worked his jaw, a spurt of annoyance hardening his voice. “I don’t lie, and I don’t go back on my word. I said I’d come alone, and I did. Now if you’ve got a problem with that, I need to know because I didn’t come here to play games.”

Hesitating again, she searched his eyes. “I thought someone followed me here. I guess I was wrong.”

Not quite willing to believe her, he crossed his arms. “So what’s this about a deal?”

She lifted her backpack onto her lap, pulled out a five-by-seven black-and-white photo and placed it on the table, facing him. “This girl. Do you know who she is?”

He dropped his gaze to the photograph. The girl was young, barely pubescent, with long blond braids and troubled eyes. He frowned, trying to place her, certain he’d seen her before. And then the memory broke loose. “You had a photo of her on your wall.” She’d been part of the homeless group.

“But you don’t know who she is?”

“Should I?”

Her eyes studied his again. She gave him a nod, as if he’d confirmed something she already suspected, and put the photo away. “Her name was Erin Walker. She was a runaway. I met her on the streets a while back.”

“Pretty young for a runaway.”

“Some kids grow up fast.”

He couldn’t argue that. “Go on.”

“The police picked her up and took her home. Her parents have money, so they sent her to High Rock Camp. It’s a place in western Maryland for at-risk youth, one of those wilderness therapy camps where they do survival things.”

“I know it.” In fact, his boss, Colonel Hugh Hoffman—the head of Baltimore’s Criminal Investigation Division—had founded the camp. And it was a great success, generating so much positive publicity it had spawned imitations in other states. It had even impressed Senator Alfred Riggs, who’d taken the Colonel under his wing, fast-tracking his political career.

“Erin died there,” Brynn continued. “Supposedly she committed suicide.”

Parker nodded, not sure where she was going with this. “Sad, but it happens.”

“Not usually with a girl that young.”

He studied her blue-gold eyes. “You don’t believe she committed suicide?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I don’t have enough information to decide. Her family refuses to talk. She was a minor, so the papers didn’t release any details. And the camp doesn’t want bad publicity, so they’ve kept everything hushed up.”

Realization dawned. “You want me to look into her death.”

“I’d like to see the autopsy report and photos so I know for sure.”

“Why?”

Her gaze slid away. “She was a friend. I feel I owe her that much.”

Another lie.
Or at least not quite the truth. “Forget it.”

Her gaze shot back to his. “What?”

“I said no deal.”

“You’re turning me down? But why?”

“Because you’re lying.”

“I’m not—”

“The hell you aren’t. You’ve been lying to me from the start. You said you didn’t know my brother. You claimed you didn’t know about his death. You even lied about answering that phone. I doubt anything you’ve told me is true.”

Her eyes went dark. A flush returned to her cheeks. “You can’t expect me to tell you everything. I don’t even know you.”

“Baloney. If you didn’t think you could trust me, you wouldn’t have proposed this deal. Now you’re sitting here telling half-truths while I’ve played straight with you from the start.”

“I’m not lying about this girl.”

“You expect me to believe that?”

“Believe what you want. But I’m telling you the truth, as much as I can right now.”

Neither of them moved. Her angry gaze stayed locked on his. Tension crackled between them, like the atmosphere before a lightning storm.

And despite all evidence to the contrary, despite knowing that she’d lied, he realized she’d played him to perfection, piquing his interest about the case. Because if there was any chance she was right...

He shook his head, hoping the motion would dispel this lunacy and knock some sense back into his muddled brain. “It doesn’t matter. There’s still no deal.”

“But—”

“It’s not my case. It’s not even in my jurisdiction.” Questioning a potential suspect was one thing. But meddling in someone else’s investigation... “I’d be putting my job on the line—and for what? To satisfy your curiosity? To pass some sort of litmus test you’ve devised?”

“You want
me
to take a risk and tell you about Tommy’s death.”

“It’s not the same.”

“You’re right. It’s not the same thing at all. You might lose your job.
Big deal.
I’ve got more to lose than that.”

“Like what?”

“Nothing.” She shrugged into her coat and stood. “Forget it. I should have known I was wasting my time talking to a
cop.
” She swung her backpack onto her shoulder and stalked across the room, then shoved open the door to the street.

Parker scrambled to his feet, his temper mounting as he strode after her outside. What right did she have to test him?
She
was the suspect. He was the one who couldn’t trust
her.

He caught up with her on the sidewalk and grabbed her arm. She wheeled around and glared back. “Get your hands off me.”

“Or what? You’ll elbow me in the head again?”

“I should.”

“Try it, and I’ll haul you in right now.”

“Fine. Go ahead and arrest me,” she countered, shaking her slender arm loose. “But you’ll never find out the truth that way.”

“You don’t think I can find out what happened to Tommy without your help?”

“I know you can’t.”

Parker opened his mouth to argue, but damned if she wasn’t right. She knew what had happened to Tommy. She’d been the last one to see him alive. For all he knew, she’d pulled the trigger and run away.

But what if she hadn’t? What if she’d witnessed his death instead—and knew who the killer was? What if innocent lives really were at risk? Could he give up the chance to find out?

And what if—God forbid—that kid at the camp had been murdered as Brynn thought? He’d sworn to obtain justice for victims, no matter how inconvenient the case. He was duty-bound to pursue the truth.

But he
couldn’t
do what she’d asked. Hoffman would fire him in a heartbeat—unless his supervisor canned him first. Delgado would leap at the chance.

“Look.” He tried to sound reasonable. “It’s not that I don’t want to help you—”

“Then do it.” Her eyes challenged his. “You’ve heard my conditions. I’ve told you what I want.”

He glowered back, his anger rising again. She didn’t understand what she was asking. Bad enough that he’d gone behind Delgado’s back, contacted the possible suspect in his brother’s death and then failed to bring her in. That alone could get him suspended. He could try to spin his involvement and claim he was verifying Brynn’s identity before handing the case to his boss. No one with half a brain would buy the excuse, and for all his faults, Delgado wasn’t a fool. But it might be enough to let Parker escape with a reprimand instead of losing his badge.

But he had no business snooping in Erin Walker’s file. It wasn’t his case. It wasn’t in his jurisdiction. This wasn’t even remotely connected to him.

Even worse, the kid had committed suicide at Colonel Hoffman’s camp. If the C.I.D. chief learned Parker was meddling in his affairs—and sharing sensitive information with an unauthorized civilian—there wasn’t an excuse on earth that could save his ass.

But he’d already failed his brother once. He couldn’t renege on his promise to find his killer, too.

And he’d searched for this woman for fifteen years. He’d be damned if he’d turn her over to Delgado, then be forced to beg his supervisor for details about his brother’s case.

Or worse, have him refuse to reopen the investigation and forfeit forever his chance to learn the truth.

Quelling his protesting conscience, he sighed. “All right. Give me your phone number. I’ll look into it and get back to you.”

She shook her head. “We’re doing this together.”

“Forget it. You’ll just have to trust me.”

“I’m not that big a fool.”

“And yet, you expect
me
to trust
you.
”

Her mouth turned flat. She folded her arms, her eyes still trained on his. And his grudging respect for her rose. She certainly wasn’t a pushover.

“You can’t come with me,” he said. “Her records won’t be stored here. They’ll be in Washington County—the district where she died. I’ll have to make some calls, see if they’ll fax a copy to me.” Assuming he could fabricate a plausible excuse—without his boss finding out. “But I’ll meet with you as soon as I’m done. That’s
my
final offer.”

Still looking reluctant, she managed a nod. “Fine. Then we have a deal?”

She offered him her hand. Against his better judgment, he enfolded it in his, the soft, feminine feel of her skin sending a spasm of heat through his blood. Grimacing at his reaction, he dropped her hand and stepped back.

He’d definitely lost his mind. This woman was a danger on too many levels to count. And he’d better keep his wits about him if he hoped to survive.

Chapter 4

P
arker wasn’t naive. He understood the need to bend the rules at times if it contributed to the greater good. The problem was, once a man crossed into that gray zone, once he’d blurred the distinction between right and wrong, it became harder to redraw the line.

His father had proven that.

But now here he was, following in his doomed father’s footsteps. Because he couldn’t sugarcoat his actions. He was breaking the rules, pure and simple—the one thing he’d sworn he would never do.

For Tommy’s sake,
he reminded himself fiercely. He was fulfilling his promise to his brother and trying to find his killer the only way he could.

But that still didn’t make his actions right.

Cursing the predicament Brynn had put him in, he neared the homicide office—with its fax machine—and glanced around. So far so good. No one had paid any attention to him. Now he just had to slip inside, grab the faxed file off the machine and leave before anyone noticed him here.

Then he’d be done with this subterfuge for good.

He shot another glance back, then stepped inside the room, the din of ringing phones and voices quieting a notch. Getting the file faxed over hadn’t been easy. The overworked people out in western Maryland hadn’t wanted to fill his request. He’d had to use the Colonel’s name, claiming that Hoffman wanted to check the file because of the potential scandal involving the camp. Three uncooperative people later, Parker finally found someone willing to take the time to send him the file without verifying it with Hoffman first.

Picking up his pace now, he walked past the massive copier, dodged the boxes of paper stacked beside a work table and headed to the fax machine. But a rail-thin, silver-haired woman blocked his path, and his hopes instantly tanked. Terry “The Terror” Lewis. The woman who’d investigated his father. She stood beside the machine, holding a sheath of papers—the file he’d requested, no doubt.

His luck had just run out.

She turned at his approach. “Detective McCall,” she rasped in her smoker’s voice. She held up the papers, disapproval on her narrow face. “What are you doing with this?”

So she’d noticed his name on the cover sheet. He couldn’t feign ignorance now. “Just checking the records for a case.”

She frowned, her ice-blue eyes nearly level with his. “Which case is that?”

Parker hesitated. Technically, he didn’t have to answer. Even though she outranked him, Lieutenant Lewis worked in the Criminal Intelligence Section and wasn’t in his chain of command. But she was smart. She’d sniff out any deception fast. Better to sprinkle in enough truth to allay suspicions—and lend his answer legitimacy in case she checked.

“Susie Smith.”

“The kid they found in the Inner Harbor?”

“Right. She was from Emmitsburg. I’m checking the deaths in that general area during the past few years to see if they’re related.”

She arched a brow. She wasn’t buying it—and he didn’t blame her. The connection was ludicrous at best. And this woman was nobody’s fool. Even Hoffman knew better than to take her on.

But he had no choice but to brazen it out. He held out his hand for the file. “Do you mind?” he asked.

She hesitated, obviously reluctant to give it up, then she slapped it into his hand. Parker tucked it under his arm, giving her what he hoped was a civil nod.

He didn’t dislike Terry Lewis, exactly. He probably would have admired her if she hadn’t tried to bring him down. She’d simply been doing her job, conducting an investigation into a towing scam in the traffic unit when she’d stumbled on an even more serious plot. Defying warnings from her fellow officers, she’d persevered, bucking the hallowed Blue Code of Silence to uncover the truth, that his father had extorted payments from prostitutes and drug dealers—a revelation that had rocked the force.

But then she’d turned her suspicions toward
him.

And, suddenly, the irony struck him hard. After all those years obeying the rules, after all those years trying to show that he wasn’t the criminal she believed, he was finally proving her right.

Without a word, he exited the room. Then he strode down the corridor to the stairwell, feeling her eyes boring into his back.
Perfect.
He’d managed to get a copy of the dead girl’s file. But he’d tipped off Terry “The Terror” Lewis.

He hoped it was worth the cost.

* * *

“This had better be worth it,” he muttered an hour later as he slid into the seat across from Brynn. He’d arranged to meet her at a fast-food restaurant far enough from police headquarters to avoid running into anyone he knew.

“Problem?” She tilted her head to meet his eyes.

“No.”
Not yet.

“Then you got the file?”

“I got it.” But at what price? Trying not to dwell on the potential fallout, he set the folder on the table and opened it to the top page.

She leaned across the booth to see. Her hair swung loose, strands a deep, rich shade of chestnut mingling with the brighter red. And despite his vow to keep his distance, her beauty swamped his senses; the subtle, feminine scent of her seeping into his blood. His gaze dropped to her sensual lips, the elegant line of her slender throat, then back to her glorious hair. He curled his hands, the urge to plunge them through that thick mass hard to resist.

She turned her head, and her gaze collided with his. Her eyes turned wide and dark. Her breath made an audible hitch, propelling his pulse into a sprint. So she wasn’t immune. So she felt the chemistry zinging between them—no matter how inappropriate it was.

He jerked his gaze back to the file and frowned. It didn’t matter what she felt. Having an affair with her would be nuts. He’d already jeopardized his career by accessing the deceased girl’s file. He wasn’t about to compound his mistakes by getting involved with a potential suspect, too.

No matter how intriguing she was.

“Here’s the initial incident report,” he said, his voice brusque. “She was reported missing at 7:00 a.m. They searched the grounds, and a staff member discovered her body by the old Forest Service lookout tower at ten. The paramedics arrived at 10:35.”

“That seems slow.” She kept her eyes averted, but pink patches flagged her cheeks.

“The camp’s in the mountains, in an isolated area.” He checked the report. “The ambulance came from Emmitsburg. That’s the nearest place. But it wouldn’t have made a difference either way. She was already dead.”

He waited while Brynn finished reading, still struggling to keep his gaze from her. Then he continued paging through the report—the interviews with the other children, statements from the counselors, the psychologist’s assessment of her mental state.

A picture gradually emerged. Erin Walker had gone to bed at 9:00 p.m., the official lights-out time. She’d been in her cabin an hour later, presumably asleep, when the counselor had conducted her nightly rounds. No one had guessed her plans. No one had seen her leave her bed. No one had even missed her until reveille the following day. She’d been quiet in the days preceding her disappearance, but her behavior hadn’t raised any flags. In fact, she’d been making progress—staying off drugs, participating in the camp activities, cooperating with the other kids.

Parker turned to the photos next. The first shot showed the historic lookout tower in a clearing amid the trees. Next came a close-up of the dead child’s body—her skull bashed, her neck at an unnatural angle, the ground around her saturated with blood.

His stomach pitching badly, he spared a glance at Brynn. Every trace of color had fled her face. “Are you all right?”

She swallowed visibly, her eyes huge in her bloodless face. “It’s not easy to look at.”

“Death never is.” The wooden tower was ninety feet high, and the girl’s small body bore the results of her fall. “It’s worse when you know the person. The photos I saw of my brother...” He shook his head, not wanting to revisit the horror of Tommy’s death. But those crime scene photos still plagued his nightmares, even after all this time. Not to mention the gruesome memories of his father’s death.

Brynn’s gaze connected with his. And the compassion in her eyes caused a sliver of warmth to unfurl in his chest. She’d cared about his brother—which begged the question:
What role did she have in his death?

But they would discuss Tommy soon enough. He had to fulfill his part of the bargain first.

Steering his mind back to Erin Walker, he flipped to the next photo. Even though he’d braced himself, the close-up view made his stomach clench. How much worse would this be for Brynn?

“You said you met this girl on the streets?” he asked, hoping to distract her from the gore.

“That’s right.”

“Any idea why she ran away?”

Her face still chalky, she managed a shrug. “The same reason they all do, I guess. They’re desperate. Some are neglected or abused. Or their parents have started a second family and don’t want them around. Or sometimes they’ve made a mistake—committed a crime or gotten pregnant—and they’re afraid their parents will go berserk. In Erin’s case, she used drugs.”

“Like Tommy.”

“Yes, like Tommy.” Sympathy softened her eyes. “They’re confused, angry, ashamed. They can’t control their feelings and don’t know how to repair the damage they’ve done. And they don’t think anyone will help.”

Guilt fisted in Parker’s throat. He shifted his gaze to the plate-glass window and stared unseeing at the afternoon rush-hour traffic whizzing past. He and Tommy hadn’t been close. The five-year gap in their ages had kept them apart. When he’d gone off to college, his brother had still been in junior high. But to think that Tommy preferred the violence of street life to asking him for help...

“I tried to help him,” Parker said, his voice low. “I took him to counselors, enrolled him in programs. But nothing worked.” Their battles had only grown more heated until his brother had split for good.

“It’s hard to reach an addict. The chemicals change how they think. I tried to help Erin, too. But in the end I only made things worse.”

“How do you figure that?”

Her eyes turned pained. “I convinced her to go to a shelter, a place I know for teenage girls. She was there for a couple of days, and then her parents picked her up. I thought I’d done the right thing. She told me she wanted to get clean. And her parents had the resources to help her. They got her into that expensive camp.”

“You don’t think you caused her death?”

A bleak look filled her eyes. She opened her mouth to speak, then shook her head. “Maybe not directly. But she’d probably be alive right now if I hadn’t persuaded her to go home.”

He could relate to that. How many times had he second-guessed himself, wishing he’d done something—anything—different with Tommy, something that might have saved his brother’s life?

His gaze stayed on hers. And something shifted inside him, like a long-locked door creaking open to admit the light. And he knew that she understood. She carried the same burden of guilt, the same unending remorse.

Suddenly, his mind flashed back to the image of that scrawny girl standing beside his brother, and he wondered again what had driven her from home.

He tamped down on the question hard. He didn’t need to know Brynn’s life story. He didn’t need to forge a connection with her. And he definitely couldn’t afford to desire her, not when she could be a suspect in his brother’s death.

Although he was beginning to have doubts about that.

Alarmed, he jerked his gaze back to the file. What was he thinking? He was breaking the fundamental rule of police work, letting her get to him. He had to keep his distance, hold on to his objectivity to find out the truth about Tommy’s death.

“Here’s the autopsy,” he said. Still appalled at the direction of his thoughts, he checked the diagnosis at the top. “She died of blunt force trauma, consistent with falling from that tower. The toxicology studies show she’d taken meth.”

Keeping his gaze fastened on the file, he skimmed the various sections of the report—the internal and external exams, the degree of rigor mortis, the evidence taken from the scene.

“Who did the autopsy?” Brynn asked.

“The State Medical Examiner in Baltimore. That’s standard procedure in a case like this.”

“I didn’t see anything about sexual activity.”

“She was twelve.”

“And she’d spent time on the streets.”

True enough. And runaways rarely stayed innocent for long. He flipped back to the internal exam, then checked the diagnosis again. “Here it is. She had scarring consistent with sexual activity. But there was nothing to suggest it was recent—no semen present, no abrasions or inflammation that would indicate a rape.”

He spread his hands. “The cause seems obvious. She was a drug user with meth in her system, and she either jumped or fell from that tower.”

But Brynn didn’t look convinced. “You mind if I look at the file again?”

“Go ahead.” He slid the folder her way. “But there’s no evidence to suggest foul play—no bruising on her neck, no signs of any force. No other footprints around the tower. The surveillance camera was down that night, but even so, the case looks cut-and-dried.”

“She swore she was getting off drugs.”

“So she had a relapse. It wouldn’t be the first time an addict did that.”

“I know. But I still have a feeling...” Pulling the folder closer, she began leafing through the pages again, her delicate brows drawn down.

He understood her reluctance to accept the truth. It was always easier to blame someone else than live with relentless guilt. But unless she had evidence she wasn’t revealing, her suspicions had no basis in actual fact.

Suddenly, she sat upright. He snapped his gaze to hers. “What is it?”

It took her a moment to answer. She thumbed back through the photos again, nibbling her bottom lip. Then she slid a photo toward him. “Did you see this?”

Parker focused on the dead girl’s face. Around her neck she wore a necklace, a silver disk on a matching chain. On it was a design—hearts within a heart. “What about it?”

“It’s not in all the photos for one thing.” She flipped back through several shots. Sure enough, in every other photo, her neck was bare—a detail he couldn’t believe he’d missed.