Fatal Exposure

chapter 11



Still unable to believe that someone—maybe even Delgado—had set him up, Parker charged across the room toward Brynn. What the hell was going on here? Hoffman had asked him to find his stepdaughter—and now he was trying to bring him in?

He pulled his Glock from his back holster. “Police! Get down!” he shouted at the customers. They screamed and dove to the floor. Taking in the situation in an instant, Brynn leaped up and grabbed her supplies, then darted behind the counter. Parker hurried to catch up.

They were outnumbered, out-armed. The police would surround the building. They’d block the exits and roads. To have any chance at escaping, they had to get out now, before the cops realized they’d been tipped off.

He lunged behind the counter, then raced down the hall after Brynn. The barista cowered in the corner of the rear office, his face a pasty white. “Don’t shoot!” he cried, raising his hands.

Parker skidded to a stop and glanced around the small room, searching for a way to escape. The door to the alley was out. The police would block that first. “Is there another exit?” he demanded, flashing his badge.

The barista’s eyes were wild, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his gangly throat. “N-no.”

Parker swore and whirled around. There had to be another way out. He refused to surrender until he knew what this was about.

“What’s in here?” Brynn asked, pointing to a door half-buried behind a stack of supplies.

The barista shook his head. “I don’t know.”

Parker frowned at the door. It was in the common wall connecting the buildings. If there was a chance it led next door...

He pushed through a stack of boxes and yanked on the knob, but it was locked. “Get the key,” he told the barista. He just hoped it wasn’t a closet, or they were screwed.

The barista ran to the desk while Parker hurled the boxes aside. The kid tossed him the key, and Parker unlocked the door. Not a closet. Relief spiraling through him, he turned to the barista again. “Come on.”

“Wh-what?” The kid’s eyes nearly bugged from his face.

“I said, come on. Through here.” He waved his gun, and the terrified barista rushed to comply. Parker followed Brynn through the door and secured it from the other side.

Knowing he’d only bought seconds, he scanned the unlit room. Dust covered the floor. The air smelled stale from disuse. Stray pieces of furniture hulked in the shadows, like ships in a mothball fleet.

“Upstairs,” Brynn urged and took off running.

“You stay here,” Parker told the barista. “Just sit tight and you won’t get hurt. And whatever you do, don’t call the police.”

Hoping the kid would obey him, he bounded after Brynn up a flight of stairs. When they reached the top, he paused again. Faint light slanted through the filthy windows, revealing dust motes hanging in the air.

“There’s a balcony next door,” Brynn said, peering out the rear window. “Part of the old fire escape. It might be another way out.” She pulled on the window frame, but it didn’t budge.

Parker hurried to help her. A car door slammed near the building. In the distance a siren wailed, and nerves coiled deep in his gut. Their time had nearly run out.

“Stand back.” He positioned himself under the window. Putting all his force behind it, he heaved on the warped wooden frame. He grunted and strained, sweat beading on his face, until it finally gave way and slid up. They both looked out.

Police cars blocked the ends of the alley. If they hoped to get away, they had to move now, before the SWAT team arrived on the scene. But the only thing under their window was a narrow, metal platform leading to nowhere. The neighbor’s balcony was yards away.

Parker’s hopes tanked along with their options. They were trapped, all right. He just wished to hell he could figure out why.

“Look.” Brynn pointed to a delivery van parked beneath the neighboring balcony. “If we can get on top of that truck, we can sneak over to the Dumpster and climb over the wall.”

Parker sliced his gaze from the truck in question to the Dumpster bordering the alley’s cement wall. It offered a way to escape, all right—assuming they could reach the truck.

“We can’t jump that far.” They’d break their legs or worse.

“We don’t have to. Part of the fire escape’s still there.” She pointed to the half dozen metal steps dangling off the neighbor’s balcony. But the steps still ended an ungodly distance from the truck. And even to get to the balcony, they’d have to jump several treacherous yards through the empty air.

Shouts came from the unit beside them. The cops had entered the building. In minutes, they’d breach the door. Parker tensed, unwilling to risk Brynn’s safety, but he couldn’t see another choice.

Not waiting for an answer, Brynn hiked her knapsack onto her shoulder and scrambled over the sill. She paused for a moment on the platform, then leaped through the air like a flying squirrel, aiming for the neighbor’s balcony.

She missed.

Parker’s heart stopped dead. Powerless to help her, he watched in absolute terror as she tumbled toward the ground. But at the last second, she caught the edge of the balcony’s railing one-handed and miraculously held on, not quite muffling her shriek of pain.

His pulse wild, Parker followed her out the window and jumped. He grabbed hold of the railing as Brynn worked her way around the balcony to the steps. She climbed down the truncated ladder and dangled off the end, agony racking her face. Then she let go, landing on the truck with a solid thud.

Parker didn’t hesitate. The police were only seconds behind them. The SWAT team would soon arrive. He hurried down the ladder and dropped onto the truck beside her, the impact jolting his legs.

By the time he regained his feet, Brynn had already leaped off the truck and raced to the Dumpster. As he followed suit, she scurried up the metal container and disappeared over the wall. Admiring her speed and courage, he rushed to follow suit.

“Stop, police!” an officer shouted as Parker made it to the top of the wall. His energy surging, he dove over the edge just as a shot rang out.

“Hurry,” Brynn called, and he jumped up, another burst of adrenaline powering his steps. Then he sprinted after her through the alley and across a parking lot. They ran through a park, exiting on a side street, and raced down another block. Still in the lead, Brynn forged a course through the city, covering the distance with surprising speed. And with every passing block, his respect for her increased. She was fast, determined, smart. She refused to let her injury slow her down, even though her shoulder had to ache. No wonder she’d eluded the authorities for years.

Thirty minutes later, when the café was miles behind them, she finally slowed to a walk. Then she leaned against the side of a building, gasping and heaving for breath.

“You okay?” he asked, his own lungs fiery from the frenzied flight.

Wincing, she pushed her tangled hair from her flushed face. “My shoulder hurts.”

Still panting, Parker scowled, the heart-stopping image of her near miss emblazoned in his mind. “You’re lucky to be alive.”

Her chin came up. “It was the only way out.”

She was right. But knowing that did nothing to calm his nerves. The sight of her plummeting from that balcony had aged him twenty years.

But he couldn’t think of that now. They still had the cops on their heels. He glanced around to get his bearings, then pushed away from the wall. “Come on. I know a hotel near here where we can rest. And we’ll get some ice for your arm.”

“All right.” Clutching her injured shoulder, she started to walk again.

But as they headed down the street, the enormity of their predicament began to sink in. Hoffman was after him. But why? Parker didn’t believe that drug-selling rumor for a minute. He’d spent too many years acting like a choir boy for Hoffman to believe that crap.

Was this about Brynn? But Parker had told his boss he’d found her. So why hadn’t he waited for him to bring her in? Didn’t the Colonel trust him?

Or was something more sinister going on?

He didn’t know. But he couldn’t stop the terrible sense of betrayal congealing his heart. All his life, he’d dreamed of becoming a cop. He’d worked his butt off to make it happen. He’d worn his badge with pride. Even his father’s corruption scandal hadn’t diminished his confidence in the integrity of the force.

But now... He couldn’t trust his fellow officers. He doubted everything he’d once believed. Because suddenly, this case had nothing to do with justice, nothing to do with the C.I.D. chief wanting to help his troubled stepdaughter. Something bigger was going on here. Something deadly. Something he had to figure out fast.

But whoever their enemies were, they’d just made a major mistake. They’d made this war personal.

And Parker would fight to win.

* * *

Brynn peeked out the curtain of their hotel room an hour later, still too wired to relax. Her stepfather had tracked her down. He’d set the police on their trail. Thanks to Parker’s quick thinking, they’d escaped—this time. But what if their luck didn’t hold?

She rubbed her throbbing shoulder, decades of self-preservation clamoring at her to flee. She had money. She could fly to Europe or Asia, hide out on a distant island, change her identity one more time.

But this had gone too far. Innocent people were dying because of her. She couldn’t run anymore. She had to stay and fight back.

Nerves still jangling from their narrow escape, she let go of the drapery and turned to Parker. He sat at the corner desk, connecting her laptop to the hotel’s WiFi. She skimmed the rigid cast of his profile, the angry jut of his chiseled jaw, and more guilt stacked up inside. She’d dragged him into this mess. He’d only wanted to find his brother’s killer, and now he was in danger, too. But how could she get him out?

Struggling to find a solution, she perched on the edge of the king-size bed. Pain sizzled down her badly wrenched shoulder, and she bit down hard on a moan.

Parker swung his head around. “Does your arm still hurt?”

“It’s fine.” Actually it ached like hell, but that was the least of her concerns right now.

“Did you take the ibuprofen?”

She nodded. “I tripled the dose.”

“You need more ice.” He rose and strode to the bathroom, returning a second later with the ice pack he’d fashioned from a plastic bag. He sat on the mattress beside her, then arranged the pack on her wounded shoulder, holding it in place with his hand.

Deciding it was futile to argue, she tried to relax. But with his hard thigh resting against hers and his wide shoulders cradling her back, she found it difficult to concentrate. “So what’s next?” she asked, determined to focus on what mattered—staying alive.

He blew out a heavy breath. “Right now we have a bunch of loose ends that don’t seem to match up. We need to look at this thing logically and figure out how they connect.”

That sounded reasonable. “So where do we start?”

“With that photo. It’s the only concrete evidence we have right now. We know the guy with the killer in the warehouse was Dustin Alexander, a City of the Dead gang member. He died a couple years after you took that shot. We can’t see the executioner, so we don’t know anything about him. But about ten years ago the City of the Dead survivors merged with the Ridgewood gang.

“The Ridgewood gang killed Jamie,” he continued. “We don’t know who made the hit—one of their hard-core members or someone lower on the chain. But the decision to kill her probably came from the top.”

She processed that. “So you think the executioner survived and is a member of the Ridgewood gang?”

“It’s possible. And he’d be high enough in the organization by now to order a hit like that.”

That made sense—so far. “So when my picture appeared in the newspaper, the killer recognized me. He traced me to my agent to find out where I was. Somehow he found me and followed me to Jamie. Then he killed her, maybe to keep her from tipping us off.”

“Or he had someone do it for him. That could be why Markus Jenkins got released from jail.”

“It still doesn’t make sense. How exactly did he find me? And what about that necklace? What does it have to do with this?”

“Let’s not worry about the missing pieces yet. Let’s just start by laying out the facts.”

“All right.” But there were an awful lot of holes to plug. “So we need to find out who was behind that pillar. And since those photos disappeared, there’s a chance that he’s a cop.”

“It explains why they’re after us now.” Parker’s gaze connected with hers, the desolate look in his eyes making her chest contract.

She understood how he felt. A cop might have killed his brother. A fellow officer had deceived him, violating their sacred bond of trust. And she knew better than most exactly how devastating that was, how deep a betrayal like that would cut. “It’s not easy when someone you trust betrays you,” she whispered.

Parker didn’t answer, but the flash of anguish in his eyes gutted her heart. And suddenly, she needed to reach him, to show him he wasn’t alone. Words bubbled up, crowding her throat, reckless words she’d never spoken before—about her relationship with her stepfather, how the despicable man had abused her, how even her mother had failed to protect her, refusing to believe the sordid truth.

But the words stayed trapped in her throat, the startling intimacy she felt toward Parker shocking her into silence again. She couldn’t afford to reveal the truth. Not yet. No matter how much she wanted to trust him, Parker was still a cop, a man wedded to his badge. And for all she knew, he’d side with her stepfather, no matter how disillusioned he felt right now.

Needing space to regain her perspective, she grabbed the ice pack and rose, then took the seat he’d vacated at the desk. “So what’s next?”

“We need to find out who worked in Homicide when Tommy died. The only ones I remember are Hoffman and Vern Collins. Collins was the lead investigator in Tommy’s case.” He hesitated. “Do you have a cell phone I can use? The hotel’s too easy to trace.”

“A disposable one.”

“Even better.”

“Sure, go ahead.” She handed him her phone, then watched as he placed the call. “Who are you calling?”

“The admin secretary in Homicide. She might not know they’re after me, depending on who’s involved. Hey, Alice,” he said into the phone. “Parker McCall here. I need you to do me a favor.” He rose and walked to the window, then nudged the curtain aside and peered out. “I need to find out who worked in Homicide fifteen years ago. Could you email me the roster?” He paused, his brow wrinkled as he listened to what she said. “I’m not coming in today. You’d better use my private address. Do you have a pen?”

While he chatted with the secretary, Brynn decided to do her part by searching her stepfather’s background online on the off chance that he had a connection to that gang, an angle she’d never had reason to consider before. She pulled up several bios, then skimmed through information she already knew—about his suburban childhood, the glory of his football years, how he’d worked his way up the ranks of the Baltimore Police Department, earning accolades and respect. He’d constructed an impressive public persona, she had to admit.

Too bad it was based on a lie.

Parker ended his call and returned her phone. “I looked up Hoffman’s bio,” she told him. “There’s nothing in it about belonging to a gang, but he probably wouldn’t publicize it if he did.”

“You never know. Senator Riggs belonged to a gang when he was young. He’s turned it into an asset. It’s one of the reasons he’s big on community outreach. He’s trying to keep kids from dying on the streets.”

She couldn’t argue that. But as badly as she wanted to crucify her stepfather, she couldn’t see him belonging to a gang. Preying on defenseless children was more his style.

“If you don’t need your computer,” he continued, “I’ll access my work account and check out Hoffman’s schedule, see what he was doing the night Erin Walker died. I left my computer in my truck at the café. They’ve probably towed it by now.”

“Go ahead. I’ll look through those photos from the camp again in case we missed anything.” Scooting past Parker, she headed into the bathroom and deposited the ice pack in the sink. Then she took her camera from her backpack and settled on the bed again.

But while she tried to focus on checking the date stamps, her mind kept returning to the disillusionment she’d seen in Parker’s eyes. And like it or not, she realized last night had changed something fundamental between them. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t think of him as just a cop anymore. She cared about Parker McCall. He mattered to her now. And despite the potential danger, she couldn’t stay detached from this complex man.

Even more disturbed by that thought, she frowned at the photographs. Several minutes later, she released a sigh. “I can’t find anything new. Hoffman was at the camp on July 14, two days before Erin died. That doesn’t mean he wasn’t there on the sixteenth, just that no one caught him on film.”

Parker nodded, his gaze still on the computer. “According to his schedule, he attended a gang conference at the Baltimore Convention Center on the sixteenth. Later that night he went to a reception in D.C. hosted by Senator Riggs.”

“What time was the reception?”

“It started at eight.”

Her hopes plummeted. “So that rules him out in Erin’s death.” And she’d been so sure...

“Not necessarily. He still could have made it to the camp, depending on when he left the reception.”

“How can we find that out?”

“Pay the senator a visit and ask.”

She blinked. “Don’t tell me you know him?”

“No, but if I tell him I’m investigating Hoffman...”

She stared at him in disbelief, stunned by the risk he was willing to take. Parker wasn’t the type to defy the rules. He had absolute faith in the law. For him to gamble his career, going against everything he believed in...

“He’ll never buy it,” she argued. “He’ll call Hoffman and check.”

“You have a better idea?”

Her heart made a sudden zigzag. She rose and went to the window, wondering if she had enough nerve. But she’d sucked Parker into this mess, and she owed him at least that much.

Inhaling sharply, she turned around. “I do, actually. I’ll call the senator. I’ll tell him I’m B. K. Elliot, and that I want to meet with him this afternoon about a partnership helping runaway teens. He won’t turn me down. The publicity will boost his career.”

A frown etched Parker’s brow. “How will that help us? We need information about Hoffman’s schedule.”

“It’ll get us through the door. Once we’re inside, you can ask him whatever you want. Even if he’s suspicious, he won’t be able to call Hoffman until we leave. That’ll give us time to get away.”

Parker got to his feet. He paced to the door and back, one hand gripping his neck. She knew he was weighing the pros and cons, probing the flaws in her plan. But it would work. It had to. It was the only real option they had.

“I won’t tell the senator you’re with me,” she added. “Not until we get there. He doesn’t know the police are after me, so I doubt he’ll lay a trap.”

Parker stopped beside her again. “But he’ll learn who you are. Your identity will come out. You’re sure you want to take that risk?”

Of course she didn’t want to risk it. But she knew what she had to do. “It’s going to come out regardless. Now that the newspaper has run my picture...”

“It still might take them a while to find you. You should wait until we’ve arrested the killer at least.”

“We don’t have time. That gang’s already attacked us once. Now the police are after us, too. Our luck won’t hold for long.”

Parker hesitated, then shook his head. “There must be another way.”

“I don’t see one. Besides, I want to do this.” She was the one they were after. Only she could stop the slaughter—no matter how terrifying the thought.

“What about your friends?” he asked. “I thought you had to protect them.”

“I’ll call Haley and warn her. Nadine’s in South America, so she’s safe enough for now.”

“I still don’t like it. Too much can go wrong.”

Knowing she had to convince him, she feigned courage she didn’t feel. “It’s going to work. I’m sure I can get us in.”

But would they get back out?

She met his worried eyes, his concern for her touching her heart. And all of a sudden, she was certain of something else. They might not survive this ordeal. They might never see each other again if they did. But she knew with dead-on certainty that she wanted to make love to Parker one more time.

She dropped her gaze to his mouth. Memories tumbled through her mind—of how he’d tasted and looked and smelled. And she desperately needed to feel him, to experience that delirium again.

Because the truth was, she didn’t care if he was a cop. She didn’t care if she’d get hurt when they parted ways. Even if it was just an illusion, she longed to relive the feelings he’d evoked—of being sheltered, cherished, loved.

She swallowed hard. Parker didn’t know it, but he’d given her a precious gift last night. For the first time in her life, she’d had a taste of how real love might feel, the security of being safe in a strong man’s arms. And God help her, even if this all ended badly, she wanted to experience that one last time.

She reached up and stroked his jaw. Surprise flared in his hypnotic eyes. “Kiss me, Parker,” she whispered, stepping so close she was cradled between his thighs.

His eyes went hot. The muscles worked in his whiskered throat. He curled one hand around her neck, the sensual touch scrambling her thoughts. “Are you sure? Your arm—”

“Forget my arm,” she whispered. “Just put your hands on me before I go insane.”

He growled then, a deep, feral sound that sent thrills shuddering down her spine. Then he pulled her hard against him and lowered his mouth to hers. And she didn’t think again for a long, long time.