Fatal Exposure

chapter 6



Something had changed between them overnight.

Brynn slid an uneasy glance at Parker’s profile as he drove them through the mountains of western Maryland toward High Rock Camp. He’d sat in brooding silence since he’d picked her up an hour earlier, his lean hands cradling the wheel, his jaw bunched tighter than a boxer’s fist. And when he’d looked her way, he’d eyed her with an alert kind of stillness, a wary intensity that set off warning bells in her head.

Had he spoken to her stepfather? Had he learned something damaging about her past? Nerves tightened in her belly at the thought. Exactly what had happened to cause this tension, she didn’t know. But it had erased the bond they’d begun forging between them. That tentative trust was gone.

But what could she do? She couldn’t back out of their agreement. She had too many enemies to fight this war alone. And to have any chance of exposing the truth about her stepfather, she needed Parker’s help.

He slanted her a sideways glance, his mesmerizing eyes so like Tommy’s that her heart made a little flip. And that was another problem right there. Bad enough that he had the power to arrest her. Worse that he appealed to her in a decidedly carnal way. His rumbling, low-pitched voice, the potent magnetism of his handsome face evoked thoughts she had no business entertaining right now. And his resemblance to Tommy disconcerted her completely, bringing back a flood of regrets.

Still badly unsettled, she turned her face toward the windshield; the colorful trees lining the two-lane road barely registered as they sped by. She couldn’t think about the past right now. She couldn’t keep agonizing over Tommy’s death. She had to focus on discovering what had happened to Erin Walker. Because if what she dreaded proved true, she had more blood than Tommy’s on her hands.

“We’re almost there,” Parker said, his deep voice drawing her attention back to him. “So how do you want to play this?”

Inhaling deeply to quiet her nerves, she turned her thoughts to the task ahead. “We’d better keep it simple so we don’t goof up. Let’s say we’re the parents of a troubled teenager, and we want to check their program out.”

He quirked a brow, his hot, dark gaze scrambling her pulse. “Aren’t you young to have a teenage daughter?”

“Not technically. I’m twenty-eight.” But there was no point raising scrutiny they didn’t need. “We can make her our niece instead. Her parents died in a car accident, and we have custody.”

“Name?”

“Amber. She’s fifteen. She’s been sneaking out of the house at night and running around with a fast crowd. And we just found pot in her room. If they ask us anything else, let me handle it. We won’t contradict each other that way.”

“You’re good at making things up.”

Good at lying, he meant. She pulled her gaze back to the windshield, determined to ignore a nasty little stab of hurt. It didn’t matter what Parker thought. No one had ever believed her—not her teachers, not the social workers who’d paraded through her childhood and definitely not the police. So why should she expect anything different from him? Just because he was Tommy’s brother, just because they had this mind-boggling chemistry ricocheting between them didn’t mean he was on her side.

Besides, he was right. Living on the streets, she’d had to reinvent herself continually to survive.

“I’ve been around a lot of runaways,” she said by way of explanation. “I know the profile well.”

Parker didn’t answer. He just continued to watch her, scrutinizing her with those wary eyes. Cop eyes. Eyes that took in every detail but gave nothing of his thoughts away. She turned her face toward the passenger-side window again. He was dangerous, all right. And no matter how tempted she was to trust him, she couldn’t forget that fact.

Seconds later, they crested a hill and the sign for High Rock Camp came into view. Brynn leaned forward, her heart beating double-time as Parker turned in at the gravel drive. The gate hung ajar. The guard shack stood unmanned, allowing them to pass unimpeded into the camp. But the security camera mounted on the high, steel fence took her aback. She hadn’t expected to be caught on film.

They drove past the gate, then followed a meandering track through the woods, gravel crunching under their tires. A squirrel bounded into their path. Leaves fluttered from the trees, doing cartwheels across the truck. A quarter mile later they reached a one-story log building bearing an office sign. Parker pulled into the parking lot beside it and stopped.

And suddenly, a clammy sweat broke out on her brow. Dread slithered through her veins, the terror she’d suppressed for years surfacing again. She’d entered her stepfather’s world. But she was older now. Smarter. Far less vulnerable.

And she would never suffer that abuse again.

Beating down the instinctive panic, she climbed out of the truck and shut the door. Then she forced herself to inhale, taking long, steadying gulps of the mountain air. A cardinal whistled overhead. A stream gurgled nearby. She turned her attention to the office, the freshly painted logs and flower boxes brimming with chrysanthemums giving it a tidy, welcoming look.

The setting was tranquil. Picturesque. Perfect. But then, her stepfather always had excelled at creating the right facade.

Still trying to calm her heart rate, she waited for Parker to join her, then started up the flagstone path. But he caught hold of her arm and tugged her to a halt before she’d taken a dozen steps. Startled, she tipped her head back to meet his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“We’re concerned parents, right?”

“So?” This close, she could trace the razor stubble emerging on his jaw, the intriguing hollow at the base of his muscled throat, his disturbingly sexual mouth. The woodsy scent of his aftershave teased her senses, disquieting her even more.

“So we need to look the part.” He linked their hands, and the feel of his warm, calloused skin set off a rush of heat in her blood. Then he pulled her into motion, adjusting his pace to hers. She was still trying to regain her equilibrium as they neared the office door.

Appearances, she reminded herself firmly. They were only playing a part. But the banked strength in his massive hand, the coiled power in his easy strides, had the oddest effect—making her feel sheltered, protected. Safe.

Which didn’t make the least bit of sense. Parker was a cop, and he clearly distrusted her. So why did she have this insane urge to burrow against him and let his broad shoulders shield her from harm?

At the door, he released her hand. More off balance than she cared to acknowledge, she swept past him and went inside. Then she stopped and glanced around, determined to quit worrying about Parker, quash the intense dread threatening to consume her and concentrate on the reason they were here—finding out the truth behind Erin’s death.

The office looked like an upscale lodge. A huge stone fireplace dominated one wall. Thick wooden beams yawned overhead. Generously sized leather armchairs surrounded a coffee table made of antlers, while a Western rug covered the wide-planked floor, adding splashes of color to the muted room. Nature sounds fluted over the sound system, the soft chirping of birds and a splashing stream designed to calm.

A blonde woman about Brynn’s age rose from the corner desk, a gracious smile on her face. She wore a white silk blouse, a classic pencil skirt. She had her hair pulled up in a sleek chignon. “May I help you?” she asked in a pleasant voice.

“We hope so,” Parker said. He shot the receptionist a lazy smile that completely transformed his face, making him look younger, friendlier and far, far sexier. Brynn blinked at him in surprise. When he put on the charm, he was a lethally attractive man.

“We’d like information about your camp,” he added.

A blush crept up the receptionist’s cheeks. “Please make yourselves comfortable. I’ll see if Mrs. Gibson is available.” She flashed Parker another smile, then padded across the rug to an adjacent office and tapped on the door. When a woman called out, she slipped inside.

Still stunned by the change in Parker, Brynn wandered across the room, needing to put some distance between them to clear her mind. So what if he’d poured on the charm? So what if that wicked smile made her heart pound and sparked an avalanche of lust in her blood? She was here to investigate a young girl’s death, not ogle Parker McCall—no matter how gorgeous he was.

Determined to conquer her wayward reactions, she circuited the room, studying photographs of teenagers engaged in typical camp pursuits—hiking through the woods, riding a zip line over a canyon, climbing rocks and paddling canoes. There were other shots of them at work—cooking, erecting tents, building a campfire and clearing trails. The last few photos showed overjoyed parents reuniting with their kids, relief in their teary eyes.

Brynn’s heart twisted, a sudden yearning curling inside her, a longing she’d buried for years. As a child, she would have bartered her soul for parents like that—parents who actually cared.

Appalled at the direction of her thoughts, she crossed her arms. What was wrong with her today? Coming even this close to her stepfather had stripped away her defenses, making her vulnerable in ways she couldn’t afford. She had to stay alert and concentrate on investigating Erin Walker’s death. This could be her only chance to get the proof she needed to stop her stepfather’s abuse.

To her relief, the receptionist returned just then with a short, dark-haired woman in tow. “Good afternoon. I’m Ruth Gibson.” The director reached out to shake their hands, her level gaze and no-nonsense manner indicating a woman used to taking charge. She ushered them into her office and motioned toward the armchairs beside the desk. “Please have a seat.”

Brynn pulled out the chair beside Parker and sat, then surreptitiously glanced around, taking in the map covering the back wall, the whiteboard displaying cabin assignments—information she was dying to see. She swept her gaze over the awards dotting the walls to the corner file cabinet behind the desk. A framed photo stood on top.

It was a photo of her.

She gaped at it in horror, so shocked she could hardly breathe. But it was her, all right. She was eight years old, fishing with her stepfather at Deep Creek Lake.

Now what was she going to do?

“You look familiar,” the director said, taking her seat behind the desk. “Have we met before?”

Oh, God. This was all she needed, for the director to recognize her. And what if Parker noticed the photo? How would she explain it to him?

Praying that neither would look toward the file cabinet, she tried to sound offhand. “I don’t think so. I’m sure I would have remembered.”

Mrs. Gibson nodded, but speculation lingered in her eyes. She folded her manicured hands on her desk. “So how can I help you?”

While Parker answered, Brynn struggled to gather her composure and play her part. She should have anticipated this. Her stepfather had founded this camp because of her—or so he claimed. Of course he would display her photo. It helped him maintain the charade.

She couldn’t let Parker see it. He would recognize her stepfather at once. Hugh Hoffman was a colonel in the Baltimore Police Department, head of the Criminal Investigation Division, for heaven’s sake. He was famous in the community, thanks to this camp and his connection to Senator Riggs. And while her appearance had obviously changed, Parker might still notice the resemblance. He was far too astute.

But maybe he would miss it. From where he sat, there was a spider plant blocking his view. If she could just keep the director from making the connection until they were gone...

“How old is she?” the director asked when Parker had finished telling her about their “niece.”

“Fifteen.” Parker paused convincingly. “We aren’t sure what to do. We’ve tried counseling, but it hasn’t worked. We heard great things about your program and thought we’d check it out.”

“Of course.” Getting down to business, the director handed them each a set of glossy brochures. “This is a residential program for at-risk youth. The courses we run vary in length, from several months for the older teenagers to shorter sessions for younger kids. Our goal is simple, to help them understand the cause of their negative behaviors, such as their drug use or poor choice in friends.

“Our advantage here is the setting. Removing a child from her home environment forces her to adjust. We help her change in a good way, to learn positive coping skills she can apply to other areas of her life.”

Pretending to focus on the director’s spiel, Brynn flipped through the slick brochures. She had to appear attentive. She couldn’t give Mrs. Gibson any reason to scrutinize her and wonder where she’d seen her before.

The director continued talking, covering the importance of family involvement, the technology that enabled parents to follow their child’s progress at the camp online. Brynn wanted to dislike the camp, but in truth it sounded great. The director was intelligent and concerned. She looked and sounded sincere. And the program appeared top-notch.

“You say the children spend several months here?” Parker asked when she paused.

“The older ones do. It takes time for them to incorporate the lessons they learn. The setting speeds up the process, but change still doesn’t happen overnight. Our younger kids, the ten- to fourteen-year-olds, come for shorter lengths of time. We run those sessions throughout the year. The next one starts up in a couple of weeks.”

Mrs. Gibson handed them each another brochure. “Here you’ll find some sample schedules.”

Parker shifted forward, drawing Brynn’s gaze as the director launched into another speech. He sat with his forearms braced on his knees, his eyes locked on the director’s face as if hanging on every word. And a sudden wistfulness curled inside her, the desire to believe that he really cared.

She mentally rolled her eyes. Of course he didn’t care. This was an act, a ploy to get information about the camp.

But he’d worried about his brother. He’d tried to save Tommy’s life.

“Could we get references?” Parker asked. “I’d like to talk to some parents who’ve sent their kids here recently and find out what they think.”

“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.