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
