darkness smelled of car exhaust, cooking fumes and cooling tar.
She walked around to the driver’s side of her coupe and gazed over the car roof at him. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Cruise me around to my car. It’s on the other side of the lot.”
She grimaced, but the sound of electronic locks releasing met his ears. He hopped in on the passenger side before she could change her mind.
“Don’t start it,” he said as she inserted the key into the ignition. “We need to talk. Damon didn’t kill Alicia.”
“So that’s what this was about. Attending the party. The emergency napkin. Walking me to the car. You want a private interview with the witness to a crime involving a sports figure.”
Her cynical snort sent his nostrils flaring. The woman could rile a sleeping turtle. “Sure, I came to the party to talk to you, but I don’t care about an interview. Vince is handling the story.”
Her brows disappeared beneath groomed bangs. “Then what’s your interest?”
“The police are looking for the wrong man. Damon’s no murderer. I need to know exactly what you saw in that house.” Did he sound as frustrated as he felt? Why had he thought Hallie might spill her guts to him, of all people?
Hallie’s shoulders slumped. “I keep replaying that scene in my head.” Her gaze was fixed straight ahead. Weariness hung on her like an old coat.
Brody’s conscience stirred, but now was not a good time to go soft.
She turned her face in his direction, chin jutting out. “I walked in on Damon crouched over Alicia’s sprawled body. He was moaning and carrying on like someone who’s done something terrible and can never take it back. When he heard me, he leaped up with a braided cord in his hand. Alicia was strangled, so don’t tell me Damon didn’t kill her.”
“You didn’t actually see him put that cord around her throat and pull it tight.”
She shuddered visibly. “If I had, I would have clobbered him.”
“I can believe that.” Brody let out a dry chuckle. “But I still don’t believe Damon killed Alicia. Did you notice anything about the scene that didn’t add up?”
“We-e-ell.” Hallie frowned and looked way. “I don’t suppose these things are ever neat little slam dunks, but there were a couple of things.”
Silence fell for several heartbeats. “What things?” Brody prompted.
She met his gaze. “I did wonder why bits of glass were scattered on top of the body. If there was a struggle before the murder, why wasn’t all the debris under the body? And why didn’t she have defensive bruises on her hands, which she would have used to shield her face? I think somebody stronger than she was sat on her, beat her and strangled her, and then they trashed the room in an excess of fury. Anger followed by regret is Damon’s modus operandi, considering the numerous times he’s blown up and apologized later on the basketball court.”
“Impressive. Even the assumptions about Damon are detective level observations.”
“More than you expected out of someone like me?” Her tone had an edge he couldn’t define.
“I’m not sure I know what you mean by that question, but Vince would probably tell you it’s amazing for anyone unused to dealing with crime scenes to keep so much presence of mind.”
Her eyes widened. “Thank you.”
Brody’s insides warmed. Mark this one down in the history books. Hallie Berglund expressed sincere gratitude to Brody Jordan. He opened his mouth to ask what more she’d noticed, but his cell phone began to play. He popped the phone open and answered. Heavy breathing came over the line, and his belly muscles tensed.
“You’ve got to help me,” a familiar voice whispered. “I don’t know what to do.”
“Damon?”
Hallie gasped and her huge, dark eyes riveted on him.
FOUR
How could Brody sit and talk so calmly to a brutal murderer? Oh, that’s right. Hallie curled a lip. He didn’t think a talented basketball star could also be a supreme creep.
“That’s not an option, Damon.” Brody’s fingers drummed against the console between the driver’s and passenger seat. “You can’t run from this. You’ve got to—” Paused. “I know it, and you know it, but now we need to convince the police.”
Shouted curses from the opposite end of the connection carried to Hallie. She winced. Creep, all right. Kills a woman and then only cares about saving his own skin.
“Get a grip!” Brody’s icy tone sliced through the heated explosion. “There’s only one right alternative at this moment, and you’d better take it.” Pause. “When and where?” Pause. “I’ll be there.” Brody snapped his phone shut then turned toward Hallie. “I’ve got to go. We’ll have to finish our chat later. Can you swing around to my car?”
“Don’t tell me you’re going to meet with a wanted fugitive. You could get in big-time trouble. Not to mention, since he’s capable of murder, you’re risking your life.”
One side of his mouth lifted, and the trademark dimple flickered. “Thanks for your concern. I appreciate it, but this is something I have to do.”
Hallie shrugged, bitter protest burning on her tongue, but what was the point of wrangling with this stubborn man? “I hope it’s not your funeral…literally.”
Brody laughed. “I think you’re doomed to see me in the office tomorrow, not a casket.”
Gritting her teeth, Hallie started the car and backed out of her space. She should boot him out and make him walk, but she was raised to be Minnesota nice, a code of courtesy that had trickled over the border to her Eau Claire, Wisconsin family address. “Where’s your vehicle?” She guided the compact around The Meridian.
“It’s the Impala right there.”
Her gaze followed the direction of his finger, and she punched her brakes. They lurched forward against their seatbelts. “You’re the one who was following me in a new car.” She skewered him with a glare.
Brody’s storm-cloud eyes studied her like she must’ve fallen off the turnip truck. “Is there something criminal about trading fresh every couple of years? Lots of people do it.”
“That’s not the point. You scared—I mean I thought…” She trailed away on a huff. Nothing like making an idiot of herself in front of a guy who already considered her little better than window dressing at the station.
“Ahhhh.” That viewer-popular dimple took up residence in his right cheek.
Would Aunt Michelle approve if she slapped it off? She looked away and scowled out her window toward a young couple leaving the restaurant hand-in-hand.
“Given what you believe about Damon,” Brody said, “you thought my car might contain the
