Fatal Exposure (7 page)

He knew what he
should
do. He should tell Hoffman the truth—that he’d already located Brynn—and let him handle her. That way there’d be no ambiguities, no subterfuge or guilt. He’d just follow the Colonel’s orders and turn her in.

But he couldn’t erase that niggle of doubt. Because the truth was, the Colonel had misled him before. He’d withheld information about Brynn when they’d found that photo in Tommy’s shoe. And even if his intentions had been altruistic, even if he regretted his actions now, Hoffman had clearly lied.

And what if Brynn was right? What if those irregularities in the Walker girl’s file signified something bad? What if the C.I.D. chief was hiding something important, suppressing details about her death—just as he’d hidden his relationship with Brynn? Could Parker take that chance?

He pushed open the door to the parking lot and stepped outside. Still thinking hard, he stuffed his hands in his jacket pockets and headed across the deserted lot toward his truck. On the surface, the case seemed straightforward. Erin Walker had suffered a relapse, taken drugs and died, just as the autopsy said.

But Hoffman couldn’t afford any scandals. That camp was the cornerstone of his budding political career. At the slightest whiff of any wrongdoing, Senator Riggs would withdraw his support, and Hoffman would go from rising political star to pariah overnight.

Which provided Hoffman a motive to keep anything unflattering from coming to light.

But did Parker dare defy the Colonel’s order and continue to investigate this death? He’d have to lie to his boss about his activities. He’d have to hide his relationship with Brynn. He’d risk arousing the anger of the dead girl’s parents, the wrath of a powerful senator. If he got caught, his career would end.

He’d also have to deceive Brynn. Because if she learned that he worked for her stepfather—and that he’d asked him to bring her in—she’d never trust him again.

And he’d give up his chance to discover the truth about Tommy’s death.

He unlocked his truck, feeling trapped. Because if he was going to be brutally honest, there was another factor at work—beyond his sworn duty to an innocent victim, beyond his loyalty to Hoffman, beyond his promise to find out how his brother had died.

The truth was that he liked Brynn Elliot—or whatever her real name was. And not only because of the unruly attraction tying his gut in knots. He admired her amazing talent, her attempts to help those runaway kids.

And damn it, he wanted to believe her, no matter what proof Hoffman tossed his way. He wanted to believe that she’d cared about Tommy, that she understood his loss and pain, that the compassion in her eyes was genuine.

Grimacing at his gullibility, he climbed into his truck and slammed the door. She’d gotten to him, all right. But both Brynn and the Colonel were keeping secrets.

And he’d be damned if he’d play the fool.

Chapter 6

S
omething 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.”