Hour of Need (Scarlet Falls #1)(7)

Grant’s sister, Hannah, was in Jakarta on business, but the youngest of the four Barrett siblings, Mac, was local. Given Mac’s troubled past, the lack of response to Grant’s messages was concerning.

Grant accepted the bottle. His eyes burned. He squeezed them shut and rubbed his forehead. “Can I get you some coffee, Major?” the cop asked.

“No, thanks.” Grant twisted off the cap and drank, forcing icy water down his tight throat. He’d spent the last seventy-two hours in transport from Afghanistan to New York State. Layovers in Kabul, Kuwait City, and Germany had dragged out his return trip. His life had been normal, at least as normal as life on a forward operating base in Afghanistan could be. Now everything was different. His priorities—his entire life—had exploded like a roadside bomb. “I just want to find my niece and nephew.”

“I understand, but I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do until morning.” The cop brushed a hand over his buzzed head. “Look, I know you want to see them, but the kids are probably asleep by now. You don’t want to drag them out of bed in the dark. They’d be frightened.”

Which is exactly what had happened on Friday night when their parents had been murdered. The cop was right. Replaying that scenario wasn’t in their best interest, but Grant didn’t want to think of Carson or Faith spending another night in a strange house, with strange people, after losing their entire world. Of course, since he’d been deployed before Faith was born, Grant was a stranger to her too, and he hadn’t seen Carson in ten months. Would the boy even recognize him? “Are you sure?”

“I’m sorry.” The cop laid a pair of reading glasses on the desk. “There are a lot of rules and red tape involved. Middle-of-the-night calls are for crises only. Where can I reach you?”

The last thing he wanted to do was be alone in his brother’s house, surrounded by happy memories that would be no more, the house where he’d spent two weeks with Lee, a pregnant Kate, and Carson the previous May. He wanted to get a hotel room, with impersonal surroundings that wouldn’t remind him his brother was dead, but the children would no doubt feel more comfortable in their own home. Grant had better make sure the house was ready for them.

“I’ll be staying at my brother’s house.” Grant gave the cop the phone number for the house. “You have my cell number.”

The cop picked up a pen and wrote the information down.

“My father doesn’t know?” Grant asked.

“No.” McNamara shook his head. “As you requested, I’ll leave that to you.”

Grant’s breath hitched, the thought of telling the Colonel about Lee’s death driving the finality of the situation home. “Thank you. My father’s health is shaky. I’ll go out to the nursing home tomorrow.”

Lee had been just two years younger than Grant. Growing up, they’d been as close as two kids with polar opposite personalities could be. Grant saw everything in black and white, while his brother noticed every shade of gray. Had their dad known how different the brothers would be when he’d named them after opposing Civil War generals? The plastic water bottle crunched under his too-tight grip. Grant loosened his fingers.

“I’ll contact child services first thing tomorrow,” McNamara said. “I’ll call you as soon as I hear from them.”

Grant didn’t like the situation, but after thirteen years in the army, he knew all about rules and procedures and when to pick his battles. The next question hurt to ask. “Do the bodies need to be identified?”

“No. That won’t be necessary. The medical examiner used dental records.” The cop shook his head, his eyes going flat. “I know you want to see them, but ask yourself if you want that image in your head forever or if you want to remember your brother and sister-in-law as you saw them last.”

The statement was a solid kick to the chest. Were Lee and Kate even identifiable? Grant pictured the insurgent he’d shot in the ambush, layering the traitor’s ruined face over his brother’s. His fingertips trembled. He’d had no time to decompress after the ambush before being slammed with Lee’s death. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw his M-4 fire and that insurgent’s face blow apart. He knew he hadn’t had a choice. Either he pulled that trigger or the lieutenant died. This wasn’t his first combat kill. Taking a life, even in war, left an imprint, but he could hardly compare this situation to anything he’d ever experienced before. Everything was backward. If one of the Barretts were to die, it was supposed to be Grant.

Anger flared in his belly, and he welcomed its steadying heat. Better pissed off than pissed on, as his first sergeant used to say. “What can you tell me about their murders?”

McNamara leaned back in his chair and studied Grant’s face for a minute. “Are you sure you want to do this now?”

“Yes. I only have thirty days.” Time was ticking away. His leave had started the moment he’d stepped off the military transport in Texas that morning. Besides, he was never going to want to do it anyway. “When we spoke on the phone, you said they’d been robbed.”

“Robbery is one of our working theories.” McNamara shifted forward and planted his forearms on the edge of his desk. “A resident called the police to report a woman screaming. A patrol unit was dispatched. Lee and Kate were found on a side street around the corner from an Italian restaurant in town. The restaurant staff said your brother and his wife had finished dinner roughly ten minutes before the call came in. It appears they were walking from the restaurant to their car when someone intercepted them. The cause of death for both was a single shot to the head. Your brother’s wallet and keys were missing, and so was Kate’s purse. Their car was stolen.” The cop hesitated.