Minutes to Kill (Scarlet Falls #2)(14)

Gotcha.

Jordan bulldozed Brody. The kid’s shoulder rammed Brody’s solar plexus. They went down to the ground. The kid rolled off Brody and bounded to his feet. He took one running step before Brody grabbed his ankle and sent him sprawling. But Jordan recovered with the speed of youth, getting his feet back under his body.

Where was Chet?

Brody kept his ears tuned for the sound of the unmarked police car as he lurched to his feet and grabbed Jordan by the collar. The kid spun around. His hand went into his pocket. Sunlight gleamed on a knife. Jordan lunged. Brody turned his body to dodge the blade. He grabbed the knife hand and twisted the kid’s wrist until the weapon dropped to the ground. Converting the wristlock into an arm bar, he forced Jordan facedown on the ground and pinned him to the weeds with one knee in his lower back. “You are under arrest.”

“Get the fuck off me.” Jordan squirmed.

“Hold still.” Brody leaned harder. Anger sent another shot of adrenaline into his bloodstream. Scarlet Falls used to be a nice, safe town. He didn’t appreciate scumbags like this one ruining it. Decent people were trying to live here.

His heart rammed against his breastbone, and a drop of sweat ran into his eyes. He wiped a forearm over his brow and pushed aside a vivid memory: another drug addict, another criminal—another near miss. A car door slammed, and Brody shut the mental door on his unwelcome vision with equal force.

Chet ran up the alley, gun drawn. Pale faced and wheezing, he pointed his weapon at Jordan. His gaze fell to the knife. “Shit. Guess I’m a little late.”

“It’s OK. I got him.” Brody reached for the cuffs on his belt.

Frowning, Chet returned his unneeded weapon to its holster. “You all right? He didn’t cut you, did he?”

“I’m fine.” Brody handcuffed Jordan’s hands behind his back and patted down his pockets. “Why did you run, Jordan?”

“I’m not talking to anyone except a lawyer,” Jordan said to the grass.

Brody pulled a small baggie of white powder from Jordan’s jeans pocket. He scanned the kid’s arms. Jordan sported more tracks than Penn Station.

“Is that heroin, Jordan?” Chet asked. “You just got out of rehab.”

Jordan didn’t respond.

“Did you call for backup?” Brody asked Chet.

Chet nodded. “Patrol car should be here any minute.”

Brody hauled Jordan to his feet. Chet holstered his gun. They walked Jordan to the end of the alley. A Scarlet Falls PD cruiser pulled up, and Brody put the kid in the back. Then he took a minute to catch his breath. He inhaled a lungful of crisp November air, cooling his blood.

“Book him on assaulting an officer with a weapon, to start,” Chet said to the officer. The patrol car pulled away to transport Jordan to the police station.

Chet’s phone rang. He stepped aside to answer it and returned a minute later. “I’m working on a search warrant. Your suit is destroyed,” Chet said as they walked back to the unmarked car. “I’m sorry I couldn’t keep up on foot.”

Brody brushed at the mud on his trousers. Spotting a tear in the fabric, he gave up. Good thing he didn’t buy expensive suits.

“I guess it’s not a bad thing that I have to retire soon. These knees don’t have any more foot chases in them.” Chet had six more months before the mandatory retirement age kicked him off the force.

But they both knew it wasn’t Chet’s knees or age that had ruined his health.

“I’m fine.” Brody’s finger lingered on a slice in the fabric of his jacket. That had been a close call. If he’d been an inch or two closer to Jordan, Brody would have been gutted.

“You almost got stabbed because I wasn’t there.”

“I almost got stabbed because that kid pulled a knife on me. I’m fine, Chet. Let it go.”

Chet didn’t look convinced.

None of this was Chet’s fault, any more than Brody’s old partner in Boston was to blame for that disaster. Brody changed the subject. “If you’re going to retire, you need a hobby.”

Chet snorted. “Can you see me playing fucking golf?”

“Retired bankers play golf. Retired cops get boats,” Brody clarified with a grin.

“I hate fishing, too.”

“Woodworking?”

Chet snorted. Brody slid behind the wheel and drove back to the Brown house. Brody’s phone played the Hawaii Five-O theme. He glanced at the display but didn’t recognize the number. “Detective McNamara.”

The caller said, “This is Hannah Barrett.”

“Hannah.” He wouldn’t have been more surprised if the president was on the line. “I thought you were out West.”

“I was. I’m in town for Faith’s birthday party tonight.”

And she’d called him?

Don’t get excited. She probably needs to discuss her brother’s case.

Brody tried not to get personally involved with the people in his cases, but every once in a while, a case came along that he couldn’t shake. The murders of Lee and Kate Barrett had been the most intense of Brody’s career, and he’d kept in touch with the family.

He’d seen Hannah a few times since he’d arrested her brother’s killer. She’d arrive in town wearing a conservative, high-style suit, and change into jeans as if she changed her identity upon her return to Scarlet Falls, like Superman ducking into a phone booth. But when he imagined her, which was more often than he liked, her polished corporate attorney mode wasn’t what he pictured. No, he saw her barefoot and mud-streaked, having just chased a potential kidnapper away from her nephew. Hero tendencies seemed to be hardwired into the Barretts. Hannah was fierce and fearless like a primitive protective female, and no fancy clothes or law degree could fully hide her don’t-mess-with-mine attitude. It was hard to resist a woman like that. Damned hard.