Minutes to Kill (Scarlet Falls #2)(4)

“Well, we certainly appreciate your generosity.” Royce signaled the waitress and ordered a Glenlivet. “But I can’t allow you to monopolize my star junior partner.” He wrapped an arm around Hannah’s shoulders and gave her a friendly squeeze.

Hannah stiffened. The impromptu hug was not Royce’s style. He was acting strangely. Was it the liquor? Normally, he was a conservative drinker. She scanned his face. He didn’t appear intoxicated. Trouble with his new girlfriend maybe.

Her evening bag vibrated, the alarm signaling it was time for her to leave for the airport. She slid out from under Royce’s arm. “I have a flight to catch. I’d better go.”

“Thanks for making an appearance.” He followed her to the door of the box. “Call me when you get to London.”

“Of course,” Hannah said.

He scuffed a foot on the floor. He looked like he wanted to say something else, but didn’t.

“Is something wrong, Royce?”

“No. It’s just been a long couple of weeks.” He nodded. “Have a nice visit with your family. Safe trip home.”

“Thanks. Talk to you next week.” Just thinking she had to be in London in ten days sent another wave of fatigue through Hannah. She would have rather taken a nap than gone to this party. The door closed with a firm click. Hannah sighed. The corridor was blissfully quiet. She could still feel the beat thumping through the soles of her shoes. But she was free.

Her luggage was in the trunk of her rental car out in the lot. In a couple of hours, she’d be in the sky on her way home. Her heels were silent on the carpet as she made her way down the corridor toward the elevator bank. She pressed the down button. While she waited, she fished her phone from her purse and checked her e-mail and the status of her flight. On time.

She opened a message from her brother Grant. Why was he up? It was three a.m. on the East Coast. An extreme close-up of her niece, Faith, popped onto the screen. The accompanying message read: you’re coming to my party, right? Faith’s first birthday was Saturday.

Hannah smiled at the photo and typed: wouldn’t miss it. leaving for the airport now. is Faith having a tough night?

Grant messaged: she’s cutting molars. text me when you’re close.

K, she typed.

Luv u.

With a hollow ache in her chest, she typed u2 and pressed send. Part of her wanted to see them with a frightening intensity. The other was terrified of the hold she felt on her heart every time she went home. If Hannah closed her eyes, she could smell baby shampoo. She’d only have a long weekend with them this trip. Four days seemed simultaneously like too much and not nearly enough time. Grant, who’d left the military to raise Lee’s kids, was taking them to Disney World, and Hannah had promised to dog-and house-sit. It was the least she could do. Grant let her use his house as her permanent address.

Would she run into Brody while she was in Scarlet Falls? Detective Brody McNamara had investigated Lee’s murder. Hannah had seen him on previous visits, when he’d been tying up his loose ends of the investigation. But the case was in the prosecutor’s hands now. Hannah had no reason to see Brody on this trip.

So, why was she disappointed?

Brody had stuck by the Barrett family when Lee’s killer had filed assault charges against Grant. To Hannah, Brody’s proven loyalty was more attractive than Royce’s shallow good looks. Not that Brody wasn’t hot, because he was, but the cop had something special: integrity. After spending twelve hours a day mired in the moral flexibility of Herb Fletcher and Las Vegas, integrity was damned appealing.

She opened her photos app and flipped through the images Grant had sent her. Six-year-old Carson in his lime-green soccer uniform, his smile showing the gaps of two missing teeth. When had he lost those? Faith in her high chair, face, hands, and tray smeared with something red. Spaghetti sauce?

Hannah clutched the phone to the center of her chest. Since Lee’s death, being away from the kids ripped her up inside.

She rode the elevator to the ground floor and headed for the lobby, where she passed two bouncers and a short line of patrons waiting to pay their entrance fees.

“Could you hurry up?” one woman complained. “The parade’s about to start.”

Hannah exited onto the concrete apron and took a solid breath of cool night air. Vegas spread out flat and open in front of her. The club was located in an industrial neighborhood. An express tire and lube sat dark across the street. The building next door housed a hotel uniform distributor. Except for the motel on the other side of the parking lot, the surrounding businesses were closed. Lights glared from a billboard advertising Carnival.

Two couples hurried past her and went inside. The parking lot was oddly empty considering the packed space inside. But then, the main show was about to start. She supposed no one who paid a seventy-five—dollar cover charge was going to leave before the big event.

She made her way to the rear of the large lot, where she’d parked the rental car. As she walked, she opened the voice memo app on her phone. “Contact Timothy in London.” She slid the phone into her purse.

By the time she crossed the fourth row, she was shivering and regretting the sleeveless sheath dress and strappy Jimmy Choos she’d selected for the party. She spotted the sedan fifty feet away and quickened her pace. Her jacket and flats awaited.

Shoes scuffled on pavement. Quick footsteps and labored breathing sounded like someone running.