Minutes to Kill (Scarlet Falls #2)(56)

Sam nodded. “She’s out cold anyway. Not my idea of a party unless they’re awake.”

Mick tied her spread-eagle to the bedposts. No chance of her getting away while they took care of business. Thirty minutes later they returned. Sam hid the girl’s car in the barn out back. She was awake when Mick walked into the bedroom. Her terrified eyes and muffled screams sent all his blood to his groin.

As he approached her, he held up a pair of scissors he’d taken from the kitchen. “I’d hold still if I were you.”

She froze. Mick knelt next to her head and snipped her long blond strands. He was no hairstylist, but when he was finished, her hair was cropped short to frame her face. He collected the hair from the bed and flushed it down the toilet. Tonight, he wanted no reminders that this woman wasn’t Hannah Barrett.





Chapter Twenty-One

At seven a.m., the police station was mostly empty when Brody knocked on the chief’s office door. He’d purposefully come in early to get his task over with before the administrative staff started at eight. Patrol shift had just changed, and Stella, who’d been on duty overnight, sat at a computer typing a report before clocking out.

Brody had woken Chet and ordered him into the shower. Nursing the mother of all hangovers, Chet had been a cranky old bear. There had been no further conversation. Feeling like a traitor and a coward, Brody had sneaked out of the house before Chet emerged.

“Come in.”

Brody took a breath and turned the knob. He took three steps and eased into a chair facing the chief’s desk. As usual, Chief Dave Horner was perfectly presented without a wrinkle on his starched navy-blue uniform or a spot of stubble on his chin to mar his clean-cut image.

The chief’s focus sharpened as he studied Brody’s face. “I heard Chet was involved in an altercation at The Pub last night. Tell me what happened.”

Of course he’d heard. Horner was more politician than cop. Police chief was an appointed position, and his job security depended on the continued reelection of the mayor who had hired him. Information was the key to Horner’s political game.

“Chet was drinking . . .” Brody relayed the basics but kept the details to a minimum.

The chief scratched his cleanly shaved jaw. “I should have expected him to snap. The news about his daughter must be too much for him to handle.”

“We have no evidence that those remains are Teresa. Chances are they are not. I’m still investigating.”

“Of course. You’re right.” Irritation creased his mouth as Horner corrected himself. He smoothed it over. “But not knowing her fate must be a huge strain on him. “We’ll need a statement from the woman who was with you last night.” Curiosity lit Horner’s eyes.

Brody had planned to ask Hannah for a formal, signed statement last night. The kiss had distracted him.

“Brody?”

Just as the memory of their lip-lock was distracting him now.

“Of course, sir,” he said. “I’ll have it by the end of the day.”

Brody sent a silent thank-you to Hannah. The paperwork required by last night’s incident would have increased tenfold if Brody’s gun had been fired.

“I appreciate what it took for you to come in here this morning.” Horner leaned back and spread his palms on the surface of his desk. “I’ll take care of it from here. Thank you.”

Dismissed.

But Brody didn’t move.

The chief sighed. “I’ll be gentle.”

Feeling low, Brody exited the office. A receptionist, an admin, and two patrol officers had come in while he’d been talking to Horner. All eyes were on Brody as he crossed the thin carpet. Stella leaned on the desk, her hands gripping the laminate edge. “Brody, wait.”

He stopped, preparing to be ostracized. Cops stuck by cops. They didn’t volunteer information that led to disciplinary action.

“We all know what happened last night.”

Small towns.

“What you just did must have killed you inside, and as much as we love Chet, you did what had to be done. No one blames you,” she said.

Brody lifted his head and scanned the room. No one avoided eye contact. This was a tight-knit group, and he felt like a traitor for reporting Chet’s drinking.

“You have our support, and Chet does, too.” Stella pushed off the desk. “Chet has been a mentor to everyone on this force. We all owe him. But he has no business with a badge or a weapon in his current state of mind.” But they all knew how much the job meant to Chet. It was all he had left.

Brody’s throat constricted. He couldn’t say anything but “Thanks.”

With the support of the other cops, Brody only felt twenty shades of shitty instead of fifty as he headed for his unmarked sedan. He had reams of paperwork to process from last night, but fifteen minutes later, he found himself staring up at the Barrett house. It was barely eight o’clock. Hannah could still be sleeping. He shouldn’t bother her. He reached for the gearshift to put the car in reverse. The front door opened, and Hannah stepped out onto the porch. She nudged the dog back into the house and closed the door behind her. She was dressed in blue plaid pajama pants and an oversize jersey that hung to mid-thigh. Her eyes were sleepy and her short hair tousled in a way that made Brody yearn to climb into bed beside her. Considering they’d only kissed once—as smoking as that one time had been—it was too early to take her to bed. He was not interested in anything meaningless, especially not with Hannah.